power. No human force can stop a river in its course; and no human force can arrest that stream of thoughts and resolutions which constitutes the soul of a human life. Prisons and scaffolds are thrown across its bed in vain. Chafed by the impotent obstructions, the stream of a true man's beliefs and purposes leaps over, or sweeps them away. Some of the grandest passages of the grandest lives have occurred where puny hands essayed to dam the current back. People flock to see a river precisely at the spot where the spur of a neighbouring mountain protrudes into its bed, and rudely attempts to bar its passage by a wall of rock. The river, great at other points, is sublime-heroic there. Great lives-kingly men, are greatest where persecutions cross their path. The histories both of Church and State teem with examples. John Knox and John Hampden would have been two goodly rivers although they had been let alone-might have swept in graceful curves through flowery meadows, both broad and beneficent; but the persecutions which they endured imparted to their history its peculiar grandeur. It is because obstructing rocks were thrown across their beds, that their white boiling waters may to-day be descried afar, and the mighty hum of their current resounds still in a nation's ears.

A river is constantly receiving affluents, and consequently increasing in magnitude, as it advances on its course. Every stream that falls into its bed, from right or left, adds to the bulk of its volume; and so, the further the river goes, the greater the river grows. It is thus with every true and manly life; broader it becomes and deeper at each successive stage, as the man moves forward among his fellows. Every contact with his neighbours augments a true man's power. Many rivers that have run long courses, and grown great thereby, are gliding majestically today over the wide expanse of society, spreading fertility and fragrance all around. Many a Whittington in our day has begun with a cat, or something less, and ended with a metropolitan mayoralty or something larger. There is hope for every tiny stream as it trickles down the slopes of the hill in the season of youth; for most of our mighty rivers began the world as rills.

But another experience runs opposite and parallel. Some rivers give off branches right and left as they flow, and consequently dwindle into insignificance. Some lives lose influence and power at every turn, and at last in old age may be scheduled as unproductive capital. Not long ago I was invited to lecture in a certain city to a society of working-men. Along with the invitation, a card was enclosed containing the name of the preceding lecturer in the course, and the subject that he had chosen. The lecturer was a very eminent physician, since deceased, and his theme was, "Men who have Risen." The thought sprang up in my heart like an echo, I shall lecture on Men who have Fallen." When the time arrived, I lacked courage to carry out my plan; but I am convinced that a lecture could be given on that head, less pleasant, indeed, but equally profitable. The subject, though melancholy, might be made both arresting and instructive.

The courses which rivers take over continents afford instructive examples of wise and beneficent design in the preparation of the earth as a dwelling-place for man. For example, the slope of the land in the interior of Africa has been so adjusted that the waters which spring even south of the equator must make their way to the sea northward by the channel of the Nile; and thus the valley that gets no rain from heaven, has become, notwithstanding, the most fertile valley of the

earth.

The same Lord who thus, behind the curtain of second causes, controls in secret the course of a river, determines, by similar methods and for similar ends, the magnitude and the direction of a good man's life. A degenerate race sow their seed to-day on the well-watered plains of Egypt, after the river has retired within his banks, without thinking who their Benefactor may be, or how his beneficence may have been dispensed. The God who gave the Nile to Egypt, is in Egypt an unknown God; but far off, and long ago, many a valley was raised, and many a mountain laid low, in order that rainless Egypt might be a wellwatered land. It is thus that great and good lives are given to the nations thus that nations often fail to appreciate the gift and revere the Giver. What need of inferior instances, while the greatest stands out as the most conspicuous fact

in human history? When the life that was at once divine and human-the life that was holy, harmless, and separate from sinners-was given to the Jewish nation, that nation, by a simultaneous shout from its rulers and its multitude, cried, "Crucify him! crucify him!"

Another point of likeness still more direct and more material between a human life and a river may be seen in this, that, as a general rule, both are light and sportive, and noisy, and merry, and irregular in their youth, and both grow stiller, deeper, stronger, soberer in the later periods of their career.

Much interest often attaches to "the meeting of the waters," especially if one or both of the confluent streams be rich in poetic or historic memories. He were a dull traveller indeed who should pass without a pause the spot where the Euphrates and the Tigris in the East, or the Mississippi and the Missouri in the far West, combine their mighty volumes in a single bed. The greatest river-confluence that I have been privileged to witness is the union of the St. Lawrence and the Ottowa. The junction, as beseems two such grand monarchs, is not effected without a long series of preliminary, tentative approaches. After the Ottowa has approached and partially joined its gigantic confrere above the Island of Montreal, it seems to have shuddered at the thought of being swallowed up, and draws back partially into a separate bed again. Not till a portion of its water has flowed twenty miles further in a

separate channel does it at length consent to give up its distinct identity. Certain physical characteristics of the water contribute an additional interest to the confluence. The two rivers differ very much in colour. The Ottowa is dark, approaching to the hue of water that has run over moss, and the St. Lawrence a strongly pronounced light blue. Hence the two rivers remain for a space sharply distinguished, after they have both begun to flow in the same bed. Each proudly and jealously keeps its own side, and refuses to mingle with its rival. The laws of Nature, however, are too many for the exclusive tempers of the sister streams. As they move onward in one channel toward the ocean, they at length lose all trace of distinctive hues, and consent to a complete amalgamation.

The meeting of these similar and sisterly, yet independent, and in some sense rival, waters, forcibly reminds one of certain grave and important but difficult unions both in Church and State, proposed or effected in our own day. The same desires and instinctive longings for union may be observed, and the same sensitive jealousy of absorption. We may be permitted to hope that in these cases, too, the law of gravity will prevail; and if union is consummated, although the distinctive peculiarities of churches and king. doms may remain for a generation within one comprehensive organization, even these will with lapse of time disappear, and one broad beneficent stream will flow in one capacious channel.

AWA

quently repeated than that "through much tribulation we must enter into the kingdom of God." All the figures employed to describe the Christian life are suggestive of hardship and difficulty. It is a warfare—a voyage—a pilgrimage-a fiery trial. Here it is called a race. There is not a verse in the Bible which represents it as an easy thing. No cross, no crown. We read of many pieces of hard armour which the Christian is to wear; but never of a bed on which he is to sleep, or of a coach in which he is to ride to heaven. There is an inseparable connection between the fight of faith and the victor's throne-between the race and the prize-between the

march through the wilderness and the entrance into the Promised Land-between the tears of earth and the songs of heaven. We shall consider the rules of the race-course, the lessons from the earthly race-course for the heavenly, and the points of contrast between the

two.

I. The rules.

1. No slave can run. In the great games of Greece it was considered unseemly for a man in chains to run. The running of a slave was not only painful, from his fetters galling him at every step; it was useless, as he could not in any event win the prize. None but those whom Christ has made free can run the Christian race. If you are a slave you cannot run. If you are Pharaoh's bondman you cannot run. If the law holds you as its debtor you cannot run. If you are the slave of sin-of any sin-open or secret, gross or refined, you cannot run. You must be brought out of Egypt; Christ must strike off your chains; you must be delivered from the law, and from the bondage of corruption. Love must add wings to your feet, ere you can press forward to the thark for the prize of the high calling of God in Christ Jesus. The Son must make you free, and then you shall be free indeed.

2. You must run along the course.

The race-course was clearly defined. Tall white posts marked the line along which the runners swept. The runner must follow the line. He might run outside the course, and outstrip the wind; but he did it for his own pleasure. No prize was given for such vagrant running, however wonderful it might be.

The heavenly race-course is clearly defined. It is not the way of the world, but the narrow way. It is a steep and thorny way. Along the whole line, from the city of Destruction to the golden gate, the Judge of the race has set up clear landmarks, which he who runs may read-such as faith, repentance, self-denial, crucifixion of the flesh, love to Jesus; and on each of these is printed in shining letters the legend, "The way to heaven." Starting from the city of Destruction, you run across the plain-enter in at the strait gate-go by the cross-climb the hill Difficulty-descend into the Valley of Humiliation-pass through the Valley of the Shadow of Death-through Vanity Fair-up the Delectable Mountains—and on, and on, until you enter in through the gates into the city. This is the race set before you. This is the way which the cloud of witnesses took, from Abel to the saint who entered heaven to-day. This is the way which the Forerunner went. man strive for masteries, yet is he not crowned, except he strive lawfully;" that is, according to the rules of the contest.

"If a

There is only one door to the race-course-Jesus Christ; and it stands at the beginning. Many believe that Christ is the door, but they think it is at the end of the course. No, no; it is at the beginning. You have been running long, expecting to reach it at

last. My friend, you passed it long ago. You did not see it, for it is a low, insignificant-looking door. You must go back. There is no other way. Back where the prodigal son pressed in-where the publicans and harlots pressed in-where the dying thief pressed in. You are not a step ahead of them yet. How sad to see men and women running who have not entered in by the door! Look at Ignorance in the Pilgrim's Progress. He came upon the King's highway by a crooked lane; and when Christian warned him, and expressed his fear that he would be dealt with as a thief and a robber at the last, instead of getting admittance into the city, he boldly rejoined: "Gentlemen, ye be utter strangers to me, I know you not; be content to follow the religion of your country, and I will follow the religion of mine. I hope all will be well. And as for that gate that you talk of, all the world knows that that is a great way off of our country. I cannot think that any man in all our parts doth so much as know the way to it; nor need they matter whether they do or no, since we have, as you see, a fine pleasant green lane that comes down from our country the next way into it."

3. You must run to the end.

Finis coronat opus-the end crowns the work-is the motto of the true runner. There is an iron resoluteness in him. Unlike the Pliables, who turn back at the sight of danger, he endures, as seeing Him who is invisible. Unlike those who hear the word, and anon with joy receive it, but, lacking root, when affliction or tribulation ariseth for the word's sake, are offended, he keeps the word in an honest and good heart, and brings forth fruit with patience. He resists unto blood. The words, "If any man draw back, my soul shall have no pleasure in him," ring in his ears. He never slackens his speed. He considers Jesus. And as He set His

face like a flint, although, as He neared the goal, "His sweat was as great drops of blood falling down to the ground," the disciple arms himself with the same mind. "He that endureth to the end, the same shall be saved."

How mournful the case of those who run for a time, and turn back! Look at Demas. For a time he ran, and ran well. He was Paul's companion. He is honourably mentioned among a noble band of runners who all won the crown of glory. "There salute thee, Epaphras, my fellow-prisoner in Christ Jesus; Marcus, Aristarchus, Demas, Lucas, my fellow-labourers." What a galaxy of stars; and Demas among them! But he turned back, left the race-course, and lost the prize. It is said that he died as the priest of a pagan temple. The thought that he was once a runner in the Christian race-course, but turned back, will be like the serpent's fang in his soul! "No man, having put his hand to the plough, and looking back, is fit for the kingdom of God."

4. Spectators receive no prize.

They may admire the contest. The crowds who assembled at Elis or Argolis to witness the games might

admire the exploits of the runners. They might feel a thrill of sympathetic joy as the winner, amid thunders of applause, received the olive-crown and the palmbranch. But they had no share in the triumph. Many are mere spectators. They gaze upon the race-course from a distance, as Balaam from the hilltop gazed upon Israel's glittering tents. They talk of it with deep pathos. "How goodly are thy tents, O Jacob; and thy tabernacles, O Israel!" They know the names of the champions. Their pulse beats high as they rehearse the deeds of patriarchs and prophets, apostles and martyrs. They kindle with rapture as they tell how patriots fought, and reformers witnessed, and martyrs died, for Christ's crown and covenant. They can tell you that Wickliff and Latimer, Bunyan and Baxter, Owen and Joseph Alleine, were among the noblest runners that ever ran the race in England; that Knox and Wishart, Melville and Samuel Rutherford, Hugh M'Kail and Donald Cargill, were among the noblest that ever ran the race in Scotland; but they do not run themselves. Oh, ye who are mere onlookers, idly sighing after the happiness of the people of God, remember that although Balaam wished to die the death of the righteous, and that his last end might be like his, he perished upon the spears of the Israelites!

II. The lessons from the earthly race-course for the heavenly.

1. The preparatory training was severe. The intending runner in the Olympic games entered the gymnasium at Elis several months before the race, and inured himself to every form of hard exercise. He was very sparing in his diet. He almost starved himself. Rigorous abstinence peeled the flesh off his bones. He was all muscle. Had you asked him why he never took a full meal? whether he thought it wrong to eat and drink like his neighbours? he would have answered: "I am going to run for the prize. I keep under my body, and bring it into subjection. The glutton may enjoy his feast; the drunkard may say, 'Come ye, I will fetch wine, and we will fill ourselves with strong drink; and to-morrow shall be as this day, and much more abundant;' and the sluggard may turn upon his bed like a door on its hinges,—but they have not to run for the prize."

There is a severe preparatory training before we can run the Christian race. "If any man will come after me, let him deny himself, and take up his cross, and follow me." "If thy hand offend thee, cut it off; if thine eye offend thee, pluck it out." They that are Christ's have crucified the flesh with the affections and lusts." And Paul adds in the context, "I keep under my body, and bring it into subjection; lest that by any means, when I have preached to others, I myself should be a castaway."

2. The runner laid aside every weight. Not only did he use means to be as light of flesh as possible, not only did his lank face tell that he had not eaten a full meal

for many a day, but he was very lightly clad-he was half-naked. Look at yon crowded amphitheatre. The wit and beauty of Athens and Corinth are there: members of the Amphictyonic Council, orators and poets, soldiers clad in shining armour, philosophers in their robes and hoods. Do you see the bench in the arena, with a dozen half-naked men sitting upon it? These are the runners. They have laid aside every weight.

So must we. "Let us lay aside every weight, and the sin which doth so easily beset us." This principle cuts through the meshes of casuistry, in which some would entangle the heavenly footman. Be it your lawful calling; be it care, money, pleasure, company; be it some besetting sin: every weight. It is often asked, Where is the harm of the ball-room, the theatre, the sumptuous entertainment? Do you not see that, translated into plain language, this means, How little of the world can I give up-how much of it can I retain—and yet be a Christian. Look at the runner. Imagine him asking, How slowly may I run? May I not carry this enbroidered coat, this bag of money? If he were to ask such questions, his proper place were outside the racecourse. They bear absurdity upon the face of them. You have read of the man who was drowned in attempting to save a bag of gold from the wreck of the Centrai America. He was a strong swimmer, but the bag of gold drew him down. "No man that warreth entangleth himself with the affairs of this life." Abstractly, these affairs may be right. There may be nothing wrong in them. But the soldier cannot take to do with them; no more can the runner.

Often, from my window on the sea-shore, I have ob served a little boat at anchor. Day after day, month after month, it is seen at the same spot. The tides ebb and flow, but it scarcely moves. While many a gallart vessel spreads its sails, and, catching the favouring breeze, has reached the haven, this little bark moves not from its accustomed spot. When the tide rises, it rises; when it ebbs again, it sinks. But it makes no progress. Why is this? Approach nearer, and you see. It is fastened to the earth by a cord; that cord is scarcely visible, but it will not let it go. Ye who are running the Christian race, draw the lesson for yourselves! "Lay aside every weight, and the sin which doth so easily beset us."

3. The runner ran with all his might. He threw his whole soul into the effort. He strained every nerve to the last possibility of exertion, and came in covered with sweat and dust and blood. And not only did he put forth his utmost strength: he looked well to his feet; he never looked round to court the applause of spectators; he never looked back; he looked straight on, eagerly eyeing the goal, and made for it with winged speed.

So must the Christian runner. "The kingdom of heaven suffereth violence, and the violent take it by force." Running at the Olympic games was a terribly earnest business. If you are cold, you are not running;