this very objection. Had it arisen from any mistaken view of the doctrine, he would at once have silenced the objector by stating the true doctrine. When it was asked, "Shall we continue in sin, that grace may abound?" how did he reply? not by saying that grace would follow holiness; but by declaring, more plainly than before, that the object for which grace was given, was that we might not serve sin: "Sin shall not have dominion over you; for ye are not under the law, but under grace."

There cannot be stronger evidence of St. Paul's view of this doctrine, than the method in which he answers this objection brought against it by the unbelievers of his day. Here was the opportunity for him so to have explained the doctrine of indwelling grace as to give no offence to the moral teachers who opposed it; but he still maintains the doctrine in its exclusiveness-he preaches grace as preceding man's effort, and he contents himself by stating that they who heartily embrace the truth will know the objection to be false; and, as for others, "the natural man receiveth not the things of the Spirit of God; for they are foolishness unto him: neither can he know them, because they are spiritually discerned" (1 Cor. ii. 14).

2. The second objection to be removed is, that different theologians take different views of this doctrine, and do not agree as to the extent of the Divine influence.

But is it not certain that all true Christians use this doctrine for their sanctification? and in their notions all agree so far as the Scriptures inform us : their speculations upon this, as upon every other intricate subject, differ as soon as they venture beyond the written testimony. The divisions that exist among the members of Christ's Church are to be lamented, not only as a stumblingblock in the way of unbelievers, but as a hinderance to the exercise of many Christian virtues; yet who can, with any shew of fairness, charge these rents in the garment of Christ to the doctrines he has left us?

"It is God that worketh in you both to will and to do of his good pleasure;" or, as it might be rendered, "God is he who, of his good pleasure, worketh in you, both to will and to do." This is God's prerogative; none but the Eternal Spirit can work within us: "of him alone come the preparations of the heart in man:" none other than "the Spirit of God can bear witness with our spirit." But because God, and he alone, can do this, what assurance have we that he will do so? There is nothing in his relation towards us, as Creator, Preserver, Governor, Judge, to lead us to expect it. St. Paul says it is "of his good pleasure;" not our nature, nor our

deservings, nor his need of our services; but his own love prompted him to this act of mercy, by which a rebellious people might be reclaimed to their allegiance, and a fallen people "have grace whereby they may serve God acceptably with reverence and godly fear."

The "good pleasure" of God to be in us, and to work in us, is a most comfortable and animating doctrine to the humble and penitent sinner; for now he is assured that He who is "able to keep him from falling, and present him faultless before the presence of his glory with exceeding joy," has towards him thoughts of kindness and good-will; and that he who hath begun a good work in him, is willing to carry it on. There is, however, another sense attributed to the words "of his good pleasure ;" namely, that " God works in men according as he pleases, arbitrarily ;" and I wish to state my reasons for rejecting this interpretation. The word translated "good pleasure" is the same that was used by the angels in announcing to the shepherds the Saviour's birth: "Glory to God in the highest, and on earth peace, good-will toward men." It is used also in the first chapter of this epistle, fifteenth verse: "Some preach Christ of envy and strife; some also of good-will"—which is explained in the subsequent verses: "The one preach Christ of contention, not sincerely, supposing to add affliction to my bonds: but the other of love." The idea of preference is never conveyed by this word. St. Paul does not mean that God gives his grace to whom he will, but that he is borne by his own goodness to give it at all: and in those passages of Scripture which seem to favour the notion of arbitrary selection on God's part, the sacred writers are only combating the fatal opinion that men can of themselves turn to God; for till every high thought be subdued, and all confidence in self be cast away, the sinner will not take hold of Christ, nor pray for the Holy Spirit. Hence, self-conceit, an opinion of our privileges or goodness, as an obstacle to grace, is first to be overthrown, by insisting both upon the necessity of God's inward help, and upon the freedom with which he bestows it. We must bow ourselves down to the dust, in order that we may enter the low and narrow portals of the kingdom of Christ.

have a divine help. The words are added for our comfort, not to make a distinction between the gifts bestowed on one sinner and those bestowed on another-none are given because of, or in proportion to, our deserts; but it is the will, the pleasure of a merciful God, that every sinner should repent and be saved; he therefore provides, by his influence upon the heart, the means by which they may work out their salvation.

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God worketh in you." This is not the same expression as is used in the 12th verse: "work out your own salvation." It does not mean the accomplishment of any purpose or thing; it merely denotes that there is an impulse, an energy, a motion (see collect for first Sunday in Lent) in us. It is the same kind of agency which St. Paul attributes to "sin, working in our members to bring forth fruit unto death;" and to Satan, the prince of this world, "who now worketh in the children of disobedience." This energy of God takes place through the natural powers of the soul: he "worketh with our spirit;" he " renews us in the spirit of our minds;" "the eyes of the understanding" are "enlightened, that we may know the things that are freely given to us of God;" the "vail is taken away from the heart," its blindness is removed; and, under the Spirit's restraining and guiding action, it places the affections upon new objects-loving and fearing God, hoping and trusting in him, and delighting in the ways of holiness. This is the energy which God exerts in the soul of man,-wonderful in its origin, which is the everlasting love of the Deity; wonderful in its effects, converting the whole man, constituting him a new creature: but in its mode of operation silent; coming not with observation; acting through the natural powers; requiring that we should cherish it; capable of being resisted, grieved, quenched but if its leadings be followed, its effects grow, as from a small seed, to the stature of a large and goodly tree. It is hid like leaven, till it leaveneth the whole lump. "God worketh in you both to will and to do." Mysterious as are the ways of the Spirit, it giveth signs of its efficacy; it is known by its fruits. Were it not so, how could the apostle speak of the Spirit being "an earnest of our inheritance ?" (Eph. i. 14; 2 Cor. i. 21, 22.) Does not this language imply something, of which the apostle, and they to whom he wrote, were conscious? and does not the language of the text imply some witness of God's inward working to stimulate us to "work out our salvation?"

that sin and misery are bound up together; and that, if we would not perish, we must find some remedy for the guilt and power of sin. But since this desire may be stifled or come to nought, choked by the world's cares, extinguished by some new temptation, or banished by the doubts of our power to escape, which Satan is ever ready to instil, therefore God "looketh upon him that is poor and of a contrite spirit: he dwelleth with the humble and broken spirit, to revive the spirit of the humble, and to revive the heart of the contrite ones:" he furnisheth them with spiritual armour for the warfare in which they are engaged: he "worketh in them both to will and to do." "The law of the Spirit of life maketh them free from the law of sin," to which they would be brought into captivity by the law which is in their members. "This, I say, then, walk in the Spirit, and ye shall not fulfil the lust of the flesh." Surely we can distinguish between the works of the flesh and of the Spirit; surely we can discern whether we have that carnal mind, which is "enmity against God, for it is not subject to the law of God, neither indeed can be;" or that "spiritual mind which is life and peace." And this is the proof that God worketh in us.

Value not those good desires, which necessarily spring up in a heart not altogether callous, when the terrors of the Lord are forced upon your attention by some sermon perhaps, or by some incident in your own or a neighbour's life: value not these, for they may be as "the morning cloud, and as the early dew, that passeth away;" and though they may be the workings of grace, yet, if they ripen not into fruit, it is grace received in vain. But search whether that grace works in you to will and to do;-if so, then may you know that God is in you of a truth: connect this with his assurance, that it is his pleasure that all men should be saved; connect it with the assurance, that Christ hath purchased for us the gift of the Spirit; and ye will conclude that he will give you also persevering grace.

ness, goodness, and truth, in which is the fruit of the Spirit: and the means by which this salvation is wrought out are supplied to us in the covenant which God hath made with us in his Son, "having chosen us to salvation through sanctification of the Spirit, and belief of the truth."

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To "work out this salvation," therefore, implies an entrance into this covenant, and an abiding in it, not formally, or in the sight of man; but with "repentance towards God, and faith towards our Lord Jesus Christ." It implies that we receive Christ as Saviour, Mediator, Guide, and Lord; that we hold him as the head, living by faith in him. By this vital principle, we shall put off the old man, which is corrupt according to the deceitful lusts; be renewed in the spirit of our mind, and put on the new man, which, after God, is created in righteousness and true holiness: that we "fashion not ourselves according to the former lusts in our ignorance; but as He which hath called us is holy, so we be holy in all manner of conversation." It means that we daily grow in grace, and in the knowledge of the Lord and Saviour Jesus Christ;" passing from the state of sin and alienation of heart from God, in which we were by nature, onwards to that holiness without which no man shall see the Lord. And, my brethren, whose work is this? Is it the work of God? It is, so far that he hath prepared all good works for us to walk in; it is so far the work of God, that he gives us power to begin, carry on, and accomplish it: but it is our part to "work it out;" to obey the motions of the Spirit: we are called upon to "save ourselves from this outward generation," to "fight the good fight of faith," to "lay hold on eternal life," to "strive to enter in at the strait gate," to "deny ourselves," to give all diligence to make our calling and election sure. No other person can do this for us, not parents nor ministers; the ordeal which we must pass through will separate all; and place the deeds of every individual in immediate contrast with the holy word; either to be condemned by it, or to be made manifest that they are wrought in God.

"

"Work out your own salvation." How often are we earnest, zealous, and skilful in converting others, while we seem to overlook the interests of our own soul! How many a parent watches over, corrects, and exhorts, his children; or chooses with care a seminary where their religious instruction will be attended to; while, alas! the parents are themselves following the broad road that leadeth to destruction! They are endeavouring to work out their children's salvation, yet neglect to work out their own; and greatly extended might the illustration be, to

ministers and teachers, and promoters of our religious societies: so that to all it is opportunely said, "work out your own salvation with fear and trembling." The same expression is used (2 Cor. vii. 15) of the Corinthians, who, after a severe rebuke from the apostle, repented; and, still remembering their grievous error, received Titus, whom Paul had sent, "with fear and trembling." Again, in Ephes. vi. 5, he exhorts, "servants, be obedient to them that are your masters according to the flesh, with fear and trembling, in singleness of heart, as unto Christ." By a comparison of our text with these two passages, it appears that we are to "work out our own salvation with fear and trembling;" first, remembering what we were, the pollutions from which we have escaped, the dangers from which we are delivered, the vain conversation from which we are redeemed; and, secondly, considering that we are not yet wholly free from temptation to sin: there are yet two masters, as it were, contending for us-one, Satan, whose service we have renounced, but who still entices or harasses us: the other, the Lord Jesus Christ, the Leader and Captain of our salvation.

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There are also other considerations that lead us to serve the Lord with fear." The Lord our God dwelleth in us: we are temples of the Holy Ghost: how should we fear lest we in any way defile this holy temple! He worketh in us of his good pleasure; he operates with such freedom, that if his favours are slighted, they may, in his righteous anger, be withdrawn. It is a fearful thing to know that "his Spirit will not always strive with man ;" and if we suffer the God of this world to blind our eyes against the light which God vouchsafes to give us, he in his judgment may give us over to a reprobate mind. And is there not also much comfort to be drawn from his addition of the words, "with fear and trembling," to the apostolic injunction, "work out your own salvation?" For how few Christians are able to realise present joy and exultation! "He that feareth, is not made perfect in love;" yet a holy fear is a true mark of one who is going on to perfection. Conscious as we are of imperfection, and tremblingly diligent in the working out our salvation, God working in us both to will and to do, we rejoice to find, from inspired authority, that "fear and trembling" should accompany our endeavours.

JERUSALEM.*

AFTER we had climbed a second mountain, higher and more naked than the former, the horizon sud

denly opened to the right, and exhibited the whole

• From De Lamartine's Pilgrimage to the Holy Land.

space which extends between the last summits of Judea, on which we stood, and the high mountains of Arabia. This place already swam in the undulating and vaporous light of morning. Beyond the smaller hills, which lay under our feet, rolled and broken into fragments of grey rock, the eye could distinguish nothing but a dazzling sheet of light, like a vast ocean. On the coast of this imaginary ocean, towards the left of our horizon, and about a league before us, the sun shone upon a square tower, an elevated minaret, and the great yellow walls of some edifices which crowned the summit of a hill, the foundations of which were lost in the hill itself; by the points of other minarets, the battlements of some high walls, and the blue and black summits of some domes, which rose behind the tower and the great minaret, we could recognise a town, which stretched down the brow of the hill, and of which the most elevated portion alone was visible. This could be only Jerusalem; we had thought ourselves much farther from it; and each of us, without daring to ask a question of the guide, lest the illusion should be destroyed, enjoyed in silence the first glance cast by stealth upon the Holy City; every thing inspired within me the name of Jerusalem!-it was herself! She detached herself, by her yellow garb, from the deep blue of the sky, and the black back-ground of the Mount of Olives. We stopped our horses to contemplate this mysterious and dazzling apparition. Every step we were about to take in descending to the deep and sombre valleys which were under our feet tended to veil her anew from our sight. Behind these walls and domes of Jerusalem arose, in the second line, a high and extensive hill, darker than that which supported and partly concealed the town. This second hill bounded our horizon. The sun left its western slope in shade; but appearing to touch its summit, which resembled a vast cupola, caused it to swim in an ocean of light. The doubtful limits of the earth and sky were marked only by some large black trees, planted on its most elevated ridge, and between which the rays of the sun are admitted. This was the Mount of Olives; and they were the olive-trees themselves, old witnesses of so many days written on earth and in heaven, watered by divine tears, by the sweat of blood, and so many other tears shed since that night, which rendered them sacred. A few more trees, forming dark spots on the hill's sides, were confusedly distinguishable; the walls of Jerusalem cut the horizon, and hid the foot of the Holy Mountain nearer to us, and immediately under our eyes, was nothing but the Desert of Stones, which serves as an avenue to the City of Stones. These enormous masses of uniform ash-coloured grey extend without interruption from the spot on which we stood to the gates of Jerusalem. The hills sink and rise; narrow valleys wind round their bases, and even open a little here and there, as if to deceive the eye of man, and promise him vegetation and life; but hills, valleys, plains, all are stone; it is but one uninterrupted foundation of rock, ten or twelve feet in thickness, the clefts of which allow only intervals sufficient for the reptile to creep, or the camel to break his leg ... The last steps we make before entering Jetsalem are sunk in an immovable and funereal avenue of these rocks, rising to the height of ten feet above the traveller, permitting him only to see that portion of the sky which is immediately over him.

:

We had traced for a quarter of an hour this last and lugubrious avenue, when suddenly the rocks, separating on both sides, left us in face of the walls of Jerusalem, to which we had come close without knowing

it. A vacant space of some hundred paces alone lay between us and the gate of Bethlehem. This area, resembling the glacis which, at a certain distance, surrounds the fortified towns of Europe, opened to the right, and descended with a gentle declivity into a narrow valley. To the left it bore five old trunks of

olive-trees, bent almost horizontally under the weight of time and the sun; trees petrified, as it were, like the barren fields from whence they have painfully issued. The gate of Bethlehem, commanded by two towers, crowned with Gothic battlements, but desolate and silent as the gate of a deserted castle, stood open before us. We paused some minutes immovable to contemplate it; our eager desire to pass it was almost inexpressible; but the plague was at its height in Jerusalem; and we had been received into the Convent of St. John Baptist of the Desert only under the most formal promise of not entering the city. We therefore entered it not, but, turning to the left, wound slowly round the long high walls, built on the edge of a deep ditch or moat, in which we occasionally distinguished the foundation-stones of Herod's ancient enclosure. At every step we passed Turkish cemeteries, whitened with funereal monuments, surrounded by the turban.

I mounted my horse, and, turning my head every instant to see something more of the valley and city, I climbed in a quarter of an hour the Mount of Olives; every step which my horse took in the path which leads up the Mount, opened to me a new quarter, or another building in Jerusalem. I reached the summit, crowned by a ruined mosque, covering the spot where our Lord ascended to heaven after his resurrection; I declined a little to the right of this mosque, to gain two broken columns lying on the ground at the foot of some olive-trees, on a platform which overlooks at once Jerusalem, Sion, and the valley of St. Saba, leading to the Dead Sea. The Dead Sea itself shone through the openings in the mountains, whose diversified summits form the outline of the horizon, terminating in the mountains of Arabia. Here I sat down, and this was the scene before me.

The Mount of Olives, on whose summit I was seated, slopes suddenly and rapidly down to the deep abyss called the Valley of Jehoshaphat, which separates it from Jerusalem. From the bottom of this sombre and narrow valley, the barren sides of which are every where paved with black and white stones, the funereal stones of death, rises an immense hill, with so abrupt an elevation that it resembles a fallen rampart; no tree here strikes its roots, no moss even can fix its filaments; the slope is so steep, that the earth and stones continually roll from it, and it presents to the eye only a surface of dry dust, as if powdered cinders had been thrown upon it from the heights of the city. Towards the middle of this city, or natural rampart, rise high and strong walls of large stones, not externally sawed by the mason, which conceal their Hebrew and Roman foundations beneath the same cinders, and are here from fifty to one hundred, and, further on, from two to three hundred feet in height. The walls are here separated by three city-gates, two of which are fastened up, and the only one open before us seems as void and as desolate as if it gave entrance only to an uninhabited town. The walls rising above these gates sustain a large and vast terrace, which runs along two-thirds of the length of Jerusalem on the eastern side; and, judging by the eye, may be a thousand feet in length, and five or six hundred in breadth. It is nearly level, except at its centre, where it sinks insensibly, as if to recall to the eye the valley which formerly separated the hill of Sion from the city of Jerusalem. This magnificent platform, prepared no doubt by nature, but evidently finished by the hand of man, was the sublime pedestal upon which arose the Temple of Solomon: it now supports two Turkish mosques. .... Beyond the platform, the two mosques, and the site of the Temple, the whole of Jerusalem is stretched before us, like the plan of a town in relief, spread by an artist upon a table; the eye loses not a roof or a stone. This city is not, as has been represented,

unshapely and confused mass of ruins and ashes, over which a few Arab cottages are thrown, or a few Bedouin tents pitched; neither is it like Athens, a chaos of dust and crumbling walls, where the traveller seeks in vain the shadow of edifices, the traces of streets, the phantom of a city; but it is a city shining in light and colour! presenting nobly to view her intact and embattled walls, her blue mosque with its white colonnades, her thousand resplendent domes, from which the rays of the autumnal sun are reflected in a dazzling vapour; the façades of her houses, tinted by time and heat, of the yellow and golden hue of the edifices of Pæstum or of Rome; her old towers, the guardians of her walls, to which neither one stone, one loop-hole, nor one battlement is wanting: and above all, amidst that ocean of houses, that cloud of little domes which cover them, is a dark elliptical dome, larger than the others, overlooked by another and a white one. These are the churches of the Holy Sepulchre and of Calvary; from hence they are confounded, and appear drowned in the immense labyrinth of domes, edifices, and streets, which encompass them.

Such is the city, seen from the height of the Mount of Olives. She has no horizon behind her to the west nor to the north. The line of her walls and her towers, the points of her numerous minarets, the arches of her shining dome, stand out in bold relief against the deep blue of an orient sky; and, thus exhibited on her broad and elevated platform, seem again to shine in all the antique splendour of her prophecies, or to be only waiting the word to rise in dazzling glory from her seventeen successive ruins, and be transformed into that New Jerusalem, which is to come out of the bosom of the desert, radiant with brightness.

This view is the most splendid that can be presented to the eye, of a city that is no more; for she still seems to exist as one full of life and youth: but, on contemplating the scene with more attention, we feel that it is really no more than a fair vision of the city of David and Solomon. No noise arises from her squares and streets; no roads lead to her gates, from the east or from the west, from the north or from the

south, except a few paths, winding among the wells, on which you meet only half-naked Arabs on their asses, some camel-drivers from Damascus, or women from Bethlehem or Jericho, carrying on their heads a basket of raisins from Engaddi, or a cage of doves, to be sold, on the morrow, under the turpentine-trees beside the city-gates. We were seated, the whole of the day, before one of the principal gates; we walked round the walls: no one passed in or out; no mendicant even was seated against the curb-stones; no sentinel shewed himself at the threshold; we saw indeed, no living object, heard no living sound; we found the same void, the same silence, at the entrance of a city containing thirty thousand souls, during the twelve hours of the day, as we should have expected before the entombed gates of Pompeii or Herculaneum. We saw nothing pass the gate of Damascus, except four funeral processions, silently winding their way along the walls to the Turkish cemetery; nor the gate of Sion, while we were within view, except a poor Christian, who had died in the morning of the plague, and was carried by four grave-diggers to the Grecian burial-place.

The Dead Sea resembles one of the most beautiful

lakes of Switzerland or Italy, as it is seen from Sion; reposing its tranquil waters beneath the shadow of the lofty mountains of Arabia, which stretch, like the Alps, as far as the eye can reach behind its waves, and amidst the projecting, pyramidical, conical, jagged, and sparkling ridges of the most distant mountains of Judea.

[To be continued.]

LITURGICAL HINTS.-No. XXI. "Understandest thou what thou readest?"-Acts, viii. 30.

THIRD SUNDAY AFTER EASTER. THE COLLECT is found in the Sacramentary of St. Gregory, and the Liturgy of St. Ambrose; and is one of that class of collects which were retained at the Reformation. The translation of the original Latin form is as follows: "O God, who shewest to the erring, in order that they may return into the way of righteousness, the light of thy truth; grant to all who are reckoned under the Christian profession, both to eschew those things which are unfriendly to this name, and to follow those things which are fitted to it. Through the Lord." The Collect in our Prayer-book (which varies but very slightly from the above form) "is admirably adapted to expose" the dangerous delusion of those who "indulge a hope of being saved by the mercy of God, and yet live in a careless disregard of the commandments of God. It reminds us that when the Father sent the Son to be the light of the world, he had in view the restoration of the fallen sons of Adam to their original state of happiness, by enabling them to return into their original state of righteousness. To effect this restoration, to give to an erring world the means of returning from their wanderings, Almighty God hath shewn to them the light of his truth' by Jesus Christ. With what care and diligence should we walk as children of light,' in all holy conversation, true and just in all our dealings with men, pure and upright before God: for otherwise the light that is in us is darkness; and then how great, how awful is that darkness! With what sincerity should we, who are from our infancy admitted into Christ's religion, pray for grace 'to eschew those things that are contrary to our profession, and follow all such things as are agreeable to the same!' If we do not eschew, or put away, things contrary to our profession, we defeat the very object which a merciful God had in view in giving his Son to be both a sacrifice for sin, and also an ensample of godly life. The gift was intended to bring us back to happiness, by enabling us to follow all such things as are agreeable to our profession.' And whoso is religious in deed and in truth finds that, though by nature born in sin, and the child of wrath, he is by his Christian covenant so renewed as a child of grace, that he walks with God, even in the wilderness of life, conscious of no terror from the Divine presence; for he knows himself to be reconciled by the blood of Christ, accepted through his intercession, and clothed with his righteousness. He walks as becometh the children of light.'

In the EPISTLE (1 Pet. ii. 11-17) the apostle earnestly exhorts Christians, as strangers and pilgrims through the world, not to suffer themselves to be detained on their way by those sensual appetites which are the enemies of the soul. This they ought to do as living among the Gentiles, who were inveterate enemies to their religion, and constantly speaking evil of it: who, if they should see their good works, would glorify God" whenever he should visit them with his grace to repentance, and applaud Christians for that purity, for which they now spoke evil of them. Christians must also loyally and reverently "submit themselves" to civil authority, particularly to the king, as holding the highest rank, and then to his deputies as commissioned by him to govern for the punishment of "evil-doers," and the encouragement

of all that "do well." For, it is God's will that the malicious slanders of ignorant and senseless men should be silenced by the unanswerable refutation of an irreproachable life; and we are bound to do this, because, though "free" from the ceremonial law, we have passed into another service, even that of God.

• James on the Collects.