joicing; as poor, yet making many rich; as having nothing, and yet possessing all things." He, who is known and yet unknown, dying and yet living, sorrowful yet rejoicing, poor yet communicating riches, having nothing, and yet possessing all things, is the subject of feelings, the result of whose various action, strange as it may seem, is perfect harmony and internal calm. His fame is counterbalanced and harmonized by his obscurity; his sorrow by his joy; his poverty by his riches; his absolute possession of nothing by his possession of all things; so that the soul, pressed as it were by equal forces in opposite directions, necessarily maintains the central position of interior rest.

The state of mind, of which we are speaking, appears to be disclosed in one of the short prayers, that are found in Fenelon's Pious Reflections; a part of which is as follows.

"Oh Lord, I know not what I should ask of Thee. Thou only knowest what I want; and Thou lovest me, if I am thy friend, better than I can love myself. Oh Lord, give to me, thy child, what is proper, whatsoever it may be. I dare not ask either crosses or comforts. I only present myself before Thee. I open my heart to Thee. Behold my wants, which I am ignorant of; but do Thou behold and do according to thy mercy. Smite, or heal! Depress me, or raise me up! I adore all thy purposes, without knowing them. I am silent; I offer myself in sacrifice."

Such supplications give evidence of a mind, that is at rest in itself; a mind, that reposes with entire

confidence, whatever may be its temptations and sorrows, upon the Divine Mind.

The religious state of Madam Guyon, in the latter part of her life, illustrates this form of Christian experience. "In these last times" she says, "I can hardly speak at all of my dispositions. It is because my state has become simple and without variations. It is a profound annihilation. I find nothing in myself to which I can give a name; [that is, no feelings so specific and remarkable, separate from this simplicity and this loss of self in God, as to enable me to describe them.] All that I know, is, that God is infinitely holy, righteous, good, and happy."-All good is in him. As to myself, I am a mere NOTHING. To me every condition seems equal. All is lost in his immensity, like a drop of water in the sea. In this divine immensity, the soul sees itself no more."

In that state of internal experience, which is described by Madam Guyon, there seems to be a perfect balance and harmony of the different parts of the mind. There may be deep feeling, (and there is in reality very deep feeling,) but it is so perfectly controlled by a sense of union with the will of God, that the result is complete simplicity and rest of soul. Just as it is in a piece of complicated machinery. If the wheels and other parts are out of order, or if there is much friction, the action of the machinery is perplexed and is really weak, although there is exceedingly great jarring and discordant noise. But when the wheels are all in position, and there is no friction, the action may be

one of tremendous power, and yet so easy and quiet as to be hardly perceptible. And such is the true kingdom of God in the soul. It comes and exists with power, but with great simplicity. There is nothing in it, in itself considered, which is calculated to attract and secure worldly observation. It is mighty; but like God himself, it is inwardly silent, "a still, small voice." The religiously quiet man, that is to say, the man who is inwardly and truly subdued and quiet in consequence of religion, is really the man of great religious strength; and yet this strength, in consequence of that harmonious silence of movement, which is the result of its own perfection, is so hidden from his view, that he seems to be hardly conscious of its existence. But it is very different with the natural man; and also with the Christian, who still retains a large infusion of the natural element. While the operations of the sanctified man are harmonious and quiet; and, therefore, are withdrawn, in a great measure, from distinct inward notice; those of the natural mind are not only selfinterested, but are restless, impetuous, and contradictory; and, therefore, as a matter of course are mentally prominent and perceptible. The true controlling principle of the mind, in the case of the natural man, is gone; and its parts in action strike and jar upon each other with an inward concussion, like the hinges of the gates of Hell, that grate "harsh thunder.”

CHAPTER TWELFTH,

On the true idea of interior annihilation or nothingness.

WHEN We use the phrase "interior annihilation," we of course use it in a mitigated or qualified sense, as meaning not an entire extinction of any principles within us, but only an extinction of certain irregularities of their action. In other words, it is not an absolute annihilation; but only the annihilation of any thing and every thing which is wrong; the annihilation of what the Scriptures call the "old man," in distinction from the "new man, created anew in Christ Jesus," Perhaps we should not refer to this form of expression at all, nor make any remarks upon it, although it is sometimes a convenient one in the description of internal experience, were it not that it is often employed, or some phrase of equivalent import, in writers, particularly those of an ancient date, on the interior religious life. I believe, also, it is quite common among many Christians at the present time, to speak in rather a loose way of their Nothingness, of the importance of feeling that they are Nothing, and the like; which shows that this form of expression indicates the existence of some great

practical truth, although it may be but indistinctly developed, which is clear to the religious mind. We shall give our ideas on this subject, as plainly and concisely as we can.

FIRST.-The state of inward annihilation is characterized, in the first place, by the extinction of all unregulated or unsanctified love of created things, or "love of the creatures," as it is sometimes expressed. Accordingly, we cannot say that a person is interiorly lost or annihilated, who is in any degree the slave of his appetitites. The action of the appetites, when directed to their original objects, and when subjected to the regulation of a purified conscience, is undoubtedly consistent with this state that is to say, when they are exercised, not from a view to the mere pleasure which they afford, but in accordance with their primitive constitution, and consequently in accordance with the will of God. But he, who takes delight in the pleasures of the senses, and indulges the lower appetites of our nature, that the attendant pleasures, rather than the original objects of the senses may be realized, has not so crucified and slain himself, that he can be said to be inwardly annihilated. There is still within himself the germination and the growth of that form of selfish gratification, which may properly be called a "love of the creatures."

A similar statement may be made in regard to those principles, which are understood to be higher in rank than the Appetites; and which, in order to distinguish them from the lower or ap