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darkness seemed to regain the empire of the world, when the very light became darkness, and when His servants witnessed for His name and truth, “clothed in sackcloth," and hidden in the recesses of mountains, and in many dens and caves of the earth. All this may be hard to believe, but it is nevertheless true. Whatever outward changes may take place, however apparently contrary may be the aspects of events, the immutable throne of Christ is established in the heavens.

This leads to a last remark—that amid all the changes which may be traced in the history of Christ's Redemption from its beginning in the first promise, there has been an unchangeable purpose running through and underlying them all. The world's history as it often presents itself to our eyes is a mass of anarchy. Its parts are disjointed fragments. Its small events are as the chaff of the summer threshing-floor, driven hither and thither by the wind, and its great events as boulders or mountain masses torn from their foundation, jumbled against each other, and carried whither the chance currents of a troubled world might perforce bear them. But this is altogether a mistake. The changes which affected the body and the surface of this globe for untold ages before the creation of man were all designed to produce, and each of them in its measure and manner tended towards, that condition in which man found it when he opened his eyes on its riches and beauty. Not less closely connected together, not less certainly tending towards one consummation, have all the events of human history been. The links which joined one to another, and the tending of all towards one glorious result, have often been unseen, and beyond the discovery of human eye. But they have been there nevertheless, and devout seekers after them have often been startled by finding them where they least expected, and have exclaimed, "The very wrath of man shall praise Thee, the remainder of wrath (that which will not praise Thee, which will not be overruled for Thy glory,) Thou wilt restrain."

The purpose which has underlain the history of man from the beginning and which has bound it into a whole, has been like the advancing tide—ever advancing, though sometimes seeming to recede, or like the rising sun rejoicing like a strong man to run his appointed race-ascending the heavens steadily and perseveringly, as truly when clouds and darkness have hidden him from human eye as when with unclouded brightness He has awed and illumined the world. This purpose is unfailing, unchanging as the life of God-" As truly as I live, saith the Lord, all the earth shall be filled with my glory." There is nothing so unchangeable as the life of God. The mountains which we call everlasting shall depart, the hills shall be removed. But the life of God knows no change. Ebbing and flowing, waxing and waning, beginning and ending, are terms which do not apply to it. And this life of God is the sign and the pledge of the unchangeableness of the purpose of which Christianity is the means and the fulfilment. And more truly than the poet addressed the sea, may we say to God's purpose of love and grace to men :

"Time writes no wrinkles on Thine azure brow;

Such as Creation's dawn beheld, Thou rollest now."

THE SCEPTIC'S DEMAND FOR A "SIGN ;"

OR,

JOHN HOWE ON POSSIBLE METHODS OF REVELATION.

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BY THE REV. WALTER HARDIE, B.A.

If the three requisites for a great preacher are a strong head, a warm heart, and a good bodily constitution," it may be affirmed that John Howe must have been eminent even among the grand old Puritans. Defects of style he undoubtedly has, and these have probably discouraged many readers from seeking more than an initiatory acquaintance with his writings. But judging from the effects produced by his preaching, and the estimation in which his works have always been held, we should be prepared to find some uncommon excellence which more than compensates such faults, some inward beauty worthy of a less uncouth exterior. Indeed his thoughts are often singularly beautiful and original. writings abound in sublimity. has pathos that melts you to tears, and imagination rich and magnificent. And through all there breathes a living spirit that elevates and tranquillizes the mind, and makes you feel that the man before whose majestic presence and piercing eye Cromwell was affected with awe and veneration, William of Orange forgot his cold reserve, and Tillotson was moved to tears, must have been a man of mental stature and moral excellence far superior even to those whom we are accustomed to look upon as great.

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We wish to introduce our readers to the fifth chapter of the first part of The Living Temple; and we are persuaded that if they will commence their acquaintance with his works at

this point, it will soon be extended to other portions of his invaluable writings. Our chief motive, however, in selecting it is the appositeness of its reasoning to the prevalent scepticism of our own times; for in the present day we hear perpetually sounded in our ears the old demand, "Master, we would see a sign from Thee." There is a great boast about "advanced thought," and "the progress of scientific ideas," and a vague something which those who see it describe as "the Christianity of the Future." For our own part we believe the Christianity of the future will be very much like the Christianity of the past. God grant that it may be! May those truths which Apostles preached, and for which martyrs died, continue to impress the hearts of men as they have done in days of yore! Let their influence become deeper and loftier, let there be less mingling of human prejudice and ignorance; but may the flame of Christian love never be extinguished by the cold light of intellectual scornfulness, and may the pyramid of Christian faith, whose basis is as broad as mankind and whose summit pierces the sky, never crumble to decay before the spreading spirit of universal doubt. We have no fear that we shall come to that! Yet it is the issue to which the muchvaunted spirit of the present day would lead us. Perhaps the talk is somewhat too loud considering how many do not share the deistical spirit which so largely asserts itself in our

literature; yet there is no doubt that with the ill-disguised infidelity of many even in the Established Church, the boastful scepticism of a large number of our literary and scientific men, and the blatant deism-blatant though learned-of the continent, there is a widespread spirit of unbelief which, forsooth, is too "rational" to deny the existence of a supreme Deity,and so avoids the absurdities of Atheism, but at the same time professes itself too "rational" also to admit that the Deity has revealed Himself in the manner which the Scriptures affirm! Dissatisfied with the evidence presented in the Bible, the Deist demands that if God has really spoken to us at all you should give him some other " sign." There shall no sign be given. The desired evidence is not forthcoming, for decisive evidence already exists and abounds. There is all the difference in the world between these two things. The latter is what God considers to be enough, while the former is what man fancies would suit him better; and the latter is enough when our hearts are in a proper state, whereas the former never would satisfy us-for supposing one demand to be accorded, we should immediately call out in petulance and caprice for something else.

The manner in which Howe deals with this demand is masterly and triumphant. It would be impossible for us, in the space allotted to this article, adequately to present to the reader the cogency of his arguments, the completeness of his investigations, and the occasional grandeur of his eloquence. We shall try, however, to present the sort of argument he employs, and, wherever it is possible, to use his own words. He reminds

us that, conceding the fact of God's existence, no one will deny that it is possible for Him, in many conceivable ways, to certify us of the fact-possible for Him to reveal Himself to us in some way suitable to our present state. This is granted by all. Its feasibility defies cavil. For it were absurd to say that God, who made us, has made us capable of knowing Him, and yet cannot reveal Himself to those very capabilities which He has given us. And the position which our author maintains is, that there is no other method by which He might reveal Himself, at all conceivable to human reason, which would not be open to even stronger objections, and which would not, on the whole, be even less convincing, than the revelation already presented to us in the Scriptures.

What sort of evidence, then, does the Deist desire ? Is he waiting to receive some powerful impression on his mind, an impression so powerful as to overbear all his present reluctance? Would this remove the indisposition of his heart to embrace the Gospel? Where would be the change in him if he were irresistibly captivated by it? He would be as passive in that case as he is inert in the present. Would a voice from the dead, or an apparition from the world' of spirits, affect him to belief? The impression of such things, if powerful at all, would make him mute in terror. Paralysed by fear, he would lose the self-command indispensable for the exercise of faith. Or, perhaps, another sign might then appear desirable in order to impress him with the reality of this, and to convince him that he had not been deceived. For, have not the air and the clouds already

been, many a time, thus terribly vocal, saluting his ears with the pealing thunder? And suppose that, in some subtle manner, such sounds became articulate, so that he could hear the very voice of God speaking audibly, and calling him by name: might not the desire for 66 a sign" even then rise superior to the impressions of such an event, and " serve that turn also?" If you ask for wonders to impress you, examine yourself-the marvellous fabric of your body, and the glorious frame of your soul. Behold the structure of the world-the orderly motions of the sun, and moon, and planets. But, you say, it is not merely something wonderful in itself that we want, for we have lost the impression of many wonderful things around us through our familiarity with them. What you demand, then, is something that shall surprise you by its novelty, as well as amaze you by its grandeur. Have you never read of him who desired that one might go from the dead to warn his brethren, "lest they also should come into the place of torment"? And what was the reply? "If they hear not Moses and the prophets, neither will they be persuaded though one rose from the dead." For, consider how useless *such a sign would be. To answer its purpose, it must be given to everyone who may desire such assurance, or else he from whom it is withheld may complain that sufficient evidence has not been given him. Suppose, then, it is given to all. Then will not the frequent repetition of even these most amazing things, by destroying the novelty which you said was indispensable, wear off their impression, until you gradually relapse into asking

again for yet another sign? Or if, in order that men may believe, their minds must be always thus filled with consternation and wonder, your demand is as if men could not act rationally without being driven half mad! And is such a state of mind at all congruous with that trust in God, and peaceful fellowship with Him, wherein the very life of religion consists? For God to reveal Himself in such a way would be to destroy the end for which He reveals Himself at all.

But the Scriptures do tell us of some of those rare discoveries which He has made of Himself—not granted, indeed, to everyone who might desire such a sign, but given in a manner decisive for all. Behold His sensible appearance on Mount Sinai. The black cloud settles on the hallowed mount. The thunders peal, and the lightnings gleam around it. Loud above these, the sound of the trumpet, all unearthly and celestial, proclaims the Lord's descent. In fire He comes; and its flames envelop the trembling mount, as it rocks on its new pavement of sapphire clear as the body of heaven. Then from amidst that terrible glory, "the voice of words"-loud and dreadful as the voice of God--is heard by the vast assembly, pronouncing "I am Jehovah, thy God!" and Moses said, "I do exceedingly fear and quake." And the people" entreated that the word should not be spoken to them any more." They apprehended that it would be impossible for them to outlive such another sight."

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Hereupon Howe makes the following remarks:-"And if that so amazing an appearance of the Divine majesty, sometime afforded, were not necessary,

but some way on-the-bye useful, for the confirming that people in the persuasion of God's existence, why may it not be useful also for the same purpose even now to us? Is it that we think that can be less true now, which was so gloriously evident to be true four thousand years ago? or is it that we can disbelieve or doubt the truth of the history? What should be the ground or pretence of doubt? If it were a fiction it is manifest it was feigned by some person that had the use of his understanding and was not beside himself, as the coherence and contexture of parts doth plainly show. But would any man not beside himself, designing to gain credit to a forged report of a matter-of-fact, ever say there were six hundred thousand persons present at the doing of it? Would it not rather have been pretended done in a corner? Or is it imaginable it should never have met with contradiction? That none of the pretended bystanders should disclaim the avouchment of it, and say they knew of no such matter? ... When they discovered, in that and succeeding time, so violently prone and untractable a propension to idolatry and other wickednesses directly against the very letter of that law, how welcome and covetable a plea had it been... could they have had such a thing to pretend-that the law itself that curbed them was a cheat! yet they never went about to implead its Divine original, whereof they were ever so religious assertors as no people under heaven could be more; and the awful apprehension whereof prevailed so far with them as that care was taken, as is notoriously known, by those appointed to that charge, that the very letters

should be numbered of the sacred writings; lest there should happen any the minutest alteration in them?"

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The whole of this portion of his argument is briefly summed up in the following words :--"So that upon the whole, I see not why it may not be concluded with the greatest confidence, that both the supposed existence of a Deity is possible to be certainly known to men on earth, in some way that is suitable to their present state; that there are no means fitter to be ordinary than those we already have; and that more extraordinary additional confirmations are partly therefore not necessary, and partly not wanting." Having thus examined and replied to the demand for a sign," he proceeds to investigate two other demands. These are really counter-questions addressed to the sceptic, And the use he makes of them in skilfully fitting the cap of credulity on the head of the unbeliever, is very admirable. First, he asks, "Can subjects, remote from their prince, sufficiently be assured of his existence ?" Nothing can be more happy or successful than the turn he gives to this question. "To say No, is to raze the foundation of civil government, and reduce it wholly to domestical,by such a ruler as may ever be in present view; which yet is upon such terms never possible to be preserved so." The force of this argument is easily brought home. Let us suppose for ourselves, that some peasant on the mountains of Cumberland, who had never wandered many miles from his native place, and whose only knowledge of the outlying world came to him through hearsay and the gossip of travellers, were to demand how he could be sufficiently assured" of the

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