so much in our banishing them from the mind-as in our triumph over them. That is a strong faith, which sees difficulties, weighs them, and fears them; but refuses to be deterred by them from the path of duty.

This was God designs

Mordecai was troubled at the decree. not wrong, but perfectly natural. that we should feel our adversities, should mourn at the frowns of his providence, and then roll our care upon him. Nor must we forget an important matter, which entered as an essential element into Mordecai's humiliation. He mourned for the calamities threatening his people. If personal differences only had existed between himself and the Agagite, it may be, Mordecai would have acted otherwise. Or had the haughty foe of his faith singled him out as a Jew, the solitary object of his hatred, he would perhaps have gone even to death with the spirit and bearing of a martyr, scorning the hereditary foe, and rejoicing to die for his faith; and no cry of bitterness would have wailed through the streets of Shushan; no pang of regret would have rent the heart of Mordecai, as he passed to join the noble army of witnesses, who have sealed with their blood the testimony of God. But the nation of Mordecai was involved in the revenge of Haman; and however firm was the faith of this heroic man in the final issue of Israel's triumph, it was impossible for him to foresee at how great a cost to his people this new conflict might be. It was no light thing to

Mordecai, that upon him lay the responsibility of provoking the conflict; and though well assured of the rectitude of his principles and the sincerity of his motives, he could not repress some anxious solicitude for the measures he had taken; some earnest searchings of heart to see whether he might not have fulfilled his entire duty to God without involving Israel in trouble like this. Times of severe trials lead us to search our motives; and even when we judge that we have done as we ought-that if things were again to do, we would pursue the same course; we may yet see reason to mourn the calamities our faithfulness may have brought upon others.

The first tidings of the decree greatly distressed Mordecai. Regardless of appearances, he ran through the streets in wild excitement, bewailing even to the gates of the palace, the calamity of hist people. But he does not spend all his strength in vain lamentations. Strong emotions cannot last long; and it is well they cannot. Mordecai is as deeply grieved afterwards, but his mind becomes. more composed; he carefully considers how the threatening storm may be averted; and he earnestly sets to work to carry his plan into execution. That grief which unfits us for duty is inordinate and unsubmissive; while true submission is entirely consistent with the use of measures to secure consolation, when our trials are beyond remedy; and to secure relief from evils, which may be averted.

What are we to say of that sentence upon this

truthful page, "None might enter into the king's gate clothed with sackcloth?" The halls of Ahasuerus were set apart for gayety and mirth; the grotesque robe of the buffoon, or the embroidered cloak that covered the painted hypocrite, might freely enter there; but the coarse, rough clothing that betokened distress and sorrow, was debarred entrance to the palace of the king. Was this too an unalterable. decree in the wise realm of Persia? Are edicts fraught with distress unutterable, ever to go forth from those marble chambers, and yet the ponderous gates be never thrown open, that sorrow, or the tidings of sorrow, from a stricken nation or a sinful race, may perchance reach the ear of the king? And can we imagine it possible, that in that abode of splendid tyranny, no sighs were ever heaved, no tears ever fell? When the tidings of Vashti's disgrace fell heavily upon the ear of the beautiful queen, did no thoughts befitting the sackcloth cross her heart? Amid the cruel desolation of so many fair damsels, torn from the abodes of parental tenderness to pine in the harem of the Persian king, were there neither visible griefs, nor secret lamentations? Had the mighty king forbidden his porters to open up at the knock of that impartial messenger, whose dark shadow falls alike upon the threshold of the palace and of the cottage? If one Persian king was angry that the waves of the sea would not do his bidding; shall another frown that death will not stay at his command? Had Ahasue

rus forgotten the only wise thing that history has recorded of his father; the memorable weeping of Xerxes at the rapid and resistless march of inexorable death?

Yet we need not wonder at the foolish mandateSackcloth may not enter the palace of the king. It would indeed have been wiser far, if the voice of sorrow had often been welcomed there; if sackcloth and mourning had been freely invited guests; if the voice of revelry had given place to an appointed messenger ever sounding, in the monarch's ears, the fact of his mortality; if instead of increasing his people's sorrows, he had been ever ready to hear them, to sympathize with them and to relieve them; and if salutary thoughts of death had prepared Ahasuerus himself to die. But we are not surprised at these words of folly in the Persian court, for the spirit that dictated such an order, is still existing where it finds no direct utterance in such words of folly. Is it not true, that in the halls of modern gayety, in the circles of fashion, in the abodes of luxury, and in parties of vain pleasure, these thoughts of sorrow and mortality are yet guests as unwelcome as the sackcloth garment in the Persian palace? Do not men now banish all thoughts of grief and death, and all preparation for that most certain and most important event? How many of us love to think of that solemn hour, and have made an intelligent preparation for it? And why should we not? Do thoughts of sorrow have any tendency to bring

sorrow upon us? When we allow our minds to reflect upon death, can such reflections have any tendency to hasten the footsteps of the final messenger, that he may knock the more speedily at our door? Certainly this is not so.

When the commander of a fortress about to be besieged takes his glass, and examines the number and power of the approaching enemy, it is only apparently and not really, that the danger is brought nearer. He is better able by means of his telescope to discern the peril; to understand how great it is; to prepare to meet it, and perhaps to overcome it; but certainly his clear vision neither hastens the hour of danger, nor increases the danger itself. It is purely an advantage. So, thoughtful contemplation, through the glass of God's holy word, of grief and death, may give us better ideas of sorrow, and prepare us to meet it when it comes; but it can have no effect to increase the power of our troubles over. us, nor to hurry forward the visits they make to our abodes.

The true reasons for the decree of Ahasuerus, and for the banishment of serious thoughts from human minds, are the aversion of man's heart to good; the power of conscience that dares not think of death; and the love of those frivolous and often guilty pleasures, that are so easily marred by the sounds of sorrow. Before we curl the lip in scorn at this new token of Persian folly, let us examine whether we ourselves are truly wise on this point. We are in a