its dignity, to a nobler office which, in the days of his vanity, he imagines to lie behind it. Let no man enter the ministry, who does not, with all his soul, choose it above any other position to which the service of God invites him. Let no man enter the ministry, to whose sympathies the intense individuality of the Gospel in its application to the souls of men is not congenial. Let no man enter the ministry, who has no theological enthusiasm in the discussion of the doctrines of religion as the chief themes of the pulpit. Let no man enter the ministry, whose professional ardor will not, through the grace of God, sustain him in a lifelong labor of elaborate, argumentative, and yet earnest, heartfelt preaching.

Let no man, however, enter the ministry, faint in spirit, because of the greatness of the aims he must cherish, if he would illustrate in his life's work the power of the Gospel. A preacher's work is one which contains within itself, the power to invigorate the hand of him who gives himself devotedly to it. By the presence of One who said: "Lo! I am with you always," it is made, in itself, an inspiring work. A youthful painter was once directed by his master, to complete a picture on which the master had been obliged to suspend his labors on account of his growing infirmities. "I commission thee, my son," said the aged artist, "to do thy best upon this work. Do thy best." The young man had such reverence for his master's skill, that he felt incompetent to touch the canvas which bore the work of that renowned hand. "Do thy best," was the old man's calm reply; and again, to repeated solicitations, he answered: "Do thy best." The youth tremblingly seized the brush, and kneeling before his appointed work, he prayed: "It is for the sake of my beloved master, that I implore skill and power to do this deed." Then, with suppressed emotion, he commenced his work, and he caught from it an inspiration. His hand grew steady as he painted. Slumbering genius awoke in his eye. Enthusiasm took the place of fear. Forgetfulness of himself supplanted his self-distrust, and with a calm joy he finished his labor. The "beloved mas

ter"

was borne on his couch into the studio, to pass judgment on the result. As his eye fell upon the triumph of Art before him, he burst into tears, and throwing his enfeebled arms around the young artist, he exclaimed: "My son, I paint no more." That youth subsequently became the painter of "The Last Supper," the ruins of which, after the lapse of three hundred years, still attracts annually, to the refectory of an obscure convent in Milan, hundreds of the worshippers of Art. So shall it be with a youthful preacher, who stands in awe of the work to which his Master calls him. Let him give himself away to it as his life's work, without reserve; let him do his best. Let him kneel reverently before his commission, and pray "for the beloved Master's sake," that power and skill may be given him "to do this deed." And the spirit of that Master shall breathe in the very greatness of the work. It shall strengthen him. His hand shall grow firm and his heart calm. His eye shall not quail in the presence of kings. He shall stand undismayed before those who in the kingdom of God are greater than they. Years of trust and of tranquil expectation, shall follow his early struggles. Or, if emergencies thicken as he advances, and one after another of those on whom his spirit has leaned for support falls from his side, he shall be as the young men who increase in strength. He shall learn to welcome great trials of his character. With a holier joy than Nelson felt at Trafalgar, he shall look up and say of every such crisis in his ministry: "I thank Thee, O my God, that Thou hast given me this great opportunity of doing my duty."

ARTICLE IV.

ADVANCE IN THE TYPE OF REVEALED RELIGION.

By Rev. I. E. Dwinell, Salem, Mass.

THERE is not, and never has been, it may safely be assumed, a grander history in progress among men than that of true religion. All other histories centre in it, and are of value as they relate to it. The monuments of art, science, government, and humanity, are taken up into it or are its attendant ministers. Its sweep bridges over all time, — its two abutments resting in the two eternities, the one in the original and eternal purpose of God, and the other in the everlasting bliss of heaven. And if one could take his stand on some eminence commanding this world and the next, and have the disclosures of both fully before him, he would also see that, while the developments of time find their unity in the lines of subordination which bind them to true religion, and while true religion has from the smallest beginnings swept on by a succession of marches, laterally through the earth and downwards through the centuries, it has at the same time been undergoing a series of advances of far more moral grandeur and beauty; advances in its own revealed nature and character. He would see that, while historically, true religion has been progressing externally, it has, historically, been progressing internally also, revealing ever and again fresher beauties and higher perfections or elements of perfection.

Everything pertaining to a movement so sublime, and relating so directly to the highest interests of humanity, deserves careful study. We propose, therefore, in this Article, to discuss, rapidly, the Advance discoverable in the Type of Revealed Religion.

In treating this subject, it may exhaust the points of useful examination if we consider the Necessity of Advance,

its Nature, and finally some of its Illustrations and Verifica

tions.

I. The Necessity of progress in revealed religion lies in the fact that God, in dealing with the race to bring it to the knowledge and love of himself, has chosen to work in accordance with man's mental and moral constitution. He might have disregarded this, might have shivered it as a potter's vessel, and then, by a single touch of his almightiness, reconstituted humanity and given it, at once, a perfect religion. But he was not dissatisfied with man's original constitution. He made him, in reference to the fundamental laws of his being, as he desired him to remain. He did not repent of his work. Accordingly, the problem was: How to join Divine interposition on to what was already in man, so as, by working through him, and not on him, to make him a thoroughly religious being. This could only be done by coming down to his capacity, adapting a system of religious training to his religious state, and elevating the tone of that system as his religious culture would bear it; and this is progress in the type of religion.

And the necessity of this will be still more apparent, when we consider the low spiritual condition of the race when God began to deal with it to recover it from the effects of the fall and educate it for himself. For, as Dr. Harris remarks (Man Primeval, pp. 431-2), "the supposition that man was not merely potentially, but actually perfect, from the earliest moment of his creation, besides controverting the true theory of human nature, is out of harmony with the inspired narrative," which represents God as dealing with him "with a first lesson in moral obligation, morality made easy," and "impairs our view of the Divine goodness." And hence, when this mere undeveloped and potential perfection was dashed into fragments by sin, the ruins, after reaching the bottom of their earthly descent, whether that were at once or after a lapse of ages, must have been complete and in themselves hopeless.

Imagine, then, a community sunk by a fearful moral convulsion in depravity; its intellect rude; its knowledge lim

ited, for the most part, to a narrow circle of sensible experiences; all insight into the spirit-world interrupted; God forgotten or crudely conceived of; immortality a mystery; worship the product of conjecture and caprice, or reduced to its most elementary form; with no spiritual leaders far in advance, already the depositaries and dispensers of a perfected religion, or the ready organs by means of which Heaven could hand such a religion over to the rest; but all alike, though not equally, sunk and bewildered and groping among the first elements. Now, how shall God deliver among them a perfect religious system, a perfect religion, and do this, not by violating or re-creating their spiritual being, but by acting in accordance with it? This is the problem. Shall he inculcate it all at once, and in its perfect form? Impossible. It would go over their heads. It would find no point of contact in them. Neither the mind nor the heart could fasten on it. It would hang as a garment, or drag as a chain, on the outside of humanity. The truths and doctrines would be dreams, not faiths; the duties bondage, not obedience; the issues and rewards spectral visions, not certain realities. God must fit a casket before he has a place in which to lodge the heavenly jewels. A developed and mature religion cannot be let down into humanity, till humanity has a preparation for it; and this it gains by a process of slow and gradual culture, beginning with the rudiments. For this purpose, the Eternal must come down to the weakness of man. The Infinite Teacher contract to the dimensions of the human; the Most High put himself in contact, and thus in communication, with the lowly. The Elisha must lie upon the child, and put his mouth upon his mouth, and his eyes upon his eyes, and his hands upon his hands, and stretch himself upon him, that the flesh of the child may wax warm, and that he may infuse into him life.

And the same necessity that existed for an original adaptation, exists for a parallel and progressive adaptation corresponding with the advance of the race. The Great Teacher must, however, ever keep in advance of the learner, VOL. XIV. No. 54.

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