tion. A person may pay his debts, for instance, because, if he do not, he will go to prison. But you can never be quite sure that the law will be obeyed when you only appeal to fear. If a man be a clever scoundrel he may avoid detection, or, if detected, he may perhaps be able to make his escape before the punishment can be inflicted. And a stupid scoundrel, probably not knowing that he is stupid, will often run a similar risk. So, while the law depends solely upon fear for its fulfilment, however vigilant may be our police, however upright our courts of justice, however severe may be the condemnation of society, we have no security for its fulfilment, and as a matter of fact we know that it is constantly being violated.

Further, the law is not fulfilled by those who are satisfied with the mere fulfilment of its letter. You see the letter of the law is enforced by the punishment of society, and just because so enforced it is of necessity very limited in its scope. As Bentham explains in his principles of jurisprudence, the written law only takes cognisance of vices which can be clearly defined and readily distinguished. If it attempted to cover a larger area-if, for example, it endeavoured to punish ingratitude or unkindness-it would do more

harm than good. It is difficult, or rather impossible, to find out when and to what extent such sins have been committed. If, therefore, the law attempted to deal with them, it would be in constant danger of punishing the less guilty or even the innocent, and of allowing the more guilty to get off scot-free. And further, this unjust administration of justice would involve an amount of inquisitive surveillance which would be more hurtful to society than the evils which, after all, it failed to prevent. For these reasons, then, the spirit of the law, which is "Thou shalt do no ill to thy neighbour," has to be narrowed in the letter, where we read only, "Thou shalt not injure thy neighbour in a certain few definite ways." From this, of course, it follows that the man who is contented with keeping the letter of the law is most undoubtedly guilty of violating its spirit. He goes but a little way along the path of duty. We sometimes meet with men who never commit any punishable injury, but who are to the last degree cold, callous, hardhearted, and selfish. We are quite sure they would not rob or murder us, but we are equally sure they would not move their little finger to do us any good, would not raise their hand to save us from destruction. These men do incalculable

mischief, and that of the worst kind. They injure the moral nature of their neighbours, whose best affections are dwarfed, or it may be destroyed, by their inhumanity, just as fruit is blighted by the frost. They do all that in them lies to make other men into moral pigmies like themselves. Hence, though they are not guilty of any punishable breach of the law, they are guilty of violating its spirit, they do ill to their neighbours.

Now Christ saw, what the wisest philosophers before Him had failed to see, that the law could only be fulfilled by love-in other words, that we could only avoid injuring others by actually doing them good. In the kingdom of Christ, not only has a man's neighbour ceased to be his enemy, but he has actually become his friend. This idea lies at the root of all Christ's work and teaching. The kingdom which He founded is one in which the members are to be united by the ties of brotherly kindness. "All ye are brethren," he said to His disciples; and, again, "A new commandment I give unto you, That ye love one another; as I have loved you, that ye also love one another. By this shall all men know that ye are my disciples, if ye have love one to another." This new commandment summed up and supplemented all the old.

Understood in the sense in which Christ meant it to be understood, as referring, not to a transient sentimentalism, but to a life-long practice, it covers the whole field of human existence. Love inevitably leads to those self-sacrificing acts of kindliness which we have seen to be essential to complete self-development; and therefore St John says, "We know that we have passed from death unto life, because we love the brethren." The narrow, meagre, paltry, isolated life which the unloving live is more properly called death. Then alone do we truly live, then alone do we live the Christ-like and divine life for which we were created, when we are inspired and actuated by love; for nothing but this can enable us to find our happiness, as we ought to find it, in the happiness of others. The importance of the new commandment is everywhere insisted upon throughout the New Testament. Though I speak with the tongues of men and of angels," says St Paul, "and have not charity, I am become as sounding brass, or a tinkling cymbal. And though I have the gift of prophecy, and understand all mysteries, and all knowledge; and though I have all faith, so that I could remove mountains, and have not charity, I am nothing. And though I bestow all my goods to

feed the poor, and though I give my body to be burned, and have not charity, it profiteth me nothing." But the strongest evidence as to the comprehensiveness of the new commandment is to be found in the fact, that Christ intimates the divine verdict upon our life will be favourable or unfavourable, according as this commandment has been obeyed or neglected. "Come! . . . for I was an hungered, and ye gave me meat: I was thirsty, and ye gave me drink: I was a stranger, and ye took me in." "Depart! . . . for I was an hungered, and ye gave me no meat: I was thirsty, and ye gave me no drink: I was a stranger, and ye took me not in."'

According to the plain teaching of the New Testament, then-according to the explicit statement of our lord—no man can be a Christian, however orthodox his creed, however numerous his religious observances, unless he is inspired and actuated by the spirit of love.

And if you ask me how you may become so inspired, I answer, first of all and to some extent by reflection. This love is far more amenable to reason than the passion which goes by the same name. "We may set ourselves," as George Eliot. has put it, we may studiously set ourselves "to learn something of the poetry and pathos lying