another way of asking them to specify the law under which they conceive themselves to be. As they acknowledge no God, man is lord of the world, and human law is therefore the highest law. But as civil obedience does not by any means constitute the whole of what is accounted morality, man is said to be a law to himself”—and thus furnishes a standard for right conduct where the civil law fails.

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Now, law always implies a lawgiver an authoritative enacter, who has not only the right and power to impose the rule, but to attach the penalty. To say that man is a law to himself, is to use words without any very definite meaning. Man is not above himself; and yet he must be if he is to be a law to himself.

The laws, therefore, which Secularists say they must respect, are very few. We grant them civil laws; but the laws of what we call personal morality must be ignored. Lying, slander, covetousness, and a hundred other vices, are not in numerous cases violations of civil law, and yet are held in detesta. tion—another proof that Secular morality is a very despicable thing.

But it is not enough to point to what they call law. That law must have power. There must be motives prompting to its obedience, otherwise the most perfect collection of moral precepts would be worthless. What, then, are the guarantees of Secularism? Reason, the artistic sense, and utility— i.e., we presume, a man acts from the motives which these supply. Now, on secular grounds, vice will triumph, because these supply very inadequate motives. Utility, indeed, has a degrading tendency. To confound the useful and the right, as seen from a Secular stand point, is to license immorality. What serves a man's purpose, that it is perfectly lawful for him to do. The murder of his neighbour may thus become a virtue. Two men inhabit an island-they quarrel; the one kills the other, because it is useful. He has broken no civil law. His murder, therefore, is right. But civil law itself loses in power. If its penalties can be evaded, there will be no restraints to its violation. If theft can be accomplished with dexterity, it will be done; and the man will feel no remorse after his crime. He has nothing for which to grieve, because he has no evil consequences to fear; and grief without actual or prospective evil is an impossibility. Civil obedience would thus be greatly weakened, and political anarchy shortly ensue. Virtuous conduct would soon be at a discount; licentiousness and other vices would become prevalent. They prevail to a large extent already. Secularism would legalise them, and thus pave the way for a general deterioration of morals. There can, on Secular principles, be no sin in licentiousness. Men are a law to themselves, and may live as they like. To preach to the debauchee that such conduct is not useful, is merely to say that you differ from him as to the propriety of his course. As all men have the same destiny-since no punishment is eternal-he prefers a merry life and a short one to one of asceticism, even though it should be longer; so that to raise from vice and to preserve in virtue, Secular principles are powerless.

The appeal to the love of the beautiful is signally worthless. The highest æsthetic taste may co-exist with the most debasing passions. It did so in Greece; it does so even among us: so that the artistic sense does not serve the Secularist.

Nor is it of any avail to appeal to the natural feelings and affections; for, under the chill of atheism, these would become so blighted, and those which are depraved so strong, that immorality would be everywhere prevalent. Secularists can point to nothing to kindle love, to inspire hope, to wean from evil, or to attract to holiness. Man has a moral nature, but they cannot cultivate it.

The Power of Beligious Principle, or the Lesson of Luther's Life.

"I rose indignant when I saw men, under the authority of your name, shamelessly tricking Christ's people: it is against the Rome of those bad men that I have been fighting, and against which I will fight while a breath of faith remains in me."-Luther to Leo X.

"SIR," said Luther's father, when dying, to his pastor, "that must be a poor creature who has not the soul to believe in God and his mercy." In this, old John Luther uttered a most important truth. We know nothing which more quickly depraves the affections-deprives man of every noble impulse, and makes him the sport of his passions-than atheism. If there is one lesson which history and experience teach more plainly than another, it is, that according as men's notions of God have been pure and exalted, or low and unworthy, their characters have been correspondingly elevated or degraded. A rigid scrutiny of the progress of humanity thus proves that the source of all improvement is in true religious faith. Nations imbued with it show new life. They start up from lethargic repose, and display an activity and a power of self-government. Their existence is then marked off by a visible vitality. Instead of assuming the form which pressure from without would give them, they mould according to their own will whatever comes within their reach. And the same is true of individuals. When they see God as their father-when they discover the purpose of their being-and when they have faith and love, they acquire new strength; they see a definite purpose in life, and all things are made to work together for its accomplish

ment.

This is nobly illustrated in the life of Luther. His career is an important testimony to the value of Christian truth as an agent in the formation of human character. We need not give a biographical sketch of the reformer to show this; but we may refer to some of the leading incidents in his history. At an early age he withdrew from his companions, bade farewell to all the pleasures of society, and abandoned the world, that he might dedicate himself entirely to the service of God. Here were discovered the first germs of that principle which Christianity was to purify, strengthen, and erect into an irresistible moral power. During his stay in the convent of the Eremites of St. Augustin, this principle led him to undergo the severest labour and to perform the most menial services, while it preserved him pure and devout amidst the profanity and immorality with which he was surrounded.

When the light of divine truth began to stream in upon him from the pages of the old Bible in the library at Erfurt, and to penetrate into his heart, he arose like a "giant refreshed with wine." He burst the cords with which the Romish Church had bound him; he broke (and this was a more terrible task) those ties of love and friendship which were incompatible with his respect for the truth, and firmly and bravely he stood up to do battle single-handed against hundreds of foes.

At that time darkness covered the earth. The Papacy was all-dominant. The princes were awed by the Pope, and the people were the slaves of the Vatican. The power of life and death was with the occupant of St. Peter's chair. A council of infamous priests had condemned John Huss; and the blood of the Bohemian martyr cried in warning against the fiendish malice of Rome.

But although Luther knew the dangers he had to encounter, he did not flinch. He was roused to take a bold step by the daring blasphemy of the indulgence-monger Tezel; and he was determined, as he expressed it, to "make a hole in his drum." The Dominicans burned with rage against Luther. "Wait," said they, "only for a fortnight or four weeks at farthest, and this noted heretic will be burned." The Pope, alarmed at the bravery

of the young monk, charged his legate with a brief, empowering him to pronounce excommunication in case Luther could not be made to retract. But although the reformer saw danger threatening him on every side-though he knew his peace was broken, and his life imperilled, he never for a moment thought of concealing the truth or deserting his cause. "I have no will apart from that of the Lord," said he to the legate; "he will do with me what pleases him. But had I five heads, I would lose them all sooner than retract the testimony which I have borne to holy Christian faith." Bravely spoken these words! He owned a higher Master than man; and the will of that Master he had resolved at all hazards to respect.

As he continued to expound the truth of the gospel, and to expose the absurdities and iniquities of Rome, the rage of his enemies was increased, and their efforts to silence him redoubled. Hochstraten had managed to get the Universities of Louvaine and Cologne to condemn his doctrines; Erfurt University was on the eve of following their example; the priests of Misnia preached that there would be no sin in killing him; Serra Longa, orator of the conference at Augsburg, advised that he should be stoned; and Teutleben, a zealous Papist, endeavoured to alienate from him the Elector of Saxony, so that he might be unprotected. For a moment the heart of the great man sank, when he saw the dangers and difficulties he had to face, but he speedily rallied. Men who look on this life as the scene of existence, and who have no higher motives than worldly ones, would have crouched or fled. But the faith of the reformer gained new strength, and he prepared for the struggle. I despise the fury of Rome," says he, after resolving on the encounter, "and I despise her favour. No more reconciliation, no more communication with her for ever."

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The Pope fulminated a bull, but Luther showed his contempt for it, and for all the power the Papacy could bring against him, by consigning it to the flames. Summoned to Worms, he went, though against the entreaties of friends. When Spalatin, the confidant of the Elector, advised him to remain, "Go," said he, "and tell your master, that were there as many devils in Worms as there are tiles upon the roofs, I would enter." At the diet, he maintained his cause with such boldness, and displayed so intrepid a character, as to win even the admiration of opponents. "The catholic himself," says Audin, "if he will for a moment forget the sectary in the man, cannot but contemplate with admiration, in this grand historical scene of the diet of Worms, that black-robed monk, standing face to face with and bearding the throng of princes and nobles in their steel panoply, their gauntleted hands grasping the massive handles of their swords; and his heart will swell within him as he hears the clear, firm voice of the obscure brother Martin defying all the powers of the earth."* But we have only to look in on the reformer early in the morning, and before the hour of meeting, to discover the secret of his strength. We find him at that time praying most earnestly to God for support, crying out, "O God! O God! O thou, my God! assist me against all the wisdom of the world. Stand by my side, for the sake of thy well-beloved Son, Jesus Christ, who is my defence, my buckler, and my fortress." Thus he found that peace without which no man can do anything great." "He read the Word of God," we are told; "he glanced over his writings, and endeavoured to put his reply into proper shape. The thought that he was going to bear testimony to Jesus Christ and his word, in presence of the Emperor and the empire, filled his heart with joy. The moment of appearance was drawing near; he went up with emotion to the Sacred Volume, which was lying open on his table, put his left hand upon it, and lifting his right toward heaven, swore to remain faithful to the gospel, and to confess his faith freely, should he even seal his confession with his blood."+ tory here lifts the veil of the sanctuary," says D'Aubigne, "and shows us

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*Michelet's Life of Luther, p. 95.-Boyne's Edition.

+ D'Aubigne's Reformation. Vol. II., b. 7, c. 8.

"His

the secret place whence strength and courage were imparted to this humble man, who was the instrument of God in emancipating the soul and the thoughts of men, and beginning a new era.

We need not follow Luther to the close of life. His latter years displayed the same boldness, the same zeal, the same earnestness, and the same piety, as his earlier ones.

Now, in the history of this man we see the amazing power of faith in God. Had Luther been robbed of this, he would have been like Samson shorn of his locks, weak as other men. He would have quailed before his enemies. The requisite expenditure of strength, the perilling of life, and the surrender of worldly greatness, would have appalled him, and like those who make policy and not principle their guide, he would have accepted the bribe of the Papacy, put on the mitre, and lived and died at peace with Rome. Who can calculate what would have been the state of Europe now, had that "solitary monk who shook the world" never laid his hands on the Bible at Erfurt, or had no faith in the truth-no belief in God. At this day, the world might have been two centuries behind; Europe might have been just awakening from the opiate influence of Rome; and the reformation, with its blessings of liberty and knowledge and "undefiled religion," might still have been the work of the future.

With admiration, therefore, we contemplate the character of Luther. His honesty, his boldness, his activity, his sincerity, and his deep religious feeling the result of his faith, are all traits which commend themselves to every man's unbiassed affections, and which show the power and purifying influence of our religion. But these are not the only features of Luther's character which are worthy of being noted, as showing the effect of divine truth upon him. He was humble. Never was man more so. He had no desire for earthly greatness; he did not covet literary fame; he had no desire to be the founder of a sect that his name might be perpetuated. Such a desire was incompatible with that absorbing love of God which characterised him. "I love not," says he, "to stand forth in the midst of the world, for I am without knowledge, without talent, and far too feeble for such great things." It cost him many a struggle to cast off his early attachments, and to assume the antagonistic position he did. From the bottom of my soul," he says in a letter to Erasmus, "I call God to witness, that I should have continued on my fear, should have hesitated and hesitated up to the present day and onward, had not my conscience, had not the force of truth compelled me to speak."

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He hated strife, and yet his life was a continual warfare. Although of an ardent temperament, and often betrayed into undue warmth, yet he was anxious for peace. He was ready to confess an error in his conduct when he saw it, or to retract a statement when it was shown to be untrue. He had no desire to perpetuate factions or to glorify himself. He grieved at the commotions he saw. "I tremble," said he, "I shudder at the thought of being the cause of discord among such mighty princes." He kept out of play those grosser passions-hatred, revenge, and pride-which so often stir up and maintain vigorous opposition. He tried to frame his whole conduct with a reference to God's will. He took no account of the evils which came upon himself. He would have borne much personal suffering in order to obtain social quietude; but he was jealous of the name of his Master. With singleness of heart did he seek his glory in the good of men. "I have on several occasions," says Melancthon, "surprised him by himself, in the act of hot tears streaming down his cheeks, whilst earnestly entreating God for the good of the world." Though he stood with a dry eye and confronted kings, yet he melted into tears when he thought of his brethren as sinners before God. Then did he show that his great aim was, as he himself states, "to love all, but to fear none."

prayer,

His life is thus a noble lesson for all time. It shows how Christian truth can make a man a hero-how it fits into and braces up his whole moral

nature—how it affords an unfailing supply of spiritual strength-and thus enables, nay urges man to mould the world after its teachings. It proves that the most healthful impulses of social life are from religion; and that the welfare of the race only becomes dear to our souls when by revelation-that same volume that Luther perused so steadily and devoutly-we recognise God as our father, and men as our brethren, and are alive to the character of our position in this world and the purpose of our life.

Alleged Difficulties in the Gospels.

No. I.

IN our first number we exposed some mistakes of an author of the name of Evans Bell, who had thought fit to write a book, entitled "The Task of To-day," against the Bible, and we promised to notice others of his blunders at a future period. We now redeem our pledge, and proceed to examine some of the difficulties which he conceives to militate against the credibility of the Gospel histories. We premise only this:-That, supposing we cannot satisfactorily reconcile every apparent discrepancy among the Evangelists, the truth of Christianity is not thereby destroyed, as the historical basis on which it rests stands unaffected. The leading facts in the life of Jesus (and these sustain the truth of His doctrine) are supported by testimony, the validity of which cannot be gainsayed. The rejection of Christianity thus involves a man in ten thousand times greater difficulties than its acceptance; and hence the Christian, and not the infidel, is the rationalist, for he acts according to reason. But the difficulties Mr. Bell brings forward are not very formidable.

(1.) He asserts that "the story of the massacre of the innocents is unsupported by any contemporaneous history, and could not possibly have occurred in a Roman province;" that "Josephus, who dwells at great length on the barbarous cruelties perpetrated by Herod, does not make the slightest allusion to his having ordered a massacre of infants," pp. 66-7.

Now, the silence of a profane historian does not show that an Evangelist has erred. The mere fact that Josephus does not record Herod's cruelty to the children is no proof that Matthew tells a falsehood; while the fact that Josephus' character of Herod is consistent with the action Matthew attributes to him, is presumptive evidence of the accuracy of the Evangelist. The historians of the same period do not always relate the same facts. Seutonius states facts which Tacitus does not mention; and Dion Cassius refers to some which neither of them relate. Mr. Bell's logic is, therefore, lame, and his objection worthless.

(2). As Luke makes no mention of the descent to Egypt and the return, it is said that it is "utterly impossible to reconcile his narrative with Matthew's," p. 66. But omission is not contradiction. If Luke had said there was no flight to Egypt, then there would have been a real discrepancy; but he does not say this. He merely states that, when Joseph and Mary had "performed all things according to the law of the Lord, they returned into Galilee, into their own city Nazareth." They might have gone down to Egypt after the circumcision of Jesus-and from Matthew we learn they did; but they afterwards returned, as Luke states, to Nazareth. All that Luke's narrative warrants is, that certain ceremonies were performed before Joseph and Mary went northwards-and thus it is in perfect harmony with that of Matthew. (3.) The descent of the Holy Ghost at the baptism of Christ is ridiculed as an ornithological incarnation," as, according to Mr. B., it was in the 'bodily shape' of a dove," p. 67.

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This attempt at wit, however, might have been spared. The narrative states that the Spirit descended in a bodily shape" like a dove. But the likeness refers rather to the manner of descent, if we consult the Greek, than to the bodily form.