wall is his own conceit; but the name of the Lord is a strong tower indeed (Prov. xviii. 10, 11). This is the thing that all seek, some fence and fixing; and here it is. We call you not to vexation and turmoil, but from it, and as St. Paul said, "Whom ye ignorantly worship, Him declare I unto you." Ye blindly and fruitlessly seek after the show and shadow instead of the substance. The true aiming at this fixedness of mind will secure that, though they that aim fall short, yet, by the way they will light on very pretty things that have some virtue in them, as they that seek the philosopher's stone. But the believer hath the thing, the secret itself of tranquillity and joy, and this turns all into gold, even iron chains into a crown of gold: while we look not at the things which are seen, but at the things which are not seen (2 Cor. iv. 17, 18). This is the blessed and safe estate of believers. Who then can think they have a sad, heavy life? Oh! it is the only lightsome, sweet, cheerful condition in the world. The rest of men are poor, rolling, unstayed things, every report shaking them, as the leaves of trees are shaken with the wind; yea, lighter than these, they are as the chaff that the wind drives to and fro at its pleasure (Isa. vii. 2; Psa. 1-4). Would men but reflect and look in upon their own hearts, it is a wonder what vain childish things the most would find there, glad and sorry at things as light as the toys of children, at which they laugh and cry in a breath. How easily is the heart puffed up with a thing or a word that pleaseth us, bladder-like, swelled with a little air, and it shrinks in again in discouragement and fear, upon the touch of a needle point, which gives that air some vent.

What is the life of the greatest part but a continual tossing betwixt vain hopes and fears ? All their days are spent in these. Oh! how vain a thing is man even in his best estate while he is nothing but himself—his heart not united to and fixed on God, disquieted in vain! And how small a thing will do it. He needs no other than his own heart; it may prove disquietment enough to himself: his thoughts are his tormentors.

I know some men are, by a stronger understanding and by moral principles, somewhat raised above the vulgar, and speak big of a certain constancy of mind; but these are but flourishes, an acted bravery. Somewhat there may be that will hold out in some trials, but it will fall far short of this fixedness of faith. Troubles may so multiply as to drive them at length from their posture, and may come on so thick, with such violent blows, as

will smite them out of their artificial guard, disorder all their Seneca and Epictetus, and all their own calm thoughts and high resolves. The approach of death, though they make a good mien and set the best face on it, or if not death, yet some other kind of terror, may seize on their spirits, which they are not able to shift off. But the soul trusting in God is prepared for all, not only for the calamities of war, pestilence, famine, poverty, or death, but in the saddest apprehensions of soul, beyond hope, believes in hope; even in the darkest night casts anchor on God, reposes on Him when it sees no light.

(From A Sermon on the Believer's Blessedness.)

THE INHERITANCE

No spot of sin or sorrow there; all pollution wiped away, and all tears with it; no envy nor strife; not as here among men, one supplanting another, one pleading and fighting against another, dividing this point of earth with fire and sword :-no, this inheritance is not the less by division, by being parted among so many brethren; everyone hath it all, each his crown, and all agreeing on casting them down before His throne from whom they have received them, and in the harmony of His praises.

This inheritance is often called a kingdom, and a crown of glory. This last word may allude to those garlands of the ancients and this is its property, that the flowers in it are all amaranths (as a certain plant is named) and so it is called (1 Pet. v. 4) a crown of glory that fadeth not away.

No change at all there, no winter and summer: not like the poor comforts here, but a bliss always flourishing. The grief of the saints here is not so much for the changes of outward things as of their inward comforts. Suavis hora, sed brevis mora. Sweet presences of God they sometimes have, but they are short, and often interrupted; but there no cloud shall come betwixt them and their sun; they shall behold Him in His full brightness for ever. As there shall be no change in their beholding, so no weariness nor abatement of their delight in beholding. They sing a new song, always the same, and yet always new. The sweetest of our music, if it were to be heard but for one whole day, would weary them who are most delighted with it. What

we have here cloys, but satisfies not; the joys above never cloy and yet always satisfy.

(From The Commentary on the First Epistle of St. Peter.)

WHEN the sun

SPIRITUAL SUNSHINE

takes its course towards us in the spring season of the year, it drives away the sharp frosts and the heavy fogs of winter; it clears the heavens, decks the earth with variety of plants and flowers, and awakes the birds to the pleasant strains of their natural music. When Christ, after a kind of winter absence, returns to visit a declining church, admirable is the change that he produces: all begin to flourish by His sweet influence; His house, His worship, His people, are all clothed with a new beauty; but it is spiritual, and therefore none but spiritual eyes can discern it. When He will thus return, all the power and policy of man can no more hinder Him than it could stay the course of the sun in its circle. In like manner, a deserted, forsaken soul, that can do nothing but languish and droop while Christ withdraws Himself, what inexpressible vigour and alacrity finds it at His returning! Then those graces which, while they lurked, seemed to have been lost and quite extinguished, bud forth anew with pleasant colour and fragrant smell. It is the light of His countenance that banisheth their false tears, that strengthens their faith, and cures their spiritual infirmities. This sun is indeed the sovereign physician : "Unto you that fear my name, shall the sun of righteousness arise with healing in his wings."

(From Sermon on Christ the Light and Lustre of the Church.)

JAMES HARRINGTON

[James Harrington, author of one of the strangest books ever written, even by a man in whom considerable wits were allied to less than doubtful sanity, was the eldest son of Sir Sapcotes Harrington, of Exton, in the county of Rutland. His mother's name was Jane Samuel, and the Harringtons themselves were connected with some of the best English families. James was born in January 1611, and when he was eighteen he entered Trinity College, Oxford, where Chillingworth was his tutor. He succeeded to the family estates while he was still a minor, made the grand tour, served a little, and though he did not marry till very late in life, was a liberal and domestic housekeeper. Although no Royalist he was something of a favourite with Charles I., was gentleman of the chamber to him, accompanied him in the ill-starred" 'Bishop's War," and after the Rebellion and the surrender at Newcastle was appointed by Parliament one of the King's attendants. He was dismissed as too well affected to his master at the time when Charles was sent to Hurst Castle, and was subsequently imprisoned, but was permitted to attend the King to the very scaffold. It was after this that he took to writing Oceana. It was printed during the Protectorate and seized, and though Harrington procured its release it is not improbable that the incident impelled or obliged him to insert the rather fulsome eulogies on Cromwell which may have helped to bring misfortune on him after the Restoration. Until that event, however, he was busy with controversy over his book, which was published in 1656, and with playing at ballot. and such like things in the famous Rota Club. In December 1661, he was arrested, partly for his "meddling with politics," partly on suspicion real or feigned of participation in an actual plot. He was imprisoned in the Tower and then at Plymouth, where his health, both of body and mind, suffered severely, and he was at one time actually insane. He was at length released: he married, suffered from gout and paralysis as well as from impaired sanity, and finally died at Westminster on 11th September 1677, having, despite his later troubles, not come very far short of the three-score years and ten. The completest edition of his works is that of Birch, 1737. Oceana, which alone of them has much interest, was cheaply reprinted by Mr. Henry Morley a few years ago.]

It is permissible to a reader of Oceana, after adjusting his mind to the exactest political impartiality, to suspect that Harrington was not perfectly sane a good many years before age or unkindness developed his mental malady. The second and third quarters