holiness" suggest at once the idea of perfectionism. "The degenerate plant of a strange vine," we hold this to be. The strange vine is the doctrine that regeneration is "a change of nature," instead of the communication of the divine nature. If human nature can be bettered, why may it not be sanctified? And then, why may not perfection in the flesh be attained? But because we believe that the carnal man is incapable of becoming subject to God's law, we hold that the believer will never attain perfection until he has put off this tabernacle. It is true even now that the Christian is not in the flesh; then it will be true that the flesh is not in him, but the Spirit of the Lord will fill him completely and sanctify him wholly.

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But does not God command perfection — “ Be therefore perfect, even as your Father which is in heaven is perfect" ?* Does He not require and enjoin holiness, "Be ye holy for I am holy"? † And does He command of us what we cannot perform? Looking at the question on its human side, it is enough for us to answer that no man except our sinless Immanuel has ever performed it; and

looking at it on the divine side, it is clear that if God commands anything he must command perfection—that if he were to fix his standard a single degree short of this he would not be God. But looking at both sides, and endeavoring to reconcile God's claims with man's capacity, we observe two facts, viz., that in the life and teaching of Jesus Christ we have the standard of sinless perfection set up, "beauteous as heaven, and alas, as remote ;" that above it is the inscription, "My little children, these things write I unto you that ye sin not; " and below it is the superscription, "And if any man sin, we have an Advocate with the Father, Jesus Christ the righteous." * Perfection is God's perpetual commandment, since he can require no less; pardon is his perpetual provision, since we can attain so little.

Now holiness will be very imperfectly understood, if studied as a mere abstract attribute. We can learn most concerning its nature and its secret by seeing its manifestations in the lives of those saints who have most signally exhibited it. To take up once more our figure of the light, we know

* 1 John 2: 1.

that a sunbeam can only be truly understood as it is refracted by passing through a prism, and so unbraided into its manifold colors. The pure white ray of the divine holiness in like manner must pass through human lives, and be analyzed and reproduced in human virtues, before it can be really apprehended by us. And so we glide from theology into biography — from the idea of holiness to a consideration of its personal manifestations in the saints of God.

If we were to follow strict chronological order in bringing forward our examples of holy living, we should begin with such names as Bernard and Francis of Assisi and Thomas à Kempis. All praise would we give to these devoted souls-the more worthy of our commendation because their light shone amid gross darkness and corruption. If the great Arctic explorer was moved to tears at finding a solitary violet blooming beneath an iceberg, one burst of beautiful life amid universal death, our hearts are no less affected at beholding these true saints living so singly for God amid the desolation of Papal corruption and apostacy. And yet in all of them there are traces of asceticism and superstition which render them imperfect ex

emplars in many respects. Their piety needs to be translated into our Protestant dialect before it can be quite adapted to our imitation; and there is much of morbid, fantastic saintship which needs to be eliminated from it to render it practical.

Of Protestant saints who have lived excellently for God, where could we find a more illustrious example than in the character of Samuel Rutherford, of whom his biographer truly says, that "he sought for holiness as unceasingly and eagerly as other men seek for pardon and peace"? Upon the bells of the horses 'holiness unto the Lord'' saith the prophet; and as this holy man mounts up to God in his chariot of praise, we seem to hear every note in the silver music of pure worship – love, joy, hope, and obedience, and all mingling their strains together in the 'Holy, Holy, Lord

God Almighty.' We doubt if such words of divine affection were ever penned by uninspired fingers, as he employs in setting forth the excel lency of Immanuel. Peruse them, oh soul that would be kindled with divine ardor when your love has long waxed cold. The sweetness of Paradise is in them, the joy of Beulah thrills in their every accent. Listen:

"Brother, I may frɩ new experience speak of Christ to you. Oh, if ye say in him what I see. A river of God's unseen joys ha flowed from bank to brae over my soul since I parted with you. I urge upon you communion with Christ, a growing communion. There are curtains to be drawn aside in Christ that we never saw, and new foldings of love in Him. I despair that ever I shall win to the far end of that love, there are so many plies in it. Therefore dig deep and sweat and labor and take pains for him; and set by as much time in the day for him as you can; he will be won with labor."*

Consecration is the true fruit of holy fellowship with the Lord. Hence with each kindling of affection, and with each deeper view of the heart of Christ, comes the longing for utter self-devotement. Tired of making his own way and ordering his own plans, he says:

"Alas my misguiding and childish trafficking with that matchless Pearl, that Heaven's Jewel, the Jewel of

*Rutherford's Letters, 1624-1661.

"Rutherford's Letters is one of my

classics. Were truth the beam, I have no doubt, that if Homer and Virgil and Horace, and all that the world has agreed to idolize, were weighed against that book, they would be lighter than vani:y." — Cecil.

"Hold off the Bible, such a book the world never saw.".

-Baxter.