of suffering which He was called upon to bear; that his soul was exceeding sorrowful, even unto death, and that He prayed earnestly, so earnestly, "that his sweat was as it were great drops of blood," that if it were possible the bitter cup might pass from Him. Here was a conflict, here was a struggle, on the issue of which hung the fate of the world. It was soon decided; for scarcely had the agonizing prayer for release escaped the lips of the man Jesus Christ, when it was instantly followed by an entire surrender of the human will to the Divine will. Thus did our Lord become a perfect pattern of obedience; thus did He make his soul a free-will offering for sin; thus did He overcome the world by the sacrifice of self; thus did He shew us, in his own person, that human nature cannot be changed, but may be subdued: that the highest perfection we can aim at is obedience and submission; and that our humility consists, not in denying that we have a responsible will, but in exercising it in conformity to the will of God, being always ready to yield ourselves to God, and to say with our divine Master, not my will, but thine be done.

NOTE U. Page 99.

Coleridge has the following striking observations on the inherent sinfulness of man, and the remedy provided for this universal disease. "A moral evil is an evil that has its origin in a will. An evil common to all, must have a ground common to all. But the actual existence of moral evil we are bound in conscience to admit; and that there is an evil common to all is a fact; and this evil ground cannot originate in the Divine will; it must therefore be referred to the will of man. And this evil ground we call original sin. It is a mystery, that is, a fact which we see, but cannot explain; and the doctrine a truth which we apprehend, but can neither comprehend nor communicate. And such, by the quality of the subject, (viz. a responsible will,) it must be, if it be truth at all.

"A sick man, whose complaint was as obscure as his sufferings were severe and notorious, was thus accosted by a humane stranger;

My poor friend! I find you dangerously ill, and on this account only, and having certain information of your being so, and that you

have not wherewithal to pay a physician, I have come to you. Respecting your disease, indeed, I can tell you nothing, that you are capable of understanding, more than you know already, or can only be taught by reflection on your own experience. But I have rendered the disease no longer irremediable. I have brought the remedy with me; and I now offer you the means of immediate relief, with the assurance of gradual convalescence, and a final perfect cure; nothing more being required on your part, but your best endeavours to follow the prescriptions I shall leave with you. It is, indeed, too probable, from the nature of your disease, that you will occasionally neglect or transgress them. But even this has been calculated on in the plan of your cure, and the remedies provided, if only you are sincere and in right earnest with yourself, and have your heart in the work. Ask me not how such a disease can be conceived possible! Enough for the present that you know it to be real: and I come to cure the disease, not to explain it.""

NOTE X. Page 101.

Meditating upon the extreme obduracy of the human heart, the pious and excellent Baxter is led to exclaim, "Lord, thou hast long knocked at these hearts in vain; now break the doors and enter in." This, however, is not the way in which it pleases God to subdue us unto himself. The sword of the Spirit is not the sword of the all-conquering despot, subduing us as slaves to his will: "the sword of the Spirit is the Word of God," that word, full of earnest entreaty, and irresistible persuasion, which draws us "sweetly, and yet strongly; strongly, yet sweetly;"1 and inclines our will to do his bidding, just as the allpowerful rays of the sun obliged the traveller, (in the well-known fable,) of his own free will, to cast aside the cloak, which the fury of the elements had only caused him to wrap more closely around him.

1 Leighton.

NOTE Y. Page 108.

"Known unto God are all his works," from the beginning to the end; and with Him "the past and the future are but one comprehensive present." This is an awful reflection, well calculated to humble us to the dust, and make us look back with fear and trembling on the past. In the actual commission of sin, no one is so hardened as not to feel how dreadful it would be suddenly to be called to account,

"With all his crimes broad blown,"

before the withering hand of time had plucked them from the stalk of memory, and consigned them to the earth, as things to be forgotten. For most true it is, that time deadens the impression of guilt, and the sins that have been committed are no longer present to our minds; we look through the vista of the past, and they dwindle into an almost imperceptible speck, or are wholly lost in the distance. Not so, however, with God, with whom a thousand years are but as yesterday; before Him we must stand, like the typical