defence, and, except on very rare occasions, I believe it will always be found that any error of judgment roots itself more deeply in conflict than in calm. If you have not noticed this in every day life, it is, I can assure you, more from lack of observation than from the want of most deplorable abundance of proof. In the imaginary case just given, it is probable that but for the efforts which a strong desire for external finish prompted, and a deficiency of intellectual pursuits allowed, this monomania about furniture, and all the mechanical apparatus of life, would have subsided to reasonable limits; but the difficulty attendant on every earthly pursuit kept the will at work till its force habitually flowed in that direction. And when a habit is formed, the Almighty alone can give us strength to break it. Physiologists report that certain delicate fibres of the brain do literally grow together and become inseparable from constant uniformity of cerebral action; but they may naturally separate, and form new connections of organic matter before the mind will spontaneously adopt an unfamiliar truth, or the heart embrace a new object of desire. Speaking, as we are ever prone to speak of spirit action, with words quite inadequate to convey the faintest idea of its full importance, we talk of the laws of habit making continuance in any foolish or bad habit all but inevitable. A truth so far as it goes, but far less than the whole awful truth which at once explains, promises, and strengthens every habit which the human mind can hope or fear,-that on whatever side of human life consciousness is kept awake, sensibility is increased, and all the powers of man concentrated to the gradual exclusion of every thought or feeling that bears upon the rest of his being: till at last all perceptions are blinded except those that regard the especial point towards which desire flows. "L'homme peut, comme il le prouve tous les jours par ses arts, par ses goûts, par ses passions, mettre son ame dans ses yeux, dans ses oreilles dans ses mains, dans ses pieds, dans son palais, dans sa tete, dans son cœur, dans ses organes impures; et toutes ces choses, liées, corporellement avec lui-même, ne sont que l'image des objets del distincts de lui, avec lesquels il peut s'identifier.* It is thus that a spirit capable of blissful communion and coworking with its Creator, even here, while imprisoned among corrupt elements,-can fasten its will upon the gratifications it shares with beasts, or on trifles which it is downright insanity to weigh with hope or fear. *Saint Martin's "Le Tableau Naturel," Second Part, p. 114. The students of Schiller know all he means by the word "bestimmbarheit "* (determinability) by the capacity for a various and self-chosen direction of power, which is, in his judgment, the great desideratum of intellectual life. From one point of view it surely is seen to be such; from another it is seen to be that tremendous liberty which exposes the human will to the bondage of every evil influence to which in its rebellious freedom it may turn. "Thou must know that thou, in the government of thy mind, art thine own lord and master; there will arise up no fire to thee in the circle or whole circumference of thy body and spirit, unless thou awakenest it thyself. In what quality soever thou excitest or awakest the spirit and makest it operative, according to that same quality the thoughts rise up, and govern the mind."t If together with our self-determining abilities, we kept fast hold of faith, all would be well: we should then believe God, and follow after those things which He assures us are our only good. But when His word had warned us against things that "do not profit, for they are vain," we would none of His counsels; we loved our vain things, and after them would we go; in eager chase we went, as the shadow sped before, and all we won was weariness and the complicated curse of vanity. God knows from the first, what every child of man shall sooner or later know, with a terrible clearness of knowledge, that for an immortal being to pant after the dust of the earth is a horrible delusion, a delusion that must end, either in this life or the next, in loss and woe unutterable; and with divine compassion He implores, "Oh, do not this abominable thing that I hate." But our practical answer is still repeated, we have loved our vain things, and after them will we go; alas with what a strength of love! We draw upon our Infinite Source for those unappeasable desires which no earthly inheritance could ever slake. It is our divine origin that makes our humanity so restless and unsatisfiable. Now it is worth noticing as a remarkable proof of God's kindness to man in forbidding all the idols of vanity, that if vanity is indulged in, it afflicts us by the ceaseless exactions of an inde finite claim. Simply to do what is right, by strict honesty in word and deed, by sincere charity in heart and conduct, puts an end to doubt as to what it would be best to do, in nine cases out of ten. The sense of fulfilled duty is a rest which re-inforces every power; but the tasks imposed by vanity can never be done to our satisfaction, because no inner voice applauds. The feeblest efforts of true goodwill are welcomed by the oppressed * See Schiller's "Letters on Esthetic Culture," Letter 19. sovereign within us, which we call conscience; the unhappy servant of vanity shrinks from its verdict, and will engage in any childish diversion just to prevent hearing it. The apprehensive fears of a patient well-doer can appeal to Providence for relief, but to what can anxious vanity look, beyond its own fruitless precautions, so often renewed, so incessantly proved to be of worse than none effect? For an illustration of this contrast, examine the state of mind habitual to those who are very desirous of standing well with their fellows-not as regards moral character so much as social deportment, and the world's acceptance. As I write, I groan to think of the onerous tasks, the never-ending chagrins to which this most common ambition exposes every hapless creature yielding to its yoke. We do not hear the groans of such sufferers; for, as Madame de Stael says, "Les peines de cette passion sont assez peu connues, parce-que ceux qui les ressentent en gardent le secret, et que tout le monde étant convenu de mépriser ce sentiment jamais on n'avoue les souvenirs ou les craintes dont il est l'objet." But yet are they not known pretty generally without second-hand report? Consider what a shifting standard such an object of desire offers; what a humiliating indefiniteness of principle it prescribes; what a keen watch upon manners,-upon all the infinitesimals of seeming, which, if your appearance in the eyes of other people is your main concern, must distract your attention from realities in your own proper being. And then, do what you will in this arduous course, practice will not secure perfection, in your own judgment. Elegant, stylish, faultlessly correct as to observers you may appear, your own heart will be plagued by the perception of flaws of manner, or dress, or equipage, which will vex you the more because they mar such all-but perfection. And remember too that keenness of perception will increase with sensibility, and sensibility with consciousness: since you would allow mere outsides to occupy thought and engross time, the lightest touch upon that morbidly sentient part shall sting you to the quick. I do not speak of the little covert shafts of irony or contempt with which the pride of one poor sinner can wound the vanity of another. I confine myself strictly in these remarks to the self-elaborated torments of vanity. Your suave and smiling visitor has hardly left the room before your face wears an expression of distress and anxiety, for which no observers could possibly account, after seeing and hearing your easy mirth during the last hour and a-half of morning calls, unless they were as sadly well versed in the pains and penalties of vanity as myself. And I can believe that now nothing worse is " *"L'Influence des Passions sur le Bonheur." on your mind," no heavier care dragging it away from the book open before you, than the fact that with slight gaucherie, you kindly inquired after somebody with whom your visitor used to be intimate, and has now notoriously quarrelled. It was nothing very heinous, but she looked surprised, with almost a stare; and you are feeling guilty, and would give a good deal to be able to recall those few unmeaning words. Oh, my poor fellowcreature, if we could but feel equal compunction for words as light and hasty which arose from unkind feeling-for a witticism that grazed the repute of a neighbour-(ever so little)— and therefore grieved Him who gave us powers of speech. Our momentary awkwardness will be forgotten, or if remembered, what then? Is it so material that all who know us should never have a laugh at our expense? Our secret unkindnesses will not be unnoticed by the Searcher of hearts, and it is of eternal importance that we please Him, and love one another. Here, as is almost always the case, sin defeats the very purpose for which we yield to sin. Wishing above all things to please our fellow-creatures (for our honour and not their good), we study their ideas of what is right and pleasant, and therefore usually displease; as soon as the effort is perceived, we sink even in human estimation, for self-reliance wins more favour in the long run than the most careful adaptation of demeanour to what is expected; and low as we have sunk in this mortal life, it is yet certain that the manifestation of a noble spirit imposes more respect than any perfectness of material adjuncts. It is not with forgetfulness of the real difficulties of our posision in the world that I exercise the cheap privilege of protest. To break with the world altogether, to despise its judgment in worldly matters, and refuse any sort of conformity to its rule, rather than yield to it a wise and moderate attention, is, I suppose, as much easier as abstinence is in other things, compared to temperance. But that we should entirely withdraw from the world, and refuse the tribute due to our earthly Cæsar, cannot, I think, be the will of a Lord and Master who prayed that His first disciples should not be taken out of the world, but should be kept from evil in it. Does our modern world need the lesson of true piety less than the world in which they were kept? or is the Holy One less able now to keep His servants pure from its pollution? Surely no. It is the love of the world, and not the faithful combat for life in the midst of its dangers, that we are warned against; and, as the recluse well knows, the world's vanities can tempt and win secret idolatry in solitudes where the means of such service and of true Christian prowess have been avoided, together with its snares. I do not say that the hazard to the soul is necessarily as great as that to which an habitual round of dissipation must expose it; but at the same time, when we speak of wise conformity to worldly usage, no one need think that this involves a notoriously foolish waste of time. But the question on which so many Christians muse with anxious doubt is just what no human wisdom seems able to know-i.e., how much regard is due to the claims of the world? To me it appears that by the very mode in which we state the difficulty, its right solution is kept out of sight. If it were an affair of anise-seed or cummin which was under debate, the "how much" might well be asked; but it is the devotion of the whole heart that is endangered, and while God claims that, "My son, give me thy heart," it is clear that nothing, be it ever so great or pure, which engrosses the heart can be less than abomination in His sight-though highly esteemed among men. And we know by saddest experience that unless the heart is given to God, there is nothing in His creation too base or too paltry to absorb its whole affections. Thus, verily, our only possibility of not loving the world, and the things that are in the world too much, depends upon the love of the Father being in us; without that love, the most rigorous self-denials, or renunciations of world, flesh, and devil cannot avail; with that love all their temptations may be met in the divine strength that human nature receives from its union with the mind of Christ. So that unless we are actuated by the holy will of that mind, no moderation in the use or the enjoyment of worldly things will keep us from danger; and least of all, from the subtle poison of vanity. We often see our fellow-creatures persisting in a course that we know will seriously harm their earthly prospects, and we deplore their suicidal obstinacy. We often see sinful habits gaining strength day by day, which we know must involve fearful retribution, as certainly as the poisonous berry contains the seed which will perpetuate a deadly produce; and we think, "Oh that these unhappy ones would open their eyes to the consequence of such habits, before it comes to overwhelm them with dismaying grief!"—a faint hint of the Saviour's feeling when He said, "If thou hadst known, even thou, at least in this thy day, the things which belong unto thy peace!" But as we so think, so fear, is there no perilous declination to evil in our own lives; no absolute neglect of things belonging to our peace, and not to be neglected without its certain loss, quite as much hidden from our eyes? If in any way appearances cause us much disquiet, there is; and we need never again be surprised that all human love and wisdom can urge to arrest the misguided will of another sort of sinner proves ineffectual. What can be a more tremendous hallucination than this which rivets our solicitude |