Of course, this is only one side of the picture. This keen susceptibility to pleasure and joy implies. a keen susceptibility to pain. There is probably no time of life at which pains are more intensely felt; no time at which the whole man more "groaneth and travaileth in pain together." Young men are prone to extreme melancholy, - -even to disgust with life. A young preacher will preach upon afflictions much more often than an old one; a young poet will write more sadly; a young philosopher will moralize more gloomily. And this seems unreal sentiment, and is smiled at in after-years; but it is real at the time, and perhaps is nearer the truth at all times than the contentedness of those who ridicule it. Youth, in fact, feels every thing more keenly; and, as far as the keenness of feeling contributes to its truth, the feeling, whether it is pain or pleasure, is so much the truer. But, in after-life, it is the happiness, not the suffering, of youth that most often returns to the memory, and seems to gild all the past.

The period of youth in the history of the world, when the human race was, as it were, put under the teaching of example, - corresponds, of course, to the meeting-point of the Law and the Gospel. The second stage, therefore, in the education of man, was the presence of our Lord upon earth. Those few years of his divine presence seem, as it were, to balance all the systems and creeds and worships which preceded, all the Church's life which has followed since. Saints had gone before, and saints have been given since; great men and good men had lived among the heathen; there were never, at any time, examples wanting to teach either the chosen people or any other. But the one Example of all examples

came in the "fulness of time," just when the world was fitted to feel the power of his presence. Had his revelation been delayed until now, assuredly it would have been hard for us to recognize his divinity; for the faculty of Faith has turned inwards, and cannot now accept any outer manifestations of the truth of God. Our vision of the Son of God is now aided by the eyes of the apostles; and by that aid we can recognize the express image of the Father. But in this we are like men who are led through unknown woods by Indian guides: we recognize the indications by which the path was known, as soon as those indications are pointed out; but we feel that it would have been quite vain for us to look for them unaided. We, of course, have, in our turn, counterbalancing advantages. If we have lost that freshness of faith which would be the first to say to a poor carpenter, "Thou art the Christ, the Son of the living God," yet we possess, in the greater cultivation of our religious understanding, that which, perhaps, we ought not to be willing to give in exchange. The early Christians could recognize, more readily than we, the greatness and beauty of the Example set before them; but it is not too much to say, that we know better than they the precise outlines of the truth. To every age is given by God its own proper gift. They had not the same clearness of understanding as we; the same recognition, that it is God, and not the Devil, who rules the world; the same power of discrimination between different kinds of truth. They had not the same calmness, or fixedness of conduct; their faith was not so quiet, so little tempted to restless vehemence: but they had a keenness of perception which we have not, and could see the

immeasurable difference between our Lord and all other men as we could never have seen it. Had our Lord come later, he would have come to mankind already beginning to stiffen into the fixedness of maturity. The power of his life would not have sunk so deeply into the world's heart; the truth of his divine nature would not have been recognized: seeing the Lord would not have been the title to apostleship. On the other hand, had our Lord come earlier, the world would not have been ready to receive him; and the gospel, instead of being the religion of the human race, would have been the religion of the Hebrews only. The other systems would have been too strong to be overthrown by the power of preaching. The need of a higher and purer teaching would not have been felt; Christ would have seemed to the Gentiles the Jewish Messiah, not the Son of man. But he came in the "fulness of time," for which all history had been preparing, to which all history since has been looking back. Hence the first and largest place in the New Testament is assigned to his life four times told. This life we emphatically call the Gospel. If there is little herein to be technically called doctrine, yet here is the fountain of all inspiration. There is no Christian who would not rather part with all the rest of the Bible than with these four books. There is no part of God's word which the religious man more instinctively remembers. The Sermon on the Mount, the Parables and the Miracles, the Last Supper, the Mount of Olives, the Garden of Gethsemane, the Cross on Calvary, - these are the companions alike of infancy and of old age; simple enough to be read with awe and wonder by the one,

profound enough to open new depths of wisdom to the fullest experience of the other.

Our Lord was the Example of mankind; and there can be no other example in the same sense. But the whole period from the closing of the Old Testament to the close of the New was the period of the world's youth, -the age of examples; and our Lord's presence was not the only influence of that kind which has acted upon the human race. Three companions were appointed by Providence to give their society to this creature whom God was educating, Greece, Rome, and the Early Church. To these three, mankind has ever since looked back, and will ever hereafter look back, with the same affection, the same lingering regret, with which age looks back to early manhood. In these three, mankind remembers the brilliant social companion, whose wit and fancy sharpened the intellect and refined the imagination; the bold and clever leader, with whom to dare was to do, and whose very name was a signal of success; and the earnest, heavenly-minded friend, whose saintly aspect was a revelation in itself.

Greece and Rome have not only given to us the fruits of their discipline, but the companionship of their bloom. The fruits of their discipline would have passed into our possession, even if their memory had utterly perished; and just as we know not the man who first discovered arithmetic, nor the man who first invented writing, - benefactors with whom no other captains of science can ever be compared,

so, too, it is probable that we inherit from many a race, whose name we shall never hear again, fruits of long training now forgotten. But Greece and Rome have given us more than any results of discipline in

the never-dying memory of their fresh and youthful life. It is this, and not only the greatness or the genius of the classical writers, which makes their literature pre-eminent above all others. There have been great poets, great historians, great philosophers, in modern days. Greece can show few poets equal, none superior, to Shakspeare. Gibbon, in many respects, stands above all ancient historians. Bacon was as great a master of philosophy as Aristotle. Nor, again, are there wanting great writers, of times older, as well as of times later, than the Greek; as, for instance, the Hebrew prophets. But the classics possess a charm quite independent of genius. It is not their genius only which makes them attractive: it is the classic life, the life of the people of that day; it is the image, there only to be seen, of our highest natural powers in their freshest vigor; it is the unattainable grace of the prime of manhood; it is the pervading sense of youthful beauty. Hence, while we have elsewhere great poems and great histories, we never find again that universal radiance of fresh life which makes even the most commonplace relics of classic days models for our highest art. The common workmen of those times breathed the atmosphere of the gods. What are now the ornaments of our museums were then the every-day furniture of sitting and sleeping rooms. In the great monuments of their literature, we can taste this pure inspiration most largely; but even the most commonplace fragments of a classic writer are steeped in the waters of the same fountain. Those who compare the moderns. with the ancients, genius for genius, have no difficulty in claiming, for the former, equality, if not victory. But the issue is mistaken. To combine the highest