upon his sensitive mind, and eternal things are laid with weight on his conscience.

Luther's parents intended him for the law; but God was preparing him for his ministry. And so heavily did his spiritual condition press upon his mind, that he determined upon giving himself up entirely to religion, by entering on a monastic life. He was eminently successful in the law-had already become a distinguished doctor; his father would not consent to his forsaking his profession, and insisted upon his going on to further honours and greater success; his friends in astonishment asked if so eminent a genius must hide himself in a monastery, and suffer a partial death. But no matter; regardless of all persuasions, or threats, honours, or dishonours, he is compelled to give himself over to religion. He entered the convent at Erfurth-he became an Augustinian monk.

Here did the learned doctor become the meanest of the brethren. He was at once door-keeper, sexton, and menial servant of the cloister; and when his day's work was finished, he would be commanded by the friars to take his wallet and go into the city to beg. And often at these times he would go as a mendicant to the houses of persons who had formerly been his friends, and even his inferiors. But what did it matter to Luther, while he thought himself with God? How gradually did the work of the Lord progress in his soul! He was still very far from the truth of religion, but every day he was getting nearer and nearer.

Very soon, however, the prior of the convent freed Martin from his humiliating duties, and then he returned with new ardour to his studies. He now began to read the works of the Fathers, especially those of Augustine. His favourite books were Augustine on the Psalms, and on the Letter and the Spirit. He was particularly struck by that doctor's sentiments on the corruption of man's will and on divine grace. In his own experience did Luther feel the reality of that corruption, and the necessity for that grace.

But Luther loved above all things to draw wisdom from the word of God. He found a Bible in the convent, but it was chained; and to this chained Bible he would continually resort. Though as yet he was ignorant of its meaning, it was his most delightful study. He would meditate for hours on a single text; he would commit whole passages from the prophets to memory. His ardent desire was, to have a perfect knowledge of God's will, and to grow up in the fear of his name.

Luther sought after holiness. He wished to be free from sin in its guilt and power. He wanted past sin to be expiated, and future sin to be prevented. He wanted a righteousness that he might be acceptable to God, but he fancied he must do something of this for himself. He acted according to the light he had, which in these things was little removed from very darkness.

Burning with desire after holiness, Luther became a rigorous ascetic. He crucified his flesh by fastings, mortifications, and watchings. He imprisoned himself within his cell, and combated unceasingly with his wicked thoughts and lustful inclinations, a

little bread and a small herring being his only food. Hear what he afterwards said of himself in a letter to Duke George of Saxony : "I was indeed a pious monk, and followed the rules of my order more strictly than I can express. If ever monk could obtain heaven by his monkish works, I should certainly have been entitled to it. Of this, all the friars who have known me can testify. If it had continued much longer I should have carried my mortifications even to death, by means of my watchings, prayers, reading, and other labours."

But Luther could not find rest for his soul. His monkish performances could not chase away sin. He had still a great want in his heart-he wished to have assurance of his salvation. Freedom from guilt was essential to salvation, but how could he free himself? Without holiness he could never see God, but within and without he was all unholy-full of sin and impurity. Luther was on the very borders of despair. He was learning a great lesson. He had got very far into an acquaintance with his own heart.

The monks and priests about him tried to encourage him in his attempts to satisfy God with his "meritorious " works. "But what works," thought he, "can come from a heart like mine? How can I stand before the holiness of my Judge with works polluted in their very source?" I saw," said he afterwards, that I was a great sinner in the eyes of God, and I did not think it possible for me to propitiate him by my own merits."

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Unable to comprehend Luther's feelings, the friars reproached him for his silence and gloominess. He was present with them in his body, but his mind was far from them. One day, while the priest was reading the account of the dumb man with a devil, Luther cried out, It is not I—it is not I," as though he himself had been pronounced to have a devil because he was so dumb and gloomy. Indeed the monks themselves used sometimes to think he really had intercourse with Satan.

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But a still greater discovery of the worthlessness of works in the matter of salvation was about to be made to Luther. He had found his monkish piety to be useless, and almost as so much sin. He was now to learn that even his becoming a monk was of no avail with God. While I was yet a monk," he says, I no sooner felt assailed by any temptation than I cried out, I am lost!' Immediately I had recourse to a thousand methods to stifle the cries of my conscience. I went every day to confession, but that was of no use to me. Thus bowed down by sorrow, I tortured myself by the multitude of my thoughts. 'Look,' exclaimed I, thou art still envious, impatient, passionate! It profiteth thee nothing, O wretched man, to have entered this sacred order.' Here was a

discovery. Before, Luther thought he profited by entering a monastery, if only in a little degree; but now he finds that even that fails him he is no better for being a monk. He entered a convent thinking to be with God; but in the convent he feels himself to be worse and worse, and farther than ever from the Lord.

About this time the convent at Erfurth was visited by the vicar

general of the district. This man was John Staupitz. He also appears to have been taught of God. He had studied the Bible as well as Luther; and had also learned from experience the utter impossibility of being saved by works. But he had got beyond Luther-he had been led to Christ. Still his bones might have been counted, so assiduous had he been in study, fastings, and prolonged vigils.

When the monks were gathered together, the eye of Staupitz fixed itself on Luther. The vicar-general felt himself drawn to the young brother. And when he learned how the young monk had been brought to enter the monastery, his sympathy with him was increased. Luther was timid in the presence of Staupitz, with respect and fear for his exalted rank in the order. But the vicargeneral approached him with affection, and endeavoured to inspire him with confidence. Luther had at length found a man to give him counsel.

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One day, as they were gathered together at table, Staupitz said, Why are you so sad, brother Martin?"

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'Ah!" replied he, with a sigh, “I do not know what will become of me.

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"These temptations," added Staupitz, are more necessary to you than eating and drinking." Such conversations did not stop here. Luther to Staupitz, the strongest."

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"It is in vain," says 'that I make promises to God; sin is ever

"O! my friend," replies the vicar-general, "more than a thousand times have I sworn to our holy God to live piously, and I have never kept my vows. Now I swear no longer, for I cannot keep my solemn promises. If God will not be merciful to me for the love of Christ, and grant me a happy departure when I quit this world, I shall never, with the aid of all my vows and all my good works, be able to stand before him. I must perish."

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Luther is terrified at the idea of Divine Justice, and lays open his fears to his friend. He is alarmed at the holiness and majesty of God. Staupitz knows where he found peace to his own soul, and he will point it out to the monk. young He says, Why do you torment yourself with all these speculations and these high thoughts? Look to the wounds of Jesus Christ, to the blood that he has shed for you. Instead of torturing yourself on account of your sins, throw yourself into the Redeemer's arms. Trust in him-in the righteousness of his life, in the atonement of his death. Do not shrink back; God is not angry with you, it is you who are angry with God. Listen to the Son of God. He became man to give you the assurance of divine favour. He says to you, 'Ye are my sheep; ye hear my voice; no man shall pluck you out of my hand.'

This does not satisfy the young monk. He objects, "How can I dare believe in the favour of God so long as there is no real conversion in me? I must be changed before he will accept me."

Staupitz tells him there cannot be a real conversion so long as he fears God as a severe Judge.

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Luther asks, What will you say, then, to so many consciences to which a thousand insupportable tasks are prescribed in order that they may gain heaven ?”

Then how astonished he is to hear the vicar-general reply! "There is no real repentance except that which begins with the love of God and of righteousness. What others imagine to be the end and accomplishment of repentance is, on the contrary, only its beginning. In order that you may be filled with the love of what is good, you must first be filled with love for God. If you desire to be converted, do not be curious about all these mortifications and all these tortures. Love Him who first loved you!"

F Luther is astounded—he listens and listens again. "It is Jesus Christ," he thinks, "yes, it is Jesus Christ who so wonderfully consoles me by these sweet and healing words. They are become to me an agreeable pastime, and the sweetest of recreations. All

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passages of Scripture that used to alarm me, seem now to run to me from every part-to smile and sport around me. Hitherto," he exclaimed, although I carefully dissembled the state of my soul before God, and endeavoured to express towards him a love which was a mere constraint and fiction, there was no expression in Scripture so bitter to me as that of repentance; but now there is none so sweet or more acceptable. Oh! how delightful are all God's precepts when we read them, not only in books, but also in our Saviour's precious wounds!"

Yet even after this Luther would at times fall into despondency. 66 my sin! my sin! my sin!" he cried out one day to the vicargeneral.

"Well," replied Staupitz, "would you only be a sinner in appearance, and have also a Saviour only in appearance? Know that Jesus Christ is the Saviour even of those who are great, real sinners, and deserving of utter condemnation."

Luther now became agitated in his mind concerning the doctrines of grace. He was hitherto a devout son of the church of Rome, and believed nearly all her trumpery. But now, having had the veil of delusion in some measure torn from his heart concerning the salvation of the soul, he must be brought to see how utterly apostate that church was in doctrine. In his ardency of spirit, Luther tries to penetrate the mysteries of Divine Sovereignty. He would wish to see the invisible to comprehend the incomprehensible. But Staupitz checked him here, and would have him seek for a knowledge of all mysteries in the Lord Jesus Christ.

The vicar-general presented Luther with a Bible. Oh the joy of the poor monk's heart when he received that treasure! Now he studies the Scriptures more than ever; he attends to nothing else, except the writings of Augustine. All he reads is as seed sown in his heart. Staupitz departs from Erfurth, and Luther is another

man.

How wonderfully did God act in sending Luther so suitable a vicar-general! What a blessing was that visitation made to the young friar! Though Staupitz himself was still embued with a

good deal of the spirit of Rome, what a burning and a shining light to exist in the days of the Papacy's grossest darkness! Surely God will never leave himself without a witness.

But the work was to go on further. Luther was taken ill. His anxiety of soul had nearly paralysed his body. Again were all his fears upon him-again was he disturbed with thoughts of his sinfulness and the holiness of God. And this time the Lord blessed the words of a poor, ignorant monk to Luther's soul. The poor friar led the reformer's mind to his credo, and pronounced the words, "I believe in the forgiveness of sins." These words gave great consolation to Luther's heart; and ere long he repeated to himself on his bed of sickness, "I believe in the forgiveness of sins."

"Ah!" says the monk, "you must believe not only in the forgiveness of David's and of Peter's sins, for this even the devils believe. It is God's command that we believe our own sins are forgiven us. The testimony of the Holy Ghost in thy heart is this: Thy sins are forgiven thee.'

From this moment had Luther joy. He had been enabled to receive the word of grace. He had been made to disclaim all merit

of salvation, and to confide wholly in the Lord Jesus Christ. Now was the death-blow given to Popery in the reformer's heart. Luther had now no need of the church of Rome, though he saw it not; he had been saved by God himself.

The reformer had been two years a monk, and was about to be ordained a priest.

A. B. C.

[The writer of the above piece confesses himself indebted to Vol. I. of D'Aubigne's History of the Reformation, for the incidents and conversations he has introduced.]

THY TESTIMONIES ARE VERY SURE.

My dear Friend,-If I may be considered as at all belonging to the family of Zion, I think I may justly say that I belong to that particular portion of it whose chief characteristics are fearfulness and faintheartedness. My desire is to be kept in a very low place, and to occupy "the lowest seat," rather than to be deceived into a mere fanciful religion, or a knowledge of high things, without being made experimentally and blessedly acquainted with them by the sweet revelations of the Holy Spirit to my soul; for I find that everything short of a heartfelt participation in "the things which belong unto Jesus" will leave me lacking of the "one thing needful.” Moreover, I am made daily and hourly to feel that the kingdom of God in word only does not yield me any sterling or substantial satisfaction, which forces me the more earnestly to long for an enjoyment of that blessed kingdom to be manifestively set up in my soul in power.

But as I just now observed, I am filled with fearfulness.