It

conversion, that his first recorded act was to gather his former associates and colleagues, and bring them to Jesus, though He does not himself mention that it was in his own house, and by his own act, that this was done. He simply records the fact, that Jesus was present at an entertainment, at which were assembled many publicans and sinners. It is the first desire of the converted heart to lead others to drink at the same fountain of living waters which has quenched its own thirst. was so with Andrew. When he came to the knowledge of Jesus, "he first findeth his own brother Simon, and saith unto him, We have found the Messias, which is, being interpreted, the Christ; And he brought him to Jesus." It was the very injunction which our Lord laid on the healed demoniac, when He said to him, "Go home to thy friends, and tell them what great things the Lord hath done for thee." And so the first act of Matthew, after he had himself followed Jesus, was to bring others, if he could, to follow him also. It was indeed cavilled at; but Jesus vindicates himself and his followers by a declaration of the gracious purpose for which He came into the world, "to call sinners to repentance."

The same call which was made to Matthew has been made to us. "Follow me!" was the badge of our discipleship at our baptism; "Follow me!" was repeated at our confirmation, and has been continually repeated ever since. It has been whispered in the still, small voice; it has been

heard, perhaps, amid the fire, and the storm, and the whirlwind of passion; in the accents of mercy, and the thunder of wrath. Has power accompanied the call? Have we arisen at the call, and followed Jesus,-fully and unreservedly followed Him? There are others calling to us. The world says, Follow me; pleasure says, Follow me; endeared companions and associates say, Follow me; but has the reply of your hearts been, "Lord whom should we follow ? to whom should we go? Thou hast the words of eternal life."

SECTION XXX.

(Chapter ix. verses 18-26.)

In what a variety of ways, since we began this narrative of our Lord's ministry, have we seen sickness, and sorrow, and suffering enter into families, and assail the bodies and minds of men! And yet, one can hardly suppose that there was more of sorrow and suffering in those days than there is now. Some diseases, such as those of the possessed of the devils, were no doubt permitted of God then, for the manifestation of Christ's power over Satan; and leprosy was more a disease of the country and the age than it is at present. But in every other respect the sicknesses, and the sufferings which Jesus healed in Judea, are the sicknesses and sufferings incident to the human race, and are as sad and sorrowful

now as they were then. Human nature and human feeling is the same; and if sickness enter into a household,-if, as in the present instance, a beloved child is the victim on which death is about to lay his grasp,-to whom should we expect that the sorrowing father or the heart-broken mother, in their extremity of need, would have recourse, but to Him who woundeth and can heal; to Him who smiteth, and alone can bind up? And so it was here. A little daughter,-perhaps an only one, just emerged from infant years, and winding herself around her parents' hearts with all the artlessness and lovingness of childhood, for she was just twelve years of age,-is seized with illness. At first there seems to have been no thought of Jesus, no recollection of, no reference to him. They no doubt sent for the physicians, and hoped and thought all would be well; but human help was vain, the malady increased, and now, when all earthly hope was gone, they seem to have remembered One mighty to save. Alas! how sad a representation of ourselves,-how sad an evidence, that, with many, prayer is the last resource! And yet, blessed and thrice blessed the affliction that drives us to Jesus! The sorrow that pierces our hearts may be the precursor of the grace that is about to enter; the shock that casts down our idol, may be the very means to re-erect the throne of God.

How sweet a revelation is that which God makes of himself by the apostle, "Who giveth to all men

liberally, and upbraideth none"! As I have said, these parents seem to have thought of Jesus last; nor was it till death had so nearly gained the victory, that the heart-stricken father speaks of her as one already dead; and, in fact, she did die ere Jesus reached the house. Yet not one word of

censure, not one of reproach. The season of sorrow, in its first burst, in its deepest agony, perhaps in its most cutting self-reproaches, is not the season for rebuke; and He who by His Spirit had before said, "There is a time to speak, and a time to keep silence," would not unnecessarily "bruise the broken reed." He no doubt recognised, even in the gushing accents of a father's grief, the germ of a saving faith,—the bud, as it were, of that test, which, on a later occasion, He Himself applied to the sister of Lazarus, "He that believeth in me shall live, though he die." And so here the acknowledgment is, "My daughter is even now dead but come lay thy hand upon her, and she shall live."

And how sweetly does Jesus speak of death! The maiden was indeed dead; life had departed from the tenement of clay, but her spirit was softly sleeping in Jesus, and "they that sleep in Jesus shall God bring with him." Death to our vision is but a ghastly sight, its associations are those of shrinking and of horror; and yet, to all God's children, and in the sight and in the language of God, it is but "sleep," a sleep, too, on which a joyous morning shall arise, an unclouded,

sinless, stainless day-a morning, on which the same voice that now recalled the spirit of this slumbering child, shall then pierce through every resting-place, whether on earth, or in the sea, or in the deep waters, and "all that are in their graves shall come forth." In another and a far more glorious sense we may say, "Awake, thou that sleepest, and arise from the dead, and Christ shall give thee light."

SECTION XXXI.

(Chapter ix. verse 27 to the end.)

WE have had, in the different maladies brought before Jesus for his healing power, very striking representations of the spiritual maladies of our race. The leprosy represented the foul and polluting nature of sin-the paralytic cripple on his couch or mat typified our lost and helpless condition, and utter inability to do anything of ourselves for our own relief; and now we have two blind men, an equally appropriate and perhaps more touching illustration of its kindred spiritual malady. Whether it be that leprosy seldom or never meets our eye, and we cannot therefore realize its horrors, and paralytic cripples are not often thrust upon our notice, but that blindness meets us at every turn,-there is something in the loss of sight that peculiarly moves our sympathy. In the midst of health and strength, with every