The Mistaken Builder; or, False Confidence. BOUT fourteen miles from Plymouth, on the Cornish coast, lies a perilous reef of rocks, against which the long rolling swell of the Atlantic waves dash with appalling force, and breaks up into those swirling eddies from which the reef is named-the Eddystone. Upon these treacherous crags many a gallant vessel has foundered and gone down, within sight of the shore it has scarcely quitted or was just about to reach ; and, situated in the midst of a much frequented track, the rapid succession of calamities at the Eddystone was not long in awakening men's minds to the necessity of some warning light. The exposure of the reef to the wild fury of the Atlantic, and the small extent of the surface rock, however, rendered the construction of a lighthouse in such a situation a work of great, and, as it was long considered, insuperable difficulty. The project was long talked of before any one was found daring enough to attempt it; but in the year 1696 a person of the name of Henry Winstanley came forward, and after six years of hard and dangerous labour it was accomplished. It was found, however, that in the course of a few years the winds and waves had made sad havoc with the fabric, and that something must be done to repair and strengthen it; and with a view to the accomplishment of this, its builder, Henry Winstanley, in November, 1703, went out to the rock himself, accompanied by some workmen, observing to a friend as they left the shore that he only wished to be there in the greatest storm which ever blew, that he might see what effect it would have upon his structure! Alas! his wish was but too soon realised, for in a very few hours after he had reached his lighthouse, both it and himself were buried by a severe storm beneath the proud waves for ever. Alas! what a solemn warning in relation to false and presumptuous confidence. How many are there, however, who emulate this conduct in relation to the soul? They believe that a day of test and trial will come, and they believe that they are perfectly secure; but when we reach the ground of their hope, how often do we discover that they are not hiding themselves in the salvation which God has provided, but in one which they have built and provided for themselves! In some cases we find the house in which they dwell, and in which they think that they shall remain and be secure for ever, is made up of their own deeds and activities. We have a striking illustration of this spirit in the case of Madame de Maintenon, a celebrated character in the reign of Louis XIV. of France, and who was esteemed very religious. Thus she writes to her confessor, the Abbé Gobelin: "My days are now pretty regular and very solitary. I pray to God as soon as I rise. I go to mass twice on Sundays and holy days, and once every other day. I say my office daily, and read a chapter in some pious book. I pray to God on going to bed, and when I awake in the night I say a 'Laudate Dominum' or a 'Gloria Patri.' I think of God often in the course of the day, and make Him an offering of my actions!" What was the character of these actions which she so ignorantly and with such confidence offered to God may be gathered from the following. She goes on to say : "I can scarcely ever reproach myself with deeds, but only with human motives, great vanity, much levity, great freedom of thought and judgment, and a reserve in speaking that proceeds from nothing but human prudence." What a state of mind! No mention is made of the Saviour; and His one offering is superseded by the presentation of her own actions ! Others seek to find a shelter in a refuge made up of outward formalities, the show and glitter of a sensuous worship. They are very scrupulous in the observance of certain days; they fast and pray; repeat certain forms of prayer; partake of the sacraments of the church; pay great deference to the teachings of certain authorities; and go so far often as to confess their sins and receive absolution from the priest; and through these things, and resting upon them, they hope to find acceptance with God, to enjoy His favour, and to escape the punishment due to sin, and which must come in the future. Others there are who, while repudiating their own deeds and outward observances, are yet found hiding themselves in their own feelings and enjoyments; they have had so much sorrow for sin, and so much joy in the service of God, that they feel they must be secure. All such persons, however, as we have described, viewed in the light of the gospel, are but foolish builders, and are living self-deceived; they are, indeed, one and all building upon the sand, and not upon Christ, the Rock of Ages. However sincere and careful they may be, they are really by their own work seeking to supersede the work of Christ; they are striving to save themselves; and to the extent that they thus strive they reject Christ. It is, however, written : “And a man shall be a hiding-place from the wind, a covert from the tempest, as rivers of water in a dry place, and as the shadow of a great rock in a weary land." The man referred to is Christ Himself, the Son of God, who suffered, bled, and died to save us. In His blood only we can find cleansing and forgiveness, in His righteousness only, justification and peace; by faith in Him, trusting in Him, and Him only, we are delivered from the guilt and dominion of sin, and fitted for God's presence and glory. Reader, beware of false confidence; be assured that if hope is not built upon Christ, to the exclusion of every other ground of trust, it will fail thee when most needed, and in the midst of that storm which sooner or later must come to try every man's work of what sort it is. "There's your Place of Worship." A TALK WITH AN OMNIBUS CONDUCTOR. NE cold wintry day an aged and faithful minister very cold; but that old man's heart was warm with his Saviour's love and the joy of His service; so, buttoning his great-coat about him, he mounted to the top of the omnibus. A moment's silence followed, in which, as was his habit, he asked the Holy Spirit to teach him what to say; and then, as was also his habit, he turned to speak to the conductor. He first asked about his busy life-how many hours a day he drove—if he ever got a holiday—if he suffered much from constant exposure to the weather; and then, when he had gained the man's attention, he said earnestly, "And how is it with your soul?" "Well, sir," said the conductor, civilly, "truth is best, and the truth is I have no time to attend to my soul. Here I am, late and early, Sundays and week days, from morning till night, so that I've no time to go to a place of worship." "No time to attend to your soul! No time to go to a place of worship! Why, my friend," said the minister, with startling earnestness, "there's your place of worship." "Where, sir?" asked the conductor, looking all round, and not seeing a sign of church or chapel. 66 "There," answered the minister, pointing to the step on which the conductor stood; there, on that step, is your place of worship; there is where you are to seek the Lord; and if you do, there is where you will certainly find Him." 66 Why, sir, how is that? I thought that the church or the chapel was the only place of worship." "I suppose by your fire at home is the place for you to eat your dinner." 66 Yes, sir, I suppose it is, when I get the chance, which is not often; though I mostly manage to eat my supper there." "And when you don't eat your dinner there, do you go hungry?" "Why, no, sir; that would be a bad look-out," said the conductor, laughing. "I clap it into my pocket, and eat it as best I may, while I go along." "And it is just so with a place of worship. The church, or the chapel, or your quiet room at home, would seem the natural places of worship; but for those who haven't much time, they must do as you do with your dinner, and carry their place of worship about with them—that is, they must worship God wherever they are. There is hardly a street in London that has not at one time or another been a place of worship to me as I walked or drove along. Hundreds |