motest suggestion that they are not actual occurrences. The narrator does not stultify himself in this manner. In every instance where Baur appeals to exegesis in support of his view of the evangelist's intent in this matter, he is obliged to do violence to the passage in hand. For example, when Jesus said,Blessed are they that have not seen, and yet have believed,' there is, to be sure, a reference to the reluctance of Thomas to believe without seeing; but to believe what? Why, the miracle of the resurrection to which the other Apostles had testified. This was the object of faith. It is not on faith independent of miracles, but on faith independent of the ocular perception of miracles, that Jesus pronounces His blessing.

6

6

Scattered over the pages of the Fourth Gospel are numerous indirect proofs that the author draws his material from personal recollection. Only a few illustrations can be here presented. 'And it was at Jerusalem the feast of the dedication, and it was winter. And Jesus walked in the temple in Solomon's porch' (John x. 22, 23). Why should it be mentioned that Jesus was in this porch? Nothing in the teaching recorded in the context called for it. How can it be accounted for except on the supposition that the scene was printed on the author's memory? Stating this fact, he must needs explain to heathen readers why Jesus walked in this sheltered place. It was winter:' the festival occurred in December. A similar instance of obvious recollection is John viii. 20. The iron boxes constituting 'the treasury' the author had seen. The image of Jesus as He stood near them was present in his recollection. Why should he refer to non,' where John was baptising, as near to Salim'? (iii. 23.) Why should he describe the pool at Jerusalem as being by the sheep-gate-as called in Hebrew Bethesda'-as having five porches ? (v. 2.) Why should he interrupt his narrative (viii. 1) with the statement that Jesus went unto the Mount of Olives, and early in the morning came again to the temple,' a bare chronological fact with nothing to hang upon it? What else can it be but an accurate reminiscence? Other chronological statements, extending not only to the day, but to the hour, are frequent. They come in, not as if they had been sought, but as a component part of the author's recollection. For what reason is Philip designated (xii. 21) as 'of Bethsaida of Galilee,' the incident here recorded not requiring any such particularity of description? What reason is there for adding to the statement that Pilate sat down in his judgmentseat, that the place is called the Pavement, but in the Hebrew, Gabbatha'? What can this be but an instance of precise description, such as is natural in referring to a spot where one has witnessed a memorable event?

If the Fourth Gospel was not written by John, it is the product of pious fraud. Among the Jews, in the later period of their history, prior to the time of Jesus, many pseudony

mous works were composed. This took place chiefly among the Alexandrians, but was not confined to them. Conscious that the age of inspiration had gone by, authors felt prompted to set forth, under the name of Enoch, Solomon, or some other worthy, the lessons which they thought suited to the time. They aspired to enter into the mind, and speak in the spirit, of the prophet or sage whom they personated. In this literary device there was often no deliberate purpose to deceive. It early led, however, to intentional fraud. This practice passed over into certain Christian circles where Judaic and Judaising influences prevailed. The distinction between esoteric and exoteric doctrine, which may be traced to the Alexandrian philosophy, availed as a partial excuse for it. Writings were fabricated like the Sibylline Oracles and the Pseudo-Clementine Homilies. But pious frauds of this nature, as every one feels, are repugnant to the sense of truth which Christianity demands and fosters. Christianity brought in a purer standard. In the ancient Church, as now, books of this sort were earnestly condemned by enlightened Christians. Tertullian informs us that the presbyter who was convicted of writing in the name of Paul the Acta Pauli et Thecla confessed his offence, and was deposed from his office. This incident shows what must have been the feeling entertained by Christians generally in regard to this species of benevolent imposture. The reader can judge for himself as to the moral tone of the Gospel and Epistle which we are considering. Did the author, as regards sound ethical feeling, stand on the low plane of the manufacturers of spurious books? Would such a man fabricate, in the name of an Apostle, a fictitious history of the Lord? Such a work, let it be noticed, is of an utterly diverse character from a merely didactic writing. Doubts have been entertained, both in ancient and modern times, of the genuineness of the Second Epistle of Peter. But if we can conceive of a wellmeaning Christian, with a conscience imperfectly trained, undertaking to compose a homily under the name of an Apostle, it is still something utterly different from the attempt to traverse the ground, which to him must have been sacred ground, that was already covered by the authentic Gospels. The irreverence, the audacity, of such a procedure far outstrips any examples furnished by the Gospels known to be apocryphal, which mainly confine themselves to the infancy of Jesus and to the Virgin Mary. Baur, in defending his position, actually compares the author of this Gospel to the Apostle Paul. Paul, he reminds us, was not one of the Twelve.

Why should there not be still another Apostle? Think of the Apostle Paul sitting down to invent a fictitious history of the Lord Jesus Christ! And yet the author of the Fourth Gospel is put by Baur on a level, as regards moral and spiritual worth, with the Apostle Paul.

There are some other traits of the Fourth

Gospel which are adapted to impress the candid reader with the conviction that it is the Apostle John who writes it.

1. The peculiar mode in which the authorship is indicated. There is one prominent disciple whose name is not given. He is referred to by a circumlocution. At the Last Supper there leaned on the bosom of Jesus 'one of His disciples whom Jesus loved' (xiii. 23). To him, described in the same terms, Jesus commits His mother (xix. 26). He accompanies Peter to the tomb of Jesus-the other disciple whom Jesus loved' (xx. 2). Once more (xxi. 7) he is designated in the same way. He it is who is spoken of as another disciple' and 'that other disciple' (xviii. 15, 16; compare XX. 2, 3, 4, 8). Nor will it be doubted that he is the one of the two' whose name is not given (i. 40), the associate of Andrew. In the appendix to the Gospel (xxi. 24; compare verse 20) he is declared to be its author. As might be expected from the passages just quoted, he refers to himself in the third person when asserting that he had witnessed a particular occurrence (xix. 35). That he was one of those personally conversant with Jesus is left to be inferred from his use of the first person plural of the pronoun (John i. 14; 1 John i. 2, 3): 'We beheld His glory,' &c. It was not denied by Baur, nor is there any reason to doubt, that the author of the Gospel intends his readers to believe him to be the Apostle John. Now, if it is the Apostle himself who, from a certain delicacy of feeling, prefers to veil himself, as it were, instead of referring to himself by name, this peculiar manner of indicating the authorship of the book is easily and naturally explained. If it be not John, what is the alternative? It is not simply that we must infer that deceit is intended, but it is deceit of a very different sort from that which has been referred to as belonging to pseudonymous writings. There is adroit painstaking; there is, as Weiss observes, an abandonment of the naïveté which belongs to the authors of those books, and which is the sole apology that can be pleaded in behalf of them. They do not go to work in this sly way. They do not seek to decoy the reader into ascribing the book to the pretended author. They assume his name without hesitation. On the contrary, if the Fourth Gospel was not written by John, we have an artful imposition, carried from beginning to end of the book. The forger not only assumes to be John, but in order to accomplish his end affects modesty. He puts himself side by side with Peter, leans on the breast of Jesus, goes to the sepulchre, stands before the cross, there to have the mother of the Lord committed to his charge; but, in order to impose on his readers more effectually, takes pains to avoid writing the name of John-except where he speaks of the Baptist, whose usual title he suppresses doing thus from cunning what John the Apostle, being of the same name and his disciple, would have done naturally.

2. The author (if he be not John) is guilty

of direct falsehood, amounting almost to perjury. He asserts that he saw water and blood issue from the side of Jesus as He hung on the cross (xix. 35). Baur correctly interprets the writer as speaking of himself. He would resolve this alleged direct perception of material objects into a kind of spiritual discernmentan intuition of spiritual effects to follow the death of Jesus. What is this but to trifle with historical statements? What is it but to confound sober prose with a poesy which hardly consists with a sane mind? If the author of the Gospel did not see what he so solemnly asseverates that he did see, his misstatement is due to something worse than the mysterious agency called by the critic, 'die Macht der Idee.'

3. The Gospel is, in a sense, an autobiography. It is a record of the origin and development of the author's faith in Jesus as the divine Son of God. It is the grounds of his own faith which he professes to set forth. And his purpose is to bring others to the same faith or to establish them in it. Why not recount the very facts which had planted this deep persuasion in his own heart? Why resort to fictions? Were not the words and works of Christ which had actually evoked faith in his own soul sufficient for others?

4. The personal love of the author of the Gospel to Jesus is inconsistent with the supposition that it is a spurious work. It is evident from the whole tone of the composition that he regards Jesus with a warm personal affection. Whom does he love? Is it an unreal person, called into being by imagination? The person whom he loves is the historic Jesus. Of Him he says: "Whom we have seen with our eyes, which we have looked upon, and our hands have handled' (1 John i. 1). He is conscious, with a mingled humility and joy, that he had been specially an object of the love of Jesus- the disciple whom Jesus loved.' With Jesus he is consciously united by the closest personal tie. Shall we say that the author imagined a character, and then, conceiving of him as an actual person who had said and done what imagination had ascribed to him, gives to this product of fancy his heart's deepest love? This is to impute to the author insanity.

5. The tender simplicity which marks so many passages of the narrative stamps them with the seal of truth. The record of the tears of Jesus on witnessing the sorrow of Mary and her friends; the saying that as death approached, having loved His disciples, 'He loved them to the end;' the pathetic words, Behold Thy mother,' 'Behold Thy Son,' which were spoken from the cross-to think of these as the inventions of a theological speculatist, who is bent on writing up or writing down a person or theory, is an unnatural and offensive supposition.

To complete this discussion, it is necessary to notice a middle theory which has found favour with some recent writers--namely, that disciples of John composed the Gospel

on the basis of oral instruction which they had received from him. Mr Matthew Arnold has conjectured that the Ephesian presbyters, partly on the foundation of materials furnished by the Apostle, are the authors of the book. Clement of Alexandria, as it was said above, reports the tradition that John wrote at the urgent request of familiar friends. The Muratorian fragment makes a like statement, with the additional circumstance of a revelation to Andrew to the effect that John'should write

down everything, and all should certify.' There is no patristic support for the hypothesis just explained. But what compels its rejection is the testimony respecting the authorship of the book which the writer himself gives in the peculiar, indirect form which has been adverted to. He is brought before his readers in such a manner that the necessary alternative of denying his personal authorship is the supposition of intentional deceit.

OW hard can you pull?' inquired Grandpa Larue, holding Maurice by the two hands; 'let me see how hard you can pull.'

'I can pull hard,' said Maurice; I can pull very hard.' 'Ah, indeed? So you can, so you can. You are quite strong.'

Maurice was pleased to hear grandpa say that he was strong; boys like to be considered strong. Maurice was not a large boy, he was only nine years old, but he was large for his

age.

'I wonder how many pounds you can pull?' 'I do not know, sir; a great many, I think. I can pull Jemmy Westcott on the sled,' and Maurice began to feel very proud.

'Pull Jemmy Westcott! Why, that must be a pull. I am glad you are a strong boy.'

So am I, grandpa,' said Maurice, leaping over a stool, and leaping back again.

'Come here,' said grandpa, taking both his hands again; 'what makes you strong, Maurice?'

Maurice threw back his head and smiled, and began thinking what to answer, but he did not seem to find just the right words.

'Maurice, you are strong, because God made you so,' said grandpa; your strength is a power which God has given you. When God gives us strength of body and mind, He expects us to pull a great deal.'

per

Does He?' inquired Maurice, a little plexed; what does He want me to pull? 'Your body is the engine, your spirit is the fire; you are one of God's engines. God will show you what to pull.'

Maurice was not sure that he quite understood.

'Who made you, Maurice?'

'God made me, grandpa.'

'Everything that is made is made for some use or purpose. If a man makes anything, he makes it for some purpose, does He not?'

"Yes, grandpa.'

'If God makes a boy, He makes him for some purpose.'

Maurice had never thought that God had made him for any special use.

'You are one of God's engines. He kindled a fire in you, and made you have strength

that is, He gave you life, and mind, and health, and made you all in good running order, like a first-class engine.'

Maurice laughed at this. He could hardly forbear puffing and pretending to pull off with a train.

'Now, the important part is to have God Himself run you. A great many of God's engines do a great deal of damage, ruin a great many other engines, and are destroyed themselves, because they like to run by themselves, or because they have the great Spirit of Evil to run them.'

Maurice thought this was all very strange; he had never before considered himself at all like an engine.

Grandpa, when you say "God's engines," do you mean people?' he inquired.

"Yes, I mean people. Now, what would become of that engine over there if it should be left to run by itself?'

'I think it would run into the twelve o'clock up-train, unless switched off until the twelve o'clock goes by.'

'And suppose it did not run into any train, what would become of it?'

'Oh, it would whiz off the track going around the curve, or run smash into another engine, or into a depot.'

Then you do not think it could run by

itself?'

'I know it could not, grandpa.'

'Neither can God's engines run by themselves, although they sometimes think they can; but suppose somebody should run that train who would prefer to see it broken in pieces, and who did not want it to go over the road appointed for it, that would be as bad as running by itself; don't you think so?'

'Yes, sir, I think it would.'

'So, it is very bad and very dangerous for God's engines to be run by that wicked one, who wants to see them go off the track, and come to evil.'

Maurice smiled brightly. He saw what grandpa meant.

'God must run His own engines if they are to go on the right road, and at the right speed, then they will come safely to the depot byand-by.'

'Do you mean heaven, grandpa?'

'Yes, I mean heaven. God only can run His engines to that depot.'

'Am I really and for true one of God's engines, grandpa?'

Yes, Maurice, He has made you a good stout little engine. He wants to run His little engine Himself, and put certain loads on for it to pull, and He wants to bring it by-and-by to the depot safe and sound.'

'I want Him to run it, grandpa,' said Maurice, gently.

"Then He will, my boy, He will so;' and grandpa wiped his eyes and laid his hand lovingly on Maurice's head.

'How shall I get Him to run it, grandpa?' 'Ask Him.'

Maurice had always been taught to pray, but this seemed such a new, strange prayer, that he was altogether perplexed.

'Ask Him, and then be sure, whatever comes or goes, that you do just as He wants you to do.'

And what will I pull, grandpa? it is so funny to be an engine.'

'Pull or push whatever God lays on or before you.'

'I do not understand that.' 'Suppose you see a boy carrying a load, and laugh at him, and tease him as he goes, would that be doing as God's engine should-it would be better to give him a lift. Suppose you help a strong boy, annoy or injure a little, weak boy, would that be using your strength as one of God's engines should?—it would be better to help the weak boy. If papa or mamma gives you something unpleasant or difficult to do, how should you act as God's engine? You will pull the load-that is, do the difficult or unpleasant thing. Whenever you use your strength of body or mind in doing something which is right, which you know God will approve, you are moving a little of the burden which He has given you to pull or to push. All the little duties belonging to every day make up the load which God intended you to push or pull when He made you, and gave you strength of body and of mind. Every time you do the slightest thing which you know to be right, you are pleasing Him, and doing the work He intended you for.'

If I do not want to study my lesson, but just do it because it is right, is that moving any of the load, grandpa?'

Exactly.'

And if we want to do a thing very much, and do not do it because it is wrong, is that anything?'

It is giving the best proof in the world that you want God to run His engine, and will not run it yourself, or have the wicked spirit to run it. To have God run the engine is to do right, no matter what comes; to always do right in spite of everything.'

'But boys make mistakes sometimes when they do not mean to do so.'

'God does not leave the engine if a boy

makes a mistake when he does not mean to

do so; takes.' Maurice was looking very thoughtfully up in grandpa's face.

but we must try not to make mis

God has put power in you, little boy, just as the engineer puts power in the engine when he puts the fire and water in it. God has put a strong power in you; now, make sure, all your life, that you are using that power for God, and doing the things He wants you to do, and then you will be safe all the way as you go, and God will bring you to the end of your road all right.'

THE REST WHICH CHRIST GIVES.-The rest but well-balanced, peaceful, and blessed acwhich Jesus gives is not inaction, nor lethargy, tivity. It implies rest from struggling, from weariness, from the burden of a guilty conscience, from bondage to the world, from the condemnation of sin, and from the fear of death. It introduces us into the path of labour for Christ, which is according to the normal condition of the soul, and implies no more painful effort than for a bird to sing, a gem to sparkle, or a rose to fling its sweetness to the air! The service of Christ is the Christian's highest freedom, and he who is most active in that service enjoys the sublimest rest.

My infant sleeps! Free, free from pain, her weary head doth rest In peaceful slumber on her Saviour's breast!

Hush, hush, ye summer winds that softly sigh
Where ivy creeps!

Fold, fold your feathery pinions silently,
My infant sleeps!
Long, long she cried for rest, and now at last
Her cry is answered, and she slumbers fast.
Sad, sad, beside a little snow-white bed
A mother weeps;
is over now, and with the dead
Her infant sleeps!
Dry, dry those tears, fond mother, weep no

The strife