it retained the sense of touch, to realize things nobler than any which enter into human experience-is withered.

Now let us learn from the narrative the method of restoration. It is plain, in the first place, that the restorative power was in Christ, and dependent absolutely and entirely upon His will. When Our Lord willed it—neither sooner nor later—the healing virtue with which His Sacred Person was charged flew into the withered hand, and made it in an instant of time whole as the other. The patient's will, the patient's effort, could have done nothing whatever for him, independently of Christ. No exercise, prescribed to him by human skill, could have done aught to help him, had not the gracious Source of all health, natural and spiritual, been present as a fountain from which he might draw.

I say, a fountain from which he might draw; for you observe, in the second place, that, being in the presence of the fountain, he was required to draw. Our Lord did not by a mere act of His own will restore his hand ;-He bade the man to do something. And what He bade him to do sounded impossible in the present circumstances of the patient. He told him to stretch forth his hand,—a hand which was probably cramped together and curved by the complaint,—a hand in which there was no muscular power, and over which the brain had no control. And yet there was a meaning in the command, and a meaning which the patient understood. The meaning was that

he should try to act as if the withered hand had been sound, try to unclench those fast-set fingers, to unroll that long-closed palm. Very probably the thought flashed like lightning across the poor creature's mind; "He has healed hundreds who simply did as He bade them. He bids me to do this; and therefore I must be equal to doing this, or at least He will make me equal." "And he stretched it forth,"-he made the effort which he had been bidden to make,— his will roused itself, his brain issued once more the order which hitherto, as regarded that member, had produced no effect; and he finds with delight that the order is now obeyed, the hand unrolls itself, stretches itself towards the Saviour, casts off its old incapacity, is restored whole as the other.

One more observation we will draw from the narrative, before we part company with it. A hand stretched forth towards Christ is the emblem of prayer. Now as faith is the one great principle of the Spiritual Life, so is prayer its one great exercise. And though prayer is a very simple thing, and it is perfectly easy to grasp the idea of going to God for what we want, and telling out before Him the desires of our hearts; all experience teaches that prayer—at all events, stated and continuous prayer-is very difficult to practise. Those who are not much in the habit of collecting their thoughts, and are brought for the first time to see the necessity of real earnest prayer proceeding from the heart's core, find that the distractions which

beset every attempt so to pray are "Legion;" the mind is always flying off at a tangent to the concerns or amusements of this life; it seems to be the sport of every trifling impulse; teased and rebuffed, it finds its half-hour of devotion turned into a half-hour of bitter mortification. And even the best Christians, and those who have made some progress in the discipline of the mind, ever and anon find their prayers a grievous disappointment; they had looked to find a comfort and a sedative in Prayer, looked that it might lift them a little out of the atmosphere of this world; but they are crossed, and checked, and thwarted at every turn, being made in this way practically to feel their dependence upon God for the Spirit of grace and supplications. In this condition of mind it is natural to turn away from the faldstool in disgust, and postpone Devotion to a more convenient season. We are apt to say peevishly, "I cannot pray just now; I will put it off till circumstances are more favourable, till the mind is less anxious and less volatile, till the animal spirits flow more readily." Ah! this is not the true policy. The true policy is to persist in spite of the annoyances and the rebuffs. The true policy in spiritual things always is to endeavour, and to go on endeavouring, after that which we feel quite unequal to do. The motto of this policy is, "Stretch forth thy hand;" if the needful help does not seem to come immediately, it will come as soon as God sees that your faith and patience are sufficiently approved. Where you cannot

pray as you wish, pray at all events as you can; do not allow yourself to be teased away from your post of duty; make a more vigorous endeavour. Great was the reward which people of old carried away, who, like the Syrophoenician woman, or the bearers of the paralytic patient, hung on to the Lord in spite of discouragement, and would take no denial. Remember that no principle is shown by praying when the course of prayer runs smooth, when the mind is in order and composed, and the exercise acts as a sedative to the soul. To glide into harbour in a smooth sea, and with wind and tide both favouring, is no trial of a vessel at all. But to persist in making for the harbour with an adverse wind and tide, courageously to tack and tack again in hopes of making a little headway, and coming a little nearer to the mark, and so to wait on, striving against all odds, till wind and tide come round-this tries both the ribs of the ship and the patience of the mariners. And God must surely find that prayer most acceptable, in which He sees the greatest trial of principle.

We have now arrived at the point at which we can see distinctly how a beginning of the Christian life may be made by any one who is willing to make it. In our last Chapter we spoke of the grace which accompanies the baptismal relationship, and which exhibits itself in "good desires," those relentings as to a sinful or a thoughtless and careless career, those dissatisfactions with the world and with self, those attractions of the mind towards God, when scripturally exhibited

as the Father of the human spirit, which spring up ever and anon in men's hearts-to be summarily suppressed by some, to be cherished and brought to good effect by others. To surrender oneself in earnest to these good desires, to follow whither they lead, is the first thing to be done; and God will not lead us forward, until we have really mastered the first step. We shall not have followed far in the direction of these impulses, before it will begin to dawn upon us that what we really need in order to victory over sin and the world is a true faith, a realizing grasp of unseen things, such a grasp as gives a body and a substance to the truths respecting Heaven and Hell, God, and Christ, and the Devil, taking them out of the category of chimeras (or notions) and placing them in that of realities. Well, such a faith is to be had. It may be derived from Christ into our souls, as it has been derived into thousands of souls before ours. But think not that the Lord gives so priceless a blessing to those who do not show themselves worthy of it. Think not that He gives it to listless or languid seekers. Even human knowledge cannot be won without strenuous effort. Pearls cannot be picked up without the risk and trouble of diving for them. Ask of God the restoration of the lost sense of spiritual touch. If you are troubled and rebuffed by distractions in your prayer, pray on; "stretch forth thy hand" at the gate of Mercy, till something is put into it from above. And strive too; or how else shall you yourself be assured of the

D