tine, and far off, even in the depths of the Orient, wise and good men were longing for the coming of the Deliverer. Long years had they brooded over the prophecies, and like Simeon and Anna, hoped to see the Messiah before closing their eyes in death. But all was still in the heavens above. A deep and portentous gloom, unrelieved by a single star, brooded over the world.

CHAPTER VIII.

THE ADVENT.

WE can easily imagine the sceptic, at the era referred to in the preceding chapter, pouring infinite scorn on the predictions of the Messiah's reign, saying, Where is the promise of his coming? for since the fathers fell asleep, all things continue as they were from the foundation of the world. The course of nature moves on as usual; the sun rises and sets, the stars circle in the heavens, spring, summer, and autumn come and go, by an unvarying law. Divine advents are no more. Miracles are a legend of the darker ages. The season of faith in the supernatural is passed. A religion other than instinct, or nature, is but the dream of sick-brained enthusiasm. Prayer is folly and presumption. The creation of the

world as a work of time, the first Eden, the fall of man, the flood, the call of Abraham, the exode from Egypt, the pillar of cloud by day and of fire by night, the passage of the Red Sea, the giving of the law from Sinai, divine revelations through Moses and Isaiah, inspiration, miracles, and wonders, are simple myths, or traditionary legends.

in which a few grains of truth are preserved in a huge mass of error.

mingled and

But the time
This is the

for believing such things is gone by. eighth century from the foundation of Rome. The age is too enlightened to be caught by fictions. And as for a new and special revelation, of a grander and purer character than has ever been dreamed of by saint or sage, and above all, the advent from the spirit world of a divine messenger, whose kingdom is to be coeval with time, and spread over the globe, reason must pronounce it the most absurd chimera!

Yes! nature moved on as usual; and no sign or promise of the new order of things so long expected, and so much needed, was visible in the earth or sky. Mankind were eating and drinking, sinning and suffering, as usual. Millions were rushing after vanity, and the weary nations were sinking into deeper and still deeper night.

But as nature is often silent, says Tholuck, before the bursting forth of some grand or fearful change, which is to affect, for weal or for woe, the destiny of thousands, and as such change is often like the sudden protrusion of a hand from the dark, or a flash of lightning at midnight, so now, the fulness of the times being come, Jesus was born into the world in a humble town, in the hush of night among strangers who cared nothing for the event-in a condition of lowliness

and poverty peculiarly striking- and without any general and imposing demonstrations. And why? Simply because he was to be a spiritual Teacher, a divine Redeemer, whose "still small voice" of love and mercy was gently but irresistibly to penetrate the human heart, and transform it into the divine image.

Natural, for it was only a birth; supernatural, for it was the birth of the Divine among men. Natural, for he seemed to glide into the race, as a new star glides into the heavens; supernatural, for a higher form of gravitation in the spiritual sphere began to act upon society, fitted to change and modify it forever. Natural, for no laws were counteracted or suspended; supernatural, for a deeper and more comprehensive law controlled them all. Indeed, it may be said, that in the unity of a higher and more comprehensive law, the natural and supernatural are one a fact of which the incarnation is a proof and illustration. Little is recorded of this unostentatious but august event. It was proclaimed, as has been often said, not in the streets of Jerusalem, or the purlieus of the temple, but in the quiet scenes of the country; not to the Sanhedrim of the Jewish nation, nor to the priesthood in solemn conclave, but to a few pious shepherds, as they watched their flocks by night on the plains of Bethlehem.

In all this we discern much of divine wisdom

God, in creating and blessing, is not so much in the "whirlwind and the storm," as in "the still small voice." His mightiest changes are achieved by invisible, and apparently trivial means. He works not at the surface, but at the centre; not by mechanism, but by spirit. He comes rather in the solitude and silence of night, like the dew beneath the stars, than in the glare and tumult of day. In this respect he reverses all the expectations of man. "Without observation," like his own reign of purity and love, he accomplishes the designs of his grace. Not with the might of kings, or the tread of armies, but with the quiet majesty, the still, but resistless force of supreme and all-pervading will. He taketh "the weak things of the world to confound the mighty, and things that are not to bring to nought things that are, that no flesh may glory in his presence." Evermore he magnifies purity and love over might and display.

Moreover, the incarnation of Jesus Christ was a veiling rather than a revealing of absolute power. Indeed, every embodiment or manifestation of God must possess this character. Properly speaking, the heaven of heavens cannot contain him; the entire visible creation, in magnitude, bears no conceivable relation to his infinity. "In all," he is yet above all," transcendent and ineffable. Further, it was love, rather than absolute or phys

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