that evil is only good in the making; the other with sad apprehension of the evils that menace man, full often of a fear that was almost despair. Still we cannot but feel that Emerson's optimism was sometimes reached by evading the difficulty, by refusing to recognise the evil of life. We feel there is more hope from an honest acceptance of the facts, more real guidance and help from one who admits that besides the green pastures and quiet waters there is also the dark valley of the shadow. If sackcloth exists, it is ultimately better to acknowledge it, than to buy a cheap comfort by hiding it from ourselves. If we can only believe in the divine love by assiduously pretending that there is nothing that seems to contradict it, then it were better not to believe at all; for sooner or later the disillusionment will come.

Christianity has no sympathy with this shallow optimism. It begins with the calm acceptance of all the facts, recognising the darker side of human life, sin and suffering and sorrow and death. It is anything but content with the present order of things. There is no evading the problem of pain and tears, no ignoring the sackcloth. Its indictment of existing conditions is as vehement as that of the most despairing pessimism. There is no glossing over sin, no pretence at healing the hurt slightly. And yet

on the foundation of that pessimism it rears the most audacious form of optimism possible to conceive. It looks to a new heavens and a new earth wherein dwelleth righteousness. Its eyes are open to the evils that hold the race in thrall, but it points to victory and ultimate triumph. It cherishes a spirit of high hope. It sees sin, but also proclaims redemption. It sees sorrow, but also sees sorrow working out spiritual blessing, and knows that God shall wipe away all tears from off all faces. It feels the bondage of sin and death, but promises the breaking of chains to them that are bound. It believes in God and in man, and in the good that will master evil and overpower it.

It opens the gates that all clothed with sackcloth may enter, and find there comfort for their sorrow, hope for their despair, forgiveness for their sin, life for their death, "beauty for ashes, the oil of joy for mourning, the garment of praise for the spirit of heaviness." To open the gates is its program, and nothing less will content it. The cross, symbol of shame and defeat, is the world's glory and the world's hope, declaring that the love of God is the very heart of the universe. Henceforth the one great reality of earth is the Kingdom of Heaven; and all may enter into the King's gate clothed in sackcloth. It

is the one great democracy, if we but saw it, before which our political democracies are poor and shoddy. It breaks down all disabilities of class and caste and race. Nothing will so open the gates as the principle of the Kingdom, "All ye are brethren; for ye have one Father, even the Heavenly."

XIV

THE GRACE OF GIVING

Now ye Philippians know also, that in the beginning of the gospel, when I departed from Macedonia, no church had fellowship with me in the matter of giving and receiving but ye only.-PHILIPPIANS iv. 15 (R.V.).

His

PAUL was at this time in prison at Rome. friends at Philippi, thinking of the many hardships he would have to suffer, sent him tokens of their love and gratitude-money and gifts. This thoughtfulness affected him very much, and to that we owe this letter. Yet he found it hard to acknowledge it suitably. He does not want to speak of it, and indeed was finishing the letter without referring to it, except in so far as the general tenderness expressed gratitude. But after he has twice said "finally," he plunges into the matter. Paul was proud in such things. He who gave everything, his whole life, for others, would take nothing.

Perhaps this was not pride, so much as policy. He would suffer anything rather than give even the excuse for a sneer at his motives. More than

once he asserted his right to be supported by the Church, but gave up his right lest he might damage his work. This was in the early days when he had to break up the fallow ground. Later on he probably relaxed his rule somewhat, when there was not so much need of it; for here he says that had been his rule "In the beginning of the gospel, when I departed from Macedonia." Even then there had been one exception-the Philippians themselves. Their offer in these early days was probably as spontaneous and hearty, as much the fruit of love and gratitude as now. It would have been impossible to refuse their gifts without hurting their feelings. Paul accepted them as he accepted their presents in prison, because he felt it would have been boorish and churlish to refuse, and because after all he had real need, and most of all because his children at Philippi loved him and he loved them. He accepted in the spirit in which it was offered. It is pathetic to think of Paul having want that could be thus relieved, and yet from the tone of his remarks it evidently was so. "I have learned how to be full and to be hungry, both to abound and to suffer need." He admits that he had been in need and thanks them gratefully that they had fellowship with his affliction.

It is the fashion among moralists, especially sat