even-may decide him whether he shall cross over, or plunge deeper into the condition in which he is.

And so now we may well ask, was it the man's own motion, or was it the Holy Spirit of God, that turned the attention of Saul of Tarsus while at the height of his mad fury, toward the far-off Damascus as a more promising field than Jerusalem, for the further prosecution of his fell purposes?

We remember the character of the man, how highsouled he was by nature, but that now, under the pricks of conscience for having done a wrong in the headiness of ignorance, he is merely seeking to save his pride of intellect from the humiliations of a fall. What he needed at this time most of all, therefore, that his mind might become attuned to his heart once more, were the opportunities for reflection, which he had so persistently avoided in his earlier days of chagrin and rage. And these were given, nay, forced upon, him in the way to Damascus, where, for a journey of two hundred miles over a lonely road, and with no one to speak to save a few rough zealots, with whom he had no sympathy either in heart or intellect, his sole companionship must have been that of his own thoughts.

It was God's hand revealing itself for the shaping of the future of His Church, but after a method in no wise inconsistent, either with His own dignity as the Lord of all, or with that of man as made in His image. For to all men, to some sooner, and to some later; to some in one way, and to some in another, he gives-surely gives, but in due time-the opportunities of a free acceptance of Himself, and forces the issue. And here were St. Paul's. This is the sum of the matter.

And now we begin to see him in the progress of his

lonely journey. Absented for a time from the scenes of his atrocities, and with no possibility for their immediate resumption, his fevered brain has begun to cool. And, despite all his efforts to resume rage, the stimulus is wanting, and the acts of the last few days will persist in presenting themselves at the bar of his mind for justification, and will not down.

· Then days pass—a week of them, perhaps; and now the "pricks" are at their height. Around is a dreary waste, and above, a burning sky, but the man does not heed them. In the distance loom the tall minarets of the city of his destination, and his companions begin to talk of the way as nearly conquered, but he does not hear them. For no matter whither he attempts to force his thoughts, his vision now remains ever of one above all others, for the shedding of whose blood he must give account. If he can only justify himself of this, the rest is plain, he feels. He has been doing God service through all.

Here is a sequence that may not be avoided. But this is just what he is unable to do. The contest has grown too unequal. Again and again he has come up to it, but each time only to find himself hurled back upon himself, more bruised and mangled than before; until at last he realizes, in an agony that cannot be told, that there is no fighting off the remembrance of that holy logic, which he, the foremost dialectician of his time, had been unable to answer, save with a blow; no crucifixion of that angelic look, whose reproach had photographed itself upon his heart, never to be effaced; no proscription of that dying prayer, "Lord, lay not this sin to their charge," whose tones had found the penetralia of his soul, that they might fill all its spaces forever.

The "pricks" have conquered. But O, the pitifulness of his condition now! Who shall speak it? The highsouled one satisfied that he has shed the blood of innocence, and that the mark of Cain is on his brow!

But still, he has his alternative just as other men, when granted those supreme moments of torture, that the heart may win its own in the last opportunities of the Spirit, as it strives to save: he can either hurl himself to that death of the soul, from which there is no recall; or, he can submit to the heavenly vision, which has revealed his Lord, and found out himself. Which shall it be? The question is to us all, and for us all. Neither is there exception. What it was in St. Paul's case, his own words shall answer: "Who art Thou, Lord, and what wilt Thou have me to do?"

Then what remains?

In our present quest simply this: That as we have related causes to ends, so must we bless God for that blood of martyrdom, which has been so appropriately styled, "The Seed of the Church," and which in its first illustration of fructifying power, gave to the world St. Paul.

St. Paul, the convert of St. Stephen! The Church's greatest Apostle on earth, but shining in heaven merely as the brightest star in the crown of another—her greatest Martyr!

"By perfect signs of triumph known,

Foremost and nearest to the throne
He stands,

And now casts down his jeweled crown-
His offering to his Lord."

TEXT:

ST. JOHN THE EVANGELIST.

Peter, turning about, seeth the disciple whom Jesus loved following; which also leaned on His breast at supper and said, Lord, which is he that betrayeth Thee? Peter seeing him saith to Jesus, Lord, and what shall this man do?-St. John XX. 21-22.

By the REV. DUDLEY WARD RHODES, D. D., Rector of the Church of St. John the Evangelist, St. Paul, Minn.

HAT St. Peter vainly sought to know we know

WH

and celebrate to-day. The life and character, the words and works of St. John are the priceless heritage, of the Church; and we come with glad and thankful hearts, on this his Festival day, to think of him and what he did. Of the Apostolic band he was, in the words which he uses of his divine Master, the first and the last, the Alpha and the Omega. He was the beloved Disciple, the Apostle, the Divine, the Evangelist, the letter writer, the Son of Thunder, the friend of the High Priest, the Exile, the Patriarch, the Seer for whom Heaven opened and disclosed the Lamb of God, whom he had seen at Bethsaida seventy years before, when John Baptist was the great and shining light, the man to whom Light and Love are the words of mightiest import because, "God is Love, and Jesus Christ is the true Light that lighteth every man that cometh into the world," the man who was the closest to his Master and yet most clearly discerns His Divinity.

It is, indeed, a great life, we contemplate to-day. There is none greater among the glorious company of the Apostles, the goodly fellowship of the Prophets, the noble army of Martyrs, or the Holy Church throughout all the world that praises God.

The long life of St. John falls into two sections; the first part lies before us in the bright, clear, Gospel pages, distinct, vivid, intense. The last part is confused amid legends and stories of the early days of the Church, where we hear much that we love to credit of his gentle love and tolerance, and much that we cannot credit, although they who tell the stories thought they did him honor in reviving the memories of his early and vindictive spirit.

Let us gather together the simple things which we clearly know of “what this man did.”

Crowds are listening to Voices are in the air, of Great things are soon to

We are by the shores of Galilee at the beginning of the Gospel of Jesus Christ. the preaching of the Baptist. high and mysterious import. happen. The groaning world, rotting under the poisonous breath of the kingdom of Tiberius, raises its languid head to catch the meaning of the words, "The kingdom of Heaven is at hand." Men whose hearts have grown sick at the universal sight of hollowness, insincerity, selfishness, of a world given over to forms, and shams, and greed, and lust, are startled, fascinated by the fierce indictment, "The ax is lying at the root of the trees. Every tree that bringeth not forth good fruit is hewn down and cast into the fire." Thoughtful, patient souls, who were waiting to see what kings and prophets had waited for and died without having seen, were electrified by the words from the mighty preacher. "Behold, a