sake of indulging their passions, and are not rewarded-but ruined. The drunkard offers his money, his health, his reputation, his all, at the shrine of vitiated appetite. What does he gain in return? The gambler squanders his time, his substance, his peace of mind, in his mad pursuit. What does he get by it? Too often his life becomes insupportable, and he fills a suicide's grave. It is only when the path of sacrifice is the path of duty that it can be the path of reward.

It is difficult to convince a worldly mind that sacrifices for duty do secure rewards; just because the sacrifices are seen, while the rewards are generally unseen. True, such sacrifices are now and then visibly-tangibly-substantially rewarded in this world. Many years ago a young man from the country was employed as clerk, at a mercantile house in the city of London. At first he gave every

satisfaction, and seemed likely to do well; until one Saturday evening his employer requested him to come into the office on the morrow, to finish certain accounts. But he frankly replied: "I must beg to be excused I cannot break the Sabbath-my conscience won't allow it." Very well," said his employer, "you may go; I must find some one whose conscience is not quite so rigid;"—and thereupon dismissed him. Another merchant, however, hearing of the affair, reasoned thus: "I think that young

man, who so faithfully serves his God, would not make a bad servant for me;" and took him at once into his service. As time wore on the young man proved himself worthy of the confidence reposed in him, obtained a partnership in the firm, and accumulated a large fortune. The sacrifice he made was signally rewarded.

By no means.

But are rewards less certain, less real, less valuable, when unseen? Men of the world look in silent wonder on the self-forgetfulness of those who give up all for the glory of God or the good of their fellows-give up all without receiving any apparent recompense; they are constrained to admire their courage, though they cannot understand their motives. Two thousand clergymen leave the Church of England in the reign of Charles the Second, in deference to the call of conscience-quitting positions of ease, luxury, and respectability, with no better prospect before them than the pangs of penury and the violence of persecution. Indeed, an apostle makes a somewhat gloomy admission respecting the saints of ancient times: "These all died in faith, not having received the promises, but having seen them afar off, and were persuaded of them, and embraced them, and confessed that they were strangers and pilgrims on the earth." Still you

must not suppose that these men had no reward whatever, even in this world; they enjoyed com

munion with God, tranquillity of conscience, hope of glory-treasures of which neither death, nor life, nor angels, nor principalities, nor powers, nor things present, nor things to come, nor height, nor depth, nor any other creature, could deprive them.

He who sacrifices for duty-and he alonerecognizes the fact that this life is only preliminary, introductory, preparatory to another-the life beyond the grave. He looks forward. His home is above. He is not over-anxious about his position here. Like the storm-tossed mariner, who, as he struggles with the powers of the treacherous deep, takes courage when he remembers the cottage on the shore, where loving hearts are thinking of him, praying for his safety, and longing for his return; so he is content to endure the trials of earth, when he contemplates the unspeakable joys of heaven. Suffering here is brief, the reward yonder will be eternal; therefore he "reckons that the sufferings of this present time are not worthy to be compared with the glory which shall be revealed in him.”

The conclusion of the whole matter is this-Do YOUR DUTY. Do your duty, because it is noble, glorious, and Christ-like. Or else, do your duty, because God will not fail to reward you.

XVIII.

THE OLYMPIAN RACECOURSE;

OR,

HOLY AMBITION.

"Brethren, I count not myself to have apprehended: but this one thing I do, forgetting those things which are behind, and reaching forth unto those things which are before, I press toward the mark for the prize of the high calling of God in Christ Jesus."

PHIL. iii. 13, 14.

In order to apprehend the full force of the text, it is necessary that we should picture to ourselves the scene to which it refers. The ancient Greeks were accustomed to assemble periodically on the plains of Olympia and other places, to hold their national festivals. These were regarded as great occasions; every Greek took the liveliest interest in them; they had long acquired a world-wide renown. We are not surprized, therefore, that a practical writer like the apostle Paul, should allude to them again and again in his Epistles.

Let us imagine ourselves present at one of those great festivals, held at Olympia, in the territory of Elis, some two thousand years ago. We stand on

the Panke of the river Althens, bear the ancient temple of the Olymplan Jove The place is sacred ground, Laving been resorted to by the great and brave for many centuries, to display their skill and

scene.

It is associated with the names of those whose memory sends a thrill of rapture through the Leart of every trueborn Greek, and makes him feel doubly proud of his mighty race and glorious country. For the time being no armed force can enter the territory without incurring the guilt of sacrilege ; indeed, every warlike enterprise is suspended throughout the whole Grecian world; all Greeks, though belonging to independent and perhaps hostile States, are reminded that they are brethren, the descendants of one common ancestor. Let us try to realize the Thousands upon thousands from all parts are assembled on the plain. They are all animated by the same spirit, and are intent upon the same object. The sun, as he walks in beauty towards the meridian, looks down with radiant smiles on the earth beneath. Presently the racecourse is cleared for the race; the judges take their seats near the goal; and witnesses, many of whom have been victors themselves on former occasions, are arranged on either side of the course. Everything is now ready; the runners commence to run; every runner, with steady aim and firm determination, presses towards the mark; the greatest excitement prevails