It is oftenest those who are comparatively poor that are the richest in good works, in alms, and deeds of love. So it may have been in this case. We know that Christ was poor; "for our sakes he became poor." The foxes have holes and the birds of the air have nests, but the son of man had not where to lay his head.

"No foot of land did he possess,

No cottage in this wilderness,
A poor way-faring man!"

Though he was in the midst of a world which his own hands had made, he claimed nothing as his own. He cast himself upon the gratitude of those on whom he had bestowed greater blessings than earth can give. He gave them bread from heaven for their souls, and in turn depended upon them for temporal bread. He gave them the water of eternal life, and hence looked to them in return for that water which satisfies bodily wants. He cheered their souls with prospects of eternal joy, and expected from them those attentions which would go to cheer his pilgrimage on earth. He was not forgotten by his own. With devoted hearts and hands they ministered unto him, and not the most backward of these was Mary Magdalene.

It is remarkable that these women, who accompanied Magdalene in the ministering to him, were all such, who, like herself, "had been healed of evil spirits and infirmities. They had been blest much, and hence they loved much. These acts of kindness have a peculiar interest when viewed as expressions of pure gratitude. Some followed the Saviour for "loaves and fishes," or with the hope of gain in some way or other. This robbed their acts of all their purely moral and religious character. Those were selfish, but these were benevolent. Those followed him because they expected to receive some temporal good; but these followed because they had received a spiritual good. Good works are not to be regarded as the price by which grace is to be purchased; but they are the fruits which grow forth spontaneously from a heart which has been blest. To this class belong the ministerings of Mary Magdalene. She both judged and felt it proper that she should devote the remainder of her poor life to Him who had been all to her-to him who cast forth from her worn and tormented heart the raging spirits of evil, and who had stilled the tempest of her soul with his all-conquering words of "Peace, be still!"

"But drops of grief can ne'er repay

The debt of love I owe;

Here, Lord, I give myself away,

'Tis all that I can do."

These offices of love which she manifested in ministering to him were, however, necessary in order to evidence the genuineness of her conversion. It was not only necessary that the devils should go out of her heart; Christ must also be received into it,

and erect his throne, and establish his kingdom there. The only clear evidence that Christ has taken up his abode in the heart, is to be sought in the fruits which grow forth from it. The mercy which Christ showed to many whom he healed of bodily infirmities was designed to lead them to believe in him so as to be healed also in soul; but this result was not always reached. Some, satisfied with the temporal part of the blessing, turned away and asked not for more, thus arresting the progress of grace in its first stages, and manifesting no sense of gratitude for the blessing. Of this we have a remarkable instance in Luke 17: 12, 19. The one leper was healed not only in body but also in soul. evidence of it is found in his turning to glorify God. In like manner Magdalene showed her real personal interest in Christ by the devotion of her life to offices of grateful love.

The

This is the most important consideration in religion. The Saviour himself lays down the broad and clear principle, "By their fruits ye shall know them"-not by their professions-not even by their professed experiences, independently of the subsequent history of these experiences in positive acts of 'continued devotion. The mere fact that evil has to some extent departed, that evil habits have been laid aside, is not sufficient evidence that the person is a new creature in Christ Jesus. This is part, but not the whole. This negative, this "laying off," only becomes genuinely gracious when it is connected with the positive, with the "putting on." Neither the branches, leaves or blossoms are evidence of a good tree, but only the fruit. These leaves and blossoms belong to it, and are presumptive evidence that it may be good; but these evidences only become clear and full by the actual fruit; because bad trees also have leaves and blossoms. So these negative evidences of grace afford a presumptive evidence of an interest in Christ; but the fruits of a devoted life alone can afford full assurance of that fact. The assurance of our real interest in Christ becomes ripe only in the fruits which grow forth from a renewed heart. These fruits Magdalene manifested in that she ministered unto Christ.

The truth of this is abundantly confirmed in the sacred scriptures. Everywhere the principle is laid down, that no other evidence that we are Christians is to be satisfactory, either to ourselves or to others, but a holy and devoted life. The fruits of faith are the only evidence of faith. The fruits of love are the only evidence of love. The fruits of hope are the only evidence of hope. We are his children, if we have a filial spirit. The spirit bears witness, not to our spirits, but with our spirits, that we are the children of God. The command is not only lay off, but also put on. It is not only forsake sin, but also follow me. It is not only rise from your death of sin, but also live and walk in him. It is not only profess, but also possess. "Not every one

that saith unto me, Lord, Lord, shall enter into the kingdom of heaven; but he that doeth the will of my Father which is in heaven. The Saviour says, "Let your light so shine before men that they may see"-not your professions of conversion merely— not your inward experiences merely-not merely that you have laid by some evil habits-but "your good works, and glorify your father which is in heaven."

Do we wish to know whether we are personally interested in Christ, we can know it by attending to the directions given us by the Apostle John. He knew as well as any Christian ever knew the joys of gracious experiences, and yet he warns against trusting in them as sure evidences of grace. He gives the same rule on which we have insisted-the same rule which the Saviour has laid down and which Mary Magdalene has so happily illustrated in her whole life. "Little children, let no man deceive you: he that doeth righteousness is righteous." "In this the children of God are manifest, and the children of the devil: whosoever docth not righteousness is not of God." "And every man that hath this hope in himself purifieth himself, even as he is pure." "Hereby we do know that we know him, if we keep his commandments. He that saith, I know him, and keepeth not his commandments, is a liar, and the truth is not in him. But whoso keepeth his word, in him verily is the love of God perfected: hereby know we that we are in him. He that saith he abideth in him, ought himself also so to walk, even as he walked."

All these passages show clearly that the only evidence of a real change of heart is to be sought alone in the fruits of a devoted life. How happy, then, ought we to be that the conversion of Magdalene did not evaporate, as thousands of pretended conversions do, in a puff of momentary zeal, in the mists of superficial experiences which go away like the dews of the morning, or like flying clouds which disappear in the heavens and bring no rain, and cause no fruitfulness. But happier still may we be, if we find our religious character to be like her's-proving its genuineness by a life devoted to grateful ministerings to that Saviour who delivered us from the power of Satan, and introduced us into the liberty of his own dear children.

How faithful was she! how devoted to the Lord! In all his painful pilgrimage she was by his side; and it seemed to be all her care to anticipate his wants, and make provision for their satisfaction. What an evidence, not only of the existence, but also of the power and loveliness of grace. She left all and followed him. His cares were her cares. Her life, her joys and sorrows, her hopes and fears, were all identified with his. She was bound up in her Saviour for life and for death-for earth and for heaven! And this, oh, this is religion. The whole story of her life is told in the few words, "she ministered unto him."

Her devotion, therefore, was entire. Much of the piety of the present day is evidently defective in this feature, which stands out with such beautiful prominence in the religious character of Mary Magdalene. Religion at present is too loquacious, too noisy, too boastful; it talks too much of professions and experiences; it comes too often, in its speakings, to visions and revelations; it is too often exalted above measure through the abundance of what it considers revelations; it is too imaginative, and lives too much in airy fancies and in spiritualistic dreams. It needs, in this respect, like the apostle, a thorn in the flesh, lest it become a fool in its glorying. It needs to become more practical. Instead of dreams of faith we need more of the deeds of faith. Instead of seeking for the feeling of love we need more of the acts of love-love needs to take less of the character of sentiment, and more of the form of charity. We need less of that religion which seeks, in the sentimentality of its own spiritual raptures, to forget the ills and woes of earth, and we need more of that which will lay hold of them in good earnest. We want more of a laboring, ministering religion. We want a revival of the sentiment that "pure religion and undefiled before God and the Father is this: To visit the fatherless and widows in their affliction, and to keep itself unspotted from the world."

Religion is not confined to inward frames and emotions; it extends itself over all the activities of the outward man, employing every member of the body, as well as every faculty of the soul, in doing good. How amiable and complete, in this view, is the piety of Magdalene, whose entire life, from her conversion, was one continued deed of love.

Some one may say, as Christ is no more among us on earth, we have no more the same opportunity to show our love by ministering unto him. He is still on earth, and appears before us daily in the form of the least and poorest of his people. We can minister to him by serving them, as truly and acceptably, too, as Magdalene did, or any of those who washed his feet with their tears. He is so entirely one with his little ones that what is done to them he regards as done to him. When Saul persecuted the believing saints at Damascus, Christ said, "Saul, Saul, why persecutest thou ME?" Of his people it is said, "In all their afflictions he was afflicted." Isaiah 63: 9. They are the apple of his eye, and he feels it when they are touched either in kindness or for evil. They are the members of his body, and the pain of every wound inflicted upon either of the members is felt at the heart. From his divine heart tendrils go out and entwine themselves around all the joys and sorrows of his children, and when these are touched they report back to their centre with the utmost faithfulness. Hence, is any of his little ones hungry, feed him—is he thirsty, give him drink-is he a stranger, take him in-is he naked, clothe him-is

he sick, visit him-is he in prison, minister to him tenderly in his loneliness-and then hear what Christ says: "Inasmuch as ye have done it unto one of the least of these, my brethren, ye have done it unto me."

This idea of ministering to Christ in the person of his afflicted and needy children, is beautifully exhibited by the poet Montgomery, whose praise and pious savor is in all the churches. It was Christ himself who came to him, but like the two apostles who went to Emaus, his eyes were holden at first that he did not know him. Hear how he tells it:

"A poor way-faring man of grief
Hath often crossed me on my way,
Who sued so humbly for relief,

That I could never answer, 'Nay;"
I had not power to ask his name,
Whither he went, or whence he came,
Yet there was something in his eye

That won my love, I know not why."

Once when he was sitting at his meal this way-faring man came in and asked for bread; again he met him as he sat at a fountain; he came, weak and weary, his very looks asked for a cup of water, though he spake not a word-then he heard his voice, in a cold, stormy winter night, fall plaintively upon his ear, as he lay on his couch; he seemed to ask for shelter-afterward he met him by the side of the highway wounded, beaten, and nigh unto death-and, last of all, he came accidently to him, sitting condemned in a dungeon, waiting to be executed at dawn of morning. In all these circumstances his pity was moved, and he afforded the mysterious, lonely man relief. Who was it, you are ready to ask? Hear how he tells it, in the concluding stanza:

The same beautiful and impressive truth is also illustrated in a parable-which is not all a parable.

There was once-so the parable says-there was once, some where, a very fashionable church in which worshipped a very fashionable class of people. The isles were carpeted-the pews were lined with down of the softest velvet-the pulpit was covered and hung with ample yards of the richest fabrication, all sparkling with gold and silver enamelling and interweavings as if it had been bestrown with diamonds. The pews were seated with persons whose rich clothing filled the soft air of the sanctuary with the tinklings and rustlings of wealth; and the whole scene was like