Nay, truly, there are the germs of goodness in every one of us.  Thy servant is something more than a dog, though he calls himself that, and nothing else.  There is something of the religious emotion in you, and that means there is something of the Divine.  You have dreams at times of a beautiful life, you have longings for it, sometimes you even set out to reach it—­and these are all touches of God.  They all prove that the Holy Ghost sometimes pays at least a passing visit to your hearts.  You do not know what God can make of you until you trust and try Him.  There are greater things by far in you than you have guessed.  Have confidence in Him, and He will bring them out.  I can see a man of God in you, a pillar in the Church, an honour to the town.  I can see a Christian mother in you, a half-sainted woman full of good works, bringing children up to noble lives.  It is there in many of you, if you do not despise and neglect the gift that is in you, but use it and cultivate it prayerfully, and let God bring it to perfection.

MANASSEH

BY REV.  J. G. GREENHOUGH, M.A.

“Manasseh was twelve years old when he began to reign, and he reigned fifty and five years in Jerusalem.”—­2 CHRON. xxxiii. l.

Fifty and five years—­he wore the crown a longer time than any other of the house of David.  Of all the kings that reigned in Jerusalem, this man’s reign filled the largest space; yet he is the one king of Judah about whom we are told least.  In the modern city of Venice there is a hall which is adorned with the portraits of all the doges or kings who ruled that city in the days of its splendour—­all except one—­one who made himself infamous by evil deeds.  Where his portrait ought to be, there is a black blank space which says nothing, yet speaks volumes; which says to every visitor, Do not think of him, let him be forgotten.  In some such way Manasseh is disposed of by the sacred writers.  They hurry over the fifty-five years; they crowd them into half a chapter, as if they were ashamed to dwell upon them, as if they wanted the memory of them and of the man to be forgotten.  And that was the feeling of all the Jews.  Century after century, and even to the present time, Jews have held the man’s name in abhorrence.  Do not speak of him, they say.  He was the curse of our nation.  He denied our faith.  He slew our prophets.  He brought Jerusalem to ruin.

Yet, strange to say, the man so hated and cursed was once a nation’s hope and joy.  When his father, Hezekiah, lay sick unto death, his greatest grief and the profoundest sorrow of his people was caused by the thought that he was dying childless.  They prayed for his recovery mainly on that ground.  He recovered, and married, and a child was born, and the glad father called him Manasseh, which means, God hath made me forget—­forget my sickness and my sorrow; and all over the land the ringing of