But surely with this old story from the Book of Acts to warn us, we must see how vain all such divided efforts are.  We may deceive ourselves or others for a while; but the deception cannot last, and in some hour of searching or of trial our true characters will be laid bare.  Let us see to it, then, that we may take this awful example home as a very real and practical warning to ourselves—­that we not only “hate and abhor lying,” but put away from us whatsoever “maketh a lie”! and that the prayer continually on our lips and in our hearts is, “From the crafts and assaults of the devil . . . from pride, vain-glory, and hypocrisy, good Lord, deliver us.”

[1]Dr Oswald Dykes.

DEMAS

BY REV.  PRINCIPAL DAVID ROWLANDS, B.A.

Many a man who figures in history, is only known in connection with some stupendous fault—­some mistake, some folly, or some sin—­that has given him an unenviable immortality.  Mention his name, and the huge blot by which his memory is besmirched starts up before the mind in all its hideousness.  Take Cain, for example.  He occupies the foremost rank as regards fame; his name is one of the first that children learn to lisp; and yet what do we know about him?  Very little indeed; our knowledge, in fact, is limited to a single act—­an act which is the most horrible of human crimes.  His name is suggestive only of violence, murder, the shedding of innocent blood—­the foulest deeds that man can possibly commit.  Or take Judas Iscariot.  We know more particulars about him—­we know that he was one of the original apostles, that he managed their common fund, that he posed as a strict economist, and above all, that he was a consummate hypocrite.  Yet when we mention his name, we call up the remembrance of only one vile deed, one treacherous act—­an act that has made his name a curse and a byword throughout the ages.  The same remark is applicable to Demas.  His name is familiar enough, but the story of his life is almost unknown.  Paul refers to him more than once as a fellow-labourer, which shows that for a time at least he was an exemplary Christian.  But he failed in the hour of trial—­failed through being dominated by an inordinate love of the world—­and his memory survives, therefore, as a representative of that worldly-mindedness which leads to apostasy.

The tone in which the great apostle mentions Demas, in his second letter to Timothy, is very touching. “Demas,” saith he, “has forsaken me, having loved the present world” (2 Tim. iv. 16).  We might have expected him to give vent to his feelings in bitter invective—­as is customary in such cases—­and to denounce the cowardliness of this desertion in language aflame with indignation.  It would have been no more than justice to the offender, and it might have deterred others from stumbling in the same way.  But no, he does nothing of the kind; his words contain nothing