the same table with those who ate and drank with such gladness.  I remembered Mr. Fearing at the House Beautiful when I was present at a communion season some time back in Ross-shire.  The church was half full of Mr. Fearing’s close kindred that communion morning.  For, all that the minister himself could do, and all that the assisting minister could do—­no! to the table those self-examined, self-condemned, fear-filled souls would not come.  The two ministers, like Mr. Greatheart’s Master, carried it wonderful lovingly with those poor saints that day; but those who are in deed, and not in name only, passing the time of their sojourning here in fear—­they cannot all at once be lifted above all their fears, even by the ablest action sermons, or by the most wise and tender table-addresses.  And, truth to tell, though you will rebuke me all the way home to-night for saying it, my heart sat somewhat nearer to those old people who were perhaps a little too dumpish in their repentance and their faith and their hope that morning, than it did to those who took to the table with a light heart.  I know all your flippant cant about gospel liberty and against Highland introspection, as you call it—­as well as all your habitual neglect of a close and deep self-examination, as Paul called it; but I tell you all to-night that it would be the salvation of your soul if you too worked your way up to every returning Lord’s table with much more fear and much more trembling.  Let a man examine himself, Saxon as well as Celt, in Edinburgh as well as in Ross-shire, and so let him eat of that flesh and drink of that blood.  “These pills,” said Mr. Skill, “are to be taken three at a time fasting in half a quarter of a pint of the tears of repentance; these pills are good to prevent diseases, as well as to cure when one is sick.  Yea, I dare say it, and stand to it, that if a man will but use this physic as he should, it will make him live for ever.  But thou must give these pills no other way but as I have prescribed; for, if you do, they will do no good.”  “Then he and I set forward,” said the guide, “and I went before; but my man was of but few words, only he would often sigh aloud.”

5.  As to the Hill Difficulty, that was no stick at all to Mr. Fearing; and as for the lions, he pulled their whiskers and snapped his fingers in their dumfoundered faces.  For you must know that Mr. Fearing’s trouble was not about such things as these at all; his only fear was about his acceptance at last.  He beat Mr. Greatheart himself at getting down into the Valley of Humiliation, till the guide was fain to confess that he went down as well as he ever saw man go down in all his life.  This pilgrim cared not how mean he was, so he might be but happy at last.  That is the reason why so many of God’s best saints take so kindly and so quietly to things that drive other men mad.  You wonder sometimes when you see an innocent man sit down quietly under accusations