When a child is learning to write, it matters not of what words the copy set to him is composed, the thing desired being that, whatever he writes, he learns to write well.  When a man is learning to be a Christian, it matters not what his particular work in life may be, the work he does is but the copy-line set to him; the main thing to be considered is that he learn to live well.

The second consideration by which Mr. Caird supports his thesis is, that religion consists, not so much in doing spiritual or sacred acts, as in doing secular acts from a sacred or spiritual motive.  ’A man may be a Christian thinker and writer as much when giving to science, or history, or biography, or poetry a Christian tone and spirit, as when composing sermons or writing hymns.’

The third and most eloquent division of the discourse illustrates the thesis from the Mind’s Power of acting on Lattat Principles.  Though we cannot, in our worldly work, be always consciously thinking of religion, yet unconsciously, insensibly, we may be acting under its ever present control.  For example, the preacher, amidst all his mental exertions, has underneath the outward workings of his mind, the latent thought of the presence of his auditory.

Like a secret atmosphere it surrounds and bathes his spirit as he goes on with the external work.  And have not yon, too, my friends, an Auditor—­it may he, a ’great cloud of witnesses’—­but at least one all glorious Witness and Listener ever present, ever watchful, as the discourse of life proceeds?  Why, then, in this case too, while the outward business is diligently prosecuted, may there not be on your spirit a latent and constant impression of that awful inspection?  What worldly work so absorbing as to leave no room in a believer’s spirit for the hallowing thought of that glorious Presence ever near?

We shall give but one extract more, the final illustration of this third head of discourse.  It is a very good specimen of one of those exciting and irresistible bursts by which Caird sweeps away his audience.  Imagine the following sentences given, at first quietly, but with great feeling, gradually waxing in energy and rapidity; and at length, amid dead stillness and hushed breaths, concluded as with a torrent’s rush:—­

Or, have we not all felt that the thought of anticipated happiness may blend itself with the work of our busiest hours?  The labourer’s coming, released from toil—­the schoolboy’s coming holiday, or the hard-wrought business man’s approaching season of relaxation—­the expected return of a long absent and much loved friend; is not the thought of these, or similar joyous events, one which often intermingles with, without interrupting, our common work?  When a father goes forth to his ‘labour till the evening,’ perhaps often, very often, in the thick of his toils the thought of home may start up to cheer him.  The smile that is to welcome him, as he crosses his lowly threshold