ich are easily mistaken for each other.

2. The second point of resemblance is the necessity of intense
feeling. We have fulness--fulness, it may be, produced by outward
stimulus, or else by an inpouring of the Spirit. What we want is life,
"more life, and fuller." To escape from monotony, to get away from the
life of mere routine and habits, to feel that we are alive--with more
of surprise and wakefulness in our existence. To have less of the
gelid, torpid, tortoise-like existence. "To feel the years before us."
To be consciously existing.

Now this desire lies at the bottom of many forms of life which are
apparently as diverse as possible. It constitutes the fascination of
the gambler's life: money is not what he wants--were he possessed of
thousands to-day he would risk them all to-morrow--but it is that
being perpetually on the brink of enormous wealth and utter ruin, he
is compelled to realize at every moment the possibility of the
extremes of life. Every moment is one of feeling. This too,
constitutes the charm of all those forms of life in which the gambling
feeling is predominant--where a sense of skill is blended with a
mixture of chance. If you ask the statesman why it is, that possessed
as he is of wealth, he quits his princely home for the dark
metropolis, he would reply, "That he loves the excitement of a
political existence." It is this too, which gives to the warrior's and
the traveller's existence such peculiar reality; and it is this in a
far lower form which stimulates the pleasure of a fashionable
life--which sends the votaries of the world in a constant round from
the capital to the watering place, and from the watering place to the
capital; what they crave for is the power of feeling intensely.

Now the proper and natural outlet for this feeling is the life of the
Spirit. What is religion but fuller life? To live in the Spirit, what
is it but to have keener feelings and mightier powers--to rise into a
higher consciousness of life? What is religion's self but feeling? The
highest form of religion is charity. Love is of God, and he that
loveth is born of God, and knoweth God. This is an intense feeling,
too intense to be excited, profound in its calmness, yet it rises at
times in its higher flights into that ecstatic life which glances in a
moment intuitively through ages. These are the pentecostal hours of
our existence, when the Spirit comes as a mighty rushing