s great fervour in Stephen Orpin's
tones when he said, as he often did--"Men and women, I do not come here
to make you _good_, which, in the estimation of more than one half of
the so-called Christian world, means _goody_. My desire is to open your
eyes to see Jesus, the Saviour from _sin_. Who among you--except the
young--does not know the power of sin; our inability to restrain bad and
vicious habits; our passionate desire to do what we _know_ is wrong; our
frequent falling from courses that we _know_ to be right? It is not
that hell frightens us; it is not that heaven fails to attract us.
These ideas trouble us little--too little. It is _present_ misery that
torments. We long and desire to have, but cannot obtain; we fight and
strive, but do not succeed, or, it may be, we do succeed, and discover
success to be failure, for we are disappointed, and then feel a tendency
towards apathetic indifference. If, however, our consciences be
awakened, then the torment takes another form. We are tempted
powerfully, and cannot resist. We cannot subdue our passions; we cannot
restrain our tempers. No wonder. Has not God said, `Greater is he who
ruleth his own spirit, than he who taketh a city?' The greatest
conqueror is not so great as he who conquers himself. What then? Is
there _no_ deliverance from sin? Yes, there is. `Sin shall _not_ have
dominion over you,' are the words of Him who also said, `Come unto Me,
all ye that labour and are heavy laden, and I will give you rest.'"

"Stephen Orpin," cried a sturdy sinner, in whose ears these words were
preached, "do you _know_ all that to be true? Can you speak from
experience of this deliverance, this rest?"

"Yes," cried Stephen, starting up with a sudden impulse, "I _do_ know
it--partly by some deliverances that have been wrought for me, partly
from some degree of rest attained to, and much, very much, from the firm
assurance I have that, but for God's forbearing and restraining mercy, I
should have been a lost soul long long ago. Man, wherein I have failed
in obtaining deliverance and rest, it has been owing to _my_ sin, not to
failure in the Lord's faithfulness."

But Stephen did not travel so far or so long as had been his wont in
days gone by. A wife and family, in the village of Salem, exercised an
attractive influence, fastening him, as it were, to a fixed point, and
converting his former erratic orbit into a circle which, with
centripetal force, was alwa