he limbs which indicates disease. That disease is
the twitching paralysis of sin. Like 'the pestilence that walketh in
darkness,' it has a fell power of concealing itself, and the man whose
sins are the greatest is always the least conscious of them. He dwells
in a region where the malaria is so all-pervading that the inhabitants
do not know what the sweetness of an unpoisoned atmosphere is. If there
is a 'worst man' in the world, we may be very sure that no conscience is
less troubled than his is.

So the question may well be urged on those so terribly numerous amongst
us, whose very unconsciousness of their true condition is the most fatal
symptom of their fatal disease. What is the worth of a peace which is
only secured by ignoring realities, and which can be shattered into
fragments by anything that compels a man to see himself as he is? In
such a fool's paradise thousands of us live. 'Use and wont,' the
continual occupation with the trifles of our daily lives, the fleeting
satisfactions of our animal nature, the shallow wisdom which bids us
'let sleeping dogs lie,' all conspire to mask, to many consciences,
their unrest and their sin. We abstain from lifting the curtain behind
which the serpent lies coiled in our hearts, because we dread to see
its loathly length, and to rouse it to lift its malignant head, and to
strike with its forked tongue. But sooner or later--may it not be too
late--we shall be set face to face with the dark recess, and discover
the foul reptile that has all the while been coiled there.

II. Man's mad way of seeking healing.

Can there be a more absurd course of action than that recorded in our
text? 'When Ephraim saw his sickness, then went Ephraim to Assyria.' The
Northern Kingdom sought for the healing of their national calamities
from the very cause of their national calamities, and in repetition of
their national sin. A hopeful policy, and one which speedily ended in
the only possible result! But that insanity was but a sample of the
infatuation which besets us all. When we are conscious of our unrest,
are we not all tempted to seek to conceal it with what has made it? Take
examples from the grosser forms of animal indulgence. The drunkard's
vulgar proverb recommending 'a hair of the dog that bit you,' is but a
coarse expression of a common fault. He is wretched until 'another
glass' steadies, for a moment, his trembling hand, and gives a brief
stimulus to his nerves. They say that the