ul or superstitious? Then some of the most brilliant
and significant events in the history of humanity are inexplicable.

What caused the revolution in the character of Augustine by which the
sensualist became a saint? Was it the study of Plato? or the prayers of
Monica? or the preaching of Ambrose? We know not; rather let us say it
was the Spirit of God. Who can define the process by which Wilberforce
was changed from the pet of fashionable society to one of the heroes in
the world's great crusade against injustice and oppression? Such
inquiries are more easily started than settled. I repeat, the only
rational and convincing word that was ever spoken on this subject is
that of Jesus. The Spirit of God, whose ministry is as still as the
sunlight, as mysterious as the wind, and as potent as gravitation, was
the One to whom He pointed.

How has this epoch in the ascent of the soul been treated in literature?
I refer with frequency to the literary treatment of spiritual subjects
because poets, dramatists, and writers of fiction, more than any other
class of authors, have studied the soul in its depths, in its
inspirations, and in the process by which it rises and presses toward
its goal.

The illustrations of this subject in the Scriptures are almost idyllic
in their simplicity and beauty. There is more than flippancy in the
remark that Adam's fall was a fall upward. The statement is literally
true. The fall was no fiction, but a condition of enlightenment and
growth. The exit from Eden was the beginning of the long, hard climb
toward the City of God.

The very moment when Isaiah saw Uzziah, the king, stricken with leprosy,
he saw the Lord.

The classical delineation of a soul attaining the higher knowledge is
that of the prodigal son, who, when he came to himself, saw clearly that
his father was waiting to welcome him.

The "Idylls of the King" are a kind of "Pilgrim's Progress." In various
ways they trace, and with matchless music rehearse, the growth of souls
and their victories over spiritual enemies. One of the most pathetic
stories ever told is that of the beautiful Queen Guinevere, who by shame
and agony learned that "we needs must love the highest when we see it;"
and who never appreciated the great love in which she was enfolded
until Arthur, "moving ghost-like to his doom," had gone to fight his
last great battle in the west.

The world owes George MacDonald gratitude it will never repay;--such
spiritual