"I should think I do."

"Well now, suppose I were to begin calling your father all kinds of hard names, and saying all sorts of evil about him in your presence, what would you say to me?"

"Very likely I should knock you down just where you are."

"I dare say you would, and perhaps it would be a punishment I should deserve. But you have been saying some very unjust and unkind things about my Father."

"How do you make that out, sir?"

"You have been preaching infidelity in my presence to these young men. You have been speaking evil of my heavenly Father-my best friend. You have charged Him with folly and wrong. You have hurt my feelings

very much indeed, for I love Him, and I don't thank either you or anybody else to slander Him in my presence."

The young man saw how greatly he had grieved me, and promised he would never do so again.

Is it always so with us? Do we hate every sin, and feel grieved and sorry every time we see anybody sinning against God? Do we love all that is good?

We should understand our own hearts. We should know ourselves.

Do we pray to God, and depend on His help? Are we trying every day to do all the good we can? We must look at our affections and try to understand our own hearts. We must know ourselves.

But there is another lesson we may learn from the conies. They show their wisdom as much by what they leave undone, as by what they do. They cannot match their enemies in fighting. If they tried to contend with an eagle or a vulture they would be killed. They cannot possibly gain anything by resisting their enemies. They cannot escape from them either, if they remain in the open field. They cannot run as fast as a bird can fly. If they tried to run away they would be caught. Victory and escape are alike impossible to the conies if they are foolish enough to try their powers in the open field. But they are too wise to do that. They never attempt what they know is impossible. And this brings out our second lesson:

II. We should never attempt what we know is impossible.

Many things are impossible to us, and we shall show our wisdom by never wasting our time and labour in attempting to do them. There are things that man cannot do, and there are things that God Himself cannot do without breaking His own laws.

There are physical impossibilities. You have often been at play with your top and whip. You notice that so long as you keep on whipping, the top keeps on spinning. If you cease to whip, it will very soon cease to move. No machine that was ever invented can move long without some force or motive power to keep it moving. Ingenious people have tried to find the

secret of perpetual motion. They tried water-wheels, and wheels with balls and weights, and all sorts of ingenious things, but they all failed. They were attempting to do what is impossible.

Hundreds of years ago there was a tradition that some curious stone existed in the world that would turn iron and brass and other metals into

gold. It was called "the philosopher's stone," but where it was to be found, and what sort of a thing it was, nobody knew. Men toiled patiently for years, by reading and study and experiment, to find out this secret. Many valuable lives were spent in this long patient search, but it was all in vain. They were aiming at the impossible.

There was another tradition quite as absurd and silly as "the philosopher's

stone." Many people believed that there was a certain liquid somewhere in the world that was a cure for all diseases, and the person who drank of it would never die. They called it "the water of life." Wise men tried experiments, and studied patiently, and toiled hard to find it, but they failed. They were trying to do what is impossible.

There are mental impossibilities. Some farmers were dining together on the first Saturday in the new year. It was market day, and they dined at the same place every week. One of them said to his friend, "Suppose I were to pay one grain of wheat for my dinner to-day, and two grains next Saturday, and four the next, and eight the next, and go on doubling every time till the end of the year, what kind of a bargain should I make?"

"A very foolish one," his friend replied. "You would incur a debt that would take all your money, and cattle, and furniture, and farm produce to pay. And when you had paid everything you have, it would take all the property of every farmer in the parish to pay it, and when all that was gone, and every neighbour you have was ruined, you might go to the next parish and do the same thing, and even then your grains of wheat would not be paid for."

This led to considerable difference of opinion, and to much conversation ; but one of the wisest of the farmers told them they could not understand the power of numbers. The mind breaks down when it tries to comprehend them. It is aiming at what is impossible.

You tell me there are nearly twelve hundred millions of people in the world. You can use the word "million” very easily, but you cannot count a million. You cannot even conceive of it in your mind. The greatest mind in the world could neither count nor comprehend a million without breaking down, and if you spent a lifetime in doing nothing but counting you could not number half the people in the world. You would be aiming at what is impossible.

Vast numbers, and great distances, and centuries are beyond our conception. There are mysteries the mind cannot fathom, and heights to which

thought cannot climb. The mind's powers are limited. When we try to understand these vast things with our little minds, we are like a little boy trying to grasp a whole sackful of nuts with one of his hands. We are aiming at the impossible.

I have said enough to show you that our powers are limited. There are many things we cannot do with all the intelligence, and industry, and patience, and perseverance in the world. Very many things are to us impossible. They are beyond our reach, and beyond our power. If we try to win them we shall be labouring in vain, and spending our strength for nought.

If we are wise we shall imitate the conies in this respect. We shall not attempt what we are sure is impossible.

We must first of all satisfy ourselves that a thing can be done, and that we have the means of doing it, before we venture to begin. There are many things that we can do if we try, and if we are wise we shall do them well, and leave those we are sure we cannot do. We should never attempt what we know is impossible.

But there is another way in which the conies show their wisdom. Life is as precious to them as it is to ourselves, and therefore they do what they can to protect themselves. They cannot fight, and they cannot escape if they remain in the open field. They have only one chance, and they show their wisdom by making use of it. They make themselves "houses in the rocks." They burrow holes in the ground like our English rabbits, just large enough to admit their own bodies. They build themselves snug retreats in the rocks, where neither beasts nor birds of prey can reach them. They frequent the fields for food, and enjoy themselves in the fresh air and sunshine; but on the approach of their enemies they run to their hidingplaces for safety. They know their own weakness, and they never attempt what they know they cannot do; but they know where their safety lies, and they make a right use of their knowledge. We must imitate them in this respect.