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becomes sensible to us; we are lifted on its passing billow as if a breath from another world had stolen suddenly across our path.

This is the kind of emotion to which we draw attention the enthusiasm sometimes felt in truth, more especially in those fundamental, far-reaching truths which seem to suddenly lift the veil of phenomena, of varied colors, and to disclose to us the frame-work of the universe; the purposes which are running through it, and bearing it to its goal. This on-going of a divine plan, when recognized, startles and inspires the mind, lifts truth out of its daily, dry, instrumental ministrations, and gives us the sense of a new inheritance and possession in a universe whose conception we can thus lay hold of, whose secrets we can thus penetrate, whose wisdom and love we can thus interpret and feel. I care not how little or how much of this sentiment we may have felt, how far it may be thought to be confined to the more poetic and penetrative temperaments; it is sufficient to draw attention to it as an enthusiasm for truth occasionally felt and avowed, finding expression in the collective use of the word truth, the truth, the truths, as if a certain concealed link and deep unity were to be found in all facts. We do this, too, in the face of those detestable facts, truths, which sin is forcing constantly upon our notice, as if after all, there were some profound fellowship, some one exaltation in all truths, rendering them the truth.

This sensibility to the truth, be it more or less clear, be it more or less deep (1) inspires pursuit, (2) leads to faith in a profound, unfolding plan, and (3) quickens the mind to discover the corrective laws, the compensatory statements for the defects and transgressions which lie on the surface of the world. This sentiment opens up a line of effort, inspires enthusiasm, sends faith in advance of reason, and rejoices in the slow displacement of accredited by apprehended