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not frail and full of perils? And by how many perils arrive we at a greater peril? And when arrive we thither? But a friend of God, if I wish it, I become now at once.' So spake he; and in pain with the travail of a new life, he turned his eyes again upon the book and read on, and was changed inwardly, where Thou sawest, and his mind was stripped of the world, as soon appeared. For as he read, and rolled up and down the waves of his heart, he stormed at himself awhile, then discerned, and determined on a better course; and now being Thine said to his friend, 'Now have I broken loose from those our hopes, and am resolved to serve God; and this I enter upon, from this hour, in this place. If thou likest not to imitate me, yet oppose me not.' The other answered, that he would cleave to him to partake so glorious a reward, so glorious a service. Thus both being now Thine were building the tower at the necessary cost, the forsaking all that they had and following Thee. Then Pontitianus and the other with him, that had walked in other parts of the garden, came in search of them to the same place; and finding them, reminded them to return, for the day was now far spent. But they, relating their resolution and purpose, and how that will was begun and settled in them, begged their comrades, if they would not join, not to molest them. Then the others, though nothing altered from their former selves, did yet bewail themselves, as he

affirmed, and piously congratulated them, recommending themselves to their prayers; and So, with hearts lingering on the earth, went away to the palace. But the former two, fixing their heart on heaven, remained in the cottage. And both had affianced brides, who, hearing of this, likewise dedicated their virginity to God."*

This was the bolt, shot seemingly at a venture by a chance hand, which reached Augustine's heart. When his acquaintance left, he went with Alypius into the garden of the house where they resided, and there followed that great conflict between the flesh and spirit which ended in his conversion. The wonderful pages of Augustine himself describing this are both too long and too well known for me to quote. At length he hears a voice, as of a boy or girl from a neighbouring house, chanting and oft repeating, "Take up and read, take up and read." "Returning to the place where Alypius was sitting, for there had I laid the volume of the Apostle when I arose thence, I seized, opened, and in silence read that section on which my eyes first fell: 'Not in revelling and drunkenness, not in chambering and wantonness, not in strife and emulation; but put on the Lord Jesus Christ, and make not provision for the flesh in its desires.' No further would I read, nor needed I: for instantly at the end of this sentence, by a light as it were of serenity infused

* St. Aug. Conf. viii. 15.

into my heart, all the darkness of doubt vanished away."

From this time forth Augustine triumphs over that triple bondage of the world which hitherto had triumphed over him. Receiving baptism the next year, he declines marriage; he rejects all hope of wealth or honour from his profession. Cicero in riper years returned from his exile to seeming honour and consideration, in reality the humbled slave of the world which had trampled on him, waiting for his daily bread on its applause. Augustine, in the bloom of manhood, goes forth from his conversion into what seems a humble retirement and obscurity, but possessing inward liberty, a soul collected back into itself from the distraction of conflicting desires, but above all resting imperturbably on the Immutable One. There is in these two, upon the common foundation of human nature, great genius, a passion for knowledge, an ardent love of truth, as a liberal curiosity: but is it possible to conceive a completer revolution of the individual man than the one presents to the other? Who can express so well as Augustine the change which had passed over him? "Too late have I loved Thee, O Beauty, so old and yet so Too late have I loved Thee. And behold, Thou wast within and I without; and without I sought Thee, and rushed in my deformity on those fair forms which Thou hast created. Thou wast with me, and I was not with Thee. Things held

new.

me far from Thee, which would not be at all, if they were not in Thee. Thou calledst; Thou utteredst Thy voice; Thou brokest through my deafness. Thy lightning flashed; Thy splendour shone; my darkness was scattered. Thy scent came forth, I drew my breath, and I pant for Thee. I tasted, and I hunger, and I thirst. Thy touch reached me, and I burnt after Thy peace.' This is the whole. Cicero and his world were without; Augustine and his world within. Cicero is the model of innumerable heathens; Augustine the type of myriads among Christians of both sexes, and of every age and condition of life. This is the change which had passed upon man in those four hundred and fifty years.

Take another scene in his life. He is returning, a year after his conversion, to Africa with that mother, of whose prayers and tears, continued through long seemingly unhopeful years, he was the child, rather than of her natural throes. They are at Ostia about to embark, and gazing down from a window over the garden of the house where they rested. "We were discoursing then together alone very sweetly, and, forgetting those things which are behind and reaching forth unto those things which are before, we were inquiring between ourselves, in the presence of the Truth which Thou art, of what sort the eternal life of the saints was to be, which eye hath not seen, nor

* Conf. x. 38.

man.

ear heard, nor hath it entered into the heart of But yet we gasped with the mouth of our heart after those heavenly streams of Thy fountain, the fountain of life, which is with Thee; that being bedewed thence, according to our capacity, we might in some sort meditate upon so high a mystery. We were saying then: If to any the tumult of the flesh were hushed, hushed the images of earth and waters and air, hushed also the poles of heaven, yea, the very soul be hushed to herself, and by not thinking on self surmount self, hushed all dreams and imaginary revelations, every tongue and every sign, and whatsoever exists only in transition, since, if any could hear, all these say, We made not ourselves, but He made us who abideth for ever,-If then, having uttered this, they too should be hushed, having roused only our ears to Him who made them, and He alone speak, not by them but by Himself, that we may hear His Word not through any tongue of flesh nor angel's voice, nor sound of thunder, nor in the dark riddle of a similitude, but might hear Him whom in these things we love, might hear His very self without these (as we two now strained ourselves, and in swift thought touched on that eternal Wisdom which abideth over all); could this be continued on, and other visions of kind far unlike be withdrawn, and this one ravish and absorb and wrap up its beholder amid these inward joys, so that life might be for ever like that one moment of under

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