ing poets who will not sing for silver. Fighting artists who will not paint for lucre. I have no use even for a member of the Salvation Army who is not willing to fight.

What we need to-day is real fighting, and not a series of sham battles. Some things are not worth fighting for. The crusades were great but useless, because the crusaders fought for an empty sepulchre. Certain things are not worth fighting for. Whether a man has been ordained or is unordained; whether a preacher wears a coat or a gown; whether a building is called a church or a chapel; whether a convert is sprinkled or immersed ; whether a sermon is textual or topical; whether a rector uses a prayer book or a requisition blank when approaching the throne of grace. Thank God, we are through with all this.

There are real battles to be fought, and, therefore, I am looking for a fighting saint. I am through preaching sermons on "How to Control the Temper." The modern Christian has no temper worth preaching about. He goes off into a spasm of wrath over the loss of a collar button, and remains calm and unmoved amid the slaughter of the innocents. The trouble is that the Church has been satisfied to expend its wrath on little sins, while great crimes have festered in the body politic. We have been killing flies in the jungle while savage tigers have held the road. We have been playing with the tin horn of childishness while the megaphone of Truth has been permitted to rust and corrode.-Should a Christian smoke? Should a deaconess dance? Should an

elder play cards? Should a class leader go to the theatre? These are "manufactured sins," right for some and wrong for others, according to the dictates of conscience in the individual soul. Come! Come! Strike hands with me for the extermination of one great evil in the community, and I will not bother you about your little sins. If you were fighting more you would be playing less.

Men are

Talk about a "moral equivalent for war,"-my friend, you can develop more backbone in three months by facing the evils which exist in the community where you reside than by serving in an army for the whole period of the Boer war. dying for excitement, but what is more exciting than a fight? A telegram was received in London some time ago, which read as follows: "A saint has appeared in the valley of the Swats but the police are after him." The modern saint, on this side of the planet, is not a disturbing element to the unbroken meditations of the average police official. It takes more than one saint of the modern brand to disturb the smug, self-satisfied, self-complacent, easy-going officer of the law, as we know him in the "open town" districts on the banks of the Red River or in the valley of the Assiniboine.

I am through worrying about the unseen forces of evil in the universe. Even a personal devil at work during the day and sleepless during the night fails to alarm my soul. I am persuaded that if I am wise enough and sufficiently courageous to look after the devil I can see that an Unseen God, in His kind

providence, will "keep tab" on the devil I cannot see. There are modern devils which need particular attention at the present time. Their name is legion -Drink, Graft, Commercial Selfishness, Social Exclusiveness, Religious Formalism, Personal Ease, Special Interest and Unlawful Privilege.

John Morley in his life of Cromwell remarks concerning John Pym, the great parliamentary leader, that "he thought it a part of a man's religion to see that his country was well governed." How out of tune with present circumstances such a mortal would be in the easy-going Christianity of our modern civilization. We have the affirmation of Mr. Bryce, the historian, for it, that modern citizenship has failed in Europe and America because of three great evilsindolence, selfishness and party spirit. The real truth is that the fighting saint has retired to the sleeping car and the well-groomed porter of social respectability watches over him. Oh, for the voice of a prophet! Oh, for the thunder tones of Carlyle as he exclaims: "Are there not in this nation men enough to venture forward and do battle for God's truth versus the devil's falsehood?"

By the heroes of the arena, by the martyrs of the early Church, by the tragedies of the catacombs, by the sufferings of the Covenanters, by the bleeding feet of the Waldenses, by the massacre of the Huguenots -I call you to battle! These were the fighting saints of history.

I think I know how to measure a great soul. A soul must be measured by three things: First, by

its capacity for a great love. Second, by its capacity for a great enthusiasm. Third, by its capacity for a great wrath. A man never appears to better advantage than when he is the incarnation of a splendid wrath. Remember the words of the psalmist: "Ye that love the Lord hate evil!"

Wrath! Splendid wrath!-as when a noted American reformer, looking into the face of one who had been a base deceiver, exclaimed: "Sir, I have for you an infinite contempt!" or, for a British illustration, William E. Gladstone, the Grand Old Man of modern English history, when some careless friend repeated to him an indecent thing, he replied with indignation, "What, you call that witty? I call it devilish!"

Shall we take our stand with that modern prophet, Tolstoy, as he places a stern title on one of his books in these granite words, "I cannot be silent," or shall our lives simply add a sad suggestiveness to the painful lament of Jean Paul Richter:

"We glance and nod and bustle by

And never once possess our souls before we die."

The demand to-day is for the fighting saint. Oh, for consecrated carelessness! Oh, for consecrated indifference! Oh, for consecrated recklessness! Men who don't care what men say. Women who don't care what women say. Preachers who don't care what preachers say. Young men who don't care what the world says, or does or fails to do, so long as they are conscious of the fact that they are

keeping step with the music of heaven and marching with the heroes of all the ages.

"Saints of the early dawn of Christ,
Saints of Imperial Rome,

Saints of the cloistered Middle Age,
Saints of the modern home;
Saints of the soft and sunny East,

Saints of the frozen seas;

Saints of the isles that wave their palms
In the far Antipodes ;

Saints of the mart and busy streets,
Saints of the squalid lanes,
Saints of the silent solitudes,

Of the prairies and the plains;
Saints who were wafted to the skies

In the torment robe of flame;

Saints who have graven on men's thoughts
A monumental name."