be crowned. The battle is the Lord's in the last analysis and He saveth not alone with sword and spear.

There are sentiments and principles which become deep-rooted in a nation's life mightier by far than the heaviest battalions. There are habits of thought and long-cherished convictions which constitute a more reliable form of defense than all the ramparts and battlements devised by strategists. A nation of Davids will in the final outcome outmatch any nation of Goliaths with all their swords and spears. And in one's personal life the clear conscience and the heart of faith will bring any man off from any field where he may be sent more than conqueror through Him who loves us.

This young man showed also a fine capacity for friendship with men. "His soul was knit with the soul of Jonathan and he loved him as he loved his own soul." The fine friendship of a man for a man, or the gracious affection which a woman feels for a woman who is indeed her friend, becomes a noble form of human relationship. Those ties where the charm and power of the sex-impulse has no place have in them a world of moral worth.

It is easy for any man to fall in love with some beautiful woman—it is as easy as rolling off a log, and ever so much more delightful. It is easy for any man to inhale the sweet incense which arises from the devotion of some affectionate woman's heart. But where a man loves a man in an unsullied, unselfish friendship until his soul is knit with the soul of that man in an interlacing and interlocking of interest, then you have that harder, rarer form of human relationship which is rich with promise.

The young chap who is never quite happy with his fellows, who must always have some adoring young woman present in order to be content, is not quite all there. He is a "softy." He is lath and plaster where there should be quartered oak. He has sentiment than principle; he has less muscle and more fat than go to the make-up of a virile manhood. The very absence of the glamour and mystery which enters into all attachments between those of opposite sex clears the air for the manifestation of some of those fine forms of fidelity and devotion which belong to friendship at its best.

Here the friendship was the more notable when we recall how the two men were placed. Jonathan was the eldest son of the king, the heir to the throne, the natural successor of Saul. But David by his military prowess had come to be highly esteemed. When he returned victorious from his wars against the enemies of Israel the proud and happy women had sung in the streets, "Saul has slain his thousands, but David has slain his tens of thousands." And David had been privately anointed by Samuel the prophet as a worthy candidate for the throne of Israel.

Jonathan, as the Crown Prince, had the least to gain and the most to lose by protecting the life and ministering to the well-being of this friend who might one day aspire to the throne. He made his affection a thing resplendent by its sheer unselfishness. He saw that David might increase while he would decrease, yet even so the sky of his affection was unclouded by a single touch of jealousy. How great is that love which envieth not.

And David in turn made his own adequate response to this magnanimous interest. He showed himself in his whole bearing a man worthy of the friendship of a prince of the blood. Heaven be praised for men who can find joy and satisfaction in the friendship of their fellows.

The young man who was destined to become king was generous to his enemies. Saul stood head and shoulders above his fellows, physically speaking, but in his mental and moral stature he was less than knee-high to the man who followed him upon the throne. When he heard the women singing David's praises, "Saul was very wroth—the saying displeased him and he eyed David from that day forward."

When the king saw the fine friendship between his own son Jonathan and the rising David his heart became as bitter as gall. "Thou son of a perverse, rebellious woman," he cried to the Crown Prince, "thou hast chosen this son of Jesse to thine own confusion." And when David increased year after year in stature, in wisdom, and in favour with God and men, Saul tried repeatedly to kill him. His soul cried out, "Let me feed fat the ancient grudge I bear him."

It is not easy for any man, especially a young man with hot, red blood in his veins and the sense of injustice rankling in his heart, to stand up in the face of hatred and malice and keep sweet about it. "Love your enemies. Bless them who curse you. Do good to them that hate you. Pray for those who despitefully use you." If you are struck upon the cheek take a second blow upon the other cheek rather than strike back in resentment. If a man compels you unjustly to go a mile with him, go two miles rather than seek to be avenged. Take the rules of action constantly from within, from the best instincts of your own heart rather than have them furnished to you by the evil behaviour of wrong-doers. Allow no man's meanness to master you—allow rather your own nobility to overcome that evil with good.

How easy it is to say it, but to do it—aye, there is the rub! It is so divinely hard to put these fine principles into practice. The soft answer may turn away wrath, but the hot retort comes more readily to the lips. The humane return of good for evil points the way of spiritual advance, but the desire to pay every man back in his own coin with a tip thrown in for good measure is often more natural. The more honour then to the man who has learned that greater is he that ruleth his own spirit than he that taketh a city.

When David had Saul within his power he refused to strike. There were months when the young man was hunted through the hills of Judea by the hirelings of the wicked king, as if he had been a mad dog. There came a night when Saul was sleeping in his barricade of wagons. He had around him the three thousand soldiers whom he had led into the mountains in his mad effort to capture David. The young man had been pursued until he had felt that there was only a step between him and death.

That very night, accompanied only by his armour-bearer, David stole under cover of the darkness into Saul's camp. He presently stood in the tent of the sleeping giant. Here was his enemy lying helpless at his feet! His armour-bearer, knowing the history of that enmity, whispered, "Let me smite him with one blow to the earth! I will not smite the second time." One blow in the dark would suffice to end that murderous career.

And it ought to be remembered that this was in a day when "an eye for an eye and a tooth for a tooth" was the law of the land. It was esteemed the law of God. The atmosphere was not one of forbearance—the popular heroes were men like Samson and Gideon, women like Deborah and Jael, who did not hesitate to strike down their foes. "Let me smite him," came the whisper in the dark. "One blow will suffice."

But peace hath her victories no less than war. Mercy has its trophies no less than force. Here was a man who would not avenge himself—he would give place unto wrath knowing that vengeance belongs to God. He was ready to make the bold adventure of undertaking to overcome evil with good.

David would not strike his enemy even though that enemy had been in hot pursuit of him. "Destroy him not," he whispered to his companion-in-arms as he felt him clutching the sword which hung at his side. David's greatest victory was not over Goliath, the Philistine giant—it was over himself, over that spirit of revenge which might so easily have ruled his heart in that dark, hard hour.

He had in splendid measure the quality of mercy which the poet sings.

"The quality of mercy is not strain'd,
It droppeth as the gentle rain from heaven
Upon the place beneath. It is twice blest;
It blesseth him that gives and him that takes.
'Tis mightiest in the mightiest: it becomes
The throned monarch better than his crown;
We do pray for mercy,
And that same