THE FARMER AND LAWYER. CHARITY. 61

And bursting through the dusky shroud,
That dar'd his power invest,
Ride thron'd in light o'er every cloud,
And guide you to his rest.

FABLE OF THE FARMER AND THE LAWYER.

A FARMER came to a neighbouring lawyer, expressing great concern for an accident, which he said, had just happened. One of your oxen, continued he, has been gored by an unlucky bull of mine, and I should be glad to know how I am to make you reparation. Thou art a very honest fellow, replied the lawyer, and wilt not think it unreasonable that I expect one of thy oxen in return. It is no more than justice, quoth the farmer, to be sure; but what did I say? I mistake, It is your bull that has killed one of my oxen. Indeed! says the lawyer, that alters the case: I must inquire into the affair, and if-And if, said the farmer; the business, I find, would have been concluded without an if, had you been as ready to do justice to others as to exact it from them.-How differently we judge in our own case from what we do in the concerns of others! Let us be careful to avoid self-partiality; to be just, whatever sacrifice it may cost us; and to follow our Saviour's golden rule, which says, "All things whatsoever ye would that men should do to you, do ye even so to them; for this is the law and the prophets."

CHARITY.

CHARITY is the same with benevolence or love; and is the term uniformly employed in the New Testament, to denote all the good affections which we ought to bear towards one another. It consists not in speculative ideas of general benevolence, floating in the head, and leaving the heart, as speculations too often do, untouched and cold. Neither is it confined to that indolent good nature, which makes us rest satisfied with

being free from inveterate malice or ill-will to our fel. low-creatures, without prompting us to be of service to any. True charity is an active principle. It is not properly a single virtue; but a disposition residing in the heart, as a fountain whence all the virtues of benignity, candour, forbearance, generosity, compassion, and liberality flow, as so many native streams. From general good-will to all, it extends its influence particularly to those with whom we stand in nearest connexion, and who are directly within the sphere of our good offices. From the country or community to which we belong, it descends to the smaller associations of neighbourhood, relations, and friends; and spreads itself over the whole circle of social and domestic life, I mean not that it imports a promiscuous undistinguished affection, which gives every man an equal title to our love. Charity, if we should endeavour to carry it so far, would be rendered an impracticable virtue; and would resolve itself into mere words, without affecting the heart. True charity attempts not to shut our eyes to the distinction between good and bad men; nor to warm our hearts equally to those who befriend, and those who injure us. It reserves our esteem for good men, and our complacency for our friends. Towards our enemies it inspires forgiveness, humanity, and a solicitude for their welfare. It breathes universal candour, and liberality of sentiment. It forms gentleness of temper, and dictates affability of manners. It prompts corresponding sympathies with them who rejoice and them who weep. It teaches us to slight and despise no man. Charity is the comforter of the afflicted, the protector of the oppressed, the reconciler of differences, the intercessor for offenders. It is faithfulness in the friend, public spirit in the magistrate, equity and patience in the judge, moderation in the sovereign, and loyalty in the subject. In parents, it is care and attention; in children, it is reverence and submission. In a word, it is the soul of social life. It is the sun that enlivens and cheers the abodes of men. It is, "like the dew of Hermon," says the Psalmist, "and the dew that descended on the mountains of Zion

FATHER WILLIAM-CHRISTIANITY INTERNAL. 63

where the Lord commanded the blessing, even life for evermore."

FATHER WILLIAM.

"You are old, father William," the young man cried, "The few locks that are left you are grey; You are hale, father William, a hearty old man, Now tell me the reason, I pray."

"In the days of my youth," father William replied,
"I remember'd that youth would fly fast;
And abus'd not my health and my vigour at first,
That I never might need them at last."

"You are old, father William," the young man cried, "And pleasures with youth pass away;

And yet you lament not the days that are gone,
Now tell me the reason, I pray."

"In the days of my youth," father William replied,
"I remember'd that youth could not last;

I thought of the future whatever I did,

That I never might grieve for the past."

"You are old, father William," the young man cried, "And life must be hast'ning away;

You are cheerful, and love to converse upon death,
Now tell me the reason, I pray.".

I

“I am cheerful, young man," father William replied, "Let the cause thy attention engage: In the days of my youth I remember'd my God, And he hath not forgotten my age."

CHRISTIANITY AN INTERNAL PRINCIPLE

CHRISTIANITY does not consist in an external conformity to practices which, though right in themselves,

64

CHRISTIANITY INTERNAL.

may be adopted from human motives, and to answer secular purposes. It is not a religion of forms, and modes, and decencies. It is being transformed into the image of God. It is being like-minded with Christ. It is considering him as our sanctification, as well as our redemption. It is endeavouring to live to him here, that we may live with him hereafter. It is desiring earnestly to surrender our will to his, our heart to the conduct of his Spirit, our life to the guidance of his word. The sacred writings frequently point out the analogy between natural and spiritual things. The same Spirit which, in the creation of the world, moved upon the face of the waters, operates in the human character to produce a new heart and a new life. By this operation the affections and faculties of the man receive a new impulse. His dark understanding is illuminated; his rebellious will is subdued; his irregular desires are rectified; his judgment is confirmed; his imagination is chastised; his inclinations are sanctified; his hopes and fears are directed to their true and adequate end. Heaven becomes the object of his hopes; an eternal separation from God the object of his fears. His love of the world is transmuted into the love of God. The lower faculties are pressed into the service. The senses have a higher direction. The whole internal frame and constitution receive a nobler bent; the intents and purposes of the mind, a sublimer aim; his aspirations, a loftier flight. His vacillating desires find a fixed object; his vagrant purposes, a settled home; his disappointed heart, a certain refuge. That heart, no longer the worshipper of the world, is struggling to become its conqueror. Our blessed Redeemer, in overcoming the world, bequeathed us his command to overcome it also ; but as he did not give the command without the example, so he did not give the example with out the offer of a power to obey the command. Genuine religion demands not merely an external professsion of our allegiance to God, but an inward devotedness of ourselves to his service. It is not a recognition, but a dedication. It puts the Christian into a new state of things, and a new condition of being. It raises him above the world while he lives in it.

It dis

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65

perses the illusions of sense, by opening his eyes to realities, in the place of those shadows which he has been perusing. It presents the world as a scene whose original beauty sin has darkened and disordered; man, as a helpless and dependent creature; Jesus Christ, as the repairer of all the evils which sin has caused, and as our restorer to holiness and happiness. Any religion short of this, any, at least, which has not this for its end and object, is not that religion which the Gospel has presented to us, which our Redeemer came down on earth to teach us by his precepts, to illustrate by his example, to confirm by his death, and to consummate by his resurrection.

HURRICANE IN THE WEST INDIES.

THE ruin and desolation accompanying a hurricane in the West Indies can scarcely be described. Like fire, its resistless force rapidly consumes every thing in its track. It is generally preceded by an awful stillness of the elements, and a closeness and mistiness in the atmosphere, which make the sun appear red, and the stars of more than an ordinary magnitude. But a dreadful reverse succeeding, the sky is suddenly overcast and wild; the sea rises at once from a profound calm into mountains; the wind rages and roars like the noise of cannon; the rain descends in a deluge; a dismal obscurity envelops the earth with darkness; and the superior regions appear rent with lightning and thunder.

The

earth, on these occasions, often does, and always seems, to tremble, while terror and consternation distract all nature: birds are carried from the woods into the ocean; and those whose element is the sea, fly for refuge on land.

The affrighted animals in the fields assemble together, and are almost suffocated by the impetuosity of the wind, in searching for shelter, which, when found, serves them only for destruction. The roofs of houses are carried to vast distances from their walls, which are beaten to the ground, burying their inmates beneath them. Large trees are torn up by the roots, and huge