Illliili V ' t <*fM Vf f < ( < C **********, **?*.**r.^*r ( ADDRESSES TO } CHILDREN SECOND SERIES. ADDRESSES YOUNG CHILDREN. LONDON : PRINTED BY WERTHEIMER, LEA AND CO., FINSBUBY CIBCUS. 1867. PREFACE. THE first series of Addresses having found favor with the children for whom they were origin- ally prepared, and having also been indulgently received by many parents and teachers, the writer feels encouraged to lay a second series before the youthful readers and before those kind friends who take an interest in their studies. Like its predecessor, the little book is not in- tended for publication, but as many copies as may be desired will be ready for distribution on application to the printers. These simple Addresses set forth the principles which, in the writer's belief, conduce to happiness through the zealous fulfilment of duty ; and it is earnestly hoped that they may find an echo in some minds, and help to foster the germs of true and active benevolence. 2093017 CONTENTS. I. PACE 1 MODERATION UNSELFISHNESS . COVETOUSNESS . II. 16 III. 26 IV. . 37 FillLY WORSHIP . V. . 47 CONCEIT VI. . 57 OUB MOST PRECIOUS VII. POSSESSIONS . 65 DEVOTED SERVICE VIII. 74 IX. 85 X. HONOUR THY FATHER AND THY MOTHER . 90 REOI'EATION XI. 100 XII. THE RICH AND THE POOR MUST MEET TOGETHER, THE LORD IS THE MAKER OF THEM ALL. . . .111 xin. HEALTH 124 Vlll CONTENTS. PAGE XIV. SICKNESS 133 XV. JACOB'S DREAM 140 xvi. TIME PLIES 147 XVII. TOLERATION 159 XVIII. CLEANLINESS 171 XIX. PRIDE AND VANITY ....... 177 XX. ON DUTY 185 XXL THE QUALITIES OF OTHERS AND OUR OWN . . . 194 XXII. MORNING AND EVENING 205 xxm. IHE BOUNDLESS GENEROSITY OF NATURE . . .213 XXIV. DEATH AND IMMORTALITY ...... 226 IN MEMORIAM 23(5 I. SELF-KNOWLEDGE. MY DEAR CHILDREN. Among all the lessons carefully and con- stantly in stilled into your minds at home and abroad, there is one rule upon which peculiar stress is always laid one precept incessantly brought under your notice, and not only vividly recommended by the experience of a watchful father, solicitous for your welfare, or of a tender mother, ever hoping for your prosperity, and desirous of showing you the best means of securing it, or by the devoted teachers, who, in the discharge of their duties, deem it a paramount obligation to point out the transcendant necessity of knowledge ; but a precept ardently taught and uniformly handed down by the greatest sages of all centuries. It comes to you with the solemn authority of Holy Scripture ; it sounds through ages, dropping, like sweet honey, from the eloquent lips of inspired philosophers and kings ; it travels to you surrounded by a halo of unfading glory; it says, with the combined strength and influence of past eras, " Learn, for knowledge is power;" it repeats, with the wisdom of modern B 2 SELF-KNOWLEDGE. times, and its myriads of busy tongues, " Learn, for knowledge is light and warmth :" nor do those words ever echo, like the wind, through desert air, or often fall on deaf ears. Far from it ; they are prized like celestial manna, raining down for the nourishment of exhausted multitudes. It is pleasant to feel assured, as we do, that information is now eagerly sought; and that, in every country, millions of children, and even men and women, flock to the purest fountains to the most invigorating streams of human lore. Yet, strange to say, there is one kind of knowledge, and that by far the most precious, which we often wofully neglect ; and this is the more surprising, as it is knowledge the most easily acquired, provided we are truthful and persevering in its pursuit. Such negligence is, therefore, not only the most guilty and the most extraordinary, be- cause the ignorance, in which we remain plunged, is entirely voluntary, and completely independent of outward circumstances and opportunities, but also and chiefly as the knowledge here alluded to is far more interesting than the highest branches of art, the most alluring mysteries of science, and the most ambitious flights of philosophy. I mean self-knowledge. My dear children, you are always able to gain it, whether in wealth or in poverty whether in solitude, or while mixing with the world whether SELF-KNOWLEDGE. 3 surrounded by your loved ones, or eking out your subsistence among strangers at all periods of your life, at every hour of the day, while floods of sunshine are brightening the time of labour for you, or while lengthening shadows in- dicate the approach of night. You need no lamp in darkness to pursue those important studies within your soul, nor do any mists by day ever veil the light of the skies sufficiently to prevent your seeing clearly into the labyrinths of the heart; and you require no thread to lead you through them. Divine goodness provided you with a guide when it gave you conscience that faithful com- panion, inseparable from your inner self, whose gentle voice is, indeed, so soft and so low, that the sister, who flings her loving arms around you, or the mother, who clasps you to her breast, cannot hear its whispering; yet whose faintest sound the crash of cannon, the fearful artillery of heaven, the roaring waves thundering against basalt rocks, and the whirlwinds howling through the branches of gigantic trees, are not powerful enough to drown. Nor is time ever wanting for a rigorous self- examination. On opening our eyelids in the morning, when we awake to the beauties of nature, and to a renewed enjoyment of the gifts of Providence, before we shape our feelings and our hopes into thanksgiving and prayer, let us 4 SELF-KNOWLEDGE. turn our delighted looks away for awhile from the splendours of the rising sun, and from the dew that sparkles in its earliest rays, and anxiously endeavour to ascertain whether we are worthy of the new day that has just dawned upon us ; and whether the blessings of life, and the energies of body and mind vouchsafed to us, have hitherto been employed for the advantage of those nearest and dearest to our affections, as well as for the good of wider circles whether we have fulfilled every duty, developed every gift, exerted every power, endeavoured boldly to face every fault, and tried, with all our might, to banish every foe dangerous to our inward peace. And we may well be encouraged in the work of daily intro- spection, when we reflect that it really involves no egotism, which can lead to baneful results, but that, on the contrary, it is, perhaps, the only species of selfishness which we need not fear ; for the more closely we search, the more abundantly we shall find blemishes that ought to be quickly removed, failings that should be remedied by the force of indefatigable perseverance, or good germs, that have been permitted to lay dormant, instead of being quickened into useful life, qualities rusting from inaction, whereas they should have been fostered and stimulated to lead to the possession and exercise of every virtue. And remember, also, that by acquiring self-knowledge SELF-KNOWLEDGlf. 5 we shall be able to keep our failings in the back- ground, so that they may not become obtrusive and offensive ; while a more intimate acquaintance with our powers will encourage us with hopes of success, and, under God's blessing, enable us to attempt the fulfilment of our most important obligations. Depend upon it, my dear children, the craving for every fruit of human lore, the thirsting after the clear waters of truth, the anxiety of exploring heaven and earth for inform- ation, are, no doubt, very legitimate emotions, but they should remain subordinate to the feeling that makes us dive for self-knowledge into the deepest recesses of our own hearts. An eloquent writer has made this important subject unmistakeably evident by many striking illustrations; he has compared our indifference to self-knowledge with the lack of curiosity in one who might for many years have vouchsafed hos- pitality and the constant shelter of his house to a visitor, without evincing the slightest wish to make his acquaintance, or even to see his features with the incomprehensible apathy or indolence of a man, who, in possession of the most beautiful collection of pictures, of the finest library of rare books, of the most admirable works of art, has, nevertheless, completely disregarded his own treasures, and never even taken the trouble of looking at them ; allowing his choicest volumes to 6 SELF-KNOWLEDGE. become mouldy or moth-eaten ; and the spider to hang his obscuring webs over the most glowing paintings of ancient or modern art or with the restless longing of those, who hasten eagerly to dis- tant lands before they have ever thought of becom- ing acquainted with their own country. And yet, the writer truly observes, how trifling appears such a passion for novelty and recreation at a distance from the domestic hearth, when compared with the anxious desire of surveying all departments of knowledge lying far and wide apart, while we are guilty of the unaccountable folly of neglecting entirely the regions within our own breast. And here let me remind you, my dear children, that long voyages and travels, that studies and scientific researches are not within every one's reach ; but that bodily or intellectual organisation, outward circumstances, the want or insufficiency of pecuniary means, or of remarkable mental faculties, render the pursuit of art or science often difficult or impossible ; whereas the light of con- sciousness unfailingly dawns upon us; even the blind, the deaf, the maimed, the lame, the pa- ralyzed, can see, hear, walk, and feel in that often unknown and unvisited land of the heart; and we want no outward help, not even the assistance of our senses, nor the activity of our limbs, to guide us successfully through its mazes. We require for it much less the aid of costly apparatus, of SELF-KNOWLEDGE. 7 telescopes, or observatories ; for the power of reflection is a faculty more wondrous by far than any mechanical contrivance ; it is unlimited in its action ; it is the possession alike of the poor and the rich ; and though it may be more completely deve- loped in the highly cultivated, and rendered more penetrating and subtle by practice, yet it is suffi- ciently strong even in the uneducated and the ignorant, who, though not always able to account for their conclusions, can still view accurately their own thoughts, motives, and impressions, provided they look steadfastly into the workings of their soul. How strange it appears, that even among those who would feel ashamed of being considered ignorant with regard to general information, and who perhaps eagerly peruse every new work which has any claim to the attention of the public, there are yet to be found many who never pay the slightest regard to self-knowledge, and especially neglect that peculiar root of it, from which the other branches and leaves seem to spring. It is of real value and importance that every person should be acquainted with the organisation and the laws of his physical nature ; the effect of cold and heat upon his system, the inevitable result of sufficient, excessive, or dangerous nourish- ment; the influence of inhaling pure air, or of breathing a vitiated atmosphere. 8 SELF-KNOWLEDGE. With regard to intellectual teaching, whenever it is not simply mechanical, but aims at unfolding all the mental gifts and innate talents, then surely the information should not be given in an empirical way, but should be adapted to the natural ten- dencies of the mind, so that wit and humour have fair play, that fancy and imagination be guided, enriched, or corrected; that memory be copiously stored; the organs of form, of colour, and lan- guage, of time and tune, be duly exercised. But if mere intellectual training ought to repose on an intimate knowledge of the inborn -faculties and cravings, how infinitely more momentous is that true and complete acquaintance with our moral nature, upon which depends our temporal as well as our spiritual happiness. The unremitting attention required by our state of health, may, in the years of our infancy or early youth, devolve upon our parents and guardians ; later in life, the loving sister, the devoted daughter, may watch over us with fond affection, or the physician may advise us, or prescribe successfully for our ail- ments ; but it is far more difficult for even our most clear-sighted and energetic friends to place a safeguard round our intellectual nature, the defects of which, if overlooked or disregarded by ourselves, may lead us astray into inordinate con- ceit, or may confirm us in the most obdurate and presumptuous confidence in our ovm foolish SELF-KNOWLEDGE. 9 notions and ideas, all drawing us eventually into disappointments and failures. But when our defi- ciency of self-knowledge regards not our bodily frame, nor our mental qualifications, but relates to the faults of the heart, then, indeed, the peril is great, and there are not words vivid enough to paint it. It is very true, that we may be so fortunate as to meet with sincere advisers to give us good counsel; but even the most indefatigable guide along the road of life, cannot remove from our path all lacerating thorns, all cutting stones, nor free us from the heavy burden of responsibility. Errors of the soul, far more dangerous than those of the understanding, if unnoticed by ourselves, not merely affect our name or position, but they may make us entirely miserable, hopelessly wretched; while many persons, however unsuccess- ful in the great world of strife and struggle, may, if all is calm and peaceful within their bo- som, find consolation when in communion with themselves. It has been said, that hypocrisy is the homage almost unwittingly paid by vice to virtue; and there appears to be, not only some peculiar or natural mystery about sin, but also a soft deluding cha- racter in its manifestation, as even by the most rigorous examination, moral defects are not 8C' easily ascertained as mental acquirements or short- Bfi 10 SELF-KNOWLEDGE. comings ; for secret faults, singularly enough, often put on the bright garb of virtue. Thus we are able to mistake silly vanity and sense- less self-worship for love of approbation, that is to say, for the constant aim to win good opinions ; the egregious folly of pride for self-respect and dignity; sore-eyed envy for the appreciation of all that is valuable; mean greed and covetous- ness for a laudable wish to improve our worldly circumstances; avarice for thrift and praise- worthy prudence; anger, and even hatred and revengeful sentiments, for a high spirit of independ- ence, for a discriminating knowledge of right and wrong, for fine and delicate feeling as contrasted with indifference and negligence. Most justly does the Psalmist say, " Who can understand his errors ; cleanse Thou me from secret faults !" The ugliness of sin may, probably, explain its self- concealing tendency ; one of its features, how- ever, that has been frequently pointed out, is undeniable, namely, that it becomes en- tirely evident only when strongly repulsed; quietly and passively it is never given up. It seems like the turbulent stream, whose rapidity is not noticed, until the boat, on its wildly -dashing waters, strives to withstand the mad current that would sweep it along; or similar to the billows, whose height and strength remain unknown, until broken by hard SELF-KNOWLEDGE. 11 or towering reefs ; or, it may be compared to the blast, which, almost noiseless when flying over broad wastes or moors, becomes alarming when it howls round lofty masts, or wails and moans at doors and windows, closed and barred against its fury. Sin often makes us feel ashamed of knowing our- selves. Some of us may, perhaps, have suspected, or seen, one little frightful corner, and then shrunk from the pain of unveiling to their mind's eye, the whole humiliating picture of their faults and failings. Yet such willing blindness relates chiefly to our inward being. With regard to outward circumstances, we should consider our apathy unpardonable, and almost amounting to insanity, if, when threatened with danger to life or fortune, with the horrors of shipwreck or fire, with death from the fang of serpents, or the rage of savage animals, or with ruin from the effects of reckless speculation, we did not endeavour to escape from peril; or if, when sickness is ap- proaching, we awaited death, either without calling in a physician, or without heeding his advice and prescriptions. Yet, rare and startling, and almost incredible, as such utter indifference and neglect may seem to be in the general affairs and incidents of life; in matters of spiritual interest, there are, I am afraid, too many persons, who but seldom en- 12 SELF-KNOWLEDGE. deavour to penetrate into the chambers of their breast. It is, however, impossible to pass through life, without experiencing sickness and sorrow; and, under such painful visitations, conscience, long dumb or silenced, speaks reproachfully to the most careless ear ; harassing anxiety tortures the soul, and remorseful pangs trouble even the most heedless and the most obdurate. During many years, perhaps under the broad disc of trifling annoyances, fleeting amusements, and frivolous pleasures, our true nature lies dormant and torpid ; but death, which carries off our most dearly-loved friends and companions, or threatens their existence as well as our own brief tenure of life, awakens, with dread and suffering, the somnolent soul, and leaves it trembling in its helplessness, to face the unknown power. Again : self-ignorance is explained by the often slow and imperceptible steps by which sinful habits are contracted. The changes which thus take place in us, have, therefore, been justly com- pared to those that occur in the outward world, when one season merges by degrees into the other; and we are led, by the gentlest transitions from blooming spring, with its myriads of sweetly- scented flowers, to glowing summer and its golden harvests, to fruitful autumn and its generous gifts, imperceptibly on to dreary winter, so cold and so bare, so leafless and so colourless. Thus SELF-KNOWLEDGE. 13 childhood, with its sunny looks and ruby lips, its laughter-loving voice, that knows no care, gives way to blushing girlhood, with its bright dreams and fond hopes; while that again disappears before womanhood, with its load of duties and responsibilities, until hoary old age, often with frowns and furrows, and surrounded by regrets and self-reproaches, brings us, unawares, to life's decline. Similar alterations take place, unobserved or unheeded, in our character. Frequently, as in our external form, the gradual growth and deve- lopment of faults in our inward nature, while becoming disagreeably apparent to others, remain unnoticed by us ; we omit to question conscience, that mirror of the soul ; we close our eyes and ears, and let the work of internal havoc go on silently and invisibly : for, alas ! as the character decays and becomes defaced, there is a parallel decline of the principle by which we judge of it ; the power which perceives sin, partakes of the general injury, and does not remain stationary. You will understand me better, if I illustrate my meaning by reminding you that when palsy becomes confirmed, the unfortunate sufferers lose, not merely the faculty of directing their movements, but also the bodily power of sensation and per- ception; for instance, they do not feel the difference between ice and glowing coals, between 14 SELF-KNOWLEDGE. the most rugged stone and the softest swan's down, between the touch of a rose-leaf or the impression of burning caustic. The morally indifferent appear like patients in a deep magnetic trance, who are said to bear the infliction of pins and needles, thrust into their flesh, without shrinking or even murmuring. But they do wake and shudder at the injury inflicted during their sleep. So does our moral nature wake, when sorrows and calamities rouse us; it wakes and trembles at the slow fever, which, like a painless cancer, deadened by powerful opiates, has devoured our best qualities, and burnt and drunk our purest life- blood away. Nor must you suppose, my dear children, that self-ignorance can be an excuse for wrong-doing ; in such a case, guilt and danger walk hand-in- hand ; having destroyed the torch that would have guided us, we are, of course, liable to fall in the dark, having willingly closed our ears to the powerfully warning voice within, we are bereft of our most precious treasures of thought and feeling. Well-defined dangers may be avoided or overcome; but who can wage war against unseen traps and snares ? Therefore, my dear children, look stedfastly, carefully and perseveringly into the depths of your hearts; hearken attentively and eagerly to the admonitions of conscience; think that you SELF-KNOWLEDGE. 15 have to maintain the purity of your souls before God, and thank Him humbly and lovingly for all His favours and blessings. But do not, for a single moment, forget, that self-knowledge was never intended by the Divine Creator to lead you to egotism; that it is, on the contrary, intended as the best and surest means of guiding you to the fulfilment of all your duties towards your fellow- men. For had you been designed to live quite alone, on the airy heights of mountain-crests, or, below, in the most fruitful valley of any desert island, self-revelation would scarcely be requisite; you would certainly have the sacred obligation of gratitude to your Almighty Maker and Preserver, and of devout appreciation of all the gifts of His goodness; but, in your total isolation, your breast could harbour neither covetousness nor pride, neither anger, nor malice, nor hatred, nor resent- ment, nor violence ; nor would you have any scope for generosity and charity; for faithful devotion and unrepining self-sacrifice; for the exercise of the noblest virtue, or of the gentlest kindliness; for the award of mercy, and of pardon ; for the oblivion of wounding offences : in fact, for the development of that true and deep love, which does not shrink from a whole life of meek ser- vitude. [This address was written after the perusal of an excellent sermon on the same subject.] n. MODEEATION. MY DEAR CHILDREN. In the whole circle of human failings there are scarcely any against which you have not been anxiously cautioned; there are none of which you have not been told how easily they may lead to vices whose entanglements become, indeed, heavy chains, and render the enjoyment of happi- ness impossible ; there are none of which you have not heard how rapidly they may deepen into sin, and thus foreshadow a whole life of suffering and sorrow. On the other hand, there is surely no quality which has not been placed before you as a lamp of brilliancy to throw light upon the most rugged, the most difficult path, to help you in the fulfilment of duty, and guide you to the goal of bright contentment. Let us hope, my dear chil- dren, that no lessons have been lost; that all have sunk deeply into well-disposed minds, and induced you to shrink from evil ; that they have been la ODER ATI ON. 17 treasured by warm and generous hearts, and have kindled enthusiasm and admiration for every great aim, for every good deed. And yet, strange and contradictory as it may seem, it is of the utmost importance to warn you, my dear children, lest you should, even in the exercise of the best feel- ings, drift unconsciously into exaggeration. Sin- gular as it probably appears, it is, nevertheless, perfectly true, that our noblest qualities, if de- veloped to excess, may lead us astray, and plunge into difficulties and disappointments, not merely ourselves, but what is perhaps far worse, those whom we should strive to delight and to benefit. It has most truly been said that " Moderation is the silken thread running through the pearl chain of all virtues." Moderation connects the qualities which, in- stead of being scattered and lost, thus adorn a whole life. Among them, and especially in con- nection with the best attributes of women and young maidens, patience occupies, if not the highest, the foremost rank, as nothing can be more quietly useful than the unpretending submission which bows without a murmur to the daily and inevitable trials and troubles of life; nothing can be more softening than the gentleness which, in the home circle, overcomes all difficulties of temper and disposition, and causes cheerfulness to smile round the domestic hearth ; for surely, even those who are 18 MODERATION. habitually harsh and stubborn in word and action, become unwittingly vanquished by the mild sway of calm serenity. It is, indeed, like the warm sunshine of the fable that caused the chilly way- farer to relinquish his protecting cloak, which the most violent efforts of the raging wind had been unable to tear off. Yet patience may be carried too far, and degenerate into weakness. It may disable us for the duty of withstanding injustice and tyranny; it may cause us to endure an existence of suffering, while calm yet firm opposition might secure for us a life of enjoyment; it may transform our active powers for good into the mere passive habit of endurance and into the dull capacity of bearing rebukes and affronts ; it may encourage and develop the faults of others. If patience deserves praise among the pearl chaplet of virtues, persever- ance receives even a larger share of approbation, because it appears to shine in alliance with constant and well-sustained exertion ; and, at first sight, it would seem almost impossible to tear the silken thread which binds it to the sister qualities for who can hope to succeed, or who deserves to win any prize without constant industry, without indefatigable assiduity, without the eagerness that lends wings to the homely painstaking, without persistent activity, without unflagging readiness to go on to move forward, whether the object MODERATION. 19 be to acquire knowledge, to win applause and fame, or to serve individuals or large commu- nities. And yet perseverance may overstep the boundaries of utility. It ceases to merit admira- tion when it is blunted into drudgery; it ceases to be praiseworthy when the animating spirit droops and vanishes, when it becomes purely mechanical, moving automaton-like through the day, losing sight, in its methodical round of occupations, of other duties, other obligations; or when it is over- excited into restlessness, when it assumes the form of perpetual agitation, of feverish haste, which cannot know that repose during which the highest thoughts are matured, and the noblest resolves take root and are warmly cherished. And does firmness require the guard of modera- tion? Is not its own immobility a rare advan- tage ? When vacillation is swayed by every passing breath, like the flame of a candle; when hesitation may mar the success of a whole life; when un- steadiness counteracts innumerable excellent pur- poses; when ever-changing mobility annihilates all prospects of advancement ; when inconstancy deals blows and inflicts wounds which regret and remorse are often unable to heal ; when fickleness of taste and disposition renders natural talents and good in- tentions nugatory: can firmness be a virtue which requires moderation ? Yes, my dear children, for it is possible to carry even firmness too far. Not, 20 MODERATION. however, if by it is meant that uncompromising tenacity of will, which adheres to every rule of conduct, that has been well considered and care- fully weighed in the balance of right and wrong; nor that self-control which resists all temptations and all blandishments, however enchanting they may be ; nor unswerving fidelity to friends, what- ever their position; nor that self-reliance which abides by its own conscientious opinions, heedless of worldly consequences; nor the determination ever to render complete justice to others, and to remain unshaken in the fulfilment of duty. Yet firmness may degenerate into obstinacy, and thus check improvement ; it may oppose a dead wall to advancement, a sterile adamantine rock to the precious seeds, which, in a better soil, would pro- duce flowers of beauty and fruits of sweetness. In the world of politics it has sometimes been observed with regret and censure that statesmen have not remained true to their creed and their principles, and that a long life has often been unfavourably marked by great changes of opinion. Yet it would scarcely be possible, without obstinacy and narrow- mindedness, to maintain a perpetual and complete immutability of ideas. The development of civili- sation, and, indeed, the progress of every passing year must bring forth alterations in the condition of human affairs : such changes and strides cannot but modify the convictions of legislators, and cause MODERATION. 21 them to amend or abrogate old laws, and frame new ones, suited to different times and altered circumstances. Indeed, whatever our place in the world, the waves of life will carry us gently, or rapidly, or perhaps imperceptibly, along; the obstinate alone, self-willed and inflexible, who are morally blind and deaf, who see not, and hear not, and heed not, are left behind. And justice! can that overstep the boundaries of moderation? Surely not, if by it we mean perfect equity fairness that must win all well- balanced minds, admirable fitness in all things, and complete impartiality. But even justice with- out the companion pearl linked to it by the silken chain of moderation, justice without mercy, which signifies pity, forbearance, sympathy, indulgence, and oblivion, may be nought but a sharp and relentless sword. Let us not, however, forget that we may be too merciful, and, by indiscriminately granting abso- lution, render amendment impossible. And energy, which is almost synonymous with ability, with force and might, with the power of con- trolling our fellow-men, and, to a certain degree, of ruling events, of swaying and holding in sub- jection whatever we wish to master, whatever we are desirous of accomplishing, does not the exer- cise of it require moderation ? For is it not too easily tempted to resort to harshness and to arbi- 22 MODERATION. trary means ? And prudence, which seems as if it could never be carried beyond the verge of good feelings and useful actions ; prudence, which for our children and our friends, for those en- trusted to our care and for ourselves, causes us to guard against every possible danger; which makes us discreet in word and deed ; cautious lest we should divulge secrets, evince curiosity or anxiety, defeat pending negotiations, mar important ar- rangements, and prove perhaps that silver is, indeed, the inferior metal, whereas silence is gold : can prudence require moderation ? Yes ; for reserve may become excessive, and check or destroy open-heartedness ; it may act as a bar to candour, to frankness, to sincerity, not merely with regard to the wary and cautious themselves, but it may have the same influence upon those with whom they are brought into contact. Ever- calculating prudence repels confidence, and stifles the effusion of much harmless joy, and mirth, and happiness. And watchfulness in health and in sickness, at home and abroad, in your own households, near the cradle of the infant, while following with loving eye the frolicsome games of childhood, or superintending the studies and endeavours of youth can that stand in need of moderation ? It seems so ; for the ever-vigilant, the Argus-eyed may become suspicious, and suspicion poisons the MODERATION. 23 very life-blood, and fills every hour \vith tor- turing pangs. Can the dictates of conscience ever be carried too far ? Is it possible to do wrong by listening to that soft, clear, unerring voice, which never leaves us from the time when our reason first dawns to the last wakeful moment of our existence? It is grievous to think that its twin virtue zeal may cause it to overstep the line of duty. Vehe- ment emotion, uncontrollable eagerness, glowing fervour, are known to have frequently led, especially in matters of religion those most sacred interests of life to interference, and even to intolerance. Those who feel thus impelled to question the creed and faith of others, are apt to forget that such points of belief and of reverence are matters between man and his Maker, not to be searched into by human eyes. Even enthusiasm, which makes the heart beat and glow for all that is great and noble, and often lifts it above the vicissitudes of daily life into bright spheres of hope and joyful expectation, may be so completely dazzled as to lose itself in shifting cloudland, and overlooking stern realities, to rush headlong into wild, impracticable, and even dan- gerous schemes. Liberality, which is free and large-hearted, and generosity, another name for the most chivalrous spirit, for heroism and magnanimity, for the feeling 24 MODERATION. that acknowledges and admires greatness and noble elevation of character in others, and is ever striv- ing to give praise, time, labour, and wealth, may be perverted into extravagance, into lavish expendi- ture of treasure and of unmerited rewards. Charity, which represents human excellence in its highest essence, with its overflowing streams of milk of kindness, with benevolence ever hastening to do good, and never weary of works of beneficence and of self-denial, may be productive of harm, if misled by pleading compassion into indiscriminate alms- giving, which destroys independence, fosters careless habits and indolence; it may countenance artfulness, and call into existence unblushing imposition. Even devotion and piety, holiness of life, supplications and prayers, which strengthen and purify us, and surround our earthly career with a halo of the peace and serenity of heaven, may exceed their limits by completely withdrawing our thoughts and sympathies from the cares and duties of this world. Courage, the entire absence of fear, dauntless bravery, lion-hearted valour, may be exaggerated into bold presumption and offensive audacity. And modesty, the gentlest of all virtues, com- pared from times immemorial to the sweet violet which nestles under sheltering leaves that screen it from the gaze of the world, may not even that be hidden too far from the appreciation of man MODERATION. 25 may not timorous bashfulness conceal good and great qualities completely ? It is well to be un- pretending and unostentatious, but does not an excess of modesty curtail its own merits and its powers of usefulness? Those who are uncon- scious of their own value though no doubt the case is rare or who do not prize it sufficiently, lose innumerable opportunities of developing their abilities, and of rendering true service to others. And humility, when an equivalent for unrepining submission to the will of the Most High, for tranquil obedience to inevitable and impene- trable decrees, is surely a pearl beyond price : yet humility among our fellow-beings should be held in check by moderation. For it may look like the absence of self-esteem, and wear the garb of humble resignation, while in reality it covers the sufferings of a wounded heart; it may thus be quite misunderstood, and perhaps encourage the proud, the wayward, or heedless, in their utter disregard of our feelings. My dear children, it would indeed be delightful if we oould hope to tread the paths of life adorned with the pearl-chain of all virtues ; but be these brightly gleaming gems few or many, they are in peril of becoming scattered, or even irretrievably lost, without the silken and protecting string of Moderation. m. UNSELFISHNESS. MY DEAR CHILDREN. There are some faults, whether inherent in us or acquired, upon which we are apt to look, if not with complacency, as being less sinful and danger- ous than those of our neighbours, or than many failings that might stain and deface our moral character, at least with indulgence, because we do not believe them to be likely to injure others, or to deprive them of even an hour's happiness or enjoyment. Among them, there is a most insidious and deluding fault, which we do not sufficiently repel, because there is, alas! nothing new or startling in its nature, because the germ is born with our birth, and, being frequently fostered by outward circumstances, often grows with our growth. It is the fault, perhaps it ought to be called the sin, of selfishness. In its origin, its sphere of 'action appears so circumscribed, so completely confined to ourselves, our own wants and wishes, tastes and habits, occupations and pastimes, that it does not in any way appear to aflFect others, but, on the contrary, seems to leave them entirely unharmed UNSELFISHNESS. 27 and unmolested, without causing any interruption in their best and favourite pursuits, without throw- ing a cloud over their horizon, and without casting a shadow upon the sunlight of their happiness. For it is not like envy, which tortures those who harbour it, and those who feel themselves the objects of its bitterness; it is not relentless jealousy, with its sharp fangs dealing double wounds ; not malice, with its poisoned shafts and seldom-erring missiles ; nor blind and undying hatred ; nor fierce revenge, more implacable still in its aim; it is not double-faced treachery ; not debasing fraud ; not falsehood, tale-bearing, or evil-speaking. Yet the sin of selfishness to which I allude is not the less baneful because it bears a harmless appearance; for it isolates us in feeling, mind, and action from the circle of our friends, and must lead us to sacrifice the interests of others to the gratification of our own wishes. But you will ask, my dear children, how can we most successfully wage war against our faults, and especially remove the blot of selfish- ness? The best weapon, believe me, is the faith- ful and vivid remembrance of our duties. It is impossible to fulfil them without great efforts or great privations ; and by persevering in such en- deavours of self-denial, by battling against inter- vening obstacles and difficulties, we cannot fail to do some good ; for we shall constantly have noble 28 UNSELFISHNESS. aims in view, and thus develop our best qualities and powers, while we hold our faults in subjection. The devotion to some excellent object the most unwavering devotion will be the best safeguard against the growth of selfishness. In the whole range of our duties, there are none more ennobling and more blissful than those obligations of true ser- vice, of regard and affection; and do not forget, that the sacred volume declares, " A friend loveth at all times, and a brother is born for adversity." Yes, a friend is unalterable and unswerving in his sympathy; his faithful attachment, so far from languishing, seems to increase, when called into action by the trials and sufferingsof those whom he has learnt to cherish, be they near and dear relatives, or merely valued and beloved fellow-pil- grims on the road of life. The Holy Bible, which abounds in admirable lessons to guide all genera- tions in the path of duty and righteousness, offers a most touching example of complete self-denial and boundless devotion in the story of Ruth, who, when repeatedly asked, nay, implored by the poor and aged, the childless and sorrow-stricken Naomi, to stay in her own country and with her own people, to dwell under the protecting roof of her mother's house, and seek solace in the endear- ments of a fond mother's love, instead of sharing the poverty and hardships of the afflicted, instead of wandering forth into a strange, unknown land, UNSELFISHNESS. 29 vowed to cling to Naomi in her loneliness, and met the most earnest supplications by the follow- ing beautiful words " Entreat me not to leave thee, or to return from following after thee; for whither thou goest, I will go; and where thou lodgest, I will lodge ; thy people shall be my people, and thy God my God ; where thou diest, will I die, and there will I be buried." My dear children, Ruth was certainly rewarded in the end for her self-denying devotion, for having preferred the fulfilment of duty to the enjoyment of a tran- quil home in her own land, in the circle of her own family; but that reward she could not have foreseen, or even hoped for. Her example teaches us that in the easy or difficult accomplishment of our daily obligations, we should endeavour to divest ourselves of all interested motives and anticipations, and that, even while making great sacrifices, the expectation of earthly reward should not be permitted to rob our actions of their purity, by perhaps strengthening them with the alloy of selfish hopes, but thus most certainly diminishing their real value. It is in accordance with God's beautiful and immutable laws, which so beneficently rule the Universe, that we should prefer light to darkness, day to night, sunshine to clouds, smiles to tears, and the sight of mirthful happiness to gloomy scenes of sorrow. It is natural we should seek our 30 UNSELFISHNESS. friends on all glad and festive occasions, and that every auspicious event which increases their hap- piness and prosperity, should claim our sympathy, and cause us to rejoice with the joyous. It is owing to a genial impulse of our nature, that the bright days and happy occurrences graciously vouchsafed by the goodness of the Almighty, and marking with gladness the flight of time, should find us ready and eager to partici- pate in the satisfaction and delight of our friends; that the heavenly gift of every child born unto those we love and esteem, be thought an additional blessing, and hailed with pleasure that the confir- mation of that child, changing the fond but vague hopes of anxious parents into fair promises of excellence, Le a theme of congratulation that the marriage rite, that most binding interchange of sacred vows of unselfishness, be celebrated by affec- tionate relatives and friends, as a great and solemn event indeed that all festivals and festivities should find us happy and thankful partakers. All this is but natural; for it is surely delightful to behold human happiness, and to share it by the power of sympathy; and God, whose Divine hand has made this world so enchantingly beautiful, and whose Providence showers such innumerable blessings upon us, has graciously willed and permitted that light and warmth, and the flowers of brightness and sweetness, shall far exceed the cold shadows, the UNSELFISHNESS. 31 threatening clouds and fierce tempests that occasion- ally overcast the horizon. Still, the dark shadows exist, and their gloom often falls on the best and kindest, and most dearly beloved of our friends : but that darkness cannot conceal them from our own view; it should not separate them from us, nor build up a wall between their sorrows and anxieties, and our affection. There are scarcely any, let us hope that there are none, who would remain untouched and unmoved by the sufferings of a friend; yet there are some feeble and timorous hearts that shrink away, because it is not in their power to rekindle expiring joy, to revive fading or extinct happiness, to bid hope live again, and soar on radiant pinions into future years gleaming with visions of felicity; and because they cannot ac- complish so great and blessed a change, because they cannot help effectually, they withdraw from all labours of love and sympathy, and fearing lest it should be out of their power to help at all, they do not even attempt to assuage grief and sustain fainting courage ; or if they make a feeble trial, relinquish the undertaking in sheer hopelessness. To excul- pate themselves they will plead, that the sight of human suffering overpowers their strength, and that, unnerved by painful emotions, they lament- ably feel their utter inability to save from impend- ing ruin, to afford solace in the hour of bereavement and affliction, to ward off the visitation of increas- 32 UNSELFISHNESS. ing infirmities, the trial of agonising pain, or the calamity of long-continued sickness ; and therefore, though believing themselves to be real and true friends, they are helpless, and keep aloof. Whatever the motives alleged, and the excuses framed, such conduct, my dear children, is not justifiable. It is true, that the Almighty alone, who strikes the blow can heal the wound ; but human love and human devotion are ministering angels, all-powerful to soothe the suffering and to support the drooping ; and when they appear, much gloom and sadness must vanish. There are many bodily ailments utterly in curable by the physician's art, many frightful disorders which have for centuries past baffled the skill of the most learned and most experienced, and which continue to withstand the progress of science. Doctors do not conceal the fact; the afflicted patients are made aware of it; pitying friends know and bewail it. But would there not be cruelty in leaving the unfortunate sufferers without medical advice, not indeed to cure, since that is out of the question, but to alleviate pain, to lull anguish, to smooth the pillow ? And so it is with all sufferings, with regard to the ailments of the mind as well as with respect to bodily diseases. We may be powerless to save, but not to soothe. Let us remember, my dear children, that the UNSELFISHNESS. 33 blessings which the Lord has bountifully bestowed upon us were graciously given, not merely for our own happiness, but also in order that we might make noble and unselfish use of them, and cause them to contribute to the happiness of others, or if that, alas ! should be beyond even our most strenuous efforts, that they might at least be instrumental in mitigating sorrow and sadness. While relieving the wants of the needy, we our- selves do not feel poor ; while watching by the bed of sickness, we prize health; and while weeping or praying with the dying, we learn the great lesson of life. But let us return to the poor sufferers, and while dwelling nigh unto them in thought and in affection, convince ourselves, my dear children, that it is possible for even the youngest among us, to dispel some gloom, to banish some care, to gladden, be it only at inter- vals, the sorrows of many aching hearts. The blind, for instance, whose eyes may be closed for ever to the glorious sights of this world, and who would indeed be joyless without the devoted love of true friends, may have the dazzling wonders of creation and the charms of life brought vividly and delightfully before their mind's eye, by the voice of affection, conveying from the pages of good and wise books, glowing pictures, or thrilling tales of interest. o 5 34 UNSELFISHNESS. Believe me, my dear children, no talent is re- quired to prove useful to the sick and the weary ; nought is wanted but the earnest wish to do good. And, when thinking of those whom suffering may, for many long years, have bound captive to the narrow prison-house of their own room, should we not hasten to their side, we, whom the blessings of health have left free and unfettered ? Should we not give them some of our bright life ? Should we not make them participate in our joys, that their own existence may appear less dim and dreary, that their melancholy thoughts may flow into other channels, and mix with clearer streams? The loss of fortune is hard to bear; the loss of health is a severe affliction; but the loss of friends is the greatest of all trials, and leaves us, humanly speaking, entirely desolate. When loved ones are removed by the hand of death, the void at our side can never be filled, and the anguish of the separation no tongue can tell ; yet the sorrowing soul bows in humble resignation to the inscrutable decrees of Providence : but to be deserted in the hour of need, in the time of sore affliction, is a species of suffering from which the lacerated mind shrinks, against which the bleeding heart revolts. " A friend loveth at all times." Let us prove, my dear children, that we con- tinue to value and cherish our friends for their UNSELFISHNESS. 35 own sake, and, that our affection does not melt away, because worldly advantages have ceased to encompass them, or because they have been bereft of the higher blessings of health, because sickness or sorrow has dimmed the eye, blanched the cheek, and shattered the frame of those, whose smiles, whose words, whose looks of happiness, once con- tributed to our enjoyment of life. Yet there are some organisations in which pity and compassion are largely developed ; there are some whose energies are concentrated in serving their friends in adversity with helpful deeds and even with every self-sacrifice that the fondest affec- tion can suggest, but whose powers of sympathy seem exhausted or paralysed, when, after the dark- ness and the storm, the brilliant bow of hope once more spans the horizon of the much-tried sufferers, and the tide of prosperity and happiness returns to the impoverished and the forlorn. "When no longer wanted to aid, to cheer, or to console, they stand aside, and comparative indifference replaces the warmth of feeling which had pervaded every action of their existence. They are like the nightingale, whose beautiful but melancholy strains seem to sympathise merely with the sor- rowful, and whose thrilling notes wake echoes in all sad and suffering hearts; while the lark flies and floats only into regions of warmth, and light, and sunshine, and unites with all the happy 36 UNSELFISHNESS. and mirthful on earth, in enchanting songs of gladness. Let us, my dear children, endeavour to combine the gifts of the plaintive nightingale and the gladsome lark. It is not impossible to do so, if we strive to foster the feelings and to cultivate the mental faculties. May the latter guide and instruct us, may we learn to hearken to their warnings, , and fulfil the duties of affectionate service and devotedness with all the energies of our nature, so that, with the blessing of Almighty God, we may indeed hope to be loving friends at all times, and gentle, helpful brothers and sisters to all around us. TV. COVETOUSNESS. MY DEAR CHILDREN, The Divine rules laid down for our guidance, are either laws framed to teach and bring vividly before us the manifold duties we owe to our brethren, or they are precepts intended to enforce the obli- gations we owe to ourselves, and which, if scru- pulously fulfilled, will assuredly make us better and wiser. Though most of us have sufficient sense and knowledge to allow the importance of con- scientious zeal, we sometimes fall short of the accomplishment of duty, not indeed from any doubt or scepticism, as sentiments so wrong and so sinful are seldom, or never, harboured by us, but from a latent and half-conscious feeling, that an entirely faithful adherence to precept, to the most admirable of Divine laws, is beyond our feeble powers, beyond the possibility of human achieve- ment. Perhaps we should be less incredulous and more hopeful, my dear children, if we thought and knew, not only, that the entire fulfilment of duty brings, and indeed is in itself, the best, truest, and purest of all rewards; but if we felt also that some 38 COVETOUSNESS. of the commandments so wondrously promulgated, and so graciously vouchsafed to all mankind throughout all generations, are chiefly intended to guard us personally against much suffering and sorrow, against the torments, which quite apart and removed from the wants and wishes, hopes, and aspirations of others, threaten to gnaw our hearts secretly away. By the outward world such mysterious torments are perhaps not even sus- pected, and therefore they ought to be all the more readily overcome. Among the commandments, intended not so much to regulate our conduct towards those around us, as meant for our inmost selves, the one that claims by far the highest importance is the last injunction of the Decalogue "Thou shalt not covet thy neighbour's house, thou shalt not covet thy neighbour's wife, nor his man-servant, nor his maid-servant, nor his ox, nor his ass, nor anything that is thy neighbour's." And yet it is that behest which we are most easily and most frequently led to infringe. We all bow down to the Lord God, the beneficent Creator and Pre- server of heaven and earth; we do not make graven images, nor do we worship idols in the literal sense of the word; we avoid taking the name of the Almighty in vain ; we remember the Sabbath, and try to keep it holy; we love and honour our parents ; and, with regard to the other COVETOUSNESS. 39 four precepts we should, indeed, be branded as great sinners and criminals if we did not live in strict obedience to them. But we find it difficult to keep the tenth commandment, or to speak more correctly, we are easily and almost un- wittingly led to break it. And this occurs, because the transgression is not supposed to in- jure any one, because it is most frequently a hidden sin, sedulously kept back in the remotest cells of the heart, not quickly detected, and, even when discovered, not visited with the severest reprobation of the world, nor punished by the social law of any land. True, it must always be painful to suspect, or to be convinced, that we are exciting feelings of envy, or that such sentiments are either roused or indulged by others ; therefore covetous persons are avoided as we are apt instinctively to avoid the sight, the sound, or the touch of unpleasant things, such as a sharp wind, a biting frost, a creeping worm, a slimy slug, a cold clammy toad, a stinging nettle, a buzzing insect; but to be shunned is perhaps the only punishment which the world adjudges to the envious. Yet the transgression of the tenth commandment is a grievous wrong, and though scarcely any outward retaliation awaits us for it, the inward chastisement is great and lasting. It is self-inflicted torture of the severest kind; it embitters the disposition ; and if envy and covetous- 40 COVETOUSNESS. ness should not subside or be conquered, the whole life-blood of those who give way to such insidious enemies, becomes incurably diseased and tainted. The miserable folly and sinfulness of envy can be easily pointed out to you, my dear children, and you will surely lend an attentive ear to those who exhort you to refrain from such deplorable aber- rations. When tempted by the force of circumstances, or rather by our own weakness, to break the tenth commandment, let us remember the unbounded goodness of God to us all; let us recollect the blessings vouchsafed to each of us individually, and then compare these treasures of His beneficence with the gifts bestowed on others. The neigh- bour's house may be larger, and better, and finer than ours. But why should that fill us with anger and bitterness of spirit ? Why should not the humblest, lowliest dwelling that shelters us and our loved ones from howling wind, or pelting rain, or piercing cold, from the violence of the snow-storm, or from the glare and the scorching rays of the sun why should not that dear home be the abode of contentment and happiness ? Surely youth, and health, and strength are great treasures : velvet hangings, soft couches, and downy pillows may also be considered luxuries; but they cannot be deemed the real necessaries of life. They will not compensate us for fading COVETOUSNES8. 41 youth, for failing health, or broken strength. After a well-spent day, a good conscience becomes our pillow ; and God, in His beneficence, sends peaceful and refreshing slumbers to all His chil- dren wherever they seek rest, and whatever be the roof which protects their weariness ; and on waking at early morn, the dimpling smiles, the looks of rosy health, of fond affection and of bright cheerfulness, which greet us in. a happy home, are far more enjoyable than any gold or glitter or dazzling grandeur reflected by even a thousand mirrors. We often find, and indeed we know, my dear children, that the palaces possessed by the so-called privileged few are not so beautiful, are not so splendid and attractive, as those magni- ficent public buildings and institutions, those museums adorned with rare and marvellous works of art, those galleries brilliant with the paintings of men of immortal genius, those aerial crystal structures so full of wonders from all climes, which millions of human beings, and you, with many others, may admire and enjoy. And remember also, that the beauties of nature far outshine the most perfect achievements of art. Those beauties, which the bounty of the Lord has created for the benefit and enjoyment of all His children, are infinitely more fascinating and enchanting than any feeble representation of them on walls or canvass by the. hand of man can possibly be. 42 COVETOUSNESS. There is no artist there never was one who could rival by the skill of his pencil the light- bringing loveliness of the rising sun, emerging from a bed of roses ; the freshness of the morning hours, which bathe the waking world in pearly dew ; or the calmer brightness of a starry night, delighting and soothing us after the labours of the day. But perhaps you will think, my dear children, that the contemplation of all this might be yours, with the possession of youth, health, strength, mirth, and hope, and that you yet could own a dwelling similar to the envied neighbour's house, with all its comforts and luxuries. But the Almighty has wisely ordained that there should be no equality of worldly possessions on earth. If all were equally prosperous, there would be fewer motives for exertion there would be incalculably less emulation, less ambition there would be no improvement, and, comparatively speaking, no labour, which gives zest to our days and strength to our powers. And, as progress is the great and admirable law of the universe, the stagnation of all human energy would soon lead to indescribable confusion and misery; the reaper would not cut the corn, the husbandman would leave the heavy plough, and each person would be so com- pletely engrossed, and so entirely occupied in COVETOUSNESS. 43 satisfying his own cravings, that the decay of all the arts of civilisation would become inevitable. "Thou shalt not covet thy neighbour's man- servant, nor his maid-servant, nor his ox, nor his ass, nor anything that is thy neighbour's." Not only ought you to abstain, my dear children, from coveting what may be bought or sold, from coveting your neighbour's rich pasture-lauds and the cattle that browse thereon, his golden wheat- sheaves at blessed harvest-time, and his purple grapes in the glowing vintage season, but you should also abstain from coveting those far greater, far more valuable treasures, which can be neither bought nor sold. In sickness, let us not envy the healthy; nor, when bodily weak or infirm, covet the strength of the robust; nor, in declining old age, envy the bright hopes of the youthful. We should remember that the most blooming flower may harbour in its calyx an insidious enemy, that the fury of the blast, or the maiming flash of lightning, may destroy the proudest oak, and that the scythe of death often mows down the youngest and fairest in the rich promise and beauty of early youth. You may have seen, on some bright sum- mer's day, trees green and flourishing, eagerly sought by sweetly singing birds, illuminated by the rays of the sun, and forming, as it were, bril- liant emerald temples pervaded by melodious song; 44 COVETOUSNESS. one furious storm may pass over the garden and hurl the noblest branches to the ground, leaving nought but ruin behind, while the lowlier and almost stunted shrubs may grow and thrive, and expand into luxuriance. But it is not merely futurity that is hidden from our eyes ; much also of that which is going on silently around us remains beneficently con- cealed from our view. We may be tempted to envy talent, success, or fame, but we cannot read the hearts of the gifted, of the successful, or of those who appear to have reached the pinnacle of great- ness. Their hard struggles, their bitter pangs, their oppressive anxieties and disappointments, their wounding humiliations, their disenchantments, we know little or nothing of. It has been wisely ordained by Divine Providence that sighs and moans, and groans innumerable, should be sup- pressed or unheard. The sight of so much agony would sadden us too deeply, would dishearten us for the task of life; and the sufferers themselves would, or might, lose much of their courage, of their spirit of independence, if all the world knew their trials, and could see their anguish. How great is the folly of the envious, how great is their sin, whatever shape it may assume! .Let us hope that it seldom means the wish to deprive our neighbour, or to see him deprived, of his possessions ; and that envy is chiefly a COVETOUSNESS. 45 senseless longing for advantages similar to those enjoyed by others. But, nevertheless, covetous- ness is always wrong wrong, because it is for- bidden by Almighty God, and forbidden because it is destructive of all human happiness. Perhaps, when originally given, the Divine commandment was as little comprehended by the Israelites in the wilderness as, in our own days, warning words prohibitions of a loving parent would be understood by a young and inexperienced child. God our Father forbids us to be envious and covetous, because envy cankers the heart and makes us wretched by rendering impossible the enjoyment of that which we really possess, by mis- directing our exertions, our thoughts, our feelings. Though every blessing comes from God, it has been ordained by Him that we should owe con- tentment and happiness to our own efforts, to the fulfilment of duty ; and that the possession of the greatest advantages should be marred and ren- dered nugatory by the infringement of duty and the commission of sin. Never think, never talk, my dear young friends, with envious feelings of the treasures of others. Be grateful for all that has fallen to your share. God, the universal Father, disinherits none of His children ; but He has decreed that there should be throughout the world infinite varieties of gifts, of pursuits, and of position, endless degrees of abilities and of 46 COVETOUSNESS. acquirements. Some live and toil in humble ham- lets, others labour in proud cities; some work with skilful hands, others with the powers of the mind ; but all should labour most strenuously to pluck out envy and covetousness from their hearts all should learn to rejoice in the happiness of their neighbours, and feel themselves happy and privileged in being permitted zealously aud anxiously to minister to its widest diffusion. V. FAMILY WORSHIP. MY DEAR CHILDREN. When there is no harrowing sickness, no overwhelming affliction under our roof, to keep us prisoners within the narrow boundaries of the house, to shut us out completely from the external world when cares may be said to weigh lightly upon us when we can cast aside with our work- day clothes the occupations, the struggles, and disappointments of the week when all our loved ones are well and robust, and all may cluster around us, to seek the road to the temple on the holy Sabbath then it may indeed be delightful to bow down in the hallowed edifice, where hundreds of worshippers lay their thanksgivings at the foot of the throne of Eternal Mercy ; where hundreds of hearts send their most ardent prayers to our Creator and Preserver, the Fountain of all bless- ings; where the sacred scroll of Divine Writ is unfolded by pious hands ; and where we may join in thrilling Hallelujahs to the Lord God Almighty with all the adoring voices that rise in 48 FAMILY WORSHIP. jubilant notes to praise His sacred name. But there may be sickness or sorrow to prevent us from venturing forth ; passing ailments or abiding infirmities to confine us within doors : shall they render the worship of the Eternal impossible render it more difficult, less perfect, less true, and less fervent ? Surely it is a touching and soul-stirring sight, that of a loving family, when all the members lift up their voices and their thoughts, their prayers, their hopes, and their most secret aspirations, to the Highest and Holiest, to the Almighty, when the mother prays that He may give life and health, unclouded innocence and prosperity to her children when the father invokes the blessings of Divine Providence upon the heads of his sons and daughters, and offers supplications to the King of kings for the happiness of his house when little children lisp all the fondest words of their pure young hearts to the invisible and boun- tiful Benefactor in heaven, asking Him to bless their parents, their brothers and sisters, and all the affectionate friends who form their world, who are their ministering angels on earth. The early prayer, so gently pervaded by the soft influence of the by-gone night with its refreshing and in- vigorating slumbers, seems to waft peace and tranquillity throughout the house, to inaugurate the day with the light of cheerfulness, with the FAMILY WORSHIP. 4i) warmth of hope, with the glow of good and earnest resolves. But, when no imperative home duties intrude to keep us under our own roof on the Sabbath day, it is surely one of our highest obligations and of our greatest privileges to seek the temple of the Lord. Public worship, in the presence of the Almighty, in the sacred precincts dedicated to His holy name, brings us into closer communion with all around us. It is certain to impress upon us more vividly if any outward circumstances or all-ab- sorbing pre-occupations or personal anxieties should have obscured or effaced the truth from our minds that before the immeasurable greatness of the Lord, we are all equal all equally small yet, by His unbounded goodness, all equally and lovingly cared for ; it is certain to remind us of the wider duties, which in humblest imitation of infinite bene- ficence and mercy, each has to fulfil according to his finite means and poor capacity. Moreover, the., words and admonitions of the preacher, may bring clearly before us some faults and failings of which we were but dimly aware or felt but vaguely guilty ; may awaken and rouse into activity some noble qualities, clouded perhaps by the cares of every-day life ; while the voices of those who pray around us, and the sacred hymns which fill the holy edifice, raise us into a sphere of calm contemplation and D 50 FAMILY WORSHIP. sacred peace, before which all the shadows of the earth fade away. Still we are bound to confess, how often this holy influence vanishes alas ! even on the threshold of the shrine ; how soon and how inevitably we must return to the daily and hourly occupations of our life and to our household cares ; how small a portion of our time is given to even the longest service ; how quickly the most gentle or most impressive words of reproof and ad- vice may be obliterated from our memory and our breast; how soon our tears, the bitter and scalding tears of remorse and repentance, may dry, and our vows be forgotten, or lose their binding and sacred power, unless we recall their import, unless we strengthen them by daily prayer and worship at home. And how invigorating, yet how softening, is the prayer in the circle of each private family; how tranquillising are the devotions of each when the father and mother, so to say, become the priest and priestess of the Eternal, and the same roof, under which we enjoy the gifts of the Almighty's goodness, and where smiles of joy have wreathed our lips, or sighs of sorrow escaped from them, where our happiest hours have been passed, where the pangs and trials of sickness have alternated with the blessings and delights of health the same roof which holds perhaps our death-bed, becomes a temple dedicated by loving hearts on earth to the Fountain of all love in heaven. FAMILY WORSHIP. 51 In the dew-gemmed morning hour we lift up our hands to give humble and fervent thanks for the refreshing slumbers of the night ; and, when the shadows of evening have fallen, we express our deep gratitude for the day which has passed by, and brought the boon of health, and warded off sore sickness and suffering, while from innu- merable thousands of homes similar prayers and thanksgivings rise in the stillness of the night to praise the holy name of the Omnipotent. The good effect which the habit of praying has upon little children, can hardly be denned or overrated. Before they may even be able to understand its value and its power, they learn that for all gifts, and all joys, and all treasures, they owe thankful- ness to the great unseen Benefactor ; thus grati- tude and appreciation are the first feelings they are taught, though the words which express these sentiments may be far above their comprehension. It is desirable that the solemn words of suppli- cation and of thanksgiving, pronounced by old and young, should not become a mere mechanical exercise ; and therefore the same form of prayer should not always be used. Surely very few days, if any, can be said to roll by without bring- ing many alterations, without working changes in our hopes and fears, wishes and endeavours, and these we may always lay, and with them our whole hearts, before our bountiful Creator and 52 FAMILY WORSHIP. Preserver; and, in order to place our burden at His feet, we do not require the inspired eloquence of the Bible, nor the solemn appeals of the Prayer- book ; He understands us, though our speech be untutored ; even though our joy or our sorrow be inarticulate, He can hear and see it all. Better one fervent thought, or one sigh of contrition, than a long prayer without piety, than thousands of words falling from never-tiring lips when the mind does not attend, when the soul is dormant, when the tongue repeats expressions, which habit has rendered so familiar as to rob them of their true meaning. But, my dear children, though a few simple words spoken with faith and humility, love and hope, surely travel to the throne of the Almighty, never let us turn away from the excellent books, from the admi- rable discourses, in which the good and the wise have enshrined their worship of the Lord ; on the contrary, let us read, consult, and study them eagerly, anxiously, and deeply. They will increase our devotion by their beauty and power, while the thoughts and feelings embalmed in their pages will awaken and strengthen our own, and lend words and wings to those sentiments and emotions which, if not indefinite and feeble, were perhaps hopelessly struggling for outward form and utterance. And if this applies to us all, let no mother FAMILY WORSHIP. 53 forget, that it is her own especial duty to teach her children to pray, not merely out of the leaves of even the best of books, but also out of the clear depths of their young and innocent hearts. Yet let us also recollect, my dear friends, that it is not requisite, nor even right, to be always pro- nouncing the name of the Almighty; it is not well that our mouth should always invoke His holy name, though it ought to dwell for ever in our breast. Indeed it is omnipresent : its signi- ficance and the sanctity of the Lord surround us. What is destiny, of which we hear so much? our existence on earth, with its vicissitudes as decreed by the Eternal. Or what is our doom? per- haps one episode embodying the crowning event of a life which we hold by Divine behest. What our lot ? the portion vouchsafed to us by His will ; our share? the sphere of our duties and enjoyments, as marked out for us by the merciful Father ; our burden? the weight of cares, anxieties, and sorrows, that detach us from this world and make us readier for the Kingdom of Heaven. What is the entire magnitude, glory, and beauty of nature, with its endless powers, untold treasures, and undying charms? it is the revelation of the Almighty. He is everywhere. The heavens above, with the moon and stars, the seas and mighty rivers, are but emanations of His greatness ; the winds, the clouds, the showers, the sunbeams, are His 54 FAMILY WORSHIP. messengers. We hear Him in every voice of creation. The corn that ripens for our daily bread is His gift ; the water that quenches our thirst is but one drop from the ever-flowing fountain of His goodness ; the whole earth is brilliantly and beautifully adorned by His will; and the love- liness thereof is pervaded by His holy Spirit. These are the indelible lessons which fond parents should make their children learn and fully under- stand. Yet, even the teaching from that great volume of nature, ever fresh and ever new, is not all-sufficient. The most striking lesson, the least wearisome instruction, the most touching sermon, the most persuasive advice, the least wounding reproof, will always be found, not in precepts and maxims, but in their application, in the best example, in every hour of a good life. And again let me repeat that sermons of powerful and eloquent significance in the temple of the Lord may, alas ! incur the risk of being erased from the breast into which they sank, or dis- regarded in the busy, deafening turmoil of the world, and the good resolves and determinations to which they gave birth may be slurred over, or left to die away, unless they can be kept bright, vivid, and glowing, by the daily teaching and daily example, unless constant prayer and meditation make it impossible that we should forget our duty to the Lord, even amid the com- FAMILY WORSHIP. 55 plications and cares of business, the struggles and incidents of domestic life. Each silent, but ardent and anxious prayer, must fortify us for self-im- provement and purify our conscience; andtheknow- ledge of having endeavoured to fulfil all duties, cannot do otherwise than heighten and intensify our enjoyment of life. Therefore, my dear chil- dren, let us be mindful to breathe our daily thanksgivings, and to implore the Almighty for His blessing on our thoughts, and aims, and works, wherever we may chance to be, at home and abroad, while travelling on unknown roads, or sailing over tempestuous seas, amid the silence of the desert, or in foreign lands amid the busy clamour of tongues ; but let us especially re- member that prayer cleanses our heart, and wafts sweet incense through our dwellings, trans- forming them into holy tabernacles. How could the quiet nook where we worshipped be otherwise than sacred to us ? How could we be guilty of falsehood and treachery where we raised our hands in supplication to the Lord, or commit fraud and perjury where we laid our heart bare to the all-seeing and all-searching eye, or give way to hatred and malice, envy and anger, where we ventured to adore the Lord of eternal love and charity? Where could we hide ourselves, our shame, our confusion, if we had to blush before the majesty of His presence? May He be our 56 FAMILY WORSHIP. first and constant thought, from the time when we are allowed to utter His sacred name in the arms of our mother, till the latest moment of our existence, when He becomes our last thought, and His strong, but gentle hand, leads us from this world of conflicting light and darkness into one of eternal sunshine. VI. CONCEIT. MY DEAR CHILDREN. It seems surprising, not that there is so muchj but that there is any, conceit in the world ; and it appears difficult to understand how intel- ligent minds can allow that strange growth to take root and to develop itself ; for it is absolutely impossible to live, which means to see and hear, to look and listen, without discerning superiority everywhere. Even superficial observation proves to us, at every moment of the day, that those by whom we are surrounded accomplish many things which we could not even venture to attempt. Now, let us endeavour to analyse what conceit really means, and what causes us to harbour, to cherish, and to display so absurd a pro- pensity. It must be the belief, or the illusion, that we excel in art or science, that we possess talents more rare, more brilliant, and more attractive, or information more varied, more extensive, and more profound than our neighbours, or qualities of the heart, the exercise of which places us im- measurably beyond them. But this is a ludicrous D5 58 CONCEIT. assumption ; it proves that we are taking ex- travagant and unjustifiable views of the abilities that may have been vouchsafed to us, and of their value and importance to others. From early dawn, when our senses shake off the trammels of sleep, till the latest hour when the day closes with its lessons and warnings, the hands of the clock cannot travel far over the dial without bringing under our notice proofs innumerable of excellence of every kind, of services the most admirable, of great stores of knowledge freely flung open to the ignorant, of transcendent merit so dazzling, of worth so true and deep, that, in comparison with such testimony of the goodness and greatness of others, our own capacity and our own achievements might be supposed to appear so small indeed, that the sense of our littleness would crush and destroy every germ of nascent conceit. The truth of this view might be illustrated by the lessons we derive at the earliest hour of the day from the perusal of the public journal which has become one of our best, and, perhaps, most indis- pensable instructors, conveying information which places under our eyes the history of the world, and unrolling before us the heroic deeds of the most valiant on sea and on land, the labours emanating from the statesman's cabinet, the speech of the patriot, the glowing eloquence of the divine, the deliberations of legislative assemblies, the addresses CONCEIT. 59 of men of science, the discoveries of the pioneers of progress, the inventions of ingenuity and re- search, and a comprehensive survey of everything new, curious, and interesting devised by human thought or wrought by human skill. Ought not this great treasury of knowledge, I will not say to humiliate, but to teach us how small a unit we form in the immense sum of moral and intel- lectual wealth constantly enriching the globe with the choicest and most varied gifts? Have we ever asked ourselves if we could hope to con- tribute even the narrative of those achievements, so vivid, so faithful, and yet so concise, or the com- ments on the great questions thatagitate the world? Have not the magazines, those ephemerals, taken up perchance to lighten the tedium of a weary hour, yet enshrining so many sparkling gems of wit and humour, made us aware that their contents far surpass our accomplishments, and could, perhaps, not have been achieved by our most strenuous exertions? And the poetry that charms our fancy, and the drama, which keeps us spell-bound, and the romance that bids us smile and weep, and hope and fear, and love and suffer in unresisting obedience to some magic pen, and the eloquence from living lips that entrances us, and the music, whose enchanting strains express what no words can tell, and the painter's art that enshrines in immortal beauty the deed of glory, the brow of 60 CONCEIT. sublime thought, the witchery of fleeting love- liness, have they never appeared unattainable to us, or have we in moments of bewildering conceit believed ourselves capable of emulating such creations ? Probably, neither song, nor play, nor poem, nor picture, could have emanated from our brain or from our hands. But even among those whom Providence has graced with a dazzling superiority, conceit would betoken a glaring error of judgment. For are there not infinite varieties of talent ? Do not some pre-eminently- gifted beings excel in one branch of art or science, while others shine in a different field more adapted to the exercise of their genius ? Who shall say whether the sculptor is preferable to the architect, or the great painter to the inspired musician, or the illustrious writer to them all ? or who shall decide whether, in the realms of literature, the historian, dramatist, poet, moralist, or philo- sopher, carries off the brightest palm of excellence ? and are there not, and must there not always be, endless subdivisions of beauty and of merit? No historian could attempt to narrate every event that has occurred from the birth of our first parents until the present time ; no dramatist could venture to call into glowing life every prominent actor that has crossed the stage of the world from the earliest era until this day ; no artist could be equally felicitous and faithful in representing CONCEIT. 61 earth and sea, nature wild and grand, foaming among torrents and mountain crags, and nature subdued by man in hamlets and cities, or the human face divine, the most alluring and captiva- ting of all. But, my dear children, not only pages, but volumes, might be written, and yet they would leave unexhausted the theme of the innumerable gradations, peculiarities, and aptitudes, required to attain eminence and unqualified superiority in all the numberless varieties of works of talent and of genius. And if this applies to the really distin- guished, to the great, who win wreaths of unfading laurel, why should you, my dear young friends, unknown and untried, on the threshhold of life, be conceited ? Because you have perhaps learnt to read more fluently, to write more quickly, to understand more readily, to commit to memory more faithfully, to answer less bashfully than those around you? But you forget that these advantages may be the result of earlier and more regular training, of better examples at home, of stronger health, or of somewhat greater natural facility. You should not underrate such advantages ; they are precious and not trifling, for they may, if carefully developed, prove of immense benefit to your friends and to yourselves; but they are, at best, mere faint and glimmering promises of future merit; how should they, therefore, give rise to conceit ? Still less ought moral attributes, 62 CONCEIT. valuable qualities of the heart, actively transformed into untiring zeal and devotion, and true, unwearied charity, cause presumption to spring up, as you must remember, my dear children, that, although talent may not be possessed by many, the pearl chaplet of virtues belongs to all who will dive for the precious gems into the recesses of the soul, and wear and keep them bright and spotless. We may be humble-minded and entirely free from senseless vanity and foolish conceit, and yet not ungrateful for any peculiar capacities or qualities that may have fallen to our share; indeed we cannot be too thankful for them, or prize them sufficiently. But judicious apprecia- tion is not conceit ; it never rises to the surface, either offensively or ludicrously; it pervades our inmost being with the anxious desire to make the noblest use of all advantages, be they moral, intellectual, or even corporeal, such as health and strength, and the physical power of endurance. It has been said, with great truth, that conceit is to nature what paint is to beauty; it is not only needless, but impairs what it would improve. Painting, when unsuccessful, is certainly absurd and disfiguring; and even where it succeeds most, though perhaps showy and effective, lacks that harmony which bids features, colouring, and expression combine to mark the freshness of spring, the glow of summer, the steady light of CONCEIT. 63 autumn, the paling tints of winter; it lacks that harmony which does not conceal the traces of care and sorrow, the indication of thought and feeling. Paint is always more or less ludicrous, a sure sign of weakness; far from displaying a quality, it obviously hides a defect or blemish. And the same may with truth be said of conceit. Vanity casts a false light over our real gifts, and tends to dwarf those talents which, if left in their natural simplicity, would receive their due meed of appro- bation. Conceit is a mask, which renders it difficult to know what lies underneath, and makes it impossible to form a just estimate of the wearer. It is not a cloak that covers sins, but a thick veil that shrouds the original and imperishable charms of nature. To be conceited is perpetually to challenge the admiration of others; it is to have no model but ourselves, and, in that case, we seldom im- prove. Possibly we may, though with much re- luctance, fathom our faults, and learn thoroughly to understand them ; but we do not and cannot form an entirely accurate conception of our apti- tudes. And, indeed, it is only by watching the perfections of others that, having discerned in what measure ^we are faulty, we may hope to remedy our short- comings, and to increase our attainments. Conceit not only checks progress, but completely stops it. The conceited cannot strive after excellence; if not so brilliantly 64 CONCEIT. successful as their own inordinate vanity would lead them to expect, they accuse the world of injustice or blindness, perhaps of envy or prejudice, for conceit is very different from love of approbation ; the latter delights in winning golden opinions, while the former believes itself superior to its judges. A painted lady returns to her mirror, astonished and annoyed to find that cosmetics and artifice have not imposed upon society a labo- rious counterfeit for a fascinating reality ; and, in the same way, the conceited are astounded that they do not meet with the praise and the admira- tion which they covet. But, my dear children, truth, if not always attractive, is always preferable to falsehood. Paint and conceit are perplexing masks. Truth may be painful at times, but the pain suggests remedies or palliatives, whereas a sham deceives the vain man himself, and leaves him helpless. Those who live and move behind such fictions, have placed, as it were, a wall between themselves and the great world of truth a wall that screens them from the all-revealing lights, which, doubtless, divulge many faults, yet divulge them only in order strongly to demand their removal lights whose clear rays are so eagerly, so anxiously, and so perseveriugly sought and valued, because no day elapses without proving what priceless treasures they add to the sum of human happiness. VII. OUR MOST PRECIOUS POSSESSIONS. MY DEAR CHILDREN. It seems almost invidious to warn you against dangerous habits, of which we may hope there are few examples among us, such as the bad taste of taking undue pride in bodily or mental advantages, in wealth, in territorial or any other possessions. It is, perhaps, not merely the impression of good lessons and wise counsels, which even the most self-satisfied remember, and even the so-called favourites of fortune re- collect and obey, when they refrain from vaunt- ing their real or imaginary superiority ; they bow, although it may be unconsciously, to the dictates of time, of progress, and of civilization, when care- ful not to betray, either by word, look, or manner, an assumption of greatness or pre-eminence. They do not audibly exult in their prosperity lest they should wound the sensitiveness of others ; they make no vain-glorious display for fear of exciting ill-will or bitterness of spirit, and they are right not to obtrude themselves and their position on the notice of the surrounding circle, for such self-parading is a very hateful C6 OUR MOST PRECIOUS POSSESSIONS. species of egotism. Scrupulous regard for the feelings, for the circumstances, and even pre- judices of those among whom the existence of the well-favoured is spent, seems good and desirable in itself, but it is perhaps scarcely sufficient to preserve or shield us against the belief that the possession of splendid treasures forms an impreg- nable tower of strength, and to remind the pros- perous that the earth, with all the fulness thereof, is the Lord's, whilst human beings are only frail and transitory tenants, liable to removal at any time. For does not parching drought, or cease- less rain, the raging storm, the devastating fire, or the overwhelming flood, destroy glowing vine- yards and teeming corn fields, uproot the noblest trees, sweep houses and whole cities away ? Do not wars and revolutions, or even mere vicissitudes, engulph princely wealth ? Is not the most brilliant talent often obscured by sudden sickness, the proudest eminence, the greatest power, annihilated by an utterly unlocked for stroke, by an inexplic- able change in the wheel of fortune that appears unmercifully to crush those whom it had exalted? Only as the faithful stewards of the Almighty's gifts and blessings can the children of God con- sider themselves rich; and if they strenuously endeavour to make the best use of their energies and opportunities, they will never be guilty of open or covert boastfulness, but will cherish a OUR MOST PRECIOUS POSSESSIONS. 67 true knowledge, a heartfelt appreciation of their duties, and make a zealous and constantly anxious effort to fulfil them. " In all labour there is pro- fit/' says King Solomon ; the active, unflinching exercise of our powers brings peace of mind, the greatest of all treasures, and the axiom of the wise monarch is probably intended to point out the real, though frequently invisible equality which pervades the destinies of men ; for it is the variety of intellectual, moral, and bodily attributes that tends to equalise the often painfully startling differences which, at first sight, might be deemed the offspring of grievous injustice, instead of being the inscrutable but merciful decrees of infinite wisdom. It is consoling to notice the man who made him- self rich, though he was destitute, and had neither worldly goods, nor intellectual acquirements, nor even the robust health and the iron sinews which seem to defy the inclemency of adverse weather and the vicissitudes of unfavourable climes. He made himself rich, because he had been taught to transform apathy into activity, to change sloth into industry, despondency into perseverance, irritability into gentle patience, and a gloomy turn of mind, apt to dwell upon the shadows and to ignore the lights of our terrestrial existence, into habitual cheerfulness and smiling content. By means of qualities so useful he is able to satisfy his own 68 OUR MOST PRECIOUS POSSESSIONS wants and wishes, and to minister, by quiet pre- cept and firm example, and with soothing words and helpful deeds, to the necessities of others, so as to cause the poor to be unrepining, the sick hopeful, and even the dying- resigned. It is less pleasant, but perhaps equally profitable, to con- template those who make themselves poor, though cradled in luxury. They should bear in mind the sons of the old husbandman, who, on his death bed, had promised to leave a priceless treasure. The survivors expected a miser's hoard, countless bags of money and coffers of gold, and deemed themselves utterly poor because the chests and granaries of their father were completely empty. In the lowliest of houses, where pomp and luxury had always been unknown, they looked in vain for gold and jewels. Dis- appointed and discouraged, they yet felt un- willing to doubt the truthfulness of dying lips. The dwelling was ransacked from the garret to the cellar, yet without any success. In searching the roofs, the walls, and the floors of the crazy tene- ment, the house itself was demolished, no portion of it appeared worthy of being retained; but before the disappointed heirs left the unpromising property, they determined upon examining most diligently every inch of the surrounding fields, which seemed quite barren, and had indeed long been allowed to lie fallow. It cost much time OUR MOST PRECIOUS POSSESSIONS. 69 and labour and indefatigable perseverance to ex- plore every rood of ground; no stone was left unturned ; all the tools and implements employed by farmers and gardeners were used in search of the hidden treasure. Spade and pick-axe did their work ; springs, long-neglected, were re- discovered ; always in quest of concealed gold, the plough and the harrow passed over the land ; heaps of pebbles were removed, rank grasses anni- hilated, the root of every tree was sedulously examined: thus all became cleansed, purified, and fertilised by incessant care, labour, and attention. As years glided on so says the time-honoured allegory and the once barren ground was changed into orchards, laden with rich clusters of fruit, into gardens fragrant with blooming flowers, into fields waving with golden harvests; and when the long-neglected acres had become pasture lands covered with snowy flocks and goodly herds: then the sons understood the signi- ficance of their father's last words, and felt that he had indeed left them a precious inheritance. My dear children, our heavenly Creator has more than promised, He has bestowed upon us great riches, but we must labour to deserve them ; and, like the heirs of the old farmer, we must work indefatigably to employ them well. The human heart may indeed become or remain a barren and stouy field, overgrown with rank 70 OUR MOST PRECIOUS POSSESSIONS. weeds ; but care for its best germs, and attention to the development of its full powers, will soon make it a beauteous garden, bright with living fountains, and indescribably rich with priceless possessions, with those trees of wisdom which yield the best fruit with the firmness that withstands the most bewildering temptations, with the courage that confronts the most appalling dangers, with the energy that overcomes the most towering obstacles, with the fortitude that calmly bears all trials and sorrows, with the gentle pity which commiserates the suffering, with the mercy that forgives, with the charity that has balsam for all wounds, and with the love that covereth all offences. Firmness as distin- guished from obstinacy is the offspring of deep convictions, determined to resist brilliant allure- ments, which are mere baits and snares; firmness opposes its invincible rocks to the blandishments held out by soft repose ; when activity is de- manded from us, or when duty calls for indefati- gable exertions, it places its iron defences between our weakness and the most delightful attractions of pleasure. It warns and exhorts us to stand upright and to persevere when disappointments dash our brightest hopes to the ground, and would lay us prostrate by the side of our shattered expecta- tions. Courage enables us to cope with all perils, to be fearless in every good cause, to go forth OUR MOST PRECIOUS POSSESSIONS. 71 and wage war against all enemies not exactly against foes in human shape or personal display of ill-will and ill-feeling the days of single combat are past but against innumerable ene- mies in the form of vice and sin, of dark, obdurate ignorance, of contemptuous pride, and disdainful prejudice. And if courage enables us to defy danger, and to rush boldly and fearlessly into the midst of it, energy, undaunted by defeat, wrestles powerfully with living obstacles, and is triumphant in the end; while fortitude bears with tranquil resignation an almost crushing load of care; and pity, mercy, charity, and love walk hand in hand to scatter happiness around, and to be delightfully rewarded by joyful smiles of gratitude. Do not, my dear children, suppose that it can be thought useful for you to undervalue or despise the possessions that are by general consent deemed real treasures, such as wealth, which, generously and judiciously employed, blesses him that gives and him that receives; or, better still, great and dazzling talents, the exercise of which ennobles the possessor, jfiad enriches the world with beautiful and beneficent works of genius, art, and science; yet such possessions form excep- tions to the rule, and the generality have to dig and delve like the sons of the husbandman. But that should not cause us to murmur or 72 OUR MOST PRECIOUS POSSESSIONS. to repine ; for labour is the salt of life, and activity itself is one of the conditions that lead to its enjoyment. No man can tell how great are the powers enshrined in his heart and soul until he has endeavoured to develop them to the utmost of his ability. There may be mines deep and rich which, liberated from overlying impediments, will yield up their gold ; there may be hidden sources which, released from surrounding ob- stacles, may gush forth, lavishing abundant bene- fits, and spreading them far, far beyond the immediate circle of their possessors. And once more be reminded, my dear children, that not the most costly gems and jewels of earth and sea, not the fairest flowers, not the sweetest fruits, not the most splendid talents, not the rarest gifts of the Almighty's bounty, are the best and greatest favours which His paternal hand bestows on mortal man, but that, on the con- trary, the most general of His blessings are by far the most precious that bread and water to nourish and refresh us that our senses, through which we see the outer world, and learn to admire its beauties and appreciate its wonders that the swiftness and aptitude of our limbs health, the great centre of all enjoyment and the heart, thrilling with every tender feeling or noble sentiment are the best treasures which His boundless beneficence bestows upon His children. OUR MOST PRECIOUS POSSESSIONS. 73 Let us then in all humility cherish them with thankfulness, and with a due sense of their infinite value; let us use them constantly, yet carefully, and show and teach to those around us how un- rivalled is their worth, and how inestimable are the benefits they secure to all mankind. VIII. DEVOTED SERVICE. MY DEAR CHILDREN. Whether we live in proud cities, encom- passed by works of art and science, or dwell in quiet hamlets amongst woods and fields, or near the ever-flowing and ebbing waves of the ocean, we cannot listen to the voices around us, nor let our eyes rest on the products of civilisation, and on the far greater gifts so lavishly bestowed by bountiful nature, without feeling that nothing exists which has not been most graciously de- signed by Divine Providence to do good and varied service. Indeed one day will suffice us to feel that the mere grains of sand on the beach are probably not more numerous than the tenants, than the productions of the seas with their well- known uses and their yet unknown utility and application ; from the gigantic whale to the phos- phorescent animalcule that dots the waters with its brilliancy ; from the coral islands and beds of pearl and treasures of amber to the translucent pebbles which little children gather on the shore ; from the far-extending submarine forests, and the leaves and flowers of the sea, with their DEVOTED SERVICE. 75 health-restoring cordials and glowing dyes, and strengthening salts and indestructible metals, to the smallest drop of water in the fringe of the ocean. All of these field, woodland, and garden, blossom and fruit, seed-pod and grass-blade, twig and bark, even the insect that shapes the oak -leaf into its cradle yes, one and all, have been called into existence, and formed by infinite and bene- ficent wisdom, to yield service to the great family of man. And if we have abundant, nay, irre- futable reason to believe that nothing is useless, although whole generations of travellers and philo- sophers may yet spend centuries, nay thousands of years in discovering the hidden meaning of every object in heaven above, or on earth beneath, it is impossible for one single moment to delude ourselves into the belief that we alone, the highest of organised beings, for whose benefit and delight all these gifts and powers were granted and framed, for whom this boundless service of nature was formed, that we should not also be called upon, and in a far wider sense and loftier sphere, to enter the great public service of mankind. Do not misunderstand me, do not think that your attention will be called to mere activity and in- dustry; you well know, my dear children, how dull and wearisome the day would be without occupation, without business, without diligence in accomplishing some work self-imposed, or confided 76 DEVOTED SERVICE. by others to our hands. But it is grievous to see how alarming a sound the word service has for many minds and hearts, and how brightly independence seems to beckon to most persons among us. Many misconceptions and blinding prejudices exist on both subjects; and the friends who endeavour to dispel these prejudices, and to make the illusions connected with them vanish, will prove their real appreciation of our needs. To be actively, conscientiously useful to our fellow-men, to render true and due service to society or to individuals, should be our constant endeavour, our pleasure, our satisfaction, and our happiness ; the more efficient these services are, or the more widely diffused, the more successful is our life. By looking calmly and dispassion- ately around, my dear children, you will find that all are prompted, by every voice, human and divine, to serve others and to labour for their advantage. Nor are deeds of benevolence and of charity though they assuredly constitute the highest forms of service alluded to at present. "What is meant is the entire business of life, which, in reality, when well and efficiently trans- acted, is service of some sort. Observe and scan the occupations and profes- sions of those you see, or of whom you know and read, whether they stand above or below you, or at your side, and you will find that they DEVOTED SERVICE. 77 are employed in serving their fellow-creatures according to their intellectual abilities and acquirements or to their bodily strength. In the army and navy, the humblest subaltern, and the most illustrious leader; the sailor that climbs to the top of the mast, and the admiral that gives the word of command ; the soldier that advances to meet the enemy's ball or bayonet, and the general that, amidst the roar of cannon, plans great battles and victories all serve alike their country and their sovereign. The surgeon and the physician, whether .at the bed side of the wealthy, or in the crowded wards of the hospital, the priest, whether in the pulpit, in the homes of poverty, or the haunts of vice, teaching, helping, soothing, and healing, are alike servants of the rich and of the poor. Barristers interpreting the laws which rule society, legislators, hereditary, or elected by popular acclamation, modifying old statutes or framing new ones, serve both ignorant masses and enlightened communities. Professors, men learned in all branches of human lore, and spread- ing their knowledge far and wide, serve the young and the old, and extend their teaching even to un- born generations. Architects and sculptors, artists and musicians, whatever may be the degree of excellence which they have attained, serve us by the exercise of their talents or the works of their genius; and authors, whatever the field from which they cull their flowers, serve us by enlightening 78 DEVOTED SERVICE. and embellishing our existence with instructive realities and beauteous fictions. Every business, every profession, every trade, is a species of ser- vice. The fisherman that spreads his nets, the shepherd that tends his flocks, the farmer that ploughs his land, or reaps the golden grain of the furrow, all who labour in the vineyard or orchard, in mine or quarry, in town or country, in quiet nook or bustling thoroughfare, in the solitude of the midnight hour or in the broad glare of day, unknown and unrewarded in the shade, or crowned with glory in the dazzling blaze of popularity, all who plod on in the lowliest, humblest walks of life, or shine on the giddy eminence of thrones, all are servants, all serve their fellow-men, not all in the same way, not by the same means, nor in the same degree, but all in accordance with their peculiar fitness. What is it then that causes so frequently the dread of servitude, the sort of repugnance, which makes so many of our youths and maidens turn away from a mode of life, stigmatised by them as humiliating and degrading? They have an uncon- querable longing for that happy condition which they call independence. But what they mean by it is scarcely a reality. In whatever position we find our- selves we may be said to be independent, namely, free to leave, free to relinquish an engagement, to loosen a tie, to cast off a chain, if either should prove too onerous, too heavy, or too galling DEVOTED SERVICE. 79 provided we have always aimed at the zealous and conscientious fulfilment of our duty. We are not slaves, not bondsmen ; there is no law to compel us to serve, I will not say a cruel or tyrannical, but even an unjust or capricious master. We give our time, our care, our attention, our labour; we may give still more precious possessions than these our attachment and devotion, while we remember the words of the Bible, "A son honours his father, and a servant his master" (Malachi i. 6), for the parallel shows most clearly that there can be no humiliation in the duties of service. But independent of rules, laws, customs, obligations, and outward circumstances we can never be. The vendors who offer their goods for sale are not more independent than the domestic servants at their household labours; if they wish to be successful and prosperous, their activity must be unremitting, in order that more indus- trious competitors may not deprive them of the possibility of gaining a livelihood, and theirs must be a constant struggle, perhaps against the inclement season of the year, or the alarming aspect of the market. The merchant, the manu- facturer, the shipowner, and even the great landed proprietor can never be independent. They bow, as we all do, to the laws of humanity, but are swayed also in their transactions by the changes in the atmosphere which influence the productive 80 DEVOTED SERVICE. powers of nature, by the condition of buyers and sellers, and more peremptorily still, by social and political vicissitudes, by the calamities of war and the blessings of peace. Still you may perhaps think, my dear chil- dren, that in some respects they are more inde- pendent than the domestic servant ; that they have no orders to obey; no will, no wish beyond their own to consider ; that the day is theirs, and may be employed in perfect accordance with their own inclination, or even with their whim and caprice, unshackled either by arbitrary rules or by fitful interference. Such independence is a fiction. We are all hedged in by innumerable rules and laws, and do not stand alone in the world, masters of our destiny. Careful, con- scientious, unprejudiced observation, even if not extending over wide fields and distant countries, but confined to our own immediate neighbour- hood, will show us that each labours for the benefit of all, and that purely selfish work or even occupation is indeed, as it ought to be, an impossibility; for, while trying to do good to ourselves, if we really succeed, we do good to others, and serve them in the best sense of the word. Even while studying our own plea- sures provided these be legitimate and not likely to injure us in any way it is scarcely to be imagined that we do not at the same time DEVOTED SERVICE. 81 minister to the enjoyment of others. Truly the whole aim of life is, or ought to be, one of useful- ness, which is merely another word for service ; and they who miss this aim, or, rather, who fail to understand their duty, or neglect to fulfil it, sink down to a level of insignificance, which is indeed humiliating when we recollect that every creature that has been brought within reach of our powers of cultivation, yields good and valuable service. Surely we live for a purpose ; and to rise in the morning from a couch of unmerited slumber, to partake of the fruits of the earth without having earned their refreshing sweetness cannot afford us deep or lasting happiness ; yes, to sleep, to satisfy hunger and to quench thirst, may be necessary functions of our terrestrial existence, but these are not the whole aim of it ; and they should be exercised as a preparation for our labours, or enjoyed as a reward of our faithful services. The whole marvellous distribution of the globe, and of the manifold powers of the universe, is one of usefulness. Nothing is useless. Earth, air, fire, and water, are our servants ; they increase our means of subsistence, our comforts, our wealth, our enjoyments ; and we, human beings, endowed with the light of reason and with innumerable faculties, why should we shrink from the thought of serving each other, why should we deem such service a sort of humiliating, almost E 5 82 DEVOTED SERVICE. degrading, inferiority? Is that which, perhaps in a mood of despondency or in a spirit of irri- tation and revolt, we call a yoke, more difficult to bear from one individual than from many ? Is one master more exacting than a multitude ? One tongue more bitter or more stinging than the thousand tongues of public opinion ? What is it that you complain of in household service, my dear children? Is it at one time the monotony, at others the perplexing irregularity of it ? But such is life ; it is not mere machinery in which every turn of the wheel, or every movement of the shuttle, steadily helps to make some length of yarn or of web ; nor is it only a journey of plea- sure, through golden meads and flowery vales, over green hills, along gently flowing rivers, where every look we cast around or every step we take discloses new beauties and new charms. I am quite sure, my dear children, that there are few among us who would not gladly and readily obey the inward voice of pity and of sympathy, pleading softly and tenderly for the poor, the suffering, and the afflicted ; but our feelings of benevolence and charity are not appealed to at all hours of the day, and you have already been told that it is often far easier to perform on great occasions acts of self- denial, devotion, and sacrifice, than to pass a whole life in the zealous fulfilment of ever-re- curring duties. If you will, however, keep in DEVOTED SERVICE. 83 mind the oft-repeated truth, that there can be no good and great and noble career that is not at the same time one of usefulness, not merely to the person who achieves it, but also one of true service yielded to others, the objectionable word will lose its grating sound, and you will have true satis- faction in filling well, in filling entirely, and in accordance with the abilities vouchsafed to you, the place that has fallen to your share. The more numerous the individuals or groups of human beings whom we are able to benefit, and to draw into the circle of our usefulness, the greater, the better, and the more lasting is the service we render. It might be said, my dear children, that, till now, we have taken a mere worldly view of our subject, were not worldliness and godliness most indissolubly connected during our pilgrimage on earth. We cannot indeed serve our brethren without serving the Almighty, and to Him, our Heavenly Creator and merciful Preserver, we owe not only gratitude, worship, adoration, but the most energetic labours of our hands, the most ardent aspiration of heart and soul. Yet, how can we attempt to prove our boundless reverence, our endless gratitude? feebly .and inadequately enough whatever efforts we may make yet more by deeds than by mere words of hope and prayer and thanksgiving, by faithful service at 4 DEVOTED SERVICE. home and .abroad, by constant service, whatever may be our calling, by active service amid the net- work of our duties. The most brilliantly endowed may perhaps aspire to the happiness of doing the greatest amount of good, yet all human beings, the most lowly as well as those in high places, may hope to be useful, and by thus serving their brethren on earth, serve in grateful humility their inexpressibly good Master in heaven ! IX. ANGER. MY DEAR CHILDREN. Our hopes and fears, our joys and sufferings, our trials and triumphs, our defects and our good qualities, are, indeed, closely linked to each other, and often strangely connected. It is not, there- fore, in order to produce a startling contrast or a striking picture, that when endeavouring to give a lesson or to inculcate a warning, we are induced to place in a strong light before you the thorns of failure and the palms of success, the darkness of sin and the serenity of holiness, the dangers of vice and the happiness and consolations of virtue ; and to dwell upon the minor shades which divide or blend our feelings, our actions, our most valu- able qualities, and our most perilous faults. You have often been told that the latter are the chief cause of our misfortunes and sufferings. Let us repeat this truth to-day, and repeat also that the plea of a natural predisposition in extenuation of some glaring offence, is an excuse, which fortunately for you cannot be admitted. If great qualities are apt to become dwarfed and even to shrink away completely by not being exercised, if ANGER. inborn talents remain perfectly useless when not sedulously cultivated, nay, even worse than' useless, since the neglect gives rise to perpetual regret and constant self-upbraiding, why should not moral blemishes, why should not faults become obliterated when carefully kept in check, when circumscribed, when vigilantly im- prisoned in the remotest, least accessible nooks of our inward being? None of you, my dear children, can really believe for a moment that there exists a fatality which impels us to do wrong, or to harbour sinful feelings. But liberty and inde- pendence, those two precious treasures, for which you are always longing, are great and bright realities. They exist quite as much with respect to our faults as with regard to our qualities. Sloth, apathy, indolence, may allow the former to invade the best places, and to usurp the domains sacred to pure and noble sentiments ; but what tyranny is there that can prevent us from en- deavouring to extirpate evil inclinations, to destroy all blemishes, and to annihilate defects? You have heard, my dear children, that weeds grow apace, and you also know how constantly the rapid growth of our faults has been compared to the quick expansion of rank and noxious vege- tation. The simile is old, yet none the worse for that; it remains true in all its bearings. The weed which often springs up over night to dis- ANGER. 87 figure the fairest garden, may be uprooted without difficulty, and so may our faults, provided we apply to the urgent, and perhaps daily work a firm will and a vigorous hand. Among the offensive traits of an almost spontaneous development, anger is the most prominent. Do not look upon it as a venial, pardonable infirmity of temper; it is the wide-spreading cause of much suffer- ing, and may be transformed into our daily, nay, hourly scourge. It has, therefore, been very justly observed by an illustrious poet and thinker, that, " To be angry is to revenge the faults of others upon ourselves." The word revenge has a harsh and painful sound; it seems almost impossible that we human and most erring beings should harbour the desire to punish the sinful. Even when the offence is amenable to the law, there are, I think, few among us, who would not in- stinctively shrink from the office of gaoler or executioner. And let us remember, that when the law vindicates the rights of the offended, there is no direct desire to cause the poor, miserable sinners to suffer; that there can exist but a threefold aim reformation of the guilty, prevention of a similar offence, and pro- tection of individuals and of society. But to be angry, and thus to revenge upon ourselves perhaps the insufferable conceit, the inexplicable caprice, the wounding pride, the persecuting suspicion, the 88 ANGER. galling injustice, the narrow-minded intolerance of others, is a perfect folly. By being angry we run the risk of changing the offender into the offended : for although anger exaggerates extravagantly the fault committed or intended, yet the latter becomes dwarfed in comparison with our senseless wrath. For anger has justly been likened to the raging storm which flings to the ground the brightest blossoms of promise, destroys the vineyard and the orchard, shatters the finest trees, and strikes in its blind fury house and steeple, man and beast. It has been truly compared to the overwhelming flood that engulphs the richest harvests, and sweeps away whole villages with the helpless and the infirm, the children and the aged ; or to the devouring fire that leaves nothing behind except ashes and blackened ruins. These comparisons seem to apply more properly and justly to bursts of passionate resentment and violence ; but that anger which any occasion or the slightest provocation calls forth the anger which burns and smoulders resembles far more the wasting fever and sickness, during which the healthy action of every organ is vitiated, and the fountain of joy transformed into a source of suffering, during which the life-stream becomes tainted and poisoned, and the clearness of the mind overcast : in such a state of morbid agita- tion, the throbbing of the heart is pain, the move- ANGER. 89 ment of the lips is anguish, coiit rolled or unsup- pressed anger pervades every thought, every feeling, the good qualities have no room, no play, they are dead or in a trance. Anger may not destroy charity, generosity, devotion, kindness, friendship, love; but surely the devotion of an angered heart loses its gentleness, the charity and generosity of hands quivering with anger cannot be softly helpful ; words of friendship are unable to soothe and to comfort when they flow from an angered tongue. Evil sentiments aud good feelings cannot actively co-exist they neutralise each other; therefore let us strive to overcome those propensities which may grieve or injure our fellow- beings, and which mar, if they do not completely annihilate, our own happiness. Above all let us conquer anger, if not the worst, certainly the most foolish form of revenge, since it absurdly inflicts punishment on ourselves for the faults of others, overlooking the double duty, which enjoins us generously to forgive and wisely to forget, in order that the remembrance of suffer- ings and wrongs may not rankle in us, and rob our days of peace and cheerfulness. Yet anger is not only a folly, but often an iniquity ; for in its senseless rage it may strike friend and foe; and who knows whether time can ever efface the havoc caused in one moment of blind forgetf ulness ? X. " HONOUR THY FATHER AND THY MOTHER." MY DEAR CHILDREN. You have frequently been told that all Divine commandments graciously vouchsafed for our guidance appear closely linked together, and that the dutiful and anxious desire to obey their dictates, as they rise before our view, or sink into our hearts, gently and surely leads us to their fulfilment, causing them to remain engraven on our miuds as indelibly as those inspired words written by Moses on tablets of stone thousands of years ago; words of great and precious truth, which have indeed travelled unaltered and un- impaired through all lands and through all centuries. And as the closest connection most undoubtedly exists between all the eternal com- mandments, it is especially evident in the Deca- logue, that wonderful code of thought and wisdom, since it is' obvious that the four first ordinances embody the duties towards the Lord, and the five last comprehend those towards our neighbour, while the fifth, the injunction of filial love, forms the uniting bond between the obligations humbly HONOUR THY FATHER AND THY MOTHER. 91 due to the Almighty, and those we owe to man. The deep wisdom we adore, and which is so abund- antly revealed throughout the world, would seem also to manifest itself in this grouping of the primary laws. For parents are indeed the Pro- vidence of children on earth, the visible repre sentatives of our unseen Father and Protector in heaven, and warm and devoted affection for them is the commencement, and comprises the rudi- ments of all our duties towards our fellow-beings. Family life at home represents the teeming life of the great family of mankind out of doors, in town and country, in our own native climes, and far, far away in all quarters of the globe, under all circumstances of civilisation and development; for human nature is the same everywhere, and our parents form the centre of that dear home, which we have been taught and have fondly learnt to cherish. The disobedient son unmindful of the wishes of his earliest and kindest bene- factor, heedless of the voice of paternal expe- rience, which comes to him in its gentlest, most persuasive and affectionate tones, and not, as ex- perience is apt to meet his ear at a later period in life, with perhaps grating harshness that callous undutiful son is not likely to become a good and devoted husband, a true and safe friend, a patriotic, unselfish member of the common- wealth, an indulgent, forbearing, and forgiving 92 HONOUR THY FATHER AND THY MOTHER. parent, a man to be trusted and relied upon for the conscientious fulfilment of more arduous duties, for the accomplishment of obligations that may perhaps severely try and tax the powers of body and soul. The second portion of the commandment says: " That thou mayest live long in the land." The sacred text signifies, no doubt, that thou mayest continue to live well, honourably, use- fully, and beneficently ; that thou mayest earn the boon of life, and make noble use of it. Under the paternal roof, which is indeed a sanctuary, we serve an apprenticeship of duty, and the exercise of filial love and obedience teaches us every lesson of the heart, prepares us for the discharge of the highest obligations, of the most difficult tasks. Affection towards parents is indeed commanded to us by Divine Providence; yet it is not only enjoined by the will of Almighty God, it is also one of the earliest and most natural dictates of gratitude, begotten by innumerable words and labours of love, the ineffable power, the com- forting tenderness of which we feel at fevery hour of the day, long before we are able to understand and to appreciate the value of them, long before we can unravel the meaning of the heavenly law. The infant receives nourishment from the mother's breast, warmth and shelter in the mother's arms ; softly cradled in them as the bird HONOUR THY FATHER AND THY MOTHER. 93 in its nest, it is rocked there, not like the fledgling by the swaying breeze, but by every pulsation of the mother's heart; its feeble vvailings are hushed, its cries of weariness quieted by the gentlest lullaby. Ou the mother's knees the child goes to sleep, and feels safe there. On opening its won- dering eyes, her smile cheers it, her words are the first that meet its ear. Later, her lessons of anxious care and fondest affection are the first that impress themselves on its senses ; it is she who explains the beauties and wonders of creation to the awakening intellect, the perfume of the bright red rose, from which her fingers pluck the wounding thorn, the sweetness of the grape or apple, the song of the lark at early morning hour that wakes the tiny sleeper; and, when the sun has disappeared in the west, she points to the twinkling stars that keep vigil above, while the little child learns to lisp its innocent prayer of thanks and hopes, and the curtains of night fall around the youthful worshipper. But remember, my dear young friends, that the mother cannot even then seek repose ; she watches and works ; she must ply the needle most busily, perhaps, during many weary hours ; and, while her hands are indefa- tigably employed, her mind is dwelling on the nedds and wants which the morrow has in store for her loved ones ; her heart aches when she thinks of the possible shortcomings in the house- 94 HONOUR THY FATHER AND THY MOTHER. hold, of a cold hearth and of empty shelves. And, if such is the daily round of the cares of affection and labours of love, when the blessings of health attend her family, what must be her intense sorrow when she sees her children suffer, what must be her agonising anxiety for their recovery, her despair, when the means appear insufficient to secure to the invalids every remedy, every cordial, every delicacy, the purest air, the most perfect quiet, and when she, poor mother, her whole heart rent with grief, and driving back the welling tears by the strongest effort of the will, can give only the most constant devotion, the most tender watch- ing, the most gentle nursing, her hopes and her prayers! And the father, the bread-winner of the family, how he must toil, and struggle, and slave, that his little ones may have shelter, and fuel, and food, and raiment, how he must work at all seasons of the year and all hours of the day ; and what endless, ever-recurring sacrifices of time, of rest, of sleep, of strength, of health, must he not make for his sons and daughters, from the moment they are vouchsafed to him by the blessing of Almighty God, from their birth until they leave the protecting roof to seek their own fortunes in the world and far beyond that time ; for the love of parents towards their children is undying, more powerful, more glowing, more completely self-sacrificing, more entirely pure and unselfish HONOUR THY FATHER AND THY MOTHER. 95 than any other sentiment that ever dwells in the human breast ! Other feelings may become weakened, other loves may become fainter, and die away. The most indomitable love of books or glowing love of nature, the enthusiastic love of art or science, the most unconquerable love of travels and adventure, the ardent love of fame, the apparently insatiable love of power, the most eager and restless love of the world, the most concentrated love of solitude, the most impassioned hero-worship, the most intense and admiring love of friends, all may yield to circumstances, and be obliterated by them and by the effacing wing of time. But the love of father and mother for their children is everlasting. It is the latest human interest that occupies their thoughts ere they pass the mysterious boundary which separates this earth from the realms of eternity. Children owe an indelible debt of gratitude, not only for the innumerable tangible gifts which they are constantly receiving, for the bread which the toiling father earns perhaps in the sweat of his brow, but also for the early lessons of life, for the training and the teaching, for the advice and the reproof, the encouragement, the solace, the recom- pense which are always theirs, and are incessantly yielded to them by love so pure, so boundless, so inexhaustible, so unchangeable, so enduring, that 96 HONOUR THY FATHER AND THY MOTHER. it can be compared only to the endless love of the Eternal towards all mankind. And probably it is therefore that, when we call upon God and implore His mercy, our language knows no name more endearing and more beautiful than that of our Heavenly Father. We may indeed look upon our parents as the messengers of the Lord, as the guardian and ministering angels whom His bountiful wisdom has placed near us. Father and mother are possibly not free from faults and weaknesses, or even from sin; but those blemishes and short- comings, those imperfections from which none are entirely exempt, and even those deeper stains, are unknown to the children and unsuspected by them. They see and feel only the depth and warmth of the affection constantly evinced by fond parents; in their eyes, and, in reality, with regard to their little ones, the father and mother are entirely blameless and pure. If pride, if vanity, or better and nobler feelings, if a certain, yet insufficient awe for the Divine laws and precepts of religion, if respect for the opinion of the world, or shame causes us to hide our faults from those around us in general, how much more sedulously do we veil and shroud them from the ever-in- quisitive glances of our sons and daughters ! And though children may frequently be induced to deem themselves superior to their parents, HONOUR THY FATHfcii AJNU TUX MOTHER, cleverer, more highly gifted, better informed, and more accomplished though they may be so in reality, and though anxious parents wish them to enjoy greater advantages of instruction and knowledge than have fallen to their own share : the father and mother still retain their position above them ; for they possess the golden lessons of experience, and they are enabled to give those in- valuable and daily lessons of love which guard the otherwise unprotected from infinite suffering and peril. And, therefore, my dear children, no one can ever replace our parents on earth. True and firm friends, good, tender, and compassionate men and women, may commiserate the orphans, and be kind to them, be they rich or poor. God alone is the Father of the fatherless. But how may children honour those who gave them birth ? How can they ever requite them for those inexhaustible treasures of love which have never failed them, but have lavishly supplied all their needs and wants? By un- murmuring, cheerful, conscientious obedience in childhood: for devoted parents wish to see their children good and happy; they know what will most surely promote their welfare, and they under- stand the development of the qualities and virtues which, under Providence, lead to goodness and happiness. Therefore the young will do well and wisely to submit to the dictates of their parents, p 08 HONOUR THY FATHER AND THY MOTHER. to their guidance and their instruction, relinquish- ing their own fancies, and trusting to the sounder knowledge and judgment of those who love them with such unbounded affection. Later, when the mind becomes more matured, and the convictions assume a deeper, clearer, and more definite form, children will and should honour parents with every mark of respect and reverence, and prove to them as far as lies in their power that they are cognizant of a debt of deepest gratitude never to be entirely cancelled. Kespect and reverence may be manifested in ten thousand ways, in matters of importance and in the trifling details of everyday life, by consulting the wishes of father and mother, and strenuously endeavouring to fulfil them, by avoiding contradiction and opposition, and by steering clear of every topic which might prove distasteful, and give rise to irritation or wounded susceptibility. For it is impossible to live many years without encountering obstacles and struggles, annoyances and disappointments, re- verses and troubles, which leave either wounds, or sore and tender spots, or scars and furrows behind. A time may come when, in their onward journey through the mazes of life, parents will perhaps need help and support. Dutiful children should be the stay and the staff of their declining years, either by their bodily strength and activity, or by making every effort and straining every nerve to HONOUR THY FATHER AND THY MOTHER. 99 afford substantial assistance, to satisfy all wants, to keep away all cares from the honoured roof, and cause the light of serenity and contentment to shine around the sacred forms of those to whom they owe so much. But whatever duties of gratitude sons and daughters may be so fortunate as to fulfil for the comfort, satisfaction, and enjoyment of their parents, let these obligations be accomplished in all modesty and humility, not with murmurs and sighs as if they were hard and heavy tasks, but even if achieved by immense sacrifices, with all the rejoicing and gladness of devoted hearts; let them be laid on the altar of duty and love as a very trifling tbank-offering for countless benefactions. But there is still another way, not included in the preceding, by which children may [evince their thankfulness, and remember, my dear young friends, that this is the best and highest recom- pense that father and mother ever anxiously wish, and ardently hope, and devoutly pray for on bended knees namely, by a life dedicated to good deeds, to noble aims, to labours of charity, to works of merit and of zeal, and to the fervid adora- tion of our bountiful Father in heaven 1 XI RECREATION. MY DEAR YOUNG FRIENDS. To you who are probably too much in- clined to lay down book and pen, slate and pencil, to children of tender years, and to all the very youthful, who may, perhaps, look upon work as wearisome, and who constantly yearn for the cessation of it as a great enjoyment, who uncon- sciously deem learning and studying a troublesome exception, and consider the absence of toil as the only pleasant and most natural state of existence, it may, indeed, seem superfluous to say that the suspension of labour, the occasional, periodical, and regular discontinuance of occupation is absolutely requisite to recruit our powers, those of the body as well as of the mind, in order to strengthen both, and impart to them renewed vigour, buoyancy, and freshness. The Almighty, in His infinite good- ness, and in the marvellous fitness of all Divine laws framed for our guidance, has graciously given us the Sabbath as a day of rest, and you have frequently been told how that sacred day should RECREATION. 101 be kept holy for meditation and especial prayer, for supplication and thankfulness, for a strict scrutiny of our past life, for wistful looks into a better future, for ardent longings that a more perfect achievement, a more complete fulfilment of duty may crown our efforts. But the grace of the Lord has given us many other days in the course of the year, many times of contemplation, which are both religious festivals and periods of rest and rejoicing. Repose, even in the secular sense of the word, is a necessity. He, who knows all our wants, has vouchsafed to us rest at the end of the week, not only that our thanksgivings may be offered to Him, the Divine Dispenser of all blessings and mercies, but also that we may be able to enjoy many pleasures provided by His endless bounty. Such is the Almighty's behest, as shown in the law of perpetual change, of frequent renewal and constant recurrence of all the same admirable phenomena. Everything in nature is eternally beautiful the sky, the sun, the moon, and stars, the clouds, and even the storms followed by the rainbow of promise, the sno'* and the icicle, the flower and the tree, the lake, the stream, and the cascade. But how many changes pass over the lovely face of nature ! and how tired should we grow even of its most enchanting attrac- tions and most dazzling charms, were they always the same, ever fixed, unalterable, unvarying 1 102 RECREATION. Should we rest satisfied, could we do so, even under the vault of heaver., wqre it perpetually bright and blue? Glorious as is that sapphire dome, and joyously as a fine day raises our hearts and thoughts, and causes us to be more than humbly and thankfully sensible of the goodness of the Lord, and of the happiness of mere existence in this world, we yet feel that the brilliancy of the great orb should not be always unveiled, for we know that the thirsty valleys of earth crave the fertilising showers which do not flow from pure azure spheres; we feel that the refulgent sun, which sheds its splendour over woodland and garden, and changes the green blades of the furrow into golden harvests for rich and poor, tinges the grapes of the vineyard with amber and purple, and warms the peach of the orchard into softness and sweetness, unfolds with its glow- ing breath the delicate petals of the rose, gives colour and fragrance to every flower, and em- bellishes alike with its beaming brightness the palace and the cottage ; we feel that this dazzling and beneficent sun must not shine upon us un- interruptedly ; its fiery rays would soon burn blos- som and fruit, would devour the teeming pastures, the fresh verdure of the earth, and drink and drain all the welling streams of her bosom. We hail the crimson sunset, and with it the delightful cool of the evening] we greet the fair moon RECREATION. 103 extending her silvery mantle over town and country, filling both with her own fantastic and mysterious loveliness, and transforming them into realms of enchantment. But in that delightful radiance we cannot tarry even one single night. Beyond our protecting roof the heavy dews are falling thickly, and resting coldly on the glim- mering pavement or the emerald sward ; and at home, even the sheen of that pearly light cannot prevent our weary eyelids from drooping and closing, and shutting out its magic and gentle splendour. And the clouds, with their ever fleet- ing and suggestive forms, speaking so powerfully to the imagination, were they always hanging over us, would they not dim and darken the earth and our enjoyment of it, disturbing and threaten- ing us with the storms which they bear in their sable folds? It is true, these may sometimes be lined or fringed with silver ; but how much oftener do they portend wind and hail, thunder and light- ning ! How frequently do they affright us, and announce and work havoc and devastation ere they can be dissolved, and replaced by that beauteous and glittering bow, the heaven-spanning arch of hope. You need not be told, my dear children, that the ermine carpets of spotless snow which we admire during the coldest winter season, and the icicles which wreathe with diamonds the leafless boughs of our trees, or spangle the lake and 104 RECREATION. petrify the cascade, would be beautiful no longer if we thought they could chill and numb and freeze for ever, under their hard brilliancy, the bounding waters, the blooming meads, and all the bright spots which minister to the delight, the prosperity, and the happiness of the great family of mankind. Of the ever-revolving seasons, each bearing its peculiar attributes, surrounded by its own fascinations, bringing its own gifts and spells, how weary we should grow if they did not appear and vanish in rapid succession, lavish in blessings, and fruitful and plentiful in enjoyments as they doubtless are! Would the earth, over which they pass, scattering their sweets and treasures around, be so perfect and so beautiful, did not change stimulate its forces, and develop them a thousand- fold ? And if this be the incontrovertible rule of progress and of development in nature, can our labour, the produce of intelligent hands, the work of zealous minds or heartfelt convictions, be satis- factory to ourselves, and useful to others, if monotony robs it of the energy, of the strength, of the firmness required to bring it to perfection ? It is very true that perseverance, undaunted and indefatigable, unflagging diligence, undisturbed and uninterrupted attention are needed for the satisfactory fulfilment of all obligations, for the complete accomplishment of all duties. But, just RECREATION. 105 as our burdened and much-taxed bodily frame requires rest at the end of each day, aud many hours of slumber, so our mind needs recreation, as a renewal of strength and elasticity. It seems necessary that our thoughts and endeavours should not always be directed towards the same objects, but that all our faculties be called into action, all our feelings roused, and all our intellectual powers unfolded, that many interests be allowed to claim our attention, and to engage a portion of our time and our efforts, so that we may not become entirely absorbed by our own more or less re- stricted circle of duties, and thus lose the satisfac- tion of appreciating that which is good and great beyond its narrow boundaries, forfeiting especially the unspeakable happiness of sympathising with others; it seems necessary that there should always, and under all circumstances, remain alive in us, not merely a faithful adherence, an ivy-like clinging to our own immediate round of obliga- tions, praiseworthy and perhaps even admirable in its way, but also a warm and heartfelt desire to participate with the energies of our mind and soul in the busy life of the great external world. And this, my dear children, is very different from the mere cessation of labour, from the mere habit of laying all implements of work on the shelf, from passing days in purposeless apathy, from giving up vacations to useless pastimes that can F5 106 KECREATION. leave no after-glow, no luminous track of expe- rience on the mind or in the heart. By recreation is meant renewal, renovation, pro- gress, and improvement; not vacuity or emptiness, but change of occupation. We cannot do wrong if we consider recreation merely as a reward after conscientious labour; then, alone, it will prove refreshing and enjoyable ; or if we look upon it as a cordial to strengthen us for more strenuous and long-continued exertions ; but whenever we turn to it, let us remember that it signifies not listlessness, but the renovating effect of change, of thought, and activity. My dear children, in order fully to delight in the intermission of work and to profit by it, we must occupy the eye, the ear, and the limbs; we shall then feel, on returning to the usual business of our existence, as if we had plunged into vivifying waves, aud shaken off the dust, the cobwebs and the film, that must accu- mulate if we plod on, in our own small nook it may be carefully, unremittingly, and merito- riously removed from the searching light of the world. We possess, indeed, a faithful teacher in the eye, so small in itself, yet so marvellously con- structed, that, in the season of recreation, it can roam far and wide, and reflect in its tiny crystal mirror all the wonders and glories of earth, sea, and sky, of towering mountains in their imposing majesty, and smiling valleys, rich and bright with RECREATION. 107 the beauteous and exquisite produce of man's industry, of the sweat of his brow, blessed by the unfailing bounty and mercy of the Lord ; it can survey the attractions of the fathomless ocean, in whose sapphire depths countless myriads of beings live and die, unseen and unknown ; the splendour of the empyrean, with its incalculable millions of distant suns, its flaming comets, unexplained meteors, and mysterious shooting-stars And how much does not the ear teach us! what words, and what lessons advice, warning, reproof, pity and solace, comfort and encouragement, the pleading, the prayers of the human voice, the clear echoes of joy, or the sigh of sorrow, the wail of suffering and of helplessness, the song of gladness, the hymn of gratitude ! How much may we see and hear in hours of recreation, how much may we learn, when, spell-bound by the glowing pages of a fascinating book, we follow with tears and with smiles the fortunes and vicis- situdes, the trials and struggles of others ! Or how much may we find to admire when scanning the varied leaves of the great volume of nature, not merely while far away from home, and treading the bridle-paths near glacier and precipice, over which the chamois bounds and the eagle soars: even a quiet walk along the hedge-row that borders our village will show us the snowy and the crimson hawthorn, the white blossom of the bramble, the 108 RECREATION. wild rose in its untended grace, all united by the green ribbons of the bind-weed, and among this exquisite sweetness and brightness the sparrow- mother jealously guarding her new-born treasures. In the dew-gemmed meadow, the lark is singing her jubilant carols to the sun ; but if we tarry long enough in the balmy air, we shall hear the nightingale pour out her soft ditties to the moon. Let no one think that recreation is necessarily frivolous or foolish; or, worse still, sinful and irreligious. On the contrary, it ought, if well chosen and regulated, to be much more than perfectly innocent, it should lead to real improve- ment. To be cheerful and joyous can but tend to raise our mental powers, and to give a fresh impulse to our activity, which monotony might depress and render torpid. It is even to be feared, that if we deny ourselves every relaxation, and adhere rigorously to our sphere of duty, however excellent such a mode of life may be, we incur, ere long, the risk of lapsing into indifference with regard to all other aims and pursuits, of even sinking into a mere mechanical observance of the obligations of our calling, and certainly of allow- ing all important objects to fade away from our horizon, except those upon which we are per- sonally and constantly engaged. We thus lose our highest privileges, and though our days may be blameless, pure, and useful, our life will soon RECREATION. 109 lack some of its noblest aspirations ; for we shall cease to feel interested in our fellow-beings, cease to cherish the sentiments, and to thrill with the emotions, which lift us out of the groove of our every-day career into a higher region of thought and contemplation. Certainly, it is well that our passage on earth should be marked by a life-long devotion to duty, to those obligations which have naturally devolved upon us ; but let us beware of becoming self-conscious, self-righteous, and narrow- minded, of indulging in the belief that no path can be good except the one we follow, whereas there are many excellent, and perhaps better roads, and let us refrain from supposing that relaxa- tion can form no part of a useful and religious life. There is no greater mistake, and most justly and wisely has it been said that recreation is not being idle, but easing the weariest part by change of occupation. With the bright perspective of needful change beaming in our mind's eye, well- sustained exertion, and even hard work, though taxing all our energies, will not weaken our courage, nor damp our ardour ; nor will pleasure, if rightly understood, lead us astray, nor give us a distaste for labour, which must ever be the first condition of our existence. Quite the reverse the two equally balanced will lead to goodness and to happiness, to the eager and joyful exercise of the gentlest qualities and virtues, and we shall 1 10 RECREATION. find, that well-chosen recreation, a complete change in the spirit and heart of man, as over the spirit and face of nature, is carried out in accordance with the immutable and eternally beautiful law, and in obedience to the perfect and all-wise will of the Almighty. XII. "THE RICH AND POOR MUST MEET TOGETHER, THE LORD IS THE MAKER OF THEM ALL." MY DEAR CHILDREN. However faithful our memory may be, there are some truths that cannot be brought too often or too vividly before us, in order that firm belief in their importance, and full reliance upon their power, may sink deeply into our minds, be treasured by our hearts, and there remain impressed in ever-glowing and unchange- able characters. Among such truths I do not know any more cheering, more consoling, and more fortifying, than the beautiful verse, which tells us that the rich and the poor must meet together, for the Lord is the maker of them all. We have been frequently reminded that, what- ever our position on earth, before the throne of eternal wisdom, goodness and mercy, we are equal equally cared for, equally beloved, equally pardoned, created alike in outward form, with the same wonderfully organised limbs, the same keen senses for the enjoyment of that world, which the Divine will has made so beautiful and so enchanting, 112 THE RICH AND THE POOR. endowed with the same mental gifts and the same immortal soul, sharing the same feelings, wants, and wishes, hopes and fears, possessing and prizing the same great treasures the mother, who has given us birth and life, and the first fond lessons of tender affection, the father, who has taught and indulged, or perhaps corrected us, the sister, who has ever been onr dearest companion, the brother, who is our kindest friend ; in later years, perhaps, the husband or the wife with whom we climb the hills or descend into the valleys of life, and those most precious blessings, our dear chil- dren, the sons and daughters, who gladden our eyes, whose youth is our second youth, whose joy is our joy, whose happiness is our happiness, only far brighter, purer and more perfect, because these newly-awakened feelings are infinitely more free from the alloy of selfishness, from the blemish of egotistic longings, than those experienced by us in our own earlier days. And does not the same sun warm us all rich and poor? Do not the same stars glitter over our heads, a perpetual wonder and mystery to our minds? Do not the same winds fan the brow of the king and of the beggar? Does not the same wheat-sheaf ripen for royal banquets, for the loaf of the poor and the crust of the mendicant ? Is there any guard of safety to keep sickness and sorrow and death aloof from the palaces of the mighty of the earth, any more than THE RICH AND THE POOR. 113 from the homes of the poverty-stricken ? Are the great blessings of Divine Providence withheld from the poorest, and are the wealthy removed far above and beyond all trials, afflictions, and calamities ? Surely not ; there are, however, infinite varieties of occupations, endless diversities of pursuits, in- numerable differences of position. Some appear to luxuriate in over-abundance, whilst others are seen and known to eke out a scanty and wretched subsistence. And yet the inequality is not so great as it seems. You are aware, my dear children, that a thatched roof shields us from the scorching rays of the sun, from the descending flood, from the winter's snow-storm, or the equi- noctial gale, quite as effectually as the gilded canopy protects those who dwell in marble palaces. Our refreshing slumbers do not depend upon downy couches; and the heart that beats under the plainest garments may be as full of joy and happiness as the breast that heaves under softest velvets and finest laces ; the brow that knows no ornament may be as free from care as that which wears a crown, or sparkles with the light of brilliant jewels. So far as individuals are concerned, real felicity does not depend upon riches and the pleasures which they afford. A constant and perhaps envious longing for these is just as sinful as it is 114 THE RICH AND THE POOR. unwise, and even absurd. Yet, my dear children, let us also avoid the equally foolish notion that luxuries are valueless and superfluous. While it is perfectly true, that in thousands of cases they add but little to our personal enjoyment, it is impossible to deny the incalculable good they do by diffusing occupation and creating employment far and wide, multiplying labour, which is the salt of life, and stimulating industry, which sup- plies the necessaries of our existence. Our wants, which are perpetually and almost daily, and no doubt beneficently, increased by the progress of civilisation, by the gradual yet uninterrupted development of the latent forces of the earth, by the discovery and adaptation of their powers and uses our wants and needs are found much simplified among the poor of other climes. We will not even glance at those still primitive and savage races, which support themselves entirely by fishing and hunting, and use the rudest implements to bring home for their suste- nance the tenants of lake, and stream, and sea, or employ the coarsest weapons to snare and slay the birds of the air and the wild animals of field and forest. But there are many countries, where those who cultivate the earth, and assist in the produce and preparation of some of the treasures of commerce as, for instance, the coolies from the great peninsula of India, who cross the sea to THE RICH AND THE POOR. 115 in the coffee plantations of the Island of Ceylon require marvellously little for their sup- port and comfort. A shed extends over their heads at night; otherwise their hours of rest are unprotected by bolt or bar, by door or window. The heavy tread of the wild elephant, roaming through the native forests, does not wake those weary sons of toil, nor does the prowling cheetah disturb them ; no pillow softens their slumbers ; they lie down on the bare bosom of the earth ; and, when they resume their labour at earliest dawn, they have little to encumber them; they require no luxurious clothing, not even sandals to their feet; they satisfy their hunger with a few grains of rice, and quench their thirst with water from the fountain. This is merely alluded to, my dear children, to prove that the farther we are from the great seats of civilization, the fewer are our wants ; the nearer we are placed to the chief marts of the world and to the centres of wealth, the more our requirements increase, and, as a rule, the better are we able to supply them. It is one of the fundamental laws of eternal wisdom and Divine beneficence that equality, with regard to the chief needs of mankind, with re- gard to the great gifts and treasures which con- stitute happiness on earth, should pervade this world and be the birthright of all ; but it appears as if, in every other respect, varieties of attain- 116 THE RICH AND THE POOR. ments, diversities of talent and of rank, of avo- cations, classes, and possessions, should continue, and even increase a thousand-fold, until the end of time. If all could be equally rich, or what is called independent, consider, my dear children, in what condition we should very soon find ourselves. You will easily see that the farmer would ere long cease to till the land, and cease to supply us with the produce of his labour, the gardener would not prune the vine for the market, the miller would not grind the corn, nor would the flour be kneaded into bread for our daily meal. Each would have to provide for his own selfish wants ; not only would there be no progress and no development, the arts and sciences would soon disappear from the face of the earth, and we should all imperceptibly revert to the state of those hunting and fishing barbarians, those savages, who are steadily reced- ing before the onward movement of civilisation, but who still inhabit some distant and benighted portions of our globe. Indeed, you will readily understand, that riches, if they became general, would not exist long. Who would go down into the bowels of the land, into mines dark and deep, for coals and for iron, for silver and for gold, or fell the trees of the forest to build houses and ships, or work in quarries for granite and marble, reap the harvest with heavy THE RICH AND THE POOE. 117 scythe and sickle, press the grape, secure the vintage, or send with indefatigable fingers the shuttle across the loom ? A country, a nation, in order to be great and powerful, prosperous and happy, must be wealthy : a man or woman does not require riches to be happy and satisfied. Were it not so, life would be intolerable, both for those who lack the treasures of wealth, and for those who possess them. Let us inquire of what elements happiness may be said to consist ? It is yielded most completely by tranquillity and cheerfulness of mind and heart ; it is evinced, though not always in the same manner, by the full and gleesome enjoyment of the passing hour. So delightful a condition must be wrought by the consciousness of duty faithfully performed. But fulfilment of duty is quite independent of riches, though these may, of course, prove useful for the accomplishment of our task. Each of us has a mission, each a sphere of activity, where the best qualities and aptitudes find a fair field of action ; a circle not of unbend- ing iron, but one so elastic, that, the greater our diligence and the greater our persevering industry, the more that magic ring extends, the wider it becomes, and the more claims it collects and brings under our notice for indefatigable exer- tion. Divine Providence has decreed that all beings 118 THE KICH AND THE POOR. may become useful, be their position high and great, or apparently insignificant and lowly ; be it brilliant or modest ; be they called upon to shine in the eyes of the world, or to plod and work on in some remote and obscure corner, known to the All-seeing, but unknown to their fellow-men ; thus all may not only be happy themselves, but also hope to become sources of happiness to others. As in the universe created by Almighty wisdom, the smallest satellite, the palest and faintest moon, may be as necessary, and add to the general harmony of revolving worlds as much as the greatest stars and suns, so may, in the wide-spread family of mankind, the activity of the smallest and humblest be as useful as the works of the highest and mightiest. If, during many centuries, the little honey-bee distilled all the sweetness required for the consumption of man, if the silk- worm, even now, spins the most costly fabrics, if the tiny cochineal insect dyes the imperial mantles of the crowned monarclis of the earth, how much more can be achieved by human hands, and human lips, and human hearts ? The gladness derived from the fulfilment of duty is happiness ; and this blessed feeling the rich and poor may share alike, for each has innu- merable and ever-recurring obligations to fulfil. No pen could attempt to name all these duties, to point them all out for accomplishment. Let not the THE RICH AND THE POOR. 119 poor be misled by the cares that oppress them into the belief that the rich are unjustly favoured, nor betrayed into bitterness of spirit and of feeling, into that intense ill-will which annihilates brotherly love. The wealthy may facilitate the task of their less prosperous neighbour while remembering that the Lord is the Creator of all mankind, that He is the heavenly Father of all human beings, that towards Him all should turn in the hour of need and of plenty, of humiliation and of triumph, of sorrow and of joy; and let both the rich and the poor always recollect that they can serve Him only by serving their brethren, that they can love Him only by loving those whom His inexhaustible goodness has called into life. Not to be wealthy is not a misfortune; that has been abundantly shown and proved, as it cannot be said to exclude the possession of the greatest, most precious treasures, of those that can be neither bought nor sold. But to be so poor as to lack almost the necessaries of bare existence, must indeed be a severe, a terrible trial; to feel the sharp tooth of hunger, to feel it gnawing away the bloom and health and strength of beloved chil- dren, more dear to us than life, not to have sufficient raiment, sufficient fuel, sufficient shelter for them, must be harrowing and excruciating. Let us hope that such heartrending trials have almost ceased to be realities. Not only have 120 THE RICH AND THE POOR. individuals felt, but society at large has recognised, the sacred duty of providing for those who cannot provide for themselves. But while the wealthy must have a melancholy satisfaction in knowing that they aid the helpless, that they feed and clothe, warm and heal, teach and comfort the poor, those whom inevitable misfortunes, or vicissitudes, or even their own faults, have brought so low, let the needy remember and guard their own dignity, and strive by all means in their power to escape from the painful thraldom of almstaking. Sudden attacks of illness, or long-abiding in- firmities, unforeseen accidents, reverses not to be prevented by the utmost forethought may cripple the energies of the most industrious and hard- working, and crush the courage of the most hope- ful. Often and quite unavoidably they change plenty into penury; but surely such are excep- tions. As a rule, the wise husbanding of our re- sources, diligence, and persevering activity, thrift and economy, will keep us above want, will pre- vent poverty from being distressing, or galling, or humiliating. And bear in mind, my dear children, that even the youngest of you can do much to lessen the general burden of poverty, by applying diligently to your duty, chiefly at school, during the early years of your life. The more knowledge there is, the less misery there will be throughout the world ; THE RICH AND THE POOR. 121 the more you know, the more means of success you will have, the more power to stem the tide of adversity, the more strength to overcome troubles and even disasters, the more ability to find useful and profitable employment, and to withstand peril and temptation. Fearful, for instance, as is the number of criminals sentenced to punishment every year, it is some consolation to find that more than one half of those committed are wholly un- educated, that they have erred and sinned from ignorance, or from idleness, which, even when compulsory, may become the parent of all vice. Yes, the more knowledge there is, the more happiness there must be in the world ; and the greater the wealth of the nations of the earth, the more resources individuals will find, and the more unlimited the demand for labour of every sort will prove to be. And thus it is in all phases of life. Arts and sciences, and all the profes- sions, manufactures, agriculture, and commerce crave for their development, for their extension, for their giant growth, the unceasing efforts of all who have learnt to work. The employers of capital must be also the employers of labour; human hands must tie the innumerable knots and meshes of the net-work of industry, which will, ere long, cover the entire surface of the globe. And thus the rich and the poor meet together, for the Lord is the Maker and the Benefactor of them o 122 THE RICH AND THE POOR, all. And as civilisation extends far and wide, those who have enjoyed the advantages of education and the pleasures of knowledge, will feel impelled to extend those blessings through all lands, to all classes, to all ages, in town and country. This may appear a sanguine and exaggerated picture of universal prosperity towards which we are looking and labouring; all this may seem Utopian, and possibly there are some who, while hoping that such brilliant visions may be realised, murmur with sighs of doubt, " Alas! the poor exist ; how can, and how should the rich meet them?" They meet them indeed, in earnest fulfil- ment of sacred duty, by the best gifts of kindness and benevolence in cases of distress and despon- dency, by giving, not only gold, but time, which is life ; care, which is thought ; the gentlest, clearest advice, and the brightest example, which may be called help; words of solace, which are like drops of balm to the bruised and wounded spirit ; words of comfort to renew courage, which is hope and faith ; and sympathy, which is tender fellow- feeling warm and deep. Thus we shall shield those who suffer, thus we shall surround them with the soft mantle of charity and brotherly love. Yes, however limited our possessions, we may be rich ; and justly can all those be called so who have and enjoy the treasures which their neigh- bours lack, be they health and strength and THE RICH AND THE POOE. 123 happiness, or merely patience and perseverance. And, while labouring faithfully with mind and body, heart and soul, let us look forward to that glad future of the human race, when the poor, being able to satisfy all their wants and needs, will harbour no sentiment of humiliation and dejection, and the rich need no longer blush at having left their duties unfulfilled, when indeed both may meet and thankfully and joyously acknowledge that they have felt and fathomed the beautiful truth of the words of holy writ, " The Lord is the Maker of them all." XIII. HEALTH. " Remember thy Creator in the days of thy youth, ere the evil days come, and the years draw iiigh, of which thou wilt say, I have no pleasure in them ; ere the sun, and the light, and the moon, and the stars, are darkened, and the clouds return even after the rain." Eccles. xii. 1, 2. MY DEAR CHILDREN. Among the ever- widening circle of our duties, the one which recurs most frequently and reminds us most truly and unmistakeably of the extent of our obligations, of our greatest wants and needs, of our most keenly felt shortcomings, and which brings before us and defines most accurately our warmest wishes and fondest hopes, our most fervent longings and most arduous struggles, our endeavours, triumphs, and failures that duty which calls imperatively for fulfilment at the earliest hour, when we open our eyes, and again at the latest, when we seek rest after the labours of the day, the duty of morning and evening prayer, is, among all nations of the world, in all countries, among all varieties of faith and creed, held to be the most solemn of institutions. It is HEALTH. 125 a duty performed by you, my dear children, long before the true meaning of it can be fathomed or deeply felt by your dawning intelligence and awakening gratitude, a duty fulfilled in gentle and loving obedience to the behest of fond parents who taught your yet faltering lips to breathe thanks to that all-merciful Father in Heaven, who has given you to them, and who allows you to grow and thrive to their delight and happiness. When the earliest years of childhood have passed away, and your own riper knowledge and the advice of affectionate friends point out to your more developed reason, to your more warmly thrilling hearts, this great duty of thankfulness to the Divine Giver of all blessings and mercies, it is diffi- cult, nay, impossible to say, what shape your thanks and supplications should assume before the throne of the Eternal. Each of us holds in the chambers of his soul the secret of his own weak- ness, of his own failings, of his own aspirations. It may often be necessary to conceal from the world, and even from our loved ones, much care and anxiety, sorrow, suffering, and misfortune; it may indeed happen that to strangers, to those above and around us, our appeals, our requests, and expectations appear ill-timed and exorbitant. But in our humble communion with the Almighty, all the words of contrition and of prayer, of fear and of hope, of confession and of petition for 126 HEALTH. pardon, must be true and sincere. When seeking the Divine presence, we can have no subterfuges, no softening or obscuring veils, no exaggerations, no mysteries, no secrets. Before the Fountain of all indulgence there need be no concealment and no reserve. His mercy we may always crave for our hearts' desire ; He is never blind to our wants, He is never deaf to our supplications ; and, while we must always remain individually the best judges of the prayer that each of us should offer to Almighty God, there is one great gift, there is one treasure beyond price for which you should constantly pray at morn and eventide, my dear chil- dren, and yet never fear to be grasping or covetous. I mean the first, greatest, and truest of blessings, a blessing so perfect that it is, and must ever be, our most valuable possession on earth ; a boon so absolutely essential and so powerfully conducive to the happiness of all human beings, so tran- scendently precious, that the young and the old, the poor and the rich, the beggar soliciting alms in the crowded, busy thoroughfare, and the anointed king on his exalted throne, are alike swayed throughout life by its wondrous influence. My dear children, that blessing is health ; and, although to those who enjoy it, in half conscious appreciation of its worth, the praise of its excellence may appear a truism, the same words of praise must seem poor and feeble and inadequate indeed HEALTH. 127 to those who have had the misfortune of losing that marvellous gift, more precious by far than all the gold of the earth and all the pearls of the sea. Not only does it outshine every other gift and enchantment with which the bountiful hand of the Almighty has so lavishly adorned the world, but without it nothing has any charm, without it all is worthless. Bereft of health, we are bereft of all : youth, mirth, joy, and happiness, the freshness and sweetness of early spring, the glow and brightness of summer, the calmer yet still radiant beauty of autumn, the rosy dawn and the brilliant sunrise, which silence the plaintive nightingale, and bid the lark soar heavenward with jubilant song, the fair moon with her attendant train of bright-eyed stars, the fragrant breeze, the rushing sea, the enamelled meadow these treasures and wonders are all as nought. Our existence becomes one of suffering, and those from whom health seems to be ebbing slowly and painfully away, feel indeed helpless and useless, a burden to themselves, a source of constant sorrow and harassing anxiety to others, to those perhaps most dearly beloved, a cause of sadness dimming the light of the family circle, casting a shadow over the day, deepening the darkness of the night with fears and harrow- ing dreams, disturbing the time of rest which should be refreshing, and weakening the day's 128 HEALTH. work which should be sustained and strengthened by cheerfulness, filling with dullest care the hours which ought to pass happily and merrily, clogging those swift hours with heavy weights and irritating shackles, hushing mirth, shattering energy, and replacing the ever-changing aspect of joy around them, and of contentment in their own hearts, by the monotony of suffering, which too often, alas ! becomes the anguish of increased pain or the overwhelming cloud of despair. You will say, my dear children, that this is a melancholy picture of sickness, suggested by sad and perhaps exceptional experience, or conjured into existence by affrighted imagination ; yet it falls short of the dread and too frequent reality. We will not, however, dwell upon it long. Let us look at it and think of it, and turn away from its gloom to strengthen an earnest resolve that of working and toiling and acting in grateful appreciation of that un- equalled blessing, the disappearance of which seems to annihilate all other mercies. If health, in sunny days of prosperity, renders our enjoyments more intense, if it adds a halo to our truest and most perfect happiness, let us remember that it is also a shield and a buckler, a breast-plate and a spear, when difficulties and misfortunes draw nigh ; that it enables us to battle with temptations, and to vanquish obstacles ; that it sustains our courage, gives us fortitude HEALTH. 129 to bear affliction, patience when we most require it, perseverance when we need that spur to ever- renewed exertion, and that alone it allows us to use activity and energy in the pursuit of our most cherished plans. Ought we not then, in humble thankfulness to the Almighty for the peerless treasure of health, guard it like the apple of our eye, with strenuous care, and with every pulsation of the heart, with every thought of the mind, with the work of our hands and the swiftness of our limbs, make the best and highest and noblest use of it, never abuse it, never deprive it of its lustre, never endanger it, so that it may never fail and never be lost by our own fault ? Let us then, my dear children, transform every hour of strength and energy into a period of positive, if not immediate satisfaction to our- selves, which must mean one of benefit to those whose well-being is bound up in our own. Believe me, health is the first and greatest of all earthly blessings ; all other gifts and powers are but feeble accessories : it may well be com- pared to the sun that gives light and warmth and brightness, that causes the leaf to expand, and the flower to bloom, the wheat to spring from the deep furrow, and the fruit to ripen on hedge and tree. It allows the limbs to grow and to be strengthened, the body and all its internal organs to acquire their full development, o 5 130 HEALTH. the brain to become the seat of useful and, perhaps, of great thought; it enables the life- blood in its rapid course to quicken all our-actions, the heart to beat and thrill in unison with the mind for all good and noble purposes, for know- ledge and wisdom, for science and art, for justice and generosity, for devotion and self-sacrifice. Withdraw the light and warmth and brightness of the sun, and all becomes bleak and barren ; the land does not yield its yellow sheaves, nor the vineyard its purple and amber clusters, the flower is nipped in the bud, the fruit chilled in the blossom. And so it is with health. Those who lack it, lack the power of action, the power of exertion. The germ of all goodness may lie in them, like the seed in the earth, the promise of all sweetness and beauty may be dormant in them; but there it remains, numbed by the icy touch of sickness, or withered by its fevered hand. Philo- sophers, and indeed all wise and experienced men of the world speak of the great and un- doubted value of time. But what is time without health ? No longer that swift-winged messenger of eternity which yields countless treasures to the active, the industrious, the indefatigable. No, shorn of its bright pinions, it becomes a heavy companion, extending a leaden canopy over weary heads, and thrusting sharp thorns into aching, and perhaps bleeding wounds. The HEALTH. 131 worldly and sagacious speak of golden oppor- tunities: but what are these even the most tempting opportunities with the promises which they hold out of every advantage and enjoyment, of success and fame, power and happiness, what are they without health to profit by them? Nought but delusive and tantalising sirens. Enthusiastic poets sing, and thoughtful men in sober prose write of the facilities and gifts and powers of the rosy morn of life, of youth with all its witchery. But, alas ! what is it without health ? A fitful and dis- enchanting dream. And fatalists vaguely hint at, and firmly believe in fortunate chances ; but what are they without the grasp of health to seize them and convert them into springs of prosperity and enjoyment ? Mere illusions and delusions, created to dazzle and deceive. Thus, my dear children, you cannot fail to see that the gift of health is the greatest of our earthly possessions. Keep this belief in faithful remembrance; keep it in the chambers of your memory, not merely as a fact of useful knowledge, but as a vital truth to be cherished and to be acted upon, so that, ere you lay your head on the pillow at night, you may ask yourselves in perfect candour whether the great treasure, far from remaining inert like wealth in the sombre hiding places of the miser, has, at your earnest bidding, been productive of good deeds or of useful 132 HEALTH. preparation for the future ; whether you have prayed and worked, and fulfilled every duty of industry and of gratitude, of love and devotion, of purity and of zeal ; and whether you may lift up your hands to our Heavenly Father in earnest supplication for a renewal and continuance of the priceless gift which has enabled you to pass the day in useful labour, in true enjoyment of the blessings of life, and in humble and thankful adoration of Him, the bountiful Dispenser of countless mercies. XIV. SICKNESS. " Trust in the Lord ; be of good courage, and He will strengthen thy heart, yea, trust in the Lord." (Ps. xxvii. 14.) " Into Thy hand I commit my spirit ; Thou redeemest me, Lord God of truth." (Ps. xxxi. 6.) MY DEAR 'CHILDREN. Although we may watch and ward the most precious of all our worldly treasures the blessing of health and guard it with every power of the body and the mind, keeping far aloof the snares and the dangers that might imperil its possession, and never allowing recklessness, folly, vice, or sin, those most cruel enemies, to assail it, never permitting tho.se lawless offenders to break into the stronghold, and carry off the prize yet health may elude the watchfulness of prudence, the wariness of discretion, the self-command and calm steadiness that would seem to sur- round and defend it like the outworks of an impregnable fortress. Yes, the health of the most robust is liable to give way, and illness may befall the most prudent. This may appear suddenly, or 134 SICKNESS. creep on gradually j it may be hereditary, or the result of accident no one is secure against it, neither the young nor the old, nor the rich nor the poor, nor the dull nor the clever, nor the great nor the small. Sore and heavy disease may come on for a short period, or for many weary years ; it may be followed by gentle convalescence, or be deepened into the most intense agony until death closes the scene. When the hand of sickness smites us whether we are sustained by buoyant hope for renewed strength and energy, or weighed down by the almost inevitable sadness and gloomy prospect of parting from those we love and from life, the chequered path of which has, never- theless, given us enjoyment true and deep we remain chained by iron fetters, imprisoned within the narrow boundaries of an arm-chair, or laid low on a bed of torture, where all outward independence, all bodily activity leaves us. We can no longer accomplish the daily work, which is the salt of life; and thi^, my dear children, applies equally to all sufferers on every step of the social ladder. There is an end to the exertions of activity, to those occupations brought to us by every dawning day, and to which we are wont to look forward with eagerness for the benefit of those who seem to depend upon our efforts. There is an end to our studies ; the pen and the pencil must alike remain idle ; there seems to be an end SICKNESS. 135 to all labours of love, and to the most precious of all to the power of doing good. In sickness, we may, and we involuntarily do, cause pain and sorrow to others; and we can no longer hope to contribute to their happiness. This is true, grievous, disheartening and irrefutable in its stern reality. It may well cloud the sunniest mind with dark and heavy shadows, extinguish the cheerfulness of the most sanguine, chill enthusiasm ardent and glowing, and freeze the fervid aspira- tions of the most courageous. But there are other equally irrefragable truths. Yes, there may be a cessation or suspension of our bodily independence ; we cannot rush out into the school, where the first lessons of life are anxiously and se- dulously taught, or into the college where, in noble rivalry with kindred minds, our intellect becomes matured and our talents are developed, where we may receive, or perhaps have the even greater satisfaction of imparting knowledge. We cannot seek the workshop or the labour-market, compete with those around us in the daily struggle for bread, for the bare necessaries, much less for the comforts and luxuries of life ; or, if Divine Provi- dence should have placed us in a different position, and fitted us for the acquisition of higher know- ledge, of eminence in art and science, of fame and distinction in the world, we cannot even retain what has already been won it glides away from our feeble and spasmodic grasp. 136 SICKNESS. But even on a bed of sickness, we may teach and learn, we may yet possess and give possess independence of thought, and give great and noble examples of fortitude. Between periods of suffering and during intervals of rest for no pain, however slight or however severe, can possibly continue without intermission, as it would soon take us to the brink of the grave we can form the determined resolve to bear the trials of bodily anguish with gentle patience, with humble resig- nation, and the perhaps still greater trials of utter prostration and helplessness, with the strength of mind that represses every sigh and curbs every movement of irritation, with that unwavering faith in the mercy of the Lord, which checks the rising murmur, silences repining, and assuages the bitterness of mental agony ; we can endea- vour to conceal, and thus actually mitigate painful thought, lighten the burden of those around us, and prevent our inflicting additional care and trouble upon sympathising hearts to whom our trials are already a cause of much sadness and sorrow. And then our sufferings will be robbed of half their poignancy, our recollections will lose their upbraiding bitterness, our prospects their sadness and we may, with God's blessing, in- dulge happy dreams and bright visions of recovery map out, as it were, a new life full of deeds of benevolence, of useful efforts, of well-directed SICKNESS. 137 activity learn to appreciate the great gift, which is temporarily lost, the priceless treasure and its intense enjoyments, which have been so fearfully jeopardised and we may gain time, the long hours of the day, the sleepless hours of the night, for grave thought uninfluenced by frivolous out- ward diversions, for candid self-examination un- interrupted by the more worldly duties which claim our attention in health, for conscientious meditation on the past, the present, and the future, for a patient search into every corner of the heart, that its weakness and its strength may be discovered, that we may support the one, and cause the other to yield good service. And thus, while passive, or apparently so, we still offer excellent and useful examples, and teach great lessons never to be forgotten by those whom affection, or friendship, or a sense of duty draws towards us in our need. Constant patience, unvarying gentleness, forbearance calm and firm, and humble submission in pain and sickness, are not mere words, they are great blessings, they are heroic realities ! We are well aware that some sufferers, harassed by almost incessant pangs, or by ever-returning anguish, are unable to keep the tumultuous rising of their wounded and over- excited feelings in subjection, and that while half confessing these faults before the tribunal of their own conscience, they nevertheless frame 138 SICKNESS. an apology for impatience and irritability, un- governable vehemence and irrepressible anger, by pointing, not only to their overpowering woes and torments, but to the entire annihilation of consoling and counteracting enjoyment in their existence. It is very true that indulgent friend- ship and tender pity may easily excuse and forgive the caprice and waywardness of those who have so much to try their powers of endurance, while perhaps not true friends, who painfully share all afflictions, but kind visitors and faithful attend- ants, though tearful and grieved near the bed of sickness, may turn from the gloomy picture of suffering to a bright circle of their own, where content and happiness, the smiles of affection, and laughter-loving voices may always be found. Yet, believe me, my dear children, there can be no greater mistake than to suppose that cares and throes may justify any paroxysm of anger, any ebullition of temper, any harshness of manner, look, or word. We shall suffer far less if, even amidst agonising tortures or dull unremitting woe, we can respect the feelings of others, and learn to suffer unselfishly. Though helpless through sickness, we can help inflicting unneces- sary trouble, and though apparently useless, we shall be useful indeed if we can give a noble example and teach others some of the highest and most difficult tasks of life. And remember, my SICKNESS. 139 dear children, that trying as it is to be laid low by sickness, it is infinitely more sad to see our loved ones smitten by illness, sorrow and mis- fortune, to have anxiety gnawing at our hearts, and grief filling the short span of our existence. Even if death should threaten us, let us not indulge merely in feelings of unavailing regret, keen remorse and repentance, but may we cling unweariedly to the performance of duty until the last moment which we are destined to pass in this valley of shadows and tears and trials. Our courageous and strenuous efforts will and must ever be the best preparation for crossing the mysterious chasm which separates this world from the realms of eternal peace and tranquillity promised to weary and foot-sore sufferers on earth by the loving-kindness and inexhaustible mercy of our gracious Father in Heaven. XV. JACOB'S DREAM. MY DEAR CHILDREN. NOT a day elapses without yielding to our enjoyment new blessings from the unbounded goodness of the Lord ; and though our ardent and heartfelt thanks are offered at the throne of mercy, there is not a single manifesta- tion of Divine and constantly renewed loving- kindness for which we are, or ever can be, suffi- ciently grateful. He, the Bestower of all treasures, has gifts to brighten our earthly pilgrimage and to sweeten the cup of our life, to restore us after exhausting labour, to assuage our sorrow, to strengthen and sustain, calm and tranquillise, comfort and console us. Among these, let us, my dear young friends, think with heartfelt grati- tude of the precious gift which is indeed more welcome to us than the long-prayed-for breeze to the becalmed ship in mid-ocean, more refreshing than the dew at early morn to bird and bee, more reviving than the same crystal drops at eventide to leaf and flower, more protecting than the JACOB'S DREAM. 141 shadow of softly waving foliage to the hot brow of the wanderer, more eagerly sought almost than bread by the hungry and starving, or than the bubbling fountain of the oasis amid burning sands by the camel and his rider. It is the great bless- ing of rest after the labours and anxieties of the day ; it is the great mercy of repose for our weary limbs, perhaps for our weary hearts; it is that wondrous cordial which enables us to overcome fatigue, to be refreshed for the moil and toil of the day, to awake with a clearer view of sur- rounding difficulties, with a firmer resolve to vanquish them, with a brighter hope for the ac- complishment of duty. It is the choicest balm for bleeding wounds, the best solace for the fainting soul; it is the great boon of sleep awarded to exhausted wayfarers on their road through life ; and we are reminded of it when we read in the Holy Bible that Jacob " went out toward Haran. . . and he took of the stones of that place for his pillows and lay down to sleep." He dreamed of a ladder set up on the earth, and the top of it reached to heaven. My dear children, Jacob, on waking, vowed to remain true during his whole existence to the worship of God, and, in those times of darkness and ignorance, when the earth was inhabited by barbarians and idolatrous tribes, that promise and Jacob's example were likely to effect much good. But, 142 JACOB'S DREAM. in these days, my dear young friends, there is no danger of our worshipping any other but the Lord God, the Almighty, All-wise, All-merciful Creator and Preserver of heaven and earth. There is no danger of our doing homage to mere wooden blocks or idols, who have eyes and see not, ears and hear not, be those idols fashioned out of clay, or carved in ivory, sculptured in marble, or cast and chiselled in silver and gold. We know the Lord our God, the only God of all mankind, by the brilliant light of revelation, by the laws and commandments graciously vouch- safed to us, by the chequered history of many thousands of years ; but not by all this alone do we know God. His glory is daily, hourly, in- cessantly proclaimed to us by the greatness and marvellous beauty of His works, by the unani- mous voices of the whole creation, the grandeur, the immensity, the endlessness of which our eyes cannot compass, nor our minds comprehend. The waters which gush in torrents from the bosom of the earth, the mighty rivers, all teeming with life, the great seas, sustaining in their mys- terious, fathomless depths countless myriads of organised beings, from the gigantic whale to the tiny coral insect, the sombre forests, whose trees grow to be, ere long, transmuted into fuel, or changed into proudly careering vessels, the rich harvests, nourishing all mankind, yet springing JACOB'S DREAM. 143 from a few grains of seed dropped into the cold ground, the joyous, carolling birds, the mighty travelling winds, the dissolving clouds, the dazzling sun by day, the illuminating moon by night, the stars, those numberless distant worlds, the whole sapphire vault of heaven, tell us of the greatness and goodness of the Lord, and beau- tifully does David, the inspired poet and king, exclaim in one of his sublimest Psalms : " The heavens declare the glory of God, and the firma- ment sheweth His handy-work. Day unto day uttereth speech, and night unto night sheweth knowledge." Therefore, my dear children, there is no danger of our not knowing, of our not worshipping the Lord. We all know God, and many, nay all of us, strive to worship Him. But let us guard against mere lip-worship and may we always try to remember that, however spacious and bright our synagogues, they are but small and dim in the sight of the Lord. Marble pillars may be lofty, but how insig- nificant do they appear when compared to the towering mountains that lift their snow-clad peaks in grandeur and magnificence towards the sky ! Draperies may be gorgeous with many colours, but do they rival the clouds o'er which the setting sun casts his glowing treasures ? They may be richly woven, but do the most bril- liant adornments equal the lovely flowers with 144 JACOB'S DREAM. which the hand of God has embellished the green mantle of the earth ? And the clear flames of thousands of lamps how dull and sombre they are contrasted with the ever-shining lights of heaven ! The universe, arrayed in a thousand unfading or ever-renewed beauties, is the temple of the Almighty, the whole creation worships and sancti- fies Him ; but for us human beings, endowed with reason and an immortal soul, it is not enough to build synagogues, and, on entering them, to join the choir of voices raised in glorifi- cation of the Lord, the source of all harmony. It is not enough to seek the house of God, Bible and Prayer Book in hand, on the holy Sabbath, and on great festivals; nor does it suffice in our own dwellings to read the sacred Scriptures, and to pray, however devoutly and fervently, at morning, noon, and night. Such supplications and thanksgivings, when flowing from pure lips, are, no doubt, acceptable to the Almighty, and become an additional blessing to ourselves by strengthening and sustaining us : yet they occupy, even in the existence of the most pious, but a small and inconsiderable portion of thought and time. Those who would really and truly and incessantly worship God should humbly but anxiously, strive to do so by their actions, by the unselfishness of their lives, by the faithful discharge of their duties, JACOB'S DREAM. 145 by severity towards themselves, by indulgence, charity, and kindness to others ! My dear children, the vision of Jacob's dream must ever appear a most admirable picture, a most soothing promise of Divine help ; and in all lands, where the name of the Almighty is hallowed and His goodness adored, and during the centuries which have rolled by since that blessed dream shed its radiance over the patriarch's slumbers, how often has it not been thought and felt that many who lie down at night weary and footsore, lonely and friendless, in tears and in sorrow, and who have found or deemed the world a cold, hard stone, may, by the grace and blessing of God, be able to raise up for themselves a ladder resting on earth and reaching to the skies ! That ladder is religion, whose hopes and consolations con- nect this world of shadows with heaven's own brightness, and the ascending and descending angels are the virtues which teach and help us to endure the cares, trials, struggles, and hardships of our earthly existence. The virtues are innu- merable and well known, though perhaps not approachable by us all. You are very young, my dear children, and cannot be rich in experience; and while I pray that, whether you are dreaming or waking, the good angels of the Lord may always surround and befriend you, let me endea- vour to unfold them to your view; that you 146 JACOB'S DREAM. may remember and always zealously seek them throughout life. You will try to keep nigh unto them, so that gentle patience may teach you to bear all vexations and annoyances, that inde- fatigable perseverance may assist you in over- coming obstacles and difficulties, and that, in the hour of sorrow, unflinching fortitude may lighten the heavy burden of sufferings and afflictions. Ardent hope and dauntless courage ; charity bountifully giving, and generously forgiving ; unwearied devotion, and self-sacrificing truth with its torch of brightness, are all God's angels from above descending the heavenly ladder to comfort and strengthen us on earth. The angel of prayer bearing the humble confession of our errors, bear- ing our ardent supplications, our fervid thanks- givings to the throne of Almighty God, travels upwards on the mystic ladder, and when all is dark and dreary on earth, the radiant angel of faith points to that better land where wounds do not bleed, where tears do not scald, where there is no anguish for the mind, no agony for the heart, but where peace is unbroken and happiness uudimmed. XVI, TIME FLIES. MY DEAR CHILDREN. The aged, and even those who are still climbing up the hill of life, and perhaps labo- riously so, need not be reminded for they know painfully well how relentless time is in its flight. But to you, my dear young friends, it cannot be said too often that the great traveller has the most unflagging of all wings, and that neither wind, nor cloud, nor light, nor the rushing stream, nor the electric flash can fly along so rapidly or so unremittingly. The winds do not blow and rage perpetually ; the fury of the tempest exhausts itself, and becomes hushed ; the threatening cloud is, ere long, transformed into showers; even the light disappears, when to our eyes the sun sinks beneath the horizon; the electric flash accom- plishes its work of usefulness or destruction, and expires ; the wildly roaring stream leaps over boulders and rocks, and becomes absorbed in the waters of the calm river, or is taken up by the gigantic waves of the ocean. But time never tarries in its flight, it never rests, never stands still 148 TIME FLIES. it careers on and on during millions and millions of years, while children grow and thrive and bloom, and men and women work and struggle, and succeed or fail, and fade and die, and sink into the grave, while whole generations disappear, and great empires oecome mightier and mightier, and decay and are blotted out, if not from the annals of history, from the maps of the world. Time flies indeed most swiftly, whether we seem to feel it glide gently and noiselessly by, or roll rapidly along ; whether we become aware of its travelling onward and onward during the monotonous uni- formity of our occupations, or note its progress when our duties are perpetually changing, and we pursue ever fresh and attractive studies ; whether we move in an always varying round of obligations, or feel our life like a heavy chain, composed of thousands of links, to which an additional one is welded every day ; whether our existence seems a garland of flowers, woven by our own fortu- nate hands, or we are watching with immense delight the germ, the growth, the expansion of every bud and blossom, the development of our labours, the fruition of our endeavours, the fulfilment of our hopes and wishes. We can never be oblivious of the flight of time ; we are reminded of it, at all seasons of the year, when winter comes with its darkness and its frosts, when outward nature is cold and bare, when we seek shelter from TIME FLIES. 149 wind and sleet, when the fire blazes on the hearth, and dispels the external gloom, when days and nights appear alike long and dreary, or would seem so, if we did not resolve to make good use of every gleam of light, if we did not burn the midnight oil, and sought to learn and to labour, when nothing bright or beautiful calls us irresistibly away from book or desk. But how soon winter vanishes leaving our work perhaps half accom- plished, how soon does it merge into spring, with its blue-eyed violets and its songs of gleeful birds ! And that again how quickly does it unfold the tender leaflets on every tree, how soon does it hang its garlands on every hedge, cover every orchard with its pearly and rosy clusters, spangle every mead with its silver daisies, and waft sweet incense throughout every bower ! Oh ! how pure and fresh and soft spring looks, robing all the hills with its delicate green, decking the earth with its fragrant chaplets, and placing its nests with their tiny broods in every shady nook ! We wish it might smile and last for ever. But it glides into summer with its glowing roses, and ripening sheaves, and its horn of plenty ; and then comes autumn, with its sickle and scythe to mow and to reap, and to garner up all the treasures of the seasons. And thus years roll by, childhood with its innocent pleasures, and youth with its warm aspirations, and manhood and womanhood, with 150 TIME FLIES. their struggles and illusions, or joys and rewards, and then comes old age, with its infirmities. Let us hope that it does not come also with regret and self-reproaches, regret that all the light and warmth and sunshine, all the flowers have passed unheeded and unenjoyed, self-reproaches that nothing good, or great, or useful, has been achieved, and that life, the life that lies behind us in the shadowy past, is a dreary barren waste, without a brilliant oasis to look back to, and rest wearied and tearful eyes upon. Oh ! could we but learn the value, the priceless value of every hour and its fleetness, the brevity of each golden morn, so cool, so quiet, so inviting for exertion after the repose of the night, the short span of the glorious noon, a type of that which our life should be in its fulness, with the warmth of our zeal for all good works, with the glow of our en- thusiasm for all noble aims and thoughts, with the ardour of our devotion for all labours of love, the evanescent nature of evening with its soften- ing shades, when the heat and the turmoil of the day are over, and we may indulge in earnest thought, and reflect whether the fulfilment of duty has been our great object, and if we have worthily attained thereto, and whether we dare hope that a pure conscience may indeed give us a good night, that period of complete rest when we recruit our strength to start again refreshed on the following TIME FLIES. 151 day, and recommence our efforts and endeavours. Yes, every day, every week, eveiy month, every year brings its duties, and woe to those who neglect the call. The opportunity of fulfilling these obligations does not return, for time is always on the wing. It never halts, never slackens its speed, and waits for no one. Unlike thunder which shakes the earth and ceases ; unlike ice that melts, or snow that vanishes, or rain that is absorbed; unlike the bird that seeks the branch after having skimmed the fields of air, or the joyous lark that cannot soar and sing for ever, or the busy bee that at the close of day finds rest in its waxen cell, or the fluttering insect that gleams in the sunbeam, and then sleeps in the perfumed calyx of the flower; the merry song, or the gentle speech that pass away from the waves of sound ; the smile that fades, the laughter that rings no longer, the joy and the sorrow, the hope and the fear, the love and the bitterness that are alike quenched unlike all these, time flies on for ever and ever, and with it flies our life. We cannot arrest the former, we cannot retrace the steps of the latter. Then let us make the best and wisest use of time ; to defer, to postpone, to procrastinate, to leave the fulfil- ment of duty to the morrowing day, is a fault, for which we can never atone. It may be a sin. Who knows, my dear children, to what mischief 152 TIME FLIES. or misfortune, to what sadness and sorrow pro- crastination may lead ? If you, as helpless little infants, had been confided to our care, could we neglect you during only one short day, neglect to clothe and feed you, neglect to screen you from cold, and not risk and imperil your very exist- ence? And later, when your own responsibi- lities begin, when you, though still early in life, when you, though still tenderly watched, have already acquired some personal volition and control over your actions, when j;he circle of your obligations becomes perpetually larger, bodily, mentally, and morally, can there be an excuse for your trusting to the morrowing day? Ought you not, during the precious years of childhood, to observe, listen, and study ? should you not try with all your power and energy to learn all the great lessons which cannot be acquired and taken to heart too soon, and remembering especially the many aches and ills to which flesh is heir, the sickness that may overtake us and lay us low, or harder still, the dire disease that may smite our loved ones, the inevitable interruptions that occur unexpectedly, and cannot be warded off, the great afflictions and the minor cares and annoy- ances, should you, should we not endeavour early and late to learn unwearied patience, energetic perseverance and unflagging industry, so as to overcome slowness of apprehension, and not to TIME FLIES. 153 be rebuked by it, to conquer difficulty of execu- tion, correct defective memory, rob heaviness of its chains, aiid arrest light-footed heedlessness? It may run away with our best intentions, and lead, ere long, to an utter and a dangerous want of thought and care. And remember, my dear children, how comparatively easy it is in early years to uproot faults and check evil tendencies. The latter have not become so wild and uncon- trollable as not to yield to the restraining but not wounding effect of silken strings and guiding reins, and the former may assuredly be subdued if we always keep in mind that time flies, that delay is a self-inflicted peril and wrong, and that, in childhood and youth, when we still possess the anxious watchfulness of loving parents to remind us of our duties, to warn us against every neglect of our task, it is easy to reward and delight their affection by showing cheerful and ready obedience to their hearts' desire. How much more difficult it is, later in life, when conscience often blunted by self-indulgence becomes our only guide, when habit has perhaps confirmed our weakness and wayward- ness, when indolence or apathy binds us with its fetters, when the voice of teachers is mute, when true friends are far away, and cannot bid us hearken to the call of duty how much more difficult is it then to remember that time hurries relentlessly on how easy, how fatally easy to H 5 154 TIME FLIES. waste precious hours, to let golden opportunities for self-improvement, for devotion glide by, and to leave the fruit of the tree of knowledge untasted. Do not speak of the morrow it brings other duties, other cares, and lost time is indeed a priceless treasure, an invaluable jewel, as irre- trievably forfeited as if it had been buried in the depths of the ocean. By tardiness we wrong ourselves and others. Delay, ever recurring delay during the early years of life, a mere thoughtless postponement of lessons to be learnt, of studies to be pursued, deprives us of an inexhaustible mine of wealth, of an ever-blooming paradise of enjoy- ments. Who can tell how much knowledge we might otherwise have acquired, how many tastes we might have cultivated and developed, which would have endowed us with the best resources, and proved fountains of delight to others, how many talents we might have unfolded to embellish our own life, and lives dearer to us than our own! Kemember, my dear children, that each little spray of beauty and sweetness which we may gather for ourselves from the echoes of song or realms of poetry, from the enchanting loveliness which pervades this world, that each gift helps to brighten hours of dulness, to tide over long periods of trial and suffering ! But we can tell, and we know, that procrastination nips all hopes in the bud, and clouds all radiant promises of the future, TIME FLIES. 155 inevitably flinging between us and every brilliant perspective the shadow of an unsatisfactory past, of duties unfulfilled, of pledges unredeemed, of neglected obligations, of work uncommenced, of obstacles unsurmounted. For remember, my dear children, that time is not ours, but that we must obey its behest. If all this applies to oar childhood and the earlier years of our life, when the circle of our duties is plainly and indubitably marked out, and we still have a monitor by our side, how much more forcibly does it apply later, when the way has been smoothed, and the rough and hard work of education is accomplished, when our powers of reasoning are more acute, our feelings warmer, and no longer the mere fleeting emotions of childhood, when our longings are more intense, our aspirations more fervid, when all our sentiments are quickened, when our will is so much more tenacious, when our wishes are more ardent, our prayers, if not more true and heartfelt than in childhood, more earnest and definite, when we know what is right, not merely from the lips of our teachers, from the pages of our books, but know it already from the lessons of experience, that sternest and severest, if not best of instructors, know it with all the strength and power of heart and soul and mind. Then indeed delay, if indulged in, 156 TIME FLIES. inevitably draws a sombre veil over much that might otherwise be sunny; then it may become worse than a fault, for it often deepens into sin. We wish to act justly, to be truthful, liberal and charitable; we may have frequent opportunities of proving our generosity and devotedness, we may have less frequent, but still great calls upon our self-denial and self-sacrifice. Without any special reason for delay, on the contrary, with every possible reason and inducement for exer- tion, but merely from the foolish and fatal habit of postponing every thing to the morrowing day we procrastinate. The activity which is in- tended to ward off embarrassments is too long thought of, too long deferred ; the labour of love, which demands the efforts of indefatigable hands, is commenced too late; the act of justice is accom- plished too tardily to shield from obloquy and misery; the liberality that would have helped to dispel fanaticism and bigotry, or to annihilate prejudice, comes too late; the generosity intended to cheer and reinstate, the charity held out to help and save, all are too late ; the devotion, the self-sacrifice, the self-denial are useless, they come too late, alas ! when those, whom our exertions and endeavours were to benefit, are perhaps removed beyond human power and influence. Probably you will think, my dear children, that an exaggerated picture has been drawn, and that TIME FLIES. 157 a fault apparently so trifling and so venial as procrastination could not possibly lead to such grave and sad results, to ignorance and sloth, to a dreary waste of opportunities and of life, to idleness, to the neglect of duty, to endless upbraiding, perhaps to unceasing remorse, to the destruction of happiness, to misery seemingly unmerited and to unexplained misfortune. It has justly been said, that it never can be too late to mend. Yes, provided we begin the work immediately, and do not postpone every step, defer every effort, and make the commencement too tardily. But we can not delude ourselves; the effort must be great as, by years of apathy, our best faculties have probably been weakened, our strength has become undermined, our firmness shattered, and our energy impaired. To eradicate these faults, which delay has engendered, it is, alas ! difficult, and perhaps even too late ; to pluck out indolence, and remove weakness and vacillation, may be the labour of a giant, for time is ever and relentlessly on the wing hurrying us on to that mysterious doom where all exertions on this side of the grave must inevitably cease. It has been remarked, that to be always intending to lead a new life, but never to begin it, is as if a man should defer eating and drinking and sleeping from day to day, and night to night, till he is starved and destroyed. My dear children, do 158 TIME FLIES. not destroy yourselves mentally and morally by starving your minds and souls, it is a grievous sin. Keep your intellect fresh and bright, by admitting into its recesses every generous idea, by cultivating every noble thought, that your labours may yield still nobler fruit and feed the life-stream of your hearts with every feeling, deep and warm and true, that may call forth works of real excellence such works as we are commanded to accomplish, in order that we may not pass an unprofitable, purposeless existence, nor appear empty-handed before the throne of eternal justice. XVII. TOLERATION. MY DEAR CHILDREN. All honestly conscientious workers in the great and wide field of life must have the same objects in view, and in their anxious and heartfelt endeavours, cherish the same final purposes they can wish for nought but the recognition of truth, the extension of virtue, the diffusion of knowledge, of prosperity, and happiness. All religious exer- cises and convictions have but one goal internal peace; they have been beneficently designed to help and uphold us, to strengthen our weakness, and to change it into power for the fulfilment of the arduous duties and the accomplishment of the difficult obligations of our career ; they have been wisely framed to sustain our courage on earth; and give us bright-winged hopes to carry us beyond the confines of this world. But it would almost seem as if, among the many millions who inhabit this globe, not two, equally eager and zealous wayfarers, could though their object be identical follow the same road, the paths being indeed innumerable which lead from earth to heaven. Such paths, often laboriously carved out 160 TOLERATION. of difficulties, are, or appear, multifarious, because the innate gifts, as well as the acquired attain- ments of the travellers, are infinitely varied, and become still more strangely modified by circum- stances and opportunities. It may perhaps be thought that there cannot possibly be any injustice in setting up a high standard of morality for all around us, and, in speaking of the deeds aud actions of others with stern and rigorous severity, because there is only one golden rule of conduct, true and perfect, one balance of good and evil, one law of morality and virtue for all. To a certain degree this is un- doubtedly the case; and we may indeed expect a fulfilment of duty from every member of the immense human family; but beyond that line, which must ever vary and change according to events and incidents, situations and conditions, indulgence, gentle, thoughtful and considerate, becomes an obligation ; for we hardly suspect the difficulties, which even those nearest to us have to overcome in the daily endeavour of doing right and shunning wrong: some halt in sad perplexity before obstacles, which appear mountains to them, but remain perfectly unknown to others; many among us are urged on, by the might and power of circumstances, to the accomplishment of all deeds of usefulness and excellence, while circum- stances equally powerful and imperative may keep TOLERATION. 161 others aloof. Let us, therefore, be tolerant of the most evident short-comings, of faults of omission, of apparent though often hardly real remissness, and also of real, but undeserved failure. And if diversities in the fulfilment, or seeming neglect of the duties of every day life, crave our forbearance and demand our most lenient construc- tion, how infinitely more tender and careful and tolerant should we be in the almost boundless domain of thoughts, opinions, and convictions? Are they not the joint produce of peculiarities, of mental organisation, of the sedulous training of these qualifications at home, or of their develop- ment at school and college? In the former case, it would be difficult, if not impossible, to uproot such individualities; for in that intricate labyrinth called the human mind, they may probably be necessities ; while in the latter, they are the vivid and indelible impressions made by earnest teach- ing on early childhood and ardent youth, and such impressions are apt to exercise an incalcu- lable sway over the whole extent of life. But, even were it possible to change our views and opinions so as to assimilate them to those of our friends, or could we alter the views and convic- tions of the surrounding multitudes or individuals in order to make them resemble our own, and agree with them completely, it is very far from evident, that either the troublesome and laborious 162 TOLEEATION. process of change, or the result of transformation, would be desirable ; while experience shows that so difficult a task is seldom successful, as it might lead, unfortunately, and not unfrequently, either to hypocrisy or to indifference misfortunes far greater and more deplorable than even a glaring error of judgment, which can never be criminal or sinful. This becomes especially clear when we en- deavour to make the application of it in the realms of religious belief, to which the words intolerance and toleration, and their meaning, have usually, but not justly, been confined. Children receive their religious creed at the hands of their parents ; they share the faith of father and mother, whose earliest lessons teach them to adore the unseen Benefactor of all mankind, the Creator of heaven and earth, of all their ever- varying beauties and unchanging glories. And this belief, which children owe to their parents, comes, so to say, naturally to them, harmonising with the love and reverence they feel for the father, who is the visible and earthly symbol of the invisible Preserver, of the great Bestower of all gifts, of the omnipotent Dispenser of all blessings, of the merciful Pardoner of all offences. Religious feelings thus called into glowing life, cannot be otherwise than ennobling, beneficial, and conducive to happiness. To relinquish the TOLERATION. 163 principles, the tenets and convictions we have thus early imbibed and learned to cherish, to abandon them lightly, and perhaps from mere worldly motives, cannot be otherwise than dangerous, and appears especially wrong when, by such a fearful rent, the tearing asunder of all the sacred ties which bind us to loving parents is contemplated. And, therefore, my dear children, all attempts at making proselytes is empha- tically forbidden by the Jewish religion, which, in the fullest reliance upon the inexhaustible goodness of the Lord, teaches us to believe that the pious and virtuous, the really good, pure and single-minded of all nations, all centuries, and all shades of faith, may hope to win eternal felicity in the realms of everlasting bliss. Yes, my dear children, such attempts are peremptorily inter- dicted by our sacred religion, which trusts to the power of the immutable truths enshrined in its holy and inspired teaching, to convince and to win others, without the imperfect agency of human words or efforts. Should, however, our form of belief rest not upon lessons imbibed in early childhood from affectionate and watchful parents, or later, though still in early youth, from devoted and most justly revered masters, but be the result of free choice and of the truest and deepest conviction, then it must surely be the offspring of all the inmost powers 164 TOLERATION. and characteristics of our nature. Conscientiously evolved out of the depths of heart and soul, it leads us on to the sincere love of our neighbour, to the zealous accomplishment of duty, and enforces humble and pious submission to the decrees of Divine Providence. This great and goodly harvest, however, can be matured and reaped only when the faith, whose produce it is, responds to the internal and external experience of life, satisfies all our eager and inmost cravings for anchors of safety and havens of spiritual rest, all the ardent longings of our breast for light and truth and peace. Who shall say whether our creed can fulfil all those conditions? We alone, in the deepest chambers of our hearts, are able to answer this all-important question. Religion has been vouch- safed by Divine grace to enable us to understand the great lessons of heaven, and act in anxious obedience to them on earth. But not all eyes see alike, and each may need a different lens to discern the wondrous stars of the empyrean. We know that in many respects our own opinions and con- victions often yield to the irrefutable teaching of experience; why should we deny to others the toleration which we so very often have occasion to crave at their hands, and which we frequently, nay, constantly, exercise towards ourselves ? Can a new light in our path distort our view of duty, or make us oblivious of it? On the contrary; TOLERATION. 165 every new flame kindled in our heart points out all our obligations more clearly, and causes us to feel more anxious to persevere in every good work. Then why should we have less faith in the moral power of others? Why should we not deem them deserving of friendship and regard, esteem, respect, attachment, or perhaps reverence and admiration, merely because their opinions and convictions on a few, or even on many subjects, do not coincide with ours ? Surely, no one would yield to feelings otherwise than tolerant, if the terrible calamities evoked by the fierce spirit of persecution, could always be kept, not merely in vivid, but in glaring and alarming recollection. We shudder when history unfolds her blood- stained annals, and, with warning finger, points out to posterity the fearful crimes, the fiendlike atrocities, committed in the sacred name of reli- gion, and when we remember that the most unrelenting cruelties, the most iniquitous tor- tures, the most ruthless murders, the most bar- barous executions were planned and inflicted by wild fanatics, whose blasphemous tongue dared to invoke the Almighty's help and blessing upon heinous deeds of darkness and extirpation, as if the All-merciful could find pleasure and satis- faction in anything but that which is good and righteous, loveable and beautiful He, who allows the heathens and their mighty empires to 166 TOLERATION. exist, and even to flourish, if, in accordance with their knowledge of right and wrong, they shun the latter and practise the former. It may be said, and with perfect truth, that the progress of civilisation protects us against the recurrence of such fearful errors, against such guilty aberra- tions, and that in the broad light of the present day, persecution and oppression on account of religious opinions, are unknown ; that, in the most enlightened countries, even political and social disabilities are being abrogated by law, or are fast disappearing by tacit and general consent. This is a true blessing, yet even this is hardly sufficient; so long as any dislike, not to say antipathy, separates us in the depths of the heart and conscience from our neighbours, merely on the untenable grounds of difference of belief we cannot know and appreciate the full meaning of toleration ; we cannot love our neighbour ; we cannot fulfil towards him all the duties of brother- hood; religion, whose sublime mission it is to connect all mankind in bonds of affection, will isolate us, instead of leading us in friendship and devotion towards those whom it ought to be our privilege and our happiness to help and to cherish. The great work of our self-education will not be complete, my dear children, until we can look upon every form of thought, creed and faith not with coldness and indifference, but with that TOLERATION. 167 true respect for, and genuine sympathy with sincere belief, which must exclude all anger, bitterness, and irritation ; until we can live and act in gentle harmony with one another; for it is by such brotherly endeavours, by such union, that we may hope to transform good and great aims into noble realities. The objection most frequently raised against the soothing and comforting theory of the uni- versality of God's all-embracing love and mercy, seems to be that there can exist but one un- changing, unchangeable and eternal truth, that whatever may have sprung up beside and around that brilliant, all-illuminating light and warming flame, must be wrong and deluding, a will-of-the- wisp, an ignis-fatuus, to entice men away from the broad royal road. My dear children, we cannot prize our own sacred and beauteous faith too highly, we can never value it enough. Let us cherish it with all the powers of heart and soul graciously implanted in us by the paternal hand of our beneficent Creator and Preserver; it is indeed the most precious gift vouchsafed by His goodness, a diamond without a flaw, of perfect and matchless purity a column of fire so brilliant that before its brightness all dark shadows disappear, all veils fall to the ground, all mysteries vanish. It has provided rules and laws for all times 168 TOLERATION. and all seasons, for all nations and all countries; inexhaustible treasures of knowledge and wisdom for all minds, ever-flowing sources of joy and of hope, of balm and comfort, solace and strength for all hearts; it has proclaimed the unity and the worship of the Almighty throughout every portion of the globe, filling all countries with the adoration of His Divine name. Can the Deca- logue, the law of every civilised land, ever be surpassed or abrogated ? Is not the Book of Proverbs an inexhaustible mine of deep thought and golden wisdom ? the Book of Psalms, the most marvellous expression of every feeling and emotion that can agitate or soothe the human breast of ardent longings, bright-winged hopes, sublime aspirations, glowing faith, radiant happi- ness, profound gratitude and fervid adoration of the Eternal, of gentlest sorrow and unmurmuring affliction, of weeping without bitterness and mourn- ing without despair ? The Divine harmonies of the Psalter console and cheer the struggling and the suffering, the living and the dying, and its immortal melodies will float and ring and sound with blended power and sweetness through all centuries to the end of time ! But it must surely have occurred to thousands among us that in this great and wondrous world, where nothing is the work of chance, so many varieties in the worship of the All-High could TOLERATION. 169 not possibly exist, unless, for some wise purpose, unknown to us, He had allowed and decreed this endless diversity in the mode of adoring His ever- lasting and unbounded goodness and greatness. Every way of devoutly acknowledging and piously appreciating Almighty God's omniscience, omni- potence, and omnipresence, seems to be a new manifestation of His power. The sun lights and warms the whole earth ; but does it bring forth the same productions in all zones and climes ? does it not kindle into life, and develop into beauty and usefulness, for the enjoyment of man, a boundless profusion of gifts in every quarter of the world ; and even in the same latitude, on infinite varieties of land, in the crystalline depths of the waters, or azure fields of the air, does it not yield endless diversities of blessings to satisfy our wants, to supply us with luxuries, or to charm our eyes with ever-renewed delight? The tea-shrub and the hop-plant, the sugar-cane and the vine, cotton, wheat and oil, the fever- subduing bark and the pain-allaying poppy-juice, the freshness of every fruit that ripens, the per- fume of every flower that blooms, and each blade of grass that grows, are they not, one and all, emanations of the Almighty's infinite goodness? And if the countless gifts of His beneficence are so manifold and so rich, adapted to the wants and tastes of all men in all lands and times and i 170 TOLERATION, conditions, why should not the expressions of our gratitude be permitted to vary according to our perceptions and to our powers of utterance ? Why should not, for some great purpose hidden from our limited vision, every form of true and heart- felt worship be ordained by Him and find favour in His all-seeing and all-searching eyes ? XVI1T. CLEANLINESS. MY DEAR CHILDREN. "While reflecting on the importance of OUT obligations, while hoping and endeavouring to fulfil them to the best of our abilities, it would be difficult, if not impossible, to fix the order of precedence among duties. Though some are of greater urgency and importance than others, the estimate we form of them is much and indeed endlessly modified by the great variety of thought and feeling inherent in human nature. The easy accomplishment of many of our highest duties may perhaps be the spontaneous response to an inborn craving of our hearts, the ready answer to a natural longing, yielded so easily by our inmost soul as not to make any effort or sustained exertion requisite for even the most unceasing labour of love ; while other tasks, not congenial to our inclination, seem to demand a great and constant struggle, an indefatigable wrestling with our reluctance, with our stubborn ' dislike, and our own dangerous and often fatal weakness. 172 CLEANLINESS. Still, if called upon to define our duties, in- dependently of any personal considerations, we might probably point out the greatest of them with readiness. Yet remember, my dear children, that even the smallest and apparently the least important, those which seem to belong to our worldly welfare only and to the humble occu- pations of daily life, are nevertheless indissolubly connected with the greatest truths, with the highest consolations of our holy religion. While our first duties must ever be those of tender mercy, gentle forgiveness, unbounded benevolence, unflinching devotiou, and uurepining self-sacrifice, your attention, my dear children, will to-day be called to the seemingly humble and lowly obliga- tion of cleanliness. You will easily understand that in order to be merciful we must cleanse ourselves from all harsh- ness; to forgive offences softly, and to forget injuries completely, we must wash out every stain of anger, and remove every drop of bitterness ; to practise unbounded benevolence we must purify ourselves from selfishness; to be devoted and ready for every sacrifice, we must sweep away from the breast all impediments, all obscuring mists, so that the path of duty may lie in shining clearness before us, and beckon to us steadfastly and fearlessly to tread its heights and dive into its depths. We shall not find this task of purifica- CLEANLINESS. 173 tion above our strength if we invoke the blessing and help of the Almighty, and if we recollect that as the fresh breeze of morning enters into the casement, and drives the heavy atmosphere of night away, so the spirit of God will chase away from the oppressed, the weary and the listless soul, the dreary inertness, the clouds of heavi- ness, which render it incapable of noble aspira- tions and deeds of excellence. We shall not be daunted in our endeavours if we remember that as the fragrant air, laden with the balmy breath of morning, is to the close, fever-haunted room, driving darkness and danger away, and filling it with sweetness, so is the reviving, invigorating inspiration from the heavenly throne when it discloses to us the higher view and nobler aspects of life when it penetrates into the recesses of the human heart, so replete, alas ! with petty prejudices and conceits, little aims and vanities, small whims and follies. My dear children, whenever we read the Bible attentively, we shall find therein a marvellous combination of all duties. Those which appear as if they might have been dictated by common sense for purposes of health, are nevertheless closely linked to the duties of religious zeal, and the ablutions prescribed to us are nearly allied to the great laws of purity which ought to rule our whole existence. The knowledge of this truth 174 CLEANLINESS. should encourage you, my dear children, to per- severe, and should increase your pleasure in striving to give, in faithful obedience to the Divine behest, even to the poorest home, the first of all necessaries, the greatest of all comforts, the most enjoyable of all luxuries cleanliness ; which frequently wards off that dread fiend disease, and promotes the greatest of all blessings health. Palaces may be gorgeous and dazzling, but surely they are not pleasanter to look upon than the dwellings of industry, bright with comfort and cleanliness. Who does not like to see the spotless floor ; the well swept hearth, warm with the glow that sheds the brilliancy of its enlivening flames all around; the household vessels of tin and pewter shining like silver ; the brass candlesticks, the Sabbath lamp, sparkling like gold ; the glasses on the dresser, glittering like jewels; and win- dows, not dim with the spider's web, but though small, brightly clear, and letting in the light of heaven, to illuminate a happy group of parents and children, brothers and sisters, and loving kindred, forming a picture of health and cleanli- ness, of industry and contentment? My dear young friends, only the carelessness, only the slovenly habits of man have obscured and darkened much that we see around us in black, narrow streets, and dingy lanes, and gloomy courts. In nature, in the beautiful works of CLEANLINESS. 175 Almighty God, all is clean, and clear, and bright, and pure the rain that drops from the clouds to wash, and cleanse, and fertilize the land, the dew, both at rosy morn and glowing eve, the snow, that forms a dazzling ermine mantle for the earth; even hail, destructive as it is, falls down in showers of pearls and diamonds ; and mists are white like bridal veils. The mountain-torrent is pure as crystal; the lake is transparent, the finny tribes that live in its waters are covered with gleaming scales of ruby and gold; the birds of heaven the robin with its flaming breast, the swallow with her silken plumage flitting from branch to branch, or floating through the clear atmosphere, look beautifully bright. My dear children, let us ever strive after clean- liness in our dwellings ; after still greater cleanli- ness in our personal appearance ; and be our outward garb an indication and emblem of the purity within, of a pure mind, a clear con- science, a spotless heart. During the wear and tear of a long life, the inward cleanliness may become overcast and obscured by specks and spots. Let us ever, my dear children, hasten to remove them by repentance, by contrition, by atonement, that these defects may not deepen into indelible stains; and, as we wish to keep our homes free from uncleanliness, even so let us strive, but still more anxiously, more incessantly, 176 CLEANLINESS. and more strenuously, to keep our immortal soul aloof from all taint and impurity, so that after a long career of toils and trials, we may be able, at the hour of death, to consign it, in all purity, to our guardian angel, that it may be borne on wings of light to the throne of Almighty God. XIX. PRIDE AND VANITY. MY DEAR CHILDREN. Any one of the numerous faults to which weak and often erring humanity is prone, has so many roots and rootlets in the depths of the heart, so many branches and sprays in the mind, sends out so many limbs and offshoots, that it may well require our most strenuous care, our unremitting attention to destroy it ; and claim all our eager thought and keen-eyed penetration to investigate its origin, its growth, and its development, and ascertain the reasons that cause it to overshadow and render barren the otherwise bright spaces where the fairest flowers of loveliness should bloom, and the best fruits of sweetness ripen. One blemish would be sufficient, and perhaps more than enough, to excite our reflection ; yet two sister faults, with their contrasts and family resem- blances, invite our attention to-day j and a simile which offers itself, though very old, is not the less true, and applies with equal strength to both. Have i5 178 PRIDE AND VANITY. you ever have you often stood under the dark canopy of some ancient cedar, my dear young friends? If so, you surely have watched and noticed how year after year the green sward has failed, and gradually vanished under its branches, and how utterly powerless rain and sunshine have been to restore its freshness, because they could not penetrate sufficiently through the impervious dome of the towering tree. Or have you seen the promise of the autumn unfulfilled on the sunny orchard wall, because the growth of the neigh- bouring elm, extending far and wide, absorbed all the moisture of the soil, and left no nourish- ment for velvet peach or swelling plum ? Pride may indeed be compared to the cedar, that towers grandly into the air, receiving floods of light, and a crown of golden sunshine on its head, yet casting shadows, cold and dark, around; and vanity, like the elm, with its myriads of roots and rootlets, has a close network of its own, with millions of little meshes a net into which it collects and appropriates the thought, the care, the attention, the consideration, which should be given to worthier objects. Pride lifts its head high, and carries it above the chequered paths of the world, completely disregarding the joys and the sorrows, the hopes and the fears, the struggles and the rewards that may live and die at its feet. It is haughty and disdainful while over-estimating PRIDE AND VANITY. 179 all human and terrestrial treasures, be they abilities, knowledge and talents, high birth, pre- eminence, or tangible possessions that may have fallen to its share ; and yet how easy it seems to estimate all these at their proper value, to fix their confines and boundaries! The outward signs by which pride makes itself known are forms and varieties of selfishness; its essence may be said to lie in egotism. The proud are apt to consider only themselves, and to look upon others as if they existed merely to minister to their wants, wishes, and expectations. Pride appears totally different from dignity, though the overweening fault often mistakes itself for the graceful quality, which consists in a sedulous avoidance of all that is otherwise than pure and noble in word and manner as well as in deed. " The proud at heart are an abomination in the eyes of the Lord," such is the teaching of Holy Writ ; but it was said many centuries ago by one of the greatest secular authorities that to be proud is to wish to please oneself. This is a mere human lesson, yet it proves and explains to us the Divine censure of the egotistic fault. This self-centered and self-occupied desire, which is satisfied with its own approbation, and seeks no higher tribunal, must indeed appear despicable to omniscient Wisdom. Perhaps you may think, my dear children, that a fault, which seems to 180 PRIDE AND VANITY. isolate those who harbour it from the surrounding world, and give them a certain kind of indepen- dence, cannot do much harm, cannot be a very grievous failing. It is, or may become, a great one nevertheless. Its often petrifying influence on benevolence will not be denied. The proud heart cannot thrill very warmly for others; only the power of sympathy, gentle, true and deep, which means real, vivid, fellow-feeling, is able to understand the hopes and the longings, the despondency and the sufferings; the wants and wishes of those who may need and crave our help and our encouragement. If pride often exhibits apparent indifference, or even coldness, or, worse still, if it frequently wears the garb of irritating superciliousness, this offen- sive bearing, this freezing manner must prove, more or less, an impediment to much useful action and beneficial influence, to much otherwise very legitimate power for good, lessening, so to say, if not destroy ing, the brightest happiness of the heart, drying up the freshest and deepest sources of enjoy- ment, and dwarfing the real aim and true destiny of life. Vanity is, indeed, very different from the sister fault. It has been called love of appro- bation ; and, at first sight, nothing can be more natural and more amiable than the wish to obtain the favourable opinion of those by whom we live surrounded, of those who may come within the PRIDE AND VANITY. 181 circle of our activity, who belong to or may be drawn into our sphere of daily occupation, of one and all who form our world, without distinction of age, rank, or attainments. But vanity is not the genuine and praiseworthy love of approbation. It is an inordinate and extravagant desire to please, to attract general and individual notice, to excite constant and ever-increasing admira- tion, to shine perpetually, to be enthusiastically praised and applauded, systematically flattered, and worshipped among bewildering clouds and almost intoxicating fumes of incense. Among the ignorant and half educated, and even among those who should be screened from frivolous tastes by their accomplishments and acquirements, vanity often signifies a slavish adherence to externals, to mere baubles, to the fancied importance of trifles; it signifies a constant thought of outward appearance, of dress, of show at home and abroad, and of the gew-gaws of fashion. The emptiness of such pleasures, the folly of wasting time in the pursuit of such objects, are self-evident. Life is short, let us not play with the earnestness of it, nor squander its precious hours. Vanity has, indeed, many characteristics, and gives rise to numerous faults. But more countless than its distinguishing features, more innumerable than its faults, are the misfortunes which it produces. It is complete dependence upon 182 PRIDE AND VANITY. others, and not dependence for good service, for real, substantial, and useful gifts or boons, for such proofs of friendship, regard and devotion as please and delight both donor and recipient, but depen- dence for homage, for the excitement of applause, and for varied and ever-renewed panegyrics. Though vanity may always be hankering with insatiable greediness after such streams of honey, the world does not yield them incessantly. The supply ceases, ere long, and then the disappoint- ment and irritation of baulked prospects become real torments ; for vanity knows no self-esteem, no rational ambition, nothing save a mere hollow yearning for the smiles and blandishments of the world in the keeping and possession of the vain- glorious. Within its domain nothing rests steadily upon its own strength and value, but on the appreciation of it by others ; all is super- ficial, mentally and morally, and often without any real misfortunes to darken their horizon, those who have given way to vanity become thoroughly and irretrievably miserable when the cravings of their weakness can no longer be fed and satisfied. Pride and vanity are equally sensitive, equally irritable, because both are, so to say, the children, not of legitimate and judicious self-love and self- respect, but of withering egotism, and to both who are thus self-occupied, usefulness and devoted PRIDE AND VANITY. 183 service to the best interests of others become matters of difficulty. In other respects, the sister faults stand very widely apart. Pride concen- trates all considerations upon itself, and, there- fore, in its best, but, alas ! rarest development, it may be compatible with strength of mind and force of character, and while often disdaining the opinion of the outward world, it may feel strenuously anxious to satisfy its own high standard of goodness, greatness, and excellence, while the best development of vanity may lead to amiable and loveable kindness. Pride, however, often proves hateful namely, harsh and intolerant, unrelenting and unforgiving and vanity becomes despicable ; the former a sin the latter a weakness, the compound of folly and inexperience, thoughtless- ness and imprudence, incompetence and indis- cretion, often leading to incalculable misfortunes. But whatever the natural germs, the small begin- nings of our faults and failings, we can always hope to arrest their progress, to correct and indeed to change them ; we need not despair of curbing stubborn pride, and softening it into that gentle and benevolent dignity, which delights in faithfulness and in justice, in scrupulous candour, in singleness of purpose, in undeviating truth, and in the highest, most straightforward integrity. Nor need we abandon the hope of transforming foolish and frivolous vanity into 184 PRIDE AND VANITY. constantly thoughtful consideration for others, into love of approbation, not for ourselves, but for the anxious deeds of glowing zeal, for the good and successful works of our indefatigable hands. XX. ON DUTY. My DEAR CHILDREN. To the very young-, who can know but little, either from reflection or from observation, whose thoughts are not matured, and whose wishes not defined, whose feelings are only half awakened, and likely to undergo throughout life incessant and numberless changes, to the youth- fully ignorant, who cannot be said to have fixed principles, or deep and earnest convictions, and over whose path neither the light of experience, nor the brilliant torch of eagerly treasured know- ledge can be said to shed illuminating rays, the sacreduess of duty is anxiously and perseveringly pointed out, so that the fulfilment of it may shine forth, and be recognised as the chief aim and object of life, as the best and truest and noblest achievement of virtue. Inclination, on the other hand, is seldom dwelt upon, for is it not sure to obtrude and assert its claims in mind and heart, and to crave a portion of the day for its indulgence and satisfaction? Indeed, it has 186 ON DUTY. sometimes been said, that one of the never-ending or ever-renewed battles in this world, is the conflict between duty and inclination a conflict, which is supposed to have its seat in every breast, and to be modified only by strength or weakness of character, by mental or bodily organisation, by the rock-like firmness of staunch principles, or by that religious training, which is expected to resist all temptations. Surely that conflict ought not to exist; at least it should not be perpetually carried on. Is it not rather our task from the earliest years of thought and action to put an end to the dangerous and harassing warfare, and to reconcile duty and inclination? My dear children, let us do that which we know to be right and just, and we shall discover, ere long, that in reality the supposed antagonists may, and often do, help each other to reach the same end. Yet how is the bright and happy perspective, the good in which all our efforts should culminate, to be attained ? Shall we, in the exercise of all noble qualities, lend our ear to the soft and gently per- suasive blandishments of inclination, or shall we listen only to the stern dictates of duty? Will the path, which we tread in obedience to well- defined obligations, however rugged and difficult it may appear, lead us inevitably to gardens of delight, where unfading flowers bloom in fragrant loveliness, where we may cull sweet and never- ON DUTY. 187 deceptive fruit, and where crystal fountains yield ever-flowing waters of refreshment to the weary and the exhausted ? Or will the sunny road, over which the swift and bright wings of inclination carry us with more than electric speed, conduct us to the portals of the same paradise ? Can incli- nation guide us to the fulfilment of our duties, or will submission to their imperative behest gradually coincide with inborn predilection, and call forth every noble aim and effort ? My dear children, those who have given their deepest thought, their most earnest and careful consideration to the subject, have always deemed it better and safer to act from a calm, clear, con- scientious sense and conviction of duty than from any impulse, however glowing and enthusiastic. It is a better assistance to our conduct, and offers far more certain guarantees of success. Sense of duty rests on well-established convictions, on moral and religious principles, and as they are the happy result of earnest reflection, of accurate knowledge, of pure and warm faith, they cannot be otherwise than firm and unchangeable. The sense of duty becomes so valuable to us in life, because it is evolved from the most sterling part of our nature, from the least fleeting and evanes- cent, from that portion of our being which, humanly speaking, is not liable to mutation or decay. It is the compass which helps us to steer 188 ON DUTY. clear of the shoals and quicksands of even the most stormy vicissitudes, whereas inclination itself is more like a rudderless bark; it may, in light and sunshine, glide placidly along, but how often are not its white sails seized by the gale, and torn rudely asunder ! How frequently does it not become the mere toy of pitiless tempests and furious waves, to be swept by relentless seas and shattered against the granite rocks of reality ! Inclination is subject to perpetual changes and uncertainties ; it is unsteady and fitful, not to be counted upon ; how can we trust it and give our- selves up to so wayward a leader ? It is unable to guide itself, and is often swayed by alluring or repelling chances, by trifles and bubbles light as air and as uncontrollable; it selects that which appears agreeable, and rejects what is painful ; it is headstrong, self-opinionated, egotistic, and therefore dangerous in the superlative degree. It may also be deemed more meritorious, my dear children, to hearken to the call of duty, because in the balance of good and evil our actions are supposed to acquire value in proportion to the exertions which they have probably cost us, to the powers of resistance and conquest which they have called forth. And, no doubt, it is far easier and pleasanter and more stimulating to choose and select as a task one among many favourite occupations, among many attractive pursuits, than ON DUTY. 189 to overcome with persevering exertion and un- ruffled cheerfulness any obstacle which the sense of duty may have placed in our way. The former is chiefly pleasurable, and not incom- patible with intellectual and moral weakness and apathy ; it does not seem to require any higher or wider development of the mental and moral faculties; whereas the accomplishment of all labour, from a sense of duty, demands and increases strength and energy, transforming zeal and indefatigable activity notwithstanding the most severe exertions, struggles, and fatigues into real and inalienable treasures, into the best and highest modes of training for mind and heart, into the most perfect system of self-knowledge and self-improvement. To let our actions be carried out in ready response to the unerring sense of duty is far worthier of us as human beings than to permit them to be merely the offspring of even good and gentle inclinations. Our resolute will, guided by earnest thought and true conscientiousness, should be the law, the ruling spirit of our words and deeds ; our will, thus ably counselled, must doubt- less cause us to work nobly and successfully in the almost unlimited fields of action which surround every wayfarer on earth. Inclination, on the other hand, may be good and kindly, or worth- less and even dangerous or sinful. Frequently 190 ON DUTY. it is not aware of its origin, hardly knows its own strength or weakness, its own wish and aim. It reminds us of the wild weed, of the unculti- vated fruit or flower in field or hedgerow. It may be like the stinging nettle, or prickly thistle, occupying the space which would be far better filled by nourishing grasses; or it re- sembles the glowing bryony and the graceful night-shade, both attractive and yet poisonous ; or it may be similar to thyme and marjoram and the bright blossoms of fresh clover, which yield fragrance and aromatic sweetness to the honeyed stores of the bee ; and like these blooms and per- fumes it may lend the graces of delight to the fulfilment of obligations, which unadorned might wound those whom we are anxious to favour and to serve. Or, like starry daisies, and blue-eyed violets, and the untended flowers of eglantine " blushing rosy-red," and imparting beauty and loveliness to otherwise hard and cold outlines, inclination may cause those duties to appear captivating to us, which would else seem only difficult and dreary. It may strike us at first sight that we enjoy, not only greater inward satisfaction, but also greater inward freedom, when we follow the bent of our inclination than when we act from a mere sense of duty. But a closer scrutiny proves the con- trary. Freedom can deserve its name and main- tain its rights only when it acts in concert with ON DUTY. 191 the dictates of religious and moral law. Chance may be fortunate, it may fulfil our wishes; but the absence of aim and purpose is the tomb of freedom. Our reasoning powers and our con- science, the most admirably delicate, the most exquisite and most wonderfully sensitive of all our faculties, will point out to us the mission of duty and its entire sphere, and in that vast circle render choice and freedom of action possible, and while establishing laws and rules, which must be our immutable guides, they will remind us for ever that inclination, unsupported by principle, may lead us to the same goal, but that it might just as easily lead us astray; for how often is it not unexplained longing and yearning, an unconquerable fancy roaming far and wide, or a mere mischievous whim and bewildering caprice the playful child of imagination ? Yet, my dear young friends, do not forget that to whatever means we resort, the fulfilment of duty is and remains the chief object of our existence. But the Almighty, in His infinite goodness, has given us enjoyment as well. His loving-kindness is so inexhaustible that the whole earth has been filled by His paternal hands with the sunshine of happiness. We walk in its light and bask in its rays, we meet it and may win it at every step of our pilgrimage, and strange and difficult to believe as it probably is to the very 192 ON DUTY. young and inexperienced, our duties, if steadfastly persevered in, if looked upon as the great and principal objects of our career, become trans- muted into pleasures ; nay, more than that, they do not merely assume and maintain the form of the best and highest pleasures, of the purest and most enduring happiness ; they tend to dwarf the minor disappointments and annoyances which occur in the road of life; they banish for ever many of the most harassing feelings that can possibly torture the human breast. Without alluding to remorse, the rankling produce of crime and sin, from the mere contemplation of which we must devoutly pray to be for ever kept aloof, there are self-reproaches which become lacerating and festering thorns ; there is humiliat- ing self-condemnation ; there is the oppressive sense of uselessness by which the egotist must often be assailed ; there is our own reprobation far more galling and difficult to endure than the blame of the world, which is certainly less severe, less con- stant, and being often quite unmerited, easier to bear. There is, my dear children, no swan's-down pillow so soft and so unfailing to procure peaceful rest as the consciousness of having done our duty; there is no ermine mantle so warm and comforting as the glow of our thankfulness for having been graciously enabled to fulfil the ON DUTY. 193 obligations of life. Let us therefore pray for a continued blessing upon our efforts and labours, so that, by the mercy of Almighty God, we may be allowed to work zealously in the wide field of human exertion, and reap those sheaves which are our staff and our sustenance in this world, and which fit and prepare us to enter the blissful realms of eternity. XXI. THE QUALITIES OF OTHERS AND OUR OWN. MY DEAR CHILDREN. The portals of the most celebrated oracle of the ancient world bore the inscription : " Know thyself/' The wise of those remote ages wished to indicate that self-knowledge is the source of our virtue and the secret of our future career, that it is impossible to know oneself, and not to derive real benefit from that anxiously and laboriously acquired lore ; for is it not true that veils fine, bright and deluding yet woven with extraordinary strength and tenacity intervene between the keenest glances of self-scrutiny, and the tangled reality of our strength and our weak- ness, of our faults and our good qualities? And does it not require a vigilant search after truth, a most conscientious and indefatigable activity, to brush away the obscuring film that overlies our shortcomings, or the perhaps glittering gossamer that hides our failings, and that may even invest them with an attractive appearance? And, if we THE QUALITIES OF OTHERS AND OUll OWN. 195 have succeeded in removing the screens which conceal the infirmities of our moral nature, if we have sounded the depths of our hopes and wishes, fears and doubts, must and do we not trace clearly for ourselves an undeviating line of conduct ? We should try, and we certainly endeavour to mark out, so far as lies in our power, a straight road for our journey through life, and that road would indeed be in itself smooth, easy, and light to travel upon, did we not encounter difficulties and obstacles innumerable in seeking to aid and serve, to please and conciliate, and, if possible, never to thwart our relatives, friends, and companions, or the mere fellow-pilgrims and wayfarers, whose defects and gifts, whose peculiarities of disposition, and whose circumstances, with their needs and ad vantages, their joys and sorrows, must and cannot do otherwise than exercise a powerful influence over our own progress, over our entire destiny. It is one of the most marked features of our organisation that the moral and intellectual treasures and shortcomings of others interest us, and we may venture to say, claim our attention, not less vividly than our own failings and advantages. Surely both the duty of self-know- ledge, and the wish to know those around us, may and ought to become useful in the highest sense of the word, and we should earnestly try to make this combination conducive to the happiness of 196 THE QUALITIES OF OTHERS AND OUR OWN. others, and to the development of our best qualities, which you are aware, my dear children, must secure our welfare and satisfaction. It cannot be desirable for us to dive, so to say, merely into the recesses of our own mind, and to explore merely the cells of our own heart, thus taking no notice of, and ignoring completely the characters and dispositions of our neighbours. Mere self-contemplation, the habit of perceiving nothing but our abilities and acquirements, our shortcomings and defects, may lead to over- estimation and conceit, or to coldness and in- difference as regards the world, to indifference also with respect to. our own faults, which appear dwarfed, and the danger of which is almost effaced in the mind's eye that sees and discerns no point of comparison. Nought but the attentive obser- vation of others gives us the true measure of our aptitudes. It teaches us a modest appreciation of our natural powers ; it gives us a firm and clear consciousness of what we may hope to learn and cultivate, and shows us the limits and confines of our internal self. The careful and unprejudiced observation of those with whom we are brought into contact, shows us their wants and necessities, and thus it gives rise to that feeling of helpful pity, generous charity and devotion, which has been called the milk of human kindness. It leads us so far away and beyond the narrow boundaries THE QUALITIES OF OTHERS AND OUR OWN. 197 of self into never-ending vistas of brightness and beauty, into never-failing harvest-lands of golden deeds, into teeming vineyards, where the buds of promise assuredly ripen into the richest fruits of reward, that egotism becomes impossible, and is replaced by every high and noble sentiment and by every self-sacrificing aim. For to know those around us, is either to love, admire, and appreciate them, and thus to gain much good from the purest examples, or it is to know what we may achieve by well and constantly sustained exertion to make them better and happier. Remember, my dear children, that without a knowledge of others, true and profound, a clear and accurate self-knowledge becomes an impossi- bility. The world is the best, largest, most faithful of mirrors, which points out to us un- mistakeably and unerringly our shortcomings and blemishes, and teaches us lessons, which the greatest and wisest books often fail to inculcate. The solitary anchorite, the world-renouncing hermit, however pure and blameless his life, can hardly know himself; it is only communion with our neighbours which keeps alive the clear flame of our highest aspirations. As to the cold egotist, he never casts a glance over the unexplored wastes of his selfishness ; he follows blindly and unconsciously the bent of his own inclination, be it good or bad ; yet good it cannot remain very 196 THE QUALITIES OP OTHERS AND OUR OWN. long, as selfishness tends to warp and narrow all our views and feelings until they collapse and shrink, and speedily exclude every consideration, except one. If we recollect, my dear children, that each individual is but a link in the great circle of generations, and that, by isolating our- selves from the interests of mankind, we lose, so to say, or to express it more correctly, we almost sinfully relinquish our best and highest powers, those of usefulness, we shall feel the deep and unassailable wisdom of the old advice, which tells us to observe others attentively and dispassionately if we wish to know ourselves; and to look into the chambers of our own breast if we desire to obtain a correct and faithful knowledge of the nature of those around us. The steadiest looks of observation with regard to the qualities and position of our fellow- workers, should not, however, make us indifferent to our own and cause us to pass over them without the most conscientious examination. Those who neglect themselves while paying un- remitting attention to the words and deeds of others, or while restlessly observing and watching their attainments, their labours and rewards, must incur many risks ; Ihey forget to watch over their own improvement, they omit to develop their own gifts and talents, and to embrace the fittest opportunities of achieving THE QUALITIES OF OTHERS AND OUR OWN. 199 good and noble work in many fields of utility ; and, worse than all, they incur the terrible peril of allowing envy and jealousy to usurp the place of kindly feelings. You are well aware, my dear children, that such painful sentiments, unless they become speedily extinct, must dry up the fountain of all virtues, and poison all serenity of mind, for they fill the heart with inordinate longing, with bitterness, injustice, and ingrati- tude, and thus destroy all internal happiness. Remember, my young friends, that each of us possesses in the cells of his heart and mind, the germs of many good qualities, the development of which may allow him to cherish the hope of real excellence, to indulge in the bright perspective of true and widely-extended usefulness; that each and all may not only cull enjoyments and pure delight from surrounding circumstances, but that, under the protecting shield of Divine Pro- vidence, the activity of our hands and our untiring devotion to the best and highest interests may also gather gifts and treasures and blessings for others. A conscientious survey of the resources of our inward being, cannot do otherwise than enhance our contentment, for the Almighty, in His infinite mercy, has indeed been lavishly and inexpressibly bountiful to all His children. Such a survey of latent faculties and dormant powers 200 THE QUALITIES OF OTHERS AND OUR OWN. must lead to indefatigable industry and per- severance to the growth and expansion of all good qualities, to the cultivation of all faculties, mental and moral and practical, to self-reliance and to pious gratitude. It is well known, my dear children, that in the world of the heart and of the mind, we see, or we may see constantly the same phenomena as in the outward world of nature. The untended eglantine of the hedge-row is bright and sweet, but how evanescent is her loveliness and fragrance ; how much more beau- tiful, how infinitely brighter is her carefully trained sister ! The wild vine hangs its graceful festoons over shrub and tree, but it is the culti- vated grape, which yields the cordial and the nectar. The diamond of the mine is a pebble dark and rough; when carefully polished it sparkles in the crown of kings. The pearl is imprisoned under the waves in rugged shell, unseen and valueless but when adventurous men have rescued it from its prison by diving and plunging under the foaming waters, it becomes a precious gem. The stone of the quarry lies in the earth, unshaped, useless and inert, until transformed by the labour and art of man into palaces and temples, and proud cities, which defy centuries, and almost vanquish time. Marble is cold and silent until moulded and sculptured by human and perishable hands to immortalise and to THE QUALITIES OF OTHERS AND OUR OWN. 201 transmit to the latest posterity wisdom, beauty, virtue, honor, glory, and genius. And if the king- doms of earth and sea thus yield their most precious treasures, but yield them only to the most persevering and indefatigable efforts, why should not the kingdom of the soul, the seat, the birth-place of our highest and noblest faculties, yield great results, if strengthened by unflinching labour, and purified by ardently glowing zeal ? Why should it not yield them, in their full and beneficent development, to our enjoyment of life? Yes, active labour, by teaching us to be useful to others and to ourselves, teaches us to be happy to seek our happiness, not amid the struggles of the world, not in the ever-fleeting views and chances and dissolving pictures of outward cir- cumstances not by comparing our elements of prosperity and well-being with those of others, and thus measuring and testing their worth by a fallacious standard, but by thankfully using and enjoying them our gifts, talents, attainments and possessions, however modest they may appear. Vain, idle, and unprofitable are the exer- tions made to reach or surpass others in the race for gifts and treasures be they intellectual or material which we believe to constitute happiness. The All-wise and All-merciful has given to each of us a peculiar aptitude, the circle and sphere, where serenity and contentment may be sought and found. K 5 202 THE QUALITIES OP OTHERS AND OUR OWN. Whatever our position, however humble and lowly, we may hope to win the boon and blessing for which we most naturally long, but we must search for it in the chambers of our own breast; and, like the insect which spins and winds the soft, fine, glittering thread, we must learn to evolve from ourselves the radiant halo, the happiness that is to surround us. Even if we could possess that which attracts and dazzles us so much among the possessions of others, be it gold and jewels, youth and beauty, talent and power, fame or genius, who knows whether the coveted treasures would bring us entire satisfaction? Would those gifts suit our peculiar nature and organisation? Probably with their train of duties and responsibilities, new and uncongenial to us, they would only fetter, or perhaps embar- rass and disturb us. The child, in its longing after impossibilities, asks not merely for the jewelled rain-bow and the silver moon, but yearns also to shake off immediately its trammels, and taste the independence, and revel in the seeming free- dom of a riper age: but how soon does that child, grown up to years of manhood, cast a longing look of sadness towards those gleeful days, so entirely free from harassing care and heart-rending anxiety ? Strange as it may sound, there is not one human being, not the poorest and most wretched, who would willingly exchange THE QUALITIES OF OTHERS AND OUR OWN. 203 his lot and identity for that of any one on earth. Some peculiarities, some circumstances, some duties, even in the brightest, sunniest, most gladsome life, would always repel us. We should have to change every thing friends and foes, hopes, fears, and wishes, endeavours and expec- tations, joys and pastimes, feelings, inclinations, thoughts, memories, and aspirations. The knowledge that we could never calmly contemplate or seriously wish for the strange and incongruous picture of so undesirable an impos- sibility, should cause us to rest satisfied that our share of duties, possessions and enjoyments, and indeed all dispensations on earth as decreed by our All-wise Father in heaven, are, and must ever be, for the best. Therefore, my dear children, let us endeavour to combine self-knowledge with the knowledge of human nature around us, in order that the former may imbue us with con- fidence and self-esteem, and the latter with the heartfelt desire and anxious hope to follow all good and great examples of generous kindliness and devoted charity. Our confidence need do no injury to that modesty, which ought always to pervade our inmost being. It is our duty, and should be our delight, to cultivate with unremitting zeal every useful and noble germ of talent, to foster it with active and energetic perseverance, and when led to notice and admire 204 THE QUALITIES OF OTHERS AND OUR OWN. in others qualities and advantages, which it would be well and wise to emulate to strive with all our might and energy, to win for ourselves the same goodly attributes. Should w succeed and rear and gather fruits of sweetness and excellence, the success will not lead us to vanity ; should we fail in following where others tread and cause roses to spring up round their footsteps the failure will not make us dissa- tisfied with ourselves, nor envious of the more fortunate and the more prosperous. We may possess what our neighbour lacks, and our neighbour may yield and achieve what we are unable to offer. Let each contribute what he can for the good of all; it may be small and trifling, but the All-seeing will discern and not disdain our offering, as it is laid in all humility on the great altar of usefulness. XXII. MORNING AND EVENING. MY DEAR CHILDREN. AT all hours of the day and at all times of our existence, we are swayed by the sense of our aims and duties, pervaded by hopes of enjoyment, by anticipations of success, by radiant vistas of the glad fulfilment of our wishes, and of the happy reward of our labours. Yet both our bright- winged hopes and the feeling of our responsibilities appear more vivid and more intense at certain periods of the day ; they seem more clear and more defined, and still become subject to more changes and fluctuations ; they imperatively claim and obtain undisputed precedence over every other sentiment, and then we bow often, as it were, unconsciously, to their powerful influence. At early morn, for instance, the first emotion which fills our breast, is one of deep thankfulness. We have flung off the shackles of sleep, that fair and rosy twin-brother of pallid death, and we seem to revel in renewed strength. Body and mind, heart and soul, feel alike invigorated, and 206 MOKNING AND EVENING. hail with delight the revival of all their energies. Then eager wishes and earnest intentions arise spontaneously in the throbbing breast and in the teeming brain. What are they, what can and ought they to be? There is but one answer to this question, my dear children. We must and, I hope, we do anxiously yearn to use the great gift of life, which has been merci- fully renewed to us by the goodness of Almighty God, after the torpor and suspension of all our faculties, to use it in the service of the Lord, and, protected and strengthened by His Divine blessing, to develop the germs graciously implanted in us, so that they may become good and sterling qualities, and allow us to prove helpful to others, to all, indeed, who fall within the ever-widening circle of our duties and our exertions. And here let me repeat once more, my dear children, that, by endeavouring to assist others, to minister to their happiness, we really establish our own. The dawning day seems to lie stretched out before us like an immeasurable field ; it appears to challenge all our powers of activity, and it deserves the zealous exercise of them, for ought not each day to be an epitome of life itself ? Does this idea startle you, my dear children? Are you fearful of the result? Do you doubt your own perseverance and faculty of labour and endurance? Do you feel alarmed at the thought of difficulties and obstacles, afraid MORNING AND EVENING. 207 of your own weakness, your own timidity ? It ia perhaps far better that the hardships and impedi- ments in the way of your daily task should appear to you in such a light. By knowing them well, by looking at them steadfastly, you will very soon learn the strength required to vanquish their power; and in gaining self-confidence, you will acquire sufficient energy to conquer them entirely. Should you fail, even the want of success will not cast you down completely; it will not destroy your serenity ; for happiness, strange as it may appear, depends far less upon success than upon con- scientious exertion ; the conviction of having struggled honestly and perseveringly with our own faults and with the disfavour of circum- stances, raises us above mischances and disap- pointments, increases our courage, and pervades us with fresh hopes for the morrow. But the Almighty, in His goodness, has allowed our opening eyes to feast upon the glories of nature, and one long, lingering look of admira- tion and thankfulness cast upon the earth as it wakes from its slumbers, must fill us with an overwhelming sensation of joy, with unspeakable feelings of delight and enchantment. What can be more marvellously beautiful than the rising sun, when it dispels the shadows of the night, and drives away with its glowing breath all the heavy mists of the earliest hour, chases them from mountain and valley, lake and stream, woodland, 208 MORNING AND EVENING. and meadow, and draws asunder the black curtains which shroud the loveliness of nature ! Slowly, gently, the enveloping veils fall to the ground, and disclose heaven and earth meeting in beauty and radiance, and then the whole creation becomes luminous, and seems to rejoice in its new-born light and life. The sun kindles brilliant fires on every hill and mountain crag, the distant peaks seem transformed into altars, and send up their bright flames in mute adoration of the Lord. From forest and bower, from pasture and corn-field, myriads of blithe songsters combine in jubilant chorus to hail the light, and pour forth hymns of gladness to the Divine Giver of all treasures, without whose will not one sparrow falls. Then the purest and brightest dewdrops sparkle in the sunshine, and provide their diamond goblets for the refreshment of every bird that flies, of every awakening bee that starts on its laborious travels ; they bathe in beauty every grass-blade and leaflet, and prepare rare and glittering gems for the adornment of all the flowers of the earth. And how sweet is the incense which the expanding blooms exhale at early morn, which the cup of each lily and the heart of each rose waft through the realms of earth and air to the throne of our bountiful Father in heaven ! But even among the works of man, in the large and crowded cities, the awakening day is felt as a great revival of the powers of nature and of humanity. Body and mind MORNING AND EVENING. 209 feel animated and exhilarated for new labours, new exertions, new endeavours, for the anxious fulfilment of ever-fresh or ever-recurring tasks, and also for the enjoyment of renewed pleasures, which seem to grow up among the great obligations of life, like the way-side flowers, the scarlet poppy and the blue centaurea, that fringe and festoon with their brightly-coloured bells and stars the golden cornfields of the earth. And now let us enter upon our daily labours, my dear children, and work zealously and indefa- tigably, keeping our object steadily in view. Let us pursue our aim carefully, with all our powers of exertion, yet not selfishly ; let each of us bear in mind that the fruits of our labours are sweet and precious only when they are reared and gathered for the advantage and sustenance of others as well as for our own. Those who are still in the morning of life have the easy task though probably it seems difficult to them to learn, to study, to acquire knowledge, to fit themselves for some career* business, profes- sion, or perhaps art, which at a later period they may exercise for the benefit of dear, and perhaps aged parents, of younger brothers and sisters, who, inexperienced, delicate or helpless, may require aid, or for the maintenance of the home circle, of wife and children. Sometimes both father and mother become breadwinners ; they must work in 210 MORNING AND EVENING. order that the luxuries and refinements of life may be added to the bare necessaries, and their endea- vours, whether labours of compulsion or of love, must be given to, and are claimed by wider circles. Yes, labour is the law and rule of life; but be heedful, my dear children, and let not vanity and self-love be partners in your daily efforts, for they have a baneful, a withering influence; they pre- vent the development of all good germs, and like the blinding wind of the desert, which parches all vegetation, all verdure, all freshness, they must sooner or later dry up the stream of human kind- ness, and cause the heart to become entirely barren. But time is ever on the wing; gradually it hushes the toil and moil of the day, and sweeps with unflagging pinion both labourer and idler from busy street and noisy market-place. We return to our own roof, or lay down our work, or we sally forth and stand on the threshhold of our door. The sun sinks to rest in mantles of crimson and gold; the approaching darkness glides myste- riously over the outside world, and seems to separate us from it, urging us to look into the depths of our soul, into the crystal chambers of that unerring conscience, which we cannot consult too often, and to ask whether we have really obeyed the voice of duty of duty which involves labours and difficulties without parallel. Have we MORNING AND EVENING. 211 perh aps evaded or neglected it, or have we committed , in defiance of its sacred call, of its warning voice, any deed which our con science would reprove? Have we harboured, encouraged, or fostered thoughts and feelings which we should shrink from and be ashamed of avowing ? Have we idled away hours more precious than pearls and diamonds, or yielded to irritating anger or passion? Have we spoken words of harshness and scorn that hurt and sting, or dealt wounds with lips steeped in guile? Or have we endeavoured to give pleasure and to do good, to forgive harm, evil, and offence, to banish care and sorrow, to retain the affection of old companions and win the regard of new friends? for the love of our fellow-beings is indeed one of our great and bright and precious treasures. Have we lost or won a day in the journey of life, and how will it weigh at the time of judgment in the balance of justice, in the balance of good and evil? Self-examination so rigid and so truthful must lead to humility; for, who can hope to answer all these questions satisfactorily, and who does not feel that, whatever has been accomplished, whatever has been attempted, owes its success or its promise of reward, not to our own feeble efforts, but to the loving-kindness of the Lord, who leads our steps, protects, upholds, and strengthens us through all the mazes of life ? And with these feelings we fold our hands in 212 MORNING AND EVENING. prayer, and look up towards heaven, and there we behold not one dazzling sun, but myriads of glittering stars, distant worlds, which seem to speak to us out of the immeasurable realms of space, and tell of the eternal love, of the infinite mercy, of the inexhaustible goodness of the Lord. In presence of these incomprehensible splendours shining down upon us from incalculable distance, we cannot but feel how small, how vain, how frivolous, how unworthy we are in all our aims but those which conscience points out and approves.- And then when the endeavours and struggles of the day have subsided, peace enters our breast, and gentle, yet fervent piety fills the heart, and, ere we close our eye-lids with the hopeful prayer that the morrowing day may bring us nearer to the fulfilment of duty, to the accom- plishment of those obligations, which our own most eager, but unaided, endeavours could not compass, we devoutly say : " Into Thy hand I commit my spirit, when I lie down to sleep and when I awake." XXIII. THE BOUNDLESS GENEROSITY OF NATURE. MY DEAR CHILDREN. LET us try to realize the couutlessly numerous and infinitely varied wants and needs of millions of human beings, whose requirements, moreover, seem to augment daily, and so to say a thousandfold, as civilization advances, and pro- gress in arts and science, and knowledge and commerce and industry, extend their benefits far and wide over the whole surface of the globe, and appear to crave for those who follow in their wake, both more necessaries and more luxuries. Let us also consider that the earth in itself is always becoming more densely inhabited, and that, in some highly-favoured lands, the popu- lation is actually doubled in the course of ten short years. Surveying all these facts, we cannot be otherwise than astounded ; for we know and feel, that through the blessing of Almighty God, bountiful nature satisfies all the children of the immense human family. Yes, nature, from her inexhaustible and ever- replenished stores, gives us 214 THE BOUNDLESS GENEROSITY OF NATURE. food and fuel, raiment and shelter. Yet, in addition to the widely spread and always increas- ing race of man, of those who live, and enjoy life, or endure its pangs, of those who suffer and struggle, and learn and work in town and country, in village and city, who dive and delve in mine and quarry, or dwell on the sea- shore or cross the wide ocean, in addition to them all, nature provides for far greater numbers, for incredible myriads of animated beings in gardens and forests, meadows and hedgerows, rivers and lakes, in the fields of air above, in the waters of the deep below. The birds of heaven, floating \\ith the breeze or soaring with the blast, the countless tribes of fish, plunging into cool streams, the lambkin frisking among the scented clover of the pasture, the nimble goat climbing over rocky ledges in search of food, the great collector of treasures, the indefatigable bee, the ant, that time-honoured pattern of industry, the brightly- jewelled, inconstant butterfly, the insects, that gleam like precious gems on the bosom of the rose, the gauzy-winged flies buzzing in the sun- shine, or skimming glassy pools, and the creatures of every growth that cry and sing and chirp, and mostly come forth when the light of day is fading the invisible, yet delightfully melodious nightin- gale, pouring out her plaintive ditties when the busy hum is hushed, the shrill grass-hopper and THE BOUNDLESS GENEROSITY OlT NATURE. 215 the monotonous cricket, the flitting bat, the hooting owl, the leaping, splashing frog, the moth rushing towards brilliancy and perdition, the glow-worms lighting their tiny lamps on fragrant banks all these are fed arid sustained and strengthened by the rich abundance of nature's excellent gifts. And, in her boundless wealth and power and luxuriance, nature provides, not only necessaries, not merely that which is absolutely needed, but with generous hands, she lavishly adds the charms of beauty to her otherwise most precious boons. Is not the earth most beautifully robed and crowned and wreathed, her spreading mantle rich with golden harvests, and purple vineyards, and teeming orchards, and emerald meads, and bright festoons of sweetest flowers? A ripening corn- field is not only a promise of excellence, of the chief and best nourishment vouchsafed to all mankind but also a picture of loveliness, as it glows in the sun -light and waves in the breeze; and each ear of wheat undulating so gracefully under the breath of the west-wind proves how plenteous, and indeed unmeasured, is the return which every seed-corn dropped into the furrow yields to the industry of man. There is not a fruit that ripens, which, independently of its own refreshing or strengthening qualities, has not ever-varying charms for the eye, from the time 216 THE BOUNDLESS GENEROSITY OF NATURE. when the parent tree, fresh with young and tender leaflets, unfolds its delicate blossoms, until the early brightness, blown away by wind or time, allows man and child, and bird and bee, to watch the maturing of ruddy apple or velvet peach, to watch the hard, pale fruit on the branch as it turns into softness and sweetness, when warmed by the sun, and touched by its glowing rays, it gleams and glistens in ruby and amber and purple brilliancy. And the carefully trained plants of radiant gardens, or the wild buds and blossoms of field and hedgerow, the fragrant herbs and grasses, with their nourishing and medicinal pro- perties, are they not beautiful and delightful as well? attractive, though differently so at all seasons of the year, holding out gifts and pleasures to old and young, to rich and poor, to those whom robust health enables to enjoy the whole world in its wealth and grandeur, and to the sick, the feeble, the languishing, who are cheered or soothed by the sight of bountiful nature in her loveliness, in her ever-renewed, and always beau- teous garb; to the child that weaves daisy chains, to the maiden that twines festal garlands, to the aged, who adorn the perhaps dreary solitude of their latest and darkest days, with the brightly glowing roses which recall to them youth, and love, and happiness. Yes, nature is always beautiful, and bountiful THE BOUNDLESS GENEROSITY OF NATURE. 217 to all human and to all animated beings, and is indeed lavish of benefaction and of delight. The weary wanderer and the ever hungry school-boy gather the glistening fruit of the bramble from the way-side hedge, or the berries bright and wild and sweet, which enamel the soft green carpet of the forest; and for all the birds of heaven, grea*- and small, a perpetual banquet is spread on earth. When the harvest is garnered and the gleaning is over, the hawthorn, so radiant in its snowy or crimson May attire, puts forth its tempting fruit, the prickly holly covers itself with glossy coral, the sombre yew shakes its tiny ruby bells to convene fchrush and black-bird, robin and wren, to the great autumnal feast. Then blooms in splendour the scarlet poppy, or shines her pale sister ; briony and nightshade hang their glitter- ing necklaces and tassels on hedgerow and bower; they hold life and death, destruction and salvation in the same sheath, in the same cup, the soothing, healing, and sleep-giving juices, and the for ever quieting draught. At the approach of winter the ivy wraps its green mantle round the leafless branches of skeleton trees which shiver and shake in the wind, and flings its thousand pro- tecting arms round crumbling walls and desolate ruins. And the sun, which causes the productions of the earth to grow and bloom and ripen, for the L 218 THE BOUNDLESS GENEROSITY OF NATURE. sustenance of all mankind, how gloriously beau- tiful it is, when tearing asunder the dark veils of night, it rises over a sleep-bound and dew- steeped world, and waking the winged songsters in field, and wood, and croft, bids all zealous workers cast off the fetters of slumber, and bow down in humble adoration to Almighty God, thanking His Divine goodness for the new day vouchsafed to their labours ! And again, how marvellous, how splendid is the luminous orb, when sinking to rest on a bed of golden clouds, it sends parting rays to linger behind on the hill and in the valley, chequering dusky, leafy paths with the amber lights of its potent wand! And, in the noon-day of its dazzling radiance does it not brighten and embellish everything it touches? And water, so necessary, indispensable, and fertilising, so cleansing, so reviving and refreshing, is it not beautiful as well as useful? beautifully grand when rushing down in foam-white cascades over rocks and boulders; beautiful when, forming the mirror of the unruffled lake, it reflects the deep sapphire of southern skies, or the steel-grey expanse of more northern heavens; beautiful again when the eye can scan its clearest depth in laughing mountain stream, or looking from the sea-shore, watch the dancing ripple of the waves, or gaze appalled and yet spell-bound at the crested billows roaring and surging mountain high. THE BOUNDLESS GENEROSITY OF NATURE. 219 So rich and inexhaustible is the renovating power of nature that the warring tumult of the elements cannot jeopardize its wealth, nor permanently prevent the accumulation of its productions and of its treasures, not deluging rain, nor destructive hail-storm ; not drought, nor frost, nor the horrors, of war and their devastations ; not earthquake, nor famine, nor pestilence. Nature recovers quickly from every blow, from every wound. Do not frequently the most overwhelming misfortunes lead to ulterior benefits and blessings? The countries which have perhaps suffered most severely from an insufficient harvest, receive assistance from more prosperous lands ; similar calamities are more strenuously guarded against ; the quality of the soil is more conscientiously studied, the ground more deeply ploughed, more thoroughly drained, more perfectly irrigated, more richly fertilised, and the earth is made to yield more bountiful supplies. Commerce causes the produce of all climes to be carried by land and sea, to be bought and sold where most needed and most appreciated. Distant nations are thus brought into contact; they learn each others* wants and necessities, advantages and deficiencies ; and thus let us hope that the foundation of friendly feeling and brotherly love becomes established and cemented. But, as a rule, each zone has its peculiar 220 THE BOUNDLESS GENEROSITY OF NATURE. treasures. Some countries possess corn, our daily bread, in richest overabundance, and some teem with vineyards and orchards, while others boast of gigantic woodlands, of firs and pines, and in the far west and east, of still rarer and finer trees, of spices, of silver and gold, of diamonds and precious gems, while under our steps extend those coal-beds, which were forests in eras long gone by, ere the foot of man trod this earth, but which are now pierced by mines wide and deep, and applied to innumerable uses. The seeking and obtaining, the fetching and carrying of all these treasures of nature cannot do otherwise than employ millions of strong arms and busy hands directed by energetic minds, and this work and labour should indeed tend to draw together, in amity and vital interests, all the nations of the earth. But let us remember, my dear children, that, nevertheless, each section of the globe has received for its portion those gifts which its necessities seem to require most imperatively. Fur-coated animals inhabiting dense woods, and the fuel yielded by the ever-clad trees among which they dwell, appertain to colder regions. The warmer climes produce deliciously refreshing fruit and cooling beverages, and bark which heals and strengthens the weakened and the fevered frame. But we might go on incessantly, and still not THE BOUNDLESS GENEROSITY OF NATURE. 221 reach the limits of so inexhaustible a theme as the productiveness of nature on the surface of the land, or in the bowels of the earth, in the unexplored caves of the ocean, or in the transparent fields of air. In every kingdom created by the all-powerful and ever-beneficent will of the Lord there is the richest abundance of treasures and of blessings. The so-called luxuries, however, sometimes described as superfluities, are com- paratively rare, but all the necessaries of life are plentiful. The gleaming pearl dwells not in many seas, gold is not found in every land, but corn is yielded by the four quarters of the globe, water flows from myriads of springs, salt is found every- where, and there are few countries where iron, the most useful of metals, does not underlie the crust of the earth. We cannot devote even one short hour of earnest thought to the contempla- tion of the varied and infinite gifts of nature, without adoring in humblest thankfulness the wisdom, the mercy, the Divine providence of the Almighty, by whose will they exist. Yet, it need hardly be repeated, my dear children, that, notwithstanding the lavish gene- rosity of nature, man cannot live, without earning, by assiduous labour, the precious boon of life. By unflagging diligence the most necessary produc- tions must be obtained, such as the bread we eat, the clothing we wear, the dwelling that shelters 222 THE BOUNDLESS GENEROSITY OF NATURE. us. But this difficulty is a blessing; it keeps the entire human race in a state of robust activity and energetic exertion. In southern climes, where the soil appears to yield its treasures in sponta- neous and unsolicited abundance, the inhabitants seem to have less strength and nerve than in colder, less fertile regions, where nought but daily toil and perseverance can win the produce of the land. Remember that there are endless varieties throughout the world, yet numberless resemblances and affinities, and that the equilibrium is never broken nor interrupted, for Divine wisdom rules tenderly and mercifully over the whole universe. And while bountiful nature invites us to the cheerful enjoyment of her countless gifts, that same generosity exhorts us everywhere and always to ardent gratitude at the shrine of the Heavenly Father of all blessings. It preaches also indefatigable exertion that we may labour usefully and successfully; it exhorts us to eager and zealous search after knowledge in this magnificent world, which by the loving-kindness of the Lord we are permitted to inhabit, and where indeed there is a sermon in every stone. Especially, my dear children, let us take for our example the marvellous activity of nature. We cannot but follow with astonishment the perpetual transfor- mations, the gradual, yet most extraordinary changes, the constant progress, from spring to THE BOUNDLESS GENEROSITY OF NATURE. 223 summer, from that glowing season to the cooler autumn, and even to the apparently stern and rigid winter, which is but the period of rest and wholesome slumber when the snow covers and warms with its wide ermine mantles the sleep- ing fields and pastures until they wake to a new and still more teeming life, until they wake to reward our diligent activity a thousandfold, and to let their golden horn of plenty shower down upon us even more than our well-earned share of bounties. But, my dear children, if the Almighty has endowed nature with the richest abundance of gifts and powers, if we can never cease to admire His wondrous blessings throughout the visible expanse of the universe, if sky and ssa and earth are full of His beneficence, how infinitely more has not His Divine goodness done for us human beings? Even the least brilliantly favoured has latent germs and powers, which, if sedulously cultivated, must yield the most valued fruits. I do not speak of those splendid talents, which by the Divine will and wisdom are not in the possession of many, and, like diamonds and pearls though far more bright and precious are comparatively rare, but of those qualities which are to the heart and soul what bread and water are to the body. Let us, then, in imitation of bountiful nature, which has thousands of fields of golden grain for the 224 THE BOUNDLESS GENEROSITY OP NATURE. nourishment of mankind, and myriads of crystal springs of refreshment for thirsting multitudes; yes, let us bestow the gifts of generosity and charity, of indulgence, forgiveness, and mercy, of devotedness, of patience, endurance and self- denial, and even of self-sacrifice, upon all who may require these offerings at our hands. And may we still in imitation of nature, that holds out boons and blessings at all seasons, and never seems to grow weary of extending her gene- rosity far and wide may we be ever helpful, and never rest, never pause in our labours of love, or if we pause and rest as nature seems to do in the cold winter time let it be only when we do not see our way quite clearly, and appear to require tranquillity for thought and meditation, so that our future works may be more abundant and more perfect, and ever productive of better results. Nor ought we to forget that there is enchanting beauty in the productions of nature, and that we too should endeavour to embellish the works of our hands, of our minds, and of our hearts, so as to make them pleasing as well as acceptable in the eyes of others. Our indulgence should not humiliate but hold out gentle words of encouragement; our forgiveness ought to be tendered all wreathed with the soothing flowers of oblivion. Our charity should fold her softest, warmest cloak round the suffering or erring ; our THE BOUNDLESS GENEROSITY OP NATUEE. 225 mercy should be the purest stream of the sweet milk of human kindness, our devotedness should resemble the clinging ivy, our patience be like the unfading, unchanging amaranth, our advice, though clear and keen and well-defined, be soft and gentle, even our rebuke should be administered, not harshly, but with those looks and words of true sympathy, which must win their way to the most stubborn mind or irate breast ; and as nature has inexhaustible varieties of excellent gifts for every changeful season, so ought our labours at all times to adapt themselves to the ever-altering needs around us, so ought the human heart to prove inexhaustibly rich and generous in its gifts of love and devotion to all who need them; and as "the heavens declare the glory of God, and the firma- ment showeth His handy work," and as " day unto day uttereth speech, and night unto night showeth knowledge," so should we, by the humble, yet earnest, anxious, and zealous labours of our hands show that we advance every day in the knowledge of His Divine Power, and grow in our ardently gratetul adoration of His ineffable and unceasing goodness. L5 XXIV. DEATH AND IMMORTALITY. MY DEAR CHILDREN. INNATE and powerful as is the wish for change in the human mind, and gratified as that natural longing cannot fail to be even in the most uniform mode of existence, as no two days are ever entirely similar either in the circumstances that surround us, or in the thoughts, feelings and aims, hopes and fears which they suggest, there is yet one change, the greatest of all, from which it can be said with incontrovertible truth that all human beings shrink instinctively, whatever their position in the world, whatever their bodily or mental organisation. They shrink from it in sorrow and in happiness, in poverty and in abundance, in sickness and in health, in youth, in middle age, and even when infirmities seem to crowd around them. Upon this greatest and absolutely inevitable change we look as an enemy, to be perpetually kept at bay, to be banished to the furthest distance, but never to be entirely vanquished. The faintest symptom or the mere thought of his approach, fills DEATH AND IMMORTALITY. 227 us with inexpressible anguish and sorrow, and pervades our whole being with feelings of unutter- able dismay. You need not be told, my dear children, who is the dreaded foe ; for young as you are, his dark shadow may have crossed your path and spread his gloom around you. His name is Death, and it has been wisely ordained by Divine Providence, that almost every act of our physical existence should, as it were, tend to keep the dread fiend far aloof. Were it possible for us to court and woo death, or merely to contemplate it with perfect indifference, we should often be careless as to meat and drink, we should disregard shelter, fuel, and raiment, set the laws of health at defiance, face innumerable dangers, plunge heedlessly into perils, and live on in recklessness of all consequences, so far as our mere bodily existence is concerned. And, therefore, the salutary fear and the salutary hope are, so to say, constantly held before our eyes by an all- wise and all-merciful Goodness. I mean the fear of immediate or proximate death, and the hope of raising barriers of many years of health and strength between our certain doom and the ever-approaching enemy. Yet it is not only the attachment to life, its blessings, its joys and delights, which causes us to tremble in our heart of hearts at the bare prospect of looming death ; it is the fear of the dreadful pangs, which must 228 DEATH AND IMMORTALITY. precede the dissolution, the fear of inflicting grievous trials upon others by the sight of our own sufferings, of our own pain which cannot be sup- pressed or concealed ; it is the fear of that long and dim and mysterious separation from those -we love and to whom we cling in the warmth and depth and tenderness of our affection ; it is the fear of the darkly-veiled unknown which helps us to live well, which assists us perhaps to live usefully and happily, to overcome dangerous temptations, to accept quiet pleasures as a boon, and even priva- tions as a necessity. And here let it be said, in reply to possible objections, that as rules without excep- tions hardly exist, there are some rare instances of unfortunate beings who seek death, who wickedly destroy themselves by poison, by plunging into a watery grave, or by self-inflicted wounds ; but such acts of violence, which a diseased imagination may suggest, are sad and sombre anomalies, and do not invalidate the golden rule of man's love of life. The coroner pronounces those insane who lay violent hands upon themselves, and who sin so fearfully as to cut the tangled thread of their own existence. Some moralists who have lived long, thought much, felt deeply, and sympathized truly with the needs and sufferings of mankind, may urge that to a few unfortunates let us hope to very few the burden of life would be intolerably heavy, did they not hope to be released from it on DEATH AND IMMORTALITY. 229 the threshold of eternity ; did they not look forward to death with constant and anxious longing as a happy and blessed deliverance. But such aberra- tions and irregularities need not be dwelt upon any longer. Life is the greatest of boons a treasure quite beyond price, which cannot be valued too highly. It may not be rightly understood, and it is far too often recklessly imperilled but surely it is uni- versally cherished; yet while we thus love and prize it, the thought which every dawning day should bring clearly before us, is the thought of death, and of the many duties we have to fulfil during each hour that takes us so rapidly and so irretrievably towards the end ; and with that array of solemn obligations should arise the anxious desire to accomplish them faithfully, and the undelayed attempt to commence our work and to labour uninterruptedly in the fields of life. And as we thus act patiently and conscientiously, one conviction ought to become firmly implanted in our hearts, namely, that whenever death comes near unto us, whether suddenly or after a long illness, whether amidst sorrows and trials, or while we are enjoying the highest bliss and the sunniest happiness, when it draws nigh to our couch in early childhood, in brightest youth, in manhood, or in old age, it is mercifully sent as a heavenly messenger of peace to save us from unknown 230 DEATH AND IMMORTALITY. sufferings and perils, temptations and hardships. Indeed, when we see it approach and stand before us in our old age, we need hardly be told that life is scarcely worth having when the loss of many loved ones has made us sad and lonely, and when, perhaps, innumerable personal infirmities have deprived us of all pleasures, and thus weaned us from the greatest sources of delight. All this we see and know and feel to be irrefutable truth, and though we witness the execution of many death-warrants, which to our limited knowledge must remain inscrutable decrees, we may well believe that all are issued in bountiful mercy, that no human being leaves this earthly scene too soon, that none are allowed to depart whose pilgrimage is not deemed to be accomplished. And is there a power of divination that can tell what futurity awaits us when we shall have crossed the dark and mysterious chasm ? Where is the realm promised to God's children? What is it, what are its joys and rewards, its lights that cast no shadows ; its days that know no nights ; its thornless roses ; its flowers that never fade ? No eye, no lip, no pen can tell, not the most pious, not the most clear-sighted, not the most eloquent speaker, not the most erudite writer, not the most profound thinker, and yet the belief in our immortality is innate and indestructible. It is our hope, our faith, our anchor and solace in DEATH AND IMMORTALITY. 231 troubled times, our most radiant vista beyond gloom and sorrow ; and when all around is dark and dreary, it lifts us far above the crushing burdens of this earthly existence into spheres of light and peace. Nor can this blessed belief be annihilated ; for have we not the knowledge of our existence, the inborn certainty that in our perishable body there lives an imperishable soul, with conscience to point out the difference between right and wrong, between good and evil ? With perfect truth conscience has been called more than a glowing torch that nought can consume, more than a brilliantly luminous flame which never flickers, and no breath can annihilate ; for is it not a speaking, a warning voice, a preventive and a penal law : preventive, because it forbids, and penal, because it punishes? It has been characterised as more than an abstract law, as a living, a just, and unerring one, neither too lenient nor too severe, applied by a great internal tribunal ; even more than that it is the tri- bunal itself, notifying its verdict, its sentence of condemnation to erring men ; it may become a scourge, an invisible dagger, a slow and secret poison j but may it not also be a haven of rest, a placid harbour of tranquillity for those who are storm-tossed by the outward world, but who find ineffable and undisturbed peace in the unruffled expanse of its calm and clear depths ? And if 232 DEATH AND IMMORTALITY. conscience, infallible conscience, gives us all certainties, can it err when it points to im- mortality, when it proves that man, who was created in the image of the Almighty, cannot die, cannot perish, cannot be annihilated ? When nothing is destroyed, even on earth, but all is marvellously transformed, when the leaf-dust rises again into beauty in the blushes of the young May rose, or the bloom of the autumnal grape, surely we cannot be swept away from the face of the globe to exist no more. The soul must be immortal. "We find the Divine promise of its eternal life in many a page of the Sacred Book. Reason and faith tell us of immortality, and if any voice could be still more persuasive and convincing, it would be that of the heart of the heart that has loved and suffered, that has lost perhaps its dearest and brightest treasures, that has been tortured almost beyond its powers of endurance when relentless death tore from its shrine and from all the encircling ties of a life- long attachment, a brother or sister, a son or daughter, wife or husband, father or mother, who were adored, idolized, and almost worshipped. Whoever has seen the angel of death touch with icy fingers the warm lip and turn it cold, look into the eye yet moist with the farewell tear of sorrow, and petrify its last glimmering ray, chill the soft grasp of the parting hand, and trans- DEATH AND IMMORTALITY. 233 form it into hard clay ; whoever has witnessed these awful changes from life to death, must have felt nameless grief, torturing agony, and dumb affliction not to be healed by any of the reme- dies of this earth sufferings assuaged and com- forted only by the strong and blessed faith that the dead will live again beyond the grave, by the undying hope of reunion with the loved ones, by the hope of bright and blissful immortality, which perhaps saved the sufferer from utter despair. But, my dear children, there is yet another immortality of which we may be equally sure, and that is deathlessness in this world, among the scenes of our joys and cares, of our struggles, of our endeavours and success! You believe, perhaps, that in order to win eternity on earth, it is requi- site to play a great part on the stage of the world, on the field of battle, on the high seas, or while encountering perils and planting the seeds of civilization in distant lands, to shine in the council chamber of kings, in the great arena of politics, in the calmer realms of art and science, while chronicling the events of history, writing beautiful truths, or still more fascinating fictions for the instruction and delight of contemporaries, and of hundreds of unborn generations. Thus, it is true, renown is earned, thus fame is won, thus talent and genius are crowned with undying laurel. This you know, my dear children, nor need you be told 234 DEATH AND IMMORTALITY. that devoted men and women call them saints and martyrs be they our brethren and sisters in creed, or worshippers in a different form and way of the same Almighty Father in heaven, philan- thropists, benefactors of the human race in teeming town and lonely country, in prison and hospital, wherever there may be ignorance and poverty, oppression, darkness, sin and sorrow, and vice, all win glorious titles to the gratitude of millions of fellow-beings, and live on in unfading brilliancy, on canvas, in marble, and in bronze. But do not think that the great, the powerful, the illustrious, those heroes whose names remain emblazoned for ever, and indelibly engraven on the page of history, live on, while more ordinary beings who have not laboured and shone in the broad light of the world, are allowed to pass away without leaving a record of their existence. They pass, it is true, but not like mere shadows. Loving friends treasure fond memories of the departed, but even these fade and vanish ere long, and are buried incredibly soon with those faithful hearts which harboured and enshrined them ; but though men and women disappear in the fathomless ocean of time, their good deeds are quite imperishable. In the area of true benevolence and noble exertion the name of the workman may be obliterated, but the work remains more indestructible than stone or iron ; floods cannot wash over it, fires cannot I) K AT II AND IMMORTALITY. 235 devour it. The more admirable the work, the more imitators will it call into existence, the wider will be its influence, the more lasting its effect. Nothing is lost ; a good example of anxious endeavours, of arduous labours, even of earnest attempts, lives on in ever-increasing fruitfulness and luxuriance, extending its silent and yet speaking power further and further. Though our name be unknown, though our perishable, outward form may lie concealed and forgotten under the green sward, and our initials be effaced from the slab that marked our resting-place, and that slab itself have crumbled away into dust, is not our immortality certain even in this world? Is not the double immortality worth living for, and should not its golden light rob sickness and death of their darkest shadows ? $n ii&emoriam. SINCE the last words of this book were written, a great sorrow has fallen upon the heart of the writer. A heavenly blessing has been removed from her path, a source of constant joy and hap- piness has vanished from her existence, a loving daughter has been taken away from her side. She does not trust herself, nor can she wish to dwell upon her own affliction, but would like to place before her young readers however faintly and inadequately some record of the beautiful life which has so lately been extinguished in all its glow and sweetest loveliness. That life was so radiantly beautiful, because it contained in its brief but happy course the glad fulfilment of every duty. It was so perfectly serene, because it sought and found its own brightest happiness in giving pleasure to others, in ministering tenderly and joyously to the wants and needs of all who required help and care, in drying the tears of the sorrow- ful, in dispelling their anxiety, in banishing clouds and shadows from furrowed brows. Not that gloom and sadness had morbid attractions for the IN MEMORIAM. 237 much -beloved. Far from it ; though she felt so keenly and so deeply, she did not approach the sufferers with the anxious wish to share their sufferings, and thus lighten the burden of their woe, but with the earnest resolve to bid those who wept and feared and trembled, to weep no more, to fear no more, to look hopefully towards calmer and brighter times, to turn away from dark forebodings and harassing apprehensions, to re- member that, in this world, however tangled and chequered its paths, there is, through the mercy of the Lord, far more sunlight than darkness, more warmth than cold, more felicity than mis- fortune, more joy than pain. She raised the courage of the desponding by the picture of the vigour and freshness of their youth, if they were young. Had they passed the meridian of life, she would point out, to lessen the pressure of their cares, the blessings still vouchsafed to them by Almighty God ; and her own warm heart, full of sympathy for all around, was admirably formed to suggest a vivid appreciation of the best gifts and treasures of Divine Providence. Not satis- fied with merely chasing away sombre clouds, she felt intense delight in bringing and diffusing joy and sunshine. When she appeared at the side of a dearly-beloved invalid, every sensation of pain and weariness and exhaustion seemed to vanish, 238 IN MEMORIAM. every infirmity was forgotten. Her beaming face, her sunny smile, her laughter-loving voice smoothed the brow of care; her mirth, the constant flow of her high and happy spirits, seemed to diffuse an atmosphere of light and warmth, and to call forth all the smiles and ringing echoes of gladness. The devotion of her whole life was so enchanting, because it was utterly unconscious of its beauty and merit ; it was so admirable, so complete, and so perfect, because it seemed to disappear behind the loving expression, the joyous manifestation of it, behind the assurance of its fulness, always tenderly delicate and gently bestowed, though never audibly given. It was unceasing, and yet it assumed every colour and tint. Its beneficent influence was experienced in the garb of loving- kindness and true generosity of thought and feeling, word and deed; it was evinced by un- bounded benevolence, by closely-veiled charity, by unlimited power of forgiveness, of faithful attach- ment and watchful affection, at all times ready and eager for numberless acts of abnegation, for days and years of self-denial. And to impart additional charms to that earnest devotion, she had a beaming joyousness all her own which caused her labours and offerings of love to become delightfully acceptable. Her sympathy was so true and deep and glowing, so quickly awakened, IX MEMORIAM. 239 and so abiding, that neither the happiness nor the sorrow of others could ever leave her untouched and unmoved. Divine Providence had indeed been lavish of its blessings to her, and she pos- sessed the most precious treasures of heart and mind. All who had ever been brought within the circle of her influence were sure to be received into the deepest recesses of her kind, warm heart, to be cared for and cherished there for ever. Her judgment was so clear and excellent, her good sense so admirable, her prudence and discretion were so unwavering, that it seemed strange to find in combination with so much serious thought and earnestness of purpose, and with so much energetic firmness, the almost child-like mirth and buoyancy which never forsook her. Not only did near and dear relatives, friends, and neighbours, with all their hopes and fears, cares and struggles, trials and joys, and the brethren whom we are taught to love, and the little children, whom she drew so irresistibly towards her, claim her warmest interest; the whole visible world had indescribable attrac- tions for her. Her enjoyment of the beauties and wonders of creation was constant and intense. It was the true and innate enthusiasm of happiness, called forth by the marvellous works of God's bounty. There was nothing in the heavenly vault above, nothing on the green-sward beneath, which 240 IN MEMOR1AM. did not exercise a fascinating spell over her imagi- nation. The sunset, with its crimson lights and lengthening shadows, or the early hours with their rosy tints and sparkling dew-gems, the sailing cloud, the silver veils of the moon, flung over the slumbering face of the earth, the mysterious stars keeping vigil on high, every bird, rising with jubilant song into the fields of air, every blossom and flower glowing and blooming in fragrance and in freshness, every season with expanding buds and leaflets, or waving corn-fields and ripening fruit-clusters, with snow-wreath and with icicle, held out alternating charms to her. With the contemplation of all that is imperishably beautiful, or ever-renewed in its loveliness, she embellished her own mind, she brightened her own life. The activity of that life was extraordinary and inde- scribable. It was so great because no selfish aim or longing ever impeded its course, or craved any portion of it. She did not crowd, but she placed thoughtfully and carefully into it, not merely the accomplishment of all duties, but thousands of pleasures and joys for others, for all ages and for all classes, for every hour of the day. It was delightful to hear her dwell on the merits and abilities of her friends, to hear her extol their talents, their sweetness, or their brightness, un- selfishly forgetting, nay, unconscious that it was IN MEMORIAM. 241 her own genial nature which had called forth the exercise of the gifts and powers she took such vivid pleasure in praising; unaware of the charm she possessed over old and young, she was in reality the sunbeam, which caused blossoms fair and fresh to bud, and fruits of excellence to ripen. Though her kindness was so constant and so great, so gentle and so tender, it was equalled, if not sur- passed, by the fearless sincerity that never shrank from the most uncompromising expression of the truth. She had, perhaps in the rarest degree, the gift of candour, the power of frankness; she felt that she could lay bare every thought, every con- viction of her mind, and need not fear lest she should offend the most sensitive or wound the most painfully delicate organisation. Every word that fell from her lips was so honest and con- scientious, prompted by a truthfulness so perfect, that advice which often seems bitter, a.nd reproof which the most thoughtful can seldom divest of the semblance of harshness, was welcome and appeared delightful when breathed by her clear, soft voice. All who listened to it felt that it came from the warmest depths of a loving heart. It never could hurt or pain the most susceptible, it was an additional proof of sympathy, it soothed, cheered, and encouraged. As the whole surrounding world seemed to speak 242 IN MEMORIAM. to her with its innumerable voices, she collected from all realms of human interest the intelligence, the knowledge, the novelty that could not fail to attract attention. Nothing was too far removed to arrest her glance, to win her smile, or occupy her thought, nothing too small to awaken her sym- pathy. By the powerful charm of her all-embracing kindliness, she unconsciously transformed every trifle into a matter of real interest. She lived to serve and please all around her, to serve them lovingly and faithfully, without ostentation of goodness, to please them without weakness or vanity. Her life was a beautiful morning, all light and sunshine, warmth, and loveliness. It was a hymn of gratitude and gladness, sung on earth and wafted to the gates of heaven. To her sickness and sorrow remained unknown, for her the cold shadows of evening never came. A trembling hand guided by a mother's sorrow- stricken heart will not have failed entirely in tracing the features of the much-beloved, if the young children who read these lines will keep in gentle remembrance the friend they have lost, and if they will strive to follow the example of ready self-denial and true benevolence which the writer has endeavoured to place before them.