which no power can prevent, which no barriers can defend. It is his right, for no one suffers by his enjoymentno one is made the poorer by his claim, or suffers to serve him. So the man of real benevolence gathers into his own heart the joy that elates the hearts of others, and into his own home, the quiet, the good-will, the condescension, the harmony, and the hope,. that prevail in the home of his neighbour.

Let there be enjoyment any where about him, and it increases his own. Hence he is the only man who can. beguile the miseries of human life, and rob the old serpent of his sting. Nothing can make him miserable, if there, is happiness any where. Rob him of his comforts, and, in an hour, he can go and gather more. So the bee, if, you take away the bread he has brought home, can hie him away to some opening flower, and gather a new supply. Hence in the dark hour, when all others are wretched, the man of real benevolence can be happy.

you

tell me,

But me, that philanthropy, in a world so miserable as this is, is likely to create more misery than joy. In every look we take athwart its wastes, there strike the eye ten objects, polluted, deformed, and miserable, where there is one of order, joy, and beauty. Hence it would seem, that the man of kindest feelings, must be the greatest sufferer,, whilst the callous and the cold, who are unmoved by human misery, and have no tears for another's wo, have the greatest share of enjoyment. All this seems rational, but is not true.. Benevolence is an affection, which carries its own

reward with it, and must render the heart happy that puts it forth, were there nothing about it but misery. It finds a kind of relief in its own tears, and if all the objects on which it can fasten a look of sympathy must remain unhappy, it can gather to itself enjoyment from the sympathy it feels.

But the benevolent heart is not driven to this alternative. This world is not wholly filled with misery. There may be a dreary spot just here; a dearth of piety, the absence of all holiness, and the presence of stormy passions; but beyond this scene, there is fertility and life. God there appears in his glory, men are sanctified, and are made happy, and there is joy and gladness. The benevolent Howard spent much of his life in the prison, but he was comforted to know that this world was not all a prison. He carried with him into the recesses and the infection of the dungeon the recollection, that the sufferers about him were not the whole of this world's population. There were those at a little remove from him, who did not wear a chain, nor want for bread, nor sigh for liberty. There were dwellings into which the light of heaven might shine, where reigned health, affection, and joy. Upon these, when he could look at misery no longer, he could cast his eye and find relief. So the man in this age, or in any age, whose heart expands with benevolence, but who may chance to see misery all around him, has only to widen the circumference of his vision, and it embraces objects that can give him joy. If the case require he can look beyond this world to heaven. There every object will gratify the benevolence of his heart. All its inhabitants are holy and happy, beyond what hath entered into the heart of man to conceive. There is not one object in all its happy realms, on which,

while the benevolent heart lingers, it feels not the most exquisite delight. Thus the good man, if the misery about him gives him pain which he can hardly endure, having that faith which gives him the power of flight, can wing himself to some happier clime, and inhale refreshment from scenes more adapted to his taste.

And there is one other thought from which we discern, clearly, the advantage of the benevolent man above all others, notwithstanding the pain he endures at the sight of misery. The heart that is not benevolent is, of course, the seat of passions far more corroding and painful than the keenest sympathy. Pride, and envy, and ambition, and covetousness, with other kindred tormentors, hold the entire ascendancy, where the heart has not been melted into love. And who that has been the prey of these devourers, and has any conviction of their power to destroy, would not rather feel a philan thropy so pure, and be surrounded with miseries so multiplied as to keep the heart bleeding with sympathy, rather than be committed to their merciless and arbitrary supremacy? He who looks upon poverty, and famine, and nakedness, in their most appalling attitude, and would give relief but cannot, must indeed suffer intensely; but still he enjoys a heaven, compared with him who sees others too happy, and envies them. The one, in the midst of all his tears, can be tranquil and submissive, while in the bosom of the other there burns a fire that consumes him. Howard found his joy diminished, because he looked upon plagues which he had not the power and the skill to cure ; but compare the state of his mind, with his who has coveted, but cannot possess the enjoyments of others, and, as you live, the one savours of heaven, and the other of hell.

If the objection had any weight, it would prove that God must be unhappy. His benevolence is infi

nite, and there lies, under his full inspection, the whole aggregate of pollution and misery that have found their way into his dominions. Even hell has no covering. He sees all the anguish and despair, hears every groan and sigh that escapes the lips of the lost. Still God is infinitely happy, and will be when every incorrigible rebel shall have made his bed in the pit, and the smoke of their torment ascendeth up forever and ever.

And the more we are like God the more happy. Import into this world that same benevolence that led God to make his Son a sacrifice for sin, and you would fill it with piety and joy. And those who are losing the Sabbath at home, as they saw you pass, would half believe that you were angels. You would then apply yourselves to make this section of the apostacy more happy. You would heal every quarrel, would soothe every wicked passion, if you might, would check every prevailing vice, and relieve every want. You would go home and purge your house, and your neighbourhood, from whatever would breed pollution and misery, and we should soon all forget that we had ever been unhappy. Life would steal away like the pleasant sceneries of a dream, and death would lose its terrors. We should almost forget that this world was not the rest that God has promised us. We should imagine ourselves suddenly transplanted into the midst of angels, should see in: every face the countenance of a brother, and hear in every accent and in every song, the symphony of a hea-. venly friendship.

Do you say that I now tell you of heaven. Nay,< heaven, one from that world must describe it. I tell you exactly what a little spot of earth might be, and what we might make it, were it not for those accursed passions, which we industriously cultivate, and which collect us.

joy from another's misery. Only let us feel that none about us can be too wealthy, too respectable, or too happy, to give us pleasure, and half the curse of the apostacy is removed. Let us feel that every wo another suffers is as much our own as his, every tear he weeps and every song he sings our own, and this world would cease to be a wilderness, and would become like the garden of God.

Let us then retire with this reflection,

J

Men are their own tormentors! Would they exercise benevolence, and exert themselves to make each other happy, much of the misery of this world would soon disappear, and the remainder would be so divided and subdivided as scarcely to be felt. And we should make our way on to heaven, forgetful that we were the inhabitants of a world that God has cursed. But if instead of this, we employ ourselves in the work of mutual crimination and torture, we have none to blame but ourselves, if we wade to the grave in tears, and find it an avenue to the bottomless pit.