always open at the cry of the needy, the virtuous peasant who has wrestled like a giant with poverty, and scorned, whilst there was sight in his eye and strength in his limb, to touch a stiver of the funds which belonged to the destitute, must shrink back as one unable to reply otherwise than in the negative to the question, "Hast thou given bread to the hungry, and covering to the naked?" He has given he has been a giver in not having been a receiver.

So that we show you that the lower ranks of society are no more excluded than the higher from the alleged blessedness of givers; and that those who seem to you to have nothing to bestow, may as well abide, at the last, a scrutiny into ministrations to the necessitous, as others who have large incomes at their disposal, and can take the lead in all the bustle of philanthropy. Ay, and we reckon it a beautiful truth, that, from the fields and workshops of a country may be sent to the platform of judgment the most active and selfdenying of the benevolent; and that, however, in this world the praise of liberality is awarded only to those who can draw out their purses and scatter their gold, our laborers and artizans may be counted hereafter amongst the largest contributors to the relief of the afflicted. The donations which they have wrung from overtasked limbs, or which they may be said to have coined out of their own flesh and blood, may weigh down in the balances of the judgment the more showy gifts which the wealthy dispense from their superfluities, without trenching, it may be, on their luxuries-yea, and thus is there nothing to prove to us that there may not be poured forth from the very hovels of our land, numbers who shall as well abide the searching inquiries of the Judge, as the most munificent of those who have dwelt in its palaces, and be as justly included within the summons, Come, ye blessed of my Father," though none are to be thus addressed but such as have fed the hungry, and clothed the naked, and succoured the sick.

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Now there is much in the fact which we thus set before you, the fact that God has not granted to the wealthy the monopoly of benevolence, which should move you to great liberality towards

the indigent, lest you find yourselves at last outdone in charity by the very poor whom you succor. You see that the man who endows an alms-house out of a well-stocked purse, has a formidable rival in alms-giving in the mechanic who struggles night and day to keep out of that alms-house. It is quite possible that he who reared the asylum, and put over it his coat of arms, may be far lower down at the last in the list of the charitable than he who, rather than claim the succor of that asylum, wore away old age in toil and privation.

There is much also in the considerations which have been advanced, to urge you specially to support institutions which afford succor to the industrious in a season of trouble. We feel that in striving to raise the character of a population, and to restore that healthy tone which exists wherever charitable aid, in place of being coveted and sought, is but resorted to in some singular emergencies, we make an effort which, if successful, would lift this population into a higher moral, as well as a higher physical, position. If I can prevail on a man, by working an additional hour, though he already work many, or by undertaking an additional task, though he have already much upon his hands, just to prevent the necessity of his seeking aid from the wealthy, why, I do that man a vast spiritual benefit: I detain him within the class of givers, when he may be actually on the point of passing over to that of receivers; and thus arrest him in his intention of throwing away that power of ministering to the necessities of others which he possesses as actually, if not as abundantly, as though he ranked amongst the nobles of the land.

And we estimate therefore the worth of charitable institutions by their tendency to check pauperism, and give encouragemeut to industry. Hence we always plead with great confidence for an Hospital, an Infirmary, or a Dispensary, because we know that such establishments cannot multiply the objects which they propose to relieve. An asylum for want may produce want; but the like cannot be said of an asylum for sickness. And whilst there is no tendency in an Hospital to the encour agement of pauperism, there is a tendency the very strongest to the encour

agement of industry. The Hospital affords a shelter to the mechanic or peasant at those seasons when no exertions of his own can suffice for his wants; and then sends him back to his labor in renovated health, and with his resolve to toil cheerfully, strengthened by the consciousness, that if sickness overtake him, he has a home to which to turn. Thus, in place of there being any likelihood that the assistance of an Hospital will transfer a man from the class of givers to that of receivers, there is every probability that they will strengthen the independent laborer in his resolve to provide for himself whilst in health, because they remove the pressure of that anxiety which he might naturally feel in the prospect of sick

ness.

We are sure, then, that the claims of an Hospital must always strongly commend themselves to an enlightened philanthropy. We are sure also that amongst the numerous institutions of this kind which do honor to our Metropolis, none is more worthy your support than the Charing Cross Hospital, for which I now plead. It is indeed of but recent erection: but, on this very account, it more needs your help; for it has not yet had time to accumulate a single farthing of capital, so that it is still altogether dependent on voluntary contributions. And that an Hospital was not instituted in this neighborhood before it was needed, is proved by the simple fact, that, during the last year, nearly 6000 sick were admitted on its books, of which 1200 have been actually received within its walls. But until the Hospital shall be able to fund property, its operations will be necessarily limited and precari. ous; and we do not know a nobler thing which any of our great capitalists could do, than the providing so admirable an institution with a fitting endowment. I never before had to plead for an Hospital so circumstanced. The other Hospitals whose cause I have advocated, had their estates or their consols to fall back upon, if subscriptions diminished; and I could not feel that there would be necessarily an immediate rejection of applicants for admission, if my appeal were not liberally answered. But the case is now different. I am now actually asking

for the means of receiving that father of a family whom accident has disabled, or that mother, who, with wasted cheek, entreats succor for herself or her child. It is literally with you to determine whether the doors of the Hospital shall be closed on that emaciated thing; and you have only to be scaut in your donations, and there shall soon be a widow, to whom a little more liberality might have preserved the husband of her youth, and an orphan who, had you shown yourselves more benevolent, might still have enjoyed the protection of a parent. The case therefore is peculiar. I could almost wish that I had not undertaken the advocacy: I have the sick and the dying actually in charge; and if I do not thoroughly ad duce the motives to relieving themfor I know that you need nothing else to the being stirred to give largely―I shall literally have to accuse myself of depriving numbers of medical succor, and consigning them to unassuaged pain, and perhaps even to an untimely grave.

No marvel, then, if I dare not conclude without another allusion to the dread things of judgment. The sick and the dying will not acquit me of unfaithfulness, but will rather haunt me reproachfully, if, with such a subject of discourse, I do not again bring you before the great white throne, and implore of you now to act as you will wish to have acted, when the trumpet shall have sounded, and the sea and the desert shall give up their dead. Not that you are to purchase Heaven by deeds of benevolence-perish the thought-there may be founders of Hospitals, and builders of Churches, in that outer darkness, where there shall be weeping and gnashing of teeth. But though no man can be saved by his works, every man shall be judged ac cording to his works. If he have believed upon Christ-and this is the single ordained mode of salvation—the sincerity of his faith will be proved by his works; and therefore, in being ap pointed to everlasting life, he will be judged according to his works. If he have not relied on the merits of the Saviour, the want of faith will be evidenced by the deficiency in works; and therefore will he also, in being consigned to everlasting misery, be

or rather the truth which He illustrates by each, is the same—namely, that there is greater joy in Heaven over one repentant sinner, than over a company of the righteous who need no repentance. In the Gospel of St. Matthew, where the parable on which we purpose to discourse is somewhat differently put, the express assertion is, that if the man find the lost sheep, he rejoiceth more of it than of the ninety and nine which went not astray. We shall take the statements of the two Evangelists promiscuously, according as they may best suit our purpose. We may safely assume that these parables are to be regarded as illustrative of God's dealings with our race; descriptive in some respects of that plan of Redemption which Christ came to execute. It is sufficiently evident that Christ designed to point out Himself as seeking the sheep that had gone astray, or the piece of money which was lost. And therefore we cannot doubt that He also designed to fix attention on the whole scheme of human rescue, as arranged for the gathering back a solitary tribe into companionship with the unfallen ranks in creation. We ask your serious attention to a simple review of the parable of which we have read you a part, and of the truth which it inculcates, on the supposition that the design of its delivery was what we have just stated.

Now we are always to remember, that out of condescension to the weakness of our faculties, and not because of the accuracy of the delineation, God is often represented to us in Scripture as us in Scripture as acting on human principles, and moved by human affections. Thus in the parable before us He is exhibited as actuated by a feeling, which, however natural amongst ourselves, can scarcely have place in such a being as the Divine. We undoubtedly attach great value to any thing which we lose, and think little in comparison of what we still retain. The loss appears to stamp a greater worth than the possession, and if we regain what had slipped from our grasp, we are disposed to regard it as a hundredfold more precious than before. We cannot think that precisely the same feeling has place in the Divine nature. If any thing which He loves be withdrawn from God, there cannot be that uncertainty as to its recovery, that ig

norance where it may be found, and that consequent diligence of search, which combine to the producing great delight in ourselves, wher, we recover a good which we had lost.

But when we have cautioned you against the supposing in Deity emotions which, by their nature, can belong only to humanity, we may proceed to regard the figurative representation as the nearest to the truth which the case will admit. It may not be denied, that whatever be God's feelings on gathering home those who have wandered from obedience, they cannot be identical with those of the man who finds amongst the mountains the one sheep which had strayed. But nevertheless there may be no case in the workings of human sympathy which furnishes so apt an illustration; and though God cannot be said to lose and recover, in the sense which such expressions bear amongst men, we can readily believe that we come nearest to what is felt by the Creator, when erring creatures are reclaimed, by ascribing to Him the sensations produced in ourselves on regaining what has wandered away. These considerations being premised, in order that you may be guarded against misapprehensions, we proceed to consider our Maker as proprietor of the hundred sheep, and man as the solitary one who has departed from the fold.

You are none of you, it may be, ignorant how the seeming insignificance of this planet, and of ourselves its inhabitants, has been turned into an argument against the truth of our Redemption; so that, setting in contrast the littleness of the human race, and the vastness of the machinery said to have been used for its rescue, men have asked whether it be credible that the Son of God humbled Himself and died for so inconsiderable a section of his unlimited empire? We are not about to expose, by any labored reasoning, the fallacy of this argument. But we wish you to observe how it sets itself against a principle which God has undoubtedly implanted in the very highest of his creatures, and of which therefore we may reasonably believe, that it has a counterpart in his own nature. And this is the principle of a possession appearing more precious just at the instant of its loss; of its engaging every so