AN ESSAY ON THE IMPORTANCE OF

CHARITY.

THE duty of charity is repeatedly enforced in the writings of the Old, and no less frequently urged in the records of the New Testament. It is there held up to our attention, as a command involving many important sanctions and awful denouncements, to be daily practised; and not merely occasionally dispensed, as caprice may dictate, or passion control.

In every age of the world, and under all forms of government, whether rude or civilized, if their opinions were diverse, or their practices were in other respects repugnant to each other, they all agree in assigning to the virtue of benevolence, the most exalted rank; in celebrating its rights, and abstaining from the least violation of its laws, as displaying the most amiable dispositions of the heart. In accordance with the primary dictates of nature, and the selfevident suggestions of reason, it will be found that men are, in general, loved and honoured in proportion to the gifts they have bestowed upon mankind. If we refer to the opinion of the wise and illustrious men of the heathen world on this subject, we shall find that their suffrages all tend to assert the necessity of beneficence; and to consolidate the prevalent truth, that charity is at once amiable in its appearance, as well as beneficial in its tendency.

But to Christians, the importance of this duty is materially enhanced, from the variety of incitements to its practice, contained in the injunctions of scripture; which are solemnly reiterated and confirmed by the highest authority, even the declarations of inspiration. For every part of that sacred volume abounds either with precepts that direct us to obey its admonitions, or with examples that inculcate it as patterns for our serious imitation. The most venerable patriarchs, whose characters are portrayed with the truest fidelity and the most beautiful simplicity, in the luminous pages of holy writ, were particularly distinguished for their uniform observance of the rights of hospitality.

Amidst the numerous afflictions by which Job was at one time surrounded, he found the remembrance of his former charity a source of unspeakable comfort to his troubled spirit. The pleasing recollection that he had attended to the cries of the miserable, dispensed food to the hungry, and clothed the naked-that he had aided the widow, and protected the orphan-that he had relieved a portion of the calamities of life, and mitigated the sorrows of the oppressed; this afforded him 2D. SERIES, NO. 14.- VOL. II.

the truest satisfaction, it shed a genial ray, a sort of consolatory light, in the most stormy scenes through which he traversed, and in the darkest day in which he lived.

From those who possess opulent resources, either transmitted by their ancestors, or accumulated by their own industry, it is urgently required, and especially commanded by the Almighty; hence, of them "to whom much is given, much certainly will be required." Parsimony in such cases is highly detestable in the sight of God, and is injustice the most palpable to those of their species who are less abundantly favoured with earthly gifts.

It ought to be their highest ambition to imitate in some degree the undistinguishing munificence of Him "who giveth to all men liberally, and upbraideth not." Whatever superfluity of blessings He has given us to enjoy, we ought consequently to employ them in the laudable endeavour of contribiting to the happiness of the wretched, in cheering the abodes of poverty, in softening the miseries of disease, in lightening the pains of decrepitude, and in easing the agonies of death. These are natural evils to which all are exposed, though it is very apparent there is a great difference in the degrees of distress; yet it must be considerably aggravated, when even the most absolute necessaries for the support of mere animal life can be but precariously obtained. Such cases pathetically appeal to our humanity, and loudly call for our speedy commiseration and ready succour.

It would be difficult to imagine, were it not for instances of this miserable selfishness, that come too often under our observation, that any one would be unwilling to offer assistance in such emergencies, even as a trivial acknowledgment of his daily dependence on the never-failing supplies of the universal Benefactor. If we allude merely to the instability of human enjoyments, and the fluctuations to which prosperity is ever liable, (for no man can be absolutely certain that what he possesses to-day, he may not be deprived of before the return of to-morrow,) that he could deny pecuniary aid, and even human sympathy, to a fellow-creature, a sharer of the same nature, and a denizen of the earth; upon the consideration, founded solely on secular wisdom, that what he refuses to the needy suppliant at the present juncture, he may, by a sudden reverse in the ceaseless rotation of human affairs, have, at no very distant period, occasion to solicit from the bounty of another, and have to encounter a chilling repulse, alike impenetrable to his

most urgent entreaties, But we may be readily convinced, if we look around us with an observing eye, that there are those in whose minds depravity has gained such a powerful ascendancy, that they can look with insensibility and comparative indifference, on every gradation of misery, and variety of cruelty, without rendering the least assistance, or proffering the slightest alleviation.

It may with truth be said, that avarice is the predominant and unalterable passion of base minds, and likewise a decisive mark of a shallow, if not an illiterate, understanding. It is to be feared, that those whose feelings are thus warped, whose passions are disordered, whose reason is perverted, and who have received this fatal bias, perhaps first induced by an erroneous education, and afterwards confirmed into an inveterate habit; nothing will awaken to the pure sentiments of disinterested benevolence, short of the meliorating operation and expanding influence of divine grace.

There are various causes which produce a flow of liberality, and instigate the distribution of bounty; some proceed from ostentatious and ignoble motives, others arise from pure and virtuous principles. There are those, whose chief aim in distributing their donations is, to secure the favour of the multitude, and gain the applause of their contemporaries; to see their name blazoned in the gazette of the day, or inserted in some of the popular records appropriated for the acknowledgment of charitable subscriptions. Others give, from an expectation that they shall ultimately receive a liberal compensation for what they may be thus induced to advance, and regulate the extent of their bounty according to the probability there is that it is likely to be reimbursed with an advantageous increase. But whatever sinister design may have prompted them to acts of charity, and with whatever degree of success they may have imposed upon mankind, whether they have acted from a genuine or a fictitious principle, whether from a pure heart fervently, or not, will be distinguished by Him alone who shall preside as judge amidst the stupendous disclosures of the last day.

Some are desirous, when they distribute their favours, that there should be a corresponding sense of gratitude evinced by the party benefited, which is certainly both just and equitable, as the only equivalent in their power to offer; but this must not be regarded, though it is lamentably to be deplored, or at least so as to obstruct the

uniform course of our benevolence. We must rather, solely and habitually act, not from temporal views, but from the proper motives to charity, from higher dictates and a nobler philanthropy, which arise from a steady faith in the validity of the promises of God, and the firm expectation of an adequate reward only to be obtained in a future state. For, as a great writer on this subject has appositely remarked, "to hope for recompense in this life, is not beneficence, but usury."

One of the principal arguments that can be adduced, to enforce this great and momentous duty, in its widest latitude of meaning, is drawn from the brevity of life, and the uncertainty of our continuance here. If we reflect for a moment-however large our treasures may be, or extensive our domains, we know that we cannot retain them but for a very short time, at the most. Then, as stewards entrusted, by the Lord of all, with a superior portion of his goods, ought we not to dispense his bounty and scatter his gifts with a liberal hand to the poor and needy, while we have the means in our power; for the employment of the talents now committed to our care will eventually determine our eternal destiny.

Annexed to the proper use and the right distribution of the blessings we pos-` sess, as all are exposed to numerous evils and various troubles, is the promise of the Omnipotent, to deliver such in the day of trouble, and the hour of necessity; even at that time, when all are obliged to confess their extreme impotence and utter imbecility; "when both heart and strength fail;" "when the shadow of death compasseth them about;" of such it is said, "their righteousness shall go before them, and the glory of the Lord shall be their rere-ward." Farther than this, what stronger incitement can be offered, what motive more powerful can be urged, what argument more convincing can be employed, than to discharge this great duty from the sole conviction that it is to obtain the approbation of Him, "whom to know is life eternal?"

But these incomparable rewards are far from being inseparably connected with those who are in affluent circumstances. Charity is an universal duty, incumbent on all ranks, and therefore undoubtedly is, in some way or another, in every man's power to practise. The least mite, when accompanied with the proper motives, and given with a sincere attempt to do good, cannot fail to be equally acceptable to God as the most elaborate design or costly sacri. fices: He that is incapable of benefiting

his neighbour by a pecuniary donation, has probably the means in his power to dispense instruction to minds more ignorant than his own; he can pay many little offices of kindness in the chamber of sickness, and give assistance to the langours of decay; or, he can protect unguardianed innocence from the insults of the proud, and help it to avoid the snares of the cruel. So that all are allowed to participate in the delights which never fail to accompany benevolent deeds; and even in giving a cup of cold water to the thirsty traveller, from the limpid stream, our Saviour has said, "it shall not lose its reward."

Some there are who delight to dwell on the general excellence of charity, if it could be always administered to worthy objects, and pretend to admire the propriety of the precepts which emphatically inculcate it as But an essential part of christian duty. they discover so many instances in which charity has been perverted, and such very ill effects have proceeded from undistinguishing liberality, that the most fervent appeal to their generosity is seldom requited, and the best-accredited recital of a tale of calamity is repelled, from a too scrupulous fear they should be the dupes of imposture, and the encouragers of idleness in any of its forms. Those who adopt such excuses, and raise numerous objections to every method of charity as soon as ever the plan is devised, or the statement proposed, too generally make them a subterfuge for the purpose of being exempt altogether from the practice of alms-giving.

But surely all further proof is rendered nugatory, when our blessed Redeemer has expressly declared, that those, and those only, who have shown mercy to their fellowcreatures, "shall finally obtain mercy from him, and be numbered amongst the blessed of his Father." Our Saviour, in his own unblemished conduct, has set us a perfect example of unwearied and disinterested benevolence; the distinguishing characteristic of his life was, that he continually "went about doing good." Besides condescending to inform us of the necessity and importance of charity, he has likewise taught us, in the most explicit manner, how our services may be rendered acceptable to Him. He has told us they must be performed, not with a vain desire to gain applause; that we must divest ourselves of all pride, abhor all notions of self-conceit, and not imagine that, in executing our duty, we are accomplishing works of supererogation, or as a succedaneum for the vital spirit of true piety; but conduct our charity in such a manner as to be principally

"known to our Father which seeth in secret."

By this precept it is not to be understood, that all public acts of charity should be entirely superseded; for we are commanded to "let our light so shine before men, that they may see our good works, and so be led to glorify our Father which is in heaven." The right and legitimate meaning of which declaration evidently implies, that the desire to be seen and admired should not be the ruling motive of our actions, but that our paramount object in all such transactions should be, the honour of God, and the glory of his holy name."

Leicester, Oct. 3, 1831.

NO MORE.

T. ROYCE.

["The words 'no more,' have a singular pathos; reminding us at once of past pleasure, and the future exclusion of it."] Shenstone.

In observing the operations of nature, whether in the animal, vegetable, or mineral kingdoms, we cannot help perceiving a beautiful analogy. One class so insensibly unites with another, that it is often difficult to decide where the one terminates and the other begins. In the animal creation this is more particularly manifest, where creatures of a totally distinct genus are found to possess such a propinquity in some of their species, that we cannot but admire the uniformity as well as the variety displayed in their formation. It is with such reflections as these, that we observe the analogy still carried on in man, as regards his mental capacity. The different powers of the human mind, though distinct from each other, often unite so insensibly, that they are lost in one. Thus, by means of the words 'no more,' is a union formed in the mind, between the memory of the past and the anticipations of the future. Here, the analogy still continues between the thoughts and feelings of man; and in reviewing his pains and pleasures, we often see these involuntary exercises of the intellect and the heart connected by links, which, though delicate as the thread of the fates, can never be broken till time shall cease to be.

There is something within that attaches us to every thing around, even to inanimate objects, except where painful associations exist. There is generally a great repugnance in man to leave those spots in which he has been accustomed to dwell. His imagination, though it may rove very widely, generally rests on these as the most

legitimate objects of his love. The hardy Norwegian, whose only music, during the long wintry night, in the wild regions of snow, is the creaking of the ice-crusted pine, or the blustering storm, would not leave his dreary home without a pang, when he felt he should see it no more. And thus it is generally; a parting for ever, calls up emotions within the breast, that seem interwoven by nature.

We will take another step, even to the attachment that often exists between man and the brute creation. And there is no one who will deny, that the death of an affectionate, though mute companion, or separation from it for ever, excites some feelings of sorrow. But with respect to that close union of mind with mind in friendship, the shock is much greater. Deeply mournful are those sensations, when they, who have been united by every sentiment of esteem and affection, part to meet 'no more.' Then indeed do these words possess an influence over the mind, which no human aid can alleviate; and, as the rude tearing of the woodbine from the sweet-briar, the closer they are united, the more painful the separation.

A finer instance of this kind cannot perhaps be given than the parting of the elders of Ephesus from St. Paul. This, which is one of the most affecting interviews on scripture record, displays the christian and the man. It beautifully shews how christianity, instead of deadening to apathy, refines the feelings, while it prepares its own balm. Here, not merely the reciprocity of sentiment and affection-of isolated opinion and party affection-but the pure esteem, and love which springs from deep insight of character, was displayed in these holy men. The apostle was to the elders as a messenger of light, even the pure light of the gospel; the elders were to the apostle as children brought by himself to his Redeemer, as a "crown of rejoicing" amidst the hottest persecution. Here they met-to part for ever. After an exceedingly affectionate and earnest address, he kneeled down, and prayed with them all. And they all wept sore, and fell on Paul's neck and kissed him, sorrowing most of all for the words which he spake, that they should see his face 'no more.""

But it may be some speculation, whether the melancholy anticipation of the future is at all cheered by the retrospect of thought; or whether that wretch is less miserable, who, never having tasted happiness, cannot be liable to have it withheld from him. There is something so agonizing in eternal separation, that it cannot but blot out the

remembrance of past pleasure, and give a subtler edge to misery in itself almost insupportable. We know that when the mournful heart looks forward to brighter hours, and imagination paints the scene of gladness returning, more vividly tinctured with the colours of hope, there is some consolation even in grief. We have also sometimes felt that the bitterness of sorrow is assuaged by the remembrance of the past, when the eye, by a fascinating charm, reverts to "dreams of former days," and hours of fleeting, yet delicious happiness. But he who was born in misery, who has never been relieved from pain, and anticipates no change, cannot feel the anguish of him who has enjoyed pleasures he never can enjoy again. The dreariness of a winter never visited by the rays of the sun seems less insupportable, than when its chilling gloom closes upon the lovely beauty of spring for ever.

In addition to individual separation, there is also that sympathy which man feels when contemplating the wrecks of time, when musing upon the departed glory of nations, and the total subversion of empires. As history unfolds her instructive scroll, how may we observe the rise and fall of human grandeur! How often may the mute page mournfully break its silence, and sing with the Mantuan bard,

"Fuimus Troes, fuit Ilium, et ingens Gloria Teucrorum." Eneid, Lib. ii. and say, these have been, and great was their glory, but now they are ‘no more.'

Few cities rivalled Babylon in magnificence and importance, and of few has the destruction been so complete. Rescued from a flat morass occasioned by the overflowings of the Tigris and Euphrates, at a very early period in history, by Semiramis, it rapidly rose to the highest importance. According to ancient historians, it formed a regular square, forty-five miles in compass, enclosed by a wall two hundred feet high and fifty broad. To this vast city there were a hundred gates of brass, five and twenty on each side, and streets that ran from gate to gate; and its strength and size such, that it could never have been taken by siege, but in the manner mentioned in scripture. When we read of these, and dwell on its magnificent palaces, its colossal temple, and the pensile gardens,* erected on an artificial mountain,

Eusebius relates, that Nabuchodonosor built this extraordinary garden on the new palace, which he had erected for his queen Nitocris, who was brought up in Media, to delight herself with the prospect of the mountainous country.

"Orange groves, and citron, myrtle walks,
Alleys of roses, beds of sweetest flowers,
Their riches incense to the dewy breeze,
Breathing profusely:"

when we dwell on these, and on its confluence of the wealth, wit, and beauty of the whole world, our sympathy is greatly excited at its utter destruction. With a deep sense of awe, we behold the fulfilment of the prophecy, "She that was the beauty* of kingdoms shall not be inhabited for ever;" and, in beholding its complete fulfilment, we may take up the song of the prophet, whose vision alone extended to futurity, "How art thou fallen from heaven, O Lucifer, son of the morning!"

The subversion of the empire by Cyrus, gave Babylon its first and terrible blow, when, by the turning of the Euphrates, its ancient character as a morass returned. The Persian monarchs made no use of it as a royal city, preferring Ecbatana and Persepolis; while the Macedonians, who succeeded the Persians, suffered it to fall into decay for want of repair. The city of Ctesiphon being built near it, the inhabitants of Babylon migrated thither, till nothing was left of the ancient city but its walls. Though Alexander, in his mighty projects, resolved to restore its importance, his plans were arrested by death. The kings of Persia, by converting it into a park for the diver. sion of hunting, completely fulfilled the prophecy, rendering its pavilions and palaces the dens of wild beasts. The walls, being built of earth dried on the spot, upon the inundation of the country, soon dissolved into a quagmire; and hence, among other causes, not a vestige is left to tell of the situation of Babylon, and its magnificence and importance are left only on the page of history. Silence unbroken by the human voice reigns where once

"The distant and unceasing hum they heard
Of that magnificent city, on all sides
Surrounding them,"

and "wolves howl to one another," where once the flute and dulcimer "flooded the air with beauty of sweet sounds." Yes: Babylon is fallen; its glory has passed away for ever; Babylon is 'no more.'

Other cities and nations have there been, which may transmit, though in a more limited degree, the sympathy of mankind from one generation to another; but time would fail to number them. Even in our own native land are scattered the "wrecks of old magnificence," and the mouldering

Lowth's Translation of Isaiah.

chivalry. How delightful are those pensive feelings with which we contemplate these ruins, venerable with "the mantling ivy's verdant wreath!" Deserted and lonely, they seem to mourn as the fitful breezes wandering near,

"Wake such faint sighs, as feebly might express Some unseen spirit's woe for their lost loveliness," though now

"To voice of praise or prayer, or solemn sound
Of sacred music, once familiar here,
Their walls are echoless."

But to return to our subject, as connected with individual separation, since it is here that we more peculiarly feel its force. When the first pangs are over, and the mind retiring into itself is left for reflection, then do these words not only present the remembrance of past happiness in conjunction with the anticipation of future misery, but they invest with an indescribable charm all those objects with which we were once surrounded. Beings whom we have loved rise in the memory more beautiful than the reality found them. Minds and sympathies once bound by silken ties, become doubly endeared, now they are eternally separated. Scenes that have witnessed our mutual joy breathe an imaginary pleasure. Rocks, groves, and streams, to which we have given our last farewell, receive the mournful shade that melancholy throws over them, when we feel we shall see them 'no more.'

We pass through life, our days chequered "with gleams of joy and clouds of woe." We are called upon, as time wings his rapid career, to bid adieu to friends whose memory we revere,' and to leave objects, hopes, and dreams of bliss for ever. then there is a brighter scene unveiled to man. Though he often reflects with melancholy on past pleasures, he is com

But

manded to fix his mind with stedfast ear. nestness on the future. Such is his destiny, such his situation under an all-wise providence, that vain must be the hope of passing through life, without tasting that bitterness which is the lot of sinful humanity. Few indeed can pass through, even a short period of their lives, while none can hope to finish their pilgrimage, without suffering estrangement or separation from what is dear, or the dissolution of those they love. But the Christian, whose hope is in God, has one object, and it is his bosom's dearest one, which neither misfortune, time, nor death can estrange, and from the love of whom, nothing shall separate.*

*Romans viii. 35.