almost impertinent to do so. This I care nothing about, so long as I speak the words of truth and soberness. I do, however, care much and deeply, that what I say should justify itself by its importance, as well as by its truth. And if ever I had a serious practical object before me, I have one now. For, if these are but little things in themselves, they have great influence, both on personal and family religion. The tempers which disturb domestic peace and harmony, destroy, whilst they last, the spirit of secret and family prayer; stop all mutual fellowship at the public and private altar; and eat out the very life and soul of religious enjoyment. Oh! that is not a light matter which makes a heavy conscience, or an unsettled heart, in the closet or at the sacramental table. That is no trifle which embarrasses a man so, in praying with his family, that he can hardly proceed, for the cutting consciousness of what they must think of his temper. Not that he suspects that they will think him a hypocrite, or that they are unchristianizing him; but because these fits of ill humour are so inconsistent with the rest of his character.

Thus, these are not things which sit lightly on the conscience of men or women, who have to walk in all the ordinances and commandments of God, from day to day. Indeed, I suspect that bad tempers, and even fits of ill temper, (where the disposition is not very bad,) interfere materially with the duties of life as well as of godliness, and make both business and household duties less pleasant than they might be.

The beauty of holiness is calculated to have a most delightful influence on the minds of children.

Parents, who have any religious principle at all, feel bound to set their children an example of attending public worship. This is well. But, in order that this example be influential, it must be beautiful in its regularity, punctuality, and reverence. Children cannot regard the Sabbath or the Sanctuary as very sacred, or holy, if there be no worship at home, or no indication of a worshipping spirit.

If they are dressed later, and have breakfast later, than on school days, and find less regard paid to church-time than they are compelled to pay to school-time, they are not likely to hold the Holy of the Lord honourable. But, how beautiful the sanctification of the Sabbath might be made by care? Let it be shown to be a delight, as well as a duty, and the example cannot fail to impress. When our children see that we welcome the Sabbath Day, as gladly as they do a holyday; that we cannot bear to be too late for the service, or hurried to it; that we are evidently expecting to get good to our souls, from all the parts of Divine worship; and, when they see by our looks that we are pleased, and by our manner that we feel ourselves in the presence of God; and, when on our return home, they hear us speak well of the service, and find that we look forward to the evening with delight, they too will take some interest in the matter, and think of pleasing God, as well as of fearing Him. In like manner, unless there be some of the beauty of holiness about family worship, it will have no sweet influence upon children. If they see it made to give way to any thing that happens, they can acquire no sense of its importance. If they see no preparation for it, no system which brings it on as naturally and regularly as breakfast, or no apparent relish for it, an evident forcing of it in, and hurrying it over, as something submitted to rather than wished for, they will, inevitably, regard it as tiresome and unpleasant. But, how beautiful family worship might be made, if we aimed at nothing less nor lower than making it "well pleasing" unto God? This aim would throw a pleasantness into our own spirit and manner, that our children could neither overlook nor mistake; and that our servants would be struck with.

16*

No. VII.

ON PLEASING GOD BY OUR TEMPER.

"THE ornament of a meek and quiet spirit, is, in the sight of God, of great price." What is its price in the sight of man? 66 Great," too, when he wishes others to be meek and quiet-spirited, towards himself and his family. Then, it is both becoming and valuable in his estimation. He neither sees nor suspects any meanness in meekness, nor any cowardice in quietness, whilst they are exercised towards himself by upright men. He would of course, despise them both, in double-minded or designing characters; and hold them good reasons for being on his guard: but, where a meek and quiet spirit is also an upright spirit, and maintained towards himself, it is of great price in his sight, whether it be manifested by his superiors, his inferiors, or his equals in society. Then, it is quite beautiful, and not at all unmanly, nor ungentlemanly.

Now, there is neither harm nor mistake, in this estimate of a meek and quiet spirit. It cannot be rated too high, nor revered too much, in any man whose general character is a pledge, that it cloaks no sinister purpose. But, how many who can thus admire and value it, when others exercise it towards them, forget all its worth and beauty, when it is expected from themselves? Then its "great price" falls in the market of conscience. It is even regarded as a disgrace, or as any thing but an "ornament," when injury or insult, provocation or neglect, renders it a personal duty. Then, alas, the natural tendency of the mind is, to dwell upon, and aggravate, and exaggerate the offence we have received, until we have made it out to be so wanton, or so base, or so spiteful, that to take it quietly would be cowardice, and to bear it meekly, meanness of spirit. Or if conscience cannot go all the length, at once, of making out a meek spirit to be a mean spirit; or if memory do em

barrass the feelings by the haunting recollections of the Saviour's meekness, and by the startling recollections of certain divine threatenings against an unforgiving spirit; then the process of mind is, to make out a case of impossibility, or of imprudence, against the duty. We are prone, either to settle the question rashly, by saying," It is impossible to put up with such affronts," or, to argue the question, in a spirit of jealousy and suspicion, until we persuade ourselves, that there would be no end to affronts, if this one were meekly passed by.

Who has not argued in this way, and in this spirit? "True;" it may be said, "but who can help it?" It would, however, be more becoming and profitable to ask,-who tries to help it? Alas, not many. Provocations, and insults, and slights, whether real or supposed, are, in general, met as if there were no law against anger, or no danger from disobeying such law. Almost every man makes out his own case to be an exception, even to the general rule which he acknowledges; and treats his own enemies and opponents, as if they had no claim upon him beyond the mere suppression of revenge and malice. It is even thought to be a very great thing, and more than an enemy has any right to expect, if these are suppressed. And, in general, even that "great thing" is done, far more out of respect to ourselves, than from tenderness to an enemy. We can both talk and think of certain retaliations, as being rather beneath us, than as being sinful in themselves. Indeed, forbearance and silence under provocation, are not unfrequently forms of pride and self-importar.ce. Certain persons are not held worthy even of our anger. They are pardoned, just because they are despised.

Nor is this all. Even when there is no pretence of this kind; and when the offending parties are too important to be despised; and when there is a strong inclination to heal the breach which has taken place; it is far more common to make the point at issue, a question of policy, than of religion. How God will consider it, or feel under it, or act

towards it, is not the first nor the chief reason for attempting to settle the matter amicably. There is, of course, in the case of fellow-Christians, no slight reference to the dishonour that will be done to God, and to the injury which the cause of God must sustain, by their alienation. But, whilst this solemn consideration is taken into account, and even allowed to have considerable weight in restoring the balance of desired friendliness, there is often far more regard paid to personal and family comfort, than to the Divine will or glory; and more yielded to the solicitude of mutual friends, than to the commands of Heaven; and more done to please others, than to please God. For, if pleasing God were the grand motive, or the final object, of forgiving and forgetting an injury, why not do both, even if no friend interfered to influence us, and if no temporal interest or social comfort were at all at stake upon the reconciliation? Should I not strive to please God by a meek spirit, even if a proud spirit would not displease any one in the circle of my friends, nor disturb any thing in all the range of my temporal interests ?

It is not more "nice than wise," to be thus minute in discriminating amongst our motives and feelings, in this matter. It would, indeed, be very foolish, because mere affectation, to keep out of sight any of the temporal advantages of concession or conciliation. They are many and valuable, and quite legitimate as motives to "peace and good will." The man who has not sense enough to be influenced both by his friends and his affairs, will certainly not have conscience enough to heal breaches, simply for the sake of glorifying or pleasing God. For it is just as true, that he who regards not man, will not fear God; as that he who fears not God, will not regard man. Those who care nothing about public opinion, or Christian estimation, cannot care about the Divine pleasure, because they cannot understand it. They may pretend to make the approbation of God their sole object, whilst setting the judgment of man at defiance; but this is mere pretence.

The real despisers of human opin