scious of no jealousies of other men: for competition has no place in things divine: and even in lower matters, it is, to the thoughtful and devout, but a quiet interrogation of Providence; and the true heart that prefers the question cannot be discontented with the answer. We cease to desire a change: we feel that life affords no time for restlessness; that in persistency is our only hope and a blessed conservatism of spirit comes over us, that claims nothing but simple leave to go on serving and loving still. And so Existence, to the devout, becomes, not confused, but peaceful, like a Service in the Churches of the Saints.

XIII.

CHRISTIAN DOCTRINE OF MERIT.

LUKE XVII. 10.

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SO LIKEWISE YE, WHEN YE SHALL HAVE DONE ALL THOSE THINGS WHICH ARE COMMANDED YOU, SAY, WE ARE UNPROFITABLE SERVANTS; WE HAVE DONE THAT WHICH WAS OUR DUTY TO DO.'

To a thoughtful interpreter of human nature, nothing so plainly reveals the hidden principle of a man's life, as the estimation in which he holds himself. Whether the standard which guides him be conventional, moral, or divine; whether the invisible presence that haunts him be that of the world's opinion, or his own self-witness, or the eye of God,-may be seen in the contented self-delusion, or intelligent self-knowledge, or noble selfforgetfulness, which reveal themselves through his natural language and demeanour. Too often you meet with a man who manifestly looks at himself with the eyes of others;-and those too, not the wise who are above him, but the associates on the same level or the inferiors beneath it, to whom he may he supposed an object of conspicuous attention. He stands well with himself, because he stands well with them: and nothing would make him angry with himself, except the forfeiture of his position among them. Their expectations

from him being satisfied, or somewhat more, he thinks his work is done, and turns loose into a holiday life, to do as he likes at his own unlicensed will. Their sentiments are the mirror, by which he dresses up his life: as his self-complacency is but the reflection of their smiles, his self-reproach is but an imitation of their frowns,―mere regret for error, not remorse for wrong; overheard in the cry of vexation, "Fool that I am!" not in the whisper of penitence, "God be merciful to me a sinner!" He every way impresses you with the conviction that, if nothing were demanded of him, nothing would be given; that he simply comes into the terms imposed by men as conditions of peace and good fellowship; and did all men resemble him, the Cynic's theory would not be far wrong, that morality is but the conciliation of opinion, and society a company for mutual protection.

However, if all men were such as he, and brought no strictly moral element into human affairs, it is plain that this much-vaunted power of "public opinion" could never get formed. Till somebody has a conscience, nobody can feel a law. Accordingly, we everywhere meet with a higher order of men, who not only comprehend the wishes, but respect the rights, of others; who are ruled, not by expectation without, but by the sense of obligation within: who do, not the agreeable, but the just; and, even amid the storm of public rage, can stand fast, with rooted foot and airy brow, like the granite mountain in the sea. Noble however as this foundation of uprightness always is, there may arise from it a self-estimate too proud and firm. If the stern

consciousness of right have no softening of human affection, and kindling of diviner aspiration, it will give the lofty sense of personal merits, that makes the Stoic, and misses the Saint. To walk beneath the porch is still infinitely less than to kneel before the cross. We do nothing well, till we learn our worth; nothing best, till we forget it. And this will not be till, besides being built into the real veracious laws of this world, we are also conscious of the inspection of another: till we live, not only fairly among equals, but submissively under the Most High; and while casting the shadow of a good life on the scene below, lie in the light of vaster spheres above. Virtue, feeling its deep base in earth, lifts its head aloft: sanctity, conscious of its far off glimpse at heaven, bends it low. And yet, outwardly, they are not different, but the same: one visible character may correspond with either; only standing amid relations incomplete in the one case, completed in the other. They are but as the different aspects of the granite isle of which we spake. Let clouds roof out the heaven and shut a darkness in, and its grey crags look down, with the grandeur of a gloomy monarch, sheltering the thunder and defying the flood. Sweep the rack away, and throw open the hemisphere of morning air, and it lies low in the soft light and sleeps with upturned gaze, like a sunny child of deep and sky, cradled on the summer sea.

How is it that minds equally engaged in the outward service of duty, think of themselves so differently? Whence the self-reliance, bordering on self-exaggeration, of a Zeno, a Franklin, a Bentham ?-the divine

humility of a Pascal, a Howard, a Channing, and of the Master whose lineaments they variously reflect? The answer will present itself spontaneously, if we inquire into the true doctrine of merit. This word, which has its equivalent in every language, expresses a meaning familiar, I suppose, to all men: and by referring to a few common modes of speech and thought, the contents of that meaning may be unfolded and defined.

There is no merit in paying one's debts. To make such an act a ground of praise infallibly betrays a base mind and a dishonest community. This cannot well be denied by any clear-thoughted man, free from the influence of passion. Whatever be the practice of society with respect to the insolvent, surely it is a mean perversion of the natural moral sense to imagine that his temporary inability, or length of delay, can cancel one iota of his obligation: these things only serve to increase its stringency; tardy reparation being a poor substitute for punctual fidelity. I am far from denying that circumstances of special and blameless misfortune may justify him in accepting the voluntary mercy of friends willing to "forgive him all that debt." But whoever avails himself of mere legal release as a moral exemption, is a candidate for infamy in the eyes of all uncorrupted men. The law necessarily interposes to put a period to the controversy between debtor and creditor, and prohibit the further struggle between the arts of the one and the cruelty of the other but it cannot annul their moral relation. Obligation cannot, any more than God, grow old and die: till it is obeyed, it stops in the present tense, and represents the eternal Now. Time