plied a contempt; then, his answer defended his silence; now, his speech expresses and defends his contempt. Lo, he hath turned her from a woman to a dog; and, as it were, spurns her from his feet, with a harsh repulse. What shall we say? is the Lamb of God turned Lion? Doth that clear Fountain of Mercy run blood? O Saviour, did ever so hard a word fall from those mild lips? Thou calledst Herod, Fox; most worthily, he was crafty and wicked: the Scribes and Pharisees, a generation of Vipers; they were venomous and cruel: Judas, a Devil; he was both covetous and treacherous. But here was a woman in distress, and distress challenges mercy; a good woman, a faithful suppliant, a Canaanitish disciple, a Christian Canaanite; yet rated and whipt out for a Dog by thee, who wert all goodness and mercy! How different are thy ways from ours! Even thy severity argues favour. The trial had not been so sharp, if thou hadst not found the faith so strong; if thou hadst not meant the issue so happy. Thou hadst not driven her away as a dog, if thou hadst not intended to admit her for a saint; and to advance her as much for a pattern of faith, as thou depressedst her for a spectacle of contempt.

The time was, when the Jews were children, and the Gentiles dogs: now the case is happily altered; the Jews are the dogs, (so their dear and divine countryman calls the concision,) we Gentiles are the children. What certainty is there in an external profession, that gives us only to seem, not to be; at least, the being that it gives is doubtful and temporary? We may be children to-day, and dogs to-morrow. The true assurance of our condition is in the decree and covenant of God on his part, in our faith and obedience on ours. How they of children became dogs, it is not hard to say their presumption, their unbelief transformed them; and, to perfect their brutishness, they set their fangs upon the Lord of Life. How we of dogs become children, I know no reason but, O the depth! Rom. xi. xxxiii. That, which, at the first, singled them out from the nations of the world, hath, at last, singled us out from the world and them. It is not in him that willeth, nor in him that runneth, but in God that hath mercy. Lord, how should we bless thy goodness, that we of dogs are children! how should we fear thy justice, since they of children are dogs! Oh let us not be highminded, but tremble. If they were cut off, who crucified thee in thine humbled estate, what may we expect, who crucify thee daily in thy glory?

Now, what ordinary patience would not have been overstrained, with so contemptuous a repulse? How few, but would have fallen into intemperate passions, into passionate expostulations! "Art thou the prophet of God, that so disdainfully entertainest poor suppliants? Is this the comfort, that thou dealest to the distressed? Is this the fruit of my humble adoration, of my faithful profession? Did I snarl or bark at thee, when I called thee the Son of David? Did I fly upon thee otherwise than with my prayers and tears? And if this term were fit for my vileness, yet doth it become thy lips? Is it not sorrow enough to me, that I am afflicted

with my daughter's misery, but that thou, of whom I hoped for relief, must add to mine affliction in an unkind reproach" But here is none of all this. Contrarily, her humility grants all; her patience overcomes all; and she meekly answers, Truth, Lord, yet the dogs eat of the crumbs which fall from their master's table.

The reply is not more witty, than faithful. " O Lord, thou art truth itself. Thy words can be no other than truth. Thou hast called me a dog, and a dog I am: give me therefore the favour and privilege of a dog, that I may gather up some crumbs of mercy from under that table, whereat thy children sit. This blessing, though great to me, yet to the infiniteness of thy power and mercy is but as a crumb to a feast. I presume not to press to the board, but to creep under it. Deny me not those small offals, which else would be swept away in the dust. After this stripe, give me but a crumb, and I shall fawn upon thee, and depart satisfied."

O woman, say I, great is thy humility, great is thy patience; but, O woman, saith my Saviour, great is thy faith. He sees the root; we, the stock. Nothing but faith could thus temper the heart, thus strengthen the soul, thus charm the tongue.

O precious faith! O acceptable perseverance! It is no marvel, if that chiding end in favour: Be it to thee, even as thou wilt. Never did such grace go away uncrowned. The beneficence had been strait, if thou hadst not carried away more than thou suedst for. Lo, thou, that camest a dog, goest away a child; thou, that wouldst but creep under the children's feet, art set at their elbow; thou, that wouldst have taken up a crumb, art feasted with full dishes. The way to speed well at God's hand is, to be humbled in his eyes and in our own.

It is quite otherwise with God, and with men. With men, we are so accounted of, as we account of ourselves: he shall be sure to be accounted vile in the sight of others, which is vile in his own. With God, nothing is got by vain ostentation; nothing is lost by abasement. O God, when we look down to our own weakness, and cast up our eyes to thine infiniteness, thine omnipotence, what poor things we are! but when we look down upon our sins and wickedness, how shall we express our shame? None of all thy creatures, except devils, are capable of so foul a quality. As we have thus made ourselves worse than beasts, so let us, in a sincere humbleness of mind, acknowledge it to thee, who canst pity, forgive, redress it. So setting ourselves down at the lower end of the table of thy creatures, thou, the great Master of the Feast, mayst be pleased to advance us to the height of glory. Matthew xv.

THE DEAF AND DUMB MAN CURED.

OUR Saviour's entrance into the coasts of Tyre and Sidon was not without a miracle; neither was his regress: as the sun neither rises nor sets without light. In his entrance, he delivers the daughter

of the Syrophoenician; in his egress, he cures the Deaf and Dumb. He can no more want work, than that work can want success.

Sure I

Whether the patient were naturally deaf and perfectly dumb, or imperfectly dumb and accidentally deaf, I labour not. am, that he was so deaf, that he could not hear of Christ; so dumb, that he could not speak for himself. Good neighbours supply his ears, his tongue; they bring him to Christ. Behold a miracle led in by charity, acted by power, led out by modesty.

It was a true office of love, to speak thus in the cause of the dumb; to lend senses to him that wanted. Poor man! he had nothing to entreat for him, but his impotence: here was neither ear to inform, nor tongue to crave. His friends are sensible of his infirmity, and, unasked, bring him to cure. This spiritual service we owe to each other. It is true, we should be quick of hearing to the things of God and of our peace, quick of tongue to call for our helps; but, alas! we are naturally deaf and dumb to good. We have ear and tongue enough for the world: if that do but whisper, we hear it; if that do but draw back, we cry after it: we have neither for God. Ever since our ear was lent to the Serpent in Paradise, it hath been spiritually deaf; ever since we set our tooth in the forbidden fruit, our tongue hath been speechless to God; and that, which was faulty in the root, is worse in the branches. Every soul is more deafened and bedumbed by increasing corruptions, by actual sins. Some ears the infinite mercy of God hath bored; some tongues he hath untied by the power of regeneration: these are wanting to their holy faculties, if they do not improve themselves, in bringing the deaf and dumb unto Christ.

There are some deaf and dumb, upon necessity; some others, upon affectation. Those, such as live either out of the pale of the Church, or under a spiritual tyranny within the Church, we have no help for them but our prayers; our pity can reach further than our aid: these, such as may hear of a Christ, and sue to him, but will not; a condition so much more fearful, as it is more voluntary. This kind is full of woeful variety: while some are deaf by an outward obturation, whether by the prejudice of the Teacher, or by secular occasions and distractions; others, by the inwardlyaposthuming tumours of pride, by the ill vapours of carnal affections, of froward resolutions. All of them, like the deaf adder, have their ears shut to the Divine Charmer. O miserable condition of foolish men, so peevishly averse from their own salvation; so much more worthy of our commiseration, as it is more incapable of their own! These are the men, whose cure we must labour; whom we must bring to Christ, by admonition, by threats, by authority, and, if need be, by wholesome compulsions.

They do not only lend their hand to the deaf and dumb, but their tongue also: they say for him that, which he could not but wish to say for himself. Doubtless, they had made signs to him, of what they intended; and, finding him forward in his desires, now they speak to Christ for him. Every man lightly hath a tongue to speak for himself; happy is he, that keps a tongue for

other men. We are charged, not with supplications only, but with intercessions. Herein is both the largest improvement of our love, and most effectual. No distance can hinder this fruit of our devotion. Thus, we may oblige those, that we shall never see; those, that can never thank us. This beneficence cannot impoverish us: the more we give, we have still the more. It is a safe and happy store, that cannot be impaired by our bounty.

What was their suit, but that Christ would put his hand upon the patient? Not that they would prescribe the means, or imply a necessity of his touch; but for that they saw this was the ordi nary course both of Christ and his disciples, by touching to heal. Our prayers must be directed to the usual proceedings of God. His actions must be the rule of our prayers; our prayers may not prescribe his actions.

That gracious Saviour, who is wont to exceed our desires, does more than they sue for. Not only doth he touch the party, but takes him by the hand, and leads him from the multitude.

He, that would be healed of his spiritual infirmities, must be sequestered from the throng of the world. There is a good use, in due times, of solitariness. That soul can never enjoy God, that is not sometimes retired. The modest Bridegroom of the Church will not impart himself to his Spouse, before company. Or, perhaps, this secession was for our example, of a willing and careful avoidance of vainglory in our actions. Whence also it is, that our Saviour gives an aftercharge of secresy. He, that could He, that doth evil, hateth the light, escheweth the light even in good. To seek our own glory is not glory. Although, besides this bashful desire of obscurity, here is a meet regard of opportunity, in the carriage of our actions. The envy of the Scribes and Pharisces might trouble the passage of his Divine ministry: their exasperation is wisely declined by his retiring. He, in whose hands time is, knows how to make his best choice of seasons. Neither was it our Saviour's meaning, to have this miracle buried, but hid. Wisdom hath no better improvement, than in distinguishing times, and discreetly marshalling the circumstances of our actions; which whosoever neglects, shall be sure to shame his work, and mar his hopes.

Is there a spiritual patient to be cured? Aside with him. To undertake him before the face of the multitude, is to wound, not to heal him. Reproof and good counsel must be, like our alms, in secret; so as, if possible, one ear or hand might not be conscious to the other. As, in some cases, confession; so our reprehension must be auricular. The discreet chirurgeon, that would cure a modest patient, whose secret complaint hath in it more shame than pain, shuts out all eyes, save his own. It is enough, for the God of Justice to say, Thou didst it secretly, but I will do it before all Israel, and before this sun. Our limited and imperfect wisdom must teach us, to apply private redresses to private maladies. It is the best remedy, that is least seen, and most felt.

What means this variety of ceremony? O Saviour, how many parts of thee are here active! Thy finger is put into the ear; thy

spittle toucheth the tongue; thine eyes look up; thy lungs sigh; thy lips move to an ephphatha. Thy word alone, thy beck alone, thy wish alone, yea, the least act of velleity from thee, might have wrought this cure. Why wouldst thou employ so much of thyself in this work? Was it to shew thy liberty, in not always equally exercising the power of thy Deity? in that, one while, thine only command shall raise the dead, and eject devils; another while, thou wouldest accommodate thyself to the mean and homely fashions of natural agents, and, condescending to our senses and customs, take those ways, which may carry some more near respect to the cure intended? Or, was it to teach us, how well thou likest, that there should be a ceremonious carriage of thy solemn actions; which thou pleasest to produce clothed with such circumstantial forms?

It did not content thee, to put one finger into one ear; but into either ear wouldest thou put a finger. Both ears equally needed cure; thou wouldest apply the means of cure to both. The Spirit of God is the Finger of God. Then dost thou, O Saviour, put thy finger into our ear, when thy Spirit enables us to hear effectually. If we thrust our own fingers into our ears, using such human persuasions to ourselves as arise from worldly grounds, we labour in vain; yea, these stoppels must needs hinder our hearing the voice of God. Hence, the great philosophers of the ancient world, the learned rabbins of the synagogue, the great doctors of a false faith, are deaf to spiritual things. It is only that finger of thy Spirit, O Blessed Jesu, that can open our ears, and make passage through our ears into our hearts. Let that finger of thine be put into our ears; so shall our deafness be removed, and we shall hear, not the loud thunders of the Law, but the gentle whisperings of thy gracious motions to our souls.

We hear for ourselves, but we speak for others. Our Saviour was not content to open the ears only, but to untie the tongue. With the ear we hear; with the mouth we confess. The same hand is applied to the tongue; not with a dry touch, but with spittle : in allusion, doubtless, to the removal of the natural impediment of speech. Moisture, we know, glibs the tongue, and makes it apt to motion; how much more from that Sacred mouth!

There are those, whose ears are open, but their mouths are still shut to God. They understand, but do not utter the wonderful things of God. There is but half a cure wrought upon these men: their ear is but open to hear their own judgment, except their mouth be open to confess their Maker and Redeemer. O God, do thou so moisten my tongue with thy graces, that it may run smoothly, as the pen of a ready writer, to the praise of thy Name.

While the finger of our Saviour was on the tongue, in the ear of the patient, his eye was in heaven. Never man had so much cause to look up to heaven, as he there was his home; there was his throne. He only was from heaven, heavenly. Each of us hath a good mind homeward, though we meet with better sights abroad: how much more, when our home is so glorious, above the region