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is desired the gift should be to God and not to man-or when luxury abridges itself of some of its indulgences, or fashion puts aside some of her needless ornaments, or industry supplies by activity her lack of means, it is because God requires, and because God accepts it as an offering of our hands; and because we feel ourselves withal but the stewards of his bounty, holding our good things but as the dispensers of them to the needy, and giving to him in the persons of his creatures, what in fact is his own, though he is pleased to acknowledge the gift as if it had been ours-if an unfashionable and stigmatized cause be as sure of our support, if we believe it to be a good one, as if the whole world approved it; and ingratitude, and illsuccess, however painful, cannot chill the ardour of a charity, of which success and gratitude were not the primary objects-and if, when we have given the dole of charity, or performed the task, or made the sacrifice, the secret satisfaction we enjoy is not from having earned a fellow-creature's love, or added to our store of fancied merit, but simply from the hope of having pleased our Father which is in heaven-if our most valued reward is his smile, our most desired recompense is his approbation-then He who sees these deeply hidden secrets which man can never come at, though yet in fact he owes us nothing, is pleased to consider himself our debtor for the reward-he will leave us, for the present, to go on our way with others, engaged in the same objects and pursuing them by the same means -men will perceive no difference between our charity and the charity of the world—but at the last great distribution of immortal glory, openly and in the presence of assembled worlds, He will declare that we have gained the prize we ran for-that our charities have not had their reward, inasmuch as our object in them was himself, something far above and far beyond this sublunary sphere. It is then he will say, "Inas

much as for my sake ye did it unto the least of these, ye did it unto me-Behold, my reward is with me."

Thus, agreed as for a moment they seemed, the charity of a disciple of Christ proves to be as widely different from the charity of the Pharisee, as is his character in every other respect; and though walking together and acting together, the principle and the issue both are different: each one has his own reward-that he earns and that he chooses-but the rewards are not the same: one worked for earth and has his recompense of earth-the other worked for God and has his recompense of God. We have dwelt with more willingness on this text, because there never was a time in which we so much needed to dwell upon it, and inscribe it on our hearts as a warning, and as a rule by which to take measure of ourselves. It is impossible not to perceive the good that must result to the community by the combining of forces that divided could perform but little, and throwing our impotent mites into a fund that, concentrated, becomes all-powerful. But we must look to it, each one for ourselves, that the general benefit be not an individual mischief, and while the world reaps the good, that our spirits do not reap the evil. The left hand, alas! is no longer a stranger to the right-hand's gifts; for they are printed and circulated from one end of the kingdom to the other. Good comes of this too-for example is good-and the open acknowledgement of a righteous cause is goodbut I fear the good is not to us; and without great carefulness, it will be positive evil to us. We have already overpassed the letter of our Saviour's precept-and if ever we suffer this publicity of our benevolence from any motive but the right one, we have set aside the spirit too, and can have no reward of our Father which is in heaven. Collectively, we cannot but look on these things with approbation—individually, we would have each one warned how they mistake benevolence for religion, and the service of their fellow-creatures for the service of Christ.



(Continued from page 43.)

THE Country was now at peace, the throne was declared vacant, and the only question that remained, was how to fill it. William showed very plainly his own determination to be king, though he affected to leave the nation free to choose. It was by some proposed to inquire into the birth of the infant heir, and if established, to make William only regent to govern in his name. But the infant was in the hands of foreigners and papists, and no security would thus be gained to the kingdom and the church. Some would have made William king alone. To this William appears to have had no objection, since Burnet says, "He spoke of it to me as asking my opinion about it, but so that I plainly saw what was his own: for he gave me all the arguments that were offered for it; as that it was most natural that the sovereign power should be only in one person; that a man's wife ought to be only his wife; that it was a suitable return to the prince for what he had done for the nation; that a divided sovereignty was liable to great inconveniences; and though there was less to be apprehended from the princess of any thing of that kind than of any woman living, yet all mortals were frail, and might at some time or other of their lives be wrought on." This plan was rejected as unjust in every way, invading the rights both of Mary and the princess Anne. "The princess continued all the while in Holland, and came not to England till the debates were over. The prince's enemies gave it out, that she was kept there by order, on design that she might not come over to England to claim her right. So parties began to be formed, some for the prince and others for the princess: and one

was sent over to the princess, and gave her an account of the state of the debate, and desired to know her own sense of the matter; for if she desired it, he did not doubt but they could carry it for setting her alone on the throne. She made him a very sharp answer: she said she was the prince's wife, and would never be other than what she should be in conjunction with him and under him; and that she would take it extreme unkindly, if any, under pretence of their care for her, would set up a divided interest between her and the prince."

William, after long reserve and affected indifference, declared that he would neither be regent for the prince of Wales, nor nominal king in right of his wife-in short, that he would either have the government as his own, or return to Holland-for he knew well they could not do without him. This declaration and Mary's firm rejection of the crown, brought the debates to a conclusion-the throne was declared vacant by James' abdication, and William and Mary were desired to accept it, as king and queen, the administration being given into the hands of the king. The succession was settled on the protestant heirs of the two princesses, so as to prevent the accession of any papist to the throne, James and his heirs being for ever excluded. Whatever might be thought of the justness of this settlement, the expediency of it was so apparent, that all parties in the state bent their consciences to compliance, and took the oaths of allegiance. Those who could not exactly admit that James had abdicated, or that his people had a right to depose both him and his heirs, considering him still as king de jure, as it was called, the lawful sovereign, per- suaded themselves that it was yet their duty to obey William as king de facto, the sovereign in actual possession and thus with the help of a little sophistry and a little evasion, all parties contrived to acquiesce in an arrangement that was for the interest of all. The family of Stuart being fortunately extinct, the question now only remains as a subject of harmless disputation; while

we are in the full enjoyment of the benefits resulting from the arrangement-had they still lived to urge their claims, the question would probably have never been at rest. It is impossible not to perceive throughout the interference of God for the preservation of protestantism.

"All things were now made ready for filling the throne, and the very night before it was to be done, the princess arrived safely. It had been given out, that she was not pleased with the late transactions, both with relation to her father, and the present settlement. Upon which the prince wrote to her, that it was necessary at first she should appear so cheerful, that nobody might be discouraged by her looks, or be led to apprehend she was uneasy by reason of what had been done. This made her put on a great air of gaiety when she came to Whitehall, and as may be imagined, had great crowds of all sorts coming to wait on her. "I confess I was one of those that censured this in my thoughts," adds the historian-“I thought a little more seriousness had done as well when she came into her father's palace, and was to be set on his throne next day. I had never seen the least indecency in any part of her conduct before; which made this appear to me so extraordinary, that some days after I took the liberty to ask her, how it came that what she saw in so sad a Revolution, as to her father's person, made not a greater impression on her. She took this freedom with her usual goodness; and she assured me that she felt the sense of it very lively on her thoughts. But she told me that the letters that had been writ to her obliged her to put on a cheerfulness, in which she might perhaps go too far, because she was obeying directions, and acting a part which was not very natural to her."

We have now to consider Mary as queen of England -a most unenviable greatness under the circumstances in which she became so, and at a period of so much disorder and corruption. & A peaceful reign was not to be expected, and though William kept his throne se

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