sanguine hopes had fixed as its territories. And as a truth placed before us in the abstract is less quick in reaching the heart than if associated with, and illustrated by, individual and collective experience, so truth spoken is not so potent in its results as truth lived. A good man among the good, is as one of the drops on which God paints the rainbow; for good men are to the world its rainbow of divine promise and hope; and the goodness of no man is lost. Every raindrop does its part in dissolving light into cloud; and though we may seem to ourselves like those drops which, falling near our window, make to us no part of the bow, yet we too have our brightness and place, forming part of the arch as seen by somethat arch which the hands of the Most High have blended."* In view of our theme, let us glance again at our Lord and Master. The multitudes flocked around him willingly; the common people heard him gladly.' Wherefore? Doubtless his wondrous miracles, and his yet more wondrous teachings, were magnets which attracted the joyful crowds. But was this all? Had not his life a great share in accomplishing the marvellous result? Assuredly it must have had. His deeds, as well as his declarations of love, his works as well as his words of mercy, not merely his avowals, but his acts of compassion, riveted the popular gaze, and won the reverence of hundreds. He embodied his grand lessons; he incarnated his divine truths. It was his strange, eventful life-humble, but not servile; pure, but not ascetic; fervent, but not fanatic-that exercised such a talisman-like influence on the world. It was his life, in which a power which controlled the forces of universal nature, and a wisdom which caused him to speak as never man spake, were employed by a love whose depths we cannot gauge in securing the interests of humanity, that secured the esteem and made captive the hearts of so many. There is an important teaching for us here. If we would have more of a Saviour's usefulness, we must live more as he did. Only let the Church be 'great in deed as it is in thought,' and it will ere long acquire an influence in society to which it is now a stranger. Respected reader, be this your endeavour -to live well. Men take their views of Christianity from avowed Christians. If the latter display littleness of aim, meanness of spirit, and selfishness of life, the former cannot but sustain an injury. If you would see the name of God revered, and the gospel of God triumphant, you must show by yourself the inexhaustible power of divine truth. In the mart, the market-place, by the fireside, act on the principles, from the motives, and in the spirit of Christianity, and though you may never open your lips in direct appeal on behalf of religion, your whole career will have a noble power for good in society. We have not all learning which we may devote to Christ; we have not all wealth which we can pour into his treasury; few of us have genius which we may consecrate to his service; but we all of us have lives whereby we may honour him and accelerate the progress of his truth. Though we be poor, unknown, illiterate, we * Rev. T. T. Lynch. may thus be real benefactors of humanity, and loyal subjects of the great king. Well said the lamented Talfourd, 'The coarsest reed that trembles on the marsh, If Heaven select it for its instrument, May shed celestial music on the breeze, As clearly as the pipe whose virgin gold T. R. S. The Intercourse of Sympathy.* Br T. T. LYNCH. IN intercourse, we present, as to travellers or our friends, water, and wine, and fruits, and these with a welcome; and not till we become both givers and receivers of such good gifts do we know the honour and joy of our nature. From what we are, and have been, comes what we thus bestow. Our words, that are as the fresh cool water, how wonderful are these. From the spring of our thought there outflows a plentiful stream; but this has risen from dark, unknown depths, and has passed through many strange and secret windings. It consists, too, of drops that fell in summer showers, and of melted snow from off the cold mountains, and even the morning and evening dew have contributed thereto. How often is this pure, sparkling water, from such a stream, better than our spiced wines cunningly prepared, though of these, too, we may sometimes have need! In order to become wisely and spiritually social, we must have power to subordinate our own present mood, and must have generous allowance for the various and varying moods of others; must also practically recognise this truth, that the transient is not therefore unreal, and that the real may yet be transient. And still farther, for the highest intercourse no man is worthily fitted who has not known something of travail of soul. What weeping or sadness such a man may still find necessary, will be private, or chiefly so; and with washed face and clear eyes will he confront the world, joining heartily in solid investigative discourse concerning science, literature, and religion; or in lighter discoursings of music, fashion, and the east wind. But he will not forget or disavow the reality of the grave and sad. These will be sacred to him. He will image to himself sadness as the mother of joy, who dies in giving birth to a son-whose holiest nature is transfused into his-whose memory is hallowed with tenderest love and whose spirit beatified, as the guardian angel of the babe says, reversing ancient words-' Call me no more Mara; call me Naomi, Perhaps it is only right to mention that this article has appeared in print before. It will hardly, however, be known to the readers of the Christian Spectator;' but if it were, they will, we are sure, agree with us that it is worth printing a second time in ten years.-ED. for the bitterness is past, and the Lord hath dealt bountifully with me.' He will thus understand and think rightly of what is deep, tender, and delicate, in human emotion and experience. No such man expects his brother to come knocking at his door for sympathy, like a beggar for pence. Sorrow is of a womanly, retiring nature; it will not seek, but must be sought-it is modest as a maiden-and its veil is silence. It must be treated with gentleness and respect. Oftentimes we have not the will to speak of what is within us, vexing and darkening our heart, though we would that it were known; and when we have the will, the power fails us. We are possessed as by a dumb demon, whose tyranny is yet held by such a law, that if keen, compassionate eyes discover the bondage, the demon rends us sore and departs; the string of our tongue is loosed, and we speak stammeringly. Whilst thus possessed, as we walk among our brethren, our heart moans unheard, crying for deliverance, as if it said, 'Look upon me-consider me; I beseech you cast out this dumb spirit.' Happy the man whose presence is as morning, and whose voice is as a fountain; who, knowing that sadness is hidden, accounts the joy of relieving it as the finding of hid treasure. It is said that wise men make more opportunities than they find-certainly men of a wise benevolence do so; and he who makes opportunities will acquire new power of finding them. He will see through disguises, and guess at hiding-places. His name will be imprinted on his brow; and from him will his nature send forth beams. Withered spirits at his approach will be as Aaron's rod that budded; and hearts opening to him, as flowers to sunshine, will disclose the beauty and delicacy that lies deep within them. If we would truly sympathize with others, we must beware of hastily estimating the manner and degree of their trouble. Often it is unwise and cruel to speak of this as light, and readily to be borne ; and when this is true, it is a keen-edged truth, to be used surgically and with much skill. But often it is very far from true, and is felt bitterly as an undeserved reproach. Agony may be endured with a calm face, yet is it agony. Grief may be in the heart as a rotting, gnawing cancer, while the brow is serene, and power is throned thereon. Let not the cheerfulness of endurance deceive us, for they who bear most bravely often feel most keenly. Comforters must come as inquirers, not judges; come to bestow consolation, not criticism. Coming thus, let them believe in their own power. If their sympathy be but modest and genuine, it is certain to be serviceable. Their words may not be adequate, but they will at least be intelligent. Sorrows, like joys, have such wonderful affinity and resemblance, that if we have profited by our own limited experience, we are fitted to observe and understand very widely. The heart will teach the mind, and thus will the tongue be furnished with suited and comforting words. Truth and love expressed in words, are not only the meat and drink of the spirit, but its medicine also. The invisible spirit is ministered unto by that which is like itself. Thought is the invisible air of life, and words are this air as wind, blowing with coolness and fragrance upon the hot brow. When a gift is needed, or the labour of the hand required, and there is power to bestow these, but it is not done, then only words become valueless. If the mouth testify for the heart, and the hand against it, the witness of the hand is greater, and will be believed. When the tongue fashions words, and the heart gives spirit to dwell therein, they come forth as living things; but words, into which the heart has not breathed, roll from the mouth 'dead corpses.' Living words are a better gift than any material one; but he who will not regard plain vulgar needs, cannot relieve higher ones, and may therefore begone with his 'dead corpses?' Nothing is more surprising and this, like many of our surprises, should be as a hint for grateful and jubilant devotion-than the very great effect of very simple things upon a saddened and darkened spirit. Slight incidents, but especially the mere utterance of a kind saying, will, like a sudden gleam of sunshine, change the great face of things in a moment. A word strikes, as the first quickening beam of love, through the dark winter that enfolds the torpid but waiting heart. Drowning men catch at straws, it is said; but men drowning in the deep tossing sea of their own thoughts not only eagerly seize these 'straws,' but are truly borne up thereby. Every true-hearted man does, in the form of simple words, carry such straws with him, which he may throw hither and thither, and they shall perchance save his brother. So wonderful is the power of words, that it seems sometimes even magical or miraculous. Christ spoke, and the sea was calm; and if his living Spirit be in us, we have power over dark waves of doubt and grief-we speak, and they are still; also, the dimly-seen spirit of fear changes into the spirit of help and consolation, and our brethren's alarm vanishes. How In all our intercourse, let us remember that, with our words as with our face, the effect depends upon the general expression. Eloquence of speech and beauty of countenance are gifts of God; yet, as our heart is, so will our face and so our speech be. Of some countenances you may say-See but the face, and you trust the man. truly, also, may we say of some men's speech-Hear but the words, and you will know the heart. Frigid indeed, and incomplete, would intercourse be, if men and women met socially always with veiled faces; yet we often meet and discourse with veiled hearts. The open face of man answers to the open face of his friend; and when, by free speech, we unveil our own heart, our brethren will unveil theirs; then will there be answering hearts, answering faces, answering speech. We ever draw near to, and appropriate true love, as by instinct. The warm beams of love melt the ice of constricted thought; it flows forth freely in speech as a stream, and the burdened soul is eased. Men of sincere, compassionate, thoughtful nature, will often be surprised at the sudden bursts of confiding utterance with which they are honoured. Upon them, those in need of counsel or consolation will, with gladness, and often suddenly and passionately, throw themselves. Every true man's heart may be in measure what the heart of Christ was and ever remains as the many-chambered caravansary of God, wherein the chilled and weary wayfarers of the world find warmth and refreshing. And not alone in ordinary sorrows do men need the hospitable shelter and entertainment of a brotherly heart. There are few who do not yearn after a confidence, who would not find in another an answer to their own spiritual strifes and moral perplexities. Men long for some one to help them to tell their own tale-one to whom they can utter those brief, abrupt words, which are as the disclosure to view of that dim, hidden chamber, wherein the candle of the Lord burns, and in which the spirit sits, musing retiredly. Every man, too, of any real worth, dwells in the world, at some or other period of his life, as a forlorn stranger, in diligent search for his spiritual kindred. It may be that a man has had no opportunity to utter such speech as is the most valuable and characteristic product of his mind, because he has not had intercourse with persons who could receive his utterances. The full worth and depth of a man's nature can be shown, at least in glimpses, by intercourse, but not by intercourse with any man, at any time. It is very difficult fully to open heart and mind to another, and so it often happens that a man never gives, by intercourse, a true and complete idea of what he is. If he ventures the utterance of any one of his deep things in the presence of a person whose nature has no like susceptibility, the manner in which it is received brings almost a deathchill over the spirit, or blind, cold words of argument strike upon the face, like a sleet shower from the east on a spring morning. Yet, although this is true, let no man suppose that he is just the person whose depths are unsounded. To what may be deepest in us, others have ever something to correspond. Acting on this belief, we shall find much more in other men than, from careless observation, we could have at all supposed. If we have true souls, and really speak to men out of a fulness within us, so speaking as to show that we care not ourselves to be honoured as the vocal, but rather would aid and relieve the dumb, we shall find many who will delight us with proof that they have a fulness of their own; and if the depth of our own fulness be not known to these, neither is the depth of theirs to us. To offer a man a draught from the fountain of our own heart, and to take one from his, in this interchange there is delight and refreshment. A very humble person may have a true heart-fountain, as streams most fresh and pure rise in lowly places, and flow cleanly among rough stones; and he whose understanding is as the sea, will find often the great tide of his thoughts salt water, with which he cannot quench his thirst, and be ready to accept, with much joy, a cup fresh from a rivulet. The speech even of those who cannot understand us, and our own speech to them, will often greatly invigorate and relieve us, if the men have but real hearts. It is not difference of strength that makes a chasm between the spirit of one man and another— falsehood is the black gulf that yawns between men and separates them. If the sea should sphere itself into a globe, a dew-drop would blend with it, but oil would hold aloof. The weak often, and in all things, help the strong; and the simple faith of unreasoning piety may often |