great master of nature has, speaking of a natural sense of harmony, which I think with more justice may be said of compassion, that the man who had it not, -Was fit for treasons, stratagems, and spoils : Let no such man be trusted. What divines say of the mind, naturalists have observed of the body; that there is no passion so natural to it as love, which is the principle of doing good; and though instances, like this just mentioned, seem far from being proofs of it, yet it is not to be doubted, but that every hard-hearted man has felt much inward opposition before he could pre-, vail upon himself to do aught to fix and deserve the character and that what we say of long habits of vice, that they are hard to be subdued, may, with equal truth, be said concerning the natural impressions of benevolence,That a man must do much violence to himself, and suffer many a painful struggle, before he can tear away so great and noble a part of his nature. Of this, antiquity has preserved a beautiful instance in an anecdote of Alexander, the tyrant of Pheres, who, though he had so industriously hardened his heart as to seem to take delight in cruelty, insomuch as to murder many of his. subjects every day, without cause and without pity, -yet, at the bare representation of a tragedy which related the misfortunes of Hecuba and Andromache, he was so touched with the fictitious distress which the poet had wrought up in it, that he burst out into a flood of tears, he explication of which incon sistency is easy, and casts as great a lustre upon human nature, as the man himself was a disgrace to it. The case seems to have been this :-In real life he had been blinded with passions, and thoughtlessly hurried on by interest or resentment ;—but here, there was no room for motives of that kind; so that his attention being first caught hold of, and all his vices laid asleep,-then nature awoke in triumph, and showed how deeply she had sown the seeds of compassion in every man's breast; when tyrants, with vices the most at enmity with it, were not able entirely to root it out! our But this is painting an amiable virtue, and setting her off with shades that wickedness lends us; when one might safely trust to the force of her own natural charms, and ask, Whether any thing under heav en, in its own nature, is more lovely and engaging? -To illustrate this the more, let us turn thoughts within ourselves, and for a moment let any number of us here imagine ourselves at this instant engaged in drawing the most perfect and amiable character, such as, according to our conceptions of the Deity, we should think most acceptable to him, and most likely to be universally admired by all mankind, I appeal to your own thoughts, whether the first idea which offered itself to most of our imaginations, would not be that of a compassionate benefactor, stretching forth his hands to raise up the helpless orphan? Whatever other virtues we should give our hero, we should all agree in making him a generous friend, who thought the opportunities of doing good to be the only charm of his prosperity: we should paint him like the psalmist's "river of God" overflowing the thirsty parts of the earth, that he might enrich them, carrying plenty and gladness along with them. If this was not sufficient, and we were still desirous of adding a farther degree of perfection to so great a character, we should endeavour to think of some one, if human nature could furnish such a pattern, who, if occasion required, was willing to undergo all kinds of affliction,-to sacrifice himself,-to forget his dearest interests, and even lay down his life for the good of mankind!-And here,-O merciful Saviour! how would the bright original of thy unbounded goodness break in upon our hearts ! "Thou who becamest poor, that we might be "rich!"-though Lord of all this world, yet " hast "not where to lay thy head!"-and though equal in power and glory to the great God of nature, "yet "madest thyself of no reputation, tookest upon thee "the form of a servant !"-submitting thyself, without opening thy mouth, to all the indignities which a thankless and undiscerning people could offer! and, at length, to accomplish our salvation, "be"camest obedient unto death," suffering thyself, as on this day,*" to be led like a lamb to the slaugh" ter !" The consideration of this stupendous instance of compassion in the Son of God, is the most unanswerable appeal that can be made to the heart of man, for the reasonableness of it in himself:-it is the great argument which the apostles use in almost all their exhortations to good works:-" Beloved, if "Christ so loved us," the inference is unavoidable; and gives strength and beauty to every thing else which can be urged upon the subject. And, * Preached on Good Friday, therefore, I have reserved it for my last and warmest appeal, with which I would gladly finish this discourse, that at least for their sakes for whom it is preached, we might be left to the full impression of so exalted and so seasonable a motive. That by reflecting upon the infinite labour of this day's love, in the instance of Christ's death, we may consider what an immense debt we owe to each other; and by calling to mind the amiable pattern of his life, in doing good, we might learn in what manner we may best discharge it. And, indeed, of all the methods in which a good mind would be willing to do it, I believe there can be none more beneficial, or comprehensive in its effects, than that for which we are here met together; -the proper education of poor children being the groundwork of almost every other kind of charity, as that which makes every other subsequent act of it answer the pious expectation of the giver. Without this foundation first laid, how much kindness in the progress of a benevolent man's life is unavoidably cast away! and sometimes where it is as senseless as the exposing a tender plant to all the inclemencies of a cruel season, and then going with sorrow to take it in, when the root is already dead. I said, therefore, this was the foundation of almost every kind of charity;-and might one not have added, of all policy too? since the many ill consequences which attend the want of it, though grievously felt by the parties themselves, are no less so by the community of which they are members; and, moreover, of all mischiefs, seem the hardest to be redressed, insomuch, that when one considers the disloyal seductions of popery on one hand, and, on the other, that no bad man, whatever he professes, can be a good subject, one may venture to say, it had been cheaper and better for the nation to have borne the expense of instilling sound principles and good morals into the neglected children of the lower sort, especially in some parts of Great-Britain, than to be obliged, so often as we have been within this last century, to rise up and arm ourselves against the rebellious effects which the want of them has brought down even to our doors. And, in fact, if we are to trust to antiquity, the truth of which in this case, we have no reason to dispute, this matter has been looked upon of such vast importance to the civil happiness and peace of a people, that some commonwealths, the most eminent for political wisdom, have chose to make a publick concern for it; thinking it much safer to be entrusted to the prudence of the magistrate, than to the mistaken tenderness, or natural partiality of the parent. It was consistent with this, and bespoke a very refined sense of policy in the Lacedæmonians (though, by the way, I believe, different from what more modern politicks would have directed in like circumstances) when Antipater demanded of them fifty children, as hostages for the security of a distant engagement, they made this brave and wise answer: They would not, they could not consent: -they would rather give him double the number of their best grown-up men.'-Intimating, that, however they were distressed, they would choose any inconvenience rather than suffer the loss of their country's education; and the opportunity. (which if once lost can never be regained) of giving their youth an early tincture of religion, and |
