THE FOURTH STORMY SUNDAY.

FORGIVENESS.

THE sun rose clearly this morning, on a broad field of pure ice. The hills and the fields were covered with the white, crystal surface. The trees were laden with brilliant hanging icicles. I went to the door, and opened it to look out, and feel the clear, frosty air. I said to myself:

"Some butterflies of snow may float
Down, slowly lingering in the mote;
And silver-leaved and fruited trees
Lose not a jewel in the breeze.
Frost-diamonds tremble on the glass,
Transformed from pearly dew,

And silver flowers encrust the grass
That gardens never knew."

But while I stood looking out, a heavy wind. rose, bringing dark storm-clouds, and before the end of an hour, again a thick snow was falling; and by the time the bells were ringing for church, the roads were quite too impassable for me. And again I was alone.

The

One can easily see that a solitary life would lead to selfishness. Saintine wrote a story to prove that the lonely Robinson Crusoe, though he might have passed through hours of repentance, reached at last a state no higher than that of the brutes. His solitary life made him lose his humanity; his want of duties to others made him forget the duties owing to himself. utter deprivation of society, the being denied sympathy or conversation with another, extinguished all other wants and needs but the physical ones. Instead of being refined, he was brutified; and the late visitors to the solitary island saw its inhabitant flying in terror from the unaccustomed sight of men.

But

This is not the romantic idea of a Robinson Crusoe life, but it may be a true one. We can see somewhat of the same effect, in a modified degree, with those who live a partially lonely life. They may not lose their refinement of character, because they can carry into their solitude books and a refining education of the mind. what they gain in individual strength they lose in self-control, in the power of governing themselves for the sake of yielding to others. We detect in them a selfish fondness of their own ways, an unwillingness to give up to others in the little details of life. And it is the willingness to yield in these smaller details that shows

the influence of a Christian spirit. It is an opportunity for discipline that one who lives in the midst of his own marked-out ways is ignorant of.

We return to our homes, tired with some day's exertion, and find others dependent upon our hearty sympathy, upon our good spirits. We have no time to sit down and nurse our ill-humor. A dispirited word of ours will throw one, two, or more into melancholy, or set them into a state of irritation and discord. We must exercise a direct self-control, thrust away the selfish spirit that would arise, that would lead us to retire within our own troubles, in a fancied hope of rest.

Or we go to see a friend sometimes, when we are in depression ourselves, and want a sympathizing, kind word to excite us. Our burden has grown too heavy for us to bear alone, and now we are going to ask for the assisting hand of a friend. But we are unexpectedly ushered into a sickroom. Instead of finding comfort and cheerfulness, we are asked to bring it. We must suddenly control our own sadness in the presence of one who is not able to bear the expression of it. Our own selfish trouble must give way before the trouble of another, and we must give the very solace that we asked for.

There are very many who will say, that these demands upon our patience have done more to

dissipate our selfish troubles than any dwelling upon them, or brooding over them in our quiet thoughts. The effort for exertion has sent away the languor, and given us strength. In the end, we are grateful to the little interruptions that have only disturbed idle dreamings or selfish plans. We have gained the power of being equal to the present moment, which is a glorious victory, even though that demand seemed petty, and the renunciation it required seemed great.

Sometimes we ask, What right have others to make such demand upon our time, even upon our temper? We question if it is not an infringement upon our liberty. Let us ask ourselves, in turn, if we had this precious liberty of acting unbound by our duties to those around us, should we not use it in limiting ourselves? We should, for instance, scarcely make a better use of our time. It is very probable that we should give the time we have saved from the demands of friends to idleness, to vanity, and to morbid selfishness. And as for our temper, we may be very sure it is of poor metal, if it will not stand the trying, and, sound as it may be, it is of little use if it is kept constantly in the sheath. A few days passed in. solitude may convince us of this. There is very little time gained. The lesser, daily acts of life grow up into greater ones, and require more thought and time. Excitements