examination, that the lower ranks of society are no more excluded than the higher from the power and opportunity of being charitable; and that those who seem to you to have nothing to give may as well abide, at the last, a scrutiny into the ministering to the necessitous, as others who have large incomes at their disposal, and can take the lead in all the bustle of philanthropy. And we reckon it a beautiful truth, that from the fields and work-shops of our country may be sent to the platform of judgment the most active and the most self-denying of the benevolent; and that, however in this world the praise of liberality is awarded only to those who can draw out their purse and scatter their gold, our peasants and our artisans may be accounted hereafter the largest contributors to the relief of the afflicted, and the donations which they have wrung out with overtasked limb weigh vastly down in the balance of trial the more shewy gifts which the wealthy dispense from their superfluities, without trenching it may be on their luxuries. The man who endows an alms-house out of a well-stocked purse has a formidable rival in alms-giving in the labourer who struggles night and day to keep out of that alms-house: and when charity is estimated, as at least it shall be, by the proportion which the gift bears to the purse, we can believe, that he who reared the asylum and put over it his coat of arms, may be a hundred lower down in the scale of the charitable, than one who rather than claim the succours of that asylum wears away an old age in constant toil and on scanty allowance.

Now you may all see, that the view thus given of the power possessed by the poor of acting out to the letter the precept of our text, is fairly introductory to an appeal on behalf of a District Visiting Society. You know the grand proposed object to be, that of withstanding that march of pauperism beneath which our country already groans to the very centre. Independence has been drained out of our lower population, and that too (especially in our agricultural districts) by the misapplication and mal-administration of poor laws; and now our peasantry, who ought to be the sinews of the kingdom, lies like a dead weight on its energies, and threatens, by its ever-increasing pressure on all the property of the state, to do what is far beyond the power of foreign invadersreduce England into a wrecked and paralysed thing, crippled by her children, though she could not be crushed by her enemies. And in proportion therefore as you can lead the poor to habits of industry and forethought, and thus keep them from applying (as such habits would have kept nine-tenths of the existing paupers) from applying to the parish, you deserve to be classed with the best benefactors of your country; there being no patriot who in these days could work such deliverance for an oppressed land, as he who should devise means for introducing amongst the lower orders a firm resolve to eat not the bread of charity till they must eat it or starve. We shall not presume to say, that our district society has been such a machinery as we could wish for giving a healthful tone to the poor population of this neighbourhood; but nevertheless we believe, that in many instances, our machinery has been made instrumental in teaching the labouring classes (and this is the great point after all) to develope their own resources, whilst in other instances by well-timed assistance they have prevented that application to the parish which, though destitution renders it inevitable, can hardly be made, even once, without a fracture in the spirit of independence without, that is, a moral injury to the individual, which through long-after ages may never be repaired. Of course, in numerous cases, our society has done nothing, as to temporal matters, but relieve existing distress.

If our field of operation were a district of peasants who had never been helped on by charity, we might, under God's blessing, by encouraging them and directing them to be industrious and provident, cause that none of that number ever degenerate into paupers. But when we enter on ground already tenanted by pauperism, it were something too harsh to tax our society with failure, if in a variety of instances the amount of its success be the giving aid to the suffering. We have therefore the same confidence as in former years in commending this institution to your liberal support, as one every way worthy your support by the excellence of its design and the effectiveness of its operations. The funds of our society depend much on this annual appeal, and if you respond not to it with your accustomed liberality, we must be crippled in our energies through the on-coming year.

We are persuaded that in saying this we say enough. We would only add, that the words of our text when applied to the better classes of society, give a standard of benevolence which few of us can pretend to have approached. A man is to bestow what he has procured by his labour, or he is to labour for the very purpose of gaining something which he may give. What is this but saying, that in being charitable a man must make a sacrifice? It is not said, "Give our superfluities," but "Give our toil:""Work, that you may have to give to him that needeth." And who is there comparatively amongst the most liberal Christians who can be said to feel what he parts with? What labour does it cost him? The labour of working an extra hour? The labour of foregoing the gratification of a single article of luxury? Let each man answer for himself whether it is any labour to him to be charitable. He may give his guineas, but does he in any manner want those guineas? Does he deny himself any thing in order that he may have these guineas to give? We only state what appears implied in our text, when we declare that the charity required by the gospel is the charity which costs us something. Some purses are so large that a great deal may be taken out, and never be missed; but surely the giver of this great deal ought not to be canonised as a prodigy of Christian beneficence, seeing that he foregoes nothing for Christ which he has the least use of for himself. We commend this to your earnest consideration. Would to God that all of us might regard ourselves as only the stewards of our Maker, so that whether we possess money, or talent, or influence, we might have constantly before us that strict and solemn account which we must one day render of the advantages deputed to our keeping. The possession of these advantages involves an awful responsibleness, and the man of large wealth, oh how easy for him to be just paving hell with his gold: the man of mighty intellect, (and he who envies distinguished talent envies distinguished danger) it were better he had been born an idiot, than misapply his intellect; a misapplied intellect is a furnace seven times heated: and the man of influence, let him use that influence except in the service of Christ, and its every iota gives new severity to the torments which are hereafter to be let loose upon the ungodly. May these truths be laid deeply upon your hearts. We cannot possess an advantage which may not be turned into the worst of curses. God demands the right use of wealth, and God will exact punishment for the wrong use. Apply now these considerations to the particular case of wealth, and our plates shall be a witness to your resolve, that you will "labour, working with your hands the thing which is good, that you may have to give to him that needeth."

116

FOLLOWING CHRIST AFAR OFF.

REV. J. SHERMAN,

CLAREMONT CHAPEL, PENTONVILLE, JUNE 9, 1831.

"But Peter followed him afar off.-MATTHEW, xxvi. 58.

O STRANGE alteration within a few short hours! Is this the courageous Peter that said, "I will go with thee to prison and to death? Is this the man, who is now a coward, and afraid to be seen with his Master? Is this the man who brandished his sword over the head of the high priest's servant, now ashamed to be known as the friend of his Master, and to be seen with him?" is man that thou art mindful of him?"

'Lord, what

How beautiful an illustration of the love of Jesus does this history give to us. How pathetically did our Lord inform the disciples of their defection: "All of you shall be ashamed of me this night." And though Peter, who was generally speaker for the rest, said it was quite impossible such thing could ever take place -likewise also said they all-yet the event proved the truth of our Lord's prediction. "Then"-when they arrested him-" the disciples forsook him and fled.” But there is something peculiar in the statement which commends itself to us. Peter followed his Master, but he followed him afar off. He loved his Master, and therefore he followed him; but fear for his own safety prevailed above the love of his Master, and therefore he followed him afar off. But mark why on this occasion he followed him afar off. He had arrived from some considerable distance, near the court; and he went in, and sat with the servants. He should have gone into the court to speak for his Master; he wanted a friend then, and there was no one to lift up a voice for him; and there was this man who had said so much how he would befriend him, how impossible it was to leave him— there was this man going and sitting with idle, ignorant people-not to reprove them for their wickedness, but because there was a warm fire there on a cold day. And what was his motive? It was to see the end. This is expressly told us; he went in to see the end. Curiosity, not conscience, prompted him to go and seek his Master. He followed him, but he followed him as a stranger, little interested about it. He followed him, but not as an intimate friend, to whom he had professed himself attached. He followed him, therefore, afar off.

How does this draw the portrait of some that hear me to-night? Oh, beloved, you love Christ; there is the testimony of your conscience that you love him; but you follow him afar off. The same simple sentence that describes Peter's condition would just finish your own portrait: you follow Christ, but you follow him at a distance, and at a very great distance. Love prompts you to go forward, but the fear of shame, connected, perhaps, with worldly associations, tempts you to follow him at a great distance. Now if this be the case. bear with

me while I attempt to draw your minds into a little nearer allegiance with the Friend of sinners, a little closer communion with your precious souls, and a little more delight in his presence. For this purpose, favour me with your devout attention and prayers while we attempt to show three things. First, the symptoms of following Christ afar off. Secondly, the consequences of following Christ afar off. Thirdly, the remedy for following Christ afar off.

Let us observe THE SYMPTOMS OF FOLLOWING CHRIST AFAR OFF.

One of the first symptoms is a gradual departure from him. Although Peter's following Christ afar off was rather sudden, it had its gradations; it had its depths; it did not take place all at once. There were many steps before he began to follow Christ at this sad distance: and the first step was self-confidence. "I will go with thee to prison and to death," said Peter. Jesus answered him—" Thou knowest not what thou sayest. Wilt thou go with me to prison and to death? I tell thee, before the cock crow twice thou shalt deny me thrice." "I deny thee!" said Peter. What, deny my Lord and Saviour! Impossible: "though I should die with thee, I will never deny thee."

The second step was an ignorant zeal for Christ, and the use of carnal weapons in his cause. When the band approached, the disciples asked, "Lord, shall we smite with the sword?" But before our Lord could give an answer, Peter's sword was lifted up, and the ear of the high priest's servant was cut off. He waited not for an answer; he waited not for directions from his Lord, but took the weapons in his own hands, and directly executed that for which he should have waited directions, that he might do it in a proper manner, at a proper season, or not at all. Our Lord, you perceive, checked this ignorant zeal: "Put up thy sword again into its place; for all they that take the sword shall perish with the sword." "And Jesus answered and said, Suffer ye thus far. And he touched his ear, and healed him." Suffer ye thus far-pity my servant; he did it in ignorance; I will heal the man: and he healed him. The next step was an abandonment of the cause he had espoused. "Then all the disciples forsook him, and fled." And Peter, among the rest, forsook him; and forsook him when the Lord most needed him-forsook him when his presence might have been some service to him in the court. He should have gone there and spoken for him; but. when the test of his discipleship was about to be proved, then he forsook him and fled. And, beloved, our following Christ at a distance generally commences in private, in a vain conceit of our own importThe humble soul walks with God in humble dependence upon him; and because it feels its own weakness, cleaves the closer to him for strength. But the moment our confidence and conceit begin to arise in the mind, then we begin to follow him afar off. This has been proved in the experience of hundreds. There are some of us who say, when a brother sees something in our character which will be injurious to us, which is drawing us off from the Son of God, and tells us what shall befall us in the last days-like Hazael, we say, "Is thy servant a dog that he should do this thing?"—it is impossible that this can happen. But let only a few temptations come, suitable to draw us away; let only a few parallel circumstances to those of Peter come in our way; and, instead of following Christ closely, we shall follow him afar off.'

ance.

Another symptom of following Christ afar off is a disinclination to commune with him. How precious should these few moments have been to Peter, especially when our Lord had told him he was about to leave the world. But, instead of cleaving to him to gain all the instruction he needed, he followed him afar off

Prayer is the Christian's privilege, the happy element in which he ought always to live. And when he does, the graces of the Spirit triumph, Jesus Christ is precious, the word of God is prized, the ordinances of his house are delightful, and every thing is to him like the garden of the Lord. I need only to refer you to those moments when the first glances of heavenly light beamed on your mind, and showed you your sins were forgiven. How precious was the closet then! How sweet were the moments you spent in communion with the Son of God! What fervency, what happiness, what constancy in prayer-what delight in communion you then felt! Is this the case now? Are these the symptoms when you follow Christ afar off? No; the case is, indeed, very much altered. It is true, there is the bended knee; you follow him, perhaps, externally, and to all appearance; but then it is afar off. There is the bended knee, but where is the broken heart? There is the sacrifice, but where is the fire? There is the altar, but where is the victim? Oh, it is another man, it is a different being; the temper and conduct are altogether different: he is a stranger to that impassioned eloquence in prayer, and that fervour with God, which he once happily felt. To have a dumb, cold, careless, lifeless heart in prayer, is a sad symptom of our being at a distance from Christ; for who can be near the fire, and not be warmed? Who can live in the beams of the sun, and not feel its enlivening heat? Who can live in the light, and not see the way in which he is walking? But when the contrary is the case, how sad is our state: we follow him afar off. Another symptom of following Christ at a distance is an indifference to meet him at public ordinances. In the earlier stages of Christian experience, or in the after stages of it, when it is sweetly illuminated by the Spirit of God, how delightful is the sanctuary! The man thirsts, and pants, and longs to be in the house of God, and among the children of God. "One thing," says the Psalmist, "have I desired of the Lord, that will I seek after; that I may dwell in the house of the Lord for ever, to behold the beauty of the Lord, and to inquire in his temple." But when he follows him afar off, there is a different feeling. You will see the seat occupied, as it was formerly; but, perhaps, the individual comes late to time, (for one of the first effects is a disinclination to observe those more private parts of worship in which worship really consists.) But you will observe, that though the same individual occupies the pew, yet he is indeed a different man; he does not bring the same heart with him; he is a different person in his feelings and anxieties; he is a man altogether different from what he was. He comes now not as he did formerly. Formerly he came as a hungry man, to receive food-now with a critical taste. Formerly the heavenly manna, the simple doctrines of the cross, Jesus Christ, and him crucified, were the very joy of his heart-now he must have the quails from the wilderness, something which is suited to his polluted taste, something which is not quite according to the spirituality of mind he formerly enjoyed. Then you see what sad effects these produce on the mind, if the appetite for divine food is gone, if that hungering and thirsting after righteousness is lost. What can be the state of mind when this is the case? Perhaps, some of you say, I have not arrived so far as this yet. Bless God, if you have not. But let me ask you, Is the word of God as precious-is Christ as precious-are the ordinances of God's house as precious-is the Bible as precious-as they were formerly? If they are not, beware; you are following Christ at a distance; and the distance is likely to increase.

Another sad symptom of following Christ afar off is, an attempt to stretch Christian liberty to the utmost. Decision of character is the blessed criterion of young followers of the Lamb: the change from darkness to light is so con