Is it possible that a book, at once so sublime and simple, should be the work of men? Is it possible that he, whose history it accords, should be himself a mere man? Is this the style of an enthusiast, or of an ambitious sectary? What sweetness, what purity in his manners! what affecting grace in his instructions! what elevation in his maxims! what profound wisdom in his discourses! what presence of mind, what delicacy, and what justness in his replies! what empire over his passions! Where is the man, where is the philosopher who knows how to act, to suffer and die, without weakness and without ostentation? When Plato paints his imaginary just man, covered with all the ignominy of guilt, and deserving all the honors of virtue, he paints Jesus Christ in every stroke of his pencil! Their semblance is so strong that all the fathers have perceived it, and it is not possible to mistake it. What prejudices, what blindness must they have, who draw a comparison between the son of Soproniscus and the son of Mary?What distance is there between the one and the other? As Socrates died without pain and disgrace, he found no difficulty in supporting his character to the end; and if this easy death had not shed lustre on his life, we might have doubted whether Socrates, with all his genius, was anything but a sophist. They say that he invented morality. Others before him had practiced it; he only said what they had done, he only read lessons on their examples. Aristides was just, before Socrates explained the nature of justice. Leonidas had died for his country, before Socrates had made it the duty of men to love their country. Sparta had been temperate, before Socrates praised temperance. Greece had abounded in virtuous men, before he had defined virtue. But where could Jesus have taken among his countrymen that elevated and pure morality of which he himself furnished both the precept and the example? The most lofty wisdom was heard from the bosom of the most furious fanaticism, and the simplicity of the most heroic virtues honored the vilest of all people. The death of Socrates, serenely philosophizing with his friends, is the most gentle that one can desire; that of Jesus expiring in torments, injured, derided, reviled by a whole people, is the most horrible

that one can fear. When Socrates takes the poisoned cup he blesses him who presents it, and who at the same time weeps. Jesus, in the midst of a horrid punishment, prays for his enraged executioners. Yes, if the life and death of Socrates are those of a philosopher, the life and death of Jesus Christ are those of a God! Shall we say that the history of the gospel is invented at pleasure? My friend, it is not thus that inen invent; and the actions of Socrates, concerning which there are no doubts, are less attested than those of Jesus Christ. After all, this is shifting the difficulty instead of solving it; for it would be more conceivable that a number of men should forge this book in concert, than that one should furnish the subject of it. Jewish authors would never have devised such a manner and such morality, and the gospel characters of truth; so great, so striking, so perfectly inimitable, that its inventor would be still more astonished than its hero.

I have done Giving.

A GENTLEMAN of high respectability, and a member of the Presbyterian church, made this remark the other day, when informed that an application was about to be made to him in behalf of some charitable object: "I have done giving," said he. When I heard of this remark, it awakened in my mind a train of reflection which I have thought it might not be amiss to communicate through some religious paper.

Done giving! Has he indeed? Why? Has he given all? Has he nothing left to give? Has this disciple done what his master did? Was he rich, and has he become poor for others, that they through his poverty, might be rich? Oh, no! he is rich still. He has the greatest abundance-more than enough to support him in elegance, and to enable him to leave an ample inheritance to his children. What if he has given a great deal? He has not only not impoverished himself, but is probably richer now, through the favor of Providence, than he would have been had he never given anything. Now if by honoring the Lord with his substance, his barns, instead of being emptied, have been filled with plenty, he

had better continue this mode of honoring him. He should rather increase than arrest his liberality.

Done giving? Why? Is there no more need of giving? Is every want abundantly supplied? Is the whole population of our country furnished with the means of grace? Is the world evangelized? Have missionaries visited every shore? Is the Bible translated into every language and distributed in every land—a copy in every family--and every member of every family taught to read it? Are the accommodations for widows and orphans as ample as they should be? Is there a house of refuge for every class of the human family that needs? or have the poor ceased from the land? Oh, no! There are no such good reasons as these for ceasing to give. Why, then has he done giving? Is it because others do not give as they ought? But what is that to him? Will he make the practice of others his rule of conduct, rather than the precept of Jesus Christ? others do not give, so much the more should he. Will If he add another name to the list of niggards?

Does he feel worse for having given away so much? Has it made him unhappy? Is his experience different from that of the Lord Jesus, who said "it is more blessed to give than to receive?"

Has he, who thinks he will give no more, been led to that conclusion by having found that what has been given hitherto has done no good? And is it so, that no good has been done by all the Bibles published, and all the tracts distributed, and all the missionaries sent abroad into the land and into the world; and all the schools established, and all the children taught to read, all the civilization introduced, and all the asylums opened, and all the poverty relieved? Has no good been done?Good, great good has been done by what has been given, but still more will be done by what will be given hereafter. Bibles can now be printed at a much cheaper rate than heretofore, and the conductors of our charitable operations have learned by experience that economy which can be learned in no other way. And yet at this time, when a dollar goes so far in doing good, here is a man who says, "I have done giving!" If I had his ear for a moment I would ask him if he has done 25

receiving? If God has done giving to him? I would ask him, moreover, if he has done spending, or done boarding, or done wasting? How, if he has not, he surely should not stop giving. When he ceases to waste, to board, and to spend, except for the merest necessaries, then he may stop giving, but never till then.

Done giving! i. e. done lending to the Lord! Done sowing and watering! Done offering the sacrifices, with which God is well pleased! Done making the widow's heart to leap for joy, and bringing on himself the blessing of them that were ready to perish! Well, I am sorrysorry for the sake of the poor, and the sick, and the orphan, and the ignorant, and the heathen. But no less sorry am I for the man's own sake. Poor man! poor with all his affluence; for there is really no one more poor than he, who, with all the ability to give, has not the inclination, He has it in his power to give, but not in his heart. He is enriched with abundance, but not with liberality.

Done giving! Well, then, if he will not give his money, he must keep it. And yet how short the time he can keep it! Had he not better freely give away some of it, than to wait for it all to be torn from him? The thought that he has given, will be at last as agreeable a meditation in his dying moments, as the reflection that he spent, or that he laid up.

I hope that gentleman, who said, "I have done giving," will recall his resolution, and take revenge on himself for having made it, by giving more liberally than ever.

The Sea Captain.

THE stage was crowded with passengers, as it passed from New York to Boston. It was late in the evening, when one of the passengers, a sea captain, endeavored to excite the attention of the drowsy company, by giving a relation of his own situation. He had been to sea in a fine ship; in a dreadful storm, his ship had been wrecked, every cent of his money, and all his property destroyed, and every soul on board had been lost, except the captain, who had saved his life by being on a plank, at the mercy of the waves, for several days together. The com

pany were interested in this narrative; they pitied the poor unfortunate captain, who was returning home to his family entirely destitute; but they wondered that a man relating such a tale, and telling of an escape almost miraculous, should confirm almost every sentence with an oath. Nothing, however, was said to him. In the morning, when the stage stopped, a Mr. B., one of the passengers, invited the captain to walk on before with him, and they would step into the stage when it should come up. The proposal was agreed to. They walked on alone. Says Mr. B., "did I understand you last night-the stage made such a noise: did you say that you had lost your ship?" "Yes." "That all the crew were drowned except yourself?" "Yes." "That you saved your life on a plank ?" "Yes." Let me ask you one more question. "When on that plank, did not you vow to God, that if he would spare your life, you would devote that life to his service?" "None of your business," said the captain, angrily. The stage by this time came up, and they entered it. Towards evening, as the stage was entering Providence, the captain informed the company that he could not sup with them, as he was so unfortunate as not to have any money. Mr. B. takes from his pocket, and offers him a handsome bill. "No," says the captain, "I am poor, yet I am no beggar." "But," replied Mr. B., "I do not give it to you as a beggar, but as an unfortunate brother. You must learn that I profess to le a Christian, and I am taught by my religion to do good unto all men. The gospel prescribes no limit to benevolence; it teaches us to do good to all."

The company applauded, and pressed the captain to take the money. He silently put it into his pocket, without even thanking the donor; though his countenance betrayed uneasiness. The company supped together, and the captain bid each adieu, after having asked Mr. B. when he left town. He was informed, on the morrow at sunrise. They then parted, as was supposed, for ever. The captain went home with a heavy heart; while Mr. B. retired to rest, satisfind that he had honored his Father, who seeth in secret. He was surprised the next morning at day-light, to hear some one rap at the door. He opened it, and beheld the captain standing before him in