Luke viii. 26–39.

“And when he went forth to land, there met him out of the city a certain man, which had devils a long time, and ware no clothes, neither abode in any house, but in the tombs.”

I imagine that this demoniac was not only an object of pity, but he was really a terror in the country. So terrific was his appearance, so dreadful and hideous his screams, so formidable, frightful, and horrid his wild career, that all the women in that region were so much alarmed that none of them dared go to market.

And what made him still more terrible was the place of his abode: It was not in a city, where some attention might be paid to order and decorum—(though he would sometimes ramble into the city as in this case.) It was not in a town, or village, or any house whatever, where assistance might be obtained in case of necessity; but it was among the tombs, and in the wilderness—not far, however, from the turnpike road. No one could tell but that he might jump at them, like a panther, and scare them to death. The gloominess of the place made it more awful and solemn. It was among the tombs—where, in the opinion of some, all witches, corpse-candles, and hobgoblins abide.

One day, however, Mary was determined that no such nuisance should be suffered in the country of the Gadarenes. The man must be clothed, though he was mad and crazy. And if he should at any future time strip himself, tie up his clothes in a bundle, throw them into the river, and tell them to go to see Abraham, he must be tied and taken care of. Well, this was all right—no sooner said than done. But, so soon as the fellow was bound in chains and fetters, Samson-like, he broke the bands asunder, and could not be tamed.

By this time, the devil became offended with the Gadarenes, and in a pout he took the demoniac away, and drove him into the wilderness. He thought the Gadarenes had no business to interfere and meddle with his property; for he had possession of the man. And he knew, that “a bird in the hand is worth two in the bush.” It is probable that he wanted to send him home; for there was no knowing what might happen now-a-days. But there was too much matter about him to send him as he was; therefore, he thought the best plan would be to persuade him to commit suicide by cutting his throat. But here Satan was at a nonplus—his rope was too short—He could not turn executioner himself, as that would not have answered the design he has in view, when he wants people to commit suicide; for the act would have been his own sin and not the man’s. The poor demoniac, therefore, must go about to hunt a sharp stone, or any thing that he could get. He might have been in search of such an article, when he returned from the wilderness into the city, whence he came when he met the Son of God.

“Jesus commanded the unclean spirit to come out of the man. And when he saw Jesus he cried out, and fell down before him, and with a loud voice said, What have I to do with thee, Jesus, thou Son of God most high? I beseech thee torment me not.”

Here is the devil’s confession of faith. The devils believe and tremble, while men make a mock of sin, and sport on the brink of eternal ruin. To many of the human race, Christ appears as a root out of dry ground. They see in him neither form nor comeliness, and there is no beauty in him that they should desire him. Some said he was the carpenter’s son, and would not believe in him; others said he had a devil, and that it was through Beelzebub the chief of the devils, that he cast out devils; some cried out, Let him be crucified—let him be crucified; and others said, Let his blood be on us and on our children. As the Jews would not have him to reign over them; so many, who call themselves Christians, say that he is a mere man; as such, he has no right to rule over their consciences, and demand their obedience, adoration, and praise. But Diabolus knows better—Jesus is the Son of God most high.

Many of the children of the devil, whose work they do, differ very widely from their father in their sentiments respecting the person of Christ.

“Jesus commanded the legion of unclean spirits to come out of the man.” They knew that out they must go. But they were like Scotchmen—very unwilling to return to their own country. They would rather go into hogs’ skins than to their own country. And he suffered them to go into the herd of swine. Methinks that one of the men who fed the hogs, kept a better look out than the rest of them, and said, “What ail the hogs? Look sharp there, boys—keep them in—make good use of your whips. Why don’t you run? Why, I declare, one of them has gone over the cliff! There goes another! Drive them back.” Never was there such a running, and whipping, and hallooing; but down go the hogs, before they are aware of it. One of them said, “They are all gone!” “No, sure not all gone into the sea!” “Yes, every one of them, the black hog and all! They are all drowned!—the devil is in them! What shall we do now?—what can we say to the owners?” “What can we say?” said another. “We must tell the truth—that is all about it. We did our best—all that was in our power. What could any man do more?”

So they went their way to the city, to tell the masters what had happened. “John, where are you going,” exclaimed one of the masters. “Sir, did you know the demoniac that was among the tombs there?” “Demoniac among the tombs! Where did you leave the hogs?” “That madman, sir—” “Madman!—Why do you come home without the hogs?” “That wild and furious man, sir, that mistress was afraid of so much—” “Why John, I ask you a plain and simple question—why don’t you answer me? Where are the hogs?” “That man who was possessed with the devils, sir—” “Why, sure enough, you are crazy!—you look wild!—tell me your story, if you can, let it be what it may.” “Jesus Christ, sir, has cast out the unclean spirits out of the demoniac; they are gone into the swine; and they are all drowned in the sea; for I saw the tail of the last one!” The Gadarenes went out to see what was done, and finding that it was even so, they were afraid, and besought Jesus to depart from them.

How awful must be the condition of those men who love the things of this world more than Jesus Christ!

The man out of whom the unclean spirits were cast, besought Jesus that he might be with him. But he told him to return to his own house, and show how great things God had done unto him. And he went his way and published throughout the whole city of Decapolis, how great things Jesus had done unto him. The act of Jesus casting so many devils out of him, was sufficient to persuade him that Jesus was God as well as man.

I imagine I see him going through the city, crying—“O yes! O yes! O yes!—Please to take notice of me, the demoniac among the tombs. I am the man who was a terror to the citizens of this place—that wild man, who would wear no clothes, and that no man could bind. Here am I, now, in my right mind. Jesus Christ, the friend of sinners, had compassion on me. He remembered me when I was in my low estate—when there was no eye to pity, and no hand to save. He cast out the devils and redeemed my soul from destruction.”

Most wonderful must have been the surprise of the people, to hear such proclamation. The ladies running to the windows, the shoemakers throwing their lasts one way and their awls another, running out to meet him and to converse with him, that they might be positive there was no imposition, and found it to be a fact that could not be contradicted. “O, the wonder of all wonders! Never was there such a thing!”—must, I think, be the general conversation.

And while they are talking and everybody having something to say, homeward goes the man. As soon as he comes in sight of the house, I imagine I see one of the children running in, and crying, “O, mother! father is coming—he will kill us all!” “Children, come all into the house,” says the mother. “Let us fasten the doors. I think there is no sorrow like my sorrow!” says the broken-hearted woman. “Are all the windows fastened, children?” “Yes, mother.” “Mary, my dear, come from the window—don’t be standing there.” “Why, mother, I can hardly believe it is father! That man is well-dressed.” “O yes, my dear children, it is your own father. I knew him by his walk the moment I saw him.” Another child stepping to the window, says, “Why, mother, I never saw father coming home as he does to-day. He walks on the footpath and turns round the corner of the fence. He used to come towards the house as straight as a line, over fences, ditches, and hedges; and I never saw him walking as slow as he does now.”

In a few moments, however, he arrives at the door of the house, to the great terror and consternation of all the inmates. He gently tries the door, and finds no admittance. He pauses a moment, steps towards the window, and says in a low, firm, and melodious voice—“My dear wife, if you will let me in, there is no danger. I will not hurt you. I bring you glad tidings of great joy.” The door is reluctantly opened, as it were between joy and fear. Having deliberately seated himself, he says: “I am come to show you what great things God has done for me. He loved me with an eternal love. He redeemed me from the curse of the law and the threatenings of vindictive justice. He saved me from the power and the dominion of sin. He cast out the devils out of my heart, and made that heart, which was a den of thieves, the temple of the Holy Spirit. I cannot tell you how much I love the Saviour. Jesus Christ is the foundation of my hope, the object of my faith, and the centre of my affections. I can venture my immortal soul upon him. He is my best friend. He is altogether lovely—the chief among ten thousand. He is my wisdom, righteousness, sanctification, and redemption. There is enough in him to make a poor sinner rich, and a miserable sinner happy. His flesh and blood is my food—his righteousness my wedding garment—and his blood is efficacious to cleanse me from all my sins. Through him I can obtain eternal life; for he is the brightness of the Father’s glory, and the express image of his person: in whom dwelleth all the fullness of the Godhead bodily. He deserves my highest esteem and my warmest gratitude. Unto him who loved me with an eternal love, and washed me in his own blood, unto him be the glory, dominion, and power, for ever and ever! For he has rescued my soul from hell. He plucked me as a brand out of the burning. He took me out of the miry clay, and out of a horrible pit. He set my feet upon a rock, and established my goings, and put in my mouth a new song of praise and glory to him! Glory to him for ever!—Glory to God in the highest!—Glory to God for ever and ever! Let the whole earth praise him!—Yea, let all the people praise him!”

It is beyond the power of the strongest imagination to conceive the joy and gladness of this family. The joy of seafaring men delivered from shipwreck; the joy of a man delivered from a burning house; the joy of not being found guilty to a criminal at the bar; the joy of receiving pardon to a condemned malefactor; the joy of freedom to a prisoner of war, is nothing in comparison to the joy of him who is delivered from going down to the pit of eternal destruction. For it is a joy unspeakable and full of glory.

II. ENTERING THE PORT.

“For so an entrance shall be ministered unto you abundantly into the ever-lasting kingdom of our Lord and Saviour Jesus Christ.”—2 Pet. i. 11.

This language seems to be borrowed from the case of a ship bringing her passengers to port on a pleasant afternoon, her sails all white and whole, and her flags majestically waving in the breeze; while the relatives of those on board ascend the high places, to see their brothers and their sisters returning home in safety from the stormy main. How pleasant to a man who is about to emigrate to the new world, America, when he meets with some one that has been there, and who is well acquainted with the coast, knows the best landing-place, and will accompany him on his passage. “Though I walk through the valley and the shadow of death, I will fear no evil: for thou art with me; thy rod and thy staff they comfort me.” He who passed through death himself, and is Lord of the sea, is our High-priest; and, with his priestly vestments on, he will stand in Jordan’s current till the feeblest in all the tribes shall be safely landed on Canaan’s shore. How delightful must be the feelings of the dying Christian, the testimony of whose conscience unites with the witness of the spirit, to assure him that Jesus has paid his fare: and who knows he carries in his hand the white stone with the new name, to be exhibited on the pier-head, the other side, hard by his Father’s house. This is an abundant entrance, on a fair day, over a fine sea, with a pleasant breeze swelling every sail. “Now lettest thou thy servant depart in peace, for mine eyes have seen thy salvation.”

O how different the entrance ministered to the careless professor—the fruitless and idle—who keeps his hand in his bosom, or leaning upon his implements! Though he may reach the shore with his life, it will be at midnight, surrounded by roaring tempests, full of bitter remembrances and most tormenting fears. Yet, with tattered sails and broken ropes, peradventure he may gain the port; “for the Lord is good, and his mercy endureth for ever.” But who shall describe the condition of the ungodly, driven out to sea in all their wickedness; not even allowed a quarantine within sight of the heavenly Jerusalem, but obliged to drift about, dismantled and disabled, amid the darkness of eternal storms! Oh! to be forced from their moorings at midnight, when they cannot see a handbreadth before them; the thunders rolling; the lightnings flashing; strange voices of wrath mingling with every blast; and the great bell of eternity tolling a funeral knell for the lost soul, through all its dismal, and solitary, and everlasting voyage! Let us flee for refuge, to lay hold on the hope set before us, which hope is as an anchor of the soul, sure and steadfast, grasping the Rock of Ages within the vail!

I see the wicked spirit, like a winged dragon, having a long tail, drawing circles and flying in the air, in search of a dwelling-place. Casting his fiery look upon a certain neighborhood, he spies a young man, in the bloom of his days, and in the strength of his powers, sitting on the box of his cart, going for lime. “There he is,” says the old hellish dragon; “his veins are full of blood, and his bones are full of marrow; I will cast the sparks into his bosom, and will set all his lusts on fire; I will lead him on from bad to worse, until he commit every sin. I will make him a murderer, and will plunge his soul for ever beneath the boiling billows of the great fiery furnace.” With this, I see him descending in all the vehemence of his character—but when close by the lad, the dragon hears him sing,

“When on the cross the Saviour hung,
The mid-day sank in midnight gloom;
When guilty sinners were redeemed,
The midnight burst in mid-day bloom.”

Upon which the dragon cries out, “This place is too dry for me,”—and away he flies.

I see him again, a second time, hovering in the air, and seeking for a resting-place. In a flowery meadow, by a river of clear water, he sees a maiden, eighteen years of age, among the kine, picking up some beautiful flowers, here and there. “Behold her,” says Apollyon, full of hellish joy; “I will poison her mind, and lead her astray from the paths of the Almighty enemy; I will make her a harlot, and will ultimately cast her over the precipice, until she sink for ever in the furnace of divine wrath.” He hastens down; and, approaching the maiden, finds her singing the following stanzas, in a heavenly, transporting frame of mind, and with a voice that might almost melt the rocks:

“Unto the righteous will arrive,
A day of rest serene,
When to their joy they see the Lord,
Without a vail between.“Then from the grave I shall arise,
And take my joyful stand
Among the saints who dwell on high,
Received at God’s right hand.”

“This place is too dry for me,” says the dragon, and off he flies.

From the meadow he ascends like a great balloon, with renewed rage, blowing smoke and fire from his mouth, and threatening damnation to all creation. “I will have a place to rest and dwell in,” says Apollyon, “in spite of the purpose, covenant, and grace of God!” With this he espies an aged woman, sitting at the door of her cot, and spinning on her little wheel. “Ah, she is ripe for destruction,” says the dragon; “I will give her a taste of the burning gall of damnation, and will cast her into the lake that burneth with fire and brimstone.” With this he descends on the eaves of the cot, and hears the old woman, with a trembling voice, but with heavenly feelings, repeat the following beautiful passage: “For the mountains shall depart, and the hills be removed, but my kindness shall not depart from thee, neither shall the covenant of my peace be removed, saith the Lord that hath mercy on thee!” “This place is too dry for me,” says the dragon, and is off again.

It might be thought that all these disappointments would discourage him from prosecuting his infernal designs farther; but not so: he is determined, if possible, to find a dwelling-place. For this purpose he rises again, to mark some spot where he may alight and find a welcome. He sees in a small village a neat and decent house of refreshment. “There,” says he, “will I dwell, and lead to bondage every one that shall cross the threshold, and make him fast in eternal fetters.’” He flies down like lightning, enters the house, and walks into the parlor; but there he finds a company of ministers of the New Testament, returning from an Association, who are talking about the victory of Calvary, and exchanging appointments with each other. The wicked spirit cannot stay within the sound of their voice, but retreats with hasty steps, muttering and growling as he goes,—“This place is too dry for me, I will return to my house from which I came out!”

IV. SATAN AN ANGEL OF LIGHT.

Satan perceived that it would be convenient and advantageous for him to have two suits of clothes. A suit of flaming, impurpled, and blackish red was his raiment since he instigated the rebellion in heaven: this he wears at home. This is the garment that is emblematic of his wrath and cruelty against El-Shaddai. He transformed himself when he tempted the first Adam, and succeeded in casting him down. The Second Adam knew him, when he required him to obey his command, and worship him instead of the true God. The Second Adam would die, rather than eat bread made out of a stone by the command of Satan.

It was in his flaming, bloody, black-red garb that Satan appeared among the persecutors, both pagan and popish, lighting up the funeral fires of the Martyrs. But he soon found it necessary to have a suit of white, descriptive of his cunning and hypocrisy; and he ordered white garments for his servants also, to wear upon certain occasions, when from home upon his expeditions. He met with reception in his white robe, angel like, in many places where he would not have been received at all in his suit of flaming red-black, in which he took the lead at pastimes, Sabbath plays, in taverns, and horse-races. But in his white robe he had an early admittance into many a cathedral, and he appointed some of his servants to offices there.

He also, in his white suit, found his way into the houses of evangelical dissenters, though they profess to have a book which exhibits his devices. Notwithstanding all the watching that had been at the doors, he rushed in to the communion table, as he had done to the consecrated altar of the cathedral, and sowed discord between the minister and the deacons; and he himself undertook the managing matters between them, seated in his chair and vested in his white robe. He forced many to assume a profession, like tares of the field; and some also of his best beloved servants, who were utterly destitute of the love of Christ and the fear of God, he raised into the pulpit, while they were living in secret sins; but they all had a white robe, as white as the sepulchres of the Pharisees, covering all these things. Satan held these up to deceive before the eye of God, and all the terrors of eternity. To sustain them from fainting, he administered unto them his potions from the pitcher of presumption; and hardened their consciences with the hot iron of hypocrisy, heated in the fire of hell. He taught them to persecute religion in the garb of an angel.

Let us not give room to the devil in his white raiment! When he attempts to destroy the character of a brother, he assumes his white robe, and not his murdering garment, pretending to vindicate the glory of God and the cause of justice, asserting that the cause of religion must be cleared; while all this time envy rankles in his heart, notwithstanding his fair pretences, as when the Jews delivered Jesus to be crucified. It was his white garment that Satan wore in the court of Caiaphas, when he charged the true God with blasphemy. This garb, also, his servant Judas wore, when he displayed such zeal and sympathy for the poor, in the case of the ointment at Bethany. Let us ask grace, that we may be able to recognise the devil in his white raiment, as well as in his old black-red garb. He is not so easily distinguished in his borrowed white, as in his own proper suit. Let us cleanse out hypocrisy. Such is our instruction.

V. THE YOUNG CHILD.

Herod said to the wise men, “Go and search diligently for the young child.” The magi immediately commenced their inquiries, according to the instructions they received. I see them approaching some village, and when they come to the gate they inquire, “Do you know any thing of the young child?” The gateman comes to the door; and, supposing them to have asked the amount of the toll, says, “O, three halfpence an ass is to pay.” “We do not ask what is to pay,” reply they, “but, do you know any thing of the young child?” “No; I know nothing in the world,” answers he; “but there is a blacksmith’s shop a little farther on; inquire there, and you will be very likely to obtain some intelligence concerning him.”

The wise men proceed, and when they come to the blacksmith’s shop, they ask, “Do you know any thing of the young child?” A harsh voice answers, “There is no such thing possible for you, as having the asses shod now; you shall in two hours hence.” “We do not ask you to shoe the asses,” say they; “but inquire for the young child, if you know any thing of him?” “Nothing in the world,” says the blacksmith; “but inquire at the tavern that is on your road, and probably you may hear something of him there.”

On they go, and stand opposite the door of the tavern, and cry, “Do you know any thing of the young child?” The landlord, thinking they call for porter, bids the servant attend, saying, “Go, girl; go with a quart of porter to the strangers.” “We do not ask for either porter or ale,” say the wise men; “but something about the young child that is born.” “I know nothing in the world of him,” says the landlord; “but turn to the shop on the left hand; the shopkeeper reads all the papers, and you will be likely to hear something respecting him there.”

They proceed accordingly towards the shop, and repeat their inquiry, “Do you know any thing of the young child, here?” The shopkeeper says to his apprentice, “Reach half a quarter of tobacco to the strangers.” “We do not ask for tobacco,” say the wise men; “but for some intelligence of the young child.” “I do not know any thing of him,” replies the shopkeeper; “but there is an old Rabbi living in the upper end of the village; call on him, and very probably he will give you all the information you desire respecting the object of your search.”

They immediately direct their course towards the house of the Rabbi; and having reached it, they knock at the door; and being admitted into his presence, they ask him if he knows any thing of the young child. “Come in,” says he; and when they have entered and are seated, the Rabbi refers to his books and chronicles, and says he to the wise men, “There is something wonderful about to take place; some remarkable person has been or is to be born; but the best thing for you is to go down yonder street; there is living there, by the river side, the son of an old priest; you will be sure to know all of him.”

Having bid the old Rabbi a respectful farewell, on they go; and reaching the river’s side, they inquire of the by-standers for the son of the old priest. Immediately he is pointed out to them. There is a “raiment of camel’s hair about him, and a leathern girdle about his loins.” They ask him if he knows any thing of the young child. “Yes,” says he, “there he is: behold the Lamb of God, that taketh away the sin of the world! There he is; he will bruise the dragon’s head, and bring in everlasting righteousness to every one that believeth in his name.”

VI. VARIETIES OF PREACHING.

I perceive four strong men on their journey toward Lazarus’ grave, for the purpose of raising him to life. One of them, who is eminent for his piety, says, “I will descend into the grave, and will take with me a bowl of the salt of duties, and will rub him well with the sponge of natural ability.” He enters the grave, and commences his rubbing process. I watch his operations at a distance, and after a while inquire, “Well, are there any symptoms of life there? Does he arise, does he breathe, my brother?” “No such thing,” replies he, “he is still quiet, and I cannot salt him to will—and besides this, his smell is rather heavy.”

“Well,” says the second, “come you out; I was afraid that your means would not answer the purpose; let me enter the grave.” The second enters, carrying in his hand a whip of the scorpions of threatening; and, says he, “I will make him feel.” He directs his scorpion and fiery ministry at the dead corpse; but in vain, and I hear him crying out, “All is unsuccessful; dead he is after all.”

Says the third, “Make room for me to enter, and I will see if I cannot bring him to life.” He enters the grave, and takes with him a musical pipe; it is melodious as the song of love; but there is no dancing in the grave.

The fourth says, “Means of themselves can effect nothing, but I will go for Jesus, who is the resurrection and the life.” Immediately he leaves to seek for Christ, and speedily returns, accompanied by the Saviour. And when the Lord came, he stands in the door of the sepulchre, and cries out, “Lazarus, come forth!” and the dead body is instantaneously instinct with life.

Let our confidence be in the voice of the Son of God. And let us turn our faces toward the wind, and say, “O breath, come from the four winds, and breathe upon these slain, that they may live!”

VII. THE SIX CROCODILES.

Every church-member should learn to hunt a crocodile. The first crocodile is a spirit to search closely for faults, instead of hiding them with brotherly love, according to the directions of the gospel. This is Ham, the old crocodile, that exposed the nakedness of his father, instead of hiding it like Shem and Japheth; for which his father banished him to the river Nilus, where he still remains in Africa, under the curse of his father.

Old pious Eli erred greatly, by allowing his children to enter the sanctuary as crocodiles, by sparing them, and suffering them in their sins, which brought, through these crocodiles, destruction on his house: and in the same manner since upon many congregations,—as the churches of Asia. This is an evil spirit in the mount.

Another crocodile is the spirit of preference. This is the crocodile Judas, who was offended with Jesus in Bethany on account of Mary’s ointment, which she poured on the head of Jesus; and that only because they did not consult him; in revenge for which he turned traitor. He was a selfish miser; and ultimately hung himself, and went to his own place. This crocodile still lurks among the reeds. There are many like him, ready to blame every act of discipline in the church; not that they care so much for the interests of the church, or any belonging to it, but they wish to swallow all up themselves.

Another crocodile is the spirit of Ahithophel, who plotted a cunning artifice to dethrone a person whose heart was with God, and raise Absalom, a wicked man like himself, to the throne in his stead. God turned his counsel into foolishness. He was disappointed—his heart failed—he saddled his ass, and went and hung himself. This was the end of that crocodile.

Another is a spirit to trample and destroy, for the sake of being head. This is the crocodile Joab, who killed Abner, who was better than himself. This crocodile strikes every one who may be in his way under the fifth rib, for the sake of being head himself. But his end came; he lost his life at the horns of the altar, by the sword with which he himself destroyed another.

But, upon looking again, we see the sixth crocodile, and his name is Cain, who would triumph over God and man; without grace, or talents, or faith, or love; and without any sacrifice that has blood in it; and because God will not regard him without faith, he opens his mouth, and sets himself to swallow pious Abel. God delivers him over to the possession of the wicked one.

O brethren, let us prove the spirits, whether they are of God, or of the devil!

I will tell you an anecdote of Mr. Rowlands, of Llangeitho. When he wished to crush the spirit of calumny (the crocodile Ham) which lurked in the church, he said to the slanderer: “Thou sayest, man, that sins must be hunted and exposed, because they are too numerous in the church—and that they ought not be hidden. Be quiet, man. Who art thou? I think I know thy family, and thy eldest brother, even Ham, the son of Noah. His two brothers wished to hide their father’s nakedness, but he would expose it. What reward did they receive for covering their father’s nakedness? The blessing of God and their father. And what reward did thy brother receive? The curse of God and their father. And I doubt not thy reward will be nothing better.”

VIII. ENVIOUS AMBITION.

The forest of Lebanon once held a consultation to choose a king, upon the death of the king, the Yew-tree. They agreed to offer the crown to the Cedar; and if the Cedar should refuse, to invite the Vine and the Olive to office. They all refused the honors for the following reasons. The Cedar refused, “because,” said be, “I am sufficiently high as I am.”—“I would rather,” said the Vine, “yield wine to cheer others, than receive for myself.” And in the same manner, the Olive preferred giving its oil to honor others rather than receive any honors to itself.

All these having refused the honors offered them, they next agreed to call the Thorn to the government; and if he should decline, to choose the Bramble. The White Thorn, in its beautiful dress, received the honor, speaking thus to itself:—“I have nothing to lose but the white coat, and some red berries; and I have prickles enough to hurt the whole forest.” But the Bramble instigated a rebellion against the White Thorn, and kindled the fire of pride in the forest, so that all the trees were set on flame.

Two or three vain and proud men in a peaceful congregation, have, by contending for the preference, disturbed the peace, and obstructed the prosperity of many a church, while there was no more virtue in them than there is of value in the white thorn or prickly bramble.

IX. THE DOVE, THE RAVEN, AND THE EAGLE.

A nobleman had a Dove, a Raven, and an Eagle, belonging to his palace. There was no sociability or fellowship prevailing among them. The Dove fed on its own food, and hid herself in the clefts of the rocks, or in the dove-house near the palace. The Raven fed upon dead carcasses, and sometimes picked out the eyes of little innocent lambs, if she could pounce upon them in a chance place;—she also nestled in the top of the trees. The Eagle was a royal bird, flying very high, but yet of a rapacious character. Sometimes he would not mind eating some half a dozen of the Doves for his breakfast. He thought himself the king of birds because he flew higher than they all. The Doves greatly dreaded his strong beak, his wrathful eyes, and his sharp grappling claws. When the gentleman threw wheat for the Dove on the pavement, the Raven would have a piece of an ear or the foot of a lamb in its beak; and the Eagle was for taking up some little child from the cradle to his nest.

The Dove is the pious diligent Christian; the Raven is the dissolute and difficult to be managed; and the proud, selfish professor is the Eagle. These three characters are too frequently to be found together, and there is no denomination, in church or chapel, without these three birds, if there are any birds at all there. It is impossible for three birds, so different in their dispositions, ever to be happy together. Brethren, pray for the unity of the Spirit in the bond of peace.

THE END.