inspire us with an unfeigned hatred of sin, and more
especially to convince us of God's hatred to that, for the pardon of
which such a sacrifice was deemed necessary. Now if it actually produce
such an effect, it consequently stimulates us to repentance, and to an
increasing dread of violating those engagements which we have so often
made to lead a better life. Then the contemplation of this stupendous
circumstance will tend to fill our hearts with such a sense of gratitude
and obedience, as will be likely to preserve us from relapsing into
fresh offenses. Again, can any motive operate so powerfully on us toward
producing universal charity and forgiveness? Whatever promotes our love
to God will dispose us to an increased love for our fellow-creatures. We
can not converse with any man, we can not receive a kindness from any
man, nay, we can not receive an injury from any man, for whom the
Redeemer has not died. The remembrance of the sufferings which procured
pardon for the greatest offenses, has a natural tendency to lead us to
forgive small ones."

Lady Belfield said, "I had not indeed imagined there were any practical
uses in an event to which I had been, however, accustomed to look with
reverence as an atonement for sin."

"Of these practical effects," replied Mr. Stanley, "I will only further
observe, that all human considerations put together can not so
powerfully inspire us with an indifference to the vanities of life, and
the allurements of unhallowed pleasures. No human motive can be so
efficacious in sustaining the heart under trials, and reconciling it to
afflictions. For what trials and afflictions do not sink into nothing in
comparison with the sufferings attending that august event, from which
we derive this support? The contemplation of this sacrifice also
degrades wealth, debases power, annihilates ambition. We rise from this
contemplation with a mind prepared to bear with the infirmities, to
relieve the wants, to forgive the unkindnesses of men. We extract from
it a more humbling sense of ourselves, a more subdued spirit, a more
sober contempt of whatever the world calls great, than all the lectures
of ancient philosophy, or the teachers of modern morals ever inspired."

During this little debate, Sir John maintained the most invincible
silence. His countenance bore not the least mark of ill-humor or
impatience, but it was serious and thoughtful, except when his wife got
into any little difficulty; he