that it is also the great stumbling-block, or at least one of the stumbling-blocks, in the way of a just and charitable estimate of our fellows, and that is a very serious matter indeed. "I said in my haste," to quote the Psalmist again, "all men are liars." I always think it a very delightful touch when in the story of Sodom and Gomorrah the author makes the Almighty say, "I will go down now, and see whether they have done altogether according to the cry of it; and if not, I will know." Jehovah is not going to accept the rumour offhand, on hearsay, not till He has convinced Himself directly, and in the meantime He is going to suspend His judgment. Would that men and women. acted like that! But we are too often quick to judge, quick to condemn our neighbour unheard, and such haste is of the very essence of sin. Pray, consider how very much all men and women are at the mercy of other people's opinion of them, what deadly and irreparable injury may be done by the thoughtless, eager repetition of ill-natured gossip, passed on from mouth to mouth, and losing nothing in the carrying. It is a strange perversity which makes people so ready— to tell the truth, so pleased—to believe evil of others, to assume as a matter of course that the worst construction that can be placed on any act is likely to be the correct one. I suppose that to indulge in all manner of wanton, unfounded charges and innuendoes against others gives to such persons some of the pleasure of the transgressions they dare not commit themselves, plus a sense of superior righteousness. We had occasion ere this to refer to the Pharisees' special vice their bitter delight in passing condemnation upon others; do what you may, their successors will prove yours to be a sad case, with pious groans and much shaking of heads. "John came neither eating nor drinking, and they say, He hath a devil. The Son of man came eating and drinking, and they say, Behold, a gluttonous man and a winebibber, a friend of publicans and sinners!" There is no pleasing a settled disposition to misinterpret, to think ill; nor, to be quite candid, is there any reason why one should try. Not that I advise a mere policy of ignoring malicious evil-speaking-few of us are so placed that we can really afford to disregard whatever may be said concerning us; rather would I advocate an absolutely unflinching procedure, and that in order to clear the atmosphere of a vile and poisonous miasma. All decent people must have sympathised with Mr. Winston Churchill, the other day, when he at last brought a libeller to book; just as all decent people sympathised with King George when he took the same step, and sued in the courts of his country like any private citizen to clear his private honour from the unscrupulous aspersions made upon it. But surely Christian men and women are open to different methods of persuasion. It is our haste that inclines the balance unfairly in our judgments; and "he that hasteth "-whether with feet or tonguesinneth," or is apt to sin. The trouble is with men's desire to believe evil; this is what makes them accept unsifted rumours, which investigation would many a time entirely dispel. It seems to me that Christian wisdom, to say nothing of Christian charity, will nine times out of ten, when an unkindly or injurious story reaches us, make us unwilling to credit, and exceedingly reluctant to pass it on; we shall in no case do the latter unless we have convinced ourselves that it is true-no, even that is far from being a sufficient justification: we shall observe silence unless there is some positive moral obligation to act otherwise. We seldom can know all, or anything like all, the facts of any case; and "who art thou that judgest another's servant?" is a good motto to remember. Let us be slow to judge, slow to condemn, slow to cast stones— a dreary and hazardous amusement. Finally, if the desire for swiftness be very strong within us-well, I am not an advocate of standing still, and there are any number of things we cannot be swift enough about. Ah, yes, let us be quick in composing unhappy feuds, in closing up enmities and disputes-life is too short for them. Let us be quick in acknowledging God's mercies towards us, and turn them to best account, thus showing our gratitude to the Giver. Let us be quick in storing minds and memories with things fair and lovely and noble in nature and art, in books and song, for those are incorruptible treasures. Let us be quick in putting our Christian discipleship into practice, and, being filled with the constraining love of Christ, bring gladness and hope, laughter and praise, into some other lives. The time passes, and we shall not come this way again. Says the unbeliever, "Let us eat and drink and be merry, for to-morrow we die." Says the Christian, "Let us give thanks and join hands and work, for to-day we are alive." XV THE FEAR OF MAN "The fear of man bringeth a snare."-PROV. xxix. 25. THE story we have been reading from the Gospel again this morning is one that furnishes its own comment. It is a lamentable example of human frailty and defeat. Here is a man who had not only professed the utmost loyalty, but had done so "exceeding vehemently "—no doubt meaning all he said; yet within a few hours he is so utterly disconcerted by the chaff and chatter of a gossiping servant-maid that he denies with oaths and curses any knowledge of the Leader he had vowed to follow to the very death. He was simply demoralised by panic. A moment later he knew what he had done, and we can well believe that his repentance was as vehement as his former protestations of staunchness. Sobbing and bitterly ashamed Peter passes from the ruddy glare of the fire in the court-yard into the outer darkness that matches the darkness within his heart. History records no more pitiable instance of that "fear of man fear of man" which, as the wise old writer tells us, "bringeth a snare." It is easy enough to express our disapproval of Peter's cowardice; at the same time, let us remember that he acted under one of the most elemental of impulses, unnerved and unbalanced by terror. If we try to picture to ourselves the life of primitive man, we see it overshadowed by perpetual fear. We sing in accents of triumph and hope about That universe, how much unknown, but to our ancestors the matter did not present itself at all under such a hope-inspiring aspect. They were afraid—always afraid-of the nature-forces they did not understand, of the way in which winds and rain, drought and lightning might behave, destroying their crops, their dwellings, endangering their lives, all seemingly in mere sport. Primitive man was quite assured that the powers which presided over this puzzling world were either malicious or at least quite irresponsible and arbitrary, and his one endeavour was directed to discovering means of procuring their favour. For a long, long time this notion survived in man's mind, viz., that the world was his foe, and the gods themselves grudged him happiness and success, delighting in the discomfiture of poor mortals, mocking their hopes and bringing them to undeserved disaster that, and that alone, is the theme of such sagas as those of Edipus or the Nibelungs-terror broods over them, the sense of a dark, hostile fate ordained by heaven to pursue men and lure them to their inevitable doom. Only little by little man learns that he inhabits a friendly world, fitted and prepared to satisfy his every want-that its forces wait to minister to him as faithful servants as soon as he takes the trouble to understand them; only by slow degrees does he cease to feel hunted, and come to believe that the laws of nature are to be trusted as steadfast and immutable-to be feared by none except |