ter. The crude, unsightly carbon must give itself upon the rack of nature's secret inquisition, if it would shine in diamond beauty, or adorn a royal crown. It is written upon the pages of living matter. The seed cannot refuse the darkness and decay of its field sepulcher and yet receive the enrichment of a glorious harvest. We cannot avoid the cross and yet wear the crown.

It is written in God's Word, "Give and it shall be given unto you, good measure, pressed down, shaken together, and running over." God himself honors this law by filling it full. He is the giver of that "unspeakable gift"; the giver of all good; the giver of all givers. All across the wide, wide sweep from the dust of the ground to the throne and heart of God, this law reads always the same, Giving is gain.

*

* * *

*

Is it right for the giver to think of his gains through giving? Does not such thought color his giving with selfishness? Jesus of Nazareth not only harbored such thoughts but was borne up thereon as by eagle's wings. "For the joy set before him he endured the cross and despised the shame." It is not wrong; it is not selfish. "God loveth a cheerful giver," and it is good to think on that love. It is good to know that "whosoever shall give to drink a cup of cold water only in the name of a disciple * shall in no wise lose his reward." Unselfish Giving is not a giving devoid of self. To eliminate self from giving is as impossible as to eliminate the glory of God from the universe he has made. What then is selfish giving? It is the wrong adjustment of self. It may be so placed as to help, or destroy. Make the centripetal force predominant and you destroy not only the orbits but the planets themselves. Subordinate this force and you lay the foundations of the starry dome, and fill the universe with order and law. In like manner, self made predominant renders true giving impossible. Self subordinated is incense upon glowing coals. The gift without the giver never filled the temple of the soul with the precious aroma of love. No holy place, no high priest in royal robes, no golden censer though enriched with diamonds, can atone for

the absence of incense, and that incense is self rightly placed, self subordinated or sacrificed.

"He gives no gift who gives to me
Things rich and rare,

Unless within the gift he give

Of self some share.

"He gives no gift who gives to me
Silver or gold,

If but to make his own heart glad;
Such gift is cold.

"He gives me gifts most rich and rare
Who gives to me,

Out of the riches of his heart,
True sympathy.

"He gives best gifts who, giving naught

Of worldly store,

Gives me his friendship, love, and trust.

I ask no more."

—Laura Harvey in Demorest's.

In giving the benefit may be transferred in many appropriate forms. That form which first recurs to most minds is money or property. At present there is manifest a wave of benevolence. The endowment of educational institutions, the furthering of benevolent enterprises, and the enlarging of missionary undertakings is characteristic of this quarter of our century. Our multi-millionaires are doing themselves credit in these fields. A host of men and women of smaller means are adopting the ten per cent. rule in their giving. Personal inquiry, well directed, will surprise many readers; first, at the number voluntarily practicing this method; and, next, at the wide range of condition covered by these givers, some being very limited in means; and, in the third place, at their testimony in answer to our proposition, "Does giving enrich the giver?" If you have never had communion with these witnesses, gain it at once. Or, better yet, try the method for yourself. It is an inspiration to meet a nineteenth century business man who

puts into his ledgers the faith of the prophets and the fervent zeal of the reformers. Such can tell of gain through giving as no man can write it. The shadow of such persons is sufficient to make one feel that "it is more blessed to give than to receive." But money is by no means essential to giving. In fact, cash values often dwindle into utter insignificance in the greater giving. Money is powerless in the expression of such a gift as Arnold von Winkelried gave to Switzerland and to the cause of freedom. The blood of our Revolutionary fathers, and the more precious blood of Christ, are valuable beyond the expression of figures and dollar marks. Who has not known some one, perhaps an elder sister, naturally talented, who has given up her classes and her prospective college course with everything which usually inspires young womanhood, in order to care for a large family of motherless brothers and sisters? Thus to grow old and go alone down life's further slope is often the divinest giving. Did not James A. Garfield receive from an elder brother such a gift? And if so, which is now the richer? In home life, in social and political circles, and in the business world are mines of wealth which open to none but the true giver. Darkness can find its way to the sun more readily than the selfish heart to these gold mines of God.

One more question, What proportion exists between a gift and its recompense? It is the ratio between Paul's "light afflictions for a moment," and his "eternal weight of glory." It is the ratio between a few cheering words one dark night spoken on the street, and John B. Gough as he is known and as he is yet to appear. It is the ratio between three-sixteenths of one cent, and that place here and hereafter given by God's books to the widow who cast in the two mites. It is a godlike ratio. It is clothed in his infinity.

True Magnanimity.

M

REV. GEORGE R. HEWITT, B.D.

AGNANIMITY is sufficiently defined by its name.

Literally it means "greatness of mind." And that is just what it is-capaciousness of mind and of heart. It may properly be regarded, therefore, not merely as a single virtue but rather as a state of mind out of which all the virtues grow. It is a spirit to do and to bear great things. It bears trials without sinking beneath them, faces danger and death without flinching; can smile benignly on the face of a foe and rejoice in a rival's success; is serene under great provocations, and endures with a steadfast heart both perils and privations for the sake of great principles and the common good.

One of the finest descriptions of a magnanimous man to be found in all literature is Emerson's brief characterization of Abraham Lincoln: "His heart was as great as the world, but there was no room in it to hold the memory of a wrong."

It is in our treatment of those who have done us wrong that our magnanimity, or the lack of it, most conspicuously appears. The magnanimous man bears no grudges, does not enter in the ledger of memory an account of injuries or slights received, but takes a generous view of all enemies, adversaries, and competitors.

Cotton Mather was wont to say he did not know of any person in the world who had done him an ill turn but he had done him a good one for it.

Pericles, the renowned Athenian, was once waited upon by a scurrilous fellow who reviled him to his face. As he was leaving, Pericles called a servant and told him to take a lamp and show the man the way home.

Magnanimity towards friends is touching and beautiful, but towards enemies it is sublime. There is a spiritual grandeur about it that shows man at his best. The union of lofty selfcontrol and self-sacrifice which it displays is the thing that impresses us.

In the Franco-Prussian war a French soldier was brought into the operating room of the hospital at Metz with a fearfully shattered hand. The chloroform had begun to give out, and the local druggists had tried in vain to make it. "Well, my friend," says the surgeon, we shall have to have a bit of an operation. Would you like to be made insensible?" "Yes. I have suffered so much all night that I don't think I could stand it."

66

"Are you particular about it?" asked the surgeon.

"Why, is that stuff scarce now that puts you to sleep?" "We have scarcely any left."

The brave fellow reflected a moment, then replied, "Keep it for those who have arms and legs to be taken off, but be quick." He stuffed his cravat in his mouth, lay down, and held out his hand. "Did it hurt much?" said the surgeon, when the operation was over. "Oh, yes; but what can you do? We poor fellows must help one another."

The classic instance of this kind is that of Sir Philip Sidney. Sidney was the contemporary of Shakespeare, Bacon, Ben Jonson, and other brilliant lights of the Elizabethan era. He was admired for his learning and genius, the friend of the queen, the favorite of the court and of the camp. But he is best known and endeared to posterity by the fact that as he lay dying on the battlefield in Flanders and his attendants. brought water to cool his fevered lips, he bade them give it to a soldier stretched on the ground beside him, saying, "Thy necessity is greater than mine." Nothing is so regal in man as magnanimity. Man is likest God when he is magnanimous.

Every man should vigorously strive to cultivate this tranquil self-control, this breadth of mind and heart, which are the main elements of magnanimity. One of the best ways of doing