temper, a strong desire of being at peace with everybody, and an avoidance of all occasions of offence so far as possible these indicate the virtue of meekness. The trials which exercise it are the daily vexations of our affairs; when things go wrong which might easily have been right but for some fault of others, or some accidents which could not be provided against; the crosses which spring from the unpleasant temper of such as we are obliged to have always near us; or the still severer attacks which unreasonable and wicked men may make upon our peace in some moments of difficulty; the cruel aspersions of those who know us only by report; and the more cruel suspicions of those who have been our friends; in a word, all those things which can ruffle the mind, awaken its angry passions, and provoke it to speak or act with ill temper, are trials of meekness. This virtue is nearly allied to humility, patience, and resignation, for the same occasions may bring them all into exercise together. What hurts our pride excites our resentment, and the evils which require unwearied patience to sustain them long, may cause all the while those numberless irritations which meekness softens, and those complaints which resignation stills. In the sick room there is often much that is humiliating, provoking, and difficult to bear. Let these blessed sisters but combine their labors here, and the scene becomes a spectacle for angels to admire. They have distinct provinces, but of the same empire; and each has aid from the other. Humility regards our opinion of ourselves. Patience is an uncomplaining way of bearing pain. Resignation is the surrender of comforts, hopes and joys to God, out of a dutiful submission to his holy will. Meekness is the virtue which allays the mind's resentful feelings, and enables it to support the attacks made from without, and suppress the tumult of conflicting emotions which is thus occasioned. When we speak of this grace in relation to God, we have in view those inflictions of his providence which might excite resentment towards him. When the hand of God is lifted to chasten his erring, guilty child, it is meekness which bows in silence to receive the blow. It was meek. ness which spoke from the lips of Jesus when he exclaimed "The cup which my Father hath given me, shall I not drink it?" All those evils which befall us suddenly, or disturb our plans, defeat well grounded expectations, and do violence to our most natural and innocent feelings, are calculated to produce anger as well as sorrow, and are therefore the proper occasions for the exercise of meekness. To have a just view of the nature of meekness, we must separate from our notions of it some ideas which may be confounded with it, and bring it into discredit. Every man has, or ought to have some sense of character, and some regard to his own rights. To be entirely without these is to have sunk beneath the level of humanity, and become brutish. There are degrees of this abject spirit which would occasion one to put up with most ignominious and injurious treatment, as if it had been deserved, and to surrender anything which might be extorted by others, unresistingly. In the meek temper of a Christian, there is none of this baseness. The sense of character, a desire of esteem, and a strong feeling of the value of his own rights, are not destroyed by his religion. Indeed, Christianity has an influence directly tending to increase self-respect, and to make the heart feel more keenly all reproach and abuse. It gives an elevation and dignity to the most humble virtue, and to be degraded would inflict more pain on him whose whole study is to become more excellent, than to those who are contented with a passable character. No-the meekest disciple of Jesus possesses a sensibility to injury as poignant as the most refined principles of honor can demand. If he stands a mild listener to contemptuous and angry words, or yields to an enemy an ill-gotten advantage, or returns a kindness for an insult, it is not an abject spirit which causes him to do so. He estimates fully the wrong he endures, and withholds expressions of resentment, not because he is not sensible how much they are deserved, nor because he is destitute of the proper spirit, but from the noblest principles which ever enter the mind of man. If I were to select an example of dignity of the highest kind, I would point to the conduct of Jesus in the presence of the High Priest or Pilate, and for an example of perfect meekness, we may look to the same occasion. We are not to suppose that honor is always most prized where it is vindicated by resentments, or that taking vengeance is the only mode of showing our sensibility to insult. For we find these resentments are most common, and this revenge in its most direful forms, where the sense of character exists in the least possible degree. Acknowledged villains quarrel among themselves on points of honor, and the lowest dregs of society are perpetually in a ferment from the same causes. The character of any man must be in a perilous state, if its soundness can be proved to general satisfaction only by the pains he takes to protect it against invasion. And we should expect as a natural consequence of a highly improved virtue, that it would make one less easily irritated by the attempts to bring disgrace upon it. An extreme sensibility to insult is not more consistent with dignity than it is with meekness. Both these qualities require that the wrong which is felt should be a great one, and that the feeling excited by it do not exceed the occasion. It may be remarked again, that meekness is not of the nature of cowardice. If it hold us back from vengeance, it is not from any fear of those who might be the objects of it, but from considerations quite remote. Personal courage is in some degree instinctive, and in a greater measure still depends on education and the circumstances in which the mind was placed, at the earlier periods of life. Of course it is not possessed by all men equally. A meek man may be timid, but it is not his meekness which makes him so. That virtue may exist where there is the most fearless bravery. In those restraints which it imposes on the temper and passions, it regards the demands of conscience, not the pleadings of prudence merely. Its exercise consists only with that self-command which true courage inspires. All its acts indicate a state of feeling far more congenial with courage than cowardice. It has the same calmness, and is prepared as well for all consequences. Often it costs more to brave the consequences of refraining from the expressions of resentment, than to meet those which would flow from the most determined vengeance. And more fortitude and true valor are required to maintain the character of a meek, than of a brave man. The kind of courage is higher and nobler-it is moral couragethe only sort which is meritorious, and the most difficult to sustain. THE ALPINE FLOWERS. [By the Author of "Moral Pieces in Prose and Verse. "] Meek dwellers mid yon terror-stricken cliffs! Or breathing on the callous icicles Bid them with tear drops nurse ye?— -Tree nor shrub Dare that drear atmosphere,--no polar pine O'er slippery steeps, or trembling treads the verge And marks ye in your placid loveliness OBITUARY. [Communicated.] DIED at Montreal, L. C. on the 2d of September last, Mr EDWARD B. WHITING, Bookseller, Agent for the Unitarian Advocate in that city.-Mr W. was a native of Albany; he was educated in the principles of Calvinism in early life, and in these he continued till a few |