Chapter 10

Joppa illustrious on many accounts, particularly as the residence of Dorcas--she was a Disciple of Christ--Faith described as the Principle of Discipleship--the inspired Testimony to the Character of Dorcas--she was probably a Widow or an aged Maiden--Remarks on the Reproaches commonly cast upon the latter Class of Women--Dorcas exhibited as a Pattern of liberality, being prompt in the Relief she afforded--her Charities abundant--and personally bestowed--Observations on the Propriety of visiting the Poor--the Charities of Dorcas often free and unsolicited--wise and conducted upon a Plan--the Pretences of the uncharitable stated and confuted--Riches only valuable as they are used in bountiful Distribution.

Seven of the most celebrated cities of antiquity (Smyrna, Rhodes, Colophon, Salamis, Chios, Argos, and Athens) are said to have disputed the glory of having given birth to Homer; and it must be admitted that places and families acquire an importance from their connection with names which appear conspicuous on the page of history, and have been praised by the united voices of successive generations. We cannot hear, without an instinctive glow, of the cities of Rome, Athens, Sparta, Syracuse, and others which respectively produced a Cæsar, a Demosthenes, a Lycurgus, and an Archimedes; of the islands of Samos and Ægina, whence emanated the resplendent genius of a Pythagoras and a Plato; of the villages of Alopece and Andes, immortalized as having produced a Socrates and a Virgil.

But let not the enchanting annals of Roman literature or Grecian wisdom detach our minds from the nobler records of inspiration, or diminish the conviction which religion must ever inspire, that the birth place of benevolence and piety is more illustrious than the birthplace of genius and philosophy. On this principle we look with admiration upon the town of Joppa, which, if it cannot boast a prodigy of valour, talent, or learning, is nevertheless conspicuous as the residence of one "of whom the world was not worthy." She was not, indeed, rich in wealth, but in good works. She was not a conqueror of nations or a distributor of crowns, but a giver of alms. She had no name on earth beyond the limits of a small Christian church, but her record was on high, and her memorial has not perished with her.

Joppa was the nearest seaport to Jerusalem on the Mediterranean. It was situated in the tribe of Dan in a fine plain, and has acquired the modern name of Jaffa. This place is frequently mentioned in Scripture. The materials for the construction of Solomon's temple were sent thither in floats, by Hiram, the king of Tyre, whence they were easily conveyed by land to Jerusalem. Jonah, in his flight from the presence of the Lord, embarked at this port, and gave occasion to the mythological fable of Andromeda. Here the apostle Peter enjoyed that remarkable vision, in which he saw heaven opened, and a great sheet descending to the earth, which seemed to contain every variety of beasts, and creeping things, and fowls of the air; intimating to him the abolition of the Mosaic law, and the removal of those distinctions which had so long separated the Jews and the Gentiles. It is probable Philip preached the Gospel here in his progress through various cities to Cesarea; but the history of Dorcas, or, as she was originally called in the Syriac dialect, Tabitha, has given it peculiar prominence in the sacred page.

The memorial of this excellent woman is short, but replete with instruction. Her character is sketched at a stroke, and by the introduction of an incident as full of significance and interest as can well be imagined. Dropping those minute details and accidental circumstances which are not necessary to character, and which the New Testament so seldom mentions, the most instructive part of her story is preserved and set in the most brilliant point of light.

She is simply announced, in the first place, as "a certain disciple," or one that embraced the faith of Christ, and professed it by baptism and a public union with his church. Whatever might be her situation in other respects was of little consequence; this was her best, her most substantial distinction. It invested her with a real glory, which however overlooked by those who are chiefly attracted by exterior splendour, surpassed every vain and glittering honour of the world. It raised her to the dignity of a name in the volume of inspiration, and the unfading distinction of a place in the annals of eternity.

How poor and how perishable is human fame; and yet with what eagerness is it universally sought! What is it but like a bubble, excited by some accidental cause, to sparkle for a moment on the stream of passing ages, and then to disappear for ever! And yet the love of fame has been called, and perhaps with propriety, the ruling passion; for so much does it blend itself with human motives, that there are comparatively few of our actions, at least such as are visible to the public eye, which may not be traced to this feeling, or which do not receive a tone from its influence.

But how shall we describe that faith which is often mentioned in the New Testament, which so marked the character of Dorcas, and which, perhaps, may not be inaptly called the _principle_ of discipleship?

This term is of various import, and of very extensive application in Scripture. It signifies belief, and refers to testimony either human or divine; but is restricted in its evangelical use to the latter. Revelation in general is the object of faith: and those invisible realities which it discloses to the mental eye are seen with equal distinctness, and believed with equal conviction, as if they were capable, from possessing some material quality, of impressing the corporeal senses. Faith glorifies its great Object and Author by paying an implicit deference to his authority. It asks no other bond than his promise, no other evidence or attestation than his veracity. It not only ranges through worlds which mortal eye could never explore, but which human reason could never discover: and as by transgression man has fallen under the dominion of his senses, it delivers its happy possessor from this state of degradation and wretchedness.

But though this be a general signification of the word, its more precise and appropriate use in the Gospel is expressed by the phrase, "believing that Jesus is the Christ, the Son of God." Here the general and the particular use are necessarily blended. Faith is belief--but belief in "the truth as it is in Jesus." To believe, in the ordinary sense, is to admit a fact, to assent to the statement of an accredited or respectable witness; to believe in Jesus as the Son of God, is to acknowledge his real character, to perceive his true dignity, to view and to love him, not only as distinguished by perfect excellence; but as specifically the Saviour of lost sinners; for "whosoever believeth that Jesus is the Christ, is born of God." Faith comprehends what he is, contemplates him in all his glorious offices, and from the manger of meanness traces him to the throne of power, relying upon what he has suffered and said as the infallible pledge of what he will accomplish. It is not only well informed, but humble. It resided in his heart who exclaimed, "Lord, save me!" It dictated his language who cried out, "Lord, remember me when thou comest into thy kingdom." It gave efficacy to the prayer of that humble petitioner who said, "Speak the word only, and my servant shall be healed." It is pleasing to God, essential to salvation, and his own gift: for "Enoch had this testimony, that he pleased God"--"a man is justified by faith"--and "by grace ye are saved through faith, and that not of yourselves, it is the gift of God."

Faith is not dormant, but active and operative. It resembles good seed sown in the cultivated soil, which expands, and grows, and produces fruit. This holy vegetation exists in very different degrees of vigour, according to the diversities of Christian character, but it is apparent in all--the mark of true religion, the pleasing verdant hue that covers the whole surface of the spiritual creation. We cannot point to every pious person as a Dorcas, who presents a singular fertility of some of the noblest graces; but of all it may be said, "the root of the matter is found in them," and "their root shall not be rottenness, nor their blossom go up as dust."

It is the nature of genuine faith to stimulate to the most laborious duties, to sustain amidst the most poignant sufferings, to produce the greatest purity of character, to communicate the noblest kind of happiness of which a creature in the present state can be susceptible, to nerve the feeblest arm with strength, to give the dullest eye perception, above all, to "work by _love_." For these reasons, and because of its transforming influence, we denominated it the principle of discipleship. It operates by love to its object and to all its subjects, as well as to the divine commandments in general; and influences its possessor to practise universal philanthropy. To the latter our particular attention is now directed by the example of Dorcas; but it must not be forgotten, that though the particular specimen of her excellence be taken from the common offices of kindness and the act of almsgiving, the existence and proportionate vigour of the great principle from which her minor charities resulted must be presupposed, as by observing the fertility of a branch, or the verdure of a twig, or even the greenness of a leaf, we infer the growth of the tree, its root, its stem, and all its various ramifications. While we contemplate this flourishing plant of grace, we know that it was deeply "rooted and grounded" in faith.

The inspired testimony is as follows: "This woman was full of good works and alms-deeds, which she did." Amongst other acts of beneficence, she was accustomed to make "coats and garments" for "the widows." Her own circumstances are not specified. If she were _poor_, as the mass of Christian converts in the apostolic times appears to have been, her readiness in furnishing these supplies was admirable indeed. As Paul testified of the Macedonian believers, she contributed to the utmost, yea, and beyond her power: nor are these solitary instances of persons willingly impoverishing themselves in obedience to the fine impulse of a pious sympathy. While others have calculated, they have acted, incapable of a cold arithmetic and a measured benevolence. If Dorcas were _rich_, she is perhaps entitled to a still higher commendation. So many are the obstructions which "great possessions" cast in the way of charity, so many temptations to a lavish expenditure, beset the opulent, and to support this, on the other hand, to a parsimonious, _saving_ habit; so easy is it to frame excuses, and by trifling precautions to escape importunity, or at once to silent it; that it may well excite both wonder and delight to find charity associated with splendour. It is surprising, however, and no less deplorable than surprising, that persons of this class will not consider for a moment, how easily, with how few sacrifices even of time or money, they might be extensively useful. A single drop of supply from their replenished cup of worldly prosperity, would often make "the widow's heart sing for joy," and prove a healing cordial to the sufferings of perishing humanity. A slight taxation upon even acknowledged superfluity, would in some cases produce an ample revenue for many indigent families, although religion claims on their behalf more than a scanty and unwilling pittance; for "he which soweth sparingly shall reap also sparingly; and he which soweth bountifully, shall reap also bountifully. Every man according as he purposeth in his heart, _so let him give_; not grudgingly or of necessity, for God loveth a cheerful giver."

From the sacred narrative, we are led to infer that Dorcas was either a widow herself, possessed perhaps of a moderate competence, a state which seems of all others the most favourable to a benevolent disposition; or one of the class of females, sometimes designated by the reproachful epithet of _old maids_. And having introduced the term, it may not be improper to make a short digression upon this subject.

It cannot be doubted that a life of celibacy is unnatural, and contrary to the general appointment of Infinite Wisdom; consequently, a voluntary seclusion of this kind from the duties of our proper sphere as social beings, unless the case be very remarkable, and the counteracting obligation singularly clear, must deserve censure. By this conduct whatever important results are connected with the marriage union by the law of Providence, are deliberately opposed, and the principle is no less sinful than it is pernicious. But the case of determined celibacy is far less common among females than with the other sex, and where it does exist, is usually attended with less evil effects upon the good of society.

In respect to the two most frequent occasions of continuing single, among women of piety, the one demands admiration, the other pity; but neither can, without a total dereliction of all reason and propriety, excite ridicule. The first which has been made, is that of a voluntary resignation of the pleasures and solicitudes of matrimony, for the sake of more extensive usefulness, and at the call of duty. Such is the case of women who deem themselves required, or are considered by others as remarkably qualified for foreign and missionary service in the cause of God, or who, from the high tone of their irreligious feeling, have ascended to an unusual degree of spiritual elevation of character, and whether called to labour abroad or at home, are desirous of an entire and incessant self-devotement to Jesus Christ. These instances are indeed rare, and can scarcely be estimated by ordinary rules, but they were not unprecedented in the primitive age of Christianity. Dorcas might possibly be a woman of this extraordinary character. Her works were at least worthy of one who was thus bearing the cross, for "the kingdom of heaven's sake."

The second class of aged single females presents a subject for compassionate sympathy. They are not solitaries by choice, but necessity: and whoever sports with their destiny, betrays a cruel, if not a wicked mind. They have already been the prey of disappointments the most agonizing to the mind; let them not be the objects of unmeaning contempt or impious sarcasm. There was a time when the morning of life rose upon them in all its enchantment and beauty. Every thing around them smiled, and their yet unwithered hopes were alive to every delightful impression. Who knows but the object of their tenderest earthly affection was severed from them by death, whose murderous instrument inflicted an incurable wound? Who can say, but that the very sex which dares to load them with contumely for their solitary condition, was, by its base flatteries and delusive promises, the very occasion of their unhappiness? Who can deny, but that religion itself might have been honoured by their noble heroism, in refusing the solicitations of some, who, although distinguished for many accomplishments, possessions, and connexions, were either enemies to the Gospel or indifferent about it? They trembled, perhaps, to please their taste, and "lose their own souls."

Nameless and numberless may be the occasion of an involuntary, and therefore justifiable celibacy. Besides, how has this condition been improved! How have some of these venerable women gone about doing good! What a wise and holy improvement have they made of the dispensations of providence! Their very disappointments have become the means of increased zeal in the best of causes, and given an impulse to their activity. They have arisen from the golden dreams of pleasure and promotion, to the dignity of the saint indeed. Their temporal sorrows have awakened their spiritual energies. They have lost the blessings of a family, but have from that moment adopted, under that sacred name, the whole community of mankind. Let ridicule be abashed before the majesty of such characters!

The excellent woman in question seems to have partaken much of the spirit which pervaded the church at Jerusalem in these times of primitive simplicity and zeal, when all temporal considerations appear to have been overwhelmed by the hope of eternal blessedness. "And the multitude of them that believed were of one heart and of one soul; neither said any of them that aught of the things which be possessed was his own; but they had all things in common.... Neither was there any among them that lacked; for as many as were possessors of lands or houses, sold them, and brought the prices of the things that were sold, and laid them down at the apostles' feet; and distribution was made unto every man, according as he had need."

Although this community of goods is not to be regarded as an absolute precedent for our imitation, considering that it is impracticable in all cases, was chiefly restricted to one Christian society in a very peculiar situation, and is never enjoined upon others; yet, no duty is more expressly commanded, or more solemnly inculcated in Scripture, than that of liberality to the poor. In the enactments of Moses it is vigorously enforced, it is urged by the prophets and apostles; and represented by Christ himself as an evidence of the highest perfection of character; "If thou wilt be perfect, go and sell that thou hast, and give to the poor." In those passages where a summary of religion is presented by an enumeration of its most important points, this virtue is distinctly mentioned. It is stated as an invariable characteristic of the most eminent saints, as Abraham, Job, and others; it is often called _righteousness_, is represented as a fulfilment of the divine law, or the best expression of our love to God; and while tremendous judgments are threatened to those who disregard this sacred duty, the most ample rewards are promised to the pious benefactors of mankind. "Blessed," said Christ, "are the merciful, for they shall obtain mercy." "To do good and communicate forget not, for with such sacrifices God is well pleased." Such persons are described as "making themselves bags which wax not old, a treasure in the heavens that faileth not"--as "making themselves friends of the mammon of unrighteousness, that when they fail, they may he received into everlasting habitations"--and as "laying up in store for themselves a good foundation against the time to come, that they may lay hold on eternal life." The equitable decisions of the last day are to be founded upon a reference to these principles, as the basis of that sentence which will irreversibly fix our destinies. "When the Son of man shall come in his glory, and all the holy angels with him, then shall he sit upon the throne of his glory: And before him shall be gathered all nations: and he shall separate them one from another, as a shepherd divideth his sheep from the goats: And he shall set the sheep on his right hand, but the goats on the left. Then shall the King say unto them on his right hand, Come, ye blessed of my Father, inherit the kingdom prepared for you from the foundation of the world. For I was an hungered, and ye gave me meat: I was thirsty, and ye gave me drink; I was a stranger, and ye took me in: naked, and ye clothed me: I was sick, and ye visited me: I was in prison, and ye came unto me. Then shall the righteous answer him, saying, Lord, when saw we thee an hungered, and fed thee? or thirsty, and gave thee drink? When saw we thee a stranger, and took thee in? or naked, and clothed thee? Or when saw we thee sick, or in prison, and came unto thee? And the King shall answer and say unto them, Verily I say unto you, Inasmuch as ye have done it unto one of the least of these my brethren, ye have done it unto me. Then shall he say also unto them on the left hand, Depart from me, ye cursed, into everlasting fire, prepared for the devil and his angels: For I was an hungered, and ye gave me no meat: I was thirsty, and ye gave me no drink: I was a stranger, and ye took me not in: naked, and ye clothed me not: sick, and in prison, and ye visited me not. Then shall they also answer him, saying, Lord, when saw we thee an hungered, or athirst, or a stranger, or naked, or sick, or in prison, and did not minister unto thee? Then shall he answer them, saying, Verily I say unto you, Inasmuch as ye did it not to one of the least of these, ye did it not to me. And these shall go away into everlasting punishment: but the righteousness into life eternal."

The history of Dorcas is very instructive as to the genuine character of charity, and the best mode of distribution. It teaches us not only to cultivate this heavenly temper, but in what manner it may become most useful. We have here, indeed, a fine and finished picture; and we cannot do better than study it closely, and copy it with all possible accuracy.

This venerable woman was _prompt_ and _undelaying_ in the relief she afforded to the necessitous. She was not all promise and all tardiness, quick to feel but slow to succour. It is not uncommon for the most parsimonious persons to be liberal in good words, and to superadd the pang of disappointment to the already almost insupportable sufferings of the destitute. What is the language of commiseration unaccompanied with substantial assistance, but a drop of burning caustic poured into the wounded heart, instead of a healing cordial? To listen to the tale of wo, and to solicit by apparent kindness its minute and tragical details, only to mock expectation by professed incapacity, is the very perfection of cruelty, the forfeiture of a solemn pledge which is given in the very assumption of a listening attitude, and highly dishonourable; for we have no right to know the history of distress, if we feel indisposed to relieve it. "If a brother or sister be naked, and destitute of daily food, and one of you say unto them, Depart in peace, be ye warmed and filled, notwithstanding ye give them not those things which are needful to the body; what doth it profit?"

There is a posthumous charity which often purchases to the dispenser considerable reputation when he little deserves it, and which is utterly vain to him who is inevitably beyond the reach of human applause or censure. If the charity of Dorcas had been of this questionable nature, we should not have read of the widows that stood Weeping by her death-bed, and exhibiting the various articles of clothing she made "_while she was with them_." Assured that life was the proper time of action, and that opportunities of usefulness could never be recalled, she "did with her might whatever her hands found to do." It is deplorable to see the numbers who, while possessing ample means and rich opportunities of feeding the hungry, clothing the naked, and visiting the sick, consume their lives in forming their plans, or proclaiming their intentions. They are indeed great benefactors in their _wills_, and with unsparing liberality distribute their wealth, when they can no longer keep it. They were bountiful, only because they were mortal; and notwithstanding the misplaced commendations of their survivors, bestow reluctantly what death extorts. Dorcas was "full of good works and alms-deeds which she DID." A person, with whom the writer is acquainted, had specified a large sum in his will to be appropriated to the purpose of erecting convenient alms-houses for the poor; but bethinking himself of the possibility that his life might be extended to a distant period, and that in the meantime the poor would continue to buffer, and many of them perish without the projected aid, he became the instant executor of his own will, and lived for years to be a gratified witness of that comfort which must otherwise have been so long delayed. It is descriptive of the "good man," that "he HATH dispersed, he HATH given to the poor."

Another feature in the beautiful portrait of female excellence before us, is the _abundance and variety of her charities_. Dorcas is represented as. "_full_ of good works and alms-deeds?" and though I the coats and garments which she gave to the widows are only mentioned, they are to be considered as one specimen only of a very extended system of benevolence. She was neither capricious, nor merely occasional in her bounty; but "glorified the Father, by bearing _much_ fruit."

Some persons are the mere creatures of impulse. When affected by any violently exciting cause, they start into momentary vigour, and by a kind of convulsive effort resist the inwrought habit of their minds, but instantly relapse into greater insensibility. If a necessitous case be presented to their attention under deeply afflicting circumstances, with powerful recommendations, especially from those whom they are solicitous of pleasing, or with whom they expect to be enrolled in the popular and widely circulated list of donations, they may at times he found "_willing_ to communicate," but even then never attain the noble pre-eminence of "_a cheerful_ giver." It would have pleased them, however, to have remained unasked; and if by any petty artifice they could have evaded the application, they would most readily have adopted it, provided they could have saved their reputation as well as their pence.

You may sometimes meet with persons who are indeed charitable, but their charity is sectarian. They do good within certain limits, but never take a wider range; and if they do not "forbid" others, who "follow not with them," they afford no encouragement to their exertions. They have chosen a particular spot to cultivate, and beyond the encircling fence which bigotry has marked out, they cannot he persuaded to impart even a drop of refreshing supply. What they do seems, in some measure, an apology for what they omit; but what they omit detracts from the value of what they do. They are not "FULL of good works."

Others have certain stated charities; and though they have passed the narrow boundary of party prejudice, have made no provision in their plans for cases of singular and sudden calamity. Their charity walks in particular districts, and cannot go a step out of the beaten track. They have allotted a certain portion of their income to the regular calls of necessity, which cannot be exceeded, and have a specified circle of objects which cannot be changed; and, if one may judge by their comparative callousness to all other claims, it would be natural to infer that they had taken a certain _quantum sufficit_ from their stock of sensibility, which bore an invariable proportion to their calculations. In vain you plead for the most urgent distress, in vain you solicit the smallest contribution; they have no sympathies left; and, beyond u certain sphere, they are relentless, impenetrable, and cruel.

In proportion as charity is methodical, it is apt to become cold; and though we cannot plead for that diffusiveness which is bounded by no prescribed limits, regulated by no order, or influenced by no preferences, yet care should be taken lest it suffer by restriction. If this holy fire be too much confined, it will be in danger of extinction.

Another and a pleasing peculiarity in the benevolence of Dorcas, is, that, so far as appears from her brief history, her benefactions were _personally bestowed_. She is represented as _making_ the garments given to the poor widows herself; and doubtless to ascertain what they wanted, and the proportion of their respective necessities, she was in the habit of visiting their habitations, for the purposes of inquiry and inspection. These visits, besides, would afford favourable opportunities for pious conversation. How often she wept over their sorrows--what words of peace and consolation she uttered--what salutary instructions she communicated--what fervent petitions she uttered, cannot indeed now be ascertained; but there is a book which has recorded them in imperishable characters, and a day approaching when they shall be disclosed and rewarded. "For we must all appear before the judgment-seat of Christ, that every one may receive the things done in his body, according to that he hath done, whether it be good or bad."

It would be easy to specify many reasons why the charitable should _visit_ the poor. Independently of the inferiority of the impression which is produced on the mind by the mere recital of the sufferings of others, it is scarcely possible to obtain correct information respecting their actual and diversified necessities, without repairing to their cottages. The most faithful narrator will not deem it necessary or proper to enter into certain particulars, which the vigilant eye of sympathizing benevolence would at once discover, and the heart of pity must deeply feel. Owing to the different effects which the same distress produces on persons whose natural constitutions are dissimilar, it may often happen that the most afflicting part of their condition is overlooked; and the prompt assistance which would otherwise be afforded, is lost through some omission or unintentional misstatement. "To visit the fatherless and the widows in their affliction," is no less represented by an apostle as constituting the best exemplification of "pure religion," than "to keep himself unspotted from the world;" and in the transactions of the final judgment, the supreme Arbiter is described as noticing with peculiar approbation, as even making the very determining point of his people's character and destiny, their _visiting_ the sick and those in a state of imprisonment, in order to supply them with the necessaries or comforts of existence.

Ladies are respectfully urged to these labours of love, from the consideration that they possess the most leisure and the best opportunities of doing them. It would prove a wise and pleasurable mode of employing some of the intervals of domestic engagement, and furnish both useful and interesting subjects of reflection to fill up the vacuities of thought. But if the multiplicity of their concerns furnish some plausible excuse for, at least, a less constant and busy attention to the wants of poverty; single ladies, on whom the cares of a family have not yet devolved, should feel it their duty, and will ever find it their privilege, to be thus devoted to the cause of suffering humanity. Their time is their own, their property at their command. They are responsible alone to God and their own consciences; and by these services to the community are every day and hour giving a practical and unanswerable reply to the scoffings of an illiberal world. How much better are these visits of mercy than visits of ceremony, in which useless hours are squandered away amidst the butterflies of fashion, insufferable fatigue is sustained, scandal circulated, and religion outraged! Sweet and refreshing is the sleep of active benevolence: it knows no tossings, is visited by no bitter compunctions or terrific visions; it is cradled in innocence, lulled to rest by the music of gratitude, and guarded by the sleepless eye of Providence.

The habit of visiting the abodes of misery is an important means of improving our sympathies. They will become less sickly and less capricious. Those who have only wept over fictitious sorrow, will learn to shed tears of real feeling at the sight of real grief; and will gradually associate the idea of doing good with the strong emotions of a genuine liberality. It is of importance for our own sakes, as well as for the welfare of others, that sentiments of this kind should fill the mind, and that the fine edge of sensibility should never be blunted. Some, it is true, are very little solicitous for the improvement of any of their faculties; but let them remember that the faculty which is not improved, usually and almost necessarily suffers deterioration; and that he who does not warm and expand into benevolence, is likely to contract into contemptible selfishness.

Mere pecuniary aid, or indeed any other form of donation, is after all a cheap description of charity. The most avaricious persons may sometimes. resort to annual or other stated contributions, as expedients to save trouble and to pacify conscience; and while we duly appreciate this periodical goodness, it is insufficient as the basis of a claim to philanthropy of spirit. How many in the carpeted walks of wealth will readily purchase, by this means, an exemption from the inconvenience of soiling their shoes, or hurting their delicacy, by going to witness scenes of real distress.

Ladies of opulence or of leisure should reflect further, that in paying an occasional visit to the dwellings of poverty and suffering, they are not only likely to discover many cases of silent, unobtrusive wretchedness, which but for their personal inquiries and researches might sink into the grave without the smallest relief, while clamorous wo sometimes gains the ear of the most thoughtless passenger, but they become the means of imparting a twofold blessing. In addition to what they give, the sense of their sympathy enhances the favour, and it is received with double pleasure. Man is possessed of a social principle, which operates with peculiar energy in cases of affliction. As a consciousness of neglect excites disgust and resentment, so a conviction of being the object of solicitude and sympathy produces the most grateful emotions. It may, therefore be safely asserted, that a donation to the poor, when _personally_ bestowed by the donor, is, in consequence of the effect produced on the _mind_ of the sufferer, of incalculably greater importance and use than the same or even a superior sum contributed by the cold agency of some unfeeling distributor. Besides, a charitable soul has a perpetual feast. Who can remain an unaffected spectator of the tearful eye--the speaking look--the thankful smile? The very silence which an overwhelming sense of kindness imposes, is more delightful to a benevolent spirit than dainties to the taste or music to the ear.

In dispensing charity, many valuable acquisitions may be gained. It is, in fact, a profitable service; and he makes an excellent exchange indeed, who, while bestowing money or goods to assist the poor, obtains substantial instruction. Here then, in the meanest hovel, in the most shattered and weather-beaten shed, amidst cries of distress and sights of sorrow, the wisest may gain knowledge. What a lesson of gratitude is taught in every scene and circumstance! Who maketh thee to differ from another in point of temporal possession, mental superiority, or religious distinction? What hast thou, that thou hast not _received_? That humble cottager is human, like thyself! That nest of callowness and weakness contains the same species with thyself, on whom Providence has bestowed wings to soar to heights of prosperity and enjoyment. Thou art descended from the same common Father, and art heir of the same common dust! Thy life is no less precarious, if it be less wretched, than that which animates a meaner clay, and breathes in a less decorated exterior! If the one be porcelain, and the other earthen ware, both are brittle! "God hath made of one blood all nations of men." Sometimes a cottage furnishes an impressive lesson respecting the _independence of happiness upon external circumstances_. It teaches the salutary truth, that it is in the power of religion to impart substantial felicity in every condition, to communicate exalted enjoyment, to form an ennobled character in the meanest habitation, and to inspire the sublime sentiment of the poet:

"Give what thou wilt, _without_ thee I am poor, And _with_ thee rich, take what thou wilt away."

COWPER.

Poverty has been the lot of the most distinguished of the human species; and if ever the vanity of riches, and the incurable emptiness of temporal splendour are felt, surely it must be when visiting the dwellings of the _pious_ poor. No riches can inspire their songs of praise, or purchase a title to their immortal inheritance. No rank or dignity can attract the eyes of those holy spirits that hover round the spot to which affliction has confined an outcast Lazarus, or kindle such rapturous sensations and holy congratulations, as they manifest at the repentance of a sinner. Piety hallows the dwelling which it inhabits, and felicitates as well as sanctifies the heart, the family, and the city which it pervades. In the primitive ages of Christianity, the disciples of our Lord could see the rapacious oppressor seize the last portion of their worldly goods, and "take it joyfully;" they could "most gladly glory in their infirmities, that the power of Christ might rest upon them;" they could hail the martyr's stake, while they anticipated the martyr's crown; and, in the days of Paul and Silas, if there were a spot on earth where celestial joy took up her residence, it was, at least for one happy night, in the very dungeon of persecution.

To return to Dorcas. Her character is so described, as to imply that hers were _free_, and often _unsolicited charities_. She did not indolently wait for applications, or contrive a thousand delays, while misery was pining into the grave; but, like her Divine Master, "_went about_ doing good." She penetrated the obscurest retreats, not waiting to be pressed and urged to afford a trifling relief; but her benevolence resembled the course of the sun, which pours its beneficent radiance upon the earth with undistinguishing liberality. It ought not to be forgotten, that sometimes minds of the most delicate constitution are involved in all the miseries of poverty, and placed in a situation of all others the most painful, that of persons reduced from former competency and comfort. The privations of life are far more sensibly felt by those who have once known plenteousness. To them the wind of adversity blows with tenfold keenness, and the crust of want seems peculiarly unpalatable. They are reluctant, not to say "ashamed, to beg." The blushes of an instinctive sensibility suffuse their countenances, and petitions for assistance falter on their tongues. They have to contend not only with the afflictions of poverty, but with all the timidity which a consciousness of degradation superinduces. In many cases of this description, persons of eminent worth have been found, who could not overcome their scruples, till absolute want forced them abroad to suffer the rebuffs of an unfeeling world, or to gain the scanty pittance which mere importunity extorted from reluctant opulence. Dorcas is celebrated for having particularly selected such a class of sufferers. She had sought out the _widows_, who had lost their dearest relatives, by whose daily and cheerful labours they were perhaps enabled to live in decent sufficiency, or by whose sympathizing tenderness they were at least consoled amidst inevitable sorrows. The weakness of their sex, or the infirmities of their advanced age, prevented their contending with the storms of life; and, no doubt, many of them surrounded by a numerous family, at the decease of the beloved of their hearts, were left to struggle with accumulated difficulties.

Women on whom Providence has bestowed a sufficiency, might here find ample means of usefulness among persons of their own sex. A helping hand might rescue many a widow from the deep waters of overwhelming grief: a trifling sum would in many cases prove an inestimable boon; and a very small expense of time and trouble might produce the most valuable results. A well-constructed system of benevolence resembles a fine adjustment of mechanism: by a gentle force or a moderate supply, judiciously applied, the whole machinery is kept in motion, and the greatest burdens are removed.

This leads us to remark another characteristic feature in the charity of Dorcas. It was _wise_ and _prudential_. She had a _plan_ which was not only unexceptionable, but singularly excellent and worthy of imitation. This consisted in furnishing the poor with substantial assistance, and providing for the proper application of her aid to their real and most pressing necessities. She made "coats and garments" for widows. It is to be feared, that the good intentions of persons charitably disposed are often frustrated by the improper manner in which they render assistance to the poor. They fulfil the impulse of a benevolent spirit by sending or giving their money, leaving the mode of its expenditure to their own judgment. But it is notorious, that such as are in reduced circumstances, and who feel the particular pressure of the moment which they are most anxious to relieve, have very little sense of the real value of money and of the propriety of providing against the difficulties of futurity. They take the cordial to-day, draining out every drop, forgetting that the phial will be empty to-morrow. In consequence of this extreme improvidence and inconsideration, the pecuniary help they receive frequently does little good, and fails of all the purposes which a pious charity intended.

The depravity of mankind, which must be expected to operate in the poor as well as in the rich, is another occasion of the misuse of benevolent aid. The friendly supply is consumed upon their lusts. Abandoned in character and selfish in principle, many heads of poor families addict themselves to bad company, despoiling their families of their earnings and of charitable supplies, and stupifying their consciences in the cup of intoxication. The discovery of such a misapplication ought not to extinguish the feeling of sympathy, but rather excite it afresh; both because the individuals themselves are to be doubly pitied for their destitution of moral feeling and want of religion, as well as of necessary subsistence, and because their outraged families demand renewed attention. It ought also to render liberal persons particularly watchful of the use which is made of their benefactions. It should not shut the heart, but regulate the course of feeling. The sin of others does not exempt us from the duty of contributing to the alleviation of their miseries, though it ought to induce us to study the best expedients for counteracting it. It is in fact quite as requisite that we should see to the application of what is given as to give, in all cases where this is possible or convenient. Dorcas appears to have adopted the useful plan of expending the money which she appropriated to the poor widows, _for them_; partly because she was probably better able to judge of the most useful mode of assisting them, and partly because the very same sum would prove doubly efficient in consequence of the savings which would acrue from working with her own hands.

The pretences by which men excuse themselves from giving to the poor are stated, and satisfactorily answered, by Dr. Paley, [43] in the following words: "1. 'That they have nothing to spare,' _i.e._ nothing for which they have not provided some other use: nothing which their plan or expense, together with the savings they have resolved to lay by, will not exhaust: never reflecting whether it be in their _power_, or that it is their _duty_, to retrench their expenses, and contract their plan, 'that they may give to them that need: or rather that this ought to have been part of their plan originally.

"2. 'That they have families of their own, and that charity begins at home.' The extent of this plea will be considered when we come to explain the duty of parents."

_N. B._ The explanation is, that the duties of parents comprehend "maintenance, education, and a reasonable provision for the child's happiness in respect to outward condition.... A father of a family is bound to adjust his economy with a view to these demands upon his fortune; and until a sufficiency for these ends is acquired, or in due time _probably_ will be acquired (for in human affairs _probability_ ought to content us,) frugality and exertions of industry are duties. He is also justified in declining expensive liberality: for, to take from those who want, to give to those who want, adds nothing to the stock of public happiness. Thus far, therefore, and no farther, the plea of 'children,' of 'large families,' charity begins at home,' &c. is an excuse for parsimony, and an answer to those who solicit our bounty. Beyond this point, as the use of riches becomes less, the desire of _laying up_ should abate proportionably.

"3. 'That charity does not consist in giving money, but in benevolence, philanthropy, love to all mankind, goodness of heart,' &c. Hear St. James: "If a brother or sister be naked, and destitute of daily food, and one of you say unto them, Depart in peace; be ye warmed and filled; notwithstanding _ye give them not those things which are needful to the body_; what doth it profit?" James ii. 15, 16.

"4. 'That giving to the poor is not mentioned in St. Paul's description of charity in the thirteenth chapter of his first epistle to the Corinthians.' This is not a description of charity, but of good nature; and it is not necessary that every duty be mentioned in every place.

"5. 'That they pay the poor-rates.' They might as well allege that they pay their debts: for the poor have the same right to that portion of a man's property which the laws assign to them, that the man himself has to the remainder.

"6. 'That they employ many poor persons:'--for their own sake, not the poor's;--otherwise it is a good plea.

"7. 'That the poor do not suffer so much as we imagine; that education and habit have reconciled them to the evils of their condition, and make them easy under it.' Habit can never reconcile human nature to the extremities of cold, hunger, and thirst, any more than it can reconcile the hand to the touch of a red hot iron; besides, the question is not, how unhappy any one is, but how much more happy we can make him.

"8. 'That these people, give them what you will, will never thank you, or think of you for it.' In the first place, this is not true; in the second place, it was not for the sake of their thanks that you relieved them.

"9. 'That we are liable to be imposed upon.' If a due inquiry be made, our merit is the same; besides that the distress is generally real, although the cause be untruly stated. "10. 'That they should apply to their parishes.' This is not always practicable: to which we may add, that there are many requisites to a comfortable subsistence which parish relief does not supply; and that there are some, who would suffer almost as much from receiving parish relief as by the want of it; and lastly, that there are many modes of charity to which this answer does not relate at all.

"11. 'That giving money encourages idleness and vagrancy.' This is true only of injudicious and indiscriminate generosity.

"12. 'That we have too many objects of charity at home, to bestow any thing upon strangers; or that there are other charities, which are more useful, or stand in greater need.' The value of this excuse depends entirely upon the _fact_, whether we actually relieve those neighbouring objects, and contribute to those other charities.

"Besides all these excuses, pride, or prudery, or delicacy, or love of ease, keep one half of the world out of the way of observing what the other half suffer."

The sentiments expressed by the profound Dr. Barrow [44] will form an appropriate conclusion to the present chapter.

"If we contemplate our wealth itself, we may therein descry great motives to bounty. Thus to employ our riches, is really the best use they are capable of; not only the most innocent, most worthy, most plausible; but the most safe, most pleasant, most advantageous, and consequently in all respects most prudent way of disposing of them. To keep them close, without using or enjoying them at all, is a most sottish extravagance or a strange kind of madness; a man thence affecting to be rich, quite impoverished himself, dispossesseth himself of all, and alienateth from himself his estate; his gold is no more his than when it was in the Indies, or lay hid in the mines; his corn is no more his than if it stood growing in Arabia or China; he is no more owner of his lands than he is master of Jerusalem or Grand Cairo; for what difference is there, whether distance of place or baseness of mind sever things from him? whether his own heart or another man's hand detain them from his use? whether he hath them not at all, or hath them to no purpose? whether one is a beggar out of necessity or choice? is pressed to want, or a volunteer thereto? Such an one may fancy himself rich, and others, as wise as himself, may repute him so; but so distracted persons, to themselves and to one another do seem great princes, and style themselves such; with as much reason almost he might pretend to be wise or to be good. Riches are [Greek: Chremata] things whose nature consists in usefulness; abstract that, they become nothing, things of no consideration or value; he that hath them is no more concerned in them than he that hath them not. It is the heart, and skill to use affluence of things wisely and nobly, which makes it wealth, and constitutes him rich that hath it; otherwise the chests may be crammed, and the barns stuffed full, while the man is miserably poor and beggarly; 'tis in this sense true which the wise man says, '_There is that maketh himself rich, yet hath nothing_'"

Lydia.