anner
of doing a kindness, as upon the act itself. Indeed, in some instances,
even a frank and positive refusal will give less pain than an ungracious
and grudgingly bestowed favour. Now, we hesitate not to say that, what
Mr. Ellerthorpe did, was kindly and generously done. And he always felt
that the cheers of the multitude as he bore the rescued to the shore,
and the spontaneous thanks of those whom he had saved, surpassed in
value any tribute of money which could have been placed in his hands.
Wordsworth, referring to the overflowing gratitude which had gone beyond
the worth of the trivial favours bestowed, says:

'Alas; the gratitude of men
Hath oftener left me mourning.'

But our friend performed the noblest deeds, and grateful returns were
always as pleasant to him as cold water to a thirsty soul. He says, 'I
was always well satisfied if they manifested gratitude, but I must
confess, that when they never came near me, nor in any way communicated
with me, as was the case with some whom I have saved,--for instance, Mr.
Leeson and Miss Hill--I was not satisfied. My pleasure at the
remembrance of what I did for them is mixed with pain. It may be a
weakness of mine, but an ungrateful man is, in my opinion, one of the
biggest sinners in the world. I hate ingratitude, and I can affirm, that
no rewards I have received from societies and individuals have ever
given me half the pleasure that the gratitude of some of those I rescued
gave me.'

And can we wonder that he should thus write? Shakespeare says:--

'I hate ingratitude more in a man
Than lying, vainness, babbling, drunkenness,
Or any taint of vice whose strong corruption
Inhabits our frail blood.'

Ingratitude for favours conferred is a most unnatural disposition, and
is reproved even by the brute creation; for they manifest a strong
instinctive feeling of gratitude towards their benefactors. 'The ox
knoweth his owner and the ass his master's crib.' Some time ago, a
steamer sunk beneath the surging wave, with upwards of two hundred souls
on board. The captain, who was as noble a man as ever steered a vessel,
sank with the rest of the passengers and crew. Fortunately, however, he
came up again, and seizing a plank, he clung to it until rescued by a
vessel that happened to be passing. 'Ah,' said he, on telling the story
afterwards, 'If my heart's affection ever clung to anything besides my
wife, and my mother, and my child, it was to tha