elieveth all things, hopeth all things, endureth all things."
It seems to me, that charity is the exact reverse of this
fault-finding, blame-imputing character. "Charity thinketh no evil,"
but how is it with you? Do you not always suspect that the motives of
people are bad, do you not always think people are worse than they
really are? "Charity rejoiceth not in iniquity." Ha! there is a bit
of scandal, something very bad has come out about So and so. What a
running about from house to house! the village is like a hive of bees
swarming. Do you mean to tell me it is not a delight, a joy to you, to
have this little bit of iniquity to talk about? I know better.
"Charity rejoiceth not in iniquity," but charity is not to be found in
that tittle-tattling, excited crowd of talkers. "Charity believeth all
things"--will, that is, believe and trust, as long as it is possible,
that people are not so bad after all, that the stories told are not
true, and "Charity hopeth all things," hopes even against hope that it
is so.

O! what a blessed thing is charity! S. Paul said he would rather have
that, than be able to speak with tongues, and to prophesy; he would
rather have that than work miracles. It is a better thing even to have
that than Faith. But, alas! if it be such a good thing, it is also a
very rare one.

II. How very often we cast blame when there is no cause, and are
therefore guilty of serious injustice.

I was one day walking in the street of a little town, when a poor
inoffensive dog passed me. He went quietly along without a thought of
doing anyone an injury, when he happened to pass a knot of boys just
come out of school. At once one of the urchins took up a stone and
threw it at him, the others clapped their hands, and hooted after him,
"Hit him! Knock him over! Mad dog!" Away ran the unhappy cur, and
all the boys yelling after him, throwing dirt, and striking at him with
sticks. What next? Everyone in the street ran to the door, and saw
the brute tearing down the way, with his tail between his legs. Then
out of every door rushed all the house-dogs, the butcher's dog, and the
coach-dog, and even the little lap-dog jumped up, and ran down stairs,
and out of the door, to join in the barking, and away went all the dogs
of the place after the poor wretch. There was a tumult! And the
people in their doors and at their windows shouted, and one said, "Kill
him! he is mad!" and another, "He has bitten a