The Rights of Character. regions of fact are limited, and the perpetual talker, especially as he is neither reader nor thinker, soon comes to the end of what he knows. The tendency then is to fall back upon what he does not know. Stories get embellished by addition and alteration, incidents are invented, circumstances are added 'out of his own head,' and he who began by wishing simply to amuse, soon finds himself drawing the long bow.' His veracity is gone before he is aware, and it is bartered away for the miserable equivalent of unlimited clatter.' He had perhaps no intention to be untruthful; on reflection, he is even sorry for what he has said, yet if he be a man who has given way to the habit of careless talking it is quite safe to predict that he will not be cured. Nor is this all. The perpetual talker is almost sure to degenerate into a slanderer. For as very much of conversation turns of necessity upon the character and doings of our fellow-men, and as the talker must have something to say, he will, to a certainty, commit frequent injustice. Especially does this appear when we consider how little impartial we, any of us, are in our estimate of our neighbours and friends. As Bishop Butler has told us, we are not sufficiently neutral to trust ourselves to speak of them thoughtlessly. A prejudice for, or against, or some mere first impression, is enough to direct the whole current of our words, and we have slandered them before we know. If we have any right estimate of the sacredness of character, we shall be shocked at such a result, and shall feel that the loose habit of conversation which conducts us to it is in the last degree corrupt.' And this leads us to say again that the law of the apostle condemns the gossip about men and their doings which fills so large a space in our conversation. We question whether there is anything in regard to which men's moral sense is so low as this matter of what may be called the rights of character. We 365 seem to have no perception of the fact that there is nothing of so great value to a man as his reputation. Men who would scorn to defraud another of a shilling, will sit and deliberately fritter away that 'good name' which no gold can buy. That such conversation is corruptthe offspring of an ill-regulated heart, seems clear as day-light, and no less so that it must tend to shake the moral purity of others. Let men once pervert the fountains of moral judgment near their source, and beget a habit of systematic injustice, and we shall have a society in which it will become unendurable even to live. It is a delicate question to decide, when and where we may speak innocently of the character of others, but a glance will show us that it ought to be done with the extremest caution. Probably the true rule is this-that we may without blame speak all the good of any which is true, but we may only then speak evil when some person is to be warned who would be otherwise deceived, or some hypocrite exposed whose power of successful imposture will thus be broken. And assuredly in no case may we repeat evil rumour, merely as rumour. We may speak no word to the disparagement of any which we do not know to be true. For in speaking good of a man we do him no wrong-while in speaking evil, except under very rare circumstances, we certainly do. No character is more contemptible, than that of a slanderer, and none is more morally profligate. Avoid it, as you would a poison,-for indeed the poison of asps is under their lips. So far then negatively, though of course we have touched the surface, and warned you off, so to speak, from the more obvious breaches of the rule of right. We must turn to the other side of the law with even a greater brevity. Secondly then, positively; seek to speak that which is good for needful edifying (or up-building) i.e. what shall give 'grace' to those who hear. There are two ideas in these words which define the uses of conversation, that of 'edifying' and that of giving grace,' or rather, these are two expressions of the same idea, the one explaining the other. Let us look for a moment at each. Conversation then ought to 'edify.' This word is of the same class as 'edifice,' the root of it being the syllable 'ed,' which contains the idea of building. To edify therefore, is to build up. This is declared to be the purpose of conversation. We converse that we may build up.' But build up what? The answer is plain-it can only be that we are to build up each others' life and character. It stands therefore over against the idea of corruption-as though the apostle had said avoid what tends to moral decay and putridity, and seek rather so to use the sacred gift of speech as that those who hear may be strengthened in their proper manhood-builded up in a noble life and character.' stories. There is the chamber of the mind, for instance. To this conversation it is to give grace. It is to furnish the mind with pure and beautiful thoughts. It is to supply pictures of truth and ornaments of sparkling skill. Only redeem it and how easily it may do all this! That which of all things makes a graceful and beautiful mind is free intercourse with those who are as cultured as ourselves or more so. Let us see that our conversation conforms to this rule. It may be as free as we will. It may deal in jest, or debate, or even in innocent gossip, for it is not so much what we talk about as the manner in which we talk that is essential. Only let us see that we speak so as to edify, to inform, to build up, and not to cause decay, or the sloth, which is the forerunner of decay. There are genial friends whose presence is sunshine and stimulus. They speak so well that we think the better for their speech -our minds are stronger and more beautiful for the contact. There is the chamber of the conscience. 'Grace' or beauty of conscience is the highest grace. It consists in a clear perception of what is good, and an ardent love for it. We know nothing which can give this so well as wisely ordered conversation. For the very idea of right and wrong is unfolded by society. It is the perception of the relations in which we stand to our fellow men which gives us the idea of duty. A man left to run wild would soon lose his ideas of right and wrong. God has placed us in society that we may learn the relations of father, brother, husband, wife, and friend, and see the conduct The second clause explains the first-it tells us in what respects we ought to build up each other. We are to do it by giving grace' to those who hear. The want of human character is 'grace.' That there fore which benefits man is whatever confers this needful gift. If we can understand this we shall have the whole art of conversation' according to the apostle Paul. What then is grace? We reply, 'grace' is spiritual proportion, harmony, beauty. The grace of God is the kindly love of God, who pities and cares for men. And grace in men is that love appropriated and developed in their own hearts until these become beautiful and lovely in all their thoughts and deeds. What 'minis-appropriate to these solemn trusts. ters grace' therefore, is what contributes to completeness of manhood so as to make a truly loveable character. And this really builds up' the heart of man. It makes man a temple of the Holy Ghost, a building of God, a house not made with hands. This temple, the renewed nature of man, has many chambers and And it is through our influence over each other that we are to educate this conscience to perfection. Take care then that your words do this. Be reverent to duty in your speech. Let no word fall which can be pled in excuse for sin. Let the tempted be helped, the pure be further purified, and even the profligate be shamed into compliance by the lofty Cautious as to the Matter of Speaking, &c. moral tone of our society. Speak as men who have the perfect man, the man Christ Jesus, dwelling in your hearts. Make an atmosphere about you which shall be healthy for all men to breathe. There is a chamber of the heart, or the affections. Let your conversation be kindly and genial. In the rude, rough world, your homes may be one place, at all events, where selfishness cannot penetrate, but where all which is said shall tend to humanize and genialize your brethren. You must have care and sorrow. The wrinkles will form upon your brow, and your hair will whiten with the years, but you may keep a young heart if you will. Yes, you may keep the heart even of a little child. You must, if you are to enter the kingdom of heaven. And if you do, then, oh then-your conversation will be good to building up a simple heart in others. Out of the abundance of the heart the mouth speaketh, and from a Christly heart, therefore, helpful words will flow. In this way we may catch, imperfectly no doubt, but still we may catch the spirit of the apostle's words. This is the use of conversation, to play out thought and feeling purely, and in this way to minister grace' to men. But how? We have only a brief space in which to answer this question. And first, as it is plain that we can never give what we do not possess, we must have grace in ourselves. Beauty of mind and spirit must characterize us, or they cannot flow forth into our words and so cannot be given to our companions. We have no new rule for the getting of these. They must be won by long striving, by patient determination, and by faithful self-culture; for God has so constituted the world that speaking strictly he gives us almost nothing, but on the other hand, makes everything over to honest effort. Yet the word 'grace' implies favour and gift, so that we may be sure there is a bestowment somewhere. You know where it is. You know Who is the Incarnate 367 'grace' of God, and the perfect grace' of man. He will give Himself to you if you will; and if He does, you will daily grow in grace.' The mind which was in Christ Jesus is the only perfect mind. Go to Him. Look at that speaking countenance as it beams upon you from His history in the Evangels till you are changed into the same image.' The only other hint we have to give is one of caution. And this relates to two things; the matter of speaking, and the time to speak. As to this last, let us remember what the wise man has told us, there is a time to speak and a time to keep silence. The Germans say, 'Speech is silver, silence is golden.' Would it not be well for many among us if we could form the habit of waiting at any rate until we have something to say? The man who talks perpetually must be an extraordinary man if he does not often speak great folly. As Bishop Butler says, 'If such persons are entertaining, it is at their own expense. Is it possible that it can never come into people's thoughts to enquire whether it is really to their advantage to show so much of themselves? "As hills of sand are to the steps of the aged, so is a man of many words to a quiet man." ." One who is often silent will be more likely than another to speak helpfully when he does speak. The other caution relates to the matter of conversation. Take care what you speak about. In this it is not possible to lay down formal rules. Every one must judge for himself. A great deal will depend upon the company; a great deal again on the occasion of the meeting and on the mood of mind. Laughter is out of place in the house of sorrow, and sorrowful words are ill-timed to one who is light of heart. All we say is; speak with thoughtfulness. what you say. Have a reason for few and well chosen, remembering HUNTED ON THE MOORS. PASSAGES FROM THE TRADITIONS OF THE COVENANTERS. CHAPTER IV.-A RUN FOR DEAR LIFE. THE guests at the Miny, remained | forth in every direction from Muir. nearly the whole of the winter. kirk. When spring came round, all had fled. The news of the 'refuge' now became known among the Covenanting brethren, and others sought its friendly shelter. But how long that shelter would be available was fast becoming a matter of grave debate. The laird had made Gilbert his gamekeeper; and the troopers at Muirkirk had come to think well of him because they once saw him, as they thought, | fire after poachers. While the curate of Auchenleck, notorious for giving information of disaffected people, hardly knew there was such a spot as the Miny, since it lay some twelve miles right in the heart of the moss; and the curate of Muirkirk didn't trouble himself about its inhabitants, because they were not in his parish. But the troopers who had long been garrisoned at Muirkirk were relieved by others under the command of the notorious Crichton. He was fierce, bloodthirsty, and unscrupulous. It is enough further to say that he fought under Claverhouse at Bothwell Bridge, and even earned his approbation. His dragoons were not slow in imitating their master, and were reckoned the worst that infested the uplands. They were scarcely ever sober. Indeed drunkenness characterized the whole of the persecuting party, from the men who sat in the council down to the lowest soldiery. Even the curates, the lairds, and the informers, were all more or less addicted to this vice. Crichton's dragoons were a terror to the women, and by their conduct antedated some of the most revolting parts of the Indian mutiny. Plunder, rape, murder-nothing came amiss. Crichton, keenly intent on ferreting out the Covenanters, sent his troopers One day, a small company, under Cochrane, was ravaging the parts about Cairntable, intending to seize upon any stray person they could find. All were drunk as usual, for the tin flasks of whiskey which they carried with them had been used without stint; and some were so intoxicated as scarcely to keep in their saddles. They were in perpetual danger of an overthrow from the uncertain nature of the moss. At length one heavy steed did stumble, and threw his rider with great violence to the ground. The heartless troopers did not stop to help their comrade, but turned his misfortune into ridicule. Let him lie there,' said one; 'it will teach him better manners than attempting to ride before his betters.' 'Let him seek favour with Crichton now,' said another. 'Itrow this will stop his vaunting.' Thus muttering, they rode on, and left him to his fate. All this was seen by three Covenanters who were hiding in a hollow on the face of the hill. They pitied the poor man, though one of their foes, and yearned to render him assistance if alive, or bury him if dead. They accordingly crept out of their lair and descended the hill. By this time the troopers began to think what account they should render for the loss of their companion, and for the loss of the horse, which could be even less spared than the rider. They returned in a body, and soon came in sight of the animal grazing quietly on the moor, and this guided them to the spot where their comrade lay. As they approached they quickly discerned the three men who were stooping over the fallen trooper. They at once gave chase. The 'brethren' retreated hastily, and rounding the hill for a few minutes lost sight of the horsemen. The pursuit now | and the other two, as they imagined, became hotter, and the dragoons had tumbled lifeless into the ravine were soon again in full view. The Cochrane began his retreat, leaving fugitives saw in the hollow which his victims to be buried by any one lay before them an extensive moss, who chose to undertake the task. into the heart of which it was their Many bodies were thus left on the intention to run. They plunged in, moors. and struggled on, through the deep hags, onward, still onward, until they reached a green spot, on which they flung themselves prostrate, more dead than alive. The troopers stood to consider. It was obvious at a glance that their horses could not enter the morass. Their fire-arms were at once in requisition, but the balls failed to reach their intented objects. The fugitives lay panting on the mossy platform perfectly secure. Cochrane was not to be baffled. Three of the six troopers were ordered to dismount, and three to ride round the moss and cut off the retreat of the brethren. Seeing the predicament they were in, the three Covenanters rose from their restingplace, and cleared the morass before the troopers came round. The rest were at once recalled, again mounted their horses, and hastened, with Cochrane, to the three in advance. The men fled to the height on the other side; but exhausted, and with pursuers on horseback, it was evident that they must speedily give in. Every yard they trod the powerful horses of the troopers gained ground. One of the brethren fell through sheer exhaustion, but recovering himself, rose and fled with the rest. By this time they were nearing the edge of a ravine, precipitous, and filled with dense hazel-wood and birches. To gain this was their only hope. But the troopers, guessing their purpose, fired upon them. At the first volley one of the party fell. Another volley and the remaining two were on the very brink of the gully, and tumbled over among the thicket, while the shot went rustling among the leaves. The soldiers thought they had now done their work: one lay weltering in his blood on the turf, The men in the ravine were simply bruised by their fall among the bushes. Perceiving the hubbub had ceased, and not knowing the fate of their companion, they scrambled up to the edge of the ravine, and saw the horsemen departing in the distance, and the body of their companion lying on the grass. As they came near him they found that while life was not extinct his body was literally bathed in a pool of blood. The dying man raised his head when he heard the familiar voices of his friends, and said, with a feeble voice and with most painful articulation-'I am dying; I am dying; but I am happy, happy, yes, happy; and if I had a thousand lives I would lay them all down for Christ. O! how sweet to suffer for Christ! soon see Him who loved me Himself for me. I know God has received me for Christ's sake. I feel it-in my heart.' After a pause he added, 'Bear my love to my dear mother, my brothers and sisters. My father has already borne his testimony for Christ, and may be his spirit will come along with angels and conduct my soul to glory. I leave my love to all my suffering brethren. I forgive my enemies. Kiss me, my dear friends, and then I will die, and-and-' He could say no more. Life had fled. I shall and gave The two survivors brushed the tears away from their eyes, after a solemn pause, in which neither spoke. They had now to consider how to bury their martyred brother. Where were they to get implements in that lonely place? They determined to search for the nearest cottage; and meanwhile covered the body with leaves, and bushes. As they turned to seek, the sun was setting in lured majesty. Presently they descried a thin blue |