who (under God) owe their restored health, and strength to the Royal Berkshire Hospital; to the care and skill with which it has administered to their infirmities.

It is enough to know that this noble charity is now cramped for means. Surely there is no one here present who will not delight to lend it a helping hand. Surely you who are poor will now give of your poverty-you who are rich will give of your riches and can you use them better? to rescue it from difficulties-difficulties incurred in its labour of love; and you will, in deed as in word, wish it "good speed in the name of the Lord.”

Shiplake, May 4, 1856.

Thanksgiving Sunday.

SERMON XV.

[FIRST SUNDAY AFTER TRINITY.]

RICH AND POOR.

ST. LUKE, xvi. 25.

"Son, remember that thou in thy lifetime receivedst thy good things, and likewise Lazarus evil things: but now he is comforted, and thou art tormented.”

I KNOW no passage of Holy Scripture more profitable for us to dwell upon, nor one that yields more important lessons, both for rich and poor-for men in adversity and for men in prosperity-than that part of St. Luke's Gospel which comes before us on this Sunday, the parable of the rich man and Lazarus.

It is a parable you have often heard—many of you have it by heart-yet, so full is it of instruction, and that of a kind so necessary to us, that I feel no scruple in recurring to it again for the subject of a sermon. May God be with us, and give us a true insight into the meaning of this portion of His most holy word!

The parable opens with the description of two

men, whose lot on earth is most strikingly contrasted. In a very few words we are made acquainted with their several conditions. "There was a certain rich man, which was clothed in purple and fine linen, and fared sumptuously every day." Here we have the picture of a rich man in our Lord's daycostly raiment and delicate fare, and this "every day." That word, "every day," tells us of continuance. It was not now and then, on feasts and holidays, that this rich man thus lived, but always—every day. Such a life belonged to his condition, and was natural-almost necessary-to him.

And so is it still. Sumptuous fare and the costliest habit belong, as of old, to the wealthy class. They may still be characterised as persons who dress well, and fare well every day.

It was one of these prosperous men a rich man, living in the ease and luxury which riches can command—who is brought before us in the first verse of this parable.

In contrast with him, and yet in close neighbourhood, is another figure. "There was a certain beggar named Lazarus, which was laid at his gate full of sores, and desiring to be fed with the crumbs which fell from the rich man's table: moreover, the dogs came and licked his sores."

We e see in this man the lowest condition of poverty; lower far than we are wont to see, except

very rarely, amongst ourselves.

He was reduced

to the condition of a beggar; and, besides, so afflicted was he in the body, that he had not the use of his limbs: some charitable neighbours carried him day by day from his wretched home, and laid him at the rich man's gate, where he begged-but begged, it appears, in vain-for some broken scraps of his superfluous food. "Moreover," to heighten the picture of his misery, "the dogs," we are told, "came and licked his sores."

These, then, are the two-so opposite in their condition-whom our Lord places before our eyes in this parable-a rich man enjoying himself as his means allowed him to do, and a poor man brought by poverty to the lowest point of misery.

The sight of them, in such different conditions, -the one so prosperous, the other so wretchedmay suggest many serious thoughts to our mind. Why, we ask, should the good things of life be so unequally shared? What is there in one man that he should have, from his very infancy, all things made ready to his pleasure-no rough path to tread-no laborious toil to undergo-no pinching want to feel―none of what are usually called hardships to endure?

And why should another man have all these to bear? Why should life be to him one unbroken line of hardship-all labour-all suffering—all

sorrow so that death is looked forward to as an

escape and deliverance?

Why, again, does it happen that we see not always the good, and the deserving in prosperity, but often the least good, and the least deserving? while, among the wretched are found men worthy of a better lot, and whose sufferings do not in any wise seem to be the consequence of their own sins?

To such questions, brethren, questions started by the opposite state of Dives and Lazarus, the sequel of the parable will give the best answer.

"And it came to pass that the beggar died." Yes! he died; and his end, as had been his life, seemed to be without honour. If it called forth any comment, it would probably be this: "The poor creature is no more; he is out of his trouble; he will not need our pity further; he will no more beset our doors with his petition, no more vex our eyes with the sad spectacle of his sufferings." So may they have spoken, when they missed Lazarus from his accustomed place at the rich man's gate.

But how great a change for the better had come over him! He was, indeed, out of his trouble, but he was also in joy and felicity! He was, indeed, past human aid—past human want-but he was also where want could no more touch him! He was safe across life's troublesome waves, in a