praising him and pitying him in a way that was always very sweet to
him, he saw that he must begin his sermon at once, if he meant to
get through with it in time, and must put off all hope of replying
to Lemuel Barker till Monday at least. But he chose quite a
different theme from that on which he had intended to preach. By an
immediate inspiration he wrote a sermon on the text, "The tender
mercies of the wicked are cruel," in which he taught how great harm
could be done by the habit of saying what are called kind things. He
showed that this habit arose not from goodness of heart, or from the
desire to make others happy, but from the wish to spare one's-self
the troublesome duty of formulating the truth so that it would
perform its heavenly office without wounding those whom it was
intended to heal. He warned his hearers that the kind things spoken
from this motive were so many sins committed against the soul of the
flatterer and the soul of him they were intended to flatter; they
were deceits, lies; and he besought all within the sound of his
voice to try to practise with one another an affectionate sincerity,
which was compatible not only with the brotherliness of
Christianity, but the politeness of the world. He enforced his
points with many apt illustrations, and he treated the whole subject
with so much fulness and fervour, that he fell into the error of the
literary temperament, and almost felt that he had atoned for his
wrongdoing by the force with which he had portrayed it.

Mrs. Sewell, who did not always go to her husband's sermons, was at
church that day, and joined him when some ladies who had lingered to
thank him for the excellent lesson he had given them at last left
him to her.

"Really, David," she said, "I wondered your congregation could keep