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FACTS AND FRAGMENTS.

STEWARDSHIP.

THE clear and far-seeing mind of Solomon never gave utterance to a truth of more deep and solemn meaning than when he wrote, "It is a snare to the man who devoureth that which is holy, and afterward voweth to make enquiry." (Prov. xx. 25.) In those few and apparently simple words he sketched a principle of universal application, and of equal moment in all ages and to all men.

That which is intrusted to us is "holy." Confidence placed in us makes trust a sacred thing. It is not a light charge, nor can any true heart regard it lightly, when, for example, a mother, in the midst of her own dying struggles, gasping for

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breath, beckons you to her bedside, and says, "I leave my child in your hands; I trust her property to you to manage; I have entire confidence in your honour and integrity; you will look after her, advise her, care for her, for my sake." If that trust is accepted, that daughter's property becomes "holy." That trust is sacred. The upright man will be as careful of it as if it were his own. He will husband it. He will see to its security first, and to its proper increase afterwards. No circumstances whatever would induce him to tamper with it—to play or speculate with it. It is not his own. It is more sacred than his own. He might run a risk with his own. If the risk were unsuccessful, he only would be the loser. But this is not his own. He is simply "put in trust with it," and to risk that which has been so intrusted to him would, in his judgment, be the worst and most dangerous dishonesty, -a dishonesty, the consequences of which would be no less hurtful and damaging to himself, to his own moral health, to his self-respect, to his peace of conscience, than they might be ruinous to the temporal prosperity of those for whom he was put in trust with it. Poverty might be the result of his breach of trust, to those with whose earthly means

he was solemnly trusted; but their poverty would be as nothing, their fall in money and position, in comfort and independence, would be as nothing compared to the depth to which he who should abuse the sacredness and solemnity of Trust would be lowered in his own esteem, and in the sight of God.

It may be that temptation may first assault us in the suggestion to borrow for a while what it is our intention soon to repay; not to let that be idle, the employment of which would greatly profit us, and make no one the poorer. It may be that, at the time when the temptation to touch that which is "holy" first assaults, we may have not only the honest purpose, but the power to return what has been borrowed. That power may, however, depart with changing circumstances. That which has been borrowed without the knowledge or consent of those to whom it belongs, may be completely absorbed, evaporated, as if it had not been; and when it is unexpectedly needed by its rightful owner, when it is suddenly asked of us, when we are required to return that which we have had committed to our care, it is not forthcoming. Our own personal means do not enable us to make it good. We have "devoured that

which was holy;" and though when we first touched it, we "vowed afterwards to make enquiry," we are unable to keep our vow.

Many who are now wearing the dress, doing the drudgery, experiencing the bitterness, of the convicted felon, and who feel the depth to which they have fallen all the more keenly because of the height from which they fell, if they traced the history of their downfall, and tracked to its first link the chain of sequences by which they have come to be where they are, would tell you that they did not sufficiently regard “Trust” as a solemn thing, and the thing so trusted to them a "holy" thing.

I well remember a case which impressed this truth upon my mind more plainly, and illustrated it more painfully, than any other.

I was in my library in Whitechapel, when the servant brought in a name which I did not know. The man was shown in. He was of middle age, of that appearance which is so accurately and happily described by our English word "respectable." His well-formed head and clear high forehead led one to expect intelligence. His manner was that of one who had crept in ashamed. But there was no effort at decep

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