It is easy enough for us to forgive (in words at least) a man who has injured us.  Easy enough to make up our minds that we will not revenge ourselves.  Easy enough to determine, even, that we will return good for evil to him, and do him a kindness when we have a chance.  Yes, we would not hurt him for the world:  but what if God hurt him?  What if he hurt himself?  What if he lost his money?  What if his children turned out ill?  What if he made a fool of himself, and came to shame?  What if he were found out and exposed, as we fancy that he deserves?  Should we be so very sorry?  We should not punish him ourselves.  No.  But do we never catch ourselves thinking whether God may not punish him; thinking of that with a base secret satisfaction; almost hoping for it, at last?  Oh if we ever do, God forgive us!  If we ever find those devil’s thoughts rising in us, let us flee from them as from an adder; flee to the foot of Christ’s Cross, to the cross of him who prayed for his murderers, Father, forgive them, for they know not what they do; and there cry aloud for the blood of life, which shall cleanse us from the guilt of those wicked thoughts, and for the water of life, which shall cleanse us from the power of them:  lest they get the dominion over us, and spring up in us, and spread over our whole hearts; not a well of life, but a well of poison, springing up in us to everlasting damnation.  Oh let us pray to him to give us truth in our inward parts; that we may forgive and love, not in word only, but in deed and in truth.

I could not help saying this in passing.  But it is not what the text is speaking of; not what I want to speak of myself to-day.  I want to speak of a matter which is smaller, and not by any means so sinful:  and which yet in practice is often more tormenting to a truly tender conscience, because it is more common and more continual.

How often, when one examines oneself, whether one be in love and charity with all men, one must recollect that there are many people whom one does not like.  I do not mean that one hates them.  Not in the least:  but they do not suit one.  There is something in them which we cannot get on with, as the saying is.  Something in their opinions, manners, ways of talking; even—­God forgive us—­merely in their voice, or their looks, or their dress, which frets us, and gives us what is called an antipathy to them.  And one dislikes them; though they never have harmed us, or we them; and we know them, perhaps, to be better people than ourselves.  Now, are we in love and charity with these people?  I am afraid not.

I know one is tempted to answer; but I am afraid the answer is worth very little—­Why not?  We cannot help it.  You cannot expect us to like people who do not suit us:  any more than you can expect us to like a beetle or a spider.  We know the beetle or the spider will not harm us.  We know that they are good in their places, and do good, as all God’s creatures are and do; and there is room enough in the world for them and us:  but we have a natural dislike to them, and cannot help it; and so with these people.  We mean no harm in disliking them.  It is natural to us; and why blame us for it.