He spoke also of what followed upon this great change, of the fruits of this conversion from sin unto righteousness, how the true Christian was full of tenderness to his fellow-creatures, “and loved his neighbour as himself.” He showed that they could not any longer allow themselves to give way to their passions; in particular, he mentioned the evil nature of anger, which Christians must entirely forsake; and that provoking to anger was a thing equally bad. It was a discourse that went to Lacy’s very heart: he would have given the world to have understood it better; and as for his wife, she, for once, forgot her gown while she listened to the sermon. Lacy and Susan asked no questions till after dinner, when Connor had very devoutly returned thanks to God for all the good things he sent them. At last he said, “Connor, did you understand the sermon?” “Yes, through God’s blessing, I trust I did,” replied Connor. “Now I listened all through,” said Lacy, “but could make out very little of what he meant, except when he spoke about anger, and such other evil passions,” looking at Susan. “And of provoking to anger,” said Susan, looking at him. “But did you not understand what he said about loving one another?” asked Mary. “Why, yes, I think so,” replied Lacy; “but what did he mean by our coming to Christ to be cleansed and clothed?” “He meant,” answered Connor, “as the Bible shows, that nothing could wash away our sins but the blood that was shed on the cross for us—and that renouncing all dependence upon our own works, we must take for the garment of salvation, the righteousness of Christ, which alone can make us fit to appear before God.” “I suppose,” said Susan, “there were some very wicked people there, and the clergyman meant it for them.” “Aye,” said Connor, “and for the very best people there too;—there are none in the world fit to enter heaven without being so cleansed and so clothed.” “That is odd!” exclaimed Lacy, “for supposing that you and I, and the two wives, are all sinners, sure the little boys cannot be sinners?” “Oh, yes we are, indeed?” said little William, shaking his head sorrowfully, “Peter and I are bad boys: I told a lie twice; and Peter pulled an apple that father told him not to touch.” “Poor dears!” said Susan; “and do you think such little trifles will keep you out of heaven?” “All sin will do so,” said Connor; “a small penknife will destroy life, as well as a great sword; they knew it was wrong, yet they did it, and that was sin. Little as they are, they already feel the want of pardon for their sin, through the Lord Jesus Christ.” Lacy felt somewhat alarmed. “If this be true,” thought he, “what a vile sinner am I!” He leaned his head on his hand, for some time; then striking the table, he exclaimed, “I shall never understand all this.” “Good neighbour, it _cannot_ be learned without the grace of God to teach us.” “How may a body get that grace?” said Lacy.