It’s seat must be in the _heart_. It is goodwill to man as a principle, exhibiting itself by corresponding exertions. This expansion of soul distinguishes the liberal from the illiberal:—compulsion or interest may lead to a distribution of property—but “the liberal mind deviseth liberal things”—it’s bounty flows spontaneously—the streams are diffused all abroad, but the spring rises in the bosom—and the largeness of the supply demonstrates that the fountain is inexhaustible. The heart of the liberal man is a heart of flesh—it is sensitive, and can feel—it is soft, and can yield to the touch—it is tender, and requires not to be pressed. The heart of the miser is a rock—it may be calcined, but not softened—it may be consumed, but not melted—the sunbeam of mercy, and the fire of judgment, fall upon it alike in vain. His chest, although made of iron, may be broken, it’s bars and bolts forced, it’s locks opened—but his heart, never! Every moral malady proceeds from the heart—and every Christian grace is enthroned there. Charity is love—and without love, there is no liberality. Liberality, when the heart is it’s centre, has the world for it’s circumference. It’s ample circle embraces all mankind. The _denomination_ is overlooked to make room for the species. “Am I not a man, and a brother?” is the irresistible appeal; and whether it come from the east or the west, the north or the south, it finds it’s way to the secret recesses of the soul, and calls into action all it’s mighty energies. Forgetful of the lines of political demarcation assigned by princes, and recognised by nations—regardless of the narrow limits into which a sectarian spirit has distributed the Christian world—as indifferent to the colour of the skin, and to diversity of tongues, as to the shibboleth of a party—unfettered even “by the bounds of the people,” which “the Most High set, when he separated the sons of Adam, and divided to the nations their inheritance”—Christian liberality, on the wings of love, swift as those of the morning, and strong as those of the seraph, sweeps over seas and mountains, the depths of the forest, and the sands of the desert—un-scorched at the torrid zone, and unfrozen at the poles—to scatter her blessings over the great Family of Man. “Have we not all one Father? Hath not one God created us?” “As we have, therefore, opportunity, let us do good unto all men, especially unto those who are of the household of faith.”