Who can utter the diabolical nature, the depth and the secrecy, the subtlety and the spirituality, the range and the reach-out of an ill-will?  Our hearts are full of ill-will at those we meet and shake hands with every day.  At men also we have never seen, and who are totally ignorant even of our existence.  Over a thousand miles we dart our viperous hearts at innocent men.  At great statesmen we have ill-will, and at small; at great churchmen and at small; at great authors and at small; at great, and famous, and successful men in all lines of life; for it is enough for ill-will that another man be praised, and well-paid, and prosperous, and then placed in our eye.  No amount of suffering will satiate ill-will; the very grave has no seal against it.  And, now and then, you have it thrust upon you that other men have the same devil in them as deeply and as actively as he is in you.  You will suddenly run across a man on the street.  His face was shining with some praise he had just had spoken to him, or with some recognition he had just received from some great one; or with some good news for himself he had just heard, before he caught sight of you.  But the light suddenly dies on his face, and darkness comes up out of his heart at his sudden glimpse of you.  What is the matter? you ask yourself as he scowls past you.  What have you done so to darken any man’s heart to you?  And as you stumble on in the sickening cloud he has left behind him, you suddenly recollect that you were once compelled to vote against that man on a public question:  on some question of home franchise, or foreign war, or church government, or city business; or perchance, a family has left his shop to do business in yours, or his church to worship God in yours, or such like.  It will be a certain relief to you to recollect such things.  But with it all there will be a shame and a humiliation and a deep inward pain that will escape into a cry of prayer for him and for yourself and for all such sinners on the same street.  If you do not find an escape from your sharp resentment in ejaculatory prayer and in a heart-cleansing great good-will, your heart, before you are a hundred steps on, will be as black with ill-will as his is.  But that must not again be.  Would you hate or strike back at a blind man who stumbled and fell against you on the street?  Would you retaliate at a maniac who gnashed his teeth and shook his fist at you on his way past you to the madhouse?  Or at a corpse being carried past you that had been too long without burial?  And shall you retaliate on a miserable man driven mad with diabolical passion?  Or at a poor sinner whose heart is as rotten as the grave?  Ill-will is abroad in our learned and religious city at all hours of the day and night.  He glares at us under the sun by day, and under the street lamps at night.  We suddenly feel his baleful eye on us as we thoughtlessly pass under his overlooking windows:  it will be a side street