THE SABBATH BOOK, LONDON. . $ SKINNER STREET, 4 2 qT, . a a ‘ ‘ KL 6 ALL, AN DF « e A - © abe * oy z 8 SABBATH BOOK. MORAL AND RELIGIOUS EXTRACTS FROM ESTEEMED ENGLISH AUTHORS. BY CHARLES” WOODFALL. ** From that holy institution, the Sabbath, have accrued to man more knowledge of his God, more instruction in righteousness, more guidance of his affections, and more consolation of his spirit, than from all other means which have been devised in the world to make him wise and virtuous.”’ BisHop DEHON. LONDON : WILLIAM BALL AND CO., PATERNOSTER-ROW ; J. HATCHARD AND SON; JAMES NISBET AND CO. JOHN JOHNSTONE, EDINBURGH; W. CURRY AND CO., DUBLIN. 1859. —* 7. as Ati ) . nS bch AH EMS mare sat oF ~— lied * aie hit earne ty NOM: fea > ee ini 5 a ieee Ee ene nT . SG MODN Ok 4 AMD AL THA, 4 MAY eae eee Pa aw: | fe et an gis." , DA SLAE ARIA Hi %, TO GEORGE WOODFALL, ESQ., F.S.A., THIS VOLUME IS INSCRIBED, AS A TRIBUTE OF GREAT RESPECT FOR HIS CHARACTER, AND OF GRATITUDE FOR HIS KINDNESS, BY THE EDITOR, * SET IATIUS ' *\« - *'s = Sk: (Ade Brats Sik We reine &. See Se Net ] ; ? s 4 , 4 i . = i - = ¢ op mee tt score. Bete, Ae iat’ s met ete ug oe th Para hak 1 2) ae id Or Aca i tf oo ABER a Rt Ve: i See SAVANE BUR Mak RGU ELA ee “ * Oi ee See CONTENTS. PAGE RELIGION. J. A. James. » | To Religion. Clare. tie ree 2 The Love of God. Paley. 2 aestehS e. he 3 Sketch of Christ’s Character. JT. H. Horne. 7 The Question interesting to All. Dr. Watson. ead The Atonement for Sin. 7. H. Horne. . + + « 10 Christianity. Clare. . «© + -» : 14 Christianity,and Heathenism. Beattie. . . ~ 215 The Tendency of Christianity. Joseph John ites 18 Three Facts for the Truth of Christianity. Paley. 19 Thoughts on the same Subject. Soame Jenyns. Gah te Design in the Construction of the Universe. Dr. Watson. SP ny} . : wae 24 Difficulties in any Beles cannot bake that false, which is true; nor can difficulties in the Scriptures, invalidate them. T. H. Horne. 26 On the Trinity. Bishop Horne. . ». «© + + + Sl The Twelve Apostles. Dr. Watson. . - + + + 34 The Fall of Man. T. Ragg. » + © + «© «© «+ 36 The Immortality of the Soul. Spectator. . . . + 38 The Omnipresence of God. J. Montgomery. -. - + Al Ocean. R. Montgomery. oso PRLS : 43 In Matters of Religion, how dreadful is Vistiaon. J. A. James. -. ++: oak AN tae ne 44 Seriousness in Religion. Paley. ot Fee He wasa Man of Sorrows. 7. Ragg. HN Et Nie, 62 An Universal Call to Repentance. Pollok. pet Su ANES The Meeting of Christians. J. Edmeston. . . 55 The Moral System of Christianity. T. H, Horhe:: 56 a2 cd vill CONTENTS. The same Subject pursued. Soame Jenyns. + -« Against this World’s Business engrossing our Thoughts ; a Precept of Christianity only. Soame Jenyns. ‘ On Over-anxiety for the Morrow. Bishop Horne. . An Examination to be made regularly, every Morning or Evening, of the Employment of the preceding Day... «> oh ie? a. 0y 0s Wi De -gieaneE Night. Bernard Barton: : oe bie itis The Sophistry of the Human Peart. Robert Hail. A strenuous Resistance to allSin. Dr. Chalmers. The Influence of our Present Actions at a Future Time; and our Mes of them in Old Age. Johnson. . .- Reg The Consideration of our a eae! upon Ones an Incitement to Virtue. . . o dba” eet A Man’s Good or Bad forties meet ois an appro- priate Return even in this World. ddamSmith. . What is Life? Clare ... sf 5.) pees The Present Life, a State of Probation: Paley: isis The same Subject. Soame Jenyns. -. + «+ -«¢ The Superior Claims of Religion. Robert Hall. . The Excellency of Knowledge. . - + + «+ -«¢ The Sabbath. John Scott . + + «+ - Omniscience. _R. Montgomery. »« + «© «© -» On a New Year. Cotton. .- > ae The Fear of God, the only Fonditauos Ge True Courage. Guardian... . «+ - a ee Nothing but Religion, can produce Detislon or Virtue. Alison. : ot et Bs Huns Mistaken Notions of some Pasicsior of Christianity. Dr. Chalmers. «ete IU" ‘ otew ole Vee Providence. Akenside. «© + +6 «© -» Happiness. . .- | ibe IGE. hs ae eee The Ingredients of Prininees Padey or adiiin Bly tale 101 107 110 114 117 CONTENTS. Strength of Mind essential to Happiness. Guardian. Happiness at Home, the Wise Man’s Aim. Johnson. _ Man. T. Ragg. : Stag See SUE Wa Our Native Land. J. teers: Dr. Benjamin Franklin’s Plan for attaining Mor Perfection. on ee Precepts. H.G. White. ia eeere Self Control inculcated. J. A. James. . «© + 2 The Origin of the Passions. Akenside. . +» + + On the Passions. Blair. . OR EES An Irritable and Petulant Disposition J. A. James. Same Subject pursued. Blair. «© . « . On Choleric Dispositions and Malice. Guardian. ‘* Be ye angry, and sin not.” eo Cabal Suspicion. Johnson. 3 nae ered Bee Against Suspicion. ‘bona An Envious Man. Bishop Hail. SALE The Vain Man. Robert Hall. .° ». «© »© «© «@ Affectation of Qualities we do not possess, deprecated. Johnson. . . Pade St Sk psa TT The Propriety of Frugality. Nanos Py Ss Covetousness. J. Harris. . oS RNG SIE eg Proofs of a General Providence. T. Ragg. The Difference in living ie and within, one’s Income. Knorr, . . EIT. Sy, « HER Employment, a Blessing. Pola eS). ers The Common Lot. Chalmers. . . ; The Folly of Indecision, in the choice of one’s Pio! fession. Johnson. . Paes ie Honour your own Calling. SainGon ey Cheerfulness. Spectator. » pet Bia, Piety and Gratitude. H. K. White. sR aS Contentment, from a Consideration of the Difference of our various Worldly Affairs. Paley. . «. « Wealth, its Impotence. Johnson. . «© +» « «+ ix PAGE 124 128 130 131 132 133 135 136 138 140 143 145 148 151 153 155 159 161 163 167 170 171 176 179 182 183 187 191 193 196 x CONTENTS. Thoughts of Ourselves. Adam Smithh « + + * Sources of Self-Complacency. Know. Pe wee ee A Guide for the Conduct of our Conversation. Guar- dian. . i, eget Sas Yk Friendship. Teens rear ats ak Domestic Sketches. Cotton. - + + °* Complaisance. Guardian, + + + * * * ° _A Kindly Demeanour to AY. iJ ORNSOMe) foe? aa en? a Charity. Paley. see il; asntiens adh Sd aay Of Benevolence. J. A. James. Benevolence, and Selfishness. J. A. Tite The Man of Kindness. J. A. James. aye On Forgiveness of Injuries. Bishop Sadrnd ae Good Sense. °.J. Seeds Musiutte Hse wie Bad eee The Young Christian. V.- Ward... etext Sane On Personal Piety. R. Baxter. - + + + The Subject pursued. T. Griffith .». + + : Conformity of our Lives to our Principles. Maturin. The Good Man’s Retirement to his Bed. 2&. Mont-« gomery. «+ + i ie leh a ae Patience. W. pes ee aT eee a ee The Subject pursued. Bennett. - Hope. Dr. Wardlaw. §. «+ js tenet A Picture of Dissipation. H. G. White. < grew Sickness. J..Edmeston. «© + © + © * *% 8 (Pie Prisoner. Claré:; > sts). + siswmelt meee The Chastening of Affliction. W. Newnham. + + The Subject pursued. Ogden, + + + + * °* On Prayer. FE. Bickersteth. CO ig des OM On Death. Johnson. shew , eek 46s On the Death of the Young. W. N shoria. a The Death-bed of a Good Man. J. A. James. + +; On Visiting the House of Mourning. Blair. wigtis Sympathy with others’, and Moderation in our own Grief. Adam Smith: ... «8. © e008. © 8 CONTENTS. The celebrated Lord Chesterfield. - : The Last Words of the notorious Earl of Bishan: with some Observations on his Character, by Dr. Burnet. ; The Infidel’s Belief. oarken The Last Moments of ee and eles haan T. H. Horne . «» “ Remorse. R. RE eee fil eta ee tone ats Becoming Thoughts, and affecting Hatroepections: at the close of a Year. Bishop Horne. Time. H. K. White. abt Prospect of a Future State. Addison. Stanzas. R. Montgomery. »« + + + + «© ¢ The Closing Scene. Blair. X1 PAGE 252 254 257 261 266 266 273 274 275 276 aS “ y— WHO IN EVERY EVENT LOOKS UP TO GOD, HAS ALWAYS IN HIS VIEW A GREAT AND ELEVATING OBJECT, WHICH INSPIRES HIM WITH MAGNANIMITY ie BLAIR. a D THE SABBATH BOOK. RELIGION. TRUE religion is no sullen stoicism, or gloomy melancholy ; it is not an enthralling tyranny ex- ercised over the noble and generous sentiments of love and delight, as those who are strangers to it imagine: but it is full of a vigorous and masculine felicity, such as ennobles instead of degrading the soul; such as invigorates instead of enervating its powers; such as does not dis-: spirit and sadden the mind afterwards, when the season of enjoyment is gone by, as do earthly and sensual pleasures; but elevates its views and purposes, and strengthens it for lofty en- terprise and heroic deeds, by giving it to drink of the river of life, clear as crystal, which flows out of the throne of God and of the Lamb, and refreshing it with what in a true and a holy B 2 RELIGION. sense, may be called the nectar of immortality. That religion which does not consist in mere airy notions, in cold and heartless orthodoxy, in pharisaic forms and ceremonies, but in faith working by love,—love to God, to Christ, to the brethren, and to the world,—does sometimes, in its higher elevations lead the soul into a mount of transfiguration where it glows amidst the splendour that falls on it from the excellent glory: or takes it to the top of Pisgah, where it sees the distant prospect of the promised land ; thus placing it in the porch of heaven, and on the confines of eternity. J. A. JAMES. TO RELIGION. Tov sacred light, that right from wrong discerns: Thou safeguard of the soul, thou heaven on earth ; Thou undervaluer of the world’s concerns; Thou disregarder of its joys and mirth ; Thou only home the houseless wanderers have ; Thou prop by which the pilgrim’s woes are borne; Thou solace of the lonely hermit’s cave ; That beds him down to rest on fate’s sharp thorns ; Thou only hope to sorrow’s bosom given ; Thou voice of mercy when the weary call ; THE LOVE OF GOD. 3 Thou faith extending to thy home in heaven ; Thou peace, thou rest, thou comfort, all in all: A sovereign good! on thee all hopes depend, Till thy grand source unfolds its realizing end. CLARE. THE LOVE OF GOD. RELIGION may, and it can hardly I think be questioned but that it sometimes does, spring from terror, from grief, from pain, from punish- ment, from the approach of death ; and provided it be sincere, that is, such as either actually pro- duces, or as would produce a change of life, it is genuine religion, notwithstanding the bitter- ness, the violence, or, if it must be so called, the baseness and unworthiness of the motive from which it proceeds. We are not to narrow the promises of God ; and acceptance is promised. to sincere penitence, without specifying the cause from which it originates, or confining it to one origin more than another. There are, however, higher and worthier and better motives, from which religion may begin in the heart; and on this account especially are they to be deemed better motives, that the religion, which issues from them, has a greater probability of being sincere. I repeat again, that sincere B 2 4, - THE LOVE OF GOD. religion from any motive will be effectual ; but there is a great deal of difference in the proba- bilty of its being sincere, according to the differ- ent cause in the mind from which it sets out. The purest motive of human action is the love of God. ‘There may be motives stronger and more general, but none so pure. The re- ligion, the virtue, which owes its birth in the soul to this motive, is always genuine religion; always true virtue. Indeed, speaking of religion, I should call the love of God not so much the eround work of religion, as religion itself. So far as religion is disposition, it is religion itself. But though of religion it be more than the groundwork ; yet being a disposition of mind, like other dispositions, it is the groundwork of action. Well might our blessed Saviour preach up, as he did, the love of God. Itis the source of every thing which is good in man. 1 do not mean that it is the only source, or that goodness can proceed from no other, but that of all principles of conduct it is the safest, the best, the truest, the highest. Perhaps it 1s peculiar to the Jewish and Christian dispensa- tions (and, if it be, it is a peculiar excellency in them) to have formally and solemnly laid down this principle, as a ground of human action. THE LOVE OF GOD. 3 I shall not deny, that elevated notions were en- tertained of the Deity by some wise and excel- lent Heathens: but even these did not, that I can find, so inculcate the love of that Deity, or so propose and state it to their followers, as to make it a governing, actuating principle of life amongst them. This did Moses, or rather God by the mouth of Moses, expressly, formally, so- lemnly. This did Christ, adopting, repeating, ratifying what the law had already declared ; and not only ratifying, but singling it out from the body of precepts, which composed the old institution, and giving it a pre-eminence to every other. Now this love, so important to our religious character, and, by its effect upon that, to our salvation, which is the end of religion ; this love, I say, is to be engendered in the soul, not so much by hearing the words of others, or by instruction from others, as by a secret and ha- bitual contemplation of God Almighty’s bounty, and by a constant referring of our enjoyments and our hopes to his goodness. ‘This is ina great degree a matter of habit; and like all good habits, particularly mental habits, is what every person must form in himself and for himself by endea- vour and perseverance. In this great article, 6 THE LOVE OF GOD. as well as in others which are less, every man must be the author to himself of his train of thinking, be it good or bad. I shall only ob- serve that when this habit, or as some would call it, this turn and course of thought, is once hap- pily generated, occasions will continually arise to minister to its exercise and augmentation. A night’s rest, or a comfortable meal, will immedi- ately direct our gratitude to God. The use of our limbs, the possession of our senses ; every degree of health, every hour of ease, every sort of satisfaction, which we enjoy, will carry our thoughts to the same object. But if our enjoy- ments raise our affections, still more will our hopes do thesame; and, most of all beyond com- parison, those hopes which religion inspires. Think of man, and think of heaven ; think what he is, and what it is in his power hereafter to become: Think of this again and again; and it is impossible, but that the prospect of being so rewarded. for our poor labours, so resting from our past troubles, so forgiven for our re- pented sins, must fill our hearts with the deep- est thankfulness; and thankfulness is love. Towards the author of an obligation which is infinite, thankfulness is ‘the only species of love that can exist. . PALEY. 7 SKETCH OF CHRIST’S CHARACTER. Waite pride and vanity were the general cha- racteristics of the Jewish and Gentile teachers, Christ exhibited in his manner of teaching the most perfect modesty and delicacy, blended with the utmost boldness and integrity ; while he exposed the corruption of doctrine and hy- pocrisy in practice of the Scribes and Pharisees with such clearness of evidence and such pun- gency of reproof, that they themselves often shrunk from the detection, and trembled for the _ yery existence of their principles and their power ; not a word, not a sentiment fell from his lips which either could or can give pain to a mind of the most finished refinement and vir- tue; not a word, not a sentiment, has been ut- tered that can awaken one improper thought or allure in the least degree to any improper action. The weight of his precepts, and the manner in which they were inculcated, imparted to Christ’s teaching, a degree of authority peculiar to himself, and extorted from his adversaries the confession—Never man spake like this man. At the same time, he uniformly displayed towards his disciples the utmost kindness, gen- tleness, and patience ; bearing with their weak- 8 SKETCH OF CHRIST'S CHARACTER. nesses and infirmities, often reiterating the same instructions, removing their prejudices, and giving full force and effect to all his doctrines and precepts. The character of Jesus Christ, indeed, forms an essential part of the morality of the gospel. To the character of almost every other teacher of morals, some stain or defect attaches ; but he is charged with no vice either by friends or ene- mies. ‘In Christ”—(we quote the acknow- ledgment of an avowed unbeliever, [Chubb]) “we have an example of a quiet and peaceable spirit, of a becoming modesty and sobriety, just, honest, upright, and sincere; and, above all, of a most gracious and benevolent temper and beha- viour. One who did no wrong, no injury to any man, in whose mouth was no guile; who went about doing good not only by his ministry, but also in curing all manner of diseases among the people. His life was a beautiful picture of human nature in its native purity and simpli- city; and shewed at once what excellent crea- tures men would be, when under the influence of that Gospel which he preached unto them.” T. H. HORNE. 9 THE QUESTION INTERESTING TO ALL. Wuat a blessing is it to beings, with such li- mited capacities as ours confessedly are, to have God himself for our instructor in every thing which it much concerns us to know! We are principally concerned in knowing —not the origin of arts, or the recondite depths of science —not the histories of mighty empires desolating the globe by their contentions—not the sub- tilties of logic, the mysteries of metaphysics, the sublimities of poetry, or the niceties of criticism.—These, and subjects such as these, properly occupy the learned leisure of a few; but the bulk of human kind have ever been, and must ever remain, ignorant of them all ; they must, of necessity, remain in the same state with that which a German emperor voluntarily put himself into, when he made a resolution, bor- dering on barbarism, that he would never read a printed book. We are all, of every rank and condition, equally concerned in knowing — what will become of us after death ;—and, if we are to live again, we are interested in knowing— whether it be possible for us to doany thing whilst we live here, which may render that future life a happy one. Now Christianity—that last, best 10 ‘\ THE ATONEMENT FOR SIN. gift of Almighty God, as I esteem it, the gospel of Jesus Christ, has given us the most clear and satisfactory information on both these points. It tells us, what deism never could have told us, that we shall certainly be raised from the dead —that, whatever be the nature of the soul, we shall certainly live for ever—and that, whilst we live here, it is possible for us to do much towards the rendering that everlasting life a happy one.—These are tremendous truths to bad men; they cannot be received and reflect- ed on with indifference by the best; and they suggest to all such a cogent motive to virtuous action, as deism could not furnish even to Bru- tus himself. DR. WATSON. THE ATONEMENT FOR SIN. THAT man should love God with all his heart, is not the language of religion only ; it is also the dictate of reason. But, alas! neither reason nor religion have had sufficient influence to produce this effect. Man has offended God, and guilt exposes him to punishment ; for the holiness of THE ATONEMENT FOR SIN. il God must hate sin, and his justice lead him to testify in his conduct the displeasure which his heart feels. That man is also a depraved creature and manifests that depravity in his sen- timents and disposition, the whole history of the human kind furnishes abundant proof. If the annals of the different nations of the earth do not pourtray the tempers and actions of a race of dreadfully depraved creatures, there is no such thing in nature as an argument. The tendency of guilt and depravity is as naturally and certain- ly to misery, as of a stone to fall downwards. In what way guilty and depraved creatures can be delivered from wickedness and punish- ment, and restored to goodness and felicity, is one of the most difficult, as it is one of the most important questions which can employ the mind. “ God isjustly displeased: how shall he be reconciled? Guilt makes man afraid of God: how shall the cause of fear be removed? De- pravity makes man averse to intercourse with God: how shall his sentiments and disposition be changed?” These are all difficulties which natural religion cannot resolve ; and concerning which reason is utterly silent. Repentance and reformation have been considered by many as fully sufficient to banish all these evils: but 12 THE ATONEMENT FOR SIN. they have no countenance for their opinion from the course of God’s moral government. A de- bauchee repents bitterly and sincerely of his vicious excesses ; but repentance does not heal his diseased body : “he is made to possess the sins of his youth :” and the fatal effects of his vices bring him to an early grave. The game- ster repents of his folly, and reforms his con- duct; but his penitence and reformation do not procure the restoration of his lost estate ; and he spends his remaining years in poverty and. want. By imitating, men testify their approba- tion of the divine conduct, in their ideas of distributive justice. The murderer is seized and led to the tribunal of the judge. He pro fesses to be penitent, and there 1s no reason to question his sincerity. But do any think that his repentance should arrest the arm of the righteous law? He is condemned, and suffers death. If then the sentiments of men, confirm- ing the conduct of God, proclaim the insuffic- ency of repentance to atone for iniquity, no ra- tional hope can be entertained of its efficacy. We must look to another quarter: but where shall we look ? | An extraordinary interposition of the Su- preme Being appears necessary, and also a re- THE ATONEMENT FOR SIN. 15 velation of his will to give us information on the subject. Though it would be presumption in us to name every thing that a revelation will contain, we may say with confidence, it will be full and explicit as to the pardon of sin, and the method of asimner’s reconciliation with God. These are indispensably requisite. The New Testament does not disappoint our wishes or our hopes ; it enters fully into all these difficul- ties, and proposes a remedy for every evil which we feel. The doctrine of a mediator, and of redemption through him, presents itself to our eyes in every page; and forms the very core of the Christian religion. ‘Thus, what man had in all ages wished for in vain,—an atonement for sin, (which conscience and their natural notions of divine justice taught them to be necessary,)—the sacred books point out in the death of Jesus ; which, in con- sequence of the dignity of his person, our rea son perceives to have been of sufficient value to expiate the guilt of innumerable millions. The reality and extent of the atonement or satisfaction made to divine justice by Jesus Christ, are set forth in the strongest and most explicit language that can be conceived. ‘Thus, he is said to have died FOR us, to BEAR our sins, 14 CHRISTIANITY. to TAKE AWAY our sins, to be a PROPITIATION for our sins, and to PURCHASE, REDEEM, 07 RANSOM us with the price of his blood. T. H. HORNE. CHRISTIANITY. Wuat antidote or charm on earth is found, To alleviate or soften fate’s decree? To fearless enter on that dark profound, Where life emerges in eternity ? Wisdom, a rushlight vainly boasting power To cheer the terrors Sin’s first visit gave, Denies existence at that dreadful hour, And shrinks in horror from a gaping grave. O Christianity, thou charm divine! That firmness, faith, and last resource is thine : With thee the Christian joys to lose his breath, Nor dreads to find his mortal strength decay; But, dear in friendship, shakes the hand of Death, And hugs the pain that gnaws his life away. CLARE. 15 CHRISTIANITY, AND HEATHENISM. THE morality of the Gospel gives it an infinite superiority over all systems of doctrine that ever were devised by man. Were our lives and opinions to be regulated as it prescribes, no- thing would be wanting to make us happy: there would be no injustice, no impiety, no dis- orderly passions; harmony and love would uni- versally prevail; every man, content with his lot, resigned to the divine will, and fully per- suaded that a happy eternity is before him, would pass his days in tranquillity and joy, to which neither anxiety nor pain, nor even the fear of death, could ever give any interruption. The best systems of Pagan ethics are very im- perfect, and not free from absurdity ; and in them are recommended modes of thinking un- suitable to human nature, and modes of con- duct which, though they might have been use- ful in a political view, did not tend to virtue and happiness universal. But of all our Lord’s institutions the end and aim is to promote the happiness, by promoting the virtue, of all man- kind. | And secondly, his peculiar doctrines are not 16 CHRISTIANITY, AND HEATHENISM. like any thing of human contrivance. Never man spake like this man! One of the first names given to that dispensation of things- which he came to introduce, was the kingdom, or the reign, of heaven. It was justly so called, being thus distinguished, not only from the re- ligion of Moses, the sanctions whereof related to the present life, but also from every human scheme of moral, political, or ecclesiastical legislation. The views of the heathen moralist extended not beyond this world; those of the Christian are fixed on that which is tocome. ‘The former * wasconcerned for his own country only or chiefly ; the latter takes concern in the happiness of all men, of all nations, conditions, and capacities. A few, and but afew, of the ancient philo- sophers spoke of a future state of retribution, as a thing desirable, and not improbable; reve- lation speaks of it as certain; and of the pre- sent life as a state of trial, wherein virtue or ho- liness is necessary, not only to entitle us to that salvation which, through the mercy of God and the merits of his Son, Christians are taught to look for, but also to prepare us, by habits of piety and benevolence, for a reward, which CHRISTIANITY, AND HEATHENISM. 17 none but the pure in heart can receive, or could relish. The heathen morality, even in its best form, that is, as two or three of their best philo- sophers taught it, amounts to little more than this: Be useful to yourselves, your friends, and your country ; so shall ye be respectable while ye live, and honoured when ye die ; and it is hoped ye may receive reward in another life. The language of the Christian lawgiver is different :—The world is not worthy of the ambition of an immortal being. Its honours and pleasures have a tendency to debase the mind, and disqualify it for future happiness. Set therefore your affections on things above, and not on things on the earth. Let it be your supreme desire to obtain God’s favour; and by a course of discipline, begun here, and to be completed hereafter, prepare yourselves for a re-admission into that rank which was forfeited by the fall, and for again being but a little lower than the angels, and crowned with glory and honour everlasting. BEATTIE. C ke 18 THE TENDENCY OF CHRISTIANITY. Mey, in their natural condition, are not only ungodly and vicious, but in various respects unhappy. ‘The moral disorders which abound in the heart, and which are perpetually dis- playing themselves in the transactions of men, seldom fail, even in this life, to be productive, in some form or other, of an equivalent measure of suffering and misery. It is probable, indeed, that whatever of pain, perplexity, and affliction is endured by our species, may all be traced, either directly or indirectly, to these moral dis- orders. Now since Christianity is the means by which such disorders are remedied, so it is also the means of procuring for mankind a real and substantial happiness. That this position is true of genuine Christ- ianity, the impartial observer will readily admit. ‘The real Christian is a centre of hap- piness in the community to which he belongs. His benevolence, his forbearance, his love, his absence of selfishness, all tend to the peace and comfort of those who surround him; and were the principles which actuate his life and convers- ation really diffused through the whole society of mankind, the causes of mutual disquietude, of THE TRUTH OF CHRISTIANITY. 18 oppression, robbery, confusion, and bloodshed would entirely cease. Even where Christianity is very imperfectly practised, its effect in aug- menting the social happiness of men is open to the most common observation. In the allevia- tions of the hospital, in the mitigations of the method of war, in the place given in the scale of society to females, in the general decency of manners, and in the sacred character of the connubial tie—-advantages which were compa- ratively little known even to the most civilized nations of heathen antiquity—we perceive so many proofs of the tendency of Christianity to augment the happiness of men—a tendency which would unquestionably be carried forward to completion, did we yield to the religion of our Redeemer, its full and legitimate sway. JOSEPH JOHN GURNEY. THREE FACTS FOR THE TRUTH OF CHRISTIANITY. THE truth of Christianity depends upon its leading facts, and upon them alone. Now of these we have evidence which ought to satisfy us, at least, until it appear that mankind have ever been deceived by the same. We have Cc 2 20 THR TRUTH OF CHRISTIANITY. some uncontested and incontestable points, to which the history of the human species hath nothing similar to offer. A Jewish peasant changed the religion of the world, and that, without foree, without power, without sup- port, without one natural source or circum- stance of attraction, influence, or success. Such a thing hath not happened in any other in- stance. ‘The companions of this person, after he himself had been put to death for his at- tempt, asserted his supernatural character, founded upon his supernatural operations ; and, in testimony of the truth of their asser- tions, 7. e. in consequence of their own belief of that truth; and, in order to communicate the. knowledge of it to others, voluntarily entered upon lives of toil and hardship, and with a full experience of their danger, com- mitted themselves to the last extremities of persecution. This hath nota parallel. More particularly, a very few days after this person had been publicly executed, and in that very city in which he was buried, these his com- panious declared with one voice that his body was restored to life; that they had seen him, handled him, ate with him, conversed with him; and, in pursuance of their persuasion i THE TRUTH OF CHRISTIANITY. rH! of the truth of what they told, preached his religion, with this strange fact as the founda- tion of it, in the face of those who had killed him, who were armed with the power of the country, and necessarily and naturally disposed to treat his followers as they had treated himself; and having done this upon the spot where the event took place, carried the. intelligence of it abroad, in despite of dif- ficulties and opposition, and where the nature of their errand gave them nothing to expect but derision, insult, and outrage. This is without example. These three facts, I think, are certain, and would have been nearly so, if the Gospels had never been written. The Chris- tian story, as to these points, hath never varied. No other hath been set up against it. Kivery letter, every discourse, every contro- versy, amongst the followers of religion; every book written by them, from the age of its com- mencement to the present time, in every part of the world in which it hath been professed, and with every sect into which it hath been divided, (and we have letters and discourses written by contemporaries, by witnesses of the transaction, by persons themselves bearing a share in it, and other writings following that 22 THE TRUTH OF CHRISTIANITY. age in regular succession,) concur in repre- senting these facts in this manner. A religion, which now possesses the greatest part of the civilized world, unquestionably sprang up at Jerusalem at this time. Some account must be given of its origin; some cause assigned for its rise. All the accounts of this origin, all the explications of this cause, whether taken from the writings of the early followers of the religion, (in which, and in which perhaps alone, it could be expected, that they should be distinctly unfolded,) or from occasional notices in other writings of that or the adjoin- ing age, either expressly allege the facts above stated as the means by which the religion was set up, or advert to its commencement in a manner which agrees with the supposition of these facts being true, and which testifies their operation and effects. PALEY. THOUGHTS ON THE SAME SUBJECT. Bur notwithstanding what has been here urged, if any man can believe, that at a time when the literature of Greece and Rome, then in their meridian lustre, were insufficient for the task, THE TRUTH OF CHRISTIANITY. 23 the son of a carpenter, together with twelve of the meanest and most illiterate mechanics, his associates, unassisted by any supernatural power, should be able to discover or invent a system of theology the most sublime, and of ethics the most perfect, which had escaped the penetration and learning of Plato, ‘Aristotle, and Cicero; and that from this system, by their own sagacity, they had excluded every false virtue, though universally admired, and admitted every true virtue, though despised and ridiculed by all the rest of the world: If any one can believe that these men could become impostors, for no other purpose than the pro- pagation of truth, villains for no end but to teach honesty, and martyrs without the least prospect of honour or advantage; or that, if all this should have been possible, these few inconsiderable persons should have been able, in the course of a few years, to have spread this their religion over most parts of the then known world, in opposition to the interests, pleasures, ambition, prejudices, and even rea- son of mankind; to have triumphed over the power of princes, the intrigues of states, the force of custom, the blindness of zeal, the in- fluence of priests, the arguments of orators, 24 DESIGN IN THE and the philosophy of the world, without any supernatural assistance; if any one can believe all these miraculous events, contradictory to the constant experience of the powers and dis- positions of human nature, he must be pos- sessed of much more faith than is necessary to make him a Christian, and remain an unbeliever from mere credulity. SOAME JENYNS. DESIGN IN THE CONSTRUCTION OF THE UNIVERSE. WHEN a man makes a watch, builds a ship, erects a silk-mill, constructs a telescope, we do not scruple to say, that the man has a design in what he does. And can we say, that this solar system, a thousand times move regular in all its motions than watches, ships, or silk- mills—that the infinity of other systems dis- persed through the immensity of space, incon- ceivably surpassing in magnitude and compli- cation of motion, this, of which our earth is but a minute part—or even that the eye which now reads what is here written, a thousand times better fitted for its function than any telescope—can we say, that there was no de- sign in the formation of these things? CONSTRUCTION OF THE UNIVERSE. 25 Tell us not, that it is allowed there must be _ intelligence in an artificer who makes a watch or a telescope, but that, as to the Artificer of the universe, we cannot comprehend his na- ture.—What then! shall we on that account deny his existence? With better reason might a grub, buried in the bowels of the earth, deny the existence of a man, whose nature it cannot comprehend; for a grub is infinitely nearer to man in all intellectual endowments (if the expression can be permitted) than man is to his Maker.—With better reason may we deny the existence of an intellectual faculty in the man who makes a machine: we know not the nature of the man; we see not the mind which contrives the figure, size, and adaptation of the several parts; we simply see the hand which forms and puts them together. : Shall a shipwrecked mathematician, on ob- serving a geometrical figure accurately de- scribed on the sand of the sea-shore, encourage his followers with saying, “ Let us hope for the best, for I see the-traces of man;” and shall not man, in contemplating the structure of the universe, or of any part of it, say to the whole human race—Brethren! be of good comfort, we are not begotten of chance, we are not born 26 THE SCRIPTURES. of atoms, our progenitors have not come into existence by crawling out of the mud of the Nile ;—behold the footsteps of a Being, power- ful, wise, and good—-not nature, but the God of nature, the Father of the universe ? DR. WATSON. DIFFICULTIES IN ANY SCIENCE, CANNOT MAKE THAT FALSE, WHICH IS TRUE}; NOR CAN DIFFICULTIES IN THE SCRIPTURES, INVALIDATE THEM. LET us consider the way of reasoning, which is made use of to disprove the truth and authority of Scriptures in other things, and try whether we are wont to reason thus in any case but that of religion, and whether we should not be ashamed of this way of arguing in any other case. How little is it that we thoroughly understand in natural things, and yet how seldom do we doubt of the truth and reality of them, because we may puzzle and perplex ourselves in the explication of them? For instance, we discern the light and feel the warmth and heat of the sun, and have the experience of the constant returns of day and night, and of the several seasons of the year; and no man doubts but that all this is effected by the approach or with- THE SCRIPTURES. oF drawing of the sun’s influence; but whoever will go about to explain all this, and to give a particular account of it, will find it a very hard task; and such objections have been urged against every hypothesis in some point or other, as, perhaps, no man is able fully to answer. But does any man doubt, whether there be such a thing as light and heat, as day and night, though he cannot be satisfied whether the sun or the earth move? Or do men doubt, whether they can see or not, till they can demonstrate how vision is made? And must none be allowed to see but mathematicians ! Or do men refuse to eat, till they are satisfied how and after what manner they are nourished? Yet, if we must be swayed by objections, which do not come up to the main point, nor affect the truth and reality of things, but only fill our minds with scruples and difficulties about them, we must believe nothing which we do not fully comprehend in every part. and cir- cumstance of it. For whatever we are ignorant of concerning it, that may, it seems, be objected against the thing itself, and may be a just rea- son why we should doubt of it. We must take care that we be not too confident that we move, before we can give an exact account 28 THE SCRIPTURES. of the cause and laws of motion, which the greatest philosophers have not been able to do; we must not presume to eat tll we can tell how digestion and nourishment are carried on. In short, this would lead us into all the extravagancies of scepticism; for upon these principles it was, that some have doubted whether snow be white, or honey sweet, or any thing else be of the same colour or taste of which it appears to be, because they could amuse themselves with difficulties, and they were too much philosophers to assent to any thing that they did not understand, though it were confirmed by the sense and experience of all mankind. They were rational men, and it was below them to believe their senses, unless their reason were convinced, and that was too acute to be convinced, so long as any difficulty that could be started remained unanswered. And thus, under the pretence of reason and philosophy, they exposed themselves to the scorn and derision of all who had but the common sense of men, without the art and subtilty of imposing upon ‘themselves and others. ; And it is the same thing, in effect, as to matters of religion. The Scriptures came down THE SCRIPTURES. 299 to us, corroborated by all the ways of con- firmation, that the authority of any revelation at this distance of time could be expected to have, if it really were what we believe ‘the Scriptures to be. Why then do some men doubt whether they be authentic? Can they disprove the arguments which are brought in defence of them? Can they produce any other revelation more authentic? Or is it more reasonable to believe, that God should not reveal himself to mankind than that this revelation should be his? No, this is not the case: but there are several things to be found in the Scriptures, which they think would not be in them, if they were of divine revelation. But a wise man will never disbelieve a thing for any objections made against it, which do not reach the point nor touch those arguments by which it is proved to him. It is not incon- sistent that that may be most true which may have many exceptions framed against it; but it is absurd to reject that as incredible, which comes recommended to our belief by such evi- dence as cannot be disproved. Till this be done, all which can be said besides only shows, that there are difficulties in the Scriptures, 36 THE SCRIPTURES. which was never denied by those who most firmly and steadfastly believe them. But difficulties can never alter the nature of things, and make that which ts true to become false. There is no science without its difficul- ties, and it is not pretended that theology is without them. There are many great and in- explicable difficulties in the mathematics ; but shall we, therefore, reject this as a science of no value or certainty, and believe no demon- stration in Euclid to be true unless we could square the circle? And yet this is every whit as reasonable as it is not to acknowledge the truth of the Scripture, unless we could explain all the visions in Ezekiel, and the revelations of St. John. We must believe nothing and know nothing, if we must disbelieve and reject every thing which is liable to difficulties. We must not believe that we have a soul, unless we can give an account of all its operations: nor that we have a body, unless we can tell all the parts and motions, and the whole frame and composition of it. We must not believe our senses, till there is nothing relating to sensa- tion but what we perfectly understand; nor that there are any objects in the world, till we ON THE TRINITY. 3] know the exact manner how we perceive them, and can solve all objections that may be raised concerning them. And if a man can be incre- dulous to this degree, it cannot be expected that he should believe the Scriptures: but till he is come to this height of folly and stupidity, if he will be consistent with himself, and true to those principles of reason from which he argues in all other cases, he cannot reject the au- thority of the Scriptures on account of any diffi- culties that he finds in them, while the argu- ments by which they are proved to be of divine authority remain unanswered. And all the ob- jections which can be invented against. the Scriptures, cannot seem nearly so absurd to a considering man, as the supposition that God should not at all reveal himself to mankind; or that the heathen oracles, or the Koran of Mo.-. hammed, should be of divine revelation. T. H. HORNE. ON THE TRINITY. ALt the disputes concerning the Trinity, have been owing to one single circumstance, namely, the vain, idle, and presumptuous curiosity of $2 ON THE TRINITY. -man, who instead of believing that which God hath revealed, will ever be prying into that which God hath not revealed. That there is -in the Deity a distinction, and a union; that God is three, in some respect; and one, in some other respect; this is what we are re- quired to believe: and who can prove that it is not so? or why should any man dispute it? But we are not content, unless we know, pre- cisely, the manner how the three persons are one God; how the Son is generated, and the Holy Ghost proceeds. Hence all our misfor- tunes ; hence the subject has been overwhelmed and confounded by an inundation of scholastic and metaphysical controversy, which it requires no small degree of penetration and sagacity, as well as of learning, to understand ; if, indeed, some of it can be understood at all. If you ask, what the unlearned are to do, with regard to this dispute ?—I answer, they are happy in — their ignorance, in which I would wish them ever to continue. Two learned physicians may differ in opinion, as to the manner in which the human body is nourished by its food; they may perplex each other with hard words ; they may argue themselves out of temper, and lose their appetite; while an unlearned, plain, ON THE TRINITY. oa honest countryman eats his meal in quietness, gives God thanks for it, goes forth in the strength of it to his labour, and in the evening receives his reward. In the concerns of this world, as well as of another, the most interesting truths are always the plainest ; they are matters of fact, on which we may depend, without being solicitous to know exactly how they are brought about. Who can tell by what means a small seed, buried in the earth, and there becoming, to all appearance, dead and putrid, shoots forth into a blade, and an ear, producing thirty, forty, or sixty seeds, of its own kind? A man, calling himself a philosopher, might defy the husband- man to show, HOW this could possibly be. The husbandman’s common sense would direct him to answer, that it was not his concern to show how it could be; that he knew it certainly would be, and, therefore, should continue to sow; which should he, upon the strength of the philosopher’s argument, neglect to do, the world must be starved. BISHOP HORNE. 34 THE TWELVE APOSTLES. Imposrors are moved to the attempt of de- ceiving mankind by prospects of wealth, fame, power, pleasure; by some real or imaginary advantage to be derived to themselves, or through them, to those whom they love and regard as themselves. Now, no expectation of this kind can, with the least shadow of probability, be ascribed to all, or to any of the writers of the New Testament. There is no need of entering into the proof of this; every one knows that Jews and Romans, Greeks and barbarians; that the powers of the world, wherever they went; were against the apostles; they durst not any where lift up so much as an arm in their own defence. In- ‘stead of temporal advantages of any kind, they had to expect, and they did in fact experience, hunger, and cold, and nakedness, and scorn, and contempt, and hatred, all the miseries in- cident to a state of poverty, all the calamities attendant on a state of religious persecution :— these are not the motives which induce men to become impostors. Read the history of the impostor Mahomet, or that of Alexander as described by Lucian, or that of Apollonius, of THE TWELVE APOSTLES. 35 Tyana; and contrast them with that of Christ, or any of his apostles; and you will at once perceive the difference between the manner in which imposture and truth are introduced and established in the world. Compare the miracles recorded in the New Testament, with respect to their publicity, their beneficial ten- dency, and their influence on the thousands who saw them, with the tricks of ancient or modern pretenders to magic; and you will at once perceive the difference between cunningly devised delusions operating on fanatical minds, and the simplicity of gospel wonders extorting conviction from the most incredulous. The apostles were as destitute of ability to deceive, as of mducement to impose a fable on the world. It requires great power, or great talents, to be a successful impostor; and the | difficulty is increased, when the plot cannot be carried on without the concurrence of many assistants ; and especially when it is to be car- ried on, in opposition to men able and willing to detect the cheat. What should we think of twelve fishermen, who should now undertake to proclaim, in the hearing of the learned and unlearned, that a few years ago a certain man wrought many miracles, not only in a distant D 2 36 THE FALL OF MAN. country, but in the streets and churches of the metropolis of the kingdom; not only before them, the relaters of the fact, but in the pre- sence of thousands of others; and that this man was publicly tried by order of government, and put to death in London ; and that he rose from the dead; and that after his resurrection he was seen not only by themselves, but by hundreds of others, and by some who were still alive? What should we think of such assertions, of such audacious appeals to living witnesses, when, in truth, this man had not risen from the dead, nor wrought any miracle whatever? What should we think of twelve fishermen, who, without understanding any language but their own, should go to Paris, Rome, Madrid, Con- stantinople, and endeavour to propagate the same thing? Isit credible that any men could be found so mad as to make the attempt, or that, if they did make it, they should have the good fortune to succeed in their imposition ! DR. WATSON. THE FALL OF MAN. Pure as material creature could be form’d, Man came from his Creator’s kindly hand, a —~o THE FALL OF MAN. SP Endowed with physical and moral powers, With wondrous intellectual faculties, And with a will free as the new-born winds, That wafted up the sweets of Eden’s flowers, In fragrant incense to the throne of Heaven. To him was given dominion; on his head A crown of glory placed, and, to his nod, Earth, with her numerous hordes of creatures, bowed Obedient. But perfect righteousness Was the fair sceptre of his kingly hand ; And when that lovely sceptre snapp’d in twain, Prone in the dust his boasted glory fell, | And with it fell his empire. Liberty, That precious gift of his great Maker’s love, Unblest with which he never could have been, As was ordained, his image on the earth, Abused, became his ruin. Small, indeed, The test of his obedience was ; and large The estate which he for that small tribute held ; But yet he disobeyed, and his mad arm, (Fired by a hope the Tempter had infused With subtle arts, of lifting up himself Above the level of mere creatureship, ) Raised in rebellion ’gainst his sov’reign Lord, His God, his king, his friend, who could alone Sustain him in the mutability By nature his, and whose perpetual claim, As maker, on the being He had formed, Was the full glory all his powers could give. He disobeyed; and, disobeying, fell ; And, falling, he became the slave of sin, 38 THE IMMORTALITY OF THE SOUL. Which, like the anaconda, crushes all Who come within its dreadful fold ;-—of sin, That moral pestilence, which widely spreads Its noxious, its infectious vapours round, Empoisoning the breath of life ;—of sin, That robbed him of his pristine glory, stole His crown away, enervated his arm, Once mighty ; of communion with God Deprived his soul, destroyed the harmony Of the creation, placed beneath his rule (His empire fair), and, with destructive hand, Hurl’d in the cold embraces of the grave. T. RAGG. THE IMMORTALITY OF THE SOUL. AmMoNG other excellent arguments for the im- mortality of the soul, there is one drawn from | the perpetual progress of the soul to its per- fection, without a possibility of ever arriving at it; which is a hint that I do not remember | to have seen opened and improved by others who have written on this subject, though it seems to me to carry a great weight with it. How can it enter into the thoughts of man, that the soul, which is capable of such im- mense perfections, and of receiving new im- provements to all eternity, shall fall away into THE IMMORTALITY OF THE SOUL. 39 nothing almost as soon as itis created? Are such abilities made for no purpose? A brute arrives at a point of perfection that he can never pass; in a few years he has all the endowments he is capable of; and were he to live ten thousand more, would be the same thing he is at present. Were a human soul thus at a stand in her accomplishments, were her faculties to be full blown, and incapable of farther enlargements, I could imagine it might fall away insensibly, and drop at once into a state of annihilation. But can we believe a thinking being, that is in a perpetual progress of improvements, and travelling on from perfection to perfection, after having just looked abroad into the works of its Creator, and made a few discoveries of his infinite goodness, wisdom, and power, must perish at her first setting out, and in the very begin- ning of her enquiries? Man, considered in his present state, seems only sent into the world to propagate his kind. He provides himself with a successor, and immediately quits his post to make room for him. He does not seem born to enjoy life, but to de- liver it down to others. This is not surprising to consider in animals, which are formed for 40 THE IMMORTALITY OF THE SOUL. our use, and can finish their business in a short life. The silk-worm, after having spun her task, lays her eggs and dies. But in this life man can never take in his full measure of knowledge; nor has he time to subdue his passions, establish his soul in virtue, and come up to the perfection of his nature, before he is hurried off the stage. Would an infinitely wise Being make such glorious creatures for so mean a purpose? Can he delight in the production of such abortive intelligences, such short-lived reasonable beings? Would he give us talents that are not to be exerted? Capa- cities that are never to be gratified? How can we find that wisdom which shines through all his works, in the formation of man, with- out looking on this world as only a nursery for the next, and believing that the several generations of rational creatures, which rise up and disappear in such quick successions, are only to receive their first rudiments of existence here, and afterwards to be trans- planted into a more friendly climate, where they may spread and flourish to all eternity ? There is not, in my opinion, a more pleasing and triumphant consideration in religion, than this of the perpetual progress which the soul a ee ee eS eS ee eee —— THE OMNIPRESENCE OF GOD. Al makes towards the perfection of its nature, without ever arriving at a period in it. ‘To look upon the soul as going on from strength to strength, to consider that she is to shine for ever with new accessions of glory, and brighten to all eternity ; that she will be still adding virtue to virtue, and knowledge to knowledge; carries in it something wonder- fully agreeable to that- ambition which is natural to the mind of man. Nay, it must be a prospect pleasing to God himself, to see his creation for ever beautifying in his eyes, and drawing nearer to him by greater degrees of resemblance. SPECTATOR. THE OMNIPRESENCE OF GOD. Tue God of Nature and of Grace In all his works appears ; His goodness through the earth we trace, His grandeur in the spheres, Behold this fair and fertile globe, By Him in wisdom plann’d : "Twas He who girded, like a robe, The ocean round the land. 42 THE OMNIPRESENCE OF GOD. Lift to the firmament your eye; Thither his path pursue ; His glory boundless as the sky, O’erwhelms the wondering view. He bows the heavens—the mountains stand A highway for their God ; He walks amidst the desert land, "Tis Eden where he trod. The forests in his strength rejoice : Hark! on the evening breeze, As once of old, the Lord God’s voice, Is heard among the trees. Here on the hills He feeds his herds, His flocks on yonder plains ; His praise is warbled by the birds ; O could we catch their strains! Mount with the lark, and bear our song Up to the gates of light, | Or with the nightingale prolong Our numbers through the night. In every stream His bounty flows, Diffusing joy and wealth; In every breeze his Spirit blows, The breath of life and health. His blessings fall in plenteous showers Upon the lap of earth, That teems with foliage, fruit, and flowers, And rings with infant mirth. OCEAN. 43 If God hath made this world so fair, Where sin and death abound ; How beautiful beyond compare Will Paradise be found! J. MONTGOMERY. OCEAN. Anp thou vast Ocean! on whose awful face Time’s iron feet can print no ruin-trace ; By breezes lull’d, or by the storm-blasts driven, Thy majesty uplifts the mind to heaven. Tremendous art thou! in thy tempest-ire, When the mad surges to the clouds aspire, And, like new Appennines from out the sea, Thy waves march on in mountain majesty ! Oh! never did the dark-soul’d Atheist stand, And watch the breakers boiling on the strand, And while Creation stagger’d at his nod, Mock the dread presence of the mighty God! We hear him in the wind-heav’d ocean’s roar, Hurling her billowy crags upon the shore, We hear Him in the riot of the blast, And shake, while rush the raving whirlwinds past. : R. MONTGOMERY. 44 IN MATTERS OF RELIGION, HOW DREADFUL IS DELUSION. ~ To be led on by the power of delusion, so far as to commit an error of consequence to our temporal interests ; to have impaired our health, our reputation, or our property,—is sufficiently painful, especially where there is no prospect, or but a faint one, of repairing the mischief: yet, in this case, religion opens a balm for the wounded spirit, and eternity presents a prospect, where the sorrows of time will be forgotten. But oh! to be in error on the nature of religion itself, and to build our hopes of immortality on the sand instead of the rock ; to see the lamp of our deceitful profession, which had served to amuse us in life, and even to guide us in false peace through the dark valley of the shadow of death, suddenly extin- guished as we cross the threshold of eternity, and leaving us amidst the darkness of rayless, endless night, instead of quietly expiring amidst the blaze. of everlasting day! Is such a delu- sion possible? Has it ever happened in one solitary instance? Do the annals of the un- seen world record one such case, and the prison DELUSION IN RELIGION. 45 of lost souls contain one miserable ghost that perished by delusion? Then what deep soli- citude ought the possibility of such’ an event to circulate through the hearts of all, to avoid the error of a self-deceived mind? Is it pos- sible to be mistaken in our judgment of our state ?—then how deeply anxious ought we all to feel, not to be misled by false criteria in forming our decision. But what if instead of one case, millions should have occurred of souls irrecoverably lost by self-deception? What if delusion should be the most crowded avenue to the bottomless pit? What if it should be the common infatuation, the epi- demic blindness, which has fallen upon the multitudes of the inhabitants of Christendom? What if this moral insanity should have in- fected and destroyed very many who have made even astricter profession of religion than others? How shall we explain, much more justify, that want of anxiety about their ever- lasting welfare—that destitution of care to examine into the nature and evidences of true piety—that willingness to be imposed upon in reference to eternity—which many exhibit? J. A. JAMES, 46 SERIOUSNESS IN RELIGION. I can have no hope at all of a man who does not find himself serious in religious matters, serious at the heart. If the judgment of Almighty God at the last day, if the difference between being saved and being lost, being ac- cepted in the Beloved, and being cast forth into outer darkness; being bid by a tremendous word either to enter into the joy of our Father, or to go into the fire prepared for the devil and his angels, for all who have served him and not God; if these things do not make us serious, then it is most certain, either that we do not believe them, or that we have not yet thought of them at all, or that we have posi- tively broken off thinking of them, have turned away from the subject, have refused to let it enter, have shut our minds against it, or, lastly, that such a levity of mind is our character, as nothing whatever can make any serious im- pression upon. Inany of these cases our con- dition is deplorable ; we cannot look for sal- vation from Christ’s religion under any of them. Do we want seriousness concerning religion, because we do not believe in it? We cannot expect salvation from a religion which ~ a SERIOUSNESS IN RELIGION, 47 we reject. What the root of unbelief in us may be, how far voluntary and avoidable, how far involuntary and unavoidable, God knows, and God only knows; and therefore he will in his mercy treat us as he thinketh fit; but we have not the religion to rely upon, to found our hopes upon; we cannot, as I say again, ex- pect salvation from a religion which we reject. If the second case be ours, namely, that we have not yet thought of these things, and therefore it is, that we are not serious about them, it is high time with every one, that he do think of them. These great events are not at a distance from us; they approach to every one of us with the end of our lives; they are the same to all intents and purposes, as if they took place at our deaths: it is ordained for men once to die, and after that, judgment. — Wherefore it is folly in any man or woman whatever, in any thing above a child, to say they have not thought of religion; how know they that they will be permitted to think of it at all? it is worse than folly, it is high presump- tion. Itis an answer one sometimes receives, but it is a foolish answer. Religion can do no good, till it sinks into the thoughts. Com- mune with thyself, and be still. Can any AS SERIOUSNESS IN RELIGION. health, or strength, or youth, any vivacity of spirits, any crowd or hurry of business, much less any course of pleasures, be an excuse for not thinking about religion? Is it of import- ance only to the old, and infirm, and dying, to be saved? is it not of the same importance to the young and strong? can they be saved without religion? or can religion save them without thinking about it ? If, thirdly, such a levity of mind be our character, as nothing can make an impression upon, this levity must be cured, before ever we can draw near unto God. Surely, human life wants not materials and occasions for the re- medying of this great infirmity. Have we met with no troubles to bring us to ourselves? no disasters in our affairs? no losses in our fami- lies? no strokes of misfortune or affliction ? no visitations in our health? no warnings in our constitution? If none of these things have befallen us, and it is for that reason that we continue to want seriousness and solidity of character, then it shows how necessary these things are for our real interest and for our real happiness; we are examples how little mankind can do without them; and that a state of unclouded pleasure and prosperity is SERIOUSNESS IN RELIGION. 4S of all others the most unfit for man. It gene- rates the precise evil we complain of, a giddi- ness and levity of temper, upon which religion cannot act. It indisposes a man for weighty and momentous concerns of any kind; but it most fatally disqualifies him for the concerns of religion. That is its worst consequence, though others may be bad. I believe, there- fore, first, that there is such a thing as a levity of thought and character, upon which religion has no effect. I believe, secondly, that this is greatly cherished by health, and pleasures, and prosperity, and gay society. I believe, thirdly, that whenever this is the case, these things, which are accounted such blessings, which men covet and envy, are, in truth, deep and heavy calamities. For, lastly, I believe that this levity must be changed into seriousness, before the mind infected with it can come unto God; and most assuredly true it is, that we cannot come to happiness in the next world, unless we come to God in this. Religious seriousness is not churlishness, is not severity, is not gloominess, is not melan- choly: but it is, nevertheless, a disposition of mind, and, like every disposition, it will show itself one way or other. It will, in the first E 50 SERIOUSNESS IN RELIGION. place, neither invite, nor entertain, nor en- courage any thing, which has a tendency to turn religion into ridicule. It is not in the nature of things, that a serious mind should find delight or amusement in so doing ; it is not in the nature of things, that it should not feel an inward pain and reluctance, whenever it is done. Therefore, if we are capable of being pleased with hearing religion treated, or talked of, with levity, made, in any manner whatever, an object of sport and jesting: if we are capable of making it so ourselves, or joining with others, as in a diversion, in so doing: nay, if we do not feel ourselves at the heart grieved and offended, whenever it is our lot to be present at such sort of conversation and discourse, then is the inference, as_ to ourselves, infallible, that we are not yet serious _ in our religion: and then it will be for us to remember, that seriousness is one of those marks, by which we may fairly judge of the state of our mind and disposition, as to reli- gion: and that the state of our mind and dis- position)is the very thing to be consulted, to be- known, to be examined and searched into, for the purpose of ascertaining whether we are in aright and safe way, or not. Words and SERIOUSNESS IN RELIGION, oO] actions are to be judged of with a reference to that disposition which they indicate. There may be language, there may be expressions, there may be behaviour, of no ver great con- sequence in itself, and considered in itself, but of very great consequence indeed, when considered as indicating a disposition and state of mind. If it shew, with respect to religion, that to be wanting within, which ought to be there, namely, a deep and fixed sense of our personal and individual con- cer in religion, of its importance above all other important things, then it shews, that there is yet.a deficiency in our. hearts, which, without delay, must be supplied by closer meditation upon the subject than we have . hitherto used, and, above all, by earnest and unceasing prayer for such a portion and measure of spiritual influence shed upon our hearts, as may cure and remedy that heedless- ness, and coldness, and deadness, and uncon- cern, which are fatal, and under which we have so much reason to know that we as yet unhappily labour. PALEY. HE WAS A MAN OF SORROWS. Woks, deep woe, Was his continued lot, and His chief food The bread of tears. For, though, across his soul At times would dart a feeble glimpse of joy, Like transient sunbeams o’er a clouded heaven, As when, with exultation, He beheld Satan, like lightning, falling from the skies ; He was a man of sorrows, while on earth He wandered, though to earth belonging not. A self-devoted pilgrim, doing good, And glorifying God: His wondrous works Declared his errand; yet, he scarcely met With aught but malice and ingratitude From those He came to save. Still he pursued His path without repining ; and endured As seeing Him who is invisible ; Whom He had seen, from whom He came, and knew His love so boundless, shoreless, bottomless, Would hold him to the last, and through the grave Bring Him forth more than conq’ror. Thus he lived, A dying life of living faith ; and set Us the example by His grace to die Daily, and offer up ourselves to Him, As he for our sakes offered up Himself A sacrifice to God. 35 AN UNIVERSAL CALL TO REPENTANCE. Wispom took up her harp and stood in place Of frequent concourse, stood in every gate, By every way, and walked in every street ; And lifting up her voice, proclaimed : “ Be wise, Ye fools! be of an understanding heart, Forsake the wicked, come not near his house, Pass by, make haste, depart and turn away. Me follow, me, whose ways are pleasantness, Whose paths are peace, whose end is perfect joy.” The seasons came and went, and went and came, 4'o teach men gratitude; and as they passed, Gave warning of the lapse of time, that else Had stolen unheeded by. The gentle flowers Retired, and, stooping o’er the wilderness, Talked of humility, and peace, and love. The dews came down unseen at evening-tide, And silently their bounties shed, to teach Mankind unostentatious charity. With arm in arm the forest rose on high, And lesson gave of brotherly regard. And, on the rugged mountain brow exposed, Bearing the blast alone, the ancient oak, Stood lifting high his mighty arm, and still To courage in distress exhorted loud. The flocks, the herds, the birds, the streams, the breeze, Attuned the heart to melody and love. Mercy stood in the cloud, with eye that wept Essential love ; and, from her glorious bow, 94 AN.UNIVERSAL CALL TO REPENTANCE. Bending to kiss the earth in token of peace, With her own lips, her gracious lips which God Of sweetest accent made, she whisper’d still, She whispered to Revenge, Forgive, forgive. The sun rejoicing round the earth, announced Daily the wisdom, power, and love of God. The moon awoke, and from her maiden face, - Shedding her cloudy locks, looked meekly forth, And with her virgin stars walked in the heavens, Walked nightly there, conversing, as she walked, Of purity, and holiness, and God. In dreams and visions, sleep instructed much. Day utter’d speech to day, and night to night Taught knowledge. Silence had a tongue; the grave, The darkness, and the lonely waste, had each A tongue, that ever said, Man, think of God! Think of thyself! think of eternity ! Fear God, the thunders said, Fear God, the waves. Fear God, the lightning of the storm replied. Fear God, deep loudly answered back to deep : And, in the temples of the Holy One, Messiah’s messengers, the faithful few, Faithful ’mong many false, the Bible opened, And cried, Repent! repent, ye sons of men! Believe, be saved; and reasoned awfully Of temperance, righteousness, and judgment soon To come, of ever-during life and death: And chosen bards from age to age awoke The sacred lyre, and full on folly’s ear, Numbers of righteous indignation poured. POLLOK. Le or on THE MEETING OF CHRISTIANS. Iw lands strange and distant, how sweetly the sound Of the tongue of a countryman falls on the ear! The strangeness of all which we witness around, Makes the words seem more sweet and the accents more dear. It reminds us of home, of the land of our birth! | Of the friends we have left, and the kin that we love ; Of all that is dearest to man upon earth, His comforts below and his solace above. It is thus to the Christian, when passing along _ This world to the home of his Father on high, Some brother he finds in the midst of the throng, With the accent of heaven, the tongue of the sky. How delightfully heart answers heart as they meet, How refreshing to each is the sound of the voice, How cheering the thought, the communion how sweet, How the passions grow warm, and the spirits rejoice. The communion of saints brightens many a day, Enlivens the faith that was drooping and low, Stirs up to remembrance of God on our way, And bids all the sweetest affections to glow. J. EDMESTON. o6 THE MORAL SYSTEM OF CHRISTIANITY. ADMIRABLY as the doctrines of the New Testa- ment are adapted to the actual condition and wants of mankind, the moral PRECEPTS which it enjoins are not less calculated to promote their happiness and well-being, both collec- tively and individually. The view of human duty, exhibited by heathen moralists, was not only radically defective and materially erro- neous; but the manner of its exhibition was little calculated to impress the mind, affect the heart, or influence the conduct. Abstruse reasonings upon the fitness of things—general declarations concerning the beauty of virtue— cold and inanimate precepts of conduct, if not contradicted, yet imperfectly exemplified in their own behaviour,—might, in some degree, exercise their pupils’ faculties of reasoning and memory, and render them subtle dis- putants, and pompous declaimers; but they had little tendency to enlighten their minds in the knowledge of moral truth, and to imbue their hearts with the love of moral excellence. It is far otherwise with the morality of the Scriptures, and especially of the New Testa- ment. While the system of moral truth, which THE MORAL SYSTEM OF CHRISTIANITY. 57 they evolve, is incomparably more pure than that of the heathen moralist, it is not, like his, couched in cold generalities or in abstract uninteresting language. It is pure and ra- tional, alike remote from the over-strained precepts of superstition and enthusiasm, and the loose compliant maxims of worldly policy. It comes home to men’s business and bosoms, It is deeply impressive, and it is perfectly intelligible. It is calculated for every rank and order of society, and speaks with equal strictness and authority to the rich and ho- nourable, to the poor and ignoble. All other systems of morals, prohibit actions but not thoughts, and therefore are necessarily inef- fectual. But the moral system of Christianity pervades every thought of the heart; teaches us to refer all our actions to the will of our Creator; and corrects all selfishness in the human character, by teaching us to have in view the happiness of all around us, and enforcing the most enlarged and diffusive benevolence. In reviewing the leading features of Chris- tian morality, the holiness of its precepts is a circumstance that demands especial considera- tion, and is a proof that the religion, which 398 THE MORAL SYSTEM OF CHRISTIANITY. inculcates it, came from God. - All its precepts aim directly at the heart. It never goes about to form the eaterior of man. To merely ex- ternal duties it is a stranger. It forms the lives of men no otherwise than by forming their dispositions. It never. addresses itself to their vanity, selfishness, or any other corrupt propensity. On the contrary, it declares open war, and irreconcileable enmity against every evil disposition in the human heart. It tolerates — none. Of the most odious sins, such as dis- obedience to parents, dishonesty, injustice, and murder, it speaks with abhorrence. It says that they ought not even to be named among Christians. But this is not all. It descends into the heart: it puts forth its hand and plucks out every root of bitterness, which, springing up, would pollute the soul and defile the life. Many principles, which the world approves, and on many occasions con- siders to be harmless,—as ambition, the eager pursuit of wealth, fondness for pleasure, pride, envy, revenge, contempt of others, and a dis- position to filthy jesting,—the Gospel con- demns in every form and degree. It forbids the indulgence of them even in thought; it prohibits the adultery of the eye, and the THE MORAL SYSTEM OF CHRISTIANITY. 59 murder of the heart; and commands the de- sire to be strangled in its birth. Neither the hands, the tongue, the head, nor the heart, must be guilty of one iniquity. However the world may applaud the heroic ambition of one, the love of glory in another, the successful pur- suits of affluence in a third, the high-minded pride, the glowing patriotism which would compel all the neighbouring nations to bow the neck, the steady pursuit of revenge for injuries received, and a sovereign contempt for the rude and ignoble vulgar,— Christianity condemns them all, and enjoins the disciples of Jesus to crucify them without delay. Not one is to be spared, though dear as a right eye for use or pleasure, or even necessary as a right hand for defence or labour. The Gospel does not press men to consider what their fellow-men may think of them, or how it will affect their temporal interest ; but what is right, and what is necessary to their well- being. T. H. HORNE, 60 THE SAME SUBJECT PURSUED. THE contrast between the Christian, and all other institutions, religious or moral, previous to its appearance, is sufficiently evident, and surely the superiority of the former is as little to be disputed ; unless any one shall undertake to prove, that humility, patience, forgiveness, and benevolence are less amiable, and less beneficial qualities, than pride, turbulence, re- venge, and malignity: that the contempt of riches is less noble, than the acquisition by fraud and villany, or the distribution of them to the poor, less commendable than avarice or profusion; or that a real immortality in the kingdom of heaven is an object less exalted, less rational, and less worthy of pursuit, than an imaginary immortality in the applause of men: that worthless tribute, which the folly of one part of mankind pays to the wickedness of the other; a tribute which a wise man ought always to despise, because a good man can scarce ever obtain. SOAME JENYNS. a a — 61 AGAINST THIS WORLD’S BUSINESS ENGROSSING OUR THOUGHTS; A PRECEPT OF CHRISTIANITY ONLY. DETACHMENT from the world is another moral virtue constituted by this religion alone: so new, that even at this day few of its professors can be persuaded, that it is required, or that it is any virtue at all. By this detachment from the world is not to be understood a seclusion from society, abstraction from all business, or retirement to a gloomy cloister. Industry and labour, cheerfulness and hospitality are fre- quently recommended: nor is the acquisition of wealth and honours prohibited, if they can be obtained by honest means, and a moderate degree of attention and care: but such an un- remitted anxiety, and perpetual application as engrosses our whole time and thoughts, are forbid, because they are incompatible with the spirit of this religion, and must utterly dis- qualify us for the attainment of this great end. We toil on in the vain pursuits-and frivolous occupations of the world, die in our harness, and then expect, if no gigantic crime stands in the way, to step immediately into the kingdom of heaven: but this is impossible ; for without a previous detachment from the business of 62 OVER-ANXIETY FOR THE MORROW. this world, we cannot be prepared for the hap- _piness of another. Yet this could make no part of the morality of pagans, because their virtues were altogether connected with this business, and consisted chiefly in conducting it with honour to themselves, and benefit to the public. But Christianity has a nobler object in view, which if not attended to, must be lost for ever. This object is that celestial mansion of which we should never lose sight, and to which we should be ever advancing during our journey through life: but this by no means precludes us from performing the business, or enjoying the amusements of travellers, provided they detain us not too long, or lead us too far out of the way. SOAME JENYNS. ON OVER-ANXIETY FOR THE MORROW. AN unreasonable anxiety and solicitude about the things of the world, even food and raiment, the necessaries of life, is plainly deemed by our Lord to be a “ serving of mammon.” He who is so intent even on the means of subsistence, as to lose all the satisfaction of it, has but little EO OVER-ANXIETY FOR THE MORROW. 63 faith. He is, in effect, an unbeliever. On the other hand, to rely so much upon Providence, as to do nothing at all, is to tempt God. But to labour, without placing our trust and confi- dence in our labour, expecting all from the blessing of God; this is to obey him, to work with his providence, to set the springs of it a going, and to imitate Christ and the saints by a sedate care, and an industrious confidence. He whose mind, through the influence of reli- gion upon it, is calm and resigned, will always exert his diligence to the best advantage. Fret- fulness and impatience not only do not assist, but they hinder. A person in this state has not the use of his powers and faculties, which he otherwise would have ; besides, that the Holy Spirit of God flies from such a temper, delighting to dwell in a meek, quiet, and con- — tented heart.—But, perhaps, you have not all things as you could wish to have them, through some fault, or mismanagement of. your own; and it is this which troubles you. You have made some false step. Nothing more probable. We all make many. The famous Marshal Turenne, who was a good man, as well as a great general, used to say, he was not more obliged to any of his friends, than to one who 64 ART OF ~ had given him, at his first setting out in life, the following piece of advice:—“ When you have made a false step, spend not a moment in vexing yourself, and moaning over it; but con- sider how it may best be repaired, and instantly set about it.” BISHOP HORNE. AN EXAMINATION TO BE MADE REGULARLY, EVERY MORNING OR EVENING, OF THE EMPLOYMENT OF _THE PRECEDING DAY. Every person anxious to make himself better, and to promote his happiness, should daily devote a few moments, either before he retires to rest, or in rising in the morning, to a retro- spect of what he has done, said, heard, and observed during the preceding day. This rapid review will occupy precisely a portion of time which is otherwise lost by all mankind, but which, by this method, is gained and employed in the most beneficial manner. Seize this mo- ment, which seems to be marked out by nature, and which social life itself always allows you to dispose of as you please, to examine your soul, to recollect all that you have seen, re- marked, learned, all that you have said wisely IMPROVING TIME. 65 or unwisely, usefully or uselessly, to the benefit or detriment of your body, mind, and heart. Demand of yourself a strict account of the em- ployment of all your moments during the pre- ceding twenty-four hours. Ask, as it were, this question of each day that has just passed : —“ In what respect hast thou promoted my physical, moral, and intellectual improvement ; in a word, my happiness? I made thee my tributary, hast thou paid thy debt?” Consider Time as a farmer, whom you bind down to pay a certain rent, by a lease, the conditions of which he must strictly fulfil, or as a person of whom you have a right to exact a certain toll or duty. This toll, or this rent, is to be paid at each fixed term. Life thus becomes an equally agreeable and instructive journey, in which no lesson is forgotten, no example lost: every moment is rendered subservient to health, the acquisition of knowledge, or moral im- provement. Can it be doubted that this me- thod, pursued with constancy and perseverance, would produce effects, slow, imperceptible, and progressive, it is true, but not the less certain and infallible ? ART OF EMPLOYING TIME. 66 NIGHT! SovL-sooTuine season! period of repose ! Or calm, collected thought, which day debars! Can language paint, can poetry disclose The magic of thy silence, dews, and stars ? When the loud mirth of day no longer mars Our better feelings, with its empty sound, When we forget, awhile, the cruel jars Our souls in worldly intercourse have found, How welcome are thy shades, with peaceful quiet crown’d, They gather round us, from their silent wings Scatt’ring kind blessings; to the wretched, dear: Prosperity to gaudy daylight clings, But thou art Sorrow’s chosen, meek compeer : Thou hid’st her from the cold and heartless sneer Of wealth’s sleek minions, pride’s contemptuous crew ; Hushest her sigh, conceal’st her bitter tear ; And, by thy healing influence, dost renew Her fortitude to bear! her courage to subdue! BERNARD BARTON. THE SOPHISTRY OF THE HUMAN HEART. MANKIND are disposed to think well of them- selves, to view their virtues through a magni- SOPHISTRY OF THE HUMAN HEART. 67 fying medium, and to cast their deficiencies and vices into the shade. Dissatisfied, as they often are, with their outward condition, they have yet little or no conviction of their spiritual wants ; but with respect to these are ready to imagine, with the Laodiceans, that they “ are rich and increased in goods, and have need of nothing.” Hence it is with extreme difficulty they are brought to acquiesce in the humiliating repre, sentations made by the oracles of God, of their native guilt and misery. They will readily confess that they are not perfectly innocent or faultless ; they have their imperfections as well as Others, but they are far from believing they are actually under the wrath and displeasure of the Almighty. They feel, on the whole, satis- fied with themselves, and, by setting their supposed good qualities and actions against their bad ones, contrive to adjust their account in such a manner as leaves a considerable ba- lance in their favour. On the mercy of God they feel no objection to profess their reliance : deeming it more decent, and even more safe, than to challenge his justice; but it is easy to perceive that the mercy of which they speak, is of such a nature, that they would look upon it as an absurdity to suppose it could be with- F2 68 STRENUOUS RESISTANCE TO ALL SIN. held, In short, they are the whole who need no physician. ROBERT HALL. ee A STRENUOUS RESISTANCE TO ALL SIN. LET us ask you just to reflect on the tone and spirit of that man towards his God, who would palliate, for example, the vices of dissipation to which he is addicted, by alleging his utter ex- emption from the vices of dishonesty, to which he is not addicted. Just think of the real disposition and character of his soul, who can say ‘ I will please God, but only when, in so doing, I also please myself; or I will do ho- mage to His law, but just in those instances by which I honour the rights and fulfil the expectations, of society; or I will be decided by his opinion of the right and the wrong, but just when the opinion of my neighbourhood lends its powerful and effective confirmation. But in other cases, when the matter is reduced to a bare question between man and God, when he is the single party I have to do with, when His will and His wrath are the only elements which enter into the deliberation, STRENUOUS RESISTANCE TO ALL SIN. 69 when judgment, and eternity, and the voice of him who speaketh from heaven are the only considerations at issue—then do I feel myself at greater liberty, and I shall take my own way, and walk in the counsel of mine own heart, and after the sight of my own eyes.” QO! be assured, that when all this is laid bare on the day of reckoning, and the discerner of the heart pronounces upon it, and such a sen- tence is to be given, as will make it manifest to the consciences of all assembled, that true and righteous are the judgments of God—there is many a creditable man who has passed through the world with the plaudits and the testimonies of all his fellows, and without one other flaw upon his reputation but the very slender one of certain harmless foibles, and certain good-humoured peculiarities, who, when brought to the bar of account, will stand con- victed there of having made a divinity of his own will, and spent his days in practical and habitual atheism. And this argument is not at all affected by the actual state of sinfulness and-infirmity into which we have fallen. It is ttue, even of saints on earth, that they commit sin. But to be overtaken in a fault is one thing; to commit 70 STRENUOUS. RESISTANCE TO ALL SIN. that fault with the deliberate consent of the mind is another. ‘There is in the bosom of every true Christian a strenuous principle of resistance to sin, and it belongs to the very essence of the principle that it is resistance to all sin. It admits of no voluntary indulgence to one sin more than to another. Such an in- dulgence would not only change the character of what may be called the elementary principle of regeneration, but would destroy it altogether. The man who has entered on a course of Chris- tian discipleship, carries on an unsparing and universal war with all iniquity. He has chosen Christ for his alone master, and he struggles against the ascendancy of every other. It is his sustained and habitual exertion in follow- ing after Him to forsake all; so that if his performance were as complete as his endea- vour, you would not merely see a conformity to some of the precepts, but a conformity to the whole law of God. At all events, the en- deavour is an honest one, and so far successful, that sin has not the dominion; and sure we are, that, in such a state of things, the vices of dissipation can have no existence. These vices can be more effectually shunned, and more effectually surmounted, for example, than FUTURE EFFECTS OF OUR PRESENT ACTIONS, 7] the infirmities of an unhappy temper. So that if dissipation still attaches to the character, and appears in the conduct of any individual, we know not a more decisive evidence of the state of that individual, as being one of the many who crowd the broad way that leadeth to destruction. We look no further to make out our estimate of his present condition as being that of a rebel, and of his future pro- spect as being that of spending an eternity in hell. There is no halting between two opi- nions in this matter. The man who enters a career of dissipation throws down the gauntlet of defiance to his God. The man who persists in this career keeps on the ground of hostility against him. . DR. CHALMERS. THE INFLUENCE OF OUR PRESENT ACTIONS AT A FUTURE TIME; AND OUR THOUGHTS OF THEM. IN OLD AGE. : THERE is certainly no greater happiness, than to be able to look back on a life usefully and virtuously employed, to trace our own progress in existence by such tokens as excite neither shame nor sorrow. Life, in which nothing has v2 FUTURE EFFECTS been done or suffered to distinguish one day from another, is to him that has passed it, as if it had never been, except that he is con- scious how ill he has husbanded the great deposit of his Creator. Life, made memorable by crimes, and diversified through its several periods by wickedness, is, deed, easily re- viewed, but reviewed only with horror and remorse. j The great consideration which ought to in- fluence us in the use of the present moment, is to arise from the effect, which, as well or ill applied, it must have upon the time to come; for though its actual existence be inconceiv- ably short, yet its effects are unlimited; and there is not the smallest point of time but may extend its consequence, either to our hurt or our advantage, through all eternity, and give us reason to remember it for ever, with anguish or exultation. The time of life, in which memory seems particularly to claim predominance over the other faculties of the mind, is our declming age. It has been remarked by former writers, that old men are generally narrative, and fall easily into recitals of past transactions, and accounts of persons known to them in their a ee te =>” oe OF OUR PRESENT ACTIONS. 73 youth. When we approach the verge of the grave it is more eminently true :— Life’s span forbids thee to extend thy cares, And stretch thy hopes beyond thy years. We have no longer any possibility of great vicissitudes in our favour; the changes which are to happen in the world will come too late for our accommodation ; and those who have no hope before them, and to whom their pre- sent state is painful and irksome, must of necessity turn their thoughts back to try what retrospect will afford. “It ought, therefore, to be the care of those who wish to pass the last hours with comfort, to lay up such a treasure of pleasing ideas, as shall support the expenses of that time, which is to depend wholly upon the fund already acquired. In youth, however unhappy, we solace our- selves with the hope of better fortune, and however vicious, appease our consciences with intentions of repentance; but the time comes at last, in which life has no more to promise, in which happiness can be drawn only from recollection, and virtue will be all that we can recollect with pleasure. RAMBLER. 7A THE CONSIDERATION OF OUR INFLUENCE UPON OTHERS, AN. INCITEMENT TO VIRTUE. In discussing the subject of that influence which we, as members of society, exert upon each other, it seems natural to consider, in the first place, the facility and power with which this influence is exerted; and then, the extent of its operation, and the length of its continu- ance. Our facilities for exerting an influence on the characters of each other, are so many and great, that it is difficult to conceive, how two persons can meet and converse together without exerting a mutual influence. Such a thing seems to be impossible. And every man, who examines critically his intellectual and moral state, will observe, that however short his interview with another person may be, it has had an effect upon him; and that every thing which he notices in the manners, convers- ation, and actions of others, and in the circum- stances of their condition and style of living, affects in some degree, his conduct, and changes, in some degree, his character. Hence it is, that human conduct is seldom stable; that hu- man character is seldom stationary. The pa- trician acts upon the plebeian, and the plebeian ‘OUR INFLUENCE UPON OTHERS. 75 upon the patrician; and the different members of the same class act upon each other. Every meeting, every conversation, every instance of opposition or co-operation in the pursuit of pleasure or business, gives rise to a mutual sympathy of feeling, and to an action and re- action which produce changes, of some kind, in the state and character of the immortal mind. _ And this influence is usually exerted when we think little about it. We sit down by our fireside with our families; we meet in the. social circle with our friends ; we call upon an acquaintance ; we transact business with a stranger; or we go up to the house of God ;— and all is soon forgotten. But we have, pro- bably, left impressions upon some minds, which will never be erased. Nor can any care, fore- thought, labour, or ingenuity of ours, prevent this. ‘The nature of the human mind, and the economy of human society must first be changed. And this influence, which is exerted with so much facility and constancy, has often great power. It often produces very important re- sults. A single brief interview may give such a bias and direction to the mind as will lead 76 OUR INFLUENCE UPON OTHERS, toa radical and permanent change in the cha- racter and conduct. A single instance of ad- vice, reproof, caution, or encouragement may decide the question of a man’s respectability, usefulness, and happiness in the world. How solemn is a residence in this world! Whatever we do or say in the sight or hearing of others, we are liable to be producing changes in some- body, which will take hold on the judgment of the great day, and be felt for ever! » And such an influence is even now abroad ; and is acting beyond our control upon relatives, and friends, and acquaintances, and upon multi- tudes whom we never saw. And it has taken such a strong hold upon the world that the stroke which lays us silent in the tomb will not materially affect it. It will exist in youth- ful vigour; and fly from man to man, and from kingdom to kingdom, and from generation to generation; and from far distant ages, may lift up its voice, like a spirit of darkness, or an an- gel of glory. If such be our Situation here, what shall we do? Obey the Divine Law. Let that be the tule of your life. Employ your money, labours, and prayers, with a view to it. Then will you leave behind you a fountain of good, the stream AN INCITEMENT TO VIRTUE. 77 of which will be perennial; the source of joy, and perhaps of salvation to thousands in suc- ceeding ages. And who is there, that would not desire, if ever admitted to the world of glory, there to welcome from age to age, immortal souls, who will ascribe their salvation to the blessing of God on his influence? Who is there that would enter heaven, and through the vast re- gions of bliss, and through countless ages, never find one happy soul, who was saved through his instrumentality? If there be any such distinction in that blissful world, as that of riches and poverty, such a one must be ac- counted poor indeed. He has, it is true, escaped the dangers of this tempestuous ocean ; but like some shipwrecked mariner, he has escaped with nothing but his life. A MAN’S GOOD OR BAD QUALITIES MEET WITH AN - APPROPRIATE RETURN EVEN IN THIS WORLD. Ir we consider the general rules by which ex- ternal prosperity and adversity are commonly distributed in this life, we shall find, that not- withstanding the disorder in which all things appear to be in this world, yet even here every 4 78 VIRTUE REWARDED virtue naturally meets with its proper reward, with the recompense which is most fit to en- courage and promote it, and this too so surely, that it requires a very extraordinary concur- rence of circumstances entirely to disappoint it. What is the reward most proper for en- couraging industry, prudence, and circumspec- tion? Success in every sort of business. And is it possible that in the whole of life these vir- tues should fail of attaining it? Wealth and external honours are their proper recompense, and the recompense which they can seldom fail of acquiring. What reward is most pro- per for promoting the practice of truth, justice, and humanity? ‘The confidence, the esteem, and love of those we live with. Humanity does not desire to be great, but to be beloved. It is not in being rich, that truth and justice would rejoice, but in being trusted and believed, recompenses which those virtues must almost always acquire. By some very extraordinary and unlucky circumstance, a good man may come to be suspected of a crime of which he was altogether incapable, and upon that ac- count be most unjustly exposed for the remain- ing part of his life to the horror and aversion of mankind. By an accident of this kind he Ke EVEN IN THIS WORLD. 79 may be said to lose his all, notwithstanding his integrity and justice; in the same manner as a cautious man, notwithstanding his utmost cir- cumspection, may be ruined by an earthquake or an inundation. Accidents of the first kind, however, are perhaps still more rare, and still more contrary to the common course of things than those of the second; and it still remains true, that the practice of truth, justice, and humanity, is a certain and almost infallible method of acquiring what those virtues chiefly aim at, the confidence and love of those we live with. A person may be very easily misrepre- sented with regard to a particular action ; but it is scarce possible that he should be so with re- gard to the general tenor of his conduct. An innocent man may be believed to have done wrong : this, however, will rarely happen. On the contrary, the established opinion of the in- nocence of his manners, will often lead us to absolve him where he has really been in fault, notwithstanding very strong presumptions. a ee ee PROFESSORS OF CHRISTIANITY. 109 virtues do possess the one ingredient of being approved by men, and may, on this single account, be found to reside in the characters of those who live without God—yet, that they also possess the other ingredient of being ac- ceptable unto God; and, on this latter account, should be made the subjects of their most stre- nuous cultivation. They must not lose sight of the one ingredient in the other; or stigmatize, as so many fruitless and insignificant moralities, those virtues which enter as component parts into the service of Christ; so that he who in these things serveth Christ, is both acceptable to God, and approved by men. They must not expend all their warmth in the high and peculiar doctrines of the New Testament, while they offer a cold and reluctant admission to the practical duties of the New Testament. The Apostle has bound the one to the other by a tie of immediate connexion. “ Wherefore, lie not one to another, as ye have put off the old man and his deeds, and put on the new man, which is formed after the image of God, in righteousness and true holiness.” Here the very obvious and popular accomplishment of truth is grafted on the very peculiar doctrine of regeneration: and we altogether mistake the 110 PROVIDENCE. kind of transforming influence which the faith of the Gospel brings along with it, if we think that uprightness of character does not emerge at the same time with godliness of character ; or that the virtues-of society do not form upon the believer into as rich and varied an assemblage, as do the virtues of the sanctuary, or that, while he puts on those graces which are singly acceptable to God, he falls behind in any of those graces which are both accept- able to God and approved of men. DR. CHALMERS. PROVIDENCE. For (if a mortal tongue may speak of him And his dread ways) even as his boundless eye Connecting every form and every change, Beholds the perfect beauty ; so his will, Through every hour producing good to all The family of creatures, is itself The perfect virtue. Let the grateful swain Remember this, as oft with joy and praise He looks upon the falling dews which clothe His lawns with verdure, and the tender seed Nourish within his furrows: when between Dead seas and burning skies, where long unmov’d - The bark had languished, now a rustling gale Lifts o’er the fickle waves her dancing prow, PROVIDENCE. 111 Let the glad pilot, bursting out in thanks Remember this: lest blind o’erweening pride Pollute their offerings: lest their selfish heart Say to the heavenly ruler, At owr call, Relents thy power: by us thy arm is moved ! Fools! who of God.as of each other deem : Who his invariable acts deduce From sudden counsels transient as their own; Nor further of his bounty, than the event Which haply meets their loud and eager prayer, Acknowledge; nor, beyond the drop minute Which haply they have tasted, heed the source That flows for all; the fountain of his love Which, from the summit where he sits enthron’d, Pours health and joy, unfailing streams, throughout The spacious region flourishing in view, The goodly work of his eternal day, His own fair universe ; on which alone His counsels fix, and whence alone his wil] Assumes her strong direction. Such is now His sovereign purpose: such it was before All multitude of years. For his right arm Was never idle : his bestowing love Knew no beginning ; was not as a change Of mood that woke at last and started up After a deep and solitary sloth Of boundless ages. No: he now is good, He ever was. The feet of hoary Time Through their eternal course have travell’d o’er No speechless, lifeless desert; but through scenes Cheerful with bounty still ; among a pomp 112 PROVIDENCE. Of worlds, for gladness round the Maker’s throne Loud shouting, or, in many dialects Of hope and filial trust, imploring thence The fortunes of their people: where so fix’d Were all the dates of being, so disposed To every living soul of every kind The field of motion, and the hour of rest, That each the general happiness might serve; And, by the discipline of laws divine Convine’d of folly or chastis’d from guilt, Each might at length be happy. What remains Shall be like what is pass’d; but fairer still, And still increasing in the godlike gifts Of life and truth. The same paternal hand, From the mute shell-fish gasping on the shore, To men, to angels, to celestial minds, Will ever lead the generations on Through higher scenes of being : while, supplied From day to day by his enlivening breath, Inferior orders in succession rise To fill the void below. As flame ascends, As vapours to the earth in showers return, As the poised ocean toward the attracting moon Swells, and the ever-listening planets charm’d By the sun’s call their onward pace incline, So all things which have life aspire to God, Exhaustless fount of intellectual day ! Centre of souls!’ Nor doth the mastering voice Of Nature cease within to prompt aright Their steps; nor is the care of Heav’n withheld From sending to the toil external aid ; PROVIDENCE. LES That in their stations all may persevere Lo climb the ascent of being, and approach For ever nearer to the life divine. But this eternal fabric was not rais’d For man’s inspection. Though to some be given To catch a transient visionary glimpse Of that majestic scene which boundless Power Prepares for perfect goodness, yet in vain Would human life her faculties expand To embosom such an object. Nor could e’er Virtue or praise have touch’d the hearts of men, Had not the Sovereign Guide, through every stage Of this their various journey, pointed out New hopes, new toils, which to-their humble sphere Of sight and strength might such importance hold As doth the wide creation to his own. Hence all the little charities of life, With all their duties: hence that favourite palm Of human will, when duty is suffic’d, And still the liberal soul in ampler deeds Would manifest herself; that sacred sign Of her rever’d affinity to Him Whose bounties are his own; to whom none said, ‘Create the wisest, fullest, fairest, world, And make its offspring happy ;’ who, intent Some likeness of Himself among his works To view, hath pour’d into the human breast A ray of knowledge and of love, which guides Earth’s feeble race to act their Maker’s part, Self-judging, self-obliged: while, from before That god-like function, the gigantic power I 114 HAPPINESS. Necessity, though wont to curb the force Of chaos, and the savage elements, Retires abash’d, as from a scene too high, - For her brute tyranny, and with her bears Her scorned followers, Terror, and base Awe Who blinds herself, and that ill-suited pair, Obedience link’d with Hatred. Then the soul Arises in her strength ; and looking round Her busy sphere, whatever work she views, Whatever counsel bearing any trace Of her Creator’s likeness, whether apt To aid her fellows or preserve herself In her superior functions unimpair’d, Thither she turns exulting: that she claims As her peculiar good: on that, through all The fickle seasons of the day, she looks With reverence still: to that, as to a fence Against affliction and the darts of pain, Her drooping hopes repair: and, once oppos’d To that, all other pleasure, other wealth, Vile, as the dross upon the molten gold, Appears, and loathsome as the briny sea To him who languishes with thirst and sighs For some known fountain pure. AKENSIDE. HAPPINESS. Happiness, or well-being, is the universal aim of education and life with the human species —- . HAPPINESS. 115 in general, and with each individual in parti- cular ; but though all men necessarily tend toward this aim, either by reflection or by in- stinct, and though there is no rational being — but desires to be happy, yet the greater num- ber know not in what happiness really con- sists, and pay dearly for this baneful ignorance. Some agitated by restless passions, or misled by seductive illusions, weary themselves in a toilsome, distant search of it, when they might easily find it in their very path. Others, by a still more pernicious mistake, employ the means of ruin and misery alone for their conservation , and felicity ; they destroy while they would preserve themselves, they embifter their lives in seeking to render them happy. Observation, experience, and reason, seem to point out three essential and necessary ele- ments of happiness: health of body, elevation . of soul, or morality, and cultivation of mind, or knowledge. These. three elements are the fundamental bases, but not the only instru- ments of felicity. Several other means of happiness, secondary and accessary, though highly important in themselves, are connected with, and necessarily dependent on, these three primary causes. Fortune, for example, ina 116 FIAPPINESS. the object of such ardent desire, and frequently reputed the highest good, must at first have been the lot of him only who knew how to ac- quire it by his labour and his talents; by the twofold exertion of body and mind, by the es- teem and confidence which his moral qualities had inspired. If it has been transmitted by in- heritance, it cannot be preserved but by dis- creet conduct, and by a spirit of prudence, re- gularity, and economy. Be its origin what it may, it confers pure, genuine, extensive and diversified pleasures on him only in whom are combined the advantages of a sound mind, a well-regulated soul, and a cultivated under- standing. Wealth, like power, honours, and reputation, is a mean, but not an end: it af- fords real and solid advantages to him who knows how to make a proper use of it for him- self and others; but it cannot singly bestow happiness, and is valuable only when accom- panied by the three means above-mentioned. Let us suppose, for example, a man possessed of an immense fortune, but amidst his wealth tormented by disease, immersed in the grossest ignorance, destitute of morality and feeling, and consequently a stranger to the delights of friendship, the charms of society, the pure plea- INGREDIENTS OF HAPPINESS. ia sures of love, and those with which the arts and sciences embellish life: how could such a per- son be happy? All the other possessions that excite our desires are in the same predicament: none of them is of any value without health, which enables us to enjoy them; without tran- quillity and dignity of soul, evenness of temper and disposition, or a good moral constitution, which afford the double advantage of having friends who increase our happiness by sharing it with us, and of standing well with ourselves; lastly, without culture and elevation of mind er knowledge, which qualifies us the better to appreciate all the means of preservation and well-being, and confers on them an additional charm. ART OF EMPLOYING TIME. THE INGREDIENTS OF HAPPINESS. In the conduct of life, the great matter is to know beforehand, what will please us, and what pleasure will hold out. So far as we know this, our choice will be justified by the event. And this knowledge is more scarce and difficult than at first sight it may seem to be: 118 INGREDIENTS OF HAPPINESS. for sometimes, pleasures, which are wonder- fully alluring and flattering in the prospect, turn out in the possession extremely insipid ; or do not hold out as we expected: at other times, pleasures start up which never entered - into our calculation ; and which we might have missed of by not foreseeing: whence we have reason to believe, that we actually do miss of many pleasures from the same cause. I say, to know “beforehand,” for, after the experiment is tried, it is commonly impracticable to retreat or change; beside that shifting and changing is apt to generate a habit of restlessness, which is destructive of the happiness of every con- dition. By the reason of the original diversity of taste, capacity, and constitution, observable in the human species, and the still greater variety which habit and fashion have introduced in these particulars, it is impossible to propose any plan of happiness, which will succeed to all, or any method of life which is universally eligible or practicable. All that can be said is, that there remains a presumption im favour of those conditions of — life, ‘in which men generally appear most cheer- ful and contented. For though the apparent a ee i rt - - Se INGREDIENTS OF HAPPINESS. 119 happiness of mankind be not always a true measure of their real happiness, it is the best measure we have. ; . Taking this for my guide, I am inclined to believe that happiness consists, Iv In the exercises of the social affections. Those persons commonly possess good spirits, who have about them many objects of affection and endearment, as wife, children, kindred, friends. And to the want of these may be im- puted the peevishness of monks, and of such as lead a monastic life. Of the same nature with the indulgence of our domestic affections, and equally refreshing to the spirits, is the pleasure which results from acts of bounty and beneficence, exercised either in giving money, or in ‘imparting, to those who want it, the assistance of our skill and profession. Another main article of human happiness is, Il. The éxercise of our faculties, either of body or mind, in the pursuit of some engaging end. | It seems to be true, that no plenitude of pre- sent gratifications can make the possessor hap- py for a continuance unless he have something in reserve,—something to hope for, and look 120 INGREDIENTS OF HAPPINESS. forward to. This I conclude to be the case, from comparing the alacrity and spirits of men who are engaged in any pursuit which interests them, with the dejection and ennut of almost all, who are either born to so much that they want nothing more, or who have wsed up their satisfactions too soon, and drained the sources of them. | It is this intolerable vacuity of mind, which carries the rich and great to the horse-course and the gaming-table; and often engages them in contests and pursuits, of which the success bears no proportion to the solicitude and ex- pense with which it is sought. An election for a disputed borough shall cost the parties twenty or thirty thousand pounds each,—to say nothing of the anxiety, humiliation, and fatigue, of the canvass; when a seat in the House of Commons, of exactly the same value, may be had for a tenth part of the money, and with no trouble. I do not mention this, to blame the rich and. great, (perhaps they cannot do better,) but in confirmation of what I have advanced. Those pleasures are most valuable, not which are most exquisite in the fruition, but which are most productive of engagement and activity in the pursuit. INGREDIENTS OF HAPPINESS. ]91 Engagement is every thing: the more signi- ficant, however, our engagements are, the bet- ter: such as the planning of laws, institutions, manufactures, charities, improvements, public works ; and the endeavouring, by our interest, address, solicitations, and activity, to carry them into effect: or, upon a smaller scale, the pro- curing of a maintenance and fortune for our fa- milies by a course of industry and application to our callings, which forms and gives motion to the common occupations of life; training up a child; prosecuting a scheme for his future establishment ; making ourselves masters of a language or a science ; improving or managing an estate; labouring after a piece of prefer- ment; and lastly, any engagement, which is innocent, is better than none; as the writing of a book, the building of a house, the laying out of a garden, the digging of a fish-pond, even the raising of a cucumber or a tulip. Whilst our minds are taken up with the ob- jects or business before us, we are commonly happy, whatever the object or business be; when the mind is absent, and the thoughts are wandering to something else than what is pass- ing in the place in which we are, we are often miserable. 122 INGREDIENTS OF HAPPINESS. III. Happiness depends upon the prudent constitution of the habits. Habits themselves are much the same ; for whatever is made habitual becomes smooth, and easy, and neatly indifferent. ‘The luxu- rious receive no greater pleasure from their dain- ties, than the peasant does from his bread and cheese; but the peasant, whenever he goes abroad, finds a feast ; whereas the epicure must be well entertained, to escape disgust. The man who has learned to live alone, feels his spirits enlivened whenever he enters into company, and takes his leave without regret ; another, who has long been accustomed to a crowd, or continual succession of company, ex- periences in company no elevation of spirits, nor any greater satisfaction, than what the man of retired life finds in his chimney-corner. So far their conditions are equal; but let a change of place, fortune, or situation, separate the companion from his circle, his visitors, his club, common-room, or coffee-house; and the difference and advantage in the choice and constitution of the two habits will show itself. Solitude comes to the one, clothed with melancholy ; to the other, it brings liberty and quiet. You will see the one fretful and rest- INGREDIENTS OF HAPPINESS. 2S less, at a loss how to dispose of his time, till the hour come round when he may forget him- self in bed; the other easy and satisfied, taking up his book or his pipe, as soon as he finds him- self alone ; ready to admit any little amusement that casts up, or to turn his hands and atten-. tion to the first business that presents itself; or content, without either, to sit still, and let his train of thought glide indolently through his brain, without much use, perhaps, or pleasure, but without hankering after any thing better, and without irritation. So far as circumstances of fortune conduce to happiness, it is not the income which any man possesses, but the increase of income, that affords the pleasure. Two persons, of whom one begins with a hundred, and advances his income to a thousand pounds a year, and the other sets off with a thousand, and dwindles down to a hundred, may in the course of their time, have the receipt and spending of the same sum of money; yet their satisfaction, so far as fortune is concerned i in it, will be very different; the series and sum total of their i incomes being the same, it makes a wide difference at which end they begin. IV. Happiness consists in health. 124 STRENGTH OF MIND By health I understand, as well freedom from bodily distempers, as that tranquillity, firmness, and alacrity of mind, which we call good spirits; and which may properly enough be included in our notion of health, as depend- ing commonly upon the same causes, and yielding to the same management, as our bodily constitution. Health in this sense, is the one thing need- ful.—'Therefore no pains, expense, self-denial, or restraint, to which we subject ourselves for the sake of health, is too much. Whether it require us to relinquish lucrative situations, to abstain from favourite indulgences, to control intemperate passions, or undergo tedious re- gimens; whatever difficulties it lays us under, a man, who pursues his happiness rationally and resolutely, will be content to submit. PALEY. STRENGTH OF MIND ESSENTIAL TO HAPPINESS. As nothing is more natural than for every one to desire to be happy, it is not to be wondered at that the wisest men in all ages have spent so much time to discover what happiness is, ESSENTIAL TO HAPPINESS. 125 and wherein it chiefly consists. An eminent writer named Varro, reckons up no less than two hundred and eighty-eight different opinions upon this subject; and another, called Lucian, after having given usa long catalogue of the notions of several philosophers, endeavours to show the absurdity of all of them, without es- tablishing any thing of his own. That which seems to have made so many err in this case, is the resolution they took to fix a man’s happiness to one determined point; which I conceive cannot be made up but by the con- currence of several particulars. I shall readily allow Virtue the first place, as she is the mother of Content. It is this which calms our thoughts, and makes us survey ourselves with ease and pleasure. Naked virtue, however, is not alone sufficient to make aman happy. It must be accompanied with at least a moderate provision for all the necessa- vies of life, and not ruffled and disturbed by bodily pains. A fit of the stone was sharp enough to make a stoic cry out, “that Zeno, his master, taught him false, when he told him that pain was no evil !” But besides this, virtue is so far from being alone sufficient to make a man happy that the 126 ; STRENGTH OF MIND excess of it in some particulars, joined to a soft and feminine temper, may often give us the deepest wounds, and chiefly contribute to ren- der us uneasy. I might instance in pity, love, and friendship. In the two last passions it often happens, that we so entirely give up our’ hearts, as to make our happiness wholly depend upon another person ; a trust for which no _ human creature, however excellent, can possibly give us a sufficient security. The man, therefore, who would be truly happy, must, besides an habitual virtue, attain to such a “strength of mind,” as to confine his happiness within himself, and keep it from being dependent upon others. A man of this make will perform all those good-natured offices that could have been expected from the most bleeding pity, without being so far affected at the common misfortunes of human’ life, as to disturb his own repose. His actions of this kind are so much more meritorious than an- other’s, as they flow purely from a principle of virtue, and a sense of his duty ; whereas a man of a softer temper, even while he is assisting another, may in some measure be said to be relieving himself. A man endowed with that strength of mind I am here speaking of, though _ ESSENTIAL TO HAPPINESS. 127 he leaves it to his friend or mistress to make him still more happy, does not put it in the power of either to make him miserable. 3 From what has been already said, it will also appear, that nothing can be more weak than to place our happiness in the applause of others, since by this means we make it wholly inde- pendent of ourselves. People of this humour, who place their chief felicity in reputation and applause, are also extremely subject to envy, the most painful as well as the most absurd of all passions. ait. The surest means to attain that strength of mind and independent state of happiness I am here recommending, is a virtuous mind suffi- ciently furnished with ideas to support solitude, and keep up an agreeable conversation with itself. Learning is a very great help on this occasion, as it lays up an infinite number of notions in the memory, ready to be drawn out, and set in order upon any occasion. The mind often takes the same pleasure in looking over these her treasures, in augmenting and dispos- ing them into proper forms, as a prince does in a review of his army. It is this strength of mind that is not to be overcome by the changes of fortune, that rises 128 HAPPINESS AT HOME, at the sight of dangers, and could make Alex- ander, (in that passage of his life so much ad- mired by the Prince of Condé,) when his army mutinied, bid his soldiers return to Macedon, and tell their countrymen that they had lett their king conquering the world; since for his part, he could not doubt of raising an army wherever he appeared. It is this that chiefly exerts itself when a man is most oppressed, and gives him always, in proportion to what- ever malice or injustice would deprive him of. It is this, in short, that makes the virtuous man insensibly set a value upon himself, and throws a varnish over his words and actions, that will at last command esteem, and give him a greater ascendant over others, than all the advantages of birth and fortune. GUARDIAN. —_—>. HAPPINESS AT HOME, THE WISE MAN’S AIM. THE main of life is, indeed, composed of small incidents, and petty occurrences; of wishes for objects not remote, and grief for disappoint- ments of no fatal consequence; of insect vexa- tions which sting us and fly away, impertinen- cies which buzz awhile about us, and are heard THE WISE MAN’S AIM. 129 no more; of meteorous pleasures which dance before us and are dissipated ; of compliments which glide off the soul like other music, and are forgotten by him that gave and him that received them. Such is the general heap out of which every man is to cull his own condition: for, as the chemists tell us, that all bodies are resolvable into the same elements, and that the boundless variety of things arises from the different pro- portions of very few imgredients; so a few pains, and a few pleasures, are all the materials of human life, and of these the proportions are partly allotted by Providence, and partly left to the arrangement of reason and of choice. As these are well or ill disposed, man is for ihe most part happy or miserable. For very few are involved in great events, or have their thread of life entwisted with the chain of causes on which armies or nations are suspended ; and even those who seem wholly busied in public affairs, and elevated above low cares or trivial pleasures, pass the chief part of their time in familiar and domestic scenes; from these they came into public life; to these they are every hour recalled by passions not to be suppressed ; K 130 * MAN. in these they have the reward of their toils, and to these at last they retire. The great end of prudence is to give cheer- fulness to those hours, which splendour cannot gild, and acclamation cannot exhilarate ; those soft intervals of unbended amusement, in which a man shrinks to his natural dimensions, and throws aside the ornaments or disguises, which he feels in privacy to be useless incumbrances, and to lose all effect when they become fami- liar. To be happy at home is the ultimate result of all ambition, the end to which every enterprise and labour tends, and of which every desire prompts the prosecution. JOHNSON. MAN. Consummatr wisdom and consummate skill Are manifest in every part of thee, Fond child of dust. Thy fair majestic form,— Thy useful limbs, thy well adapted joints,— The firm supporting bones strut through thy frame, And thy tough sinews of commanding strength, The faculties of sense more wondrous still, Whose mysteries are not developed yet,— The veins and arteries spread over thee,— The labouring heart, the cistern wheel, that sends OUR NATIVE LAND. Ro! £53 | The purple flood with constant motion through— The brain and nervous system hung upon it,— Nay, every portion of thy outward frame Bespeaks contrivance wonderful. While life, That energetic principle, distinct From passive matter, which a motion gives To what were else inactive as the clay From which the hand of God first fashioned thee, Declares aloud an immaterial cause. T. RAGG, OUR NATIVE LAND. Tuerz is a land, of every land the pride, Beloved by Heaven o’er all the world beside, Where brighter suns dispense serener light, And milder moons emparadise the night ; A land of beauty, virtue, valour, truth, Time-tutored age, and love-exalted youth ; The wandering mariner whose eye explores The wealthiest isles, the most enchanting shores, Views not a realm so bountiful and fair, Nor breathes the spirit of a purer air; In every clime the magnet of his soul, Touch’d by remembrance, trembles to that pole; For in this land of Heaven’s peculiar grace, The heritage of nature’s noblest race, There is a spot of earth supremely blest, A dearer, sweeter spot than all the rest, KY 132 , PLAN FOR ATTAINING Where man, creation’s tyrant, casts aside His sword and sceptre, pageantry and pride, While in his soften’d looks benignly blend The sire, the son, the husband, brother, friend : Here woman reigns; the mother, daughter, wife Strews with fresh flowers the narrow way of life ; In the clear heaven of her delighted eye, An angel guard of loves and graces lie ; Around her knees domestic duties meet, And fire-side pleasures gambol at her feet. ‘‘ Where shall that land, that spot of earth be found?” Art thou a man?—a patriot ?—look around ; O, thou shalt find, howe’er thy footsteps roam, That land thy country, and that spot thy home! J. MONTGOMERY. DR. BENJAMIN FRANKLIN’S PLAN FOR ATTAINING MORAL PERFECTION, THESE names of virtues, with their precepts, were :— j 1. Temperance.—Eat not to dullness: drink — not to elevation. 2. Silence.—Speak not but what may be- nefit others or yourself: avoid trifling convers- ation. , 3. Order.—Let all things have their places: let each part of your business have its time. 4. Resolution—Resolve to perform what MORAL PERFECTION. 133 you ought: perform without fail what you re- solve. 5. Frugality—Make no expense but to do good to others or yourself; i. e. waste nothing. 6. Industry.—Lose no time: be always em- ployed in something useful: cut off all unne- cessary actions. _ Vre Sincerity.— Use no hurtful deceit: think innocently and justly ; and if you speak, speak accordingly. 8. Justice. -——Wrong none by doing injuries, or omitting the benefits that are your duty. 9. Moderation.—Avoid extremes: forbear resenting injuries so much as you think they deserve. 10. Cleanliness.—-Tolerate no uncleanliness in body, clothes, or habitation. Evahh, Tranquillity.—Be not disturbed at tri- fles, or at accidents common or unavoidable. 12. Humility.—Imitate Jesus and Socrates. PRECEPTS. DEsPIsE the vanities of that pride which seeks its gratifications in a contempt of moral de- corum. Be content to keep within your station, and 134 ~ PRECEPTS. to adorn it by the virtues which its duties re- quire. Never look above you until you are secure of the ground on which you move. Let not the specious professions of those who are too great in their own eyes to take any trouble of being good in the eyes of others, deceive you out of that humble mindedness which is the mainspring of every just feeling and worthy action. Suspect the friendship of every one whose advice tends to alienate you from those obliga- tions in the fulfilling of which consists all moral and social excellence. And shun the company of all from whose lips you hear that excellence ridiculed, and set at nought. Be not induced by the sophistry of the vicious to allow a necessity for vice: for there cannot be any good reason for doing a bad thing. The poet will show you why— “Such reasonings (if that name must needs belong T’ excuses in which reason has no part) Serve to compose a spirit well inclined To live on terms of amity with vice, And sin without disturbance.” Make your heart your happiest home, and you will always be in the best company, for SELF CONTROL INCULCATED. 135 your thoughts will never drive you into dissi- pation by self-reproach. Consider the wise as the most honourable part of society, and the virtuous as the wisest. Never be ashamed of showing that you are a Christian, if you would not be ashamed of yourself as a man: and, remember, that the plain dress of unaffected piety is of more value than all the tinselled glitter of quality-binding in the world. Attend to these few rules and you will find how much better prevention is than cure, you will not have to redeem in bitterness of reflec- tion what you had wasted in heedlessness of thought and vicious gratification. H. G. WHITE. SELF CONTROL INCULCATED. SEEK to acquire a habit of self control—a power over your feelings, which shall enable you to be ever on your guard, and to repress the first emotions of passion. If possible, seal your lips in silence when the storm is rising: shut up your anger in your own bosom, and, like fire that wants air and vent, it will soon expire. Angry words often prove a fan to the 136 THE ORIGIN OF THE PASSIONS. spark: many persons, who in the beginning are but slightly displeased, talk themselves at length into a violent passion. Never speak till you are cool; the man who.can command his tongue, will find no difficulty in governing his spirit. And when you do speak, let it be in meekness: . “a soft answer turneth away wrath.” When you see others angry, let it be an admonition to you to be cool; thus you will receive the fu- rious indiscretions of others, like a stone into a bed of moss, where it will lie quietly without rebounding. J. Ae. JAMES. THE ORIGIN OF THE PASSIONS. But worse than these I deem, far worse, that other race of ills Which human kind rear up among themselves ; That horrid offspring which misgovern’d Will Bears to fantastic Error; vices, crimes, Furies that curse the earth, and make the blows, The heaviest blows, of Nature’s innocent hand Seem sport; which are, indeed, but as the care Of a wise parent, who solicits good To all her house, though haply at the price Of tears and froward wailing and reproach From some unthinking child, whom not the less Its mother destines to be happy still. THE ORIGIN OF THE PASSIONS. 137 These sources then of pain, this double lot Of evil in the inheritance of man, Requir’d for his protection no slight force, No careless watch; and therefore was his breast Fene’d round with passions quick to be alarm’d, Or stubborn to oppose; with fear, more swift Than beacons catching flame from hill to hill, Where armies land; with anger uncontroll’d As the young lion bounding on his prey ; With sorrow, that locks up the struggling heart, And shame, that overcasts the drooping eye As with a cloud of lightning. These the part Perform of eager monitors, and goad The soul more sharply than with points of steel, — Her enemies to shun, or to resist. And as those passions, that converse with good, Are good themselves ; as hope, and love, and joy, Among the fairest and the sweetest boons Of life, we rightly count; so these, which guard Against invading evil, still excite Some pain, some tumult: these, within the mind Too oft admitted, or too long retained, Shock their frail seat, and by their uncurb’d rage To savages more fell than Lybia breeds Transform themselves: till human thought becomes A gloomy ruin, haunt of shapes unbless’d, Of self-tormenting fiends; horror, despair, Hatred, and wicked envy: foes to all The works of Nature and the gifts of Heaven. AKENSIDE. 138 ON THE PASSIONS. Passions are strong emotions of the mind, occasioned by the view of apprehended good or evil. They are original parts of the consti- tution of our nature; and, therefore, to extir- pate them is a mistaken aim. Religion requires no more of us than to moderate and rule them. When our blessed Lord assumed the nature, without the corruption, of man, he was subject to like passions with us. On some occasions he felt the rismgs of anger. He was often touched with pity. He was grieved in spirit ; he sorrowed and he wept. Passions, when properly directed, may be subservient to very useful ends. ‘They rouse the dormant powers of the soul. ‘They are even found to exalt them. They often raise a man above himself, and render him more pene- trating, vigorous, and masterly, than he is in his calmer hours. Actuated by some high passion, he conceives great designs, and sur- mounts all difficulties in the execution. He is inspired with more lofty sentiments, and en- dowed with more persuasive utterance, than he possesses at any other time. Passions are the active forces of the soul. They are its ON THE PASSIONS. 139 highest powers brought into movement and exertion. But, like all other great powers, they are either useful or destructive, according to their direction and degree: as wind and fire are instrumental in carrying on many of the beneficent operations of nature; but when they rise to undue violence, or deviate from their proper course, their path is marked with ruin. It is the present infelicity of human nature, that those strong emotions of the mind are be- come too powerful for the principle which ought to regulate them. ‘This is one of the unhappy consequences of our apostasy from God, that the influence of reason is weakened, and that of passion strengthened, within the heart. -When man revolted from his Maker, his passions rebelled against himself; and from being originally the instruments of reason, have become the tyrants of the soul. On these two points turns the whole govern- ment of our passions: first, to ascertain the proper objects of their pursuit; and, next, to restrain them in that pursuit when they would carry us beyond the bounds of reason. If there be any passion which intrudes itself unseason- ably into our mind, which darkens and troubles 140 AN IRRITABLE AND our judgment, or habitually discomposes our temper; which unfits us for properly discharg- ing the duties, or disqualifies us for cheerfully enjoying the comforts of life, we may certainly conclude it to have gained a dangerous ascend- ant. ‘The great object which we ought to “propose to ourselves is, to acquire a firm and stedfast mind, which the infatuation of passion shall not seduce, nor its violence shake ; which, resting on fixed principles, shall, in the midst of contending emotions, remain free, and master of itself; able to listen calmly to the voice of conscience, and prepared to obey its dictates without hesitation. BLAIR. AN IRRITABLE AND PETULANT DISPOSITION. THERE is in some persons an excessive lia- bility to be offended ; a morbid sensibility which is kindled to anger by the least possible injury, whether that injury be intentional or uninten- tional. They are all combustible, and ignite by a spark. A word, nay a look, is enough to in- flame them. They are ever ready to quarrel with any, or every body; and remind us of what Cromwell said of John Lilburne, “ that PETULANT DISPOSITION. 141 he was so quarrelsome, that if he could find nobody else to quarrel with, John would quar- rel with Lilburne, and Lilburne with John.” The whole soul seems one entire sensitiveness of offence. Instead of “suffering long,” they do not suffer at all; and instead of not being easily provoked, they are provoked by any thing, and sometimes by nothing. Love will prevent all this, and produce a disposition the very reverse. It is concerned for the happiness of others; and will not wantonly afflict them, and render them wretched, by such an exhibi- tion of unlovely and unchristian temper. It will remove this diseased sensibility, and with- out blunting the natural feelings, will calm this sinful excitability. Many things it will not see or hear—judging them quite beneath its dig- nity to notice ; others it will pass by, as not of sufficient consequence to require explanation. {t will keep a strict guard over its feelings, holding the rein with a tight hand. Its first business is with the disposition itself. This is important for us to notice; for if we indulge the feeling of anger, it will be impossible to smother the flame in our bosom ; like the burn- ing materials of a volcano, it will. at length burst out mn fiery eruptions. 142 AN IRRITABLE AND Here, then, is our first object: to gain that forbearance of disposition, which does not allow itself to be irritated or soured; to acquire that command, not only over our words and actions, but over our emotions, which shall make us patient and tranquil amidst insults and injuries" —which shall keep down the temperament of the soul, and preserve the greatest coolness. Irritability, I know, is in part a physical qua- lity; but it is in our power, by God’s help, to calm it. Love will make us willing to think the best of those with whom we have to do; it will disarm us of that suspicion and mistrust, which make us regard every body as intending to injure us; will cause us to find out pleas for those who have done us harm, and when this is impossible, will lead us to pity their weakness or forgive their wickedness. What an enemy to himself is an iritable man! He is a self-tormentor of the worst kind. He is scarcely ever at peace. His bo- som is always in a state of tumult. To him the calm sunshine of the breast is unknown. A thousand petty vexations disturb his repose, trivial, but withal, as tormenting as the gnats, which by myriads inflict their stings upon the poor animal which is exposed to their attack. TE a, —s PETULANT DISPOSITION. 143 Unhappy man, even though he so far succeed, as to restrain the agitations of his mind from bursting out into passion, yet has he the burn- ing sense of torment within. Regard to his own happiness, as well as to the happiness of others, calls upon him to cultivate that love, which shall allay the inflammatory state of his mind, and restore a soundness which will not be thus wounded by every touch. J. A. JAMES. * SAME SUBJECT PURSUED. How can mildness or forgiveness gain place in the temper of that man who, on occasion of every calamity which he suffers from the ill usage of others, has no sanctuary within his own breast to which he can make retreat from their vexations ; who is possessed of no prin- ciple which is of sufficient power to bear down the rising tide of peevish and angry passions? The violence of an enemy, or the ingratitude of a friend, the injustice of one man, and the treachery of another, perpetually dwell and rankle in his thoughts. - The part which they have acted in bringing on his distress, is fre- quently more grating to him than the distress 144 AN IRRITABLE DISPOSITION. itself. Whereas he who in every event looks up to God, has always in his view a great and elevating object, which inspires him with mag- nanimity. His mind lies open to every reliev- ing thought, and is inclined to every suggestion of generosity. Hence arises superiority to many of the ordinary provocations of the world. For he looks upon the whole of his present life as part of a great plan, which is carried on under the direction of Heaven. In this plan, he views men as acting their several parts, and contri- buting to his good or evil. But their parts he considers as subordinate ones; which, though they may justly merit his affection, and may occasionally call forth his resentment, yet afford no proper foundation to violent or malignant passion. He looks upon bad men as only the rod with which the Almighty chastens; like the pestilence, the earthquake, or the storm. In the midst of their injustice and violence he — can pity their blindness; and imitate our blessed Lord in praying, “Father, forgive them, for they know not what they do.” BLAIR. 145 ON CHOLERIC DISPOSITIONS, AND MALICE, ANGER is so uneasy a guest in the heart, that he may be said to be born unhappy who is of a rough and choleric disposition. The moral- ists have defined it to be “a desire of revenge for some injury offered.” Men of hot and heady tempers are eagerly desirous of vengeance, the very moment they apprehend themselves in- jured ; whereas, the cool and sedate watch pro- per opportunities to return grief for grief to their enemy. By this means it often happens that the choleric inflict disproportioned punish- ments, upon slight, and sometimes imaginary offences: but the temperately revengeful have leisure to weigh the merits of the cause, and thereby either to smother their secret resent- ments, or to seek proper and adequate repara- tions for the damages they have sustained. Weak minds are apt to speak well of the man of fury ; because, when the storm is over, he is full of sorrow and repentance; but the truth is, he is apt to commit such ravages during his madness, that when he comes to himself, he becomes tame then, for the same reason that he ran wild before, “only to give himself ease ;” and is a friend only to himself in both extremi- L 146 ON CHOLERIC DISPOSITIONS, ties. Men of this unhappy make, more fre- quently than any others, expect that their friends should bear with their infirmities. Their friends should in return, desire them to correct their infirmities. The common excuses, that they cannot help it, that it was soon over, that they harbour no malice in their hearts, are arguments for pardoning a bull or a mastiff ; but shall never reconcile me to an intellectual savage. Why, indeed, should any one imagine, that persons independent upon him should venture into his. society, who hath not yet so > far subdued his boiling blood, but that he is ready to do something the next minute which he can never repair, and hath nothing to plead in his own behalf, but that he is apt to do mis- chief as fast as he can? Such a man may be fear- ed, he may be pitied ; he can never be loved. I would not hereby be so understood as if I meant to recommend slow and deliberate malice; I would only observe, that men of mo- deration are of a more amiable character than the rash and inconsiderate ; but if they do not husband the talent that heaven hath bestowed upon them, they are as much more odious than the choleric, as the devil is more horrible than a brute. It is hard to say which of the two AND MALICE. 147 when injured is more troublesome to himself, or more hurtful to his enemy ; the one is bois- terous and gentle by fits, dividing his life be- tween guilt and repentance, now all tempest, again all sunshine, The other hath a smoother but more lasting anguish, lying under a perpe- tual gloom; the latter is a cowardly man, the former a generous beast. If he may be held unfortunate who cannot be sure but that he may do something the next minute which he shall la- ment during his life; what shall we think of him who hath a soul so infected that he can never be happy until he hath made another miserable? What wars may we imagine per- petually raging in his breast? What dark stratagems, unworthy designs, inhuman wishes, dreadful resolutions! A snake curled in many intricate mazes, ready to sting a traveller, and to hiss him in the pangs of death, is no unfit emblem of such an artful, unsearchable pro- jector. Were I to choose an enemy, whether should I wish for one that would stab me sud- denly, or one that would give me an Italian poison, subtle and lingering, yet as certainly fatal as the stroke of a stiletto? Let the reader determine the doubt in his own mind. | GUARDIAN, Ie? 148 «BE YE ANGRY, AND SIN NOT.” “ BE ye angry, and sin not;” therefore all anger is not sinful: I suppose, because some degree of it, and upon some occasions, is inevitable. It becomes sinful or contradicts, however, the rule of Scripture, when it is conceived upon slight and inadequate provocations, and when it continues long. 1. When it is conceived upon slight provo- cations: for, “charity suffereth long, is not easily provoked.” “ Let every man be slow to anger.” Peace, lon g-suffering, gentleness, meek- ness, are enumerated among the fruits of the Spirit, (Gal. v. 22.,) and compose the true Christian temper, as to this article of duty. 2. When it continues long: for, “let not the sun go down upon your wrath.” These precepts, and all reasoning, indeed, on the subject, suppose the passion of anger to be within our power: and this power consists not so much in any faculty we possess of appeasing our wrath at the time, (for we are passive under the smart which an injury or affront occasions, and all we can then do, is to prevent its break- ing out into action,) as in so mollifying our minds by habits of just reflection, as to be less ‘BE YE ANGRY, AND SIN NOT.” 149 irritated by impressions of injury, and to be sooner pacified. Reflections proper for this purpose, and which may be called the sedatives of anger, are the following: the possibility of mistaking the motives from which the conduct that offends us proceeded; how often our offences have been the effect of inadvertency, when they were construed into indications of malice; the inducement which prompted our adversary to act as he did, and how powerfully the same in- ducement, has, at one time or other, operated upon ourselves; that he is suffering, perhaps, under a contrition, which he is ashamed, or wants opportunity to confess; and how unge- nerous it is to triumph by coldness or insult over a spinit already humbled in secret; that the returns of kindness are sweet, and that there is neither honour, nor virtue, nor use, in re- sisting them—for some persons think them- selves bound to cherish and keep alive their in- dignation, when they find it dying away of itself’ We may remember that others have their passions, their prejudices, their favourite aims, their fears, their cautions, their interests, their sudden impulses, their varieties of appre- hension, as well as we: we may recollect what hath sometimes passed in our minds, when we 150 ‘*“ BE YE ANGRY, AND SIN NOT.” have gotten on the wrong side of a quarrel, and imagine the same to be passing in our adver- sary’s mind now; when we became sensible of our misbehaviour, what palliations we perceived in it, and expected others to perceive ; how we were affected by the kindness, and felt the su- periority of a generous reception and ready for- giveness ; how persecution revived our spirits with our enmity, and seemed to justify the con- duct in ourselves which we before blamed. Add to this the indecency of extravagant anger; how it renders us, whilst it lasts, the scorn and sport of all about us, of which it leaves us, when it ceases, sensible and ashamed ; the in- conveniences, and irretrievable misconduct, into which our irascibility has sometimes betrayed us; the friendships it has lost us; the distresses and embarrassments in which we have been in- volved by it; and the sore repentance which, on one account or other, it always costs us. But the reflection calculated above all others to allay the, haughtiness of temper, which is ever finding out provocations, and which renders anger so impetuous, is that which the gospel proposes; namely, that we ourselves are, or shortly shall be, supplicants for mercy and pardon at the judgment-seat of God. Imagine SUSPICION. 151 our secret sins disclosed and brought to light ; imagine us thus humble and exposed; trem- bling under the hand of God; casting ourselves on his compassion; crying out for mercy ; imagine such a creature to talk of satisfaction and revenge; refusing to be entreated, disdain- ing to forgive; extreme to mark and to resent what is done amiss. Imagine, I say, this, and you can hardly frame to yourself an instance of more impious and unnatural arrogance. The point is to habituate ourselves to these reflections, till they rise up of their own accord when they are wanted, that is, instantly upon the receipt of an injury or affront, and with such force and colouring, as both to mitigate the paroxysms of our anger at the time, and at length to produce an alteration in the temper and disposition itself. PALEY. SUSPICION. SUSPICION is, indeed, a temper so uneasy and restless, that itis very justly appointed the con- comitant of guilt. It is said, that no torture is equal to the inhibition of sleep long continued ; a pain, to which the state of that man bears a E52 SUSPICION. very exact analogy, who dares never give rest to his vigilance and circumspection, but con- siders himself as surrounded by secret foes, and fears to entrust his children, or his friend, with the secret that throbs in his breast, and the anxieties that break into his face. To avoid, at this expense, those evils to which easiness and friendship might have exposed him, is surely to buy safety at too dear a rate ; and, in the language of the Roman satirist, to save life by losing all for which a wise man would live. When in the diet of the German empire, as Camerarius relates, the princes were once dis- playing their felicity, and each boasting the advantages of his own dominions, one who pos- sessed a country not remarkable for the gran- deur of its cities, or the fertility of its soil, rose to speak, and the rest listened between pity and contempt, till he declared, in honour of his ter- ritories, that he could travel through them with- out a guard, and if he was weary, sleep in safety upon the lap of the first man whom he should meet; a commendation which would have been ill exchanged for the boast of palaces, pastures, or streams. Suspicion is not less an enemy to virtue than to happiness: he that is already corrupt is na- AGAINST SUSPICION. 153 turally suspicious, and he that becomes suspi- cious will quickly be corrupt. It is too com- mon for us to learn the frauds by which our- selves have suffered; men who are once per- suaded that deceit will be employed against them, sometimes think the same arts justified by the necessity of defence. Even they whose virtue is too well established to give way to example, or be shaken by sophistry, must yet feel their love of mankind diminished with their esteem, and grow less zealous for the happiness of those by whom they imagine their own hap- piness endangered. JOHNSON. AGAINST SUSPICION. Ou fly! ’tis dire Suspicion’s mien ; And meditating plagues unseen, The sorceress hither bends ; Behold her torch in gall imbrued : Behold—her garment drops with blood Of lovers and of friends. Fly far! Already in your eyes I see a pale suffusion rise ; And soon through every vein, Soon will her secret venom spread, And all your heart, and all your head, Imbibe the potent stain, 154 AGAINST SUSPICION. Then many a demon will she raise To vex your sleep, to haunt your ways ; While gleams of lost delight Raise the dark tempest of the brain, As lightning shines across the main, Through whirlwinds and through night. No more can faith or eandour move, But each ingenuous deed of love, Which reason would applaud, Now, smiling o’er her dark distress, Fancy malignant strives to dress Like injury and fraud. Farewell to virtue’s peaceful times ; Soon will you stoop to act the crimes Which thus you stoop to fear : Guilt follows guilt: and where the train Begins with wrongs of such a stain, What horrors form the rear ! "Tis thus to work her baleful power, Suspicion waits the sullen hour Of fretfulness and strife, When care th’ infirmer bosom wrings, Or Eurus waves his murky wings To damp the seats of life. But come, forsake the scene unbless’d Which first beheld your faithful breast To groundless fears a prey: Come, where with my prevailing lyre The skies, the streams, the groves conspire To charm your doubts away. é THE ENVIOUS MAN. 155 Throned in the sun’s descending car, What power unseen diffuseth far This tenderness of mind ? What genius smiles on yonder flood ? What god in whispers from the wood, Bids every thought be kind ? O thou, whate’er thy awful name, Whose wisdom our untoward frame With social love restrains ; Thou who by fair affection’s ties Giv’st us to double all our joys And half disarm our pains ; Let universal candour still, ) Clear as yon heaven-reflecting rill, Preserve my opening mind ; Nor this, nor that man’s crooked ways One sordid doubt within me raise, To injure human kind. AKENSIDE. THE ENVIOUS MAN. He feeds on others evils; and hath no disease but his neighbour’s welfare: whatsoever God does for him, he cannot be happy with com- pany; and if he were put to choose whether he would rather have equals in a common feli- city, or superiors in misery, he would demur upon the election. His eye casts out too much, 156 THE ENVIOUS MAN. and never returns home, but to make compari- sons with another’s good. He is an ill prizer of foreign commodity—worse of his own ; for that he rates too high—this undervalues. You shall have him ever inquiring into the estates of his equals and betters, wherein he is not more desirous to hear all, than loath to hear any thing over-good; and if just report relate aught better than he would, he redoubles the ques- tion, as being hard to believe what he likes not; and hopes yet, if that be averred again to his grief, that there is somewhat concealed in the relation, which, if it were known, would argue the commended party miserable, and blemish him with secret shame. He is ready to quarrel with God, because the next field is fairer grown; and angrily calculates his cost, and time, and tillage. Whom he dares not openly backbite, nor wound with a direct cen- sure, he strikes smoothly with an over-cold praise: and when he sees that he must either maliciously oppugn the just praise of another, (which were unsafe,) or approve it by assent, he yieldeth ; but shows, withal, that his means were such, both by nature and education, that he could not, without much neglect, be less commendable ; so his happiness shall be made THE ENVIOUS MAN. TSF the colour of detraction. When a wholesome law is propounded, he crosseth it either by open or close opposition,—not for any incom- modity or inexpedience, but because it pro- ceedeth from any mouth but his own; and it must be a case rarely plausible that will not admit some probable contradiction. When his equal should rise to honour, he striveth against it unseen, and rather with much cost suborneth great adversaries; and when he sees his re- sistance vain, he can give a hollow gratulation in pretence ; but in secret disparageth that ad- vancement: either the man is unfit for the place, or the place for the man; or, if fit, yet less gainful, or more common than opinion: whereto he adds, that himself might have had the same dignity upon better terms, and refused it. He is witty in devising suggestions, to bring his rival out of love into suspicion ; if he be courteous, he is seditiously popular ; if bountiful, he binds over his clients to fac- tion; if successful in war, he is dangerous in peace; if wealthy, he lays up for a day; if powerful, nothing wants but opportunity for rebellion; his submission is ambitious hypo- crisy; his religion, politic insinuation ;—no action is safe from an envious construction. 158 THE ENVIOUS MAN. When he receives a good report of him whom he emulates, he saith, Fame is partial, and_ covers mischiefs; and pleaseth himself with hope to find it false: and if ill will hath dis- persed a more spiteful narration, he lays hold on that against all witnesses, and broacheth that rumour for truth, because worst; and when he sees him perfectly miserable, he can at once pity him and rejoice. What himself cannot do, others shall not: he hath gained well, if he have hindered the success of what he would have doneand could not. He conceals his best skill, not so as it may not be known that he knows it, but so as it may not be learned, because he would have the world miss him. He attained to a sovereign medicine by the secret legacy of a dying empiric, whereof he will leave no heir, — lest the praise should be divided. Finally, he is an enemy to God’s favours, if they fall beside himself; the best nurse of ill fame; a man of the worst diet, for he consumes himself, and delights in pining; a thorn hedge covered with nettles ; a peevish interpreter of good things; and no other than a lean and pale carcass quickened with a fiend. BISHOP HALL. 159 THE VAIN MAN. Vanity, when it succeeds, degenerates into ar- rogance: when it is disappointed, and it is often disappointed, it is exasperated into ma- lignity, and corrupted into envy. In this stage the vain man commences a determined misan- thropist. He detests that excellence which he cannotreach. He detests his species, and longs to be revenged for the unpardonable injustice he has sustained in their insensibility to his merits. He lives upon the calamities of the world; the vices and miseries of men are his element and his food. Virtue, talents, and genius, are his natural enemies, which he persecutes with in- stinctive eagerness, and unrelenting hostility. . There are who doubt the existence of such a disposition ; but it certainly issues out of the dregs of disappointed vanity: a disease which taints and vitiates the whole character wherever it prevails. It forms the heart to such a pro- found indifference to the welfare of others, that whatever appearances he may assume, or how- ever wide the circle of his seeming virtues may extend, you will infallibly find the vain man is his own centre. Attentive only to himself, ab- sorbed in the contemplation of his own perfec- tions, instead of feeling tenderness for his fellow 160 THE VAIN MAN. creatures as members of the same family, as beings with whom he is appointed to act, to suffer, and to sympathise ; he considers life as a stage on which he is performing a part, and mankind in no other light than spectators. Whether he smiles or frowns, whether his path is adorned with rays of beneficence, or his steps dyed in blood, an attention to self is the spring of every movement, and the motive to which every action is referred. His apparent good qualities lose all their worth, by losing all that is simple, genuine, and natural: they are even pressed into the service of vanity, and become the means of en- larging its power. The truly good man is jea- lous over himself, lest the notoriety of his best actions, by blending itself with their motive, should diminish their value; the vain man per- forms the same actions for the sake of that no- toriety. The good man quietly discharges his duty, and shuns ostentation; the vain man considers every good deed-lost that is not pub- licly displayed. The one is intent upon real- ities, the’ other upon semblances: the one aims to be virtuous, the other to appear so. ROBERT HALL, 161 AFFECTATION OF QUALITIES WE DO NOT POSSESS, DEPRECATED. Every thing future is to be estimated by a wise man, in proportion to the probability of attain- ing it, and its value when attained ; and neither of these considerations will much contribute to the encouragement of affectation. For,if the pinnacles of fame be, at best, slippery, how un- steady must his footing be who stands upon pinnacles without foundation! If praise be made, by the inconstancy and maliciousness of those who must confer it, a blessing which no man can promise himself from the most con- spicuous merit, and vigorous industry, how faint must be the hope of gaining it, when the uncertainty is multiplied by the weakness of the pretensions! He that pursues fame with just claims, trusts his happiness to the winds ; but he that endeavours after it by false merit, has to fear, not only the violence of the storm, but the leaks of his vessel. Though he should happen to keep above water for a time, by the help of a soft breeze, and a calm sea, at the first gust he must inevitably founder, with this melancholy reflexion, that, if he would have been content with his natural station, he might have escaped his calamity. Affectation may | M 162 AFFECTATION OF QUALITIES, ETC. possibly succeed for a time, and. a man may, by great attention, persuade others, that he really has the qualities he presumes to boast, but the hour will come when he should exert them, and then whatever he enjoyed in praise, he must suffer in reproach. Applause and admiration are by no means to be counted among the necessaries of life, and therefore any indirect arts to obtain them have very little claim to pardon or compassion. There is scarcely any man without some valu- able or improvable qualities, by which he might always secure himself from contempt. And perhaps exemption from ignominy is the most eligible reputation, as freedom from pain is, among some philosophers, the definition of happiness. If we therefore compare the value of the praise obtained by fictitious excellence, even while the cheat is yet undiscovered, with that kindness which every man may suit by his vir- tue, and that esteem to which most men may rise by common understanding, steadily and honestly applied, we shall find that when from the adscititious happiness all the deductions are made by fear and casualty, there will re- main nothing equiponderant to the security of PROPRIETY OF FRUGALITY. *~ A68 truth. The state of the possessor of humble virtues, to the affecter of great excellencies, is that of a small cottage of stone, to the palace raised with ice by the empress of Russia; it was for a time splendid and luminous, but the first sunshine melted it to nothing. JOHNSON. THE PROPRIETY OF FRUGALITY. FRUGALITY is so necessary to the happiness of the world, so beneficial in its various forms to every rank of men, from the highest of human potentates, to the lowest labourer or artificer ; and the miseries which the neglect of it pro- duces are so numerous and so grievous, that it ought to be recommended with every variation of address, and adapted to every class of un-— derstanding. | Whether those who treat morals as a science will allow frugality to be numbered among the virtues, I have not thought it necessary to enquire. For I, who draw my opinions from a careful observation of the world, am satisfied with knowing, what is abundantly sufficient for practice, that if it be not a virtue, it is, at least, a quality which can seldom exist without M2 164 THE PROPRIETY some virtues, and without which few virtues can exist. Frugality may be termed the daughter of prudence, the sister of temperance, and the parent of liberty. He that is extra- vagant will quickly become poor, and poverty will enforce dependence, and invite corrup- tion; it will almost always produce a passive compliance with the wickedness of others ; and there are few who do not learn by de- erees to practise those crimes which they cease to censure. If there are any who do not dread poverty as dangerous to virtue, yet mankind seem unanimous enough in abhorring it as destruc- tive to happiness; and all to whom want is terrible, upon whatever principle, ought to think themselves obliged to learn the sage maxims of our parsimonious ancestors, and attain the salutary arts of contracting ex- pense ; for without frugality none can be rich, and with it very few would be poor. To most other acts of virtue or exertions of wisdom, a concurrence of many circumstances is necessary, some previous knowledge must be attained, some uncommon gifts of nature possessed, or some opportunity produced by an extraordinary combination of things; but OF FRUGALITY. 165 ~ the mere power of saving what is already in our hands, must be easy of acquisition to every mind; and as the example of Bacon may shew, that the highest intellect cannot safely. neglect it, a thousand instances will every day prove, that the meanest may practise it with success. The prospect of penury in age is so gloomy and terrifying, that every man who looks before him must resolve to avoid it; and it must be avoided generally by the science of sparing. For, though in every age there are some, who by bold adventures, or by favourable acci- dents rise suddenly to riches, yet it is dan- gerous to indulge hopes of such rare events: and the bulk of mankind must owe their afflu- ence to small and gradual profits, below which their expense must be resolutely reduced. You must not therefore think me sinking below the dignity of a practical philosopher, when I recommend to the consideration of your readers, from the statesman to the appren- tice, a position replete with mercantile wisdom, A penny saved is twopence got; which may, 1 think, become accommodated to all condi- tions, by observing not only that they who pursue any lucrative employment will save time when they forbear expense, and that the 166 THE PROPRIETY time may be employed to the increase of profit; but that they who are above such minute considerations, will find, by every victory over appetite or passion, new strength added to the mind, will gain the power of refusing those solicitations by which the young and vivacious are hourly assaulted ; and in time set them- selves above the reach of extravagance and folly. It may, perhaps, be enquired by those who are willing rather to cavil than to learn, what is the just measure of frugality? and when expense, not absolutely necessary, degenerates into profusion? ‘To such questions no general answer can be returned; since the liberty of spending, or necessity of parsimony, may be varied without end by different circumstances. It may, however, be laid down as a rule never to be broken, that a man’s voluntary expense should not exceed his revenue. A maxim so obvious and incontrovertible, that the civil law ranks the prodigal with the madman, and debars them equally from the conduct of their own. affairs. Another precept arising from the former, and indeed included in it, is yet neces- sary to be distinetly impressed upon the warm, the fanciful, and the brave :—Let no man anti- cipate uncertain profits. Let no man pre- OF FRUGALITY. 167 sume to spend upon hopes, to trust his own abilities for means of deliverance from penury, to give a loose to his present desires, and leave the reckoning to fortune or to virtue. To these cautions, which I suppose, are at least among the graver part of mankind, un- disputed, I will add another, Let no man squander against his inclination. With this precept it may be, perhaps, imagined easy to comply; yet if those whom profusion has buried in prisons, or driven into banishment, were examined, it would be found that very few were ruined by their own choice, or pur- chased pleasure with the loss of their estates ; but that they suffered themselves to be borne away by the violence of those with whom they conversed, and yielded reluctantly to a thou- sand prodigalities, either from a trivial emula- tion of wealth and spirit, or a mean fear of contempt and ridicule; an emulation for the prize of folly, or the dread of the laugh of fools. JOHNSON, COVETOUSNESS. CovETOUSNEsS (in the scriptural classification) is classed with intemperance—or the sins 168 COVETOUSNESS. which appear to terminate on the man him- self—because, like them, it tends to debase andimbrute him. It isranked with injustice— or the sins directed against society—because, like them, if indulged, and carried out, it seeks its gratification at the expense of all the social laws, whether enacted by God or man. And it is associated with impiety—or sins directly against God—because, like them, it effaces the image of God from the heart, and enshrines an idol there in his stead. Such is a mere outline of the representations. of Scripture in relation to the guilt and evils of covetousness. Entering with the first trans- gression, and violating the spirit of the whole law, it has polluted, and threatened the ex- istence, of each dispensation of religion ; in- fected all classes and relations of society ; shown itself capable of the foulest acts; is described as occupying a leading place in the worst state of heathenism, in the worst times of the apostasy, and in the worst characters of those times; and has the worst sins for its appropriate emblems, and its nearest kindred ; and “‘ all evil” in its train. To exaggerate the evils of a passion which exhibits such a monopoly of guilt, would certainly be no easy task. It has systematized COVETOUSNESS. 169 deceit, and made it a science. Cunning Is its chosen counsellor and guide. It finds its way, as by instinct, through all the intricacies of the great labyrinth of fraud. It parts with no company, and refuses no aid, through fear of contamination. Blood is not too sacred for it to buy, nor religion too divine for it to sell. From the first step in fraud to the dreadful consummation of apostasy or murder, covet- ousness is familiar with every step of the long, laborious, and fearful path. Could we only see it embodied, what a monster should we behold! Its eyes have no tears. With more than the fifty hands of the fabled giant, it erasps at every thing around. In its march through the world, it has been accompanied by artifice and fraud, rapine and injustice, cruelty and murder; while behind it have dragged heavily its swarm of victims—humanity bleed- ing, and justice in chains, and religion expiring under its heavy burdens, orphans, and slaves, and oppressed hirelings, a wailing multitude, reaching to the skirts of the horizon ; and thus dividing the earth betweem them, (for how small the number of those who were not to be found either triumphing in its van, or suffer- ing in its train,) it has, more than any other 170 PROOFS OF A GENERAL PROVIDENCE. conqueror, realized the ambition of gaining the whole world, of establishing a universal empire. J. HARRIS, PROOFS OF A GENERAL PROVIDENCE. Tue kind supplies Of full provision for all living things, Declare a general Providence ; and loud The seasons speak the same in varied strains; Varied, but their great object ever one; Their themes, the burden of their songs, the same. Spring, leaping from the lap of Winter, smiles Rejoicing in her glad escape ; and bids All nature smile in sympathy. She gives The early promise of profusion full, Calls on the herbage and the tender grass To pierce the soften’d bosom of the earth, And from their wint’ry torpor wakes the trees, Quick circulating through each bough and twig The vital sap, whose rich exuberance Bursts out in blossoms and in foliage green. The strength of Summer pushes into life Fruits and the seeds of herbage; to the blade Of the young harvest adds the stalk and ear, Confirming Spring’s first promise; and rewards With store of provender the patient brute, Man’s fellow labourer in the round of toil. Autumn her signet stamps upon the whole, ON EXCEEDING ONE’S INCOME. yal That signet whose inscription is-—‘ ’tis done.” The face of plenty is in smiles arrayed ; The peasant, joyful, sees his wishes crown’d ; And the broad land is with abundance stored. Last, Winter comes, and with his freezing breath As in an egg-shell, closes up the earth ; While Nature, brooding, sits to germinate, And preparation make for Spring’s return. These, then, in ever changing lays, proclaim The being of a Providence ; and these Slow whispering soft the incense of sweet youth ; Now lifting up a louder note to heaven, With the hoarse thunder for its swelling base ; Now in the jocund songs of harvest home, Now bellowing in Winter’s dreary blast, Tune their high anthem for the ear of man. T. RAGG. THE DIFFERENCE IN LIVING BEYOND, AND WITHIN, ONE’S INCOME. I KNEW a family, the father of which had an old paternal estate of five hundred a year. There were five children to enjoy it with him while he lived, and to inherit it when he should die. But his lady was of opinion that he would serve his family most, by introducing them into company and life, and forming La2 ON EXCEEDING ONE’S INCOME. valuable connections. The truth was, she loved a gay and dissipated scene, and was but too successful in persuading her husband to adopt her plan. A style and mode of living were immediately engaged in, which would require, on the most moderate computation, one thou- sand a year. There was no mode of increasing the income, the father having no profession, and being above trade. The whole time and attention of the family was devoted to dress, fashionable diversions, and visiting a circle of neighbours, some of whom were Kast India nabobs, baronets, and lords. ‘The consequence was unavoidable. On the death of their parents, the children found that every foot of land, and all the goods and chattels, belonged to importunate creditors, who, after. having sustained a heavy loss, eagerly seized all the remainder of property; so that they saw them- selves literally not worth a single shilling. They might with much reason be unhappy in their situation, as their hopes and prospects had once been so elevated; but their misery was much increased by their inability to render themselves useful in society, and to compen- sate the unkindness of their fortune by per- sonal exertion; for they really had learned ON EXCEEDING ONE’S INCOME. 173 nothing but the arts of dress, and the expen- sive modes of fashionable life. Two of the sons were sent to the East Indies by the inter- est of a compassionate neighbour; one took to the highway, and after a narrow escape, was obliged. to transport himself into Africa: the daughters went into service, but being above it, were discarded with insults; till sick of attempting in vain, one died of disappoint- ment, and the other sought dishonest bread in the misery of prostitution. So ended the splendour, the luxury, the pride of a family which, if it could have been contented with the comforts of a most valuable competency, might at this time have been flourishing in reputa- tion, plenty, and prosperity. Many similar cases occur, where the misery of innocent chil- dren has been caused by the vanity of unthink- ing parents, led astray by the ignis fatuus of vanity, aping the manners of high and fashion- able life. But what? is there no such thing as solid comfort with a moderate fortune, and in the middle state? Must we for ever labour to leave the rank in which Providence has placed us, in order to relish our existence? Must we be guilty of injustice and cruelty in order to 174 ON EXCEEDING ONE’S INCOME. be happy? Believe it not. Things are not so constituted. But the votaries. of vanity though they may possess a good share of natural understanding, are usually furnished but slenderly with philosophy and religion. They know not how to choose for themselves the chief good; but, blindly following the mul- titude, suffer themselves to be led, in the journey of life, by the false light of a vapour, rather than by the certain guidance of the polar star, or the magnetic needle. I wish I could induce them to consider duly the nature and value of solid comfort. But we do consider it, say they; we consider what pleases ourselves, and we pursue it with con- stancy. Are you convinced, I ask in return, that what you pursue affords you pleasure! Is it not true, on the contrary, that you live rather to please others than yourselves? Yau certainly live in the eyes of others; of others, as vain and proud of externals and of trifles as yourselves ; and in their applause or admi- ration, you place your felicity. So long as you can display the tinsel appearance of gaiety and ease, you patiently submit to the real and _ total want of the substance. I urge you then again, to pursue solid comforts, and relinquish ON EXCEEDING ONE’S INCOME. 175 vanity. You ask me to describe what I mean by solid comforts. It is easy to conceive them; but as you desire it, I will attempt the obvious enumeration, and then leave you to your own dispassionate and unprejudiced reflections. Solid comforts may be copiously derived from the following sources: a quiet conscience, health, liberty, one’s time one’s own, or if not, usefully, innocently, and moderately employed by others; a freedom from inordinate passions of all kinds; a habit of living within one’s in- come, and of saving something for extraordi- nary occasions; an ability arising from rational economy, to defray all necessary and expedient expenses ; a habit of good humour, and apti- tude to be pleased rather than offended ; a pre- paration for adversity; love of one’s family, sincerity to friends, benevolence to mankind, and piety to God. Compare this state and these dispositions with those of affected people of fashion, em- barrassed in circumstances, distressed by vain cares, tossed about by various passions and vain fancies, without any anchor to keep their frail bark from the violence of every gust. But it is not necessary to dilate on the comparison ; let the hearts of the deluded votaries of vanity ERG: EMPLOYMENT, A BLESSING. decide upon it in the silence of the night sea- son, when they recline on their pillows, when the lights of the assembly are extinguished, and the rattling of carriages is heard no more. KNOX. EMPLOYMENT, A BLESSING. Ir is an inestimable blessing of the state of the poor, that it supplies a constant train of em- ployment both to body and mind. A husband- man, or a manufacturer, or a tradesman, never goes to bed at night without having his busi- ness to rise up to in the morning. He would understand the value of this advantage, did he know that the want of it composes one of the © greatest plagues of the human soul: a plague by which the rich, especially those who inherit riches, are exceedingly oppressed. Indeed it is to get rid of it, that is to say it is to have some- thing to do, that they are driven upon those strange and unaccountable ways of passing their time, in which we sometimes see them, to our surprise, engaged. A poor man’s condition supplies him with that which no man can do without, and with which a rich man with all EMPLOYMENT, A BLESSING. 177 his opportunities, and all his contrivance, can hardly supply himself; regular engagement, business to look forward to, something to be done every day, some employment prepared for every morning. A few of better judgment can seek out for themselves constant and useful oc- cupation. ‘There is not one of you takes the pains in his calling, which some of the most independent men in the nation have taken, and are taking, to promote what they deem to be a point of great concern to the interests of hu- manity, by which neither they nor theirs can ever gain a shilling, and in which, should they succeed, those who are to be benefited by their service, will neither know nor thank them for it. I only mention this to show, in conjunction with what has been observed above, that, of those who are at liberty to act as they please, the wise prove, and the foolish confess, by their conduct, that a life of employment is the only life worth leading: and that the chief difference between their manner of passing their time and yours, is that they can choose the objects of their activity, which you cannot. This privi- lege may be an advantage to some, but for nine out of ten it is fortunate that occupation is provided to their hands, that they have it not N 178 EMPLOYMENT, A BLESSING. to seek, that it is imposed upon them by their ne- cessities and occasions ; for the consequence of liberty in this respect would be, that, lost in the perplexity of choosing, they would sink into ir- recoverable indolence, inaction, and unconcern ; into that vacancy and tiresomeness of time and thought, which are inseparable from such a situation. A man’s thoughts must be going. Whilst he is awake the working of his mind is as constant as the beating of his pulse. He can no more stop the one than the other. Hence if our thoughts have nothing to act upon, they act upon themselves. They acquire a corrosive quality. They become in the last degree irk- some and tormenting. Wherefore that sort of equitable engagement, which takes up the thoughts sufficiently, yet so as to leave them capable of turning to any thing more important, as occasions offer or require, is a most invalu- able blessing. And if the industrious be not sensible of the blessing, it is for no other rea- son than because they have never experienced, or rather suffered, the want of it. PALEY. THE COMMON LOT. THE position which I myself occupy is seen and felt with all its disadvantages. Its vex- ations come home to my feelings with all the certainty of experience.. I see it before mine eyes with a vision so near and intimate, as to admit of no colouring, and to preclude the ex- ercise of fancy. It is only in those situations which are without me, where the principle of deception operates, and where the vacancies of an imperfect experience are filled up by the power of imagination, ever ready to summon the fairest forms of pure and unmingled enjoy- ment. - It is all resolvable, as before, into the principle of distance. I am too far removed to see the smaller features of the object which I contemplate. I overlook the operation of those minuter causes which expose every situation of human life to the inroads of misery and disap- pointment. Mine eye can only take in the broader outlines of the object before me; and it consigns to fancy the task of fillmg them up with its finest colouring. Am I unlearned? I feel the disgrace of ignorance, and sigh for the name and the distinctions of philosophy. Do I stand upon a literary eminence? I feel the N2 180 THE COMMON LOT. ‘vexations of rivalship, and could almost re- nounce the splendours of my dear-bought re- putation for the peace and shelter which insig- nificance bestows. Am I poor? I riot in fancy upon the gratifications of luxury ; and think how great I would be, if invested with all the consequence of wealth and of patronage. Am I rich? I sicken at the deceitful splen- dour which surrounds me; and am at times tempted to think, that I would have been hap- pier far if born to a humbler station; I had been trained to the peace and innocence of poverty. Am I immersed in business? I repine at the fatigues of employment; and envy the lot of those who have every hour at their disposal, and can spend all their time in the sweet re- laxations of amusement and society. Am I exempted from the necessity of exertion? I feel the corroding anxieties of indolence, and attempt in vain to escape that weariness and disgust which useful and regular occupation can alone save me from. Am [I single: I feel the dreariness of solitude, and my fancy warms at the conception of a dear and domestic circle. Am I embroiled in the cares of a family? I am tormented with the perverseness or ingrati- tude of those around me; and sigh in all the THE COMMON LOT. J8l bitterness of repentance, over the rash and irre- coverable step by which I have renounced for ever the charms of independence. - This in fact is the grand principle of human ambition; and it serves to explain both its restlessness and its vanity. What is present is seen in all its minuteness; and we overlook not a single article in the train of little drawbacks, and difficulties, and disappointments. What is distant is seen under a broad and general as- pect; and the illusions of fancy are substituted in those places which we cannot fill up with the details of actual observation. What is pre- sent fills me with disgust. What is distant al- lures me to enterprise. I sigh for an office, the business of which is more congenial to my temper. I fix mine eye on some lofty eminence in the scale of preferment. I spurn at the con- dition which I now occupy, and I look around me and above me. ‘The perpetual tendency is not to enjoy our actual position, but to get away from it—and not an individual amongst us who does not every day of his life join in the aspiration of the Psalmist, ““O that I had the wings of a dove, that I may fly to yonder mountain, and be at rest.” CHALMERS, 182 THE FOLLY OF INDECISION, IN THE CHOICE OF ONE’S PROFESSION, I HAVE often thought those happy that have been fixed, from the first dawn of thought, in a determination to some state of life, by the choice of one, whose authority may preclude caprice, and whose influence may prejudice them in favour of his opinion. The general precept of consulting the genius is of little use, unless we are told how the genius can be known. If it is to be discovered only by ex- periment, life will be lost, before the resolution can be fixed ; if any other indications are to be found, they may, perhaps, be very early dis- cerned. At least, if to miscarry in an attempt be a proof of having mistaken the direction of the genius, men appear not less frequently deceived with regard to themselves than to others; and therefore, no one has much reason to complain that his life was planned out by his friends, or to be confident that he should have had either more honour, or happiness, by being abandoned to the chance of his own fancy. It was said of the learned Bishop Sanderson, that, when he was preparing his lectures, he hesi- tated so much, and rejected so often, that, at the HONOUR YOUR OWN CALLING. 183 time of reading, he was often forced to produce, not what was best, but what happened to be at hand. This will be the state of every man, who, in the choice of his employment, balances all the arguments on every side; the complication is so intricate, the motives and objections so nu- merous, there is so much play for the imagina- tion, and so much remains in the power of others, that reason is forced at last to rest in neutrality, the decision devolves into the hands of chance, and after a great part of life spent in inquiries which can never be resolved, the rest must often pass in repenting the unneces- sary delay, and can be useful to few other pur- poses than to warn others against the same folly, and to show, that of two states of life equally consistent with religion and virtue, he who chooses earliest chooses best. JOHNSON. HONOUR YOUR OWN CALLING. AtrHouGcH a general desire of aggrandizing _ themselves by raising their profession, betrays men to a thousand ridiculous and mischievous acts of supplantation and detraction; yet as almost all passions have their good as well as 184 HONOUR YOUR OWN CALLING. bad effects, it likewise excites ingenuity, and sometimes raises an honest and useful emula- tion of diligence. It may be observed in ge- neral, that no trade had ever reached the excel- lence to which it is now improved, had its pro- fessors looked upon it with the eyes of indiffer- ent spectators ; the advances from the first rude essays, must have been made by men who va- lued themselves for performances, for which scarce any other would be persuaded to esteem them. It is pleasing to contemplate a manufacture rising gradually from its first mean state by the successive labours of innumerable minds; to consider the first hollow trunk of an oak, in which, perhaps, the shepherd could scarce ven- ture to cross a brook swelled with a shower, enlarged at last into a ship of war, attacking fortresses, terrifying nations, setting storms and billows at defiance, and visiting the remotest parts of the globe. And it might contribute to dispose us to a kinder regard for the labours of one another, if we were to consider from what unpromising beginnings the most useful produc- tions of art have probably arisen. Who, when he saw the first sand or ashes, by a casual in- tenseness of heat melt into a metalline form, HONOUR YOUR OWN CALLING. 185 rugged with excrescences, and clouded with impurities, would have imagined that in this shapeless lump lay concealed so many conve- niences of life, as would in time constitute a great part of the happiness of the world? Yet by some such fortuitous liquefaction was man- kind taught to procure a body at once in a high degree solid and transparent, which might admit the light of the sun, and exclude the violence of the wind; which might extend the sight of the philosopher to new ranges of existence, and charm at one time with the unbounded ex- tent of the material creation, and at another with the endless subordination of animal life; and what is of yet more importance, might supply the decays of nature, and succour old age with subsidiary sight. Thus was the first artificer in glass employed, though without his own know- ledge or expectation. He was facilitating and prolonging the enjoyment of light, enlarging the avenues of science, and conferring the high- est and most lasting pleasures; he was ena- bling the student to contemplate nature, and the beauty to behold herself. _ The passion for the honour of a profession, like that for the grandeur of our own country, is to be regulated, not extinguished. Every man, 186 HONOUR YOUR OWN CALLING. from the highest to the lowest station, ought to warm his heart and animate his endeavours with the hopes of being useful to the world, by advancing the art which it is his lot to exercise ; and for that end he must necessarily consider the whole extent of its application, and the whole weight of its importance. But let him not too readily imagine that another is ill-em- ployed, because, for want of fuller knowledge of his business, he is not able to comprehend its dignity. Every man ought to endeavour at eminence, not by pulling others down, but by raising himself, and enjoy the pleasure of his own superiority, whether imaginary or real, without interrupting others in the same felicity. The philosopher may very justly be delighted with the extent of his views, and the artificer with the readiness of his hands; but let the one remember, that, without mechanical performances, refined speculation is an empty dream ; and the other, that, without theoretical reasoning, dexterity is little more than a brute instinct. | JOHNSON. 187 CHEERFULNESS. I HAVE always preferred cheerfulness to mirth. The latter I consider as an act, the former as a habit. of the mind. Mirth is short and tran- sient, cheerfulness fixed and permanent. ‘Those are often raised into the greatest transports of mirth, who are subject to the greatest depres- sions of melancholy: on the contrary, cheer- fulness, though it does not give the mind such an exquisite gladness, prevents us from falling into any depths of sorrow. Mirth is like a flash of lightning, that breaks through a gloom of clouds, and glitters for a moment ; cheerfulness keeps up a kind of day-light in the mind, and fills it with a steady and perpetual serenity. Men of austere principles look upon mirth as too wanton and dissolute for a state of proba- tion, and as filled with a certain triumph and insolence of heart, that is inconsistent with a life which is every moment obnoxious to the greatest dangers. Writers of this complexion have observed, that the sacred Person who was ~ the great pattern of perfection, was never seen to laugh. Cheerfulness of mind is not liable to any of these exceptions: it is of a serious and com- 188 CHEERFULNESS. posed nature; it does not throw the mind into a condition improper for the present state of humanity, and is very conspicuous in the cha- racters of those who are looked upon as the greatest philosophers among the heathens, as well as among those who have been deservedly esteemed as saints and holy men among Chris- tians. If we consider cheerfulness in three lights, with regard to ourselves, to those we converse with, and to the great Author of our being, it will not a little recommend itself on each of these accounts. ‘The man who is possessed of this excellent frame of mind, is not only easy in his thoughts, but a perfect master of all the powers and faculties of his soul: his imagina- tion is always clear, and his judgment undis- turbed: his temper is even and unruffled, whe- ther in action or in solitude. He comes with a relish to all those goods which nature has pro- vided for him, tastes all the pleasures of the creation which are poured upon him, and does not feel the full weight of those accidental evils which may befall him. If we consider him in relation to the persons whom he converses with, it naturally produces love and good-will towards him. A cheerful CHEERFULNESS. 189 mind is not only disposed to be affable and obliging, but raises the same good humour in those who come within its influence. A man finds himself pleased, he does not know why, with the cheerfulness of his companion: it is like a sudden sunshine that awakens a sacred delight in the mind, without her attending to it. The heart rejoices of its own accord, and naturally flows out into friendship and benevo- lence towards the person who has so kindly an effect upon it. When I consider this cheerful state of mind in its third relation, I cannot but look upon it as a constant habitual gratitude to the Author of Nature. An inward cheerfulness is an im- plicit praise and thanksgiving to Providence under all its dispensations. It is a kind of ac- quiescence in the state wherein we are placed, and a secret approbation of the Divine will in his conduct towards man. A man who uses his best endeavours to live according to the dictates of virtue and right reason, has two perpetual sources of cheerful- ness in the consideration of his own nature, and of that Being on whom he has a depend- ence. If he looks into himself, he cannot but rejoice in that existence, which is so lately 190 CHEERFULNESS. bestowed upon him, and which, after millions of ages, will be still new, and still in its begin- ning. How many self-congratulations natu- rally rise in the mind, when it reflects on this its entrance into eternity ; when it takes a view of those improvable faculties, which in a few years, and even at its first setting out, have made so considerable a progress, and which will be still receiving an increase of perfection, and consequently an increase of happiness! The consciousness of such a being spreads a perpe- tual diffusion of joy through the soul of a vir- tuous man, and makes him look upon himself every moment as more happy than he knows how to conceive. The second source of cheerfulness, to a good mind, is its consideration of that Being on whom we have our dependence, and in whom, though we behold him as yet but in the first faint discoveries of his perfections, we see every thing that we can imagine as great, glorious, or amiable. We find ourselves every where up- held by his goodness, and surrounded with an immensity of love and mercy. In short, we depend upon a Being, whose power qualifies him to make us happy by an infinity of means, whose goodness and truth engage him to make PIETY AND GRATITUDE. 191 those happy, who desire it of him, and whose unchangeableness will secure us in this happi- ness to all eternity. Such considerations, which every one should perpetually cherish in his thoughts, will banish from us all that secret heaviness of heart which unthinking men are subject to when they lie under no real affliction ; all that anguish which we may feel from any evil that actually op- presses us; to which I may likewise add those little cracklings of mirth and folly that are apter to betray virtue than support it; and establish in us such an even and cheerful tem- per, as makes us pleasing to ourselves, to those with whom we converse, and to Him whom we were made to please. SPECTATOR. PIETY AND GRATITUDE. Lo! the unlettered hind, who never knew To raise his mind excursive to the heights Of abstract contemplation, as he sits On the green hillock by the hedge-row side, What time the insect swarms are murmuring, And marks, in silent thought, the broken clouds That fringe with loveliest hues the evening sky, Feels in his soul the hand of Nature rouse a 192 PIETY AND GRATITUDE. The thrill of gratitude to him who form'd The goodly prospect ; he beholds the God Throned in the west, and his reposing ear Hears sounds angelic in the fitful breeze That floats through neighbouring copse or fairy brake, Or lingers playful on the haunted stream. Go with the cotter to his winter fire, Where o’er the moors the loud blast whistles shrill, And the hoarse ban-dog bays the icy moon; Mark with what awe he lists the wild uproar, Silent, and big with thought, and hear him bless The God that rides on the tempestuous clouds For his snug hearth, and all his little joys : Hear him compare his happier lot with his Who bends his way across the wintry wolds, A poor night traveller, while the dismal snow Beats in his face, and, dubious of his path, He stops, and thinks, in every lengthening blast, He hears some village mastiff’s distant howl, And sees, far streaming, some lone cottage light: Then, undeceived, upturns his streaming eyes, And clasps his shivering hands; or, overpowered, Sinks on the frozen ground, weigh’d down with sleep, From which the hapless wretch shall never wake. Thus the poor rustic warms his heart with praise And glowing gratitude,—he turns to bless, With honest warmth, his Maker and his God! H. K. WHITE. r 193: CONTENTMENT, FROM A CONSIDERATION OF THE DIFFERENCE OF OUR VARIOUS WORLDLY AFFAIRS. THE distinctions of civil life are apt enough.to be regarded as evils, by those who sit under them: but, in my opinion, with very little reason. ! In the first place, the advantages which the higher conditions of life are supposed to confer» bear no proportion in value to the advantages which are bestowed by nature. ‘The gifts of nature always surpass the gifts of fortune. How much, for example, is activity better than attendance ; beauty than dress; appetite, di- gestion, and tranquil bowels, than all the studies of cookery, or than the most costly compilation of forced or far-fetched dainties! - Nature hasa strong tendency to equalization. [labit, the instrument of nature, is a great le- veller ; the familiarity which it induces, taking off the edge both of our pleasures and our suf- ferings. Indulgences which are habitual, keep us in ease and cannot be carried much farther. So that with respect to the gratifications of which the senses are capable, the difference is by no means proportionable to the apparatus. Oo 194 ' THE DISTINCTIONS Nay, so far as superfluity generates fastidious- ness, the difference is on the wrong side, It is not necessary to contend, that the ad- vantages derived from wealth are none, (under due regulations they are certainly considerable,) but that they are not greater than they ought to be. Money is the sweetener of human toil ; the substitute for coercion; the reconciler of labour with liberty. It is, moreover, the stimu- lant of enterprise in all projects and under- takings, as well as of diligence in the most beneficial arts and employments. Now did af- fluence, when possessed, contribute nothing to the happiness, or nothing beyond the mere sup- ply of necessaries; and the secret should come to be discovered; we might be in danger of losing great part of the uses, which are, at present, derived to us through this important medium. Not only would the tranquillity of social life be put in peril by the want of a motive to attach men to their private concerns; but the satis- faction which all men receive from success in their respective occupations, which collectively constitutes the great mass of human com- fort, would be done away in its very principle. With respect to station, as it is distinguished OF CIVIL LIFE. 195 from riches, whether it confer authority over others, or be invested with honours which apply solely to sentiment and imagination, the truth is, that what is gained by rising through the ranks of life, is not more than sufficient to draw forth the exertions of those who are engaged in the pursuits which lead to advance- ‘ment, and which, in general, are such as ought to be encouraged. Distinctions of this sort are subjects much more of competition than of enjoyment; and in that competition their use consists. Itis not, as hath been rightly ob- served, by what the Lord Mayor feels in his coach, but by what the apprentice feels who gazes at him, that the public is served. As we approach the summits of human greatness, the comparison of good and evil, with respect to personal comfort, becomes still more problematical ; even allowing to ambition all its pleasures. ‘The poet asks, ‘‘ What is grandeur, what is power?” The philosopher answers, “ Constraint and plague: et in max- ima quaque fortuna minimum licere.” One very common error misleads the opinion of mankind on this head, viz. that, universally, authority is pleasant; submission painful. In the general course of human affairs, the very 0 2 196 WEALTH, ITS IMPOTENCE. reverse of this is nearer to the truth. Com- mand is anxiety, obedience ease. PALEY. WEALTH, ITS IMPOTENCE. WEALTH is nothing in itself, it is not useful but when it departs from us, its value is found only in that which it can purchase, which, if we suppose it put to its best use by those that possess it, seems not much to deserve the de- sire or envy of a wise man. It is certain that with regard to corporal enjoyment, money can neither open new avenues to pleasure, nor block up the passages of anguish, Disease and infirmity still continue to torture and en- feeble, perhaps exasperated by luxury or pro- moted by softness. With respect to the mind, it has rarely been observed, that wealth contri- butes much to quicken the discernment, enlarge the capacity, or elevate the imagination; but may, by hiring flattery, or laying diligence asleep, confirm error, and harden stupidity. Wealth cannot confer greatness, for nothing can make that great, which the decree of na- ture has ordained to be little. ‘The bramble may be placed in a hot-bed, but can never be- THOUGHTS OF OURSELVES. 197 come an oak. Even royalty itself is not able to give that dignity which it happens not to find, but oppresses feeble minds, though it may elevate the strong. The world has been governed in the name of kings, whose existence has scarcely been perceived by any real effects beyond their own palaces. When, therefore, the desire of wealth is taking hold of the heart, let us look round and see how it operates upon those whose industry, or fortune, has obtained it. When we find them oppressed with their own abundance, luxurious without pleasure, idle without ease, impatient and querulous in themselves, and despised or hated by the rest of mankind, we shall soon be convinced that if the real wants of our condition are satisfied, there remains little to be sought with solicitude, or desired with eagerness. JOHN SON. THOUGHTS OF OURSELVES.. Ir is so disagreeable to think ill of ourselves, that we often purposely turn away our view from those circumstances which might render that judgment unfavourable. He is a bold surgeon, they say, whose hand does not tremble 198 THOUGHTS OF OURSELVES. ° when he performs an operation upon his own person; and he is often equally bold who does not hesitate to pull off the mysterious veil of self-delusion, which covers from his view the deformities of his own conduct.. Rather than see our own behaviour under so disagreeable an aspect, we too often, foolishly and weakly, endeavour to exasperate anew those unjust passions which had formerly misled us; we endeavour by artifice to awaken our old ha- ‘treds, and irritate afresh our almost forgotten resentments; we even exert ourselves for this miserable purpose, and thus persevere in injus- tice, merely because we once were unjust, and because we are ashamed and afraid to see that _ we were so. So partial are the views of mankind with regard to the propriety of their own conduct, both at the time of action and after it; and so difficult is it for them to view it in the light in which any indifferent spectator would consider it. But if it was by a peculiar faculty, such as the moral sense is supposed to be, that they are judged of their own conduct, if they were endued with a particular power of perception, which distinguished the beauty or deformity of passions and affections; as their own passions SOURCES OF SELF-COMPLACENCY. 199 would be more immediately exposed to’ the view of this faculty, it would judge with more accuracy concerning them, than concerning those of other men, of which it had only a more distant prospect. This self-deceit, this fatal weakness of man- kind, is the source of half the disorders of hu- man life. If we saw ourselves in the light in which others see us, or in which they would see us if they knew all, a reformation would generally be unavoidable. We could not other- wise endure the sight. ADAM SMITH. SOURCES OF SELF-COMPLACENCY. As the state of man is progressive, Providence has been pleased to ordain that the steps of his zmprovement should be attended with com- placency. Whether the improvement is moral or. mental, the pleasure is great which accom- panies it. A man feels himself rising in value by every new acquisition of good qualities. ‘To be advancing more and more, by daily ap- proaches, to attainable perfection, is a state so pleasant, that it may be said to resemble the ascent up a beautiful hill, where the prospect 200 SOURCES OF SELF-COMPLACENCY. over variegated meadows, meandering streams, forests, distant roofs and spires, becomes at every step more delightful. Industry in laudable pursuits is a never- failing source of internal satisfaction. It causes a pleasing succession of ideas, by bringing new objects, or a change of circumstances, conti- nually in view. And if it is conversant with matters of importance, and attended with suc- cess, there is no state so happy as that of an industrious man in the exercise of his skill and abilities. To have subdued an irregular or excessive passion, and to have resisted a mean, a vicious, a degrading inclination, affords a pleasing con- sciousness of virtuous resolution; a sensation so agreeable and flattering, as could not have been equalled by indulgence or compliance with it; and has this additional advantage, that it is not followed by pain, remorse, or any consequences which can occasion shame or sorrow. On the contrary, after the gratifica- tion of vice or irregularity, a man feels himself little and low; he despises himself, and reco- vers not his happiness till, by contrition or amendment, he regains a due degree of self- esteem. SOURCES OF SELF-COMPLACENCY. 201 No bad man, says the heathen poet, is a happy man. Nemo malus felix. He is, per- haps, for ever in the pursuit of enjoyment; but he feels agitations and anxieties that detract much from his pleasures; and his reflections upon them, and their consequences to himself, his family, and many others, become at least in the solitary hours of dejection, ill-health, or of night alone, extremely uneasy. So that it is not merely the declamation of a preacher, but the decision of experience arising from actual fact, which pronounces that a good con- science is necessary to the true enjoyment of life. No man can have a conscience perfectly void of offence; but whoever has violated it reluc- tantly, and repented as often as he has trans- gressed, may be said to have a good con- science; and a treasure it is more to be desired than the golden stores continually brought from the East, by men, whom Providence suffers to become enormously rich, to show that enor- mous riches are no decisive marks of its pecu- liar favour. How sweet the slumbers of him who can lie down on his pillow and review the transac- tions of every day without condemning him- 902 SOURCES OF SELF-COMPLACENCY. self! A good conscience is the finest opiate. ‘The materia medica cannot supply one-half so efficacious and pleasant; and all the nabobs together, if they were to unite their fortunes in contribution, could not purchase a similar one. cee Good health, preserved by temperance and regularity, gives a sweetness to life, a pleasant- ness of feeling which no civil honours or secu- lar prosperity can bestow. Prudential economy in the management of expenses, and the confining of them to the cer- tain income, so as not to be incumbered with debt, or distressed by the invention of ways and means to raise supplies for the current year, exempt from ten thousand painful solici- tudes, and give an ease and calmness of spirits unknown to the most opulent who possess not this caution; a caution equally required by prudence and common honesty. To see in consequence of it, a family rising to independ- ence, not likely to be exposed to the scorn and ill-usage of the world, affords a comfort more satisfactory than the fugacious pleasures of ostentatious extravagance. Self-esteem, founded on rational principles, is one of the first requisites to a happy life; SOURCES OF SELF-COMPLACENCY. 203 and to the honour of virtue and religion, let it be remarked, that it is attainable only by a benevolent, a wise, a prudent conduct. Men who by early education, by happily falling among good examples, by reading good books, and by forming good habits in consequence of all these advantages, conduct themselves in all things with reason, with moderation, and with kindness ;—these are they, who, after all the pretensions of voluptuousness, enjoy the most of this world; for their happiness flows like a gentle stream uninterrupted in its course, uniform and constant, while that of others is like a torrent, which dashes from rock to rock, all foam, all noise, for a little while, till it is lost in the ocean, or wasted away by its own violence. It is destructive of others, destruc- tive of itself, and too turbulent to admit of pure tranquillity. Let those who have wandered in pursuits which themselves are ready to acknowledge delusive and unsatisfactory, resolve by way of experiment, to try whether the pleasure of that self-esteem which arises from rectitude of con- duct, is not the most pleasing possession which this world affords; whether it does not promote a constant cheerfulness and gaiety of 204 A GUIDE FOR THE heart, which renders life a continual feast. The path of duty, comparatively speaking, is strewed with flowers and sweetened with fra- erance. To the timid, the slothful, and ill- disposed, the first entrance may appear to be closed with briars; but he who has courage to break through the difficulties raised by his own imagination, will find himself in as plea- sant a walk as is to be found beneath the moon. But I will not draw a deceitful picture with the colours of rhetoric. Much uneasiness and some sorrow must be the lot of every man in his present state; I only contend that the pleasantness of wisdom and virtue is not ficti- tious, and that he who faithfully adheres to them will, upon the whole, enjoy all the de- light of which his nature and his situation render him capable. KNOX. A GUIDE FOR THE CONDUCT OF OUR CONVERSATION. THE faculty of interchanging our thoughts with one another, or what we express by the word conversation, has always been represented by moral writers as one of the noblest privileges CONDUCT OF OUR CONVERSATION. 205 of reason, and which more particularly sets mankind above the brute part of the creation. Though nothing so much gains upon the affections as this extempore eloquence, which we have constantly occasion for, and are ob- liged to practise every day, we very rarely meet with any who excel in it. The conversation of most men is disagreeable, not so much for want of wit and learning, as of good breeding and discretion. If you resolve to please, never speak to gratify any particular vanity or passion of your own, but always with a design either to divert or inform the company. A man who only aims at one of these, is always easy in his discourse. He is never out of humour at being interrupted, because he considers that those who hear him are the best judges whether what he was say- ing could either divert or inform them. A modest person seldom fails to gain the good will of those he converses with, because nobody envies a man who does not appear to be pleased with himself. We should talk extremely little of ourselves. Indeed, what can we say? It would be as im- prudent to discover our faults, as ridiculous to count over our fancied virtues. Our private ¢ 206 A GUIDE FOR THE and domestic affairs are no less improper to be introduced in conversation. . What does it con- cern the company how many horses you keep in your stables? or whether your servant is most knave or fool? | A man may equally affront the company he is in, by engrossing all the talk, or observing a contemptuous silence. Notwithstanding all the advantages of youth few young people please in conversation ; the reason is, that want of experience makes them positive, and what they say is rather with a de- sign to please themselves than any one else. It is certain that age itself shall make many things pass well enough, which would have been laughed at in the mouth of one much younger. Nothing, however, is more insupportable to men of sense, than an empty formal man, who speaks in proverbs, and decides all controver- sies with a short sentence. ‘This piece of stu- pidity is the more insufferable, as it puts on the air of wisdom. Whenever you commend, add your reasons for doing so; it is this which distinguishes the approbation of a man of sense from the flattery of sycophants, and admiration of fools. CONDUCT OF OUR CONVERSATION. 207 Raillery is no longer agreeable than while the whole company is pleased with it. I would least of all be understood to except the person rallied. Though good-humour, sense, and discretion, can seldom fail to make a man agreeable, it may be no ill policy sometimes to prepare yourself in a particular manner for conversation, by looking a little further than your neighbours into whatever is becoming a reigning subject. If our armies are besieging a place of import- ance abroad, or our House of Commons debat- ing a bill of consequence at home, you can hardly fail of being heard with pleasure, if you~ have nicely informed yourself of the strength, situation, and history of the first, or of the rea- sons for and against the latter. It will have the same effect, if when any single person begins to make a noise in the world, you can learn some of the smallest accidents in his life or con- versation, which though they are too fine for the observation of the vulgar, give more satis- faction to men of sense (as they are the best openings to a real character) than the. recital of his most glaring actions. I know but one ill consequence to be feared from this method, - namely, that coming full charged into company, 908 THE CONDUCT OF OUR CONVERSATION. you should resolve to unload, whether a hand- some opportunity offers itself or no. Though the asking of questions may plead for itself the specious names of modesty, and a desire of information, it affords little pleasure to the rest of the company who are not troubled with the same doubts; besides which, he who asks a question, would do well to consider that he lies wholly at the mercy of another before he receives an answer. Nothing is more silly than the pleasure some people take in what they call “ speaking their minds.” A man of this make will say a rude thing for the mere pleasure of saying it, when an opposite behaviour, full as innocent, might have preserved his friend, or made his fortune. It is not impossible fora man to form to him- self as exquisite a pleasure, in complying with the humour and sentiments of others, as of . bringing others over to his own ; since it is the certain sign of a superior genius, that can take and become whatever dress it pleases. I shall only add that besides what I have here said, there is something which can never be learnt but in the company of the polite. The virtues of men are catching as well as their yices; and. your own observations added to FRIENDSHIP. 809 these will soon discover what it is that com- mands attention in one man, and makes you tired and displeased with the discourse of another. GUARDIAN. FRIENDSHIP. Tat friendship may be at once fond and lasting, there must not only be equal virtue on each part, but virtue of the same kind; not only the same end must be proposed, but the same means must be approved by both. We are often, by superficial accomplishments and ac- cidental endearments, induced to love those whom we cannot esteem; we are sometimes, | by great abilities and incontestible evidences of virtue, compelled to esteem those whom we cannot love. But friendship, compounded of esteem and love, derives from one its tender- ness, and its permanence from the other; and therefore requires not only that its candidates should gain the judgment, but that they should attract the affections; that they should not only be firm in the day of distress, but gay in the hour of jollity; not only useful in exi- gencies, but pleasing in familiar life; their pre- sence should give cheerfulness as well as cou- P 210 DOMESTIC SKETCHES. rage, and dispel alike the gloom of fear and of melancholy. JOHNSON. DOMESTIC SKETCHES. Ir solid happiness we prize, Within our breast this jewel lies, And they are fools who roam ; The world hath nothing to bestow, From our ownselves our bliss must flow, And that dear hut—our home. Of rest was Noah’s dove bereft, When with impatient wing she left, That safe retreat—the ark ; Giving her vain excursions o’er, The disappointed bird once more, Explor’d the sacred bark. Though fools spurn Hymen’s gentle powers, We who improve his golden hours, By sweet experience know, That marriage, rightly understood, Gives to the tender and the good A paradise below! Our babes shall richest comforts bring ; If tutor’d right they'll prove a spring Whence pleasures ever rise: We'll form their mind with studious care To all that’s manly, good, and fair, And train them for the skies. DOMESTIC SKETCHES. While they our wisest hours engage, They'll joy our youth, support our age, And crown our hoary hairs ; They’ll grow in virtue every day, And thus our fondest loves repay, And recompense our cares. No borrowed joys! they’re all our own, While to the world we live unknown, Or by the world forgot : Monarchs! we envy not your state, We look with pity on the great, And bless-our humble lot. Our portion is not large indeed, But then how little do we need, For Nature’s calls are few! In this the art of living lies, To want no more than may suffice, And make that little do. We'll therefore relish with content, Whate’er kind Providence has sent, Nor aim beyond our power ; For if our stock be very small, ’Tis prudence to enjoy it all, Nor lose the present hour. To be resign’d when ills betide, Patient when favours are denied, And pleas’d with favours given ; PS 912 COMPLAISANCEH. Dear Ellen, this is wisdom’s part, This is that incense of the heart Whose fragrance smells to Heaven. We'll ask no long protracted treat, Since winter-life is seldom sweet ; But when our feast is o’er, Grateful from table we’ll arise, Nor grudge our sons with envious eyes, The relics of our store. Thus hand in hand through life we'll go ; Its chequer’d paths of joy and woe, With cautious steps we'll tread ; Quit its vain scenes without a tear, Without a trouble or a fear, And mingle with the dead. While conscience, like a faithful friend, Shall through the gloomy vale attend, And cheer our dying breath ; Shall when all other comforts cease, Like a kind angel whisper peace, And smooth the bed of death. COTTON. COMPLAISANCE. COMPLAISANCE renders a superior amiable, an equal agreeable, and an inferior acceptable. It smooths distinction, sweetens conversation, and makes every one in the company pleased COMPLAISANCE. 213 with himself. It produces good-nature and mutual benevolence, encourages the timorous, soothes the turbulent, humanizes the fierce, and distinguishes a society of civilized persons from a confusion of savages. In a word, complai- sance is a virtue that blends all orders of men together in a friendly intercourse of words and actions, and is suited to that equality in human nature which every one ought to consider, so far as is consistent with the order and economy of the world. If we could look into the secret anguish and affliction of every man’s heart, we should often find that more of it arises from little imaginary distresses, such as checks, frowns, contradic- tions, expressions of contempt, and (what Shakspeare reckons among other evils under the sun,) “the proud man’s contumely, The insolence of office, and the spurns, That patient merit of the unworthy takes,” than from the more real pains and calamities of life. ‘The only method to remove these ima- ginary distresses as much as possible out of human life, would be the universal practice of such an ingenuous complaisance, as I have been 214 A KINDLY here describing, which, as it is a virtue, may be defined to be, “‘ a constant endeavour to please those whom we converse with, so far as we may do it innocently.” Ishall here add, that I know nothing so effectual to raise a man’s fortune as complaisance, which recommends more to the favour of the great, than wit, knowledge, or any other talent whatsoever. GUARDIAN. A KINDLY DEMEANOUR TO ALL. NoTHING is more unpleasing than to find that offence has been received when none was in- tended, and that pain has been given to those who were not guilty of any provocation. As the great end of society is mutual beneficence, a good man is always uneasy when he finds himself acting in opposition to the purposes of life; because though his conscience may easily acquit him of malice prepense, of settled ha- tred, or contrivances of mischief, yet he seldom can be certain, that he has not failed by negli- gence, or indolence ; that he has not been hin- dered from consulting the common interest by too much regard to his own ease, or too much indifference to the happiness of others. Nor DEMEANOUR TO ALL. OE is it necessary, that, to feel this uneasiness, the mind should be extended to any great dif- fusion of generosity, or melted by uncommon warmth of benevolence; for that prudence which the world teaches, and a quick sensibi- lity of private interest, will direct us to shun needless enmities; since there is no man whose kindness we may not some time want, or by whose malice we may not some time suffer. -I have, therefore, frequently looked with wonder, and now and then with pity, at the thoughtlessness with which some alienate from themselves the affections of all whom chance, business, or inclination brings in their way. When we see a man pursuing some darling . interest, without much regard to the opinion of the world, we justly consider him as corrupt and dangerous, but are not long in discovering his motives; we see him actuated by passions which are hard to be resisted, and deluded by appearances which have dazzled stronger eyes. But the greater part of those who set mankind at defiance by hourly irritation, and who live but to infuse malignity, and multiply enemies, have no hopes to foster, no designs to promote, nor any expectations of attaining power by insolence, or of climbing to great- 216 A KINDLY ness by trampling on others. They give up all the sweets of kindness for the sake of peevishness, petulance, or gloom, and alienate the world by neglect of the common forms of civility, and breach of the established laws of conversation. Every one must in the walks of life have met with men of whom all speak with censure, though they are not chargeable with any crime, and whom none can be persuaded to love, though a reason can scarcely be assigned why they should be hated; and who if their good qualities and actions sometimes force a com- mendation, have their panegyrie always con- cluded with confessions of disgust; “ he is a good man, but I cannot like him.” Surely such persons have sold the esteem of the world at too low a price, since they have lost one of the rewards of virtue, without gaining the pro- fits of wickedness. This ill-economy of fame is sometimes the effect of stupidity. Men whose perceptions are languid and sluggish, who lament nothing but loss of money, and feel nothing but a blow, are often at a difficulty to guess why they are encompassed with enemies, though they neglect all those arts by which men are DEMEANOUR TO ALL. 217 endeared to one another. They comfort them- selves that they have lived irreproachably ; that none can charge them with having en- dangered his life, or diminished his posses- sions; and, therefore, conclude that they suffer by some invincible fatality, or impute the malice of their neighbours to ignorance or envy. They wrap themselves up in their in- nocence and enjoy the congratulations of their own hearts, without knowing or suspecting that they are every day deservedly incurring resentments, by withholding from those with whom they converse, that regard, or appear- ance of regard, to which every one is entitled by the customs of the world. There are many injuries, which almost every man feels, though he does not complain, and which upon those whom virtue, elegance, or vanity have made delicate and tender, fix deep and lasting impressions; as there are many arts of graciousness and conciliation, which are to be practised without expense, and by which those may be made our friends, who have never received from us any real benefit. Such arts, when they include neither guilt nor meanness, it is surely reasonable to learn ; for who would want that love which is so easily 918 A KINDLY DEMEANOUR TO ALL. to be gained? And such injuries are to be avoided; for who would be hated without profit ? Some, indeed, there are, for whom the excuse of ignorance or negligence cannot be alleged, because it is apparent that they are not only careless of pleasing, but studious to offend; that they contrive to make all approaches to them difficult and vexatious, and.imagine that they aggrandize themselves by wasting the . time of others in useless attendance, by mor- tifying them with slights, and teasing them with affronts. Men of this kind are generally to be found among those that have not mingled much in general conversation, but spent their lives amidst the obsequiousness of dependants, and the flattery of parasites; and by long consult- ing only their own inclination, have forgotten that others have a claim to the same deference. Tyranny thus avowed is, indeed, an exube- rance of pride, by which all mankind is so much enraged, that it is never quietly endured, except in those who can reward the patience which they exact; and insolence is generally surrounded only by such whose baseness in- clines them to think nothing insupportable ON CHARITY. 219 that produces gain, and who can laugh at scurrility and rudeness with a luxurious table and an open purse. JOHNSON. ON CHARITY. THERE are three kinds of charity which prefer a claim to attention. | The first, and in my judgment one of the best, is to give stated and considerable sums, by way of pension or annuity, to individuals or families, with whose behaviour and distress we are ourselves acquainted. When I speak of considerable sums, I mean only that five pounds, or any other sum, given at once, or divided amongst five or fewer families, will do more good than the same sum distributed amongst a greater number in shillings or half- crowns; and that because it is more likely to be properly applied by the persons who receive it. A poor fellow who can find no better use for a shilling than to drink his benefactor’s health, and purchase half an hour’s recreation for himself, would hardly break into a guinea for any such purpose, or be so improvident as not to lay it by for an occasion of importance, 220 ON CHARITY. e. g. for his rent, his clothing, fuel, or stock of winter’s provision. It is a still greater recom- mendation of this kind of charity, that pen- sions and annuities, which are paid regularly, _and can be expected at the time, are the only way by which we can prevent one part of a poor man’s sufferings—the dread of want. 2. But as this kind of charity supposes that proper objects of such expensive benefactions fall within our private knowledge and observa- tion, which does not happen to all, a second method of doing good, which is in every one’s power who has the money to spare, is by sub- scription to public charities. Public charities admit of this argument in their favour, that your money goes farther towards attaining the end for which itis given, than it can do by any private and separate beneficence. A guinea, for example, contributed to an infirmary, be- comes the means of providing one patient at least, with a physician, surgeon, apothecary, with medicine, diet, lodging, and suitable at- tendance; which is not the tenth part of what the same assistance, if it could be procured at all, would cost to a sick person or family in any other situation. 3. The last, and, compared with the former, OF BENEVOLENCE. 291 the lowest exertion of benevolence, is in the relief of beggars. Nevertheless, I by no means approve the indiscriminate rejection of all who implore our alms in this way. Some may perish by such a conduct. Men are sometimes overtaken by distress, for which all other relief would come too late. Beside which, resolu- tions of this kind compel us to offer such vio- lence to our humanity, as may go near, in a little while, to suffocate the principle itself; which is a very serious consideration. A good man, if he do not surrender himself to his feel- ings without reserve, will at least lend an ear to importunities which come accompanied with outward attestations of distress; and after a patient audience of the complaint, will direct himself, not so much by any previous resolu- tion which he may have formed upon the sub- ject, as by the circumstances and credibility of the account that he receives. PALEY. OF BENEVOLENCE. INSTEAD of satisfying itself with mere specula- tions on the desirableness of the well-being of the whole, or with mere good wishes for the 299 OF BENEVOLENCE. | happiness of mankind in general; instead of that indolent sentimentalism, which would con- vert its inability to benefit the great body into an excuse for doing good to none of its mem- bers; true Benevolence will put forth its ener- gies, and engage its activities, for those which are within its reach; it would, if it could, touch the extreme parts; but as this cannot be done, it will exert a beneficial influence on those which are near; its very distance from the circumference will be felt as a motive to greater zeal in promoting the comfort of all that may be contiguous; and it will consider that the best and only way of reaching the last, is by an impulse given to what is next. It-will view every individual it has to do with as a representative of his species, and consider him as preferring strong claims, both on his own account, and on the account of his race. ‘To- wards all it will retain a feeling of good-will, a preparedness for benevolent activity; and to- wards those who come within the sphere of its influence, it will go forth in the actings of kindness. Like the organ of vision, it can dilate, to comprehend though but dimly, the whole prospect; or it can contract its view, and concentrate its attention upon each indiyi- BENEVOLENCE, AND SELFISHNESS, 293 dual object that comes under its Inspection. ‘The persons with whom we daily converse and act, are those on whom our benevolence is first and most constantly to express itself, because these are the parts of the whole, which give us the opportunity of calling into exercise our universal philanthropy. But to them it is not to be confined, either in feeling or action ; for, as we have opportunity, we are to do good to all men, and send abroad our beneficent regards to the great family of man. J. A. JAMES. BENEVOLENCE, AND SELFISHNESS. He that loves only himself, has only one joy ; he that loves his neighbours, has many. ‘To rejoice in the happiness of others, is to make it our own; to produce it, is to make it more than our own. Lord Bacon has justly remarked, that our sorrows are lessened and our felicities mul- tiplied, by communication. Mankind had been labouring for ages under the grossest mistake as to happiness, imagining that it arose from re- ceiving ; an error which our Lord corrects, by saying, “ That it is more blessed to give than 224 THE MAN OF KINDNESS. to receive.” A selfish man who accumulates property, but diffuses not, resembles not the perennial fountain, sending forth fertilizing streams; but the stagnant pool, into which, whatever flows remains there, and whatever re- mains, corrupts: miser is his name, and miser- able he is in disposition. Selfishness often. brings a terrible retribution in this world: the tears of its wretched subject fall unpitied ; and he finds in the gloomy hour of his want or his woe, that he who determines to be alone in his fulness, will generally be left to himself in his sorrows: and that he who in the days of his prosperity, drives every one from him by the unkindness of his disposition, will find, in the season of his adversity, that they are too far off to hear his cries for assistance. J. Ae JAMES. THE MAN OF KINDNESS. Wuar a fascinating character is the man of dis- tinguished kindness! he is invested with inde- scribable loveliness: he may not have the glory in which the patriot, the hero, or the martyr is enshrined; but he is adorned in no common degree with the beauties ofholiness. He carries THE MAN OF KINDNESS. 925 about with him the maj esty of goodness, if not the dominion of greatness. The light of his coun- tenance is the warm sunshine, to which the Pe spirits of grief repair from their dark retreats, to bask in its glow; and his gentle words are like soft melody to chase away the evil thoughts from the bosom of melancholy, and to hush:to peace the troubled reflections of the distem- pered mind. As he moves along his career, distributing the unexpensive but efficient ex- pressions of his regards, it is amidst the bless- ings of those that were ready to perish, and the notes of the widow’s heart, which he has turned to joy. When he comes unexpectedly into the company of his friends, every countenance puts on the appearance of complacency, and it ap- pears as if a good genius had come among them to bless the party. As he looks round on the circle, with the smile of beneficence that has found an abiding place upon his brow, he presents the brightest resemblance to be found in our selfish world, of the entrance of the Sa viour among his disciples, when he said, “‘ Peace beunto you!” and breathed upon them the Holy Ghost. Although he neither seeks nor wishesan equivalent, in return for his many acts of benevo- lence, his gentle spirit receives back, in a full. Q 2°26 FORGIVENESS OF INJURIES. tide, the streams of consolation, which had ebbed from his own heart to fill the empty channels of his neighbour’s happiness. “Who can be un- kind to him, whois kind toall? ‘What heart is so hard, what mind is so cruel, what spirit is so diabolical, as to wound him who never appears among his race but as a ministering angel? There is a magic in his tears, to melt to sym- pathy the stubborn soul of cruelty itself, which has a tear for no one else; and no less a magic in his smiles, so far to relax and soften the hard features of envy, as to reflect for a moment the sunshine of his joy. While he lives, every man is his admirer; and when he dies, every man is his mourner: while he is on earth, his name has a home in every heart; and when he is gone, he has a monument in every memory. J. A. JAMES. ON FORGIVENESS OF INJURIES. I po not understand the spirit that can obsti- nately retain offence. Life is too short, and above all, too uncertain, for the steady reten- tion of displeasure. But there are higher prin- ciples than such as arise from our transitory pilgrimage here; and when I read the precepts ‘GOOD SENSE. PAD a of that ever-blessed Saviour, through whom we are reconciled to God, I cannot comprehend how a Christian can continue unforgiving. No representations of offence given can change the word of God, or obliterate the command which enjoins forgiveness, on the tremendous alterna- tive, that they who do not forgive will not be forgiven. BISHOP SANDFORD. GOOD SENSE. MEN may extol, as much as they please, fine, exalted, and superior sense ; but plain common ' sense, exerted with caution and industry, and attended with humility, is a much surer guard against fatal errors in religion, or miscarriages in civil life, than the most distinguished bnght- ness of parts and vivacity of imagination, when accompanied by an overbearing pride. For that very vivacity may sometimes make men too impatient to go to the bottom of things ; or they often start so much game in the wide and spacious fields of thinking, that they over- take none. The edge of their mind is fine, but soon turned by any thing that is hard and knotty. Whereas, a man of fewer ideas, but who lays Q2 228 THE YOUNG CHRISTIAN. them in order, and compares and examines them, going step by step in the pursuit of truth, in a gradual chain, makes up by industry, care, and caution, what he wants in quickness and readiness of parts, just as in business, the most mercurial and volatile spirits are seldom so suc- cessful as men of much meaner capacities ; but who are more judicious, wary, and attentive. J. SEED. THE YOUNG CHRISTIAN, ConsIDER the case of the well-instructed and well-governed youth. A lamp of heavenly light shines daily upon his path, increasing in brightness as he advances in years. His life is ever influenced by a sincere desire and inten- tion to please God, and thus an object is ever kept in his view which is at once definite, and infinitely important. The truths which have been taught him, and the restraints which have been imposed upon him, are amongst the means of his habitual peace and joy. It has become natural to him to live in the exercise of a firm personal trust in the Son of God, and in the practice and pursuit of whatsoever things are just and true, lovely, and of good report. In ON PERSONAL PIETY. 999 short, his ‘life is holy and happy, his death peaceful and hopeful, if not also triumphant. Vv. WARD. ON PERSONAL PIETY. A sTaTE of holiness’is nothing else but the habitual and predominant devotion and dedi- cation of soul, and body, and life, and all that we have to God; an esteeming, and loving, and serving, and seeking him, before all the prosperity of the flesh; making his favour and everlasting happiness in heaven our end, and Jesus Christ our way, and referring all things in the world unto that end, and making this the scope, design, and business of our lives. It is a turning from a deceitful world to God, and preferring the Creator before the creature, and heaven. before earth, and eternity before an inch of time, and our souls before our corrup- tible bodies, and the authority and laws of God the universal governor of the world, be- fore the word or will of any man, how great soever; and a subjecting our sensitive faculties to our reason, and advancing this reason by divine revelation, and living by faith and not by sight. When the soul is risen to this ha- bitual predominant love of God and holiness, 930 ON PERSONAL PIETY. as such, then, is the law written in‘the heart; and this love is the virtual fulfilling of all the law: and I think it is this spirit of adoption and love which is called “ The divine nature ” within us, as it inclineth us to love God, and holiness for itself, as nature is inclined to self-love, and to food and other necessaries. R. BAXTER. THE SUBJECT PURSUED. As our disease is personal and moral, so must the remedy revealed be equally personal and moral. The truths of the Gospel become sav- ing, that is, effectual to deliver us from the state in which they find us, only as they are brought to bear upon ourselves. ‘The seed is given, indeed, from heaven, but it is only as it takes root in the heart of man, and springs up in his character, that it can expand into ever- lasting life. And hence the infinite importance of personal piety, as that without which all knowledge of Christian truth, and all attempt at Christian duty, will be ineffectual. There are, indeed, three grand classes of religious meditation; the meditation, namely, on what has been done for us, what must be done in us, and what should be done by us; and these classes may be verbally distinguished into doc- ON PERSONAL PIETY. p23 ¥ trinal, experimental, and practical: but they are inseparable in fact; for all true doctrine, expe- rience, and practice, are one and indivisible. And the connecting link, say rather the assimi- lating life, which affects this unity, resides in the middle term—the experience of what must be done in us. Only personal piety, (and by the word experience, we mean personal piety in all its parts,) brings down general doctrine into individual application, and quickens notions into principles. And only personal piety can supply the life, the feeling, and the energy, by which consistent practice can be either fully purposed, or successfully pursued. T. GRIFFITH. CONFORMITY OF OUR LIVES TO OUR PRINCIPLES. THE greatest, the indispensable proof of our sincerity in religion, that before which all others fade and shrink away, and without which, in- deed, not one can be an admissible evidence, is the conformity of our lives to our principles. Other evidences may deceive us—but this never can: others may be misinterpreted—but this _ wears a superscription legible to men, and an- gels; yea, current in the treasury of Heaven itself. If this exists, no other can be wanting— 932 ON PERSONAL PIETY. if this be defective, no other can be substituted for it. To this the scriptures refer—to this the apostles call us—this Christ himself erects, as at once the standard and the test of all sincerity. “ Not they who say unto me Lord, Lord, shall enter into the kingdom of Heaven, but those that do the will of my Father.” To this test, let us bring our lives and our consciences, and the former will be purified, and the latter-enlightened. MATURIN. = THE GOOD MAN’S RETIREMENT TO HIS BED. Nor so comes Darkness to the good man’s breast, When Night brings on the holy hour of rest; Tired of the day, a pillow laps his head, While heavenly vigils watch around the bed; His spirit bosom’d on the God of All, Peace to the hour! whate’er the night befall : Then pleasing Memory unrolls her chart, To raise, refine, and regulate the heart; Exulting boyhood, and its host of smiles, Next busy manhood battling with its toils, Delights and dreams that made the heart run o’er, The love forgotten, and the friends no more— The panorama of past life appears, Warms his pure mind, and melts it into tears! Till like a shutting flower, the senses close, And on him lies the beauty of repose. R. MONTGOMERY. 235 ON PATIENCE. PATIENCE consists in the bearing of evils with calmness and complacency of mind, without raging, fretting, despondency, or an inclination to comply with any improper method of extricat- ing ourselves from them. Itis very common to rank it among the more humble and obscure virtues, such as belong chiefly to those who groan on a sick bed, or languish in a prison. But although such situations undoubtedly call for the exercise of patience, yet it 1s a great mistake to suppose it restricted to them. As- suredly, it always implies the existence of something unpleasant in our condition ; some hardship to be sustained or difficulty to be sur- mounted ; but the scriptures suppose this to be the continual state of Christians in this world. Ww. JONES. THE SUBJECT PURSUED. Ir you can acquire this spiritual abstraction, you will at once have made your fortune for eternity. It will be of little moment what is your lot on earth, or what the distinguished vicissitudes of your life. Prosperity or adver- sity, health or sickness, honour or disgrace, a cottage or a crown, will all be so many instru- ments of glory. The whole creation will be a 234 | HOPE. temple. Every event and every object will lead your mind to God, and in his greatness and perfection you will insensibly lose the lit- tleness, the glare and tinsel of all human things. It gives a pleasing serenity to the countenance and a cheerfulness to the spirits, beyond the reach of art or the power of affectation. It communicates a real transport to the mind which dissipation mimics only for a moment, a sweetness to the disposition, and lustre to the manners, which all the airs of modern politeness study but in vain.. Easy in yourself, it will make you in perfect good humour with the world, and when you are diffusing happiness around you, you will only be dealing out the broken fragments that remain after you have eaten.. BENNETT. HOPE. Wuat would the life of man be without hope? Remove it, and you take away at once the relish of prosperity, and the support and solace of adver- sity. Let the tide of prosperity rise ever so high, and flow with unebbing fulness ever so long, if the hope of its continuance be destroyed, it is instantly deprived of all its power to sa- tisfy. Let the prosperous man be certainly as- A PICTURE OF: DISSIPATION. B35 sured that his prosperity is to last but one day longer, that at the close of so short a time its springs are to be dried up, and he is to be left in all the dreariness of universal desolation — would that day, think you, be enjoyed with him? No: the extinction of hope would be the ex- tinction of joy. And oh! what would adversity be without. hope! ‘This is the last lingering light of the human bosom, that continues to shine when every other has been extinguished. Quench it—and the gloom of affliction becomes the very “blackness of darkness,”’—cheerless and impenetrable. DR. WARDLAW. A PICTURE OF DISSIPATION, Tue man of pleasure is the most heartless and most selfish of mankind—I had very nearly said of all God’s creatures ; but I corrected my- self, for God. never created a man of pleasure : he is a creature of preternatural conception and monstrous birth, begotten by the incubus Folly upon Fashion, and has nothing in common with human kind but his form. Is he a sonor a brother? is he a husband or a father? he dis- claims the social union of filial and domestic relation the instant that the duties of that 236 A PICTURE OF DISSIPATION. relation demand a surrender of his disso- lute inclinations. Good principles influence the mind, not by any natural or physical force, or necessarily as pleasure or pain affect the body, making men attentive to them whe- ther they will or not; but in quite a different manner, and for their agency depend upon the permission of the will, the consent of the heart, and the governing inclinations and passions. But can such animprovementand management of principles everbe expected from amanof pleasure, whose will and heart, and passions, are the debas- ing agents of his degeneracy? Hestudiously flies from all impressions of such principles—he is uneasy whenever by chance they steal or force themselves into his mind, and always feels their visits unseasonable and impertinent. His powers of existence are consumed between the sloth of the sluggard and the activity of ademon. Sensuality is his system, and seduc- tion his study—the call of his passions and not. the dictate of his conscience, is the standard of | his conduct— the luxury of living and not the rectitude of life, is his ruling law. Extrava- gant profusion makes up the accounts of the day ; dissipation and debaucheries fill up the diary of its events. Time is his bitterest ene- SICKNESS: 237 my, if it commits him to a moment’s: reflection, and therefore his chief anxiety is-to kill this enemy, by a constant succession of amuse- ments, follies, and vices. Heisa fop in his -dress, and a fool in his talk: the fashion of both is his boast. In short he is a.morbid ex- crescence. upon the comfort of the family to which he belongs, and carries with him an in- fectious atmosphere: into whatever part of so- _clety he curses with his presence. Who, then, can suppose that the intemperate dissipations of such a man are the amusements which a prudent youth would adopt, or his libertine habits those recreating pursuits which » can renovate the mind or invigorate the frame? No one; not even the fools of fashion whose vices he imitates ; for they as well as this com- pound of crime and folly, feel themselves by,a superior influence which they cannot resist, compelled to pay homage to the very virtues which they ridicule. re H. G. WHITE. SICKNESS. Sickness, pale Monitor !—thy silent tread, Hath visited again my chamber door, Angel Invisible !—thy name hath dread, But Faith can bid me fear thy shaft no more: 238 THE PRISONER. Thou comest with the whisper of a friend, With a kind message to me, such as this— «“ Be mindful, oh, be mindful of thine end, The measure of thy days how frail it is !” Thanks, God of Mercy! that a voice so mild, A stroke so gentle, as I feel to-day— Kind as a parent to an erring child— Should stop my giddy spirit on its way, And bid me turn, and think to whom I owe, Each prosperous sun that shines, and health’s delicious glow. J. EDMESTON. THE PRISONER! WuEn expectation in the bosom heaves, What longing, anxious views disturb the mind 3 What fears, what hopes, distrust, and then believe That something which the heart expects to find! How the poor prisoner, ere he’s doom’d to die, Within his gloomy cell of dreary woe ; How does he watch, with expectation’s eye, The lingering, long suspense of fate to know. Alas, poor soul! though different bonds confine ; The walls his prison is, the world is mine ; So do I turn my weary eyes above, So do I look and sigh for peace to come, So do I long the grave’s dark end to prove, And anxious wait, my long, long journey home. CLARE. 239 THE CHASTENING OF AFFLICTION. AFFLICTION, when it is well sustained, affords the means of improving every part of the Chris- tian character. It is a discipline, which, by pruning redundancies, discovering and healing diseases, and exciting and encouraging languid actions and dormant principles, diffuses its in- fluence over the heart, and consequently shows itself in the life, in more correct and energetic practice, more diligence, more of the Christian spirit, and of resemblance to the Christian’s great and perfect Exemplar, more entire devot- edness to the service of the Most High. W. NEWNHAM, THE SUBJECT PURSUED. We thank God, perhaps, when we do thank him, for prosperity ; for health, plenty, success, and honour; we do well. They are the gifis of God’s providence, and demand our acknow- ledgments. But they are not the only blessings his goodness confers on us. Adversity should be added to the number of his favours, and re- membered in our most devout thanksgivings. Blessed be God for pain, sickness, disappoint- 240 ON PRAYER. ment, distress; and every one of those various evils with which the life of man is filled, and which are the subjects of our hasty complaints ; evils, which are our greatest good; which afflict, but purify; tear, and harrow up the soul, but prepare it for the seeds of virtue. Blessed be God that he is not so unkind as to try us by the most dangerous of all {emptations—unin- terrupted prosperity : that we are not undone by the accomplishment: of our wishes. OGDEN. - ON PRAYER: Prayer gains for us spiritual strength. It is that singular duty in which every grace is eX- ercised, every sin opposed, every blessing ob- tained, the whole soul revived, strengthened, and invigorated for the Christian race. Just in proportion to your prayer, so is your holiness, so is your usefulness. The praying Christian is the strong, the thriving Christian, “strong in the Lord and in the power of his might.” As the weak ivy (which if it had no support, would only grovel in the earth) by adhering to some neighbouring tree or building, and entwining itself about it, thus grows and flourishes, and ON DEATH. 941 rises higher and higher, and the more the winds blow and the tempests beat against it, the closer it adheres to, and the faster its fibres em- brace that which supports it, and it remains un- injured; just so the Christian (naturally weak) by prayer, connects himself with the Almighty, and the more dangers and difficulties beset him, the more closely they unite him to his God; he reaches towards, and leans upon, and clings to him, and is strengthened with divine strength. High is the privilege of prayer which turns our very wants to our advantage, leading by them into a constant intercourse with God, and keeping us in a spiritual and heavenly state of mind. E. BICKERSTETH. ON DEATH. Miron has judiciously represented the father of mankind, as seized with horror and asto- nishment at the sight of death, exhibited to him on the mount of vision. For surely, nothing can so much disturb the passions, or perplex the intellects of man, as the disruption of his union with visible nature ; a separation from all that has hitherto delighted him; a change, not R 249 ON DEATH. only of the place, but the manner of his being; an entrance into a state not simply which he knows not, but which, perhaps he has not fa- culties to know ; an immediate and perceptible communication with the supreme Being, and, what is above all distressful and alarming, the final sentence, and unalterable allotment. Yet we to whom the -shortness of life has given frequent occasions of contemplating mor- tality, can without emotion, see generations of men pass away, and are at leisure to establish modes of sorrow, and adjust the ceremonial of death. We can look upon funeral pomp as a common spectacle in which we have no con- cern, and turn away from it to trifles and amuse- ments, without dejection of look, or inquietude of heart. It is, indeed, apparent from the constitution _ of the world, that there must be a time for other thoughts ; and a perpetual meditation upon the last hour, however it may become the solitude of a monastery, is inconsistent with many du- ties of common life. But surely the remem- brance of death ought to predominate in our minds, as an habitual and settled principle, al- ways operating, though not always perceived ; and our attention should seldom wander so far | ON DEATH. 9438 from our own condition, as not to be recalled and fixed by the sight of an event, which must soon, we know not how soon, happen likewise to ourselves, and of which, though we cannot appoint the time, we may secure the conse- quence. Every instance of death may justly awaken our fears and quicken our vigilance, but its fre- quency so much weakens its effect, that we are seldom alarmed unless some close connexion is broken, some scheme frustrated, or some hope defeated. Custom so far regulates the sentiments, at least of common minds, that I believe men may be generally observed to grow less tender, as they advance in age. He, who, when life was new, melted at the loss of every compa- nion, can look in time without coneern, upon the grave into which his last friend was thrown, and into which himself is ready to fall; not that he is more willing to die than formerly, but that he is more familiar to the death of others, and therefore is not alarmed so far as to consi-+ der how much nearer he approaches to his end. But this is to submit tamely to the tyranny of accident, and to suffer our reason to lie useless. Every funeral may justly be considered as a 7 R2 944 ON DEATH. summons to prepare for that state, into which it shows us that we must some time enter ; and the summons is more loud and piercing, as the event of which it warns us is at less dis- tance. To neglect at any time preparation for death, is to sleep on our post at a siege; but to omit it in old age, is to sleep at an attack. It has always appeared to me one of the most striking passages in the visions of Quevedo, which stigmatises those as fools who complained that they failed of happiness by sudden death. “ How,” says he, “can death be sudden to a being who always knew that he must die, and that the time of his death was uncertain ?” Since business and gaiety are always drawing our attention away from a future state, some admonition is frequently necessary to recall it to our minds, and what can more properly renew the impression than the examples of mor- tality which every day supplies? ‘The great incentive to virtue is the reflection that we must die, it will therefore be useful to accustom our- selves, whenever we see a funeral, to consider how soon we may be added to the number of those whose probation is past, and whose hap- piness or misery shall endure for ever. JOHNSON, 245 ON THE DEATH OF THE YOUNG, AGaInsrT the stroke of death there is no security. Not in youth. The aged know that they must soon die; and from the number of their years and growing infirmities, they sometimes antici- pate its near approach; while their acquaint- ances confidently look for it, as an event that must occur at no remote distance of time. But those who have recently passed through the perils of infancy, escaped the dangers of child- hood, and the inexperience of youth,—whose cheek glows with the blush of the rose, whose bones are full of marrow, and every pulse beats regular and high with the vigour of life; these. confidently reckon on a long succession of years, much earthly enjoyment, and-on accomplishing many important purposes of life; these promises, however, afford no security of life; how com- paratively few of the children of men arrive at the maturity of age; and come to the grave as a shock of corn in its season! And how fre- quently are the young, the beautiful, and the gay, worn down to death by slow decline, or broken in an hour by sickness; their hopes withered, their purposes broken, and all their worldly schemes entombed in their own graves! And how touching is this to our sensibilities ! 946 THE DEATH-BED OF.A GOOD MAN. For the flower which has newly opened the bud, and eparealy displayed its “pride of beauty ”; which has just begun to emit its sweets, ad fling around the fragrance of its perfume; for this to be nipt by the chilling frost of disease, or cut down by the scythe of death, how affecting is the view! For that sun which arose cloudless in the morning, and through a clear sky blithely pursued its course: to its noon; then to be suddenly and unex- pectedly eclipsed, and wrapt in the shroud of death, the very thought spreads over our minds a melancholy gloom. W. ATHERTON. THE DEATH-BED OF A GOOD MAN. How often have we beheld the dying Christian, who during long and mortal sickness, has exhi- bited, as he stood on the verge of heaven, something of the spirit of a glorified immortal. The natural infirmities of temper which attend- ed him through life, and which sometimes dimmed the lustre of his piety, disquieted his own peace, and lessened. the pleasure of his friends, had all departed, or had sunk into the shade of those holy graces which then stood THE DEATH-BED OF A GOOD MAN. 947 out in bold and commanding relief upon his soul. The beams of heaven now falling upon his spirit were reflected, not only in the faith that is the confidence of things not seen,—not only in the hope which entereth within the veil, ——but in the love which is the greatest in the trinity of Christian virtues. How lowly in heart did he seem,—how entirely clothed with humi- lity! Instead of being puffed up with any thing of his own, or uttering a single boasting expression, it was like a wound in his heart to hear any one remind him either of his good deeds or dispositions ; and he appeared in his own eyes less than ever, while, like his emblem, the setting sun, he expanded every moment into greater magnitude in the view of every spectator. Instead of envying the possessions or the excellencies of other men, it was a cor- dial to his departing spirit that he was leaving them thus distinguished: how kind was he to _ his friends !—and as for enemies, he had none; enmity had died in his heart, he forgave all that was manifestly evil, and kindly interpreted all that was only equivocally so. Nothing lived in his recollection, as to the conduct of others, but their acts of kindness. When intelligence reached his ear of the misconduct of those who 248 VISITING THE HOUSE OF MOURNING, had been his adversaries, he grieved in spirit, even as he rejoiced when told of their coming back to public esteem by deeds of excellence. His very opinions seemed under the influence of his love; and as he wished well, he be- lieved well, or hoped well, of many of whom he had formerly thought evil. His meekness and patience were touching, his kindness inde- scribable: the trouble he gave and the favours he received, drew tears from his own eyes, and were acknowledged in expressions that drew tears from all around. ‘There was an ineffable tenderness in his looks, and his words were the very accents of benignity. He lay a pattern of all the passive virtues ; and having thus thrown. off much that was of the earth, earthly, and put on charity as a garment, and dressed him- self for heaven, in its ante-chamber, his sick room, he departed to be with Christ, and to be for ever perfect in love. J. A. JAMES. ON VISITING THE HOUSE OF MOURNING. You would there learn the important lesson of suiting your mind, beforehand, to what you VISITING THE HOUSE OF MOURNING. 249. had reason to expect from the world ; a lesson too seldom studied by mankind, and to the ne- glect of which, much of their misery, and much of their guilt is to be charged. By turn- ing away their eyes from the dark side of life; by looking at the world only in one light, and that a flattering one, they form their measures on a false plan, and are necessarily deceived and betrayed. Hence the vexation of succeed- ing disappointment and blasted hope. Hence their criminal impatience of life, and their bit- ter accusations of God and’ man; when, in truth, they have reason to accuse only their own folly. Thou who wouldst act like a wise man, and build thy house on the rock, and not on the sand, contemplate human life not only in the sunshine, but in the shade. Frequent the house of mourning as well as the house of mirth. Study the nature of that state in which thou art placed; and balance its joys with its sorrows. Thou seest that the cup which is held forth to the whole human race, is mixed. Of its bitter ingredients, expect that thou art to drink thy portion. Thou seest the storm hover- ing every where in the clouds around thee. Be not surprised if on thy head it shall break. Lower, therefore, thy sails. Dismiss thy florid 250 ‘SYMPATHY WITH OTHERS’, hopes; and come forth prepared either to act or to suffer, according as Heaven shall decree. Thus shalt thou be excited to take the properest measures for defence. Thou shalt be enabled, with equanimity and steadiness, to hold thy course through life. BLAIR. SYMPATHY WITH OTHERS’, AND MODERA- TION IN OUR OWN GRIEF. How amiable does he appear to be, whose sympathetic heart seems to re-echo all the sen- timents of those with whom he converses, who erieves for their calamities, who resents their injuries, and who rejoices at their good fortune! . When we bring home to ourselves the situation of his companions, we enter into their grati- tude, and feel what consolation they must derive from the tender sympathy of so affec- tionate a friend. And for a contrary reason, how disagreeable does he appear to be, whose hard and obdurate heart feels for himself only, but is altogether insensible to the happiness or . misery of others! We enter in this case too, AND MODERATION IN OUR OWN GRIEF. 251 into the pain which his presence must give to every mortal with whom he converses, to those especially with whom we are most apt to sym- pathize, the unfortunate and the injured. On the other hand, what noble propriety and grace do we feel in the conduct of those who} in their own case, exert that recollection and self-command which constitute the dignity of every passion, and which bring it down to what others can enterinto? We are disgusted with that clamorous grief, which, without any delicacy, calls upon our compassion with sighs and tears and importunate lamentations. But we reverence that reserved, and that silent and majestic sorrow, which discovers itself only in the swelling of the eyes, in the quivering of the lips and cheeks, and in the distant, but affecting, coldness of the whole behaviour. It imposes the like silence upon us. We regard it with respectful attention, and watch with anxious concern over our whole behaviour, lest by any impropriety we should disturb that concerted tranquillity, which it requires so great an effort to support. : ADAM SMITH. 252 THE CELEBRATED LORD CHESTERFIELD. THE world, with its*fashions and its follies, its principles and its practices, has been pro- posed in form to Englishmen, as the proper object of their attention and devotion. A late celebrated nobleman has avowed as much with respect to himself, and by his writings said in effect to it, “ Save me, for thou art my god!” He has tendered his assistance to act as priest upon the occasion, and conduct the ceremonial. At the close of life, however, his god, he found, was about to forsake him, and therefore, was forsaken by him. You shall hear some of his last sentiments and expressions, which have not been hitherto (so far as I know) duly noticed, and applied to their proper uses, that of furnishing an antidote (and they do furnish a very powerful one) to the noxious: positions contained in his volumes. They are well worthy your strictest attention. “I have run,” says this man of the world, “ the silly rounds of business and pleasure, and have done with them all. I have enjoyed all the plea- sures of the world, and, consequently, know their futility, and do not regret their loss. I appraise them at their real value, which is in THE CELEBRATED LORD CHESTERFIELD. 253 truth very low; whereas, those that have not experienced, always overrate them. ‘They only see their gay outside, and are dazzled with their glare. But I have been behind the scenes. I have seen all the coarse pulleys, and dirty ropes, which exhibit and move the gaudy machines; and I have seen and smelt the tallow candles, which illuminate the whole decoration, to the astonishment and admiration of an ignorant audience. When I reflect back upon what I have seen, what I have heard, and what I have done, I can hardly persuade myself that all that frivolous hurry and bustle, and pleasure of the world, had any reality ; but I look upon all that has passed, as one of those romantic dreams which opium commonly occasions; and I do by no means desire to repeat the nauseous dose, for the sake of the fugitive dream. Shall I tell you that I bear this melancholy situation with that meritorious constancy and resignation which most people boast of? No; for I really cannot help it. I bear it—because I must bear it, whether I will or no—I think of nothing but killing time the best I can, now he is become mine enemy. It is my resolution to sleep in the carriage during the remainder of the journey.” 254 LAST WORDS OF THE When a Christian priest speaks slightingly of the world, he is supposed to do it in the way of his profession, and to decry, through envy, the pleasures he is forbidden to taste. But here, I think, you have the testimony of a witness every way competent. No man ever knew the world better or enjoyed more of its favours than this nobleman. Yet you see in how poor, abject, and wretched a condition, at the time when he most wanted help and com- fort, the world left him, and he left the world. The sentences above cited from him compose, in my humble opinion, the most striking and affecting sermon upon the subject, ever yet preached to mankind. My younger friends, lay them up in your minds, and write them on the tables of your hearts; take them into life with you: they will prove an excellent pre- servative against temptation. BISHOP HORNE. THE LAST WORDS OF THE NOTORIOUS EARL OF ROCHESTER; WITH SOME OBSERVATIONS ON HIS CHARACTER, BY DR. BURNET. “‘ For the benefit of all those whom I may have drawn into sin by my example and encourage- EARL OF ROCHESTER. 255 ment, [ leave to the world this my last decla- ration, which I deliver in.the presence of the great God, who knows the secrets of all hearts, and. before whom I am now appearing to be judged. | “That, from the bottom of my soul, I detest and abhor the whole course of my former wicked life; that I think I can never sufti- ciently admire the goodness of God, who has given mea true sense of my pernicious opinions and vile practices, by which I have hitherto lived without hope and without God in the world; have been an open enemy to Jesus Christ, doing the utmost despite to the Holy. Spirit of Grace. And that the greatest testi- mony of my charity to such is, to warn them, in the name of God, and as they regard the welfare of their immortal souls, no more to deny his being, or his providence, or despise his goodness; no more to make a mock of sin, or contemn the pure and excellent religion of my ever-blessed Redeemer, through whose merits alone I, one of the greatest sinners, do yet hope for mercy and forgiveness. Amen. ‘* J. Rocuester, June 19, 1680.” Nature, Dr. Burnet observes, had fitted the earl of Rochester for great things; and _ his 256 LAST WORDS OF THE EARL OF ROCHESTER. knowledge and observation qualified him to have been one of the most extraordinary men, not only of his nation, but of the age he lived in; and I do verily believe, that if God had thought fit to have continued him longer in the world, he had been the wonder and delight of all that knew him; but the infinitely wise God knew better what was fit for him, and what the age deserved ; for men who have so cast off all sense of God and religion, deserve not so signal a blessing as the example and conviction which the rest of his life might have given them. Here is a public instance of one who lived of their side, but could not die in it: and though none of all our liber- tines understood better than he, the secret mysteries of sin,—had more studied every thing that could support a man in it, and had more resisted all external means of conviction ; yet when the hand of God inwardly touched him, he could no longer fight against the arrows of the Almighty, but humbled hinself under that mighty hand; and as he used often to say in his prayers, he who had so openly denied him, found then no other shelter but in his mercy and compassion. ‘Though he lived to the scandal of many, he died as much to THE INFIDEL’S BELIEF. 257 the edification of all who saw him; and be- cause they were but a small number, he de- sired that he might, even when dead, yet speak. He was willing for nothing to be con- cealed, that might cast reproach on himself and on sin,and offer up glory to God and reli- gion; so that though he lived a heinous sinner, he died a most exemplary penitent. THE INFIDEL’S BELIEF, INFIDELS scoff at the credulity of the Christian. But let us fairly state the case, and see whether of all beings in existence the Infidel is not the most weakly credulous. What is the Infidel’s creed? He believes that the whole world united in a conspiracy to impose upon themselves about the era of the introduction of Christiani- ty; that they znvented an universal persuasion of the coming of some great personage, and. that by mere accident their conjecture was ve- rified in the birth of Christ ;—that verses, or poems, the production of men who lived several hundred of years before, accidentally happened to apply to that extraordinary person, and things the most contradictory did accidentally S 258 - THE INFIDEL’S BELIEF. concur in him ;—that he was a deceiver and an enthusiast, and a false claimant to a divine com- mission, and yet that he was, without excep- tion, the purest and the most amiable of beings; —and that he succeeded in his object without any of the means usually employed by similar characters; for that, without money, without troops, without power, he convinced multitudes of his divine authority. He believes that after Christ was openly cru- cified as a malefactor, twelve illiterate fishermen took up the extraordinary tale that he had risen from the dead, although these fishermen must have known to the contrary if he was a de- ceiver ; and without any assignable motive, in the face of danger and death, they formed the bold design of converting the whole world to a belief of this strange story ;—that although aware of the calamities which they must thus occasion to mankind, (and therefore men of un- feeling and cruel dispositions,) their writings and actions exhibit the purest morality, and the most benevolent spirit ;—that without edu- cation or literature they composed several works, in which the leading character or sub- ject of their memoirs (if a fictitious personage) is unquestionably one of the most wonderful THE INFIDEL’S BELIEF. 259 creature of imagination that the range of lite- rature can furnish; a character altogether unlike that of any being who ever dwelt on earth, sus- tained throughout with the most exact con- sistency, and the most minute and apparently unnecessary particularity of dates, and times, and places ;—that they travelled over the greater part of the world, everywhere successful, though everywhere persecuted ;—and that they were ‘eventually the means of subverting the religious establishment of the most powerful nation upon earth. Yet the Infidel believes that all this was CHANCE; these men were all impostors; the whole story was a fable and a forgery !—If it be so, then the case is without a parallel in his- tory ; and the man who receives the creed of _ the infidel, betrays a credulity so capacious, a faculty so prodigious of overlooking difficulties, that we cannot but suspect there is something wrong in the ordinary powers of his under- standing. But the case is otherwise. Infi- delity is not a derangement of the head, but of the heart. Believing, as we do, that the words of Christ are words of eternal truth, we main- tain, that it is impossible for any man to dis- believe the Bible who searches it with a right $2 260 THE INFIDEL’S BELIEF. spirit : “ If any man will do his will; he shall know of the doctrine whether it be of God.” Pride and evil passions are the main springs of Infidelity. “How can ye believe, which re- ceive honour one of another, and seek not the honour which cometh of God only? Ye love darkness rather than light, because your deeds are evil.” ‘“ Every one that doeth evil hateth the light.” No wonder, then, that the profli- gate and the libertine should hail the temporary triumphs of infidelity, which annihilates the salutary dread of future retribution, and substi- tutes universal redemption, or the vain and fan- tastic salvo of Purgatory, that most successful device ever yet employed by Satan to open the floodgates of licentiousness, and break down every barrier which would oppose individual or national profligacy. No wonder that the haughty, cold, and calculating philosopher, who comes to dictate to his Maker, and cavil at the decrees of Omniscience, should be aban- doned to the senselessness of his boasted wis- dom. -“ God*taketh the wise in their own craf- tiness.” “ He filleth the hungry with good things, but the rich sendeth he empty away.” EVANSON, 261 THE LAST MOMENTS OF VOLTAIRE, AND OTHER ATHEISTS. Bor it is the prospect of futurity, especially, that the happy effects of Christianity are pecu- liarly felt and displayed. The hour of death must, unavoidably, arrive to every individual of the human race. In that awful moment, when the soul is hovering on the confines of two worlds, suffering the agony of bodily tor- ture, and the remorse of an accusing conscience, something is surely needed to cheer the mind. But, in this exigency, the only consolation afforded by infidelity is, “that there is no hereafter.” When friends and relatives are ex- pressing by their agonized looks what they are afraid to utter; when medicines and pains are racking the debilitated frame ; when the slum- bers of conscience are for ever broken, and its awful voice raised :—all—all that unbelief can present to sustain the mind in this trying hour, is—the cold and the comfortless doctrine of an ETERNAL SLEEP. 3 That these sentiments are unequal at such a period to support the mind, is evident from the death-beds of the most eminent of their adyo- cates. Whilst a Paul, a Peter, and a John, and the whole host of Christian martyrs, could sur- 262 THE LAST MOMENTS OF VOLTAIRE, = vey, unmoved, death in its most terrific forms: while many have vehemently longed for its ap- proach, desiring to depart and be with Christ : while some have exulted in the midst of the most excruciating bodily tortures :—Voltaire endured horrors never to be expressed. His associates have attempted to conceal the fact; but the evidence is too strong to be refuted. Like Herod, who was smitten by an angel whilst receiving undue homage from men; so, immediately after his return from the theatre in which he had been inhaling the incense of adulation from a silly populace, he felt that the stroke of death had arrested him. Immediately his friends crowded around him, and his bre- thren of the Illuminati exhorted him to die like a hero. In spite of their admonitions, he sent for the curé of St. Gervais ; and, after con- fession, signed in the presence of the Abbé Mignot (his nephew), and of the Marquis De Villevielle (one of the Illuminati), his recanta- tion of his former principles. After this visit, the curé was no more allowed to see him. His former friends, having obtained possession of his house, interdicted all access unto him. It has, however, crept out by means of the nurse who attended him, that he died in unut- AND OTHER ATHEISTS. 263 terable agony of mind. D’Alembert, Diderot, and about twenty others, who beset his apart- ment, never approached him without receiving some bitter execration. Often he would curse them, and exclaim, “ Retire! It is you who have brought me to my present state. Begone ! I could have done without you all; but you could not exist without me. And what a wretched glory have you procured me!” These reproaches were succeeded by the dreadful recollection of his own part in their conspiracy against religion. He was heard, in anguish and in dread, alternately supplicating or blaspheming that God against whom he had conspired. He would cry out, in plaintive ac- cents, Oh! Christ! Oh! Jesus Christ! and then complain that he was abandoned by God and man. It seemed as if the hand, which had traced of old the sentence of an impious king, now traced before his eyes his own blasphemies. In vain he turned away from the contemplation of them. The time was coming apace, when he was to appear before the tribunal of him whom he had blasphemed: and his physicians, particularly Dr. 'Tronchin, calling in to adminis- ter relief, thunderstruck, retired. His associates would, no doubt, willingly have suppressed 264 THE LAST MOMENTS OF VOLTAIRE, these facts: but it was in vain. The Mareschal de Richelieu fled from his bed-side, declaring it to be a sight too terrible to be endured: and Dr. Tronchin observed, that the furies of Orestes could give but a faint idea of those of Voltaire. The last hours of D’Alembert were like those of Voltaire. Condorcet boasts, that he refused admission to the cwré on his second visit. Such a refusal evidently shows, that he feared what an interview would disclose. ——Hume, instead of meeting death with the calmness of a philosopher, played the buffoon in that awful hour, proving, by his comic ac- tions, his anxiety to drown serious thought.— Diderot and Gibbon discovered the same anxiety, by deeply interesting themselves in the most trifling amusements.—The last hours of Paine were such as might have been ex- pected from his previous immoral and unprin- cipled habits. Though, in reply to the inquiry of his medical attendant whether he believed or wished to believe that Jesus Christ is the Son of God, he declared that he “ had no wish to believe on that subject;” yet during the pa- roxysms of his distress, and pain, he would in- voke the name of that Saviour whom he had blasphemed by his writings, in a tone of voice AND OTHER ATHEISTS. 265 that would alarm the house: and at length he expired, undeplored and detested by his adopted countrymen. A conduct like this proves that there was one spark of horror in the souls of these antagonists of revelation which all their philosophic efforts were unequal to extinguish. The whole of the atheist’s creed, with respect to the future world, is comprised in the follow- ing summary: that his body, begun by chance or necessity, is continued without design, and — perishes without hope; that his soul is a mere attribute of his body, useless and worthless while he lives, and destined at his death to rottenness and corruption : and that, the sooner it is returned to its parent mould the better. And, by his mandate, he consigns mankind to the dark and desolate regions of annihilation. By this sweeping sentence, which he passes on all the human race, he takes away from himself and his fellow-men, every motive, furnished by the fear of future punishment or by the hope of future rewards, to virtuous, upright, or amiable conduct. T. H, HORNE. 266 REMORSE! Awp not more beautiful beneath the ray Of risen morn, night-shades dissolve away, And the unmantled world, embathed in light, Awakes in chastened glory, clear and bright, Than do the sinful mists that shroud the soul Melt off beneath remorse’s stern control, Till the full impress of the God appears, Made pure and brilliant by repentant tears! Now day by day celestial feelings rise Fresh from the heart, and reach the immortal skies! Now comes the hour, when rambling all unseen, Save by the stars, upon the dusky green ; When winds are voiceless, and the breezes still, Save truant ones, that roam the wooded hill ; Eternal glories dawn upon the heart, Till drops of rapture from the soul-fount start ; And Sorrow, bursting from Cimmerian gloom, Darts up to Heaven, and triumphs o’er the tomb. R, MONTGOMERY. BECOMING THOUGHTS, AND AFFECTING RETROSPEC- TIONS, AT THE CLOSE OF A YEAR. WHEN we have lost a friend, our first care naturally is, to see that he be decently interred ; to follow him, mourning, to the grave; to let his funeral remind us of our own; and to erect a monument to his memory. BECOMING THOUGHTS. 267 The past year is, to all intents and purposes, lost to us, and numbered among the dead. It is gone to join the multitude of years that have died before it. They arise from their seats in the repositories of the dead, to receive.it among them; it is now become like one of them; and all that hurry and bustle of business and plea- sure, which distinguished and animated it, have sunk into silence and oblivion. It will return no more upon the earth, and the scenes that were acted in it are closed for ever. It has lived, however, and we have enjoyed it; let us pay it the honours due to the deceased, and drop a tear over its tomb. We cannot take a final leave of any thing to which we have been accustomed, without a sentiment of concern. Objects, otherwise of the most indifferent na- ture, claim this, and they never fail of obtain- ing it, at the hour of parting. The idea of the last is always a melancholy idea; and it is so, perhaps, for this among other reasons, because, whatever be the immediate subject, an applica- ~ tion is presently made to ourselves. ‘Thus, in the case before us, it is recollected—and let it be recollected—it is good for us to recollect it—that what has happened to the year, must happen to us. On each of us a day must 268 BECOMING THOUGHTS, dawn, which is to be our last. When we shall have buried a few more years, we must our- selves be buried; our friends shall weep at our funeral; and what we have been, and what we have done, will live only in their remembrance. The reflection is sorrowful; but it is just, and salutary ; equally vain and imprudent would be the thought of putting it away from us. Meanwhile, let us cast our eyes back on that portion of time which is come to its conclusion, and see whether the good thoughts that have occurred to our minds, the good words that have been uttered, and the good deeds that have been performed by us, will not furnish materials, with which we may erect a lasting monument to the memory of the departed year. When a friend is dead and _ buried, we take a pensive kind of pleasure in going over again and again the hours we formerly passed with him, either in prosperity, or adversity. Let us pursue the same course; it may be done to great advantage, in this instance. ‘The grand secret of a religious life is, to “ set God always before us ;” to live under a constant sense of his providence; to observe and study his dis- pensations towards us, that they may produce their proper effects, and draw forth suitable AT THE CLOSE OF A YEAR. 269 returns from us. ‘Too often we suffer them to glide unheeded by us, and never afterward think of recalling them to consideration! It were well if we kept a diary of our lives, for this purpose; if we “ so numbered our days, that we might apply our hearts unto wisdom.” But certainly, no year should be permitted to expire, without giving occasion to a retrospect. The principal events that have befallen us in it should be recollected, and the requisite im- provements be raised from them severally, by meditation. What preservations from dangers, spiritual or temporal, have been vouchsafed ; what new blessings granted, or old ones con- tinued, to me and mine; to my friends, my neighbours, my church, my country ; and how have I expressed, in word and in deed, my gra- titude and thankfulness for them? With what losses or crosses, what calamities or sicknesses, have we been visited: and have such visita- tions rendered us more penitent, more diligent, devout, and holy, more humble, and more cha- ritable? If the light of heaven hath shined on our tabernacle, and we have enjoyed the hours in health and happiness, let us enjoy them over again in the remembrance: if we have lived under a dark and stormy sky, and affliction has 270 BECOMING THOUGHTS, been our lot, let us consider that so much of that affliction is gone, and the less there is of it to come. But whatever may be gone, or to come, all is from God, who sends it not with- out a reason, and with whom, if we co-operate, no event can befall us, which will not in the end turn to our advantage. Such reflections as these should, indeed, be always made at the time when the events do befall us. But if not made then, they should be made at some time ; which yet will not be done, unless some time be appointed for making them. And what time so fit, as that when one year ends, and another begins; when, having finished a stage of our journey, we survey, as from an eminence, the eround we have passed; and the sight of the objects brings to mind the occurrences upon that part of the road? When we examine ourselves as to the pro- gress we have made in Christian life since this day twelvemonth, do we find that we have made any progress at all; that we have dis- carded any evil habits, or acquired any good ones; that we have mortified any vices, or brought forward to perfection any virtues? In one word, as we grow older, do we grow wiser and better? These are the questions which AT THE CLOSE OF A YEAR. ay pi | should be asked, at the conclusion of a year— and may the heart of every person here present return to them an answer of peace! While we are following a friend to his grave, it is obvious to reflect, that his day of trial is at an end, that the time allotted him for his probation is over, and his condition fixed for eternity. Engaged in the awful speculation, we can hardly avoid the following reflection ;— if, instead of his being taken from us, we had been taken from him, what, at this time, had been our lot and portion in the other world?— By the favour of God, we have lived to the end of the year: we might have died before it. In such case, where had we now been? Have we no misgivings within? Do we feel as if we thought that all would have been right? Are we conscious to ourselves of having stood pre- pared, at all times, and for all events, in such habits of repentance, faith, and charity, as would have rendered our passage hence wel- come and prosperous? If not, should we delay for a moment to make such preparation, and to stand in such habits? Suppose any person had means of being assured, and actually were assured, that he should die upon the last day of the year into which he is now entered; we 272 BECOMING THOUGHTS, should all agree upon the manner in which such persons ought to spend the year. ‘There would not be, I dare say, one dissentient voice. Yet, upon the supposition here made, this per- son has before him a whole year certain. Is not the obligation, then, still stronger upon every one of us? For that man must be out of his senses, who can bring himself to imagine, that he has a whole year certain, or a month, or a day, or an hour.—The argument is not to be answered. I have somewhere read of one, who, having strong religious impressions, and feeling terrible apprehensions whenever the ideas of death and judgment presented themselves, contrived so to habituate his mind to the contemplation of them, as to render them ever after, not only easy, but agreeable. His custom was, to con- sider each evening as the close of life, the darkness of the night as the time of death, and his bed as his grave. He composed himself for the one, therefore, as he would have done for the other., On retiring to rest, he fell on his knees; confessed, and entreated pardon for the transgressions of the day; renewed his faith in the mercies of God, through Christ; expressed, in a prayer of intercession, his charity toward TIME. 273 _ all mankind; and then committed his soul into — the hands of his Creator and Redeemer, as one who was to awake no more in this world. His sleep, after this, was perfectly sweet; the days added to his life were estimated as clear gain; and when the last came, it ended with as much tranquillity as all that had preceded. I would wish to recommend this example to your imita- tion. The practice will cost you some pains and trouble, perhaps, for a little while; but you will never have cause to repent that you bestowed them; and I know of no better me- thod whereby you can place yourselves in a state of constant security and comfort. BISHOP HORNE. TIME. O how weak Is mortal man! how trifling—how confin’d His scope of vision! Puff’d with confidence, His phrase grows big with immortality, And he, poor insect of a summer’s day ! Dreams of eternal honours to his name; Of endless glory and perennial bays. He idly reasons of eternity, As of the train of ages,-—when alas! 274 PROSPECT OF A FUTURE STATE. Ten thousand thousand of his centuries Are, in comparison, a little point Too trivial for account.— Oh, it is strange, "Tis passing strange, to mark his fallacies ; Behold him proudly view some pompous pile, Whose high dome swells to emulate the skies, And smile and say, My name shall live with this Till time shall be no more; while at his feet, Yea at his very feet, the crumbling dust Of the fallen fabric of the other day Preaches the solemn lesson. He should know That time must conquer ; that the loudest blast That ever fill’d Renown’s obstreperous trump Fades in the lapse of ages, and expires. Who lies inhumed in the terrific gloom Of the gigantic pyramid? or who Rear’d its huge walls? Oblivion laughs, and says The prey is mine.—They sleep, and never more Their names shall strike upon the ear of man, Their memory burst its fetters. , H. K. WHITE. PROSPECT OF A FUTURE STATE. THE prospect of a future state, is the secret comfort and refreshment of my soul; it is that which makes nature look gay about me; it doubles all my pleasures, and supports me under all my afflictions. I can look at dis- STANZAS, Che appointments and misfortunes, pain and sick- ness, death itself,—and what is worse than death, the loss of those that are dearest to me, with indifference, so long as I keep in view the pleasures of eternity, and the state of being, in which there will be no fears nor apprehen- sions, pains nor sorrows, sickness nor separa- tion. Why will any man be so impertinently officious, as to tell me all this is only fancy and delusion? Is there any merit in being the messenger of ill news? If it is a dream, let me enjoy it, since it makes me both the happier and the better man. ADDISON. STANZAS. Anp shall the soul, the fount of reason, die, When dust and darkness round its temple lie ? Did God breathe in it no ethereal fire, Dimless and quenchless, though the breath expire? Then why were god-like aspirations given, That, scorning earth, so often frame a heaven ? _ Why does the ever craving wish arise For better, nobler, than the world supplies ? Ah, no, it cannot be that men were sent To live and languish on in discontent ; That soul was moulded to betrayful trust, To feel like God, and perish like the dust. ye 276 THE CLOSING SCENE. If death for ever doom us to the clod, And earth-born pleasure be our only god, The rapid years shall bury all we love, Nor leave one hope to re-unite above ; No more the voice of friendship shall beguile, No more the mother on her infant smile ; But vanishing, like rain upon the deep, Nature shall perish in eternal sleep! Illustrious beacons, spirits of the just, Are ye embosomed in perennial dust ? Shall ye, whose names, undimm’d by ages, shine Bright as the flame that mark’d ye for divine, For ever slumber--never meet again, Too pure for sorrow, too sublime for pain? Ah, no! celestial fancy loves to fly With eager pinion, and prophetic eye, To radiant dwellings of immortal bliss, Far from a world so woe-begone as this ; There, as the choral melodies career, Sublimely rolling through the seraph sphere, In angel forms, you all again unite, And bathe in streams of everlasting light. R. MONTGOMERY. THE CLOSING SCENE, Ler us now observe, that the dejection into which we are apt to sink at such a juncture, will bear proportion to the degree of our attach- THE CLOSING SCENE. 977 ment to the objects which we leave, and to the importance of those resources which remain with us when they are gone. He who is taking farewell of a country through which he had travelled with satisfaction, and he who is driven from his native land, with which he had con- nected every idea of settlement and comfort, will have very different feelings at the time of departure. Such is the difference which, at the hour of death, takes place between the righte- ous and the ungodly. The latter knows nothing higher or better than the present state of exist- ence. His interests, his pleasures, his expect- ations, all centered here. He lived solely for the enjoyments of this world. Dreadful, there- fore, and insupportable must be that event which separates him from these for ever. Whereas the culture of religion had previously formed the mind of a Christian for a calm and easy transition from this life. It had instructed him in the proper estimate of sublunary happi- ness. It had set higher prospects before him. It had formed him to a more refined taste of enjoyment than what the common round of worldly amusements could gratify. It gave him connexions and alliances with spiritual objects, which are unknown to the men of the world. 278 THE CLOSING SCENE. Hence, though he be attached to life by the natural feelings of humanity, he is raised above the weak and unmanly regret of parting with it. He knew that it was intended as prepara- tory only to a succeeding state. As soon as the season of preparation should be finished, he expected a removal; and when Providence gives the signal, he bids adieu to the world with composed resolution and undisturbed heart. What though death interrupt him in the middle of his designs, and break off the plans which he had formed of being useful to his family and the world? All these he leaves with tranquil- lity in the hands of that Providence to which he has ever been accustomed to look up with resignation ; which governed the world wisely and graciously before he existed ; and which he knows will continue to govern it with equal wisdom and benignity, when he shall be in it no more. ‘The time of his departure was not left to his own choice; but he believes it to be the most proper, because it is the time chosen by him who cannot err. “ Honourable age is not that which standeth in length of time, nor that which is measured by number of years. But wisdom is the grey hair to man, and an unspotted life is old age.” THE CLOSING SCENE. 279 But death is more than the conclusion of human life. It is the gate which, at the same time that it closes on this world, opens into eternity. Under this view, it has often been the subject of terror to the serious and reflect- ing. The transition they were about to make was awful. Before them lay a vast undisco- vered region, from whose bounds no traveller ever returned to bring information of the recep- tion which he found, or of the objects which he met with there. The first conception which suggests itself is, that the disembodied spirit is to appear before its Creator, who is then to act as its judge. The strict inquisition which it must undergo, the impartial doom which it must hear pronounced, and the unalterable state to which it shallbe assigned, are awful forms rising before the imagination. They are ideas which conscience forces upon all. Mankind can nei- ther avoid considering themselves as account- able creatures, nor avoid viewing death as the season when their account is to be given. Such a sentiment is with most men the source of dread, with all men, of anxiety. To a certain degree a good conscience will convey comfort. The reflection on a well-spent life makes a wide difference between the last moments of the 280 THE CLOSING SCENE. righteous and the sinner. But whose con- science is so clear as to strike him with no re- morse 2, Whose righteousness is so unble- mished as to abide the scrutiny of the great Searcher of hearts? Who dares rest his ever- lasting fate upon his perfect conformity to the rule of duty throughout the whole of his life ¢ We must not judge of the sentiments of men at the approach of death by their ordinary train of thought in the days of health and ease. Their views of moral conduct are then, too generally, superficial; slight excuses satisfy their minds, and the avocations of life prevent their attention from dwelling long on disagree- able subjects. But when altogether withdrawn from the affairs of the world, they are left to their own reflections on past conduct; with their spirits enfeebled by disease, and their minds impressed with the terrors of an invisible region; the most resolute are apt to despond, and even the virtuous are in danger of sinking under the remembrance of their errors and frailties. The trembling mind casts every where around an anxious exploring eye after any power that can uphold, any mercy that will shield and save it. BLAIR. * G. Woodfall, Printer, Ange] Court, Skinner Street, London. 6) ® ) @) ©) © ® © qs) (@) @ é © © © ©) i) © ‘2 @ @) G {oe @) (O} On 3 ( iO if (oO) >) (9) J Ww : fe ° I © & » e 0 ¥ C ¢ @ ° = r @ {@ ‘2 G@ 4 = @ () ¢ { i ( 5 fe) ®) ft i {e) = (é) ss @) > >} rinceton Theological Semina ry-Speer Librar 012 01001 4951