Qa ^ 533 LO. ^ 03. "QT OK THK AT PRINCETON, N. J. UOX A-rlOX OF SAMUEL AONEW, OF PHILADELPHIA, PA. J2?ctuz. & 2gs of the first-rate Authors, including ^ 1$'. Laya‘’d s Nineveh,” Macauley’s “ England,” “ Life of Southey * <8 Macauley’s “ Essays,” &c. &c. ' ’ ^ o ,r5le whole of the Baily Papers lent to Read by a Sub- ^ x scription oi Sixpence per Week. © //IlN' m S r i \ > ' - ZTyd Subscrtiers allowed two days each vol.—c2d. per day charged for §1 each vol. after. - J©V I Stgtnt for CIcabcr’s Soiui) &oap , aSoUger’iS £utlm>, &c. f| ®g \\il/ m _ m i;> ALL 1 HE MAGAZINES AND PERIODICALS SUPPLIED ON THE 'fjf? DAY OF PUBLICATION. • 5@s — - .ww^.vvv^vvvwwvv.a^A _ M * a 2V.B. — No Business transacted on Sundays. ©fHip mmmm THE EXCELLENCY OF MAN. LONDON: BREWSTER AND WEST, PRINTERS, HAND COURT, DOWGATE. THE EXCELLENCY OF MAN # DEDUCED FROM REASON AND REVELATION. BY EDWARD WEST, Author of “ Observations by E. W.,” &c. “ Let Man be allowed to know his own value. Let him not be in love with his vileness and his weakness; but let him love himself, because he has a nature capable of good. Let him hate himself, because this capacity within him is empty and void ; but let him not hence entertain a dislike of so noble, so natural a capacity. Let him hate his being; but let him love it too, because he is formed for the possession of truth, and consequently of happiness." Pascal • LONDON: JAMES MADDEN, 8, LEADENHALL STREET. MDCCCXLVII. . I ' ■ . “ Jfor 2LI& t ty binbs to blob, ©lje eartj botJ rest, Jeaben mobe, aub fountains Hob. jStot^tug be See but means 0211111 goob ft* 02U3& beltgbt, or as 02U;E treasure : ©lje luf)o(e is either 02Ll:& cupboarb of foob 0r cabinet of pleasure. Clje stars light 2X£> to beb ; fixgljt brains tlje curtain, toJjtcj) tlje Sun bitljbrabs ; lirluSic aub light attenb 02U3ii fjeab. ftll things imto 02H3H fleSi) are fetub Ihx tl)eir beSceut anb being ; to 02H3li mtnb iht tf)etr ascent anb cause. iiXore SerbantS tuait on XXflftfi ©ban Ije’ll tahe notice of: in cbern path &e treabs bolun that iul)tcf) both befrtenb Jim, OTJen StcbueSS makes Jim pale anb ban. 0 migjtp lobe ! is one toorlb, anb JatJ Another to attenb Jinx. J^ince tljcn, mi) ©ob, ©Ijou IjaSt &o brabc a palace built ; 0 blnell in it, ©bat it man blnell bttj ©bee at last ! ©ill tljen alTorb us So much bit ; ©bat, as tjc borlb SerbeS us, be man Scibc ©bee, &nb boll) ©Jn SerbantS be.” Herbert. Digitized by the Internet Archive in 2019 with funding from Princeton Theological Seminary Library https://archive.org/details/excellencyofmandOOwest TO Ills ROYAL HIGHNESS THE - DUKE OF CAMBRIDGE, &c. &c. &c. WHOSE ACTIVE SYMPATHIES ARE ENLISTED IN EVERY SINCERE DESIGN TO IMPROVE THE TEMPORAL OR THE SPIRITUAL CONDITION OF THE PEOPLE OF ENGLAND, THIS VOLUME IS, BY HIS ROYAL HIGHNESS’S ESPECIAL PERMISSION, WITH FEELINGS OF GRATITUDE TO AN OVER-RULING PROVIDENCE, WHICH HAS BLESSED THE BRITISH NATION WITH SO WORTHY A DESCENDANT OF “ THE GOOD OLD KING.” . •• • ' : THE EXCELLENCY OF MAN. I believe that there is no subject upon which Man’s conceptions fall so far short of their proper elevation, as in his opinion of himself . We find Man ready to entertain exalted ideas of the mountain, in its lofty grandeur, and the storm, in its terrific majesty ; but he cannot, or he does not, form adequate notions of his own importance and dignity. He stands in mute wonder and speechless awe before the thundering cataract ; but he omits to enter into his chamber, and be still, before the superior greatness of himself. By the expression “ Excellency of Man,” I would be understood to refer to the mighty powers vested in him by the All-Mighty, a stewardship for which he incurs a heavy responsibility. I shall endeavour, then, to show, 1st. How excellent Man is, in all respects. 2nd. How insufficient are Men’s conceptions of that excellency. 3rd. How these reflections may turn to a most im¬ proving and valuable purpose in our conduct and rule of life. B 2 To estimate how excellent Man is in all respects, (which is my first proposition,) we must consider him 1st. In his creation. 2nd. In his power of doing well. 3rd. In his power of doing evil. 4th. In the design of his existence. To judge correctly how insufficient are men’s conceptions of that excellency, (which is my second proposition,) we must consider, 1st. The causes for pride which they see in themselves. 2nd. Their want of endeavour to serve their fellow- men. 3rd. Their desires for happiness. 4th. Their constant wish for forgetfulness of the past. These reflections may turn to excellent purpose. 1st. By teaching us to seek fit objects for satisfaction. 2nd. By inducing an universal philanthropy. 3rd. By inculcating a desire for happiness worthy of men, viz., a desire to be good and do good. 4th. By urging such conduct as will make remem¬ brance a pleasure. To arrive, then, at the knowledge of the excellency of Man, I have first to show that “ Man is excellent in his creation.” Let us consider some of the circumstances of Man’s creation. When the Almighty Maker had called him into being, God rested from His work, and He blessed the day on which He thus paused, because that on it He rested from His work which He had created and made. Now, it cannot reasonably be supposed that the Great Arti¬ ficer blessed the day merely because He finished work , when 8 He need not have done aught, had it not been for His pleasure : and, moreover, when, to work (so to speak) for the good of all and the happiness of all, He had but to diffuse over the universe the influence of His boundless, becalming, and love-bestowing spirit. He must, then, have blessed that day, because that He had, in the period then ended, made any thing so excellent as Man — Man for whom, confessedly, all other things were made by the Eternal's endless love. The Creator allowed, or rather directed, the inspired his¬ torian to use the words, in reference to the creation of man, “ In the beginning ” — although for unnumbered and innu¬ merable ages, millions of intelligent creatures had doubtless done His commands, in cheerful and unceasing obedience. The Creator permits, or instructs, His own historian to pass over all these holy beings unnoticed, and to treat their golden harps as if they had been unstrung until Man gave the chord unto them whereon they might fitly attune. Calling that period the beginning , when Man rose up from the dust of the earth, and elevated his aspiring head towards heaven to inhale the breath of life. The great Artificer, I say, allows that time to be denominated the beginning , as if Man was indeed almost one in spirit, (as he was one in image,) with the eternal Alpha. Again, the mighty Archi¬ tect thought it requisite to pronounce the earth, with its countless myriads of beings, formed with wonderful order and inconceivable exactitude and beauty, to be good : — He deemed it necessary to pronounce the swelling sea, which bore its own majesty of sound to the very skies above it, and spake its power in the foam of anger and the uptower- 4 ing of mountain waves, to be good : — He considered it need¬ ful to pronounce tbe herb and the tree, bearing their sup¬ port and solace to a world which depended on them for its very preservation, to be good : — He judged it requisite to pronounce the stars, the moon, and the sun, to be good — although the stars seemed so bright and so calm, as to be fit emblems of the angels, who, with all their holy serenity, yet desire to look into the dark mysteries which surround them — although the moon, which reigned the queen of night, appeared to write her own history of quiet greatness in dazzling characters in the boundless waters at her feet — although the sun, burst out with an overflow of light too excellent to keep within its own bounds, and showed that the way to be chosen of mankind is that of beauty and life, and the way to be avoided is that of darkness and death. All these things, I say, — the earth, the sea, the plants, the sun, the moon, and the stars — the great Architect deemed it requisite to pronounce good ; but Man, who lay upon the ground, formed of its very dust, who needed the herbs and the fruits to sustain him in his newly- given life — whom the deep can swallow up — to whom the stars and the moon are bright mysteries — to whom the sun is a light not to be approached unto — this weak and frail creature, God thinks it unnecessary to denominate good, as he bears the stamp of infinite, of great and good, of God’s own image placed upon him, in darkened, but in far- outstanding characters. It is an astonishing point in the dignity of Man, to remark the extension — the two-fold character (if I may so speak) in the creation of Man. We admire (for who can help admiring ?) the instant grandeur with which light burst forth, with a rejoicing velocity, as if it had groaned for ages beneath the mountain of thick dark¬ ness ; the instant grandeur with which it sprang, at God^s command, from its covert — -happy in the knowledge that it should never again be dimmed — that even in the end of the world, (which world the light was born to make useful and to adorn,) the destruction thereof should be but in a grander extension and power of light, — increasing, glorious, light, — whilst it buried in oblivion all else beside. We admire this noble “ created thing/” which, in a mo¬ ment, rushed forth in its strength. Yet how superior is Man ! Man, who seemed to have (I speak it with all reverence) two separate acts necessary to make him perfect in his creation. Whilst light bursts forth in an instant, Man is formed of the dust of the earth, and a portion of the work is done — the mechanism — the sur¬ passingly excellent mechanism — is complete ; but all is not finished ; for subsequently the breath of life is breathed into his nostrils, and he becomes a living soul ! Two acts of that God, who is power personified, are exercised to make Man. God said “ Let there be Man •” and there was Man ! but not Man as he was designed to be — one with the spirit of the Eternal God ! He is a perfect formation — bodily formation — wanting the perfect mind. But God speaks and breathes a second time ; and Man is a living soul : — such a Man as God delights in : full of wisdom and knowledge ; full of purity and virtue ; full of the very fe fullness of God/” Let us observe the first order given in reference to Man ; and given, if I may so say, to Man. The magnificent con- 6 sultation (so to speak) of the Perfect Father and Perfect Son (and which consultation stands an ever-living witness of the unity of the Godhead) produces the sublime decree “ Let us make Man.” Where are we to look for the next order, the first command to this being, whom it had thus been agreed to form ? One would have fancied the first order to Man would have been, “ Let him obey ; let this being obey, whom Our word can create from the very dust. Let him obey Us, at whose command earth, air, sea, and sky move with life, as the spirit of God alone moved before;” or else, "Let man learn humbleness, who walks erect, a later birth than the creeping thing which trails along the ground — let him learn humbleness whose feeble hands in vain essay to reach the winged fowl that flies above in the open firmament of heaven — let him learn humbleness whose utmost activity could not gain the fish, sporting in the waters which have recently produced it.” But, no. The command is, “ Let man have dominion.” Wonderful order, when applied to Man as he stood in the presence of Him who walked in the garden of the universe, in the coolness of his own refreshing mercy. Wonderful order when applied to Man, who beheld objects around him on all sides which he could as little comprehend as form. Wonderful order, to issue from Him to whom all dominion belongs. There is yet another point for admiration in the creation of Man. All Nature appears to teem with life; so that God, in His works of creation , is about our path and about our bed, and His works spy out all our ways, so that we can- 7 not say a word but some living things hear the sound. Behind us, before us, and upon us, rest — ever rest— the animalcule, contemptible in our opinion, imperceptible to our eyes ; yet, in them the might of God's power rests upon, us : if we take the wings of the morning, there are countless myriads of living things in the sunbeam — if we dive into the uttermost parts of the sea His hand, through his works , covers us. In the Creation, the waters brought forth abund¬ antly the creatures that have life ; and the winged fowls flew in tens of thousands in the inspiring air ; the cattle and the creeping things swarmed upon the face of the earth. But God created Man — a Man; as if that indivi¬ dual Man stood up a sufficient object for God's love to rest upon; as if God could concentrate His love on one such being; as if, from the tenderness of the Almighty, it were enough for Man, loaded with blessings and benefits, and regarded almost with admiration, to be alone. I proceed to show, 2. That Man is excellent, in his power of doing well. Before Man was created, the mist ascended from the ground, like the cloud of glory round the Mercy Seat , bearing a blessing in its dimness. It came to water the whole earth : but it paused, and faded away like the early dawn, when Man arose; for to Man's active care — to Man's power of doing well — of nurturing and keeping the garden that God had made so lovely for him, was committed the fruitfulness and the fairness of the fairest of the Creator's works. Man arose — almost a god ! for without his “ dressing and keep¬ ing," in vain the sun had risen early, and had late taken rest ; in vain the diffusive air had turned every way, as if 8 with an angel's guidance, to fructify the soil. Without Man’s care, the warm air would have been but the burning sword which would have turned every way, to keep, away from Man, the tree of life, and not to assist the sustaining plant and the nourishing shrub. When Man was driven forth from Eden, to look down, with shame and sorrow, upon the earth, which was made wretched for his sake ; and to remove, with bleeding hand, the thorns and the thistles which sprang up, as if to meet him ; he had within him a sort of vague consciousness that he was to return to the earth ; that the Lord was to “ make a new thing,” and that she should “ open her mouth and swallow him up,” and that that earthy to which he was to return , was cursed. A wonder¬ ful and an excellent thing, however, remained to him : Adam told his sons the sad story, which he might have concealed, of his guilt and perfidy — he told them the sublime truth, that God was all-merciful, even when the storm was raging against them, and that God was all-powerful, although they beheld the blighted Creation drooping and dying around them ; and by this act, of revealing the truth when he might have concealed it , he inspired in Abel an ardent love to his Maker, and was thus the means of causing the voice of a Son to be heard in the vast courts of Heaven, and the smoke from the burning devotion of a child, to hide the judgment seat of God. By this act, millions of human be¬ ings, sitting in darkness and gloominess, have discerned that it was the figure of Man which darkened them, and that the light of Heaven was not otherwise hidden or kept back from them. Yes, even in the very churchyard, where our dear ones sleep, under the weeping-willow, or the mournful yew, the voice of Adam speaks to us, and tells ns that but for him the only trees would have been trees of life, and not amongst them the bitter — bitter tree of a most bitter knowledge. Let us turn next to that man, for whom, it appears, that in the largely peopled earth, there could have been found only one help-meet. Let us turn to him who laboured for long years in the sight of all his friends, at a work in which he asked no friend^s assistance, since no loved friend could participate in its benefit. Let us consider the power which Noah had of doing well, when sin was overflowing the earth u like a flood 33 — (awful comparison !) He alone * in the sight of God, bore the olive-branch above the waters of iniquity. He alone raised his hand to Gocl, and God beheld that ■ there was a man, such as He wished and formed Man to be ; and the Almighty came to’ save him, and in him, the human race. Had it not been for him the waters had covered the earth, and all things had been as still as before the Creation ; but the stillness would not have been caused by God : God would have made a beginning, and Man would have made an ending. Man would have been the mighty artificer of an eternal blank — a blank of waters — unlike the blank of Chaos, without a single object to come from it hereafter. The angels, those bright guardian -spirits, would not then have had to look down from their celestial heights, and watch, with delighted interest, the little bark wafting its way over the waters ; they would not have beheld the Ark, full in their foreseeing eyes, of generations pleasing to the 10 Omnipotent — generations with high hopes and noble feel¬ ings ; but they would have gazed upon a dark abyss of waters — they would have failed to discern any high and noble purpose in creation, and gazing upon the dark water they would have perceived no mystery which they could have desired to look into. Let us now turn our thoughts to a writer of modern times : the author of the “ Night Thoughts.” How ex¬ cellent is he in his power of doing well ! He has the power of making our leisure thoughts (so to speak) holy and beautiful. When the clouds of a kind of mental ob¬ scurity come over us — when at a period of bodily ease, or upon our couch at night, we cease to have our minds fixed upon any particular thought, of business, pleasure, or pain — when those mental clouds come over us, he has the power to call out the stars amongst the misty clouds — he, with his pious and most delightful strains, has the power to make the star arise, and lead us to “ where the young child is.” These thoughts may be denominated mere thoughts, for they come without an especial cause, and without our bidding. If we reject them and strive to get rid of them, we wrestle with an angel , though it is but by the wayside. In the design, which Almighty God has sketched out for Man, of a life of strenuous virtue and of ardent zeal , He has left certain blanks, which He has found to be necessary for the mind of the being whom He has formed — He has left in this beautiful picture of activity some blanks, of leisure and of calmness; and it is an excellent honour for Man, and shows how glorious 11 a power he possesses,, that God has permitted the pencil of Man to fill in these blanks, and to occupy the previ¬ ously vacant spaces of His own divine master-piece. I turn now to another man — for whom, as I write, my cheek reddens with shame. Alas ! the rising blood marks us made of the one same mighty family. I turn to him who was the idol of a sensual monarch — to the Rochester of a Charles ! I appeal to this Man as an evi¬ dence how excellent Man is in his power of doing well. Here we see one whose hand wrote profane wit upon the walls of the Temple of Fame, but whose mouth declared the terrific sentence that he himself was weighed and found wanting. We see one whose lascivious effusions mark his guilty life, record also that his own days, passed in guilt, were by that very guilt made wretched, and numbered. » This man, with abilities misapplied, with powers misused, with influence disgraced, yet remains an instance, of doing well, for others to follow. By one act of doing well, by his public repentance at the last, he remains a benefit to mankind. He, who, like the fabled giants of old, had been casting mountains of sin against Heaven and the Deity, is now known not by the mountains , but by the still voice of sorrow which issues from beneath them. The giant’s power is allowed to be evidenced to the world, that the giant may be discovered, crushed and humbled beneath the moun¬ tains which he raised. Let us direct our attention to another consideration : it is one which meets us everywhere, it grows as abun¬ dantly as the thorns and thistles ; it rests upon the mind, with the weight of the heavy earth which entombs the 12 loving and tlie loved. Let us think of the fixed decree of “ Sorrow to Man/7 If we climb up into Heaven, it is there, in its unalterableness : if we go down to the grave, it is there, in myriads of beings who were by others fondly cared for : if we take the wings of the morn¬ ing and go to the uttermost parts of the sea, it is there, in those who sigh over the happy homes from which they are banished, and the gentle hearts from which they are sepa¬ rated. Let us contemplate a fond and tender pair, who have lived together as if each was the other’s memory, whence they drew the whole of the joyous recollections of the past ; as if each required the brighter eyes of the other to discern any of the sweet prospects of happiness for the future ! Suddenly, the cold hand of death is placed upon them — on them ; for it is on one of them, and they are one. Where can the bereaved husband look ? He beholds, in all around him, even in the fairest beauties of creation, the ruins of a former world; the most splendid charms of Na¬ ture only serve to remind him that they are but the rem¬ nants of much greater things which have passed away for ever : he looks for that similarity, that reciprocity, that one¬ ness, in which he formerly delighted ; but he finds it not. He looks for the loving eye, and he finds that eye is closed, and yet his oivn eye never slumbers nor sleeps, through the long sunny summer’s day, nor the long dark tedious winter’s night. He seeks the tender word, and he finds an awful stillness, and yet he ceases not to pour forth his heart¬ broken and bitter complaints. Who can think upon such a case as this without mingled pain and fear — pain for those who might be called upon to bear so great a misery , and fear lest such a fate might ever be his own ! The Almighty Creator saw that Man, even in Paradise, was an unhappy creature without woman, and so in truth he was ; but how infinitely more sorrowful is his lot when he is doomed to lose her, who has been his helpmate for a series of joyous years, and when, in her society, he has found each day still brighter and dearer than the one pre¬ ceding. But to return to the man of whom I was speaking. That man stands forth — a wreck ! a ruin ! a curse ! for his life, which was formerly so pleasant, is a burthen of an intolerable weight. He is wretched — utterly wretched. The arrows of the Almighty have been directed against him, they have taken effect — severe effect — upon him, (when did they ever fail to wound the being against whom they were pointed?) The arrows have pierced him through, and he lives to regret that they have not fixed him to the ground. Where can the wretched man look for any comfort ? Where indeed can he seek it ? Can he look for consolation in riches, even if he can heap together the wealth of Croesus? They are dust. Can he look for it in honors, even if he gain the most exalted of titles ? They are chaff. Can he look for it in the amusements of the world ? They are the ashes of past joys. It is alone, (independent of the balm which flows direct from Heaven,) in the gentle kindness of his fellow-Man — in the softness of Man’s words — in Man’s power of doing good, that the afflicted can find solace for his woe ! How excellent is that power which can alleviate the grief the Almighty has power to inflict ! 14 I have next to show, 3. That Man is excellent in his power of doing evil. Let us transport ourselves, in imagination, to a joyous and flourishing scene — let us place ourselves, in thought, in the broad carriage-way, if we do not fear the spirited and pranc¬ ing coursers which appear like the very steeds of Apollo sporting in the smile of their great master, the sun : — let us gaze upon the magnificent mansions of solid stone, which have stood for centuries, on either side — impregnable bar¬ riers erected by Man — as if the ever-changing efforts of Man, generally fickle and fluctuating, had become, in this instance, barriers of strength on the right-hand and the left, like the waters of the ancient sea when Israel passed on, triumphant over their discomfited Egyptian foes. Let us direct our attention to that magnificent column, and hear how vast a multitude of people were employed to erect it, and for how many years they laboured in the work : it bears an inscription, in honour of the immortal architect, intended to last as a memorial of human skill to the end of the world : — the demon of envy might consume himself there¬ upon in the fire which he might kindle ; but the flame would not hurt it, but would rise from it as from an altar to its honour, and ascend to Heaven as a quenchless flame of glory. When the inhabitants of that town, in which, in fancy, we have placed ourselves, desire to speak of aught as fixed and permanent, they talk of it as firm as that towering pillar ; and fathers instruct their sons to inform their children, that their latest posterity may know, by means of this oral tradition, that the town which they in¬ habit was the birth-place of the man who erected a pillar 15 to last for all time ! Let us now turn to that splendid mansion. The dwellers there take their daily bread (for which alone, as Christians, they can ask,) from salvers which took months upon months to decorate and orna¬ ment. The curtains to the windows cannot veil, from the crowd without, the grandeur of that palace; for the cur¬ tains themselves are flowing glories. The mirth of those within is heard, both long and loud ; their riches have made themselves wings, but they fly abroad only to bear the tidings of their possessors* happiness. The god of wealth has taken up his abode there, and you may easily discern his godlike properties. He is near you, and you feel it, close to you, and yet you hear him not pass over the velvet carpeting ; his image is reflected from mirror to mirror around the dazzling hall, and yet you discern not his substance. His altars ever smoke — without a sacrifice ! Let us now turn our attention to a wilderness, a scene of wild desolation. We may presume that that upon which we fix our mind’s eye was once a carriage-way ; for there chariots, horses, and men, lie dead beneath the ruins which have fallen upon them and crushed them. Heath hath made for himself stepping-stones of those fallen roofs and tene¬ ments, by which he can pass, with his wide-spreading and noiseless steps, through that which was once the gayest of the city’s thoroughfares. We must take care how we walk ; we must not look on either side of us with the expectation that we shall see houses still standing, for in so doing we shall stumble over the ruins of those which once stood there. The stones which originally came from the same pit, and stood so long, when they formed parts of houses, 16 facing yet parted from each other, have again met together, and rejoice in their re-nnion in a pit from which they will not again be moved, — revelling in the pit of corruption. Is that a piece of a column at our feet ? I can decypher a portion of the inscription of it, “ To the immortal honour of ” — but the name is gone. Can it be expected that any one will degrade himself by stooping in the dust to endea¬ vour to find the piece of the pillar which is broken off? When people wish to speak of the instability of anything, they say that it will pass away as quickly as the great column which once towered towards the skies ; and in a not far-distant time they will celebrate the praises of some then living architect, and declare how wonderful it was that he should have derived some new idea in his art, through a piece of a broken pillar which he picked up — “ a pillar executed either by a native of that town or some other neighbouring city.” Can those be human beings who appear half-crushed beneath the weight of the fallen materials which rest upon them? Look at that miserable man. He holds up a golden goblet, and he speaks. Is he praising the exquisite workmanship of the vase? No — he asks, for the love of Heaven, for “ a drop — only a drop — of cold water to be put into the cup” which he presents. What person does that splendid pall half cover ? It is the body of one who once dwelt in that splendid mansion now in ruins ; and that which seems a pall is but a curtain — the same curtain we noticed in a far different scene ; and that which could not then conceal Man’s grandeur, cannot now conceal his vanity and nothingness ! The voice of mirth, which was once so loudly heard in 17 that city, has like an infant child sobbed itself to rest ; that voice which beforetime would and must be heard. The god of wealth, deprived of his hands wherewith he can bestow his riches, lies a fallen Dagon at the threshold of that mightier god — Death. The earthquake hath done its work : and the sad scene which we have last beheld is the very same as that glorious one which we formerly contemplated; only this desolation— the earthquake — hath been present — and where is the agent ? Where is the origin of so lamentable an overthrow ? Where is the cause of all this vast destruction to be found? Is he some powerful demon, sweeping with the garment of storm, with which he is enveloped, thousands and tens of thousands to destruction ? Does he sit, a colossal monster, with huge eyeballs, like globes of ruined and scattered worlds, fixed in a dull monotony — his mouth opening only to swallow up multitudes of men, and cause them " to go down alive into the pit V* Does he remain enthroned, with his long rustling locks hanging around him — im¬ mense worms that never die, but writhe about with the pain their master and owner makes them for ever and ever feel? Where is the terrible fiend — the stupendous cause of all this stupendous evil ? Can we not discern him ? There he stands, writh his slim and graceful figure, amidst the trees of the garden. There he stands, with pallid countenance, and fearful glance cast upon the ground — he is leaning for support, against one of the weakest of the shrubs, and he seeks to draw the leaves around him that he may hide his shivering form; but the leaves — the very leaves — resist him. Behold the mighty mon- n 18 arch — the inflicter of the evil — whose trembling hand could not hold a straw ! When a man feels the weight of trouble pressing upon him, as if Sorrow had paused to rest her burthen there, and as if the present season of misery, Jacob-like and younger-brother-like, had taken the whole of the blessings, which the past, its elder brother , had been anticipating — who, I say, at such a time has not felt the blessing of going out into the bright sunlight and warming himself in the genial heat ? Does not each individual, so circumstanced, ap¬ preciate the signal mercy — bestowing its gifts of light and heat? Does he not experience that before them the iron chains of snow melt away, heated at the furnace of the Almighty Artificer of such gladness ? And does he not perceive that there is an especial “ blessing left for him,” in his thus having the power “ to break the yoke from off his neck?” This light, with this attendant heat, like the lightning, is an order and appointment of the Almighty; but it brightens only when its influence is felt to come, from one part of Heaven to another part — from the Almighty dwelling above, shining on His own habitation — the lowly and contrite heart. Again, who does not admire the innu¬ merable beauties of Creation ? Who does not behold with delight the bright green grass and the gorgeous variegated flower ? They appear to revel in the happiness of their state — they are kings and princes, with whose sumptuousness Solomon could not compete, and yet who spread their table, with more than kingly liberality, in every field and under every hedge. 19 They come out , as it were, to meet the lame, the maimed, and the halt ; with kindness even greater than if they had sent forth to summon them to come to the feast. Surely, they are gladsome and glorious sights to look upon. Let us think, for a moment — (for we cannot think of it for more, for the thoughts of living Man will ever go back to life,) — of what the prospect would be if the light and the heat of the glorious sun were denied to us. We should look upon an uncovered grave ; and the veil thrown over nature, to hide desolation and corruption, would be raised, to show us the blighted corpses which lay on all sides ! We see, then, that light and heat are the choicest and most excellent things in nature — nourishing, enlivening, and enlightening all. To what effect does Man turn these blessings of light and heat ? Look there ! See that aged man, who has passed some eighty years in blameless purity, who has been an example to the flock which witnessed his Christian labours. We see him, with his hoary locks making their way over the shoulders that bend from his far-advanced period of existence : he has nursed the sick, as anxiously as if he had been seeking health from them, and not risking the contagion of disease ; he has given his money to the poor, as if Providence had blessed him with the patrons whom he never sought ; he has given his support to the truth, as if (as indeed it was) truth had called him into life and being, and he sought to save his parent from destruction. We see him now plainly, very plainly — brightly, very brightly — there ! he scorches, he writhes, amidst the flames, 20 lashed to the cruel stake. There is light and there is heat for you ! Man here finds his uses for the light and heat ; the same light and heat which make the wretched become joyous, the sickly vigorous ; and which cause the little birds to sing, and the violets to open their leaves. Surely, Man is excellent in his power of doing evil. I have next to show, 4. That Man is excellent in the design of his existence. It seems an awful thing for such a finite creature as 1 am to attempt to speak of the designs of God ; to endea¬ vour to penetrate, as it were, into the plans of Him before whom the Archangels veil their faces in wondering ignorance. It seems as if, in trying to find out the inten¬ tions of God, I am like a child at the mouth of an immense and deeply-descending cavern, into which he throws the little pebble or the tiny piece of wood, to find out how far it is to the bottom; and he, indeed, hears his atom beating about from side to side, and he is cer¬ tain it has not found the bottom because his faculties still enable him to hear it. If, however, my thoughts be in any degree the thoughts of God, they will come out, with a life and power not my own : even as the people laid their diseased and sick in the way of the Apostles, so that their shadow passing by might overshadow some of them, I spread my poor, weak, miserable, wretched, thoughts before God, and if His shadow only be on some of them, they will rise to a life and vigour far, very far, from their own. If it be presumptuous to speak of God^s designs in making Man — yet, who can refrain ? — if, when we consider the works of creation, we desire to sec the whole of the uni¬ verse, the vast temple of God, fully and accurately investi¬ gated, how must we long, when we contemplate the mind of Man, that immaterial and unbounded mind — that temple, pre-eminently, not made with hands — how must we long, I say, to penetrate within. If it was natural in the Royal Psalmist when he considered the heavens, the moon, and the stars, to ask “what is Man” ; — must it not be almost im¬ possible to refrain from such an inquiry when we look at the mind of Man ? at that mind which shall outlast the heavens, when they shall have passed away as a scroll on which the finger of Him who wrote humility on the ground as he taught, shall have written vanity, and short¬ livedness on the mighty roof above ; when the heavens shall have passed away as a scroll on which the moon and stars shall appear but as jots and tittles in the record, although they be, indeed, in brightly illuminated characters. It is surely most important and most natural to ask, what is Man ? — for what did God design him ? for the question is deeply interesting. To attempt to say that God formed Man for the Al¬ mighty’s own pleasure is quite unworthy of the Divine Being. If we can suppose that God formed man to in¬ crease His own pleasure, then we must conceive that through the countless ages of eternity there was one point which was capable of making Plim happier, and which point, up to the time of Man’s creation, was unpossessed. We must conceive of Him as less than God, because He lacked one thing, like the young man of whom we read, and of whom we read also that he was sorrowful. One pleasure unfulfilled to a Being of infinite knowledge, (and who of course, therefore, would know of that pleasure, and that He was capable of enjoying it,) — one such plea¬ sure, I say, unfulfilled, would be pain ! Again, to say that God formed Man to show forth His praise is also unworthy of Him. For, to whom is man to show forth that praise ? Is it, can we suppose, to the High and Holy God, who receives in His own existence , the highest praise of His own conscious and immortal nature? Because He can swear by no greater — He swears by Him¬ self. His highest dignity rests in I am, without the word of praise to say what He is. Is it, then, to the angels that Man is to show forth that praise ? Ah ! would not the Almighty have rightly to charge them with folly if they paused from their own appreciation of the greatness of Himself, to hear what such creatures as Man, recently born into a lower world, thought of His merits — Man, who knew nothing of those merits compared with the ages those holy spirits had known and felt them. Is it to men, then, that Man is to show forth that praise ? Can we think that the great God is pleased to be weighed in the balance against the weight of a little dust and ashes, and not to be found wanting ? Such suppositions are derogatory to the Omnipotent. I conceive, then, that the Infinite God had every power to will and to execute, with the universe before Him; which He might have wiped off as the dust upon His sceptre, and the sceptre have remained as bright as it was origi¬ nally; that He had an infinity of happiness, arising from every enjoyment of which the mind is capable ; and I con- 23 ceive that He found the highest of His pleasures in the act of doing good — in the perfect purity of His own eternal mind — in the complete virtue, if I may so speak, of His character (for none is holy but that One) ; in His sparing where He might have crushed ; in His every action being that which is intrinsically good and beautiful. I suppose, then, that the Almighty created Man, and willed his perfect happiness. He felt, I speak it with reverential love, that to be, as the angels were, in His presence, from whom the bright effulgence of all wisdom and mercy issues, and to cast their eyes up, as the angels did, to Him who formed and sustained all things by His might, was not equal happiness to that of being removed from Him, and yet, in that state of removal, acting from the consciousness of what is right, from the desire to perform every duty as strictly and as fully as if the all-seeing eye of the Great Creator were perceived to be ever fixed on the creature who might thus be awed by its majesty into avoiding what is wrong. The Almighty knew this to be a more perfect happiness, and He willed this happiness to mankind. He felt, that to preserve the mind free from sin, when temptation was pressing and urgent, was a greater happiness than to remain for ever untempted — the mere passive recipient of the directing light, even of Deity Himself. He felt that it was more blessed to give the check to self, — to libertine urgency and subtlest temptation, — than to receive the gift of an unchangeable and incorruptible infallibility ; and therefore the Creator, willing, not the duty of Man to Himself, but the happiness of Man, formed him with the power to fall , low as the dust ; with the weakness of erring Man, and with a thousand temptations besetting him at every corner and in every nook to which his tired mind and body could turn for rest ! I conceive, also, that as some of the angels, who were for¬ med to pass an eternity in owning the majesty of Heaven and bowing before it, had fallen from their high estate of mere adoration, God willed that a being should arise by whose bright example others of the heavenly intelligences should be kept from falling. He willed that the angels, in eternal rest, should look down, and behold Man, toiling almost all the day, in dressing and keeping the earth, and j^et resting not, day nor night, without commending his soul to that great Being to whom the celestial inhabitants offered up merely an unlaborious service. And when the angels began to sigh (for it seems that even angels have repined ) because there was a voice which had the power of ruling and commanding them, then they might turn their ear from the sounds above to the sighs which issued from the earth beneath ; and might find that the only sighs that there arose were heaved from Man’s anxiety for the cool of the day, when the much' loved voice of God should walk among the trees of the garden. If the angels had felt dis¬ posed at any time to grow weary of the life given them by the sustaining power of the Holiest, they might have looked down, and beheld a being perfectly happy, having found a help meet for him in one created later than him¬ self, a frail and gentle creature, feebler than himself in bodily power, more dependent than himself on supporting care. If the angels were ever inclined to say that there was no t 25 help in the Creator ; that His arm was weak, so that it could not aid, that His strength was insufficient to support them ; then they might look down and behold Man depending for all his comforts upon her whose beautiful frame is so slight and tender, and who requires to pause for rest when she reaches the mossy bank, towards which her companion guides her footsteps. The angels, then, through long eternity, might tune their golden harps to the praises of God, in the key which was given them by Man, and might cast their golden crowns to the ground, in imitation of the manner in which the wreath of flowers — a willing offering — was cast by Man and his fair partner. I have now completed the first division of my subject ; viz., the Excellency of Man in all respects; and, I trust * I have proved the correctness of my proposition as I have proceeded to describe him — in his creation — in his power of doing well — in his power of doing evil — and in the design of his existence — four most important phases in which he may be viewed. In order that we may judge correctly how insufficient men's conceptions are of their own excellency, we must consider : 1. The causes for pride which they see in themselves. 2. Their lack of endeavour to serve their fellow-men. 3. Their desires for happiness. 4. Their constant wish for forgetfulness of the past. Let us first treat of 1. The causes for pride which they see in themselves. Behold, then, this being, Man, walking erect among his E 26 fellow-men, with raised head and uplifted brow ! Behold him, walking forth in the depth of winter, and gazing upon the broad shining sun as he stands nobly developed ! We fancy he has issued out to view the sun, and that he thinks, with pride, that that glorious luminary upon which his mortal eyes in vain assay steadfastly to look, was created a servant for him — to wait upon him all the day long, and sink away to his couch, when Man would wish to be in darkness and alone. We imagine that he listens with pride to the roaring of the wintry wind, because he thinks that the storm-god, who tears up the oak, and shivers the elm, flies before him only to do him service, and to dry up the pathway over which his conquering steps are to pass. We presume he wraps himself in his cloak to wander forth, with pride, for such causes as these. But the wind to him is unheard, and the sun to him is darkness — his pride is in the length of the tassel attached to his Spanish cloak ! And this is the object of pride to the incomparable and immortal being, made in God’s own image. Take the tassel off the cloak and tie it round a dog’s neck, and it is every whit as good a tassel as before. An hour before, it hung in a shop-window; and the most degraded of men who had possessed himself, by a fraud, of a few shillings, could have purchased it, and walked as good as he. A being whose mind knows no bound, has his affections centred upon a thing which can be measured out by the yard or the foot. He can look up to Heaven, and swear by the Eternal, that he is a Man, and at the same time he can hold a tassel in his hand towards Heaven ! When the angels, in the first burst of Man’s creation, shouted for joy at the happiness that was to dawn upon this creature, of whom they were not equals, did they then foresee, in prophetic vision, the tassel suspended to the new-born being, and hanging down to him, like a golden link, from Heaven ? Let us next think of a man presiding in all good-fellow¬ ship at his table, with his especial and chosen friends around him : the hot-house and the pinery yield their choicest and best — every fruit gives its delicious flavour for him, and the wines of Eastern climes extend to him their delightful re¬ freshment. Such glorious viands, as these fruits before him, were the food of Man when he was intended to live for ever. These fruits of the Earth bear a living witness (so to speak) to the truth, that he whom Thou blessest, Maker of every good and perfect gift ! is blessed. The superin¬ tending Providence of God, and the watchful care of Man, have made these luxuries to become patterns of excellence. The blushing peaches and the sun-burnt apricots, seem, like laughing children, to form themselves unconsciously into lovely groups for the pleasure of Man, who is to behold them. The table becomes a table with the Com¬ mandment plainly written upon it, to rejoice and be happy in the gracious and delightful gifts of bounteous Heaven. Why does he who presides at the festive board look so proud? Is he not thus proud because of the dignity of Man ? is he not proud that the Almighty should feel Man to be an object so capable of regard, as to study what is agreeable for him, as well as what is useful, — to strew these flowers in the Conquerors path on his journey to Heaven ? Is it this, then, that makes him proud ? Oh, no ! he is not proud that men have these honours scattered in their way, but because some have them not. That he has the good things of this world, and that others are without them ! Empty and barren pride, indeed, to be proud that people want ! Miserable pride, to seek his banquet from a vast and well-nigh empty gulf, when flowers, to make happy by their loveliness, are growing upon the brink to be gathered by all. Guilty pride ! like his who wanders up and down in the Earth, rejoicing that those around him want, and feel their want, and that he has caused them to do so. Let us fancy to ourselves another man walking amidst abundant Nature. He beholds the various animals around him on every side, those animals of which the Creator gave him the power to be the namer and the judge of their respective merits. He walks a Man ! far higher than the wide crea¬ tion around him. Of what is he proud ? of his Manhood ? Oh, no ! of that which is quite independent of it — of an unreal and empty title — of the one thing which has no being, which cannot acknowledge his superiority. The birds of the air, the beasts of the field, and the fishes of the deep, are realties, and own their higher master : the hills and the rivers, the valleys and the woods, were called into real being, expressly to own him as lord : but of what is he proud? he looks far around upon reality, and looks in vain for an object to gratify his senseless pride. He calls the beasts what he will ; but this title — this non¬ entity — he has no power to call himself. Man is said “ to bring nothing into the world,” he enters it, void of every¬ thing of worth or value ; yet he brings this empty sound, 29 (this title) this vanity of vanities with him. He brings it a shadow from his father’s grave, and leaves it a shadow for his coming successor ! The little child owns Man’s real dignity in his own capacity, it sees it, and it acknowledges it ; but of this false dignity it has no idea : ask a child just able to creep about, what is that before it, and it says “ a Man,” and it clasps its little hands and says “Man, Man, Man,” and keeps on repeating the word as if it could not forget it in his presence ; but great teaching and long tuition must come, before it will even understand, and still more before it will say, “ Lord — * — or “ Sir - How should we think that it lowered the dignity of an Angel to speak of him as “ Sir Angel,” or as “Lord Angel;” yet the Angels are but ministering spirits to Man, wffio is crowned with superior dignity and worship. qet us look now at another man. He stands amidst a group of armed and mailed soldiers — he alone remains with his arms folded, in an attitude of mute dignity. One had sooner dare to attack a troop of his soldiers, than, were he alone , one would dare to attack him. He stands, in the mute dignity of pride. Who is he ? Ask Moscow, and you will be able to read his name by its bright fire ! Ask the Alps, and they will shew you his name marked by his footsteps on their mighty heights. Ask his soldiers, and his name is on every medal, and in every heart ! Ask future generations, and they will have many a well-filled page to read in History ere they can give you a competent and sufficient reply. Place him, with his arms folded on his breast, beside the 30 most gorgeously apparelled of kings, with a golden crown upon liis head, and a golden sceptre in his hand ; and the latter becomes a mere child. You see that the former has only given the latter the sceptre to hold for him. Where shall we find an equal for Napoleon Buonaparte? Of what is he proud ? Is he proud that he has used his ambition and his influence to elevate Man ? Is he proud that he has raised his fellow-Man ; that he has bid the weary-liearted to rejoice and live ; that he has brought a vitality, a joyousness, a deathlessne§s, wherever his mighty step hath turned ; that the little children can spring to him and call him their father and their protector ; and that the Eagle’s wing hath shed reviving dew upon the barren rock upon which she rested ? Of what is he proud ? Of the slaughter he has caused— of the homes he has desolated — of the millions doomed to misery and death by the vast ambition of one Man ! To see how insufficient Men’s conceptions are of their own Excellency, we must next consider. 2. Tlieir lack of endeavours to serve tlieir fellowmen. If we notice a man proud of his own talents of mind, and regarding as little the abilities of others — if we see him accept the impious adulation of “ one God — one Earinelli,” we are wont to say that he has an excellent opinion of himself.5* Yet does this very line of conduct shew he has a most inadequate and insufficient appreciation of his own Excellence. If he really knew what are the capabilities and talents of every Man into whom God “ has breathed the breath of life,” he would earnestly desire to foster, to cultivate, and to improve them; if 31 lie really felt tlie brightness and the power of each ray of the Son of Man’s mind, of which his own forms a part , he would desire that no ray should be darkened, but that from every quarter its bright influence should shine abroad. If he felt himself entitled to a niche in the very temple of Heaven, he would appreciate those others to whom it has been appointed to be placed in the same glorious edifice, and to be one with him in the opinion of Him who placed them there — to be one in durability and in happiness ! The mighty son of “ him of Macedon,” who, having- conquered far and wide, “ wept for fresh worlds to conquer,” must be supposed to have thought much of his own ex¬ cellence ; but had he really appreciated himself as he ought to have done; had he known that his mind in its calm placidity was more extended than the universe he might subdue — that his smile, and not his tears, had power to conquer worlds — he would have endeavoured to open the minds of those to whom the like mighty prospects could be revealed, and would have sought to make those feel his mercy and his love, who could so easily be won by them. v» What a glorious and noble employment is it, when we come to look into ourselves, and see our own moral dignity, to minister in any degree to the wants of others, and to serve them ! What is it to feed the hungry and exhausted beggar ? It is supporting a body which is destined for eternity; it is adding to a body whose greatest increase will be to put on immortality. It is placing your me at -offering in the temple of God . It is strengthening a body to stand, which shall “ stand at the latter day upon the earth !” 32 Supposing that the great day of the world’s dissolution should come, like an incendiary in the night, and the Son of Man descend, He might behold that being, whom you aided, looking strong and healthy through your instru¬ mentality ; that being who, otherwise, might appear before Him, a sad witness that His example of mercy had not been followed, and that a being, for whom he had had com- i passion, others had allowed to faint by the way. What is it to advise and counsel, and, by so doing, to assist, in his highest interests, the ^meanest and poorest of mortals? It is acting (if I may dare so to speak) as an inferior creator, it is re-forming a creature in the image of God; it is breathing into dust the breath of life; it is minis¬ tering to him to whom the Son of God came into the world to minister ; it is rending the veil which divides the outer court of Man’s earthly and carnal character from the inner i( holiest of holies ” of a pure and sacred righteous¬ ness ; it is causing the earthquake of contrite and tearful repentance, by which the bodies of saints which before slept may appear, and go forth to testify to the excellency of the truth ; it is causing the mighty voice to be heard, which pierces through the thick darkness that had been over all the land, and proclaims Man’s redemption to be “ finished ! ” Oh ! if our eye had power to see through the frail cob¬ web of our earthly grandeur, in which we fancy we are fixed, only because we are entangled, we should cease to admire these trifles and ensnarements, and learn to admire rather the Insect which soars even to heaven, without one por¬ tion of the web to bind and sully it. 33 Most noble, and most able to bestow, is the poorest and humblest of Mankind ! The guardian angels who attended his cradle, whose bright wings fanned his little cheeks when childhood's fever burned them, whose golden harps pitched the key by which his childish thoughts should be attuned to the holy and beau¬ tiful — -and who came to him like strangers, only because they would make their distant country fully known — these guardian angels have placed on this being, Man, who is their favored care, wreaths and crowns of unfading laurel, and of deathless flowers, for him to place upon the heads of those who join in assisting and aiding him. Riches distributed by us in obtaining worldly honours, and spent in gaudy vanities and pomps, make themselves wings and fly away — to damp those wings so as to prevent them from ever again rising from the ocean of oblivion; whilst riches given to the poor and needy — extended to the widow and the orphan — make themselves wings and fly away ; but return, in the form of angels, to bless us and to minister to us. They “ fly away to Heaven," only to be transformed — for the base and corruptible to put on the glorious and incorruptible — mere feathers, lighter than air in their upward flight ; but angels' wings in their descending. Shall we fancy Cheops, when the mighty work of a Pyramid was complete, aud one of the “ wonders of the world" had received its accomplishment, looking at it with proud and intense delight ? “ Child of half a century ! whose length of life shall be proportioned to the time F which thy creation occupied, hail ! Let not a vulgar hand presume to rest upon thee, nor a vulgar touch to soil thy matchless glories !” Let us fancy, that whilst Cheops is thus speaking, a weary man, full of misery, draws nigh — the ragged vest is upon him — the dirt and the disgrace of a pauper — of a beggar— are around him : — he comes, an object that the dogs despise, and “ shake their heads” at ; and the birds of the air will not pick up the crumbs so foul a hand can scatter for them — he totters on, and asks leave of' Cheops to rest himself against the base of that newly finished miracle — that wonder of the world. “ Slave and Reprobate !” cries the offended King, “ depart, ere mine angry arm strike thee dead, to rot with the corruption, that is thy fellow. Thou wouldst be hateful in my sight were I to behold thee spoiling and degrading the glorious Pyramid.” After having thus spoken, and whilst the miserable wretch, is snail-like, endeavouring to drag his enfeebled body away, we will imagine the King falls into a trance, and wrapt in a kind of prophetic vision, sees into long futurity. The courtiers who surrounded him, look with dismay and bewilderment at their lately proud and joyous monarch. How is his vision fallen ! — -Of what can he be thinking ? He beholds, in thought, the mighty Pyramid fallen — lying scattered in heaps upon the ground, out¬ spread — even as if the work had never been commenced, save that it bears the desolated appearance which forbids it ever again to be undertaken. The hungry beast howls amongst the ruins, and leaps over the former apex 35 'which now its foot can reach. Cheops beholds also him¬ self, his own everlasting mind — the mind of Man — amidst the ruins, endeavouring to decypher from the inscription by whom the work had been erected ! The mind of Man seems to Cheops surpassingly great — whilst the work is a mockery and a by-word. The Monarch starts from his trance, and exclaims, “ Rest thyself, O ! Man ! rest against this building — even as thou wilt, and let its feeble nothing¬ ness aid and help thee !” The King thinks how well the Pyramid looks in the sunshine, and how the beggar, who leans against it, honors and adorns it. I have now to show how far short Men’s conceptions fall of their own excellency by their desires for happiness. By the word “ happiness” in this case, I mean, mere happiness in the abstract. One can easily conceive, that if the Author of Creation had called into being an Elfin. Sprite, to hunt his own shadow, with joyous gambols, in the sunshine — to stand upon his little head, whilst he listened to his tiny friends, the grasshoppers, amongst the lowly verdure, and to make a chorus by his chuckling # to the constant singing of his own gay mind ; one can easily suppose, I say, that he would have conceived of this thing happiness, as the great and only purpose of his existence. He would have thought that for the bough of the hazel to fall upon him and hurt him was the saddest thing that could befal him, and that no blast could be so severe as that which dissipated the berries he had collected for his daily repast. But, for Man to desire the bough not to fall upon him — to consider it as the greatest misery that sorrow’s weight of sickness should rest upon him, when 36 tliat bough bears the fruit of Heaven, and when it is the healing fruit alone which causes it to bend — for Man to count the dust of his suffering earthly frame as anything, when his mind should weigh such dust in the balance and find it wanting — for Man to hoard up his treasures of wealth, and be happy in thinking that he has those things to rejoice and make merry with — that those berries are in his. storehouse — what is all this but a proof how' miserably short men’s conceptions fall of their own excellency ? Man, it is true, is born for happiness ; but it is the happiness of a being that dispenses real happiness, and finds his own real happiness in so doing. Servant of the living God ! Soldier of a Chieftain whose banner is an universe, waving as He willeth it ! Should’st thou not be willing to scatter thy treasures of earthly happiness — thy health, thy gold, and thine honors — to the winds of Heaven, in order that thou mav’st stand unencumbered, with free hands, to do thy Master and thy chieftain’s will as thou alone, as being Man, art able to do ? Man, the example for the holy angels, should desire to see those pure beings kindled by the fire of his own wrarm benevolence : — he should desire to see the courts of Heaven illuminated with brightness, whether that brightness arise from his temperate mind amidst the blaze of his prosperity, or from the flame in which he is tried and purified in the fire of adversity. What a miserable want of appreciation does it show of his own power and his own excellency, that he should be anxious after, and desire solely, his own individual happiness ! The angels look not at his happiness (or such, as he con- 37 siders Ids happiness), his happiness is in this lower world, and yet he is higher than the angels ! When the sages of ancient Greece met in the retirement of their assemblies, to discuss questions of absorbing interest, they considered themselves as “ the excellent of the earth,” the greatest in intellectual power and might ; and when they deliberated on the subject of