// 5 /-»" 5:^ a o^ i::^ ^c^ 3::a. ^2^ OF THE AT PRINCETON, N. J. • » o IV" -■*. n- 1 o jv t» li- SAMUEL AGNEW, or PHILADELPHIA, PA. c^Z^^^t.^ ^! ^» - /9 _ BV 4905 .K4 1831 L Kemper, Frederick Augustus, _ 1799-1851. Consolations of the afflicted D BooUy ^^0.,.^-.^ •^•:::i" . X ^ ^^ - - p,^-::-^^o^» .e<^^Qe< ,3£<^^^SCviis COiVSOLATIOlVS OF THE AIFIFim<©^l2Ii>9 WRITTEX BY FREDERICK AUGUSTUS KE3IPER, A. M. A NATIVE OF OHIO. "O thou afflic'ed, tossed with tempest and not comforted,behold,I will lay thy stones with fair colois, and lay thy foundations with saphires. And I will make thy windows of agates, and thy gates of carbuncles, and all thy bor- ilers of pleasant stones." "JVV>?i ignurvs mali, j/iiseris succurrere disco.'* Not ignorant of evil, I learn to succor llie miserable. "HS^ '•Light are the pains that nature brings, How short our sorrows are, When with eternal future things The present we compare 1" *» Wherefore, let them that suffer according to the will of God, corainit the keep- ing of their souls to him in well doing, as unto a faithful Creator.-' PRINTED BY WM. J. FERRIS &. CO- CINCINNATI. District of Ohio, To-wii: BE IT REMEMBERED, That on the 30th fL. S.l^^''^""^ "^""^ ^°"''"'' '^31i Fiederick Augustus Kemper, of k L * '-1 said district, hath deposited iu this office, the title of a book, the . tie of which is in the words following, to-vvit: **Cpnsola,tions of the afflicted. Written by Fffid eric k Augustus Kemper, A. M. A native of Ohio." "O thou afflicted, tossed with tempest and not comforted, behold, I will lay thy stones with fair colors, and lay thy founda- tions with saphires, and I will make thy windows of agates, and thy gates of carbuncles, and all thy bordersof pleasant stones." "Non ignarus mali, miserissuccurrere disco." Not ignorant of evil, I learn to succor the miserable. "Light are the pains that nature brings ; . . How short our sorrows are. When with eternal future things ' The present we compare." "Wherefore let them that suffer according to the will of God,commit the keep- ing of their souls to him in well doing, as unto a faithful Creaf or." The' right whereof he claims as author, ir conformity with an act of Congress entitled, "An act tc amend the several acts respecting copy rights." Attest, WILLIAM MINER, Clerk cf the District. It is the design of the author (should his work be acceptable) to travel through- out the United States, foi the purpose of disposing of it. This little book inmost humbly, most sincerely, and most devoutly dedicated to the Care, Protec- tion and Patronage of the "God of all comfort," in behalf, and for the use and benefit of all the afflic- ted of my nation, the United States of America— by the Author. May God in whom I "live, and move, and have my being," enable me ever to "live and move," yea, and to die v/orthy of— even the sentiments of this book. F, ,\. K, CONTENTS. ist. For a patient seized with violent illness, and manitest- }y threatened witii death. 2nd. For a chronic patient. To the view of the first of lhe«e, standing over his bed side, I attempt briefly to bring up all th6 subslantial consolations that creation, providence and religion furnish to the human mind. To the second, I bring up the same in a far more en- larged manner. 3d. For the young in affliction. Here I attend to the peculiarity of their case as youthful sutlerers. — And, in like manner, to the peculiaritiesof the ca- ses of all that follow. 4th. For the poor inaffliction. 5th. For the vicious in affliction. 6th, For parents in affliction. 7th. For the rich in affliction. 8th. For the stranger in affliction. Dth. For the aged in affliction. 10th. For those afflicted with the afflictions of others. The 11th and last, is a long article— For the melancholy. PREFACE, THE sick and afflicted have always been, are bow, an3 ijiohi ikely will continue to be, a very large class of the hu- man family. The loneliness, unfileasaniness, pain and wretch- ness of a sick person, confined to his room, or even of an afflict- ed person that is not entirely thus confined, are exceedir.gly great, and known only to those who are in this condition, or wh > have passed through such a scene. This unhappy class of our race, as is right, have always re- oeived a large share of the svmpaihies, kind offices and labo' riotjs efforts of others. To them, another class, the doctors, are devoted They serve them |»ar(icularly, as it respects medicine, prescriptions, &c. f r the restoration of their bodies, and do not entirely neglect their minds, but someiimos drop an enio'iragiiig word by way of niedrine for their drooping spirits. This they cannot do at length, because, by their practice they make their living, and cann"t delay, but must pass on from one to another. Indeed, they are not the most suitable persons to undertake it, from the fact, that by constantly witnessing the sutf ;rings of others, their sympathies iecome blunted and har- de;ied; and also, many of them are otherwise not qualified in a moral point of view. Physicians universally admit the great and commanding in- fiuence of the mind over the body in sickness. They hair^ written volumes almost innumerable on medical science.-— Nearly all the contents of these volumes are devoted to the body, s me small parts to the mind. 1 have neihe.r seen n'»r heard of more than one book in the E ig'ish language, expresaly written for the minde of the s.ick and afflicted. This one was written one hundr d and three years ago, in S^.'itland. My work wj's about hulf accompiish- ed, before 1 knew of its existence. 1 immediately detenniaed Vi. i'BErAbJki. not to seek fer it, nor read it, until I had finished my ©woj which I did not. The plans of the tv/o are as different as they can be. In the gieat cause of instructing, sympathizing with, and encouraging the afflicted, it will be impossible for their in- terference with one another to be any other than happy. The author of the old one says nothing about his having been afflicted himself, previous to his. writing for the afflicted. In this I have the advantage of him. As is mentioned in the beginning of my v/ork, I had been afflicted nearly five years before I commenced it. At the time of my commencing, I was just rising, and that very slowly, from a violent, and threatening, and lasting attack of my diseases; by which I was brought very low, and kept so for a length of time, so that I looked death in the face, as near at handj and hung on to life by a. truly brittle thread. Being a little restored, 1 succeeded in my attempts to walk, with feeble steps, out on to the south porch of the house where I lived, on one of (jur finest days of February, 1828, with a design of getting another view of crea- tion, particularly to see the sun, the "king of day,'- which hap- pened at that time to be shining in all his splendor. While there seated, and feeling his cheering rays, and behold- ing the heavens and the earth, and being thereby a little reviv- ed and consoled, a thought came into my mind, that it would be well for me in my afflicted and disconsolate erudition, to turn my attention, whenever I had strength enough^ to all the consolatory things, and thoughts, and considerations, which I could find in the universe, in order to console my mind. A second thought arose, that it would be well, as I found them, to write them down, that I might use them in time to come. A third thought followed, that it would also be well to take some ©are and observe some order in writing them down, so that I might show them to others who might be afflicted- The fourth and last in the train was, that it was possible (as I had spent many years and much labor in getting an education) for me to make the writing worthy of the public eye; and thus more extensively to do good to mankind and my«elf, not only as it respected the consoling of my mind, but the procuring of a tiving for my body. For a length of time I most seriously considered the matter, and the more 1 considered it, the more clearly it appeared to be my duty to undertake it. In short, I felt myself to be shut up to it, by Providence: and eternity will be too short for me Xjb express all the gratitude I feel to God, for enabling me, under my extreme weakness and great sufferings, to accomplish my under- Haking. I mean what I say, and much more than 1 can say. PHEFACE. Vll. The whole is a personal, practical a^ldress. The writer (with one exception) is the speaker, standing over the bed side, or in the presence of the patient. In every case the patient is fully described. In the first case till his life is despaired of, and then he is addressed at length concerning death, to prepare his mind for it and reconcile him to it. All absurd notions about deatb are beaten from about him. He is told what not to expect, and what to expect; and much light is thrown on the subject. The chronic patient dies, and his death is described. My aim was to have the language and style of the whole, plain, easy, fami- liar and affectionate. The article for the melancholy may he an exception; because necessity compelled me to describe their disease by many of the technical terms of medical science. — This may be admissible from the fact, that melancholy is gen»- erally a characteristic of mental greatness. Such are stiJiJious and learned, and can easily understand what I have written. I entertain an humble hope, that it will be extensively useful io them. Sh )uld my work prove to be worthy of public attention, the following may be some reasons why all classes, sick or well^ should purchase it. It is written for all. The sick need it. The well are liable to be sick. All must die It tells how to die, according to all and the best information possessed by man. The afflicted do not receive all that tender sympathy which they desen^e, from those who bloom in health. This book may have a ten- dency to touch the sympathies of the healthy, and soften their hearts towards the afflicted. A person in health having a copy, may lend it to his fr.end or neighbor who may be afflicted. The rich ought to purch ise, by way of benevolence, so as to bear the burden of the expense, and to have it to give to the afflicted, a large part of whom are poor. Many who are now in health have been sick, and then deep- ly felt the want of such a work—let them now purchase against the time of coining sickness and death. We live in the *'New World." Our settlements are scattered, and many of them found to be sickly. Hundreds of our fellow-citizens have been sick, and hundreds have died in our lonely deserts, none being there to speak unto their troubled spirits such words of conso- lation as are contained in this little volume. As they go out from us then, let them purchase it and take it with them. — Indeed, here, in the midst of our thickest population, multitudes are sick, and die around us, unvisited and unconsoled by any competent and suitable persons, the clergy themselves not being ^ble to find time to visit ihem. When neither they nei- Vlll. PREFACE. any other suitable friends can go to see them, miijht they not pecommend the readino; of this little book in their hearing. O.ir community cheerfully sustains a great number of poli- tical, and a few christian newspapers; besides several literary, medical, and theological periodicals and reviews. Can it be too mufh, modestly to ask a small part of the attention of the pub- lic to a work for the afflicted? To the writer there appeared to be a chasm, a want of such a work. Whether he has produced ene calculated to fill the chasm or not, he does not presume to decide. I have already submitted it to the criticism of an an;ed, worthy and able man, long well known here. He thinks it will be useful to society Nevertheless, I am well aware that the final and decisive test, is public opinion. And therefore, 1 most humbly, and, at the same time, most earnestly, ask a small share of public patronage, that it may be brought fully and fairly before this great and ultimate test. So prays the public's most humble and most devoted servant^. and warm friend to man, and most of all, to man in affliction. The Author. OOKSOZiATZONS OF THB AFFLICTED. This world, might, with great propriety, be called, a world of- affliction. Swch is the miserable condition of man, that if we should say, all men are afflicted, wc would speaCk the truth. It is not common, however, to use the word in this unlimited sense. — Other words are used to express the generally wretched state of mankind. When we speak of the afflicted, we mean that large class of the human family which labours under some men- tal or bodily calamity, from which others are exempt. Neither is it common to call every slight calamity or disease, which lasts but a bhort time, an affliction. It is not usual to call even severe diseases afflictions, if they terminate soon, either by re- storation to health or death. 1 shall, however, apply the term to this latter description, as I proceed. In its common accep- tation, it is applied to those who are deranged in their minds, and continue so ; or to those who are very much diseased in their bodi 'S, and linger for a length of time. Such are said to be afflicted. Insanity is generally thought to be the greatest temporal affliction, t) which man is subject. It is almost useless to talk to crazy persons with a view tu comforr them. It must there- fore, be entireiv useless to attempt to write any thing for their consolation. The following hints and remarks are designed mainly, for the consolation of those* who may be severely afflicted in their bodies; and for those who may linger long under aiiliction. 1 have myself, thus lingered for nearly five year . ' 1* 19 CJUNSdLATIONS Of Puring this time, (as you would naturally suppose,) my minft has l>een continually f-eeking consolati<.u; and I am happy in telling you, my dear feiiow sufferers, that it has not sought in vain. In every stage of my diseases, notwithstanding the severity ©fm)' sutt^nxigs, 1 have been enabled to receive more or less cons^ lation from one source or aii«>ther By ihis you are not to underslaud, that my income of consolation hf s been so great as toovercon-e and banish trouble and pnin; but, only to sooth and niitigate these in stjme measure. For two or three \ears past, my afihctions have been greatly increased, through the want of suiiabie employment. I huve had but one serious time of con- fiiiernent to bed. . JExcepting ihai, 1 have not been entirely inca- patio -.A' some business. But to find such us 1 could do, which promib.-d usofi.iness to myself and others, has been very diffi- cult. A fe A days ago, a thought came into my mind, (as I have said ill my preface,) that it might, peihaps, be useful tb myself and others who are Lfflicted, to coi tect together, and write dowa some of those things which are calculated to console the afflict- ed. Becajse 1 am afflicted myself, J have ai least one of the hest qualifications to write for the attlirted. Whether I have any more or not, others must judge. In speaking to them, it Tviii be in my power to speak from experience, seeing 1 have '*felt the same." It is my wish to make this little work as gen- erally usef 1 as possible. I design, theretbie, to address those of several classes of mankind v.'homay be in affliciion. The christian comm jnity myy be said to form one class. — I shall commence by addressing Christiaos who may be in afiliclion; aad shall proceed to some length in endeavouring t« aid their meditation, and present to their view consoling thoughts and coi'sideratioiis. My Companions in affliction, with a feeling heart— with the tenderest seusil^iiities and sympathies, J would converse with yon, freely and familiarly about the troubles that are upon you. Once you were ia health, perhaps as contented and happy as it is common for persons to be in this world ; but now disease comes up. n you with pnius and sf»rrows. Immediately, y^ou endeavour to obtain relief for your body, and your mind seeks for comf irt and enco^iragement. There are only two great general sour- ces from whi. h these can be obtained — this v.orid and ihe next. You may obtain them more or less from the things and beings which surrotmd you,- or from the next world, through the great charnel of faith. 1 shall first speak of the assistance and consolation whick you may expect from this world, then of the next. My address shall be personal. THE AFFLieTEi>. 1 T 1. For a Patient seized with violent illness, and Tnanifestly threatened with death. Mi: Affi^icted I^'riend: — Four disease is sudden and vio- lent, and aiafiiiing; you may need consolatioii in this world only tor a tew days or weeks. Be that as it may, your first thought IS to send for the doctor. From him you hope for help and consolation. Happy is it ior us, my friend, thai thjre are such characters to whom we may send in the hour of flis- tress, in the day of calamity. When they are men of i. ibr- matiun, skill and candor, they know to a considerable extent the naiure of diseases and the effects of medirme; and are in- deed a great source of consolation to the atiiicted. Accordingly you send for one. The messenger goes in haste — linds hnn,— returns and reports that he will be with you in a short time. This causes a glow of hope in your breast. As sjon as he arrives he enters your room with a pleasant smiie. — Your hope rises still higher. But my friend, 1 cannot forbear to tell you not to sufifer it to rise too high, lest in a short time the Slings of disappointment be added to your distresses, an4 your case be thereby made worse. The wisest may err, and the best of doctors often do. Be- sides, your disease may be too violent for any remedy. Howev- er, he examines your c; se. Perhaps bleeds you, and gives you povverfui medicine. Then particularly states his directions for you, — charges your nurse — encourages yv.u to bear up — promi- ses to come again — bids you farewell, and leaves you. Your eyes aie next turned to your nurse. If you have a skiltul and faith fa 1 Iriend for a nurse, you may reasonably ex- pect as much coj-^olation from such a one as from your physi- cian. A nurse should understand cookery ; therefore, femalee are the best. . They are aiso m'>re tender and faithful. If she is your relation^ — yotir sisrer, }0ur mother, or your wife; we re- peat ic, you may expect as much consolation from her as from any other etirthiy thing or being, it she possesses knowledge and experience, ana especially, if she is a well informed good ehrisujui, &he may indeed ^eem to you to be — *'a guardian angel." Tiie invariable maxim and practice of doctors is — ** first make si( k to make well." Your meaicine added to your dis- Quse makes y jh, from time to time very sick. Your pains and sorrows incre.jse. You can trke but iittle fjod, and ii is not pleasant. You cannot sleep. Your nights are long, and dreary, and cheerless. Y)U are restle. s; yoi^ *'toss from side to side," and youi thoughts are continually on t le wing, seeking crso- lation. ITou look beyond your pny&ician,and nurse and friends. 13 CONSOLATIONS OF You think of the busy scenes of life in which formerly you boje a part. You hope to recover and go about, or go out and bear your part again. You think the day may come, when you will be able to walk out doors and see the world again. Behold the sun, moon, and stars— the green and flourishing, and delightful vegetation, and all the animal creation, with man at their head. That you will again see, as well as hear, the lowing; herds — the bleating flocks — the skipping lambs — the sportive dog and horse, and all the sons of men, actively stirring this way and that, to put forward their business, and gain a supply of food and raiment. You do well to indulge in such thoughts; they will sooth your pains, beguile your sorrows, and afford you some consolation even in the darkest hours. But a week or two are now elapsed, and you get worse and worse; notwithstanding your physician, and nurse, and friends, have been exceedingly attentive and faithful. You are now reduced and weak — you feel weighed down and oppressed. It is night, and you long for morning. The day dawns, and you are rejoiced to see the light. Your vigilant, and faithul, and kind nurse approaches your bed-side, and mildly asks you how you feel. Perhaps you reply, *'a little better since day light.^' She washes your hands and face, and combs your hair, with all the kindness, and gentleness, of a mother with her infant. — Gives you drink. Then in haste, prepares you sc^ne mild and suitable food, which you think you can best take. You eat a little : — after that, some kind friends come in, and express their sympathies for you. They talk mildly and affectionately to you. Tell you what is going on. Perhaps are able to say, that some ©ne is attending to vour own business, and it is doing well. — They tell you all the news, and every thing that is encourag- ing. If they are wise they will not crowd your room, nor talk too long with you, lest you be overcome, and their visit do you snore harm than good. You feel cheered and animated by their presence and convt-rsation. They seem so friendly, and men- tion so many encouraging circumstanres that your pains are lulled in a good dej^rree, and hape revives and brightens in your breast. Indue time, ihey pleasantly bid you good morning, and leave you to meditate upon the things which they have brought to your view. You do so. You feel obliged to them. You ''hank God, a.;d take courage.'" AfttT your thoughts have run their round. |»eih«ipy you feel composed, and fall asleep for a short time. When vcunwake, you see your phvsician in the room. He speaks • h. e ful y and lively to yon. You feel still more ref eshed. He encour-ges you to hope for the best — in- <|uiies aller your condition — charges you to be patient, and calm THE AFFLICTED. i :- as possible-tells yoa that by impatience you would lose st-engih^ and increase the disease. He mentions the things that are fa- vourable, seriously enjoins it upon you, not to let your thoughts pour over your disease, but to think of other things — then retires. ^ In your hardest times, this last charge will. seem to you very much like telling a dying man not to die. Ii is altogether cor- rect, however. The more you think about your disease, the more you will encourage it. You should think more of the remedy, and of being well. It is your duty to strive to preserve and prolong your life. Accordingly, you endeavour to obey his injunction, difficult as it may be. The most active thing about a sick person, is his thoughts. There is but little he can do, except think. His thoughts flv like the ''wings of the morn- ing." They may almost be said to be m all places, and about every thing that he has ever seen or heard of, and innumerable things thit he has not. You are now left to youi-self, and you indulge in thinking, and you are so much better that it is not difficult to think about pleasant things. Accordingly, you now imagine to yourself, that you will yet see many good days npon the earth — that you will yet live to serve God and your generation, a length of time before you go hence. You think you will be able again to eat heartily, and enjoy your food- visit your friends and converse freely and sociably with them — behold with your eyes, (being out of your room,) the great and stupendous changes of day and night, and of spring, summer, autumn and wmter, with the grateful and pleasing appearance ?^ and peculiarities of each, as the wheels of time roll them round. You indulge a hope, that after a few weeks, or months, you will again be active and pursue and accomplish your plans and schemes of life. In short, that you will again be well, and enjoy life. Such thoughts are lawful and right, and they bring in both strength and consolation. Neither is there any necessity for them to interfere with, of supercede thoughis about death and eternity. Every person, sick or well, that is old enough to think of these, should think of them, and feel ready to die at a moment's warning. Under all circumstances life is perfectly uncertain. You are now getting along tolerably well. The sun sets and it grows dark in your room — preparation is made to let you try to sleep. You are enabled to sleep a good part of the night. — Next day still a little better. You and all friends and even the doctor feel m hopes that your disease is o^'ercome.and will go oil. This, however, does not prove to be tha fact. In a day or two more, it begins to rise again. This inevitably brings a gloom 14 CO?7SOLATION3 ol iJver your min'l. You remeinSer the charge of the doctor not to pour over \ our disease, and your wretched condition. The old saying — "that misery loves company," is true. If you were the only person th.it you had ever seen or heard of, that was miserable, you would directly fall into despair, and give up. But this is not the fact: — thi whole worl;! is miserable. — • Your own eyes have seen it, from year to year. You have often seen the sick and afflicted. There is a certain text of scripture, which says — "but they measuring themselves by themselves, and comparing themselves among themselves, are not wise " — That is, when they do it to draw the conclusion, that they are better than others, and on that ground to boast. This text is not applicable to your present case. You will not be unwise to compare yourself with all the sick and^afflict* ed that you have seen, or have any knowledge of. Accord inpfly, ycu do so. You think of all the calamities and complaints, that, during your whole life, you have beheld preying upon your unhappy and disconsolate fellow creatures All kinds of burn- ing fevers — rheumatic pains — pleurisies — cholic — dysentery — white-swellings — broken bones— convulsive fiis — dropsies- -li- ver complaints — consumptions — palsies — the small- pox, and every disease which takes. life. Especially, you think, of all those who have had the same disease which you nov/ ha-ve, and got over it, and become well and hearty. You are able to recollect a great many that you have looked upon with your own eyes, on the bed of languish- ment and affliction — oroaning under the same disease which Do distresses you. You compare yourself with them, and remem- ber that many of them, a great many, were worse, much worse, than you are, and yet got well. Your kind nurse is able to assist you in these thoughts, and tells you of a large number wh »m she has seen that were as bad in the same disease, and a great deal worse, and for a much longer time, yet got well. She smiles, and speaks with a tone of firmness and encouragement^ and assures you that there is much ground to hope. She says to you, "do not despond — bear up — bear up — hope for the best — we are doing all we can, and shall not desert you a moment." You think of the sick persons she mentions, and let your thoughts run on at length in comparing yourself among them. You look aroimd upon them and see them now m good health, going about, and mdustriously, and cheerfully attending to their business, though they had lain many weeks longer than you have upon the bed of affliction, with the very same disease, and were much weaker. You fancy that you may do so too, •some weeks hence. On this suLjcct, your physician speaks to you. He is canaid. He says— "well, my patient, we arc sorry to see you so bad — your disease is truly quite severe, but I have seen hundreds worse with the same disorder, all of whom reco- vered. YoLi musi keep good courage. — This disease is your enemy. O.ie of the most powerful things which you have to oppose it, is a bold spirit. Brace np, determine to conquer, and we think you will d« it — at least you will stand as good a chance as < tlieri-' have." He then retires. Take notir-e! I v.m speaking of the consolations which this world affords the afflicted and discor.solate. You are a christian — you have long read, and studied the scriptures. Though they originated in the invisible world, yet they are the property of men. It has pleased God to make them a part of this world. He had them written for two great purposes — to instruct and Gonsole men as long as they live upon the earth, and to open to their prospect a happy world to come. Yuu have f )r a length of lime, looked to them for instruction and consolatiim; but now in this hour of trial, your attention is mure specially directed to them. They contain many commandments, statutes and ordinances for instruction, and abound wilh examples of affliction and pro- mises for consolation. You have been comparing yourself with all the afflicted, that have been within the range of your observation and knowledge In doing this, ^ou have been very careful to think of all yuur fellow christians, whom you have seen in ufflicticn. And you triad to remember, very particular- ly, how it went with them — how severely, and how long they were aftiicied, and in what manner they seemed to bear it — how they seemed to feel and express themselves, and act. In this comparison, you recollected a large number of eminent chris- tians, in your day, who had been grievously afflicted. In- deed, you were able to remember, very few, if any, that had not And thus you saw plainly verified, what the scriptures fully teach, that it is an established and invariable law of God, in executing the plan of ^ilvation, that his people, the redeemed, should be specially afflicted and tried — thar, '-out of great tribu- lation" they should enter heaven. When you consider your own character in comparison with all other men and christians, you can see no good reason why } ou should be exempt from atliictiun,any more than those around you. Especially, when you feel yourself altogether inferior to them. But as a christian, you compare yourself not only wirh modern christians, but with all you have read or heard of froni the days of Christ dowfi to your own day. Your mind dwells for a length of time, in thikking of all the faithful and true martyrs who have in diflfefr 36 GONS0LATION3 €>F ent ages been hunted and persecuted during their lives, and closed theni by being beheaded, or torn in pieces by wild beasts, or burnt to death '-for the witness of Jesus and for the word of God." This comparison is truly consoling to you. If their severe and uncommon sufferings and trials, and violent death, was no evidence that they were not the children of God, but on the contrary, whs good evidence that they really were, you are ooiufarted with the thought that you too, may be. la thi««, you are supported and confirmed, by remembering the invariable law — that, "whom the Lord loveih, he chasteneth, an 1 scourgeth every son whom he receiveth " You are far from stopping here, however; you turn your thoughts to aliother, and higher class of men, who in their day, gr'>aiied under aifliction You thmkof all the afflicted servants of God, mentioned in the Bible, from righteous Abel, \Nho died a sudden and violent death by the hands of a brother, down to the beloved Juhn, who was banished to the isle of Fatmos, ''for the word of God, and for the testimony of Jesus Christ." — Weil, yoa remeinber the history which you have so often read of all the faithful patriarchs, prophets, ap sties and saints, who were s^^verely aiflicted and tried — who were eminent in -degree, according to the degree of their aiiiicti'Mi. *'Th8 time of affliciion is'usuall^ God's gracious trying sea- son with his people, in the time of their rajest comforts and sweetest toretastes of heaven, according to 2 Cor. 1 . 5. Paul anu Silas did never sing more joyfully than when they were laid in :he inner prison, v ith iheir backs torn wi'h scourges, and thoir feet fast in the stocks. Acts, 1 6, 24. And when was it that J;icob saw the angels of God ascending and des(tending upon the ladder that reached betwixt heaven and earth, but at the time wheu he was in a destitute case, forced to lie in the open tieid, bavmg no canopy but the heavens, and no pillow but a stone?— When was it that the three children saw Christ in the likeness of tiie Sju of Min, walking with them, bui when thov were in the furnace, and when it was hotter tha*! ordinarv ? When was it that Ezckiel had a vision of (liod, but when sit-iiig solitary by the river Chebar in the land oi his captivity ? When was ii that Juhn got a glorious vision of Christ, but who.i he was an exile in the isle of Patmos? And, when was it thai Stephen saw the heavens opened, and Christ standing at the right hand of G.>d pleading f^r him, but when they weic stoning and braisinii him to death? So that the most remarkable experiences of G >d^s kindness, that believers gel in this world, have been traced to the time of affliction: the consiileraaon vvht^re f sh 'uid move every christian to wait oa the Lord, and bear hia cross with patience."' '^Hi< AFFLICTEP. ^^* "I observe that plants and herbs are sometimes killed by frosts and vet without frosts they would neither live nor thrive : they are sometimes drowned with water, and yet without water 'thev cannot subsist: they are refreshed and cheered by the heat of the sun, and yet that sun sometimes kil^ and scorches them UP Thus lives my soul: troubles and afflictions seem to kili all its comforts; and yet without these, its comforts could not live The sun-blasts of prosperity sometimes refresh me, and yet 'those sun-blasts are the likeliest way to wither me: By what seeming contradictions is the life ot my spirit preserved' what a mystery, what a paradox is the life of a Christian { Of the whole list of the above mentioned persons, your thoughts hastily settle upon Job. You look at Job and consi- der his case fully. You see that he was a great example of affliction. That he was, perhaps, the most fit character that God could select to afflict, and make an example f .«r his ch.uch in all succeeding ages. The candle of God had long shined up- on him, and he was prospered to the hijrhest extent \ ou look at him surrounded by his thousands of oxen," and asses and sheep, and camels, and servants, and a large family of chiidren, beinrr honoured by all the people of the country, low and high, so tbdt he was the greatest of all the men of the east ; but above all having the testimonv of God himself, that there was none like him in all the earth, a perfec: and an upright man, one that feared God and eschewed evil. Uuoa him, who was so upri-ht and perfect, that there was none like hin. upon the earth, you see God sending calamity after calamity- the Sibeans falling upon the oxen and asses, and taking them away, and slaying the ser-- vants with the edge of the sword— the fire of God falling from heaven, and burning up the ^heep and the servants that kept them— the Chaldeans making out two bands, taihug upon the camels, taking them away and slaying the servants that vvere with them, with the edge of the sword. And a great wind ii^-na the wilderness smiiing the corners of the house, m whicn his chiidren were assembled, causiiig it to fail, and cru-h them all to death. All these heavy blows were reported to him, cue alter another, as fast as he could hear. You see him th'.Js stnpued naked of all his possessions, and comforts, aod honors, and m stead thereof, clothed with sore biles, from the sole of his foot unto his crown, and they inflicted 1 y the hand ot Sraan, himseif. Perhaps vou check your th'^uohis for a moment, ana usk yourself-wiiy all this, on so go >d a mau ? An answer readily rises to your mind. You not only remember, thai a'! have sin- ned, and th'Jie is n^.-iie so perfect and nm\^\d in the sight ol G^d, ^ not to need chastisement anrd hath taken away ; blessed be the name of the Lord," He said to his wile — "What? shall we receive good at the hand of God^ and shall we not receive evil?" "If I justify myself, mine own mouth shall condemn me, if I say, 1 am perfect, it shall also prove me perverse." You recollect, however, that he spoke much of his uprightness and righteousness. You think he meant in the sight of men; and further, that he had not been guilty of great and crying sins in the sight of God or man. — That he had not sinned, and continued to sin, and delighted in sin, like an openly wicked man. But he is grievously alBicted, and you proceed to compare yourself with him. You look at him, deprived of his substance, not having his servants and children to nurse him, and very ear- .ly in the scene, (strange to tell I) his very wife becommg impa- tient and advising him to die. You fancy that your own eyes behold him covered in every part, all over, with sore, and fever- ish and painful biles, not able to gain any rest by changing his position or turning himself in hi? bed. When he lies down, he says — "when shall I arise, and the night be gone? I am full of tossings to and fro^ unto the dawning of the day." Tossings! tossings! when every gentle move causes hundreds of aching, piercing darts of pain, to shoot to the heart from eve- ry direction. He exclaims — "Oh that my grief were thorough- ly weighed, and my calamity laid in the balances together! — For now it would be heavier than the sand of the sea. My bones are pierced in me in the night season. My bowels boiled, and rested not. My face is foul with weeping, and on my eye- lids is the shadow of death! The days of affliction have taken hold upon me. I am made to possess months of vanity, and wearisome nights are appointed to me!" Not merely days, nor weeks, but months of vanity, with all their wearisome nights, you see were appointed to him, m this indescribably wretched condition. But though his ^'strength was not the strength of stones, nor his flesh of brass," he bears up, endures it all, recovers, and afterwards sees manj"- good days upon the earth. By this comparison, you may be encouraged and consoled. — Youniay have hope, both as a sick person, and as a christian. — As a christian, perhaps you pause to reflect, on the impatient manner in which Job cursed his day, and longed to die. In your present condition, you can easily see what drove him to U. But was it right? You decidedly say— it was not. Hig T;aE AFFLIGTED. 19 patience should have extended so much farther as to have re- strained him from such desperate feelings and expressions.— Great as his patience was, this it did not do. In the extremit}- of his anguish, and the bitterness of hi^ soul, being left to the suggf'stions of his own corrupt heart, and in the hands of Satan, he most violently cursed the day of his birth — wished he had never been born, and vehemently, and fretfully exclaimed — ''Oh th. t 1 might have my request; and that God would grant me the thing that I long furl Even that it would please God to destroy me; that he would let looso his hand, and cut me oSV How absurd for a rational and immortal being, and a converted soul too, to wish that he had never had existence! And how sinful for him, even in Job's extreme case, to dictate to the all-wise G^d, and by praying for death, say that God could bless him more in that way than any other, and by it most advance ' the divine glory ! God knew best how to do these for hinf, and with him, and ho did it by preserving his life a hundred and forty years, and iTiikiiT hi n doubly pros- perous. In his calmer moments, however, ''he af hori ed hi mself for this, and repented in dust and ashes, acknowledging he had uttered that he understood not; things too wonderful for him, which he knew not. Upon the whole, he held fast his integrity. He firmly said — "Till I die. I will not remove mine integrity from me. My righteousness, I hold fast, and will not let it go. Though he slay m ',yet will 1 trust in him. For 1 know that my Redeemer liveth, and that he shall stand at the latter day upon the earth : And though after my skin, worms destroy this body, yet in my flesh shall I see God. Ail the days of my appointed time, will I wait, till my change come." Moses, the meekest man of whom we read, when grievously oppressed, prayed ''that God would kill him." Elijah -request- ed for himself that he might die." "Jeremiah passionately cursed his day." And Jonah said--"0 Lord, take, I beseech thee, my life from me; for it is better for me to die than to live." You think God permitted these eminently pious and faithful men when severely afilicted, and tried, thus to fail and sin, for two great purposes, that themselves and all others, who put their confidence in God for life and salvation, might know and feel their own weakness, and that we all when in affliction, might endeavour to shun their example, and if we should feel ourselves tempted to exhibit the same sinful impatience, or should unhap- pily be so far left to ourselves; as actually to fail and madly curse our day, or impatiently wish to die, we may think ©fth^m 2^ CONSOLATIONS OV and not utterly despair of the grace and mercy of God. The} afterwards repented. God forgave them, and while on earth they looked back with abhorrence upon their want of resigna- tion, to the sovereign will of God. How may we suppose they now look upon it, from heaven? No doubt with unspeakably greater abhorrence. Under our afflictions then, let us ever pray most fervently, that God may be pleased to uphold us, and enable us to shun the bad example of these good men , and in the sharpest conflicts, so resign us to his will, that we may say with one of them — "Though he slay me, yet will I trust in him.'-' After you have compared your afflictions with the trials of Abraham, and Isaac, and Jacob, and Joseph, and the whole list of those mentioned by the apostle, in the eleventh t© the Hebrews, "some of whom had trial of cruel mockings^ and scourgings, yea, moreover, of bonds and imprisonment — were stoned, were sawn asunder, were tempted, were slain with the sword — wandered about in sheep skins and goat skins; being destitude, afflicted, tormented;" — after you have proceeded still further, and compared yourself with all the tried and afflict- ed saints, martyrs and apostles, mentioned in the new Testa- ment, you will then compare yourself with Christ himself. Here your mouth is shut, and every murmur hushed. He was emphatically called by the prophet — *'a man of sorrows and acquainted with grief; we did esteem him stricken, smittea •f God and afflicted." And why afflicted? not for himself, not for his own sin . He needed no chastisement for correction — he was not guilty. . "The chastisement of our peace, was upon him." His un- exampled sufferings and afflictions, w^ere voluntary — he did not «eed them — he chose them. He was willing to groan, and .-^weat, and bleed, and die, the just for the unjust. You think (jf him, and look at him under his great — his infinite afflictions^ You seethe sons of wickedness and violence, persecuting him ii-om time to time, and him escaping for his life. Not like you, he not only felt what was upon him, but foresaw all that was to -;ome. It is some consolation to you, that the future is conceal- ed from your view. You do not foresee all that you are to suf- fer; nor even know that you. are to suffer any thing more worth speaking of. Not so with him. The immense weight of his afflictions was to come upon him at a certain hour, and he knew his l>our. He said, long before it came, "mine hour is not^'et come." The greater part of his sufferings, previous to his hour consisted in his frightful, and soul distressing foreboding <^f the hour itself. Thus they were all made to tend to, ana centre in, that awful hour. The scene of them was not extend" tltE AFFLlOTEDi. -^I ed nor complicated, but brought down to a single point. Keepr mg this in view then, you direct your eyes to him as he ap- proaches nearer and nearer, to this hour. You see he possesses all the sinless feelings and exquisite sensibilities of human nature. As he draws nigher and nigher, his foreboding be- comes more and more dreadful and distressing, till you behold him on the mount of Olives, prostrate upon the ground, crush- ed by the anticipation of what was before him to the very earth, being sore amazed and sorrowful, and very heavy, so that his grief and his very blood burst out, and he exclaims, ''My soul is exceeding sorrowful, even unto death !" S© terrified, that his human nature shrinks back at the sight of his hour, now at hand, and he cannot forbear praying repeatedly to his heavenly Father, that if it were possible the hour, and the bitter, bitter cup of affliction, which he was then to drink, might pass from him; but ever concluding with perfect patience and resignation, not m\ will, but thine, be done. Here you learn patience and resignation, more than from all others, beside. Your thoughts follow him on to the awful hour of crucifixion; which was his hour to suffer, and the hour of the sons of mischief, and the power of darkness to inflict, yea of God himsslf tp inflict. What then must be the affliction, when powers of earth and hell, yea, and of heaven itself, unite in afflicting! You gaze at the scene— your thoughts cannot ex- tend to its extent— your conception fails-^you are lost, — you see that the affliction is infinite— altogether peculiar, unknown and inconceivable ! In comparison to it, your own, however severe, seems to you to dwindle down to nothing, and almost disappear. As you are viewing this scene, a thought occurs to your mind which is unspeakably consoling. It is, that Christ endured all this-, that you and others might, not have to groan under it eter*- nally. You feel yourself a sinner, and that you deserved to endure the punishment of sin, what he endured, which was infinite I V more than you could h^ve suflered out to eternity. Almost infinite consolation therefore, comes into your heart from the thought that you are delivered from this. His afllic- tions were penil, the punishment of sin. Yours are on account of sin, but only corrective, for chastisement. Nevertheless, yours belong to the plan of salvation, and are necessary *'t: fill up, (m a certain inferior sense,) that which is behind of the •afflictions of Christ." From all these considerations, you are reconciled to bear th'Jin, and you endeavour, with all your might, to check and suppress every qualm of impatience, every rising murmur and complaint. 22 COXSOLATIONS 0¥ These are some of the sources of consolation which this world affords you, in your disconsolate condition. These are some of the things and beings in this world, and surrounding you, to which your mind will first, and most naturally, look for consolation. As I proceed, I shall mention one or two more. March 17th, 18:48. Another day or two have now elapsed, and in spite of all the efforts of nature •and of art, and the kind and incessant help of your faithful nurse and physician, and Iriends, you are much worse. lf*ouK disease rages more and more, and now begins seriously to threaten to prevail, and overcome you. Your strength is prostrated. You are no longer able to stand on your fe«t, and can scarcely raise yourself in your bed. You are emaciated. — Yoar countenance is pale. You have a bad taste in your mouth. Your breath is olfensive, and an offensive morbid smell rise» from your whole body. You are, indeed, a loathsome object to yourself, and tlv-se around you. As you lie upon the bed, your hands are that part of you, which you most readily see; and by looking at them you discover to what degree, you are reduced. You have just got through a severe night, and it is morning. The light returns, and tills your room, but brings little or no refreshment, or animation to you. Though "the light is sweet, and a pleasant thing it is for the eyes to behold the sun," yet but little sweetness or pleasantness is now wafted upon "the wings of the morning'' to your dark and gloom/ bre.st. You turn your eyes to the window as on yesterday, but see nothing new, no variety, the same objects present themselves, and you have long since become tired of looking at them. You cast your eyes round your room, and see the table covered with phials and bottles for your medicme, and plates and bowls, and cups, for your diet, and gruels, and drinks. It appears to you, what it really is, a sick person's room, the prison of the afflicted and forlorn. It presents both the smell of the aj^othecary's shop, and the bed of sickness. After breakfast you hear, per- haps, in an adjoining room, the other members of the family speaking about their business, and of going this way and that, to attend to it. You hear them start out, and, whether it is so or not, they seem to you to be regardless of your thoughts and feelings. They are now out of hearing, and the house is left silent. You cannot follow them, nor ev«n rise up. You are TH-lil APFLICTEI?. 29 left to yourself— "to solitude — to sorrow left!'' Vour thoughts recoil upon you with great and almost overwhelming force. — Many times through your life you have visited such rooms, and 55^*1 the sick and thought ^heir case truly bad, but never before had you the sick person's thoughts and feelings. In iheir case you saw, but now you feel. And such a flood of feeling swells in your breast, that you can no longer restrain, it bursts out and — "like a crane or a swallow, so do you chatter: you do mourn as a dove." You cannot bear up — you cannot resist the tide of feeling. You cry out in the bitterness of your soul — -4 shall go to the gates of the grave. I shall behoid man no more, with the inhabitants of the world." You weep — "you water your oouch with your tears." In the midst of these doleful chatterings and mournings there is a gentle rap at your door. Your nurse steps and opens it, and bids your minister walk in. He has reeeived your call, and is Gome to see you. He is an aged, gray-headed man; of tried, and established, and unblemished character; against whom no charge can be brought, except by the tongue of slander, and whom you have long reverenced and loved, and with great de- light and profit, heard preaching and proclaiming the gospel — - "the good tidings of great joy — glory to God in the highest, and on earth peace, good will toward men." He is a man of exten- sive education. Particularly, he has long studied and meditat- ed upon, the stupendous and glorious plan of salvation, whick causes so much wonder in the universe. His mind is truly cuN tivated and enlarged. "I would express him simple, grave, sincere; la doctrine uncorrupt; in language plain, •And plain in manner; decent, solemn, chaste, And natural in gesture; much imp ress'd Himself, as conscious of his awful charge; And anxious mainly , that the flock he feeds May feel it too ; affectionate in look. And tender in address, as well becomes A messenger of grace, to guilt)' men." Perhaps like you, m days past, he has been sick and "felt the same." He is intimately acquainted with human nature in all its propensities, and calamities, and hopes. With such a heartj all tenderness, aflTection, love and sympathy ; and with a coun- tenance, calm and firm, as his who trusts in the living God, he g.ntly approaches your bed side, and in a low tone of voice oails you by name, and asks you how you feel this morning? — He hears your reply, then deliberately seats himself in a chair 24 CON'SOLATI0N3 OF at the head of your bed— tenderly takes you by the hand~-look» you in the face, with a pleasant smile, and thus addresses you at length, allowing you, as he proceeds, sufficient intervals to rest, and take refreshment. My dear tellow mortal, and fellow christian, you are sick and feeble, *'the days of niBiction have taken hold upon you," and you are brought low. The dark nights of adversity hover over you, and you are sad and sorrowful. We all feel for you, most tenderly and affectionately. Your friends have been doing every thing in their power for your relief and restoration, and the} will not only continue, but increase their exertions. They will inces- santly use, to the utmost of their skill, all the means within their reach to raise you up again to health, and comfort, and ac- tive life. The power of medicine is great, it may yet work a very salu- tary and desirable change upon you. You are not yet so low as I have seen others, who lived long afterwards. Much de- pends, (as no doubt your physician has told you,) upon the state of your mind. No two things are more intimately connected, than your soul and body. The one suffers with the other. Your mind needs medicine, as well as your body. The only medicme wliich you can obtain foi it, is pleasant thoughts. They will produce pleasant feel- ings—and pleasant feelings in the mind, will counteract un- pleasant feelings in the body. Therefore, by inviting and woo-* ing such thoughts and indulging in thfm, you will make an at- tack upon your disease, though indirect, yet powerful. I have been told that you have endeavoured to obey the charge of your doctor, and have been gathering in all the consolotary thoughl-syou could from the things and beings of this world. In so doing, you have acted perfectly righ' You are still an inha ;ita)itof this world, and i- is notoaly your duty, but privi- lege, to continue to use it to the best advantage. You will do well, therefore, to contmue mu>in: ns much as you can, upon aU the manif)ld works of G-d, which in wisdom he has made here below. The whole creation is ! efore your vieWs in all its visible and sensible oljects, whether animate or inanimate, ra- tional or irratio :al. You may view the me t and things of this world, in ever) new light you can. All the p;;rts of «reution, from thf> profoundesf philosopher, down to the minutest particle of dust, briliinntly exhii it the divine wisdom. When it is said^ *'the *vh.>ie earth is ful! of the glory of God," the sayiiig is true. Creati.»n thyii, furnishes you a vast and boundless field in which you may I«t your iho ights roam at iarge, in order to amuse your mmd and drown your sorrows. THE AFFLICTEB. 'C^. In this, you only need one cauticfn, and that is, to remember, iie and a great one, whose very business is to comfort the comfortless; whose very name is, The Comforter, and who is to abide ever with the comf trtless. His consolations vou may now luck for and expect. He is of the invisible world and himself invisible. — You will neither see nor hear him, nor feei him with your hands, but you may feel him in your heart — your discon- solate heart. He will comfort and console you, by ini'u.sing into your mind ihe best of thoughts and feelin»Ts; holy and happy thoughts and feelings. In days past he has convin- ced you that you are a sinner, and you are deepl} humbled. He will now come pointing you to the plan of salvation — yea, bringing salvation into your heart. He will greatlv aid you— teaching you all things, making the plan of salvatica to appear plain, so far as necessary, to your view; so that you will see clearly how God can be just, and yet j"stify the un- godly— how even yourself can be justified and saved. Fie xviil bring all things to your remembrance, whatsoever Christ has said or done to save poor sinners. He is rhe author of your faith and hope — he implanted those graces in your breast; and when you iee\ confirmed in faith, and your breast glows with a full assurance of hope, you may consider these flowing into your disconsolate heart from the great invisible Comibrter. An enemy will always take advantage in makincr his attacks. Your enemies, with Satan at their head, will rake advantage of your afflicted and weak state. They may pcihaps make a vio- lent onset upon you. and exeri the utmost 'of i heir skill and pow^r to stagger your faith and put out your hope. They may evetp 30 CONSOLATIONS OF tempt you to believe that there i^5 no invisible world — no God^ no Saviour, no invisible Comforter, no angels, and no immortali- ty for man. When your mind strongly repels such thoughts and temptations, believmg them to come from the devil, and you are enabled resolutely to say *-get behind me Satan ;" when you look upon him and his legions as vanquished enemies and yourself no louiier th'ir prisoner — when you triumph over them, and look with contempt upon the alluremenis of this vain and fleet- ing world — when you feel rooted, and grounded, and built up and established in the faith of an invisible and eternal workl — when your breast swells with a livmg holy hope of a glorious and h'lppy immortality — all th.is you mscy reasonably consider the kind and efficient work ot the great invisible Comforter within you. This is the greatest and fullest consolation vv hich you can receive from any source whatever while you remain beneath the sun. lt^cpe through grace;" so that you are enabled to say wiih an apostle, "you are filled with comfort, you are exceeding jovful in ail your tribulation " — Truly this is consolation which so much consoles you and sooths your pains as to enable you to be exceeding joyful in all your tribulation. Such are the conscla'ions of the great Comforter; and although he is not only the great but the great- est of all invisible comforters, yet there are others. There are angels, inferior created spirits, whose very name means mes- sengers, and who are "all ministering spirits, (and in times of need,) seat fcrtl- by the God of all comfort to minister for them who shall be heirs of salvation." They ministered to our fa- THE AFFLICTED. 31 thera. When Abraham was tried to a degree beyond what is common to men, "an angel of the Lord called unto him;' and spoke words of consolation. When Jacob was in deep distress the ^'angelsof God met him." An angel fed and refreshed Elijah when violently persecuted by his enemies far into the lonely, dis- mal wilderness. Those kind invisible spirits delivered Daniel, and many others, in the hour of sharpest triab. It is said of Christ "he was there m the wilderness forty days, tempted of Sa- tan, and was with the wild beasts ; and the angels ministered unto him." And when he sweat, as it were, great drops of blood, falling down to the ground, there appeared an angel unto him from heaven strengthenintr him. An angel delivered the apos- tle Paul from prison. One of these kind messengers visited and consoled the disconsolate and forlorn Peter, when loaded with irons, in a gloomy prison, caused his chains to fall from his hands, bid him gird himself, bind on his sandals and follow him out of the cheerless, dismal cell. ''The beggar died, and was carried by angels into Abraham's bosom." Thus you see^ "theagels of the Lord encamp round about them that fear him, and deliver them." . There will be no impropriety in your fan- cying them to be round about you at this time of need. Console yourself, then, by supposing a band of these ceies. tial invisible comforters to be emcamped r9und you, not only as a guard of warriors to keep off your enemies, but to minister consolation and strength to your feeble body and mind. Think of them, always awake, active, mighty and unwearied in repel- ling your invisible enemies, and administering consolation to your' drooping spirits. These are faithful messengers and min- isters of the great invisible King. They will never leave the post which he assigns them without his special order. They delight to help the needy. So long as your days of trial last, you may think of them hovering over your pillow, feeling for you in all your pains and sorrows, and incessantly ministering to your necessities At the hour of death, the beggar was carried by them to Abraham's bosom; and it would not be presumption in you when you die, to expect to be carried by the same faith- ful attendants into the invisibls world, which will then be visible to you. All clouds and mists will then fly from before your eyes, and you will see with open face the friendly comforters, before unseen, who conveyed you there. Th • whole invisible world will then be opened to your vi^^w in all its unknown glories and blessedness You wilfsee all the angels, and all the ransomed fr nn among men. It is said *• the pure in heart shali see God." N )ne but the pure in heart are admitted there. If you gain ad- tnissionj you will see God. 32 Cdif^0LATI61ffg &P Thus when you endeavour to console yourself by believing the aiiirels to j-.e around you, your thoughts are earned away to that hHppy home, to whirh. as a chrislinn, vour are travelling. As a christian minister, I must not fail to remind you that there is another order of invisible beings from wh'-m you may reasanably expect much consolation, perhaps more, ihan fmm the angels themselves. These beings are too little ihoi ght of by mankind in general, and especially by ihe afilicted and dis- consolate. I mean the souls of dt;parted saints. In this I do Hot design to tn^uble you with empty conjectures. The scrip- tures not only teach that the s<.u!s of departed saints are alive and active, but that they too are sent to succor the tempted and disconsolate. Christ tells the unl elievin^r Sadduceos. that God is the God of Abraham, and the God of Isaac, and the G«>d of Jacob. God is not the God of the dead, but of ihe living. — Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob, then, are alive, and capable of feeing sent forth by him who is ihe God of the living, to accom- plish any of his grand designs. They, like Christ, were bone of our bone, and fle^-h of our flesh. Tbeir spirits were truly sister spirits to ours. They had all our feelings and sympathies.- — They are acquainted with this world. In iheir day, they en- countered Its Irials, difficulties and woes. . Deeply they can feel for us, and anxious they must be to come forth and console us whan we are alHicted, and low, and disconsolate. *' Moses and E'ias. appeared unto Christ in the days of his humiliation and sufferings, and talked with him concerning the awful death tvhich he was about to die, affording him all that consolation and strength, which, as creatures, they were capaWe of doing. One of the old prophets appeared to the apostie John, and con- versed with him familiarly and tenderly, saying unto him, "1 am thy fellow servant, and of thy brethren the prophets, and of" them which keep the sayings of this book."" The days of miracles are past, and we are not to expect the sjpirits of our departed fellow men to appear in a visible mannep in order to comfort us, but you may console yourself by fancy- ing iheni, in this time of need, either in company with other an- gels or alone, to be hovering over } our bed and ministering unto you. The deep solicitude, the anxious concern of Abraham, the father of the faithful, while in this world, for the welfare of his fellow men, you well remember. All his spiritual children, ail true believers that have died and passed into the invisible world, had the same solicitude and concern for the peace, and comfort and happiness of their poor wretched fellow sufferers. No soul has ever desired to be saved and obtain salvation that ^id not strongly desire that others might be delivered from mir THE AFFLICTED. 3t* dry and also obtain salvation. And can you think for a mo~ ment, that that desire has forsaken their breasts, now they are eternally safe in the invisible world? Rather conclude that since they have tasted of the fullness o( joy that is in the pre- sence of God, and felt the pleasures that are at his right hand, their desires for the deliverance and salvation of those who are still in the flesh, are increased beyond measure. You may think of them, therefore, standing with reverence bef.re the throne of God, desiring and even impatiently waiting to be sent down to assist and console the afllicted and forlorn. O, yes! so certain is it that he gratifies them and sends them on such mepsages of love and pity, that you may freely indulge the thought of i here being an invisible band of your fellow men who were once bon« your bone and flesh of your flesh, and felt the same that you now feel, even in this time of sore trial, surrounding and upholding your drooping head, and ministering unto you consolation and strength. Abraham himself may even now be here assisting you, or some one or more of the faithful patriarchs, prophets, or apos- tles. Yea, even the spirits of some of your own departed pious relations or friends, may be round you rejoicing to encourag© and console you in the most tender and and aflectionate manner. Thus far of the invisible world and all the beings of it, from whom you may expect consolation. In what I have further to say , I would advise you to make all the use you can of those christian psalms and hymns with which you have been best acquainted ; many of which, no doub^ you have treasured in your memory. There are psalms and hymns and spiritual songs, peculiar to almost every denomination of christians. These express, ao cording to the Bible, almost all the views, and feelings, and hopes of the christian, in whatever condition, this side of the grave. They are in your own mother tongue, in plain, simple, familiar language, and at the same time in the glowing, ele- Taied, animating, and some of them, enrapturing style of modr ern poetry. They are peculiarly adapted to express the feel- ings of the human heart. So much so, that all who love the sentiments which they convey, delioht to use them. Even the most learned men, when upon sick beds or death beds, have used them to express their views and feelings, their faith, re- pentance, love and hope. They have often found single ver- ses, taken from difierent hymns, to answer this purpose in a most admirable maimer. You may do the same, and if you cannot recollect enough, some friend may read 'them for you ; especial- ly such as are suited to your aiflicted s»ate. They may also v^'dd for you passages in any good book v, ith whick you saay 34 ooxgoLATio?rs op be pleased, or which may be recommended to you by those whc ka iw wii it a gtjod oook is. liiit above all, I must recommend it to you to call to your mi'vd all tho^e passages of scripture which are familiar to you, and Mhi'-'h hive heretofore supported your faiih, enkindled your love, atid t'ri^hfened your hope. As iu the f >nn.'ir case, you may have some friend to read for you any chapter or verse that you may ch a)s^. You can th is meditate at large upaii the scrip- tures, and hear them read as tnuch as your strength will bear. Besides these exercises, there is another intimately connect- ed wirh tnem, in whieh \ou have been accustomed to engage; I mean prayer. O, what amazing love, and mercy, and con- descension is it i4i God, not only to lend a listening- ear to tha cries of poor miseral-le mortals, but to answer their prayers. It is truly amazing conflescension in the great Creator, who is the head over all and the upholder of the universe, not only to permit, but direct and encourage you and every one, at all times, but especially in times of needy to ''come boldly unto his throne of grace to obtain mercy, and find grace to help in time of need, and to speak freely unto his Majesty, asking him for help and deliverance." Ot all the exercises in which mortals can, under any circumstances engage, this is the most devo- tional and happy. In it man seems to approach nearest to his G^d; so near as even to speak with him. and to lay hold upon his strength and receive of his fulness. The mind is enlarged, elevated even to heaven, and filled with holy and happy emo- tions, li has indeed, "communion with God, and with his son Jesus Christ;" and from this communion receives a large income of peace, and joy and strength. O! then, in tnis lime of great weakness, lift up your soul to God in devout and earnest prater, for consolation — for deliverance and strength. And if you do it with believing and operative faith, you will feel comforted and consoled in the very exercise. While thus lifting up your hands towards heaven, and with your voice humbly addressing heaven's King, you will have a foretaste of heaven's felicity. "Your conversation will be in heaven," and at least for a short time, you will forget the dis- ease and pains under which your body labors. Therefore, I would seriously advise you, as often as your strength will per* mit, to pour out your soul to God in humlde fervent prayer. — Beg of him to restore you to hc^ilth, if consistent with his will, and to grant you all you need to make }ou useful and happy while you live; and perfectly and eternally happy in ihe invis- ible world. Ir is my duty to be faithful and honest with yw that you were alive, you were told ihat you h id to die. Vmi have seen others die around you from tune to tune, and you know ;i8 certainly that you must die, some time, as you km-w that you nre alive. VV'liy then be frightened at the thought <'f detih? Vuxi did not create or make yourself; you have not preserved your life, neither can you shun deaih. Ail you can do is to use the means which your physician and friends think best, and re∈n yourself into the hands of G.>d. He may bless the means in such a way that you may recover, or he may permit the dis- ease to rau;e to such a deirree as to take vou off. At ihis criii- aai time, you should take the most enlarged and extensive view of yoarself as connected with the universe. In doing this, you will look back to the day of your birth, to the time when } ou received existence and became an inhabitant of this world. — You will reflect that the world had stood long Kefore you came; that it had once done without you. From this you may con- clude that it can do without you again. It has always been able to spare those on whom death has seized, however useful they may have been, or whatever their connections in life. So- eiety has at all times been able, with greater or less inconven- ience and difficulty, to do without any of its members; even the greatest men, whose inventions and labours and productions, have been most useful to the world, and who were bound to it by all the tenderest ties of love and affection; who were main pillars in the community; on whose shoulders the great con- cerns and interests of societv rested. Providence has either raised up others to fill their places, or taught s'urvivors how to manage without them. If so with respect to the greatest men, how much mote easily can you be spared? Whatever be vour eonnections with men — however dependant upon you others nay be — even if you are a father or mother, wiih a numerous and helpiess family ; Providence will point out and they will tin out a way m which J hey can do without you. It has always been your duty to stand ready to give up this world, and let it go, if required, at a moment's warning. This is the duty of all men, at all times; for life is just as uncertain as it is certain that they have once to die. Much more is it your duty at this 'time, after you have be«'n warned tor many days by this very threatening di^c-ase, which is upon you. Whatever you may think of the buong ties ^ 6d!7SdLATlON9 OF- which bind you to the world at this time, and however ardesU! your desires may be to accomplish this or that object, yet for anything you know, you may be in a more favordble condiii^m to leave the world now, than vou ever would be again. You know not what changes might take place, nor how much worse your aflairs mi^ht grow. Thus far with respect to what you would leave behind; I thiik you should be calmly reconciled to give it all up. iNow with respect to yourself; it is infiaitet}^ more important that you should be resigned to give yourself r.p. There is no one who can be so much affected by your death ais yourself Great, unspeakably great, is the change which you will experience. But a few diys ago you were strong and ac- tive. You are now reduced and very feeble. The change through which you have already gone, is great; but is princi- pally in your body. That through which you have yet to go, is much greater. Your soul and body are still together, but in death thev will be forced to part, and your soul will enter upon anew and untried state of existence. Mf n .tare;as vvhat is to follow. We are f .iiy aad ta.n....Hy arq-iainted wih everv thing that takes place het,re death. Wc mav approach death step by step, seeing plainly the ground on whic.h we tread; discovering nothing but what we have before known, and fueling nothing but what we have already cxpe- rienced throuiih our ordinary senses; but the very first step be- vond is very much in the dark, untried and unkt.own by con- sciousness or any thing that our sens -s have l^etore experien- ced. We knowno^hing of it by sensation or consciousness— we have never felt it in our souls or bodies. ^ . , ^ i , All we know or can know about it, is.ihrough faith, founded uprn the dim light of nature, and upon the declarations ot the Bible Whatever we experience, we know for ourselves, and do not need the testimony of others. For instance, you kno^y that vo'i are diseased without the testimony of others; but vou know iioihino- .f what took place bef .re vou were born, without be- lievincTwhat vou have heard from others. In that way you may know many things to absolute certainty. Those who were a^iye then, saw knd heard, &c. the things which ihey have related to YOU. With ihem they were matters of exper.ence; they used their senses to obtain their knowledge; and by behevmg them, you also use their senses instead of > our own, to gain the same knowledge. If they are honest and true men. I say you may know even to absolute certainty, many thmgs which you have not experienced. i t u isj But it is not so with respect to things beyond death, r\o one that you ever saw die was able after death to give you any ac- count of things which he saw and felt. You see nothn^g but the dead body, and vou hear no voice. You know nothing of what he has experienced— you cannot gain any knowledge through his sen?es. j- i • Neither can th- se persons who have been drowned, or died m any other way, and been brought to life by the skill of the physi- cians, give any satisfactory account of what they saw or heard while they were dead, or at least appeared to be dead. . JNo, nor even those who have been known to be dead, and were mi- raculously raised from the dead by our Saviour, gave any ac- count ot what they had learned and ex|)Crienced while dead. Lazarus, whom hundreds knew to be dead, aud who lay four ■ days in the grave, and was raised from the dead by the almighty power of Jesus Chriist, gave no account of things beyond death. There is no record of his telling his friends any thing about even the first step which he took after the breath left his body, nor arigf. discoveries that ke made while his body lay in the grave. 3S CONSOLATIOIN-S OF No, my dear friend, neither did Christ himself, after he rose from the dead, give any iiiformtition concerning those things vvhich he saw and felt and experienced while dead. He raised thern from the dead, and rose himself, not onlv to show his own power, hut to prove to mankind the great doctrine of the resur- rection of the body. To show them the possibility of a human body's being brought to life after it was totally dead. He did ^this to "become ihe first fruits of them that slept," and to con- vince mankind that he would actually bring about the general resurrection of ail men as he taught. He did not do it to make any new experimental discoveries with a view of communica- ting them to the human family. We cannot doubt for a mo- ment, whether it was in the power of the divine Saviour to make such communications if he had thought best; and we may na- turally and reasonably suppose that all those who were raised from the dead would have done it had they been able, and God had permitted them. Certainly they would have taken great pleasure in telling their friends and relations what they might expect immediately after death. Their pleasure would have been exceedingly great to have brought up some news from the dead. This is greatly desired by mankind, and if it had been in their power, they would have rejoiced in ecstacies to have communicated it to them. You are not to suppose that they neither saw, nor felt, nor experienced any thing in their souls while their bodies were dead. As T have already said, *'God is not the God of the dead, but of the living." Though they were dead in their bodies, yet their souls were alive. And if they were alive, they had feelings — they had knowledge — otherwise they could not have been alive. But these feelings and this knowledge were en- tirely new, and could not be expressed or communicated by them, when raised to life, in the manner in which knowledge and feelings are communicated by men in this present state of existence. Thus it was impossible for them to make known any thing about the state of the dead. In like manner ih-fse who in "visions and revelations of the Lord," have se«n the realities of the invisible world, have been unable or forbidden to tell or communicate what they saw. The apostle sa\s, '^ I knew a man in Christ how that he was caught up in^o para- dise, and heard unspeakable words, which it is not lawful for a man to utter." I do not say that God could not have enabled them to have done it even through their ordinary senses, and nr.de it iawfjl; but oru^ thing is certv^iii, that he did not. Ho his not chosen this way to give us any knowledge of ths invisible world. But THE AFFLICTEW. 39 this is the way in whir-h we most naturally and most strongly desire to have it. Nevertheless, it h :S not been thought best by him to gratify, us. Christ, who was dead, but rose again, and iir alive for ever more, and had all power, could, if he had thought best, have told mr^nkind what he saw nnd felt whi'e ia the state of the dead; but he did not do it. This is not God's way. In his righteoiis sovereignty he determined that no one sh'iuld see and leel for us and report unto »;s thmgs beyond death. He was res;)lveh not only ''at suidry times, and in divers manners, spoken in times past unto the fathers by the proi'hets, buJ ba.h in these last days spoken unto us by his S.»n.'" His very Soji, -'our Saviour Jesus Christ, hath appeared and brought life and immmortality to lis^hi through ibe gospel " Ht; hath pbsin.y spoken and declared the great truth that there is another world, into which :he spirits of men wili enter at the m- ment they leave thf^r boflies To the thief expiring on the cr'ss, he s. id — "this night shalt thou be vvi h me in paradise." He and his servants even taught that in the invisible world there was a paradise for the ri-hteuiis, and a prison for the wicked. The common name for the one is heaven; that foj- the other is hell. Heaveii is represented in many different ways, and by vari- ous com[>arisons, to be a place of perfect hap})iness. In no fewer ways and by various comparisons, is he, I described to be, a doleful prison of endless wo and misery. The doctiiue of the resurrection of the body ai'id reunion of the soul and body in the invisible world, is fully taut.ht. About the manner of these, God has spoken nothing. He has only said, but very plainly said, that heaven is a h-tppy place— hell a place of misery. — That at the general resurrection the constituent part? of men would be brought together; so that they would again be com- plete, having souls and bodies, every faculty of the souls of the righteous being advanced to perfection; and their bodies being fa.^hioned like unto the glorious body of Christ. Then at the general judgment, it is said of the wicked — "these shall go ^ #OW«»f>LATION3 d» awav in^n eveHi3*inqf p J! isl^ a ' 1- : '-iit the rirrh^eons into !if^ et ra .'" Tiiis -reioril >l-rs:;ri.>*i mi of iho invisi !>; wopsd, yf\Y' \\ yoisrsi-ul will eriter imn[}e''i«te.'y af «r deaih, is all that it his pu'i^er] G i>i to yi-e to p^or d ing men P-M-haps all th * hn could ijive the:rj i:? th ir present gross state (fexisseoce, bf^in^ SI v.^ry nr\ch e.vib >r the ri^jhteous to know th\f heaven is a pince of perfect happiness, being content to knriw no.hing about the parTicu'ars. As f .r the wicked, they doult and de';y what God has spoken of >he invisible worid.and ciin know noth- ing about it, till they go and see, arid feel for ihemselves. But you are a christian. Ya'U believe what God hns sp^-ken concerning ihe unseen world. You be-ieve th^-re is a hell, and that you was a sinner, and you feit, and still feel, j.s if you de- served to be sent to that doleful place of punishment. But through the ainazing m«rcy of G >d, Christ came to deliver men from sill and «ave ihem fr m fcoing d«*wn to hell. "He that believerh shall be saved:— he 'hat betievcth noc shall be damn- ed." He that believeth ihis is riglneous — he that beiievelh it not is wicked; and we have already told you to what p'ace the riiihieous go, and to what the ^^icked. You do huuibly trust, that throuv^h ihe tender mercy of God in Christ, you have, hy the powerfvil influence of the H >lv Spirit, believed that C'hrist came to deliver men from sin and save them from going down to hell — yea, even to deliver and save you. You very humidy but confidently believe, *' th:.t he was made sin for ycu, that you might be made the righteousness of God in him." That he died Ibr you and has delivered your soul from all its guilt and pollutions, and made you a righteows person in the sight of God. That he has pardonded all \0!ir sins and ieft not a sin- gle charge against you. That 'he great Comforter, who is al- so the great Sau'tifier, has done his part for you, in executing the plan of salvation, and has sauctitied your heart, cieaiibcU it THE AFFLICTED. 41 of things impure, made j^ou holy, and sealed you an licir of hea- ven. You feel yourself to be so, and ascribe it all to the meicy ot God in Christ. You feel yourself an entire debtor to the rich and saving grace of the God of love and pity. ^ • "Though you have this confidence that you are now righteous, and whether present in the body or absent from it, wili be ac- cepted of God; yet you were not always so, and you have l-een deeply sorry that you were once altogether unrighteous. Y -ur lieart has been repeatedly moved and melted with ''that Godly sorrow for sin, which worketh repentance unto life, not again to be repented of." In short, you are a christian. You are a new creature. ''Old things are passed away — all thintis are become new." Your heart has been emptied of all unhoiv pas- sions and feelings, and filled with all holy affections and graces. You have not iiow to begin to think about the work of snlva- tion in this hour of racking pain and distress, but have long been engaged in it, have long been '*grov>ing m grace and in the knowledge of your Lord and Saviour Jesus Christ," till you have arrived, (as you humbly trust,) to some degree of mctu- rity in the divine life and in conformity to the image of God Thus, through the amazing and unajccoumable grace of God, you feel yourself to be righteous in all respects, and "made meet for the inheritance of the saiots in light." But it is only the wicked that "go away into everlasting punisliment." What need have you then, to think of hell? You have none. Not the slightest thought need come into your mind about "the worm that never dies — the unquenchable fire — th3 everlasting fire prepared for the devil and his angels." If you think of it atall,you may think of it only as a place of indescribable and ev- erlasting punishment for the wicked, from which you have made your escape. You have escaped "from the wrath to come." And what is there beyond death, my dear friend, that is ter- ribly, but hell? Nothing — no, not even the shadow of any thing. But on the contrary, all that is desirable. If 3 our character is really such as you profess, and I have described; if you have indeed escaped from sin and unrighteousness, you need fear nothing that will follow after death. Therefore, if it be the will of God to remove you at this time into the invisible world, there is no reason why you should not be entirely resigned to give yourself up. The great change which you will experience, will be for the better, and not for the worse. 4bout that which is to follow you are satisfied The momentous and ail-important question to which place you will belong in the iavisibie world,the paradise or the prison,is settle^. 4 4'2 COXSOLATIONS OP By escaping from sin and unrighteousness, you escape ^rom ihe second death, which is eternal death. This death, is infi- nitely more terrible than the first death, which is the dissolu- tion of nature. The dissolution of nature— the death of the body — we cannot escape , no matter how righteous we may be. But O, my dear fellow christian, how happy -is it for us, and how our hearts ought to be filled and overflow with gratitude to God, for providing a way by which we can be saved from eternal death in hell! This is that death which is terrible. — 1 his is that awful thing which is to follow the death of the bodies of the wicked, which causes them to tremble and shud- der. And well they may, for frightful as the death of the body is, it is nothing in comparison to eternal death. This has in it every thing that is awful. Of all things that have ever been brought to the view of man, it is the most terrible. We all know what sufferings are in this life; and we feel them to be great be- fore we come to die the first death — the death of the body. — This we find to be the greatest calamity (as I have said) that befalls human nature beneath the sun. But the death of the body is only the more full introduction to eternal death. Eter- nal death is the great evil of evils, the infinite, endless, and in- describable calamity which IS to come upon the wicked. But Christ hath appeared and by his own peculiar, infinite, und unknown sufferings and death, has more than equalled, and has actually abolished eternal death for all who will believe in him. This you humbly trust you have done. Therefore, you feel 3'ourself delivered from this unequalled, this greatest of all calamities, from hell and the death that never dies . Therefore I repeat it, if it be the will of God that your body should die ^t this time, there can be no reason why you should not be en- tirely resigned to his holy will. God is a great Creator and a great King; he has many worlds, some smaller, some greater. The earth is one. You now find yourself here upon the earth, and like the rest of your fellow beings, passing through to an- other of the worlds of the great King. All that are alive, the whole family of man, are moving onwards in the same march. Such are the arrangements, such is the plan of the great King. Human beings are to begin and pass through the first stage of their existence here, then move on to another. Believing and feeling yourself to be immortal, that you have commenced an existence that will never end, and taking this extended view of the march of man, and knowing that neither you nor an\ other can be exempted from this march— 1 am persuaded that from this, and the various other considerations which I have men ioned,you wi 11 be unreservedly resigned to die. THE AFPiitCTED. 4'^ To the infidel, life and immortality are not brought to light. He does uot know nur believe with any certainty, that he has commenced an existence that will never end, and that he is movint' on from stage, to stage, according to the plan of (he great King. He believes as far as he ran see, and he sees that k is the aiTanoement and plan of God for all men to die. From this consideration, many of them reconcile themselves to meet death They determine not Cb look <.ne step beyond. With regard to the future, they blind and stupify themselves, blunt their feelings, harden their hearts, and iull their con- sciences to sleep, and if God leaves them to themselves and does not wake them up and frighten them by bringing to their view the terrors of eternal judgment, they die as composed as ihe christian, step ofl' into profound darkness, and pass on till iu hell they wake and "lift up their eye§, being in torments.*'— But perhaps, far the larger part die in so much horror as to terrify all about them. Not so with you ; you steadily and firmly believe that the great King has indeed many worlds; that you have onl\ com- menced vour existence here m quite an inferior condition, un- dei many disadvantages and d]i>iculties, and that at death you will be advanced to a mi»re exalted and hanpy state. You believe that the great King governs ail bis worlds, the whole universe, by one connected and unbroken plan, and that it is a part of his exten/led and stupendous plan to reedem and save, Ihrougli Jesus Christ, a rriysteriosis but real Saviour, all those from among men that believe in him and seek salvation through him. In developing this part of hJ3 plan to men he has not only brought life and immortality to light for those that will believe, but for their encouragement has made known unto them the ex- istence of another and higher order of beings, called angels. It is generally thought that.all his worlds are inhabited ; but this is not certainly known. The christian, however, certainly knows that there are angels in heaven, mighty, and holy, and happy spirits, superior to man. He is informed that at death he will be admitted into their happy society. These pleasing truths the infidel does nr>t embrace, biit reject.-;. And perhaps like a •■ Sadducee, believes that there is neith(;r angel, nor spirit, nor resurrection of ilie dead." Therefore, when you view the march of man, you follow him not merely to the cold and silent grave, but throughout the endless ages of eternity. \ou are favored with a further development of the plan of the grea! King than the infidel. He sees only that part of his plan whicl: r'^anho^ tho ^h^''X di-'tnnro r.^ roan's mnr^b. noon th^ eartb - 44 CONSOLATIONS OF Vou see that inarch in its whole course through never, ending duration. If it is possible for the infidel to be reconciled and resigned to die, from his limited view of the plan of the great King, how much more possible is it for you? Before him, when dying, there is no light^at all, not a single ray —but thick and impenetrable darkness. You may see, not with your common eyes, but with the eye of faith, not only the vast and glorious paradise of the great King, but all the saints and angels that dwell there. The doleful prison with its glooms, and horrors, and woes, and Aveeping, and wailing, and gnashing of teeth, is not before you; but the blooming heavenly paradise with all its fragrant trees, "and the tree of life, which is in the midst, and its rivers of pleasure which flow for eveVmore." This paradise is heaven, that glorious and happy resting place which God has prepared for weeping weary pilgrims. Into this paradise you may as con- fidently and certamly expect to step, the moment your body is dead, as you ever expected any thing which depended upon the truth and veracity and power of God. Though your pains and sorrows are at this time very distressing, and you are truly in crreat tribulation, yet you feel as if you had "wa?hed your robes and made them white in tHe blood of the Lamb." Therefore, im- mediaJely after death, you will be ^'before the throne of God, and serve him day and night in his temple: and he that sitteth on the throne, shall dwell with you. You shall hunger no more, neither thirst any more: neither shall the sun light on you, nor any heat. For the Lamb which is in the midst of tho throne, shall feed you, and shall lead you unto living tbuntains of waters: and God shall wipe awa-y all tears from your eyes; and, for vou, there shall be no more death, neither sorrow, nor (drying, neither shall there be anymore pain: for the former things will then all be passed away " "O, the transporting rapturous scene that rises to your sight, Sweet fields arrayed in living green and rivers of delight." Paradise! paradise! with ah its fruits au() tlo.wers, hs waving trees, its hills, and plains, and rivers of pleasure^ gently flow- ing forever more. O, my dear christian, let your faiii be strong, and look away to this blissfulplace! See the happy saints and angels, wandering in every direc- tion, plucking delicious fruits from every blissful bough— de- lightino- themselves under the arbors, among the flowcr3,throngh the groves, over the hills, down the /alleys, acrc^s the plains, and by e Deity, who shine with such surpassing lustre that they are called stars. — See with what superior loftiness, glory and dignity, they stand, about to worship the eternal Jehovah I They are arrayed in or- naments, according to their rank and dignity ; observe their flowing robes of spotless white, of heavenly texture, and heav- enly glory, such as become high, and holy,and mighty and hap- py angels to v/ear. See the starry, dazzling, angelic crowns, which rest upon their lofty heads. And that you may be elated and enraptured with the view, continue your gaze till the whole assembly, <'this in- numerable company of angels, together with the church of the first-born among men which are written in heaven," perform One united act of heavenly worship. They are in the midst of the oity of the living God, the heavenly Jerusalem. They are come unto mount Zion, the true Zion above, on whkhi the throne of God is erected. They have assembled in full assembly, round this holy hill, and awful throne, '< to offer unto God thanksgiv* ing, and pay their vows unto the Most High." Call upon thy soul and all that is within thee, to witness the exalted worship of those innumerable and happy spirits. Behold in what per- fect order they stand, ready to move in exact concert and speak as with the voice of one. See them lift their crowns from their heads, all at the very same moment, and with the profoundest reverence, humility and solemnity, cast them down "before the throne, saying Holy, holy, holy Lord God Almighty, thou art worthy, O Lord, to receive glory, and honor, and power: for thou hast created all things, and for thy '{pleasure they are and were created 1" "Bles- sing, and honor, and glory, and power be unto Him that sitteth upon the throne, and unto the Lamb, for ever and ever." Lis- ten at their loud, melodious, harmonious and enrapturing songs and Alleuias " It is as it were, the voice of a great multitude, and as the voice of many waters, and the voice of mighty thun- dering saying Alleuia: for the Lord God omni^^Jtent reigneth.' I^el a^ be glad and rejoice and give honor to him. Great ' J' THE AFFLICtEJ>. ^7 aQcl inafvellous are thy works, Lord God Almighty, just an^ true are thy ways, thou King of saints." Behold the face of the great King, shining and smiling upOn them with divine complacency and approbation, while he freely and abundantly imparts into their hearts, all blessings, life and peace, and fullness of love, and fullness of joy, till they are filJ- ed with all good; blessedness, blessedness complete, unspeaka- ble, infinite! O, who would not die? what christian would not die and go and bfr among them there, to see what they see, to hear what they hear, to feel what they feel, and to enjoy what they enjoy? To enjoy "God, the fullness of him who filleth alJ in all." Certainly, my dear christian, if it be the will of God that you should die at this time, there cannot be the least re- maining reluctance in your heart; there cannot be one singly tie of any kind, binding you to this world of sin and misery, which you would not be reconciled and resigned to see giving Tvay— yea, which you would not be willing, and even rejoice to see snapped asunder. Firmly believing, with an apostle, that for you to die would be gain, yea, infinite gain. So that, like him, you are "willing rather to be absent from the body, and to be pre- sent with the Lord, having a desire to depart, and to be with Christ; which is far better." If you feel thus, let me talk to yoa a little more plainly about your departure. The counsels and ap- pointments of God are a profound deep. It is altogether unknown whether you are to depart at this time or not. If you should, death is represented in the scriptures to be a great monster, standing in a dark valley, which is called " the valley of the shadow of death." It is a gloomy valley, overshadowed with thick shadows and filled with darkness. As I have already told you, there is no light admitted into this dismal valley from any direction but one; and that is from heaven, through the channel of faith. No light will enter into the valley behind you and follow you. You will see none upon your right hand or upon your left. A gleam will enter from the farther end of the valley and will meet you. It will be brighter or less bright, according to the strength of your faith; and if you have no faith at all, there will be no light at all from that source, not even a gleam. If your faith be strong, that gleata will be bright enough to lead you straight on, so that you will not stumble nor step out of the way to the right or left. But the grim monster stands in the way, and you will have to meet him. What is more, you will not only have to enter the valley alone, without a visible friend, but unattended by such you will be compelled to meet the monster. Your dear, and tender, aad. -48 CONSOLATIONS OF lafFectionate felations and friends, may attend you down to the head of the valley. But there they must stop. However, de- sirous they may he to accompany you on still, to aid and com- Ibrt you, there they must stop. Indeed, instead of aiding you, they may be an injury to you, in expressing and showmg their reluctance in giving you up and parting from you. Though you are perfectly resigned to die, and leave the world, and see and feel all your tenderest ties to them broken, yet it may dis- tress you to see their hearts wrung with sorrow and broken with griet at the painful separation. Very likely in this situa- tion you will have to enter the gloomy valley. So soon as you shall have parted from them and entered in, you will proceed on, though not unattended, not alone. Oh no my dear christian, not alone ! Thougli you shall have left all visible friends be- hind, yet you will be attended by a great invisible friend, bet- ter than all others beside; so that you need not fear. What said one of old, when speaking of the goodness of God? ''Yea, though 1 walk through the valley of the shadow of death, r will fear no evil, for thou art with me; thy rod and thy staff they comfort me." Great is the goodness of God and amazing his condescension. He knows your weakness and will conde- scend to be with you, and' go with you through this dismal val- ley. Yea more, he will walk by your side, and even lend you his staff for you to walk with, to support and comfort you. — Though you have to meet the grim monster himself, and fall a prey to him, you need fear no evil. As you approach him, you will do well to remember that he is robbed of his sting. — His only weapon with which he could oistress, and mangle and torture, and eternally distroy his prey, was his sting. This Christ has plucked from him, so that he cannot use it against those who believe in Christ. This poisonous and deadly sting was sin. Though he is not allowed to use his sting against the righteous, against true Christians, yet he has power without it to conquer them. But you will have this consolation. Not every one that is overcome and conquered is destroyed. War- riors sometimes surrender and become captives to the enemy with the hope that the conquerors will spare their lives, so that they may again be restored to their government. This the vic- tors may not do, buf maycut them off, so that the time will never come when their government ".vill againhave their servi- ces Death is not such an enemy ; he has not such power. Over your soul he has no power at all ; it is your body only that must ifall a prey to him,and this he cannot destroy ,he can only keep it a captive till the time appointed by God, and then he ^yill be compelled to deliver it up. Then your body itself— this cor- THE AFFLICTED. 40 I'Llptible shall put on incorruption, and this mortal shall put on immortality. Then shall be brought to puss the saying that 13 written, " Death is swallowed up in victory.'" Then you will be able to rejoice and exult, and triumph and exclaim — "O death where is thy sting? O grave where is thy victory?" but never till then. At this time you will have to surrender and temainhis captive until that appointed day— that great and signal day of the general resurrection of the bodies of all men. Though God accompanies you and walks by your side in this dark valley, and right on to the monster himself, yet you arc not to expect him to interfere. It is his design and purpose to permit him to conquer you. All God will do will be to encour- age and support you to believe what I have stated to you. — That is, that your soul will not be injured by the monster, and immediataly after the conflict will enter Paradise; and that your body will only be captivated and held in captivity for a time. He will keep you from fearing that the monster will swallow you up in victory forever, and make you believe that in due time you will thus swallov/ him up. Thus you wil^not be suffered to sink into frightful desperation. s When you draw nigh ,to him and certainly know that you must meet him in a moment or two, it witl not be advisable for you to make an onset upon him and attempt to measure arms with him This will be all in vain and do you no good, but great injury. Your best way will be to become his easy prey and disappoint him as much as you can. Just quietly and calmly surrender yourself up, sink under his monstrous arms, if possi- ble, without receiving a single blow or having the least strug- gle. So soon as your body shall be clasped in the cold arms of the great andinvincible, and insatiate monster, oefore whom all flesh must fall, you will proceed on through the remaining part of the valley with inconceivably greater rapidity. Yon will no longer need a staff to support your doubtful and mis- giving feet. God will convey yoa onward, not upon feet but upon wings. You will be delivered from the burden and in- cumbrance of your body. He will mount you up on the wings of spirit, and you will fly "swift as an arrow cuts the air," yea, like a ray of light. In a moment, in the twmkling of an eye, you will be at the farther end of the valley. The outlet of the valley is also the inlet into heaven. The gate or door opens into heaven. He will cause it to fly open by the touch of a God, and bid you "enter into the joy of your Lord." You will spring forth out of the valley of darkness into a world of light, a world of light, of life, of glory; of honor and of full and eternal blessedness. OO COI^SOLATIOJx'S OP You will be yourself immediately "transfigured/' and will he within tl'.e heavenly paradise, to behold with 30U1 own e^res, with open fki e, its ^'swee* tields arrayed in living green and rivers of delight," its fragrant trees of life and its chr.rmmg flowers, with its beautiful rivers, kc. You will not, however, delay any lengih of time gazing upon these inferior delights, but will move rapidly on into the interior, into the mt troj-olis of the grenf King; right on to that innumerable compan}' and as?embiy of uoi^hiping angels and men, to which 1 have en- doavoft'd to direct your acimirif'g gaze. Their atientioa nill be turned towards you. Every eye will look upon you, and every countenance will smile with approbation upon the new comer. With one united voice, they will rejoice, and shout you a most-hearty welcome to their blissful realm, their happy home. When you arrive among them, you will be most likely first to meet those whom >ou knew upon earth. They will Kereive you into their joyful arms and give you a warm and feeling emt)iace, such as spirits know and have. As you pass through Iheir host, you will see the patriarchs, prophets, and apostles, but you will hurry on to the ^hrone itself, to receive the welcome of Jesus your Saviour His human nature will strongly aitract vuur attention, appearing so much like those beings whom you have heen most accustomed 'o see. With the combined glory and amiableness of God, and man, he will cause his face to shine upon you. Yea, he will even pronounce upon you the great welcome which he will repeat at the day of judgment upon all his followers — *'Come you ran- somed of mv Father, inherit the kingdom prepared for you from the founOatii'n of the world:'* at the same time taking you up into those xevy human uvms into which he kindly took lit- tle children and blessed them, while on earth, giving you a divine embrace and pionounrtng you ble.ssed for ever, God The Father, and the Holy Spirit will rejoice over you. All heaven will gnze upon (he scene, and admire and rejoice, not merely over a repenting smner, but over a sinner saved, eternally saved, brought home t(* heaven, and glory, and hap- piness. All the " bells of the city" will ring you a loud wel- come, and every voice will say, Amen. You will not be overawed m^r overcome but will be support- ed to receive the whole with composure, and with joy unspeak- able and full of glory," You will indeed feel yourself in a new world, in new society, receiving new treatment and hav- ing new feelincTs. You will feel enlarged. Your heart will be filled, yea, will be ravished with joy and delight. Thus rov d^ar christian; 1 have talked to you plainly abouX THE AFrLICTFJD. 4* death. I have told you what you may reasonably, not expect, and what you may expect according to the Scriptures. In speaking of death I have used the figure of a vailey which the Scriptures give us. Plain as my talk has been, I feei as if I could not leave you till I talked still plainer to you on the sub- ject. I wish to lay aside all figures and converse with vou more familiarly and more clearly concernmg your departure. The scriptures tell us to -'mark the perfect man, and behold the upright: for the end of that man is peace." But they give us very few ex-imples of the particular manner m which the perfect and upright have died. They tell us that •'when Jacob haft made an end of commanding his sons, he gathered up his feet mto ihe bed and yielded up the giiost, and was gathered unto his people." ''When Simeon took the child Je«us into hisaims^ he sHid,nowLord lettest thou thy servant depart in peace;" but we know not that he then departed. The apostle when speak- ing 'f Abel, E ioch,Noah, At)raham, and the other ancient be lievers, says, "the-^e all died m faith." Thus we are told in a general way, that they died in peace and m faith. No d dd be more reasonable for yoU to expect to die as men gener:tny d>e, aaJ o.^ perhaps you have seen many others depart, without any very striking appearances of faith, hopo or comfort. Dreidful are the paino, .'."1 s'Tuggles, and -igonies of death, and it is truly great and special mercy ia God to enable any one while experiencing them to exhibit those happy views and feelirigs. Should you not be enabled to exibit them, yet you will possess them. God will be fjitbful to you, he will not desert you, " you will die the death of the rii^h eoi^«, and your hst end will be like his," if you approach that hoiir, feeling yourself to be made righte- ous, as you humbly think you have been and now are. My dear feeble fellow mortal, you must trust in God whenyoii die. You do not live, nor move, nor have your being in yourself. ^ You live, and move, and have your being in God." This is the case with you, and all men, whether thev are sensible of it or not. The great body of them do not appear to be sensible of it. There may have been a time when you were not sensi'ole of it ; when you did not feel your dependence on God. Before you embraced re- ligion, you may have had no realizing sense, that you lived, and moved, and had your being in him. And even afterwards, you may have thought, that you believed you lived, and moved, and had your being in him, but at the same time had no deep and re- alizing sense of your entire and absolute dependence upon him for all things in I'fe and in death. Previous to this present sickness, when you felt well and strong, very likelv theie w-« but a faint impression upon your mind, of your own weakness, and helplessness, and your entire and absolute de- pendence on God. Nevertheless you may have had some impres- sion of this great tnith. But now you begin to realize it with all your heart, and in all your feelings. You find that your own strength on which you de- pended begins to fail you. You had great dependence on your phisician and friends, but these begin also to fail you. Their skill and power seem to be nearly exhausted, and you feel as if they now do you little or no good , and that if you get a little worse they will be able to do you none at all. You naturally and necessari- ly look around for on« th»< -s able to help. You know that yon 56> oomsoijations ur will look in vain to the princes and mighty men of the earth ; they cannot help you. Your physician and friends can do as mucB for you as all the world besides. The whole world, with all its inhabitants, does actually begin to give way, and retire out of your view. Never before had you such a sense of the utter weakness of man, and the entire insufficiency of all earthly things. Now you have the sick man's views and feelings, which, they who have not been sick and brought nigh to death, know but little about. Now you are so far from having strength to attend to the schemes and affairs and business of this world, that it is all you can do to hold on to life, and you begin to feel as if you would not be able to do this much longer. The life of your body is supported by food ; — by bread, and water, and air; and light contributes greatly to the comfort of man. Ail these great and only supporters of the life of your body, you' begin to feel no longer able to recieve, and what little you do re- cieve of them, does not appear to reach your case, nor to contwbule to the nourishment and support of your animal nature. You can take scarcely any food, or any drink ; yea, so weak are you, that you can scarcely use the air itself, can scarcely breathe it into youf lungs, and force it out again, to receive that which is fresh and more active to support life. Yea,- more, so weak are your eyes, that per- haps you cannot bear even the light. Thus you begin to feel as if the time were nigh, when you eould no longer eat, drink, see ot breathe. In short, when you will be able no longer to hold on to the world, nor the world able to hold on to you ; when you must ]el go of it, and youi friends must let go of you. O now ! you begin to see, and realize deeply, most deeply, that " vain is the help of Tnan." This declaration of the oracles of truth comes home to you with great weight, it finds its way into the very bottom of your heart, — " vain is the help of man." And now you feel, and real- ize your dependence on God. All language fails to express that deep and feeling sense, which you have of your dependence on the Divine Being. You see, and know, and feel, and realize, that it is true, it is indeed true, that you depend on God — thai he created you, and upholds you, and that he alone can take cave of yo^i in hfe and in death. You gladly make the " Eternal God your re- fnse, and have underneath you the everlasting arms." In him yoU trust. — On him you rest your body and soul. This you have long endeavored to do, but have never yet done it so fully and un- reservedly as you do it now. You see, and are sensible, that he and he only, who made the universe and upholds it, can conduct the various parts and beings of it through those changes, through wKich he designs them to pass, and take care of tliem while pass- THE AFFLICTEDi ^*^ ins That he alone can guide the innumerable worlds which wheel their circles in boundless space. That he not only does this, from the greatest to the least, but takes care of even the spar- rows when they fall. . , . And here you remember with deep interest that encouraging declaration of the scriptures--" Fe.r ye not therefore ye are of more value than many sparrows." You feel yourself to be of more value than many sparrows. You have all confidence then that if God takes care of the spnrrows when they fall, he will not tail to take care of you when you die. You know that your soul is a spirit, and that God is a spirit; that spirit can act upon spirit; that he, the Great Spirit ; can alone support and comfort your spirit, m the dyintr hour, while it is passing from time to eternity. You re- meniber with pecnhar pleasure the manner in which he took care of dyina Stephen'i spirit, in the hands of the great Mediator, and you trust in him, that without a miracle he can lake as good care of yours. From all these thoughts and considerations, you settle down into the most unreserved and confirmed trust in God-. This is right.— This is just as it ought to be. And now, for your encouragement let me tell you the difference between your trust and the trust of the deist or infidel. You trust in God when you are dying, and so does the infidel. You believe there is a God, who is a spirit, and you trust in him, and so does he. The great diiference between your trust and his, consists m the following things. " . You believe that man in this world is a sinner m a state ol sin and misery, and that God has laid a plan for his salvation, sent his son the great Mediator to execute it, and pointed out the means of this plan which man should use. Some of these means are to read it attentively, with an earnest desire to know the truth, and to pray with all the heart for salvation according to it, in God's own way, and not in a way of our own clioosing. These with all other means you have most carfully used. The infidel doubts, and denies, and rejects this plaft of salvation, and this Mediator; at the same time knowing that there is no other, and when becomes to die has not used the means pointed out in it. His spirit has been at war with this plan, at war with the great Mediator, and he has resolutely refused to use the means of salva- tion, the means of God's appointment. In lliis he has acted con- trary to the manner in which he has acted in all the great concerns of life. He has ever used the means to procure food, and to pre- sei'^e the life of his body. And while be wis using them—while he was planting his corn and sowing his seeds, he very consistent- ly trusted in God for a crop — for food to keep his body alive, but when he comes to die he has used no means for the salvation of 5* S'S CdN30LATlONal OF his soul. Nevertheless he stupidly trusts in God for that.— Though God has given him no warrant, nor any encouragemen'i: whatever to trust in him, without using the means which ho has appointed, yet he .does it. Having resisted the strivings of the Holy Ghost, and not having cried out " men and brethern what shall I do?" Without ever having felt his sins pardoned, and lemoved from him- — without ever having tasted a Saviour's love, or felt the strong supports of the Christian fa th and hope, he trusts in God when dying. Without ever having believed the account given of the happy departure of Stephen's spirit, in the hands of Ihe great Mediator, he trusts in God that his too will have a happy departure, in some unknown way, some way that he knows nothing of, and has no concern about. Thus he trusts in God. He runs an indescribable risk for eternity, to say nothing more.-r Not so with you. You run none at all. He is on the side of aw- ful hazard. You are on the side of perfect safety. Be consoled then! O be consoled my dear feeble fellow chris- tian! and if God's good time has come for you to die in a few days, just continue to trust in him as you are doing, and he will take care of you. Be calm and patient as you possibly can. Some litlle time before you come to the last moment, the last lireath, while yet you have a little strength, if your senses be con- tinued with you, remember that Sampson in his dying hour killed more of God's enemies than in all his life ; do not fail to bear your decided testimony in favor of God's gracious plan of sal* vation. Speak most tenderly and affectionately to all those around you, according to what you know of the state of their minds. With (he feeble accents of a dying christian, in whose heart is the love •f God, and who trusts ia God through Jesus the great Media- tor, encourage those who may be standing round your bed that are christians. Tell them that it is indeed true that God does not forsake the dying christian. And, if God so enable you, as- sure them, that even now, you feel him to be "the God of all com" Ibrt," upholding and comforting your spirit. Tell them with your voice faltering in death, and with a pleasant heavenly smile of your countenance, that it is certainly true, that you feel it to be true, "that the favor of God is life, and his loving kindness better than life," And Of "when your quivering lips hang feebly down and your pulse is faint and few," with the same voice faltering ia death, and with the same pleasant heavenly smile, tell those that are not christians tohe christians. Tell them of the love of Jesus which you feel in your soul, and the full assurance of faith and laope which you have, that in a few moments you will be with him t> his heavenly kingdom. And if your voice doe's not entirely. THE AFfLlCTBD. §^ fail, and you can utter a sentense or two more, let your last words- to them and all around you be — "Prepare to meet your God!-* Flee from the wrath to come!'." When you arfe no loiiget able to speak, do not expect to see any thing like what Stephen saw. Do not expect to see any thing atall mor^ tlian you have' always seen, till your dying strife and struggled and gasping are over. Mildly suffer them to raise youi head, and give you the drink and medicine which your physician and friends think best, till you are no longer able to swallow, be- cause even after this you may recover. Your dear and beloved minister, after having made all these kind remarks and hints con- cerning the things and beings of this world and the next, from which and whom you may reasonably expect consolation — after having dicoursed to you at length about the heavenly world and endeavored to give you a description of it according to the scrip- tures — after having talked to you most freely and plainly about death, and given you perhaps, the best directions that are in the possession of man, how to die — after having given you at differ- ent times sufficient intervals to rest and gain strength to listen to him — after having spent the day, till the sun is now down and it is dark, kneels down hy your bed side, and most earnestly and fer- vently prays to the God of all power, the God of all comfort and consolation, to pity you in your afflicted condition, "in your low estate." He pours out his soul most feelingly to the great, all-skill- ful and only infallible Physician, at whose bidding diseases fly, to rebuke your disease and cause it to leave your body, if it be agree- able to his holy will; that you may be delivered, and have strength and peace and comfort to serve him still longer upon the earth j if not, that he would wholy resign you to depart and go hence, and that he would particularly bless you in your dying moments and take you to himself. He closes his prayer, by most solemnly com- mitting you and commending you to the care and keeping of al- mighty God. He then advises you to stop your thoughts and to sleep and lest all you can through the night. — Leaves you a sacred promise to come and see you frequently, wliile your sickness lasts, and af- fectionately bids you " good night." Perhaps you get a little sleep during the night, but in the morning find yourself no better thaa ©n the preceding morning. The day is before you, but not a day ©f much pleasure or enjoyment. The taking of your medicine is to he attended to, and its operations Waited upon. • You are now not to expect consolation from any new source oi* ohject or being. You have your physician, and nurse, and friends around you, with the best medicine, and the most suitable and deli- cate nourishment they can procure. You have the Bible and other' 00 COl!fSOLATI0N& OF Sacred books in your room: You can at any time pour out youi" soul in earnest wrestling prayer to the *' God of all comfort," for help and consolation. And you may be consoled by the thought that the chrisuans of your church are praying for you, and that all christians pray for the afflicted. Thus I have brought to your view all the great, the main things and beings, both of this wor'd and the next, which are calculated to minister consolation to your disconsolate soul. Your kind minister of the gospf^l was the last being of this world whom I presented to your view. He is himself of this world, but his bu- siness is to labor mostly for the world to come. This being his more particular and special business, you plainly see the reason of his h'.iving made so long nn address to you. In his address he was «areful to bring to your view the things and beings of this world, and point you to creation and providence, for themes on which you might meditate, for your encouragement and consolation. — This was with a view to your still living and lemaining here. — But )70u observed, he said much more, and was much more par- ticular in speaking to you concerning the things and beings of the next world . The propriety of this you readily perceive, since it is his special business to attend to the inleiests of the next world for himself and others. Having a deep and feeling sense of the great difference between the shon duration of time and the endless duration of eternity, and also of the unspeakable value of the human soul in all that it is capable of suffering and enjoying, he has said every thing that he could to encourage you to live, if it be the will of God, and every thing to console you in view of death, if that be his will. But, as I have said, he is the last being or thing, which I shall bring to your view for your consolation.— In truth, I know of no others which are calculated substantially to console you. These serm to be all. It appears to me that you will look in vain to other sources. It will be your wisdom to make the best you can of these, and if you recover, well, but if you die, you must. You are not to think that the sources of consolation and help, which I have spoken of your having, are fewer or less efficient than other poor mortals have in their afflicticns. Few, very fcWj who lie upon the bed of sickness and langnishment, have the at- tention and help and advantages which I have spoken of your pos- sessing. Being convinced then, that you are sensible of this, I will follow you on to the crisis which is but a short space befc^re you. You have just entered upon another day. They gently lift you off your bed — wash your fiice and hands and tenderly comb your hair — carefully right up your bed and lay you back upon it. I^ou are very weak and in mucli pain and distress. As the houis Itir: AFFLICTED, 6i laove atong, at times when you feel a little composed and a little more like living, you n tturally think about those things of this world which your very friendly minister has brought to your view. While you are thus indulging, you think of all that was pleasan* in life, of all the affairs and duties of life. And here your defi- ' ciencies in discharging your duty to your fellow men in former days come into your mind. However much you may have been disposed to do good, and however active you may iiave been in doing it, you now feel as if you had done nothing in comparison to what you might have done. The field of usefulness among men appears to you now to be exceedingly extensive. You see how you have neglected a thousand opportunities in which you might have said or done something that mi^ht have been of great use to the souls and bodies of your poor fellow mortals. You feel that if it would but please God to restore you to health, you would do more good in his service, and for the best interests of man, in one day, than you formerly did in a month. For this purpose a desire to live arises in your breast. You feel like vowing to the Lord/and perhaps, in your soul do vow to him, that if he will raise you up again, you will be far more unreservedly and more faithfully his servant than you have ever been. Will spend and be spent for his glory and the good of man. You think of the nature and symptoms of your disease, to see whether it is not yet possible for you to recover. With the anxious and earnest look of one on the very verge of eternity, you turn to your physician, and say — " Doctor is it possible for me to get well ?" O yes! O yes! he replies, that is the very thing for which we wish you 1o hope, and there is still ground of hope. My dear patient! )'ou must not despair. You must hope; it is your duty to hope as long as there is the least encouragement. Just before this you felt yourself to be balanced upon the pivot between time and eter- nity, but this revives you a little, and you feel inclined to the side of life. You are willing to live if it be the will of God. Ac- cording to the nature of the human mind, you cannot will two different and opposite things at the same moment. You cannot will to live and die both at once. As a creature, a dependent l)e- ing, and particularly as a christian, it is your duty to will what God wills concerning you. Your will should be swallowed up in his will. But he has not revealed to you the exact time when you shall die. You feel fully resigned to his will, in wha ever way he may cause the scales to turn. And now he seems to be causing the scale of time to outweigh, and you have no objec* tions. You are willing to recover, and for a time longer upon the earth, to spend and be spent for the glory of God and the good- of man. tuS CONSOLATIONS O* / But, these feelinos and symptoms and hopes, in favor of lite^ continue only a short time, not more than an h(.nr or two. The scale of eternity now begins to preponderate, and jour face and eyes are sudd nly turned fiom time to eternity. — »— You are exceedingly wenk and unible to bear much. You have dreadful distress in your stom .cb, and bowels, and head. You feel like fainting away. Ye off. And you say — '* O that I had wings like a dove ! for then would I fly away and be at rest." The doctor, aided by your in- vincible nurse, repeats with redoubled activity, what before he Ind had done to restore the vital heat and prolong life. To the utter astonishment of every beholder he succeeds in pulling you out of the very jaws of death, and keeps you along till morning. At the dawn of day, to his own great surprise, and the unspeakable surprise of all others, he discovers symptoms higlily favorable. — He reports it to you immediately, but you are not at all sensible of it, and do not believe ^ word of it. Nevertheless it is true. — You have now passed the frightful, heartrending, soul trying cri-^ sis, and the scale has decidedly turned in favor of life. In a few days you are willing to acknowledge that you are better, and in due time get well. My dear fellow sufferer, I now address you as one just come out of the furnace of affliction. " Behold thou art uiade whole: sin no more, lest a worse thing come unto thee?" It is seriously to be hoped that your afflictions have been sanctified unto you, and have had a sanctifying effect upon you. — That you can say from the heart, " it is good for me that I have been afflicted that I might learn thy statutes. Before I was afflic'ed I went astray." That in passing through the scorching furnace all your dross has been consumed! and that you "come forth as the gold seven times pu- rified." That iii a certain sense you are another being, a belter being. — That you are much better acquainted with yourself and all your duties to God and man. That you are sensible that " the Lord bringetli down to the grave and bringeth up." That your heart is filled and is continually overflowing with gratitude to God, for hi=? sparing and delivering mercies, and that every sensibility of your soul and body, are aw?ke to the interests and welfire of your fellow men. In short, that for the remaining time which may be allowed you on earth, you will continually remember and perpetual- ly strive to fulfil " thavow, which your soul in angiiish made"— niE AFFLtCTED. eg ns which came to my mmd, and which I thought calculated, safely and substantially to console the nfflicied, in the immediate prospect of deatli. You will ■he'-efore Uini to that and consider yourself the person there- in addrufijed. It is designed, as I also design what is to follow- THE AFFLICTEB. bi to be applicable with equal propriety, to per3ons of either sex, male or female. But 1 now proceed to view you and address you as one, not alarmed nor torn by a violent attack, but pursued by a steady dis- tressing disease. A disease which does not in a few days tear from you your flesh, rob you of your strength, nor daringly threat- en to give, in a hasty manner, what little remains of you, to the lonely grave and devouring worms. Not like the sudden flash which blasts and consumes the powder in an instant, but like the genllc blaze that gradually wastes away the lengthened taper. — Sach is the disease which prays upon some part of your unhappy frame, perhaps upon your very vitals. Before its slow, silent pro- gress, the blooming roseate glow of health has fled from your sunken cheek. Paleness with all its unwelcome and unlovely as- pect has taken its seat in your countenance. The brightness of your eye is obscured — sorrow sits visible on your brow — your voice is weak — literally your " hands hang down, and your knees are feeble." Every sinew, and muscle, and nerve, and fibre is out of tone and enervated. Your joints are loose, and your whole frame relaxed. You have lost, not only sprightliness of appearance, but activity of motion. And this is not all, you have lost in a great degree, the enjoyment of your food, are deprived of your wont- ed rest, and of refreshing, balmy sleep". Such is your unhappy condition. Nor is this all. Y'ou have not only lost all these things, but have in their place a fixed and painful disease, which, (like the shadow of your body during the hours of sun shine) goes where you go, stops when you stop, and stays where you stay. You are not merely crossing in haste, a dark valley, but slowly descending its dismal length. Not merely passing a short night of sorrow and pain, but feebly dragging onwards through a long scene of sore affliction — a life of gloomy adversity. O my friend! how happy for us is it, that it is not all wo, absolute misery, and hopeless darkness; bad as it is, there are occasional relaxations from pain, there is now and then a little rest, there are sources of consolation, there is hope ! To these sources of consolation, permit me, now, deliberately to turn your attention. But let me tell you in the out-set not to let your expectations rise too high, nor suffer your- self to anticipate too much of that which is new and different from what I have already written. I have already said that I have therein, at least briefly touched upon all the great and most pro- mising sources of consolation to which I thought it proper and appropriate to turn the attenion of a poor Itng'iishing mortal. — I have there spoken of all the help that his fellow beings can give him — of all be can derive from medicine — from books — froirf 6^ CONSOLATIONS OJf thoughts on creation and providence — on immortalily and eternix^ ty — on heaven and happiness, and of all the consolations which^ he may reasonably expect to flow into his disconsolate bosom, from created invisible beings and directly from God himself, the source of all consolation. I shall direct your thoughts to the same sources and in very much the same order. The difference lies not in the sources of consolation but in the nature of the afflictions of him whose trou- ble is strictly periodical and temporary, and of youi^s whose dis- ease is located and continuous. The great sources of consolation for the afflicted, (and indeed for all men,) are the same. Consolations, it is true, may be re- ceived in different degrees, in different ways, and through differ- ent organs, but they all flow from the same great sources. It were vain then for me to talk of other sources or attempt to turn your mind to others, when there are none. My aim and object therefore, will be, to make all the use I can of the foregoing, with a steady reference to the peculiaritieg^ of your case. The first source of consolation and help, which we brought to view in the former case, was the pliysician. When a person be- comes disordered in almost any way, but particularly as you are, lie or she, (as the case may be,) usually endeavors, for a time, to get over it without the aid of a physician. But when he finds that all he can do for himself is unavailing and without the desir^ ed success, he next most naturally thinks of the physician and ap- phes to him. This you had better do, without delay, so soon as you find your own prescriptions to be fruitless. There are two rea^ sons why patients not unfrequently suffer diseases to get the ad- vantage of them. They persist in indulging the hope that nature will right herself and they will get over the difficulty; and they iear a heavy doctor's bill. In this as in all other matters, yoa should strive to avoid extremes. It exhibits no small degree of weakness and folly for a person fo run to the doctor with every slight injury or disorder. If the doctor should happen to be a man destitute of virtuous and sound principles, he will take advantage of such hasty and needless ap- plication, and perhaps the patient will not get over it any quicker with his aid than without it, and at the same time exhibit "his weak- ness, and besides have the trouble and expense of paying his bill. Tiie matter is still worse on the part of the doctor when he search- es out such slight cases, particularly among the more ignorant 6nd uninformed part, of the community, and makes them believe they are worse than they really are, and that he can be of great ^S§arvice in curing the disease. AH quadcs, and many of the xc^m-^ THE APFLICTEft. 69 !ar physicians are exceedingly self-conceited, forward and offi- cious, and therefore deserve to be shunned. But on the contrary of all this, you will be very unwise in de- laying to call to your aid medical skill, after you have even moderaie evidence that a local and chronic disease has taken its seat on any part of your frame. Because some patients are in- clined to be too hasty in applying to the physician, and many phy- sicians too forward with their prescriptions, you should not be too backward to make known your condition to the ablest and most candid doctor within your reach. You may conceive that it is only an inconsiderable disorder when the doctor mi^ht be able to discover that something truly serious had taken hold upon you.— Patients are often deceived by diseases and are actually gone be- yond recovery before they make known their condition. Then the cry of the doctor is, '' if you had come sooner I might have done something for you." And this complaint is often just.~ This however, is one of the many ways which the allwise Crea- tor takes to conceal from mortals the time of their death. Such is the lurking movements of diseases in their frame that they are often a prey to death before they are aware. And at other times there is every symptom and appearance of death and the patient recovers. Therefore, the wisest course is to apply to the doctors. But you are not to expect them to have so acute a knowledge of the secret workings of the animal machine and of the symptoms of disease in it, as to make no mistake. The contrary is the fact. Discerning as the enlightened eye of medical science may be, and actually is, such are the deep and dark workings oftentimes, of the simplest diseases, tliat it cannot see the whole extent of their alarming character. You will not be so simple then as to expect the doctor to know so much more than yourself, as to be able to tell you certainly all about your disease. And, as he cannot know every thing concerning it, you must not expect him to do more than he knows. They very often know more than they can do. They can tell the patient what is the matter with him, and how the disease will likely proceed, but very often can do little or nothing for him. In some cases absolutely nothing. This is . sometimes true with respect to cancers and internal schirrous af-- fections, &c. In chronic d'nte^ses generally, they can do little more than check their violence and mitigate the pains of the j>a- tient. Otherwise there would be no chronic disorders . Because, if it were within the compass of their skill to cure them, they would do it, and such diseases would never gain themme o^ chro- nic complaints. I do not mean that in no case at ill they are able to cure them. In some instances they have succeeded in effect- ing a cure, and that in a v ry short time, but in general, if a cure be effected it requires time, 6* • ^0 cfONsoiATioNs or These vemaikg I design not to discourage you, but ^o keep yoiir' anticipations from rising too high, and thus to prevent disappoint- ment. It is better to bear a little caution in the beginning than to have the keen stings of disappointment added to your troubles, which no doubt, you consider already numerous enough and great enough. Be encouraged then, indulge a temperate and reasona- ble hope in your bieast, and prudently endeavor to obtain all the human and earthly help you can. If there are many physicians in your reach be careful to choose that one who is the most skilful and has the most experience. — • There is no class of men to whom age and experience are more useful than to physicians. After you have made your choice as wisely as you can, you are still not to expect too much. The doctor will likely not be able to cure you without tirst reducing and weakening your whole sys- tem. This is true with respect to most diseases. There is no disease located either on the exterior or in the interior but what soon affects the whole machine. It is generally thought, the most direct and effectual way to counteract such bad effects, and to cure the disease, even if it be located on the extremities, is by in- troducing medicines into the stomach. These medicines must necessarily be so powerful as to work a change upon the operations and state of the stomacfi and bowels, and particularly of the blood. Consequently your ordinary way of eating will be interrupted, and whelher you have a good appe-v tile or not you will be denied the privilege and enjoyment of grat- ifying it. The regular use of wholesome and nourishing food is the grand means by which you have strength. This being inter- rupted and suspended, your strength will depart. The departure cf this is a very unpleasant concomitant of disease, but it is not common for us poor mortals to gain any good without some sao* lifice. You must therefore consent to sacrifice your strength at least for a time, with the hope of gaining it again, with better health. With these views and prospects then, I would acUise yoa to follow the doctor's presciiptions, punctually and faithfully aff you can. If, after you have done so for a time, you should be- gin to conclude from your own views and feelings and sufferings, (whch is very apt to be the case) that there is something wrong in his prescriptions, your most prudent way is to tell him minutely how you feel, and how you think the medicine has a wrong effect »pon you, and ask him respectfully if he does not think he bar? better make somo change in his prescriptions. If he is a maa such as he ought to be, he will not be too easily swerved by yout opinion, nor treat it with too much neglect and contempt. But if he '^Kermine that you must pursue them still on, without any change, . %Bd you submit^ (difficwlt as it may be,) all th§ responsibility THE AFFLICTED. 7l ^fll rest npon him, and if you do not get well he will^ot be able to blame you. Jf you refuse to take Ins medicine, you resume the business into your own hands, and will have to bear the conse- quences, whether for the better or the worse. It being the doctor's special business to know all that man cun know about such mat*^ ters, it is more proper that you should yield to his judgment than follow your own. It is with this view that you employed him.— There are very few things which men have to do in which there is greater risk than in prescribing for the sick; yet it is the duty of some one to do it. The life of the patient may depend upon it, A little too much medicine or a dose of the wrong kind, or if it be given at an improper time, may be, and often is, the immediate cause of the death of the patient. Skilful and candid docors know this to be true. They know that the doctor and not the disease, in many cages, is the cause of the death of the patient. This they see when it is too late. For instance, a patient is very sick, the doctor examines him, his symp- toms are contradictory and confused ; the doctor with all his skill is at a loss, yet he must act. Something must be done for the pa tient, and that without delay. All are at a loss, (the doctor himself is at a loss,) and perhaps he calls a council of doctors, and they to« are at a loss; nevertheless they determine on a certain dose.-- It is given — the patient dies, and from" the efiects of the medi- cine before his death, the doctor sees plainly that the medicine \vas the cause. But this fatt he will keep to himself and not communicate it to the surviving friends, unless they have saga- city enough to discover it. And if he should exercise much candor and acknowledge it, such acknowledgment would do them no good and would likely very unjustly injure his prac- tice. The case which I have supposed was a desperate one, but I have no doubt that in many which are not desperate, the thing which I say is true. And true too, not only in the hands of quacks, but of well informed, regular and skilful physicians. In some instances they err through carelessness and negligence, and are then greatly to blame. Their ignorance in such cases is a vinci- ble ignorance, to w^hich is always attached a high degree of crimi- nality. But the cases to which I allude are those which are so dark and difficult that they cannot search them out. They are beyond the extent of their discernment. They are ignorant but their ig- norance is invincible, therefore they are not to blame. Such is our love of life, and such also our imperious duty to strive to the ut- most to preserve it, that the common sentiment of mankind is, "as long as life lasts there is hope." They thjnk and sny that some- thing must be attempted in the worst of cases. Not only so, but the m ixim and practice of doctors is, "never to give up a patient till he is dead." They feel it their duty therefore, to persist in doe- ^ CONSOLATIONS OP ing somethi^. If they are at a loss they judge as Well as they can and proceed. If tliey mistake, and thereby the patient dies, they cannot help it and are not to be blamed. Who knows but he would have died any liow? There are various ways and means by which men die, and you see th^t even the doctors are one, and yet without blame. You have always been exposed lo many of those ways of death. You constantly run the risk of falling into some one of them. Disease is a main one, and you had. fallen into that. You are now in the hands of a doctor who is sonie times another way, though not often. You must do with him as you have done and now do with all other things and causes which bring about death. You must feel as if it were possible for you to die by any of all the means, yea even by the doctor. These remarks 1 have tliought proper to make to prepare your mind for those dreadful and greatly dreaded effects whicii medicine often has upon the sick. It is no uncommon thing to hear them say that the medicine pain- ed and distressed them more than the disease. And no doubt, ia many cases, this is true. The medicine acts upon the same sys- tem that the disease does. It is designed to out-act or counteract the disease. Necessarily it must be the stronger of the two, oth- erwise it would not overcome, remove, and banish the disease. — And this according to the, saying — "when a strong man armed keepeth his place, his goods are in peace: But when a stronger than he shall come upon him, and overcome him, he taketh from him all his armor wherein he trusted, and divideth his spoils.'* — Disease and medicine then, are to have a contest within you, and it may be a violent one. If so, in the heat of it, you will be very apt to think that instead of overcoming one another they will over- come you. This contest has commenced. Disease had talfen hold upon- you. Necessity drove you to attempt to break its hold,, by medi- cine prescribed by the doctor. This you deliberately thought to be your wisest and safest course. And it would certainly be very unwise and cowardly to shrink from this course and stop and turn back, through fear of the effects of medicine, before you had giv- en it a fair and sufUcient trial. Gird up your loins then, and go on with the courage of the detertnined and the resolute, till you are restored to health or it is fully and sntisfactorily determined that the medicines and regimen proscribed by your doctor will not restore you. Accordingly you do so. You summon up all your fortitude and resolve to swallow his drops, or powders,or pills, as he may think best. To submit to his lancet, or lie quietly under his smarting and scorching blisters, or, if your case requite it, to endure the keen and deep penetrations of his sargical knife, or the harsh tearing of fiis ampatatihg saw. If the amputation of a limb is the pain to which you are called to submit, you may soon recover from that or from a surgical opperation performed on the exterior. But if your affliction is seated within, particularly on any of the vital organs, you will not so likely be benefited by the endeavors of your physi- cian. 1 shall proceed to consider you and address you as one of the last mentioned unhappy sons of sorrow ; I now view you as hav- ing gone through a long, and irksome, and distressing course of medicine and medical regimen, but all in vain. You have pursu- ed it, and endured it, and groaned under it, till you have now de- termined that it is useless, and worse than useless to proceed any farther. Your physician acquiesces in the measure and you desist. But in the most friendly manner he gives you advice and directions how to manage yourself. He tells you now, as all well informed and liberal minded physicians will do, that your recovery, or comfort, ot prolonging of life, depends chiefly upon your management of your- self 1 view you now as out of the doctor''s hands, but following his directions in a general way. And here, my friend, let me teli you to get all the information from him you can. You are now to be your own doctor, and you canno^be such to any purpose without a considerable experimental knowledge, and at least a little theore- tical. As you do not expect to practise medicine on any person but yourself, it will be your special business to study your own case. — •4n this study it will be your main aim to discover what will relieve or help you. I mean all that can be meant by this expression. Every thing relating to your medicine, — your diet — your exercise, — youlP rest,— clothing, and every single particular, or course, (which is in- nocent,) in which you may engage or indulge. And, if your cir- cumstances will permit, you ought freely to indulge in any of all these, which will in the least contribute to your health and com- fort, only avoiding things criminal. Here it may not be improper for me to descend to particulars-. With respect to your medicine, I would observe in addition to wiiat I have already said, that it would be well for you to converse with physicians werever you meet with them, if they are not too re- served; and they will likely not be so if you tell them that it was not only the permission but the wish of your family physician. — The reasons why they are not free to communicate any informa- tion ihey have, are because they do not like to medle with an- other's patient, and the idea of a fee invarably comes intotheti- head when they are approached by a sick person. Let them know that you have already had a regular doctor and he thinks best for you henceforth to be your own doctor. Affei such remarks as these they will generally be free to com-, mi^nicater You will likely meet with some one among theiu 74' CONSOLATIONS OF who will enquire into tho course your physician took and {in& fault with it. At the same time he will be very apt to say that he can cure you, and will wish you to become his patent. You must do as you may think best about this. It is not very likely he can, though it is possible. It is a very bad plan to change physicians, especially if it be done hastily and frequently, from one to many. — It takes a considerable length, of time for them to become minutely and acurately acquainted with the patient's peculiar constitution and his disease. So thnt changing from one to another will rather be tri- lling with yourself You will find old women and quacks enough who will readily and boldly declare that they can cure you. They and all the conceited and presumptuous ifjnorant will be very hasty to tell you what will cure you. They will express no doubt what- ever. O! they will say *' these or those herbs with which I am ac- quainted will certainly make you a well person in a very short time." Do not be flattered and deceived by their vain declarations. Be in- dependent, judge for yourself. It is not impossible however that even this class of persons may mention some things or herbs which may be of use to you. From them therefore, as well as from the belter informed, and also from books, you should pick up all the knowledge you can, which may have a bearing upon yourx^ase. You will no doubt hear, of wonderous cures being performed by different medicines, some of them very simple, as one single herb. And you will even hear of these from some of our most eminent physicians, They will report the cases with all their circum- stances, telling how very far the patients were gone in chronic disorders, and how greatly but agreeably they were surprised to see the astonishing effects of the medicine which worked the med- ical miracle. No doubt many of these were real cures, but per- haps unaccountable, and not likely to take place with other patients who seem to be disordered in exactly the same way. There might have been some favorable but inscrutable circumstances in the pa- tients thus restored; or their recovery might have been by some special providence. You will likely see the newspapers abounding with 'heir sovereign specifics, nostrums and catholicons, boldly aiid unreservedly claiming to be certain and infallible remedies. Some for particular diseases, others for almost all. The former are bad enough, the latter are intolerable. It is very high pre- sumption for any man to say that his medicine is an infallible remedy even for one disease, but still higher for him to say that it is a catholicon, or universal remedy, sovereign and inf lUible. Yet such presumption meets us on almost every page of our newspa- pers, in these days of avarice and speculation. There is good ground to belivethat it is the love of money and fame, which carowds a large majority of these nostrums upon the public. I da ■PUE APPLICTED. 7i iiiot say that it is the case with all. No doubt some of them come'trom physicians who have thoroughly tried them, seen thier good effects, and who honestly bi^ieve they will be of service to the world. From the best motives therefore, they send them out. Their medicines may be good (if you can discover which thev are;) but even they will be apt to claim an unwarrantable credit. I am not unwilling to admit that the medicines of the others may h ive some good qualities. Do not understand me to say that they may be poisonous to such a degree that it is dangerous to take them. These cautions like many of the foregoing I design to keep you from being too s^ngMine in your hopes and expectations. And I feel it necessary to add still another. The nosirums of which I speak will all come siipporJed by a large number of certificates.— They will be very imi)osijig and make you think that the medicine will certainly cure you. Be not too much el :tod with tiiat fond hope. I do not advise you agninst using any of the.-e medicines but only tell you to be careful r.nd cautious'. The safest will he those which hive performed their cures within the compass of your observation. The reason why I have thought it necessary to mike these re- marks is this — in almost every case there is something different from others. Yr.ur doctor examines you and is best able to dis- cover the peculiarities both of your constitution and your disease. And if he has the knowledge of the materia medica whiclLhe ought to have, he can combine ingredients to suit your special case. Besides, for aught you know, these ingredients ra iy be the same or nearly the same which the catholicon contains. I shall now close my observations concerning physicians and medicine, by giving you a general rule which 1 shall ere long ap- ply to your diet. The rule is, to watch most acutely and minutely your own feelings, and the effects that every particular medicine has upon you. Thus you will discover what does you the most good, and may continue its use, ' The same things might he said with respect to mihi^rar springs, which have been said concerning medicine. You will he4r of them performing astonishing cures. They are' a good thing in nature and very strikin-ly show the benevolence of God. They are and no doubt will continue to be am>ing the greatest earthly sources of help and consolation for the afflicted. If your physician thinks best and your circumstances will enable you, attend them, and temperately and prudently use them, as I have dii'ected concern- ing your medicine. They generally do best after taking medr- cine. With respect to your clothing, your physician will direct. You should have prudence and courage enough to change it, not only with the changes of the weather, but to suit your own feel- in.o[S. Youv feelings will be very cl)angeable and much more acuie: than when you were in health. Every human system is a kind of thermometer, and is'miich more sensible when diseased than ia heilth. This ou^ht to make you unceasingly vigilant to watch your feelings in order to guard against all injurious exposures, I come now to speak on the subject of your diet. This I shall tell you (as I think all candid physicians will do) is the most im- portant and powerful and promising thing which you can use to gain better health. The well timed and skilful use of diet connected with proper, systematic and continued exercise, with Seasonable rest, has often done more than all things else. Important as the subject is, I have but litile to say on it. Much Is said in medical books. To them and the medical faculty I refer you. After giving you a general, but comprehensive rule, which I found to be the best from my own experience and from the sentiments of physicians in general. The rule is to try all kinds of food and most accu»-ately observe what agrees with yoii best, both in kind and quantity, and use it, if you can obtain it. The great matter with the chronic patient is to keep his l)^>vvels in tone and in motion. In almost every local disease these have a strong tendency either to inactivity or too much activity. Universal experience has decided that it is best, if possible, to keep up their tone and action by diet. It is more natural and less injurious than medicine. Though I did not design it, yet I cannot forbear saying a few more words on the subject of diet, the speculations about which at this day are almost innumerable — pardon me if 1 here put in one or two with a general conclusion. It will only be an en- largement of what I have already said. Man was made to live on food both vegetable and animal. This appears in his naUird oonstiiution and in the express words of God, allowing him to eat the flesh of other anim;ils. His stomach is of a definite size. — r When in health it requires to be filled, and often filled; and to that kind of food, vegetable or animal, or both, to which it is most accustomed, the constit nil on becomes conformed. When ill health takes place, the stomach cannot be filled, and regularly filled, with- out bad consequences; but eating too much or too little in this condition is equally dangerous. The patient should make it his aim to get his stomach to receive again the same kinds and quan- tities of food which it formerly did, moving on from step to step, guided by the most careful and strict observation and experience. To effect this, he should use any other kinds of food he can find. And my observation and experience have thoroughly convinced me that the proverb "what's on^^ man's meat is another man's poi- k)n," IS really true. Therefore, neither I nor any other man can trili APPLT'JTED. ^> gTve any 1)etter rule than tIio one cr'iven above, to use both in kind and qviantiiv, whatever agrees with you best. Next to diet comes exercise. No less skill and prudence are required, than in the use of diet, and much more iorlitnde. In taking lx»th, there should be neither too much nor too lil'le. and each ai its proper time. It is not aood to rake exercise immedi- ately afier a meal, particularly dinner. AOer exercise comes rest^ v.'hich is next in importance. Yon sbr,nld rrst m»urdince of medicine, but you will peimit me to close rdl I have to s ly concerning the doc- tor, me]VSOLATIONa O* And to him, free as vital air, hast been. Just like the ceaseless heaving of his lungs While he is lost in slumbers of the night, Nor thinks, nor even wills to breathe, yet breathes- If breath be lost, he dies, yet knows it not; Its worth is vast and vital, yei unknown. Thus thou art precious, yet thy worth not known. Thy living excellence, he cannot tell. { Feb. 1, 1829, Who then can tell ? can he who oft hath heard ( Sabbath ev'gi His fellows groan in healtliless misery? Whose eyes have wept to see the feeble sick ? Whose tender hands have raised the sinking head^ And long and faithful nursed a lingering friend, Tiir death removed his sad and mournful charge And closed his kind and sympathetic work? Can he pronounce tliy ricli, intrinsic worth. And tell the whole amount of what thou art? Not he — 'tis not himself— he sees an. 8j haps you thought that some of your former ill turns or back-sets would take you off". It seems they did not; and if you think this will, you miy be mistaken. Man can both endure much and en- dure long. Tiius by comparing yourself with yourself at different periods, you maybe instructed, consoled and encouraged. This leads me to another general source of consolation: I mean the employment of comp iring yourself with others who are afflicted. To this your mind will be naturally drawn out. Such is the nature of your disease, being of the slow gradual kind, that you may deliberately mdulge in this exercise as frequently and to as great extent as you please. Douhtless there are many sons and daughters of afflxtion around you, and many of them diseased as you are, and you have often seen such in past life. To these you will do well to turn your thoughts. It is one of the most promising sources to which you can look. If is very well calcu- lated to support your courage and brighten your hopes. You will be able to engage in it altogether more leisurely and more exten- sively than the patient described in the form'^r part of this work, who was seized by a periodical and violent illness. You are not like him confined to your bed nor to yoir room. And you have strength, at least at times, to go out and see your fellow men and occasionally mingle in the busy crowd. As you pass along, be careful to look at their countenances, and if you are not, truly, very bad, you will see many as pale as yourself. Very likely if you look attentively you will see more of these that are paler than of those that have a fresher and more healthful color. When yoa see the n, never forget to observe how they move along — what kmd of a countenance they exhibit — -whether they appear cheerful or not. When you have opportunity fall into conversation with them, arhl listen to the account they may give of their case. Take spe- cial notice of the description which they will give of their symp- toms and their sufferings, especially every thing that seems to be worse th m yours. Yours will indeed l^e an unheard of case if you should not meet with many worse than yourself. Whenever you do, there will then be an ohject presented to your view calcu- lated to make you draw a conclusion in your own favor. Do not fdil to get them to say during your conve-s ition, in what manner they move on, what things or circumstances they seize hold of to stimulate and encourage thern, and to enable them to bear up un- der the pressure of their afflictions. Perhaps they may mention some things that you have not thought of. If they do, carefully treisure them up in your mind, that you may bring them to your aid in times of still sorer trials, if they await you. In your excursions out f om home, there will l)e no impropriety in your visiti )g all classes of persons that are aflllicLed, tlie rieh 7* 02 C«\$0LATIJ3>-§ OF and the poor, the virtuous and the vicious. Fjom each of these yoii may ^nthei items of iuforniation :ind circumstances for conso- iafion. VVlien you are in the presence of an afflicted rich nii'ii, you will hive an opportunity of seeing to what extent riciies will go i)i aiding the atilicteod for the sick, and tenderly raise the sinking head — after >ou shall have viewed them in this deplorable condition, unattended by a loving sister, yno^her or wife, receiving not one kind act or enlivening smile from a dear and beloved female, and not only bring destitute of deli- rate food suitable fjr the sick, but of all kinds of food, so as to he starving withal — afer you shall have ilius viewed them suffer- ing, groaning, languishing and sinking into the cold arms of death, then pause and reflfct how much more you are flivored than they. In this comparison you cannot fail to have a conclusion in your own f^ivor. May 18th, 1829. It is to books that T am directing your attention for consolation, pnrticiib-rly to f riiish you vvi»h examples of affliction. The Bi- We is decidedly uad unquestionably the best. book that man has to THE AFFLICTED. ^'^ ijeaiJ, and even on this subject it is the best. It abounds with hipr- lories of the aiflicted, and gives many cases of the pious afflicted, ^nd tells us how they bore it. In addition to this it brings to view the most effectual relief for them. It brings to view the Great God, their Creator, undertaking on their behalf, counseling them how to view and how to bear their afflictions, and in a multitude of instances, presc nts to our minds the Divine Saviour kindly ex- erting his godlike power to deliver and restore them. He healed all manner of diseases. To this book then, lo the Bible, I would modt seriously and most warmly direct your attention. 1 do not forget that your case ig different from that of the person described in the beginning of my book. You have leisure deliberately to give your mind to the trading of the scriptures and to meditation, not only on the cases ®f afflicted ])ersons mentioned by them, but on what they say for the afflicted. Youmiiy meditate at any length on the case of Job, and with greater cure and (exactness, compare your condition with his. In like manner with all others mentioned in the old and ne\V Testaments. Since the fall of man, the world has always been an afflicted world. All kinds of afflictions have prevailed, both periodical and chronic. In the days of the Saviour's tabernacling on earth it was so. His grand erVand into the world was to save sinners— to save the souls of rnen. But he appeared to be equally devoted to saving their bodies. <'He opened the eyes of the blind, unstop- ped the ears of the deaf, the lame man leaped as a hart and the tongue of the dumb did sing. Great multitudes came unto hino, having with them those that were lame, blind, dumb, maimed, and many others, and he healed them." "He went about all their cities and villages, teachino in their synagogues, and preaching the gospel of the kingdom, and healing all manner of sicknc^' and all manner of diseases among the people." Diseases of short continuance and those of long duration. — . From burning fevers and fatal leprosies which rage but for a few days, to issues of blood of twelve years standing, and infirmities which bowed down the poor sufferers for eighteen years— not these only, but long standing dropsies, palsies, withered hands, luna- cies [or epileptic fits,] and all manner of chronic diseases, such as yours. Bui perhaps you ask me how it is possible for you to derive consolaMon from the fact that the Saviour did in tho days of his flesh, heal all these kinds of diseases and restore those th;»t were lield by tliem to health and comfort, seeing he does not do it now? I answer, these miraculous cures were not j)erformed mere ly for the benefit of those on whom they were performed, but for tjje advantage of all those who should believe tlut the Saviotu^ S4 CiKsSOLATIONS OF possessed power to work them, and that lie actually did, without deceplion, work them as is recorded in the scriptures. He healed and restored the bodies of men, to prove that he could heal and restore their souls. Men in this world are better ac- quainted with their bodies than with their spirits. Therefore the Saviour wrought specially upon their bodies to show his power and willingness to deliver and save both their souls and bodies, and this not only in a temporal but eternal point of view. His great object WHS to save the souls of men, their better parts, but not to the total neglect of their bodies. No, as I have shown above, he had comp.issson upon their bodies also, even in this world. And he fully published his determination that they should not be lost, €>r wfJiiting in the world to come. But even the "vile bodies of the Saints here, should there be fashioned like unto his glorious body.^' The consolation which I expect you to take from the {act of ♦he Saviour's great kindness to the afflicted in his day, is of this na- ture. It is by your taking this broad, extensive view of the sul> ject, and your taking this view as a christain, a firm believer in the Saviour and in his dete»'mi nations and promises. I do not mean loencoumge you to expect that he will in any such miracu- lous way interpose for you. I expect you to receive consolation from this source through faith and hope, in the way that no per- son can obtian consolation- nut upon christain principles. Though none others can, yet the christain can. And not only consolation but great consolation. Therefore, by letting your mind dwell up- on the multitude of instances in which the Saviour delivered the afflicted, and recollecting that he refused to heal no one who came unto him, or was brought unto him on beds or otherwise, or whose friends came to him beseeching him to heal them; and also bear- ing in mmd that he did it even at a distance, merely by speaking a word; and no less viewing and believing that he will without fil fulfil his precious promise to all his afflicted followers, that their afflictions should o^^ime to an end, and be succeeded by perfect happiness, you may receive consolation, abundant, "everlasting Gonsolatifjn, and good hope through grace." Was he peculiarly tlie afflicted man's friend and restorer while on earth, whatever was the character of the afflicted person, virtuous or vicious, whether he believed he was the Saviour of the world or not ? Did ho heal those who did not recognise him as the Saviour of the world, the great friend of sinners, those who did not embrace and trust in and love him as their own friend and Saviour? Did he heal ten lepers, and out of the ten was there only one who returned to express his gratitude and to glorify God? And has he no ff)e\. hg for lou his disciple^ a christain,, tlwu^h he is now exalt^v IHfi AKFLTUTE*. ^^' '* far above all principality and power? The apogee tells U3 (hat our higlir priest has passed into ihe heavens." And what more, my fii«^nd? That " Ave have not a high priest which cannot bo touched with a feeling of our infirmities." He is touched with a feeling of your infiruiities tiien, my dear afflicted friend. Yoa rmiy look away to iiim, wiih an earnest, believing steady look, not meiely remembering what iie once did for the poor sons and daughters of affliction, but viewing him as looking down upon you perpetually, touched with your infirmities, feehng your pfiins, and having a full determination to support you under them, and in due time, at the appointed time,\vhen their end shall come, like the end of his came, to deliver you fr-m them and take yon up to himself. 1 have now, my friend, said what 1 have to s^y on the subject of comparing yourself witli others, who are or hive been afflicted.—^ The course which I pursued natmally led me on to those who la- bored under longstanding disorders, in the days of our Saviour's sojouriiing on earth. And as naturally led me a step further to re- -mind you, that he is still in his exalted state, the same tender ani^ feeling, and almighty Saviour that he was then. But as I design to speak something more of this as I advance, I now proceed to turn your thoughts to CREATION. It will be in your pcwer to make much more use of creation than the person violently brought down. You can walk out, and the heavens and earth are before you. The earth from i\e most magnificent to its minutest points. The heavens, from the sun to the smallest siar that twinkles. Upon these you may gaze, and consider, and meditate. This too you may indulge in leisure- ly and at length. You may suffer your thoughts to dwell upon the various and numerous vegetables that grow out of the earth, from the slender spire of grass, to the sturdy oak and lofty pine. And through this numerous multitude you will find somelhin^ to amuse and entertain your mind. At another time you mav let your thoughts wander and wind along with the purling and roar- ing water streams, small and great, till they lead you into the great deeps, the immense and trackless seasand oceans. There youmay let them rove, over smooth seas, and on to other parts where storms foar and raise the waves to mountain height, tossing the ships aloft " The men, astonished, mount the skies, And sink in gaping graves. Agair> they climb the watery hills) And plunge in deeps again; Each like a tottering drunkard reels. And tinds his courage vain. J*S (dXSdLATlONS 09 Fi ighted to hear the tempest roar, 'I'hey pant with (luti'ring breath; And, hopeless of the distani shore, ' Expect immediate death." Over this vast and almost boundless expanse, with 1<9 milder and move awful scene?, you may let your mind nnge for hours to- ga her. And as it p.isses along, from first to last, do not forget to tliiUiC of ihetishcs that inhabit the waters, in their various species and ki ^ds, from the little minnows that twich nnd dart from hole to hole in ihe smaller brooks, to the huge and ponderous whales, thai in awful majesty and power, plough the d^cp, and spout whole cisterns of water on high. In these fxtensive excursions of thought and flights of mind, you may indulge to s.) great a length, and go out so far from home, as almost to forget that your h(>dy is diseased. Any thing lh.it will help you so much as this, will cer- tainly be, consolation. in musing upon creation yon may next turn to the mineral kingdom, and think of t!ie countless varieties of minerals that lie bencdtli the snrfice of the earth in all their thousand curious shapes and forms, from the rugged Hme stone and immense moun- tains of free stone, to the silver and platina and golden ores, and sparkling diamonds and gems, whicli dazzle the eyes of the be- holder. This you may do, even without being a philosopher, without b^ing a severe and laborious student, and to such an extent too as, in some degree, to allure your mind and cilm your sorrows. It is possible you may be a philosopher. It is more common for students and philosophers to be chronic patients, to Iiave their con- stitutions ruined and groan under lasting diseases, than any other class of men. This is the natural effect of confinement and in- tense study. Shoidd you be such a character, you may pursue ■with greater facility and to more full satisfacticm thecouisc I am pomting out. And of all others, you are the person that ought to do it. It was in l)ecoming a philosopher that you also became af- flicted. Although it may not be possil le to apply your learning in the way you designed, let it not be entirely K>J-t, use it in tiie way I am directing. But if you are not a person of learning, I am very fir from advising you to become a student in your atflicled and feeble condition. Nevertheless, without, being a profound scholar, you may extend your contemplations and meditations on creation to a mucii greater extent than I hav^ y't hinted at. X^et the whole animal part of creation that creepeth upon the earth pass in re- view before your mind. Take them in ascending gradation from the smallest to the greatest — from the least of crawling worms ami THE APyLlOTEiJ. 89 riying iji^ects to the greatest of beasts, and to birds -of loftiest ilig.'),-. Look at the tamer beasts and biids ariiund you, the inno- cent Idinb, the gentle cow, the obedient hor e, the cackling and crowing tbwis. the cooing dove, aiid all the cinrping and whistling and sinoiiia leathered ones of t!»e forest. 'I'hus extend, your thouaiiis till you coinc up to the prowling tioer, the roaring lion, the hiJi^e elepiiajit and the keen eyed hi^h soaring eigl'. For hoursat a lime yon rnaytlms indulge and no doubt you will not indulge in v>iii. Be carefid to make nior.d refl ctions as you pro- ceed, and if yo i ascend us 1 have advised from the most insignifi- cant throucfh all kilo species an-l kinds of animals till you arrive at the l:.st, the greatest, llie noblest of all, the lord of all others, that one will be man . Him yon m y coinp *rc \vi>b all other animals, as it respects all his powers and fxnbics r,f body and mind. And while you are thinking of m;ui, if I mistake not, you will see that he is snijecl to more and worse anJ more fatal diseases than any other animd. This will cause y^.n to nndtipiv your moral reflec- tions, and amongst tiiem this wul be the most prominent one, that of all created aniintils in this visit le creation, man alone has o5en- d 'd the great creator. Therefore jusily, very jus'.ly, he stands foremost in misery, and because all other animals were made fur mail's use, they, in their measure, are afflicted to afflict him. Here, my dear disconsolate chris'iMi, T m ist acknowledge the train of thought his led me o-i 10 -hirjg^ not very consolatory. — Notwithstanding thr'y are thing.^ about which you may meditate, and as you are a chiistian may turn to some good account. It iq not ray purpose to say mticii in this place upon moral considera^ tions. Of tliem ujore hereaf er. 1 am now speaking of the naked creation as presented to the view of every l>eholder. It did not come into my plan to account for the existence of evil, nor answer the objections of caviling and captious minds. Perhaps all those who make such attempts could be better employed. My object is to console you in your afflictions, and not 10 enter into dx^p and al>sfruse points which at this tim3 you are ill able to attend to. Therefore you need not expect me :o engage? in labored discussions on any of the many difficult questions which may naturally arise out of my subject. — I by no means, however, forbid you to meditate upon them, if you feel able and disposed. Oil s'lch as the one just mentioned,, you may possibly me litate to advantage. Indeed in your contem- plations on creation it is your special piivilege and duty to draw such moral rejections as may naturally suggest themselves. 1 say it is your duty to do it for yours- If and not mine to attempt to do i' for you, lest I should lead you out to greater lenfjths than you are willing cr able to go. But I repeat it, you should do it 8 9U CONSOLATIONS Oi 'whenever aiid as much as ever you can. TJie afflicted person of aii others nriy reasonably be expected lo be a person of serious medi lation. His afflictions shut hini cut from the ordinary ways and feeUngs of men^ and lie looks with a dilferent eye and with ditier- enl feelings upon till ihinos around him. Thus you should do. — And as you contemplate creation you should strive to view your- ijelf as you stand related not only to it in all its parts, but to iho great Creator. And you should no less strive to discover some good design in all the parts of his vast and glorious workmanship. You may have many and very entertaining and useful thoughts a- bout the air in which you move, and which you breathe. Philoso- phers make a multitude of curious and useful experinnents on it. — They tell us the parts of which it is composed, and explain to us why it is indispensably important to sustain life. It is so indis- pensable that it seems to be a part of our life, a part of us. You may he entertained in reflecting that it is invisih'le though all a- round you and even in you. That though you do not feel its weight it is exceedingly heavy — ;nid that it extends only about forty five miles above thesu.rfaceof the earth, &:c. &c. Even more entertaining will be your contemplations of light. — This exercise will require but little study. Yon liave but to open your eyes and the beaming, brilliant, glorious sun of the firmament is before you. The grand displays of ligiit you will behold, first in him, the great fount;^.in of it, " the king of day," thence all a- round you on land and water, hill and dale, trees and plains; but more varigaied and more glorious in tl.e immense banks of clouds which at times will fippear of mountain size, piled one upon anoth- er, and exhibit truly giand and attracting displays of light and colours. You will indeed be allured with the more systematic and still more grand display? of light and all the primary colours, ^vhich the brilliant rain-bow, begirting the heavens, will exhibit, with such transcendant and glorious sublimity to your admiring gaze. Tlie awful sublim'ic? of a thunderstorm you may both behold and -hear, while i^ flashes and n)ars, and nK ditateupon when it is past. This may suddenly and powerfully arrest your thoughts and call them off f^-om yourself and your disease. This abstrac- tion of your mind from yourself you may easily continue by let- ting your thoujzhts fall into a philosophical channel; reflecting that the agput which causes these sudden, and rapid, and vivid flashes of liglit, and produces those roaring dreadful peals of thunder which momenfanly enlighten our atmosphere and terriijly shake the earth, is to !)e found in all bodies around you, and is call- ed the elec'ie f nid. Further, tliat this fli;id can be collected and lj?t off by man; so that even man can make thunder and lightning TlfE AFFLICTED. 9^^ iiifi not only so but can use it upon himself to great advantage in curing some diseases, yea, and it may be, even your own. Thi^ train of thoughts with the conclusion may console you. Again, you may meditate upon the attraction of magnetism.— Thinlv how surprisingly the magnetised bars of stool will lift up bars of iron, but will attract no other matter than iron. It is also surprising how this power or virtue, can be increased or strength enedbyuse. Its attraction and repulsion of itself under differ- cni circumstances, excite the wonder, and call into exercise the in- 'Tcnuity of philosophers. But of all the appearances which it ex- liibits to the astonished and over matched examination of the learned, its polarity, or pointing to the poles of tlie ear'li, decided- ly stands highest and most useful. 'Tis the magnetic iieedle wliich ;2uides the sea captain and the surveyor. For liours together you may think of the vast and trackless waters covered with ships go- ing in every direction and carrying on all kinds of commerce with the most distant parts of the earth, and all kept to their courses as well in the darkness of the night as in day light by thr" pole seek- ing virtue of the wonderful magnet. After you have followed his excellent, unequalled little pilot over the waters, in all direc- tions and under all circumstances, you may next follow him, in the hands of thesuivoyor, from mountain's top to mountain's top. and through all the extensive plains setting up his land marks, for boundaries for man; laying off to each accordingly as he is able to buy, his plat, lot, plantation, or farm. When you close your mental excursion, you will r>c sJrongly in- duced to exclaim, how wonderous! how wonderous! and how use- ful too! There is only one more particular in creation to wliich I shall direct your attention, and that is that great, extensive and un- accountable thing which Sir Isaac Newton named" the attraction of gravitation."' He satisfactorily proved it to be the great chain which not only chains man and all other things to the earth, but in the hands of God holds the univMPrse together. You may reflect then, that all bodies small and great, attract one another, draw oth- ers to tliemsolves, the less the greater, and the greater the less, but the greater always more powerfully than the less, so as to h?vea commanding power. You may consider yourself to be drawn by all bodies which you approach near enough to, and at the same time that they attract you, you attract tliem. This you will not be sensible of with respect to all the smaller bodies on the surface of the ear'h, but you will feel it very sensi- bly with respect to the whole earth and yourself. You will find yourself in all places and positions to be drawn to its centre. As yon lake your walks for exercise and the ent'^rtainment of voui ■nind^you may meditate upon this subject. While passing down %2 CONSOLATIONS OF tho hill you will be forcibly hdrried to the botn beyond tlie exent of your eye-: ighi thi(»ughout the ahnost bound- less univ(.^ se. Ail the way to the sun, nineteen hundred million nnles, you c:\n see, v.nd oil the woilds you iiave pnssed come wiih- in that range. You stand and g.zeat tlie Sun the great centre, and all those stupeitdous and magniticent worlds with their satel- ites. Commanded by him and regularly wheehi:g their inmense circles round his brilliant and nuijestic orb. By him held ;;nd wiie- I'r^d, with his great and sivong chain of attrctction, on which you travelled; and prevented from i.ying in upon him by the cen- Hfiigal force. Upon the grand and mngnificent movements and revolutions of this whole sys em of worlds, you will look with admiiing and 'U- tense gaze till you aie saiistied, and then exclaim, how g*e .; ! how glorious ! ! Is not this itself a great creation ! ! ! But this iS only ■) very small part of the wliole creation. You cas; your ryes ro nd upon the fixed stars several thousand of which you can see with your naked eye. To all these, with your eye, your thoughts p ss out, and not only to these but to the hi nd'ed thousands al- ready discovered by the telescope, nor yet to these alone, but te the myriads existingin all probability though yet undiscovered. — You have now become an astronomer, and with other astronomers you come to the reasonable conclusion, that as all these stars shine ivitii their own li<_dit they are suns and centres, each of a system like our solar system . Possessing all ihe advantages of the jour- ney you liave taken and tlie stand which you hold, you let your thoughts 1ini>er for a moment upon the v istness and wonders of •ne system, or set of worlds; then tm to another, and another, and another, and another, arid on, and on, -and on, and on, and further orj, further on, further on, further on, and still beyond, beyond, beyond, beyond, till your soul swells with contemplations of the gi-r^itness an 1 vastness of the Universe, and your thoughts break out and pass beyond creation to the Great Creator. "An unde- Tout astronomer is mad." But y\-»u are sober and devout. And at this solemn momen', most profoundly so. You li'.ll down with feverence and awe, and adoration, felt by you, but inexpressible to others, and exclaim — ''•Bless tlie T-ord, Omy soul: and all thit is within me Hess his holy name! Bless the Lord, O my soul. — O T.ord my Gol, thou art very great; thou ar: clothod wiMi bono* lud lii.jesiy.'' **TiuRe O Lord is the greatnees, and the powftr ITIB AFFLT€"tEi>, 96 jtfid thf! ^lory, and the victory, aiid the ai jesty thine is the king lorn, O Lord, e, s;iy yoii — who Is greater til ill all tJiese couiiiK'Ss vvoild^!! Who ni.do ihein witii all their inn:4bi!ants, nnd upholds theia, and g'lideb ihem, .ind lakcsspccj .1 Ccire even of their minnt<'pt par s. Whose Providence is ovt-r all thir>gs. You think, uieditite, adrni;e -nid adoie, lill yon noi only fornel tliMt your hody is diseased, hut ahnoji t^.roet that you h.e a body. This is consol iti- n. You pau^e, cdl in your thougrt;s5 gither lip, look homeward?, s<>v, lierschel farewell, take yourfight and I und in your own door-yard, and eu'er ;:gain your humble eiV'hly cottajje, consoled, ami with impioved heiihh. You re&f, and rep -at and p;olong your resr^ till you feel di p.s(d and desi- rous to think and meditate ag:in. So very entertdmng was ihe c-'Uise which last you pursued that you most naluT;.lly f dl ui;o the same agrain and proceed on from where you stoj)ped. You had fi'llowed cieation from hei ininulesT and more fjrnili.ii' pnv^s, v,!iich surround your humhlo dwellinjj, ihronoh her numer- ous and virions departments, up, with extensive strides, to lier ino>t maornificent and siupenclous, and had ev< n gone beyond cie- atiou to the Gfea4 Creator llim you h'd contf ni[)l.ited and ador- ed, uid for a moment tho ight of his Providence. Elevated to -he cxal'ed stand which you held, and wrongh; up to the hi^h pi'ch of mental contemplation to which you'weve, you could not f<..r-' be-r i>eing thus led on. Yon jzlanced a h^s'y, rapid, wide-ring- ing tlioiight in pursuit of that universil providence of his, which lakes spec id cnre of all those huge and dist iiit worlds tlint veu h 'd in contemplation with all the things and beings which belong to them. A second thought now readily convinces you that it must he iTi'ich more diflicult 'nd less profitable, especially to a perst>n in Vvnir condition, to attempt to pursue and witness the operations of the providence of Ood, in any other thin a general way, on any of those worlds wliich are at a distance from this on which is yf>ur p-e?ent home. Th<^refore, you conclude to think and meditate of th" acts of providence, as exercised in controlling and managing the world on which you dvvell. PROVIDENCE. To vou there is nothing in the least strange or astonishing^ thnt the Creator should superintend and control his creation. That he should f^)resee. oversee, and overrule e^ery thing h.e has made, small a'ld oreat. ariiurate and^ iuaruMiate, corporeal Hud ti^u'itual. Thici idea aud this couclusion arc inseparable yS Consolations or from the id.ea that there is a Creator; and of both yon arc abun- dantly satisfied. Creation's voice loudly declares the exist- ence of a Creator and of his providence, and revelation speaks the same truths so clearly and repeatedly as to leave the matter without a doubt. Having heard and fully and entirely credit- ed their voices you proceed to meditate, for your entertainment and improvement, on that adorable and sovereign, and often mysterious Providence which superintends and guides the desti- nies of yourself and all the things and beings around you. Your course will be easy. It will be most natural for you to follow creation, as you have just done, from less to great- er, delayin*; as you advance to meditate upon the control of Providence over each department or grade. As the scrip- ture? have selected and mentioned the hairs of your head a- mong minute and unfeeling things, but not too minute to be overlooked by Providence, you may begin with them, and of feeling things, with the little flying sparrows. Or you may begin with the particles of dust blown by the winds, or the grains of sand washed by the waters, and advance thence to the greatest things and greatest animals. Thus you will pro- ceed from atoms to empires, and witness the guiding of Provi- dence over each. No atom moves, no breeze blows, no germ buds, and not a drop of rain falls, without the permission and purpose of Providence. Very greatly may you entertain your- self in closely observing his wise designs in all these. Enter- taining however as these may be,'they are things inanimate, and therefore his management of them cannot be so attracting as that of things animate, though irrational. These are the brute creation, including fishes, birds and creeping things. You will amuse yourself by reflecting that Providence orders their different sizes, forms, comeliness or uncomeliness ; meas- ures out strength to each, and gives exactly that length of life to every one which will suit his purposes best. But you will dwell longer in thinking of the various and very numerous ways and means by which be sustains their life. Of the fishes, with great leviathan at their head, it is said— ''These wait all iipon thee; that thou may est give them their meat in due sea- son." What is their meat? They are meat for one-another. One species preys upon another, and no doubt often upon the same. And of creeping things it is said—" He giveth the beast his food." And of those that fly , "Behold the fowls of the air : for they sow not, neither do they reap, nor gather into barns; yet your Heavenly Father feedeth them." These too, both beast and fowl, prey, the oneupon the other; tjicw© of them which are ferocious and carniverous. The THE APrLirTETl. »' iamer sort he snppli^^s in milder w;.y?, bnt unfa all h?*. "opene.h his hiiid ana they are lilled with good/' Long mav you^ med- itate; upon this extensive and eiiTerUiining \'w\v of Providence. i3ut that part of his care whi'h is of all others trie mosl im- portant, iutercsiin*: and attnrtiiig, is his mannirenient of man. lie is ainmate, rational, f.-eling and accountalde. Yon are meditating upon the providence Of God over this world. ^Jc.n is the greatest and most interesting ol joct alt.uhcd to it. That too, which will make this exercise so decidedly superior to the foregoing, and incomparably more engaginii is, that you arc one of il)e race yourself, and come under fhe'-managcment rf the same Providence with all otheis. In this exercise you are not called to study the nature and faculties cf n;an,but simply to view him as controlled by Providence. You look at him then, as he comes into the world, a feeble animal. As his slrcnglh increases and his faculties begin to develope, he be- gins to lay plans for life. Thes • are generally very extrava- gant, but extravagant as they arc, many of ihem are pcnni-ted to accomplish them, yet far tlie larger part fu II through. When you look around and see the great .undcrtikings of those who are called eijterprising men; undertakings requiring great strength of mind. to plan and manage, and a ieiigih of time and much labor; and untiring and unyielding perseverance; and finally see the whole accomplished ; yeu are astonished at w hat mau caji do. Abundance of wealth accumulated — great buil- dings completi»d — cities built, and sumetin;es even where the waters fl , of states and of emi>ires, as ill any other way. Yon mav see an individual exceedingly prominent, glorying and exulting in the suasliin© of piospcriiy OS CONSOLATIONS OF and renown, but (as every thing has its day and its death,) you may see him suddenly brought down, and noiseless silence suc- ceed all his activity bustle and stir. You will be just as apt to see families which have stood long and flonrished greatly, broken up and scattered abroad by the death of the father, and that too, often in the prime of life You may do much at wearing off the tedium of the slow moving moments of the sick, by taking up some volume of history, or by calKng to niind the accounts which in former days you have read of Mie rise and fall of the great empires which have existed upon the earth. This i^ truly a sublime view of Providence, and if you suffer your mind to pass on in pursuit of the rise and fall of rm- pires, till you behold not only the last one fall, but the earth itself fall, your views will be greatly increased in sublimity; and you will be consoled; which is ever the effect that we dc- .sign your contemplations to lead to, and terminate in. But, perhaps you ask how consoled? 1 answer: By view- ing and meditating upon the amazing displays of Divine wis- dom, goodness and power in the upturnings, underturnings ana overturnings of men, both, good and bad. And a steady con- sideration of his undeviatingly righteous dealings with all; his doing strict justice to every one, and injustice to none, will be a source of great gratification and high entertainment to your pious mind. But in takfng those entertaining and consolatory views of providential dealing and control, yourself of all other sublunary subjects of this dealing will be the most interesting to yourself You are not exempt from this control. In its ex- tension and operations it reaches to you, and has ever had its influence upon you, and from it you can never escape. On this subject you will naturally and unavoidably be an acute and vigilant student. This is a subject which touches your feelings — your keenest sensibilities You acknowledge 3"ourseIf to be the creaiure of God, made for his wise and good purpose, and at the same time your own happiness. But your afflictions cause the great question to arise in your breast, how is his wise and good purpose effected by my grievous pain? and sorrows and at the same time my happiness brought about by these same pains and sorrows? This is the very interesting question on which you now become an interested, critical and daily student. And after you have thus studied for a length of lime, and obtained all the information you can on the subject, your mind settles upon the following view of it, which in this ' manner you briefly express. You say to yourself, it is true I am a creauture of the great Creator, and one of the race of men. In my original I was made good and without sin, Init THE AFFLICT En. 90 ifom tliis good and sinless state there have bceii an apostacy an I a tall: Therefore 1 with all the rest am a sinner and ii suff-rcr. Jesus Christ ihe Son of God came inl> the-world to sa\c sinners. Accordiii<^ to the infi wile and unsearchable wis- dom and knowledge of the Futher who sent him, and plainly to satisfy the demands uf his justice, he must suffer, and suffer to a great extent, in order to save sinners and take their suffer- ings upon himself. This he did. "He Lore our sins in his own body on the tree." He suffered not for himself but entirely for others. His suffering* were expiatory, nut to improve himself but to atone for the guilt of others. They were strictly, truly, and to an unlimited excent, penal and vindictive. All* those who believe this; who believe on him and embrace him, are en- tirely and forever delivered from penal sufferings. Those who do not, and who die impenitent, are not delivered from penal sufferings and never will be. Not only so, but all they suffer in time, and will suffer in eternity is penal, a just reward for their guilt. This is true, and yet their sufferings, in a general Vv'ay, are just like the sufferuigs of those who have believed and are delivered. The natural evils of both are alike, with this exception, that the wicked appear to have less than the righteous. Of this 1 see some proof in the cases of the rich man and the beggar Lazar.is. In the eternal world, it is s>aid to the rich man — ''Son, remember that thou in thy lifetime re- ceivedst thy good things, and likewise Lazarus evil tliiiigs; but now he is comforted, and thou art tormented." An all-wise and righteous Providence seems to allow them respite here, while fiery indignation awaits them, at the appointed time, in the place where the rich man is said to t.e. *'The wicked is ressrved to the day of destruction." The evils \\ hich rest upon them now, but which are removed from the righteous, at least in part, are judicial blindness of mind and hardness of heart. These are moral evils, and incomparably more dreadful in their nature than natural evils. But because they are blind they see not, and because their hearts are hard they feel not. There- fore, being wrapped up in the many folded garments of delu- sion, "they are not in trouble as other men; neither are they plagued like other men." For there are no bands even in their death. Thus it appears that the providential distinction made between the rightei;us and the wicked in this world is in favor of the wicked. Providence does not reward the righteous here in such a manner as to convince the wicked that he favors the righteous more than the wi,-ked. Of this the righteous are cojiv inced, knowing- that their sufferings aye for their good. I decidedly conclude that it is in favor of the wicked, if you do iOO 30XSOLATIOX3 OP not take into consideration ilie hope of a better world, vhi^rU the rightcjjus ijave. It sce»nstoineto be true, while it is aiso triie Uiuf ^*lhe way of traasi^ressors is hard." It is true there is a present advantage ani eiijoytnent in hope; but it is evi.ialiy true that all the hope that can- be given t) a creature ca;i:i^»l banisli present pairis and sorrows) — carniot muke present Siff.iiij^s present enjoyments. In this conclusion 1 am also coiitirnied, by th^ fict that Christ promised his disrnples perse- cutions, amon;^ other thiii^^s. lie let them know that they that would coiuc after rn.n tn.ist not only deny themselves but take up their cioss, Tiie apostle Paul .-speaks of his ''(iiling up th it wh4v"h IS behind ol the ailiicti.)ns of Christ." The ap:>sile P '.ler exh.nis us to ''rejoice, in as much as we are made parta- ku's of Cnrist''s s'lflerings /" And tells us that we are not to "ihiak it strange ugh some sirange thing happened unto us." Thus his disnples are to be tried — O it of trials and great tribulations they are to enter heaven Tne wicked out of lesser and lighter tnils are to Oe pluiigevi into hell. Their trials and sutTennjis hjre, thou^!;h lighter, are manitestly penal. They view them aal feel under ihem as th )ugh they were undeserved and God UMJ ist to brmg ihem on ihein. They are not humbled under them, on account (»f their guilt and unworthiness and ill de- B'jirts. Therefore they have no effect or tendency to correct and improve them. And therefore also, it evidently and indu- bita.ny appears lh.it they are judicial, or penal, or inflicied up- on them as a punishment of their crimes, and not as a trial or test whirh beiug endured to thr^ end should be succeeded by an enlire deliverance from ail sufF^^rings, Auguot ioth, 1629. B it thank God! I hope it is not thus with me. 1 view the plan of salvation, as devised by God ihe Faiher. accepting and being s:i:.isiit'-d with the .sufferings of his Son, as vindictive or pe- nal sufl'jrijigs tor me and all his people. So that wh.it 1 suffer; these pains and sorrows of mine are not penal but corrective. They are the trial oi test, which is that which is behind of the afiiictions of Christ. In them I do not suffer for others as h'e di 1, nor even for my own sins in a penal pr.int of view. This I could not do, because penal sufferings, such as he bore, were inhtnte, and I could not have suffered them out. The wicked never will. Mine I may endure unto the end. They are short: — They are light : — They woik out for me a far more ex- ceeding and eternal weight of glory. FrOin this view of the subject 1 cuQ see clearly how my paius and sorrows accomplish THE AFPLI'TEi^. 18*1 God's wise and gond purpose, and at thn same time bring about mv' hj;)j)i(iess. Beins; conscioas, also, 'jt' all that strength of rebellion which w ts m my h;jart by natare, and the unbending, unsubmissive stubbornness of my will, and reeling and know- ing by experience, the reducing, overcoming ami humbling ef- fects and tendency '^f afflictions, and als.j knowing, that *'be- fore honor cometh humility," before the crown the cross, I am not only reconciled to bear them, but even rej:>ice and thank G )d for these sanctitied afflictions v/hich are doing so much good f )r me. Mr lifetime on earth is but a moment. My exit^tence be- yond — eternal, without day, month, vcar, measure or end Af- flic.uons are oue great mean by which G d prepares me f »r a happy eternity, and by which to elevate me ab've all sufTo-rings ol all kinds and make me secure in bliss. Therefore, wiih good cause 1 may exclaim — how great is his mercy! how ama- zing his love in afflicting me! In meditadng upon his provi- dence over all other thiiigs and «)ver myself in particular, and on that special act of his providence, by which 1 have been disappui'ited in ail my plans and prospects of life, and griev- ously afflicted, I am thus satisfied, entirely satisfied; my mind is reconciled to it and at rest. I see that it is all for the best^ Aii things are working together for my good. Vour views, and fuellings, and- conclusions, my friend are correct and sound. They are perfectly accordant with the highest wisdom and the safest course. O'.that we could prevail upon the impenitent who slight th^ Saviour and his salvati'»n, to look torward to the end of time, to the judgment over, to "the righteous saved, the wicked damned," an ' the i>verwhelmiug floods of divine wriAth streaming upon, them! W juld they take such a view, v/ith "faith, only as a grain uf mustard seed," then would they heartily welcome such .iffli::tions as yours, and have the same views, and feel- ings and conclusions under them that you have. But, alas! th'jv do not! Thus far, my dear afflicted friend, you have considered the design of Pr >vidence in your afflictions as it respects yourself, but this is quite a contracted, narrow view of the subjert. Your afflictions, no doubt, are designed by Providence to make vou a better person not only for your own good, but fo'r the good of others. It is t > make y »u have ri^ht views and feelinarg concerning this world and the next, so as to cause all your conduct to savor of wisdom, and every word to have weight and mike an imirnission ev3n up )n ^he miifds of the thoughtless. If your afflictions have had this proper, legitimate effect upojn 9 102 tONSOLAllONS eF yo 1, it is sr^'in-.ely necessary fjr me to advise you to let your conduct and words be of tliis character. As you are disap- pointed arid pulled down from your earthly plans and schemes, and your strength is jone, and paleness has taken its seat upon your countenance, y(»u will stand forth an example to all around you of the vanity and futility of this world, and you will be strongly inclined, very careful, and unceasingly vigil- ant tcj make your words, (ns in a certain sense they are,) the words of a dying person to all those who have nut correct views and feelings concerning the world to come; who are not believ- ing, penitent, and humbled as you are. This, doubtless, is no small part of the designs of Providence in your afflictions. He shuts you out from the ordinary ways of man, and curtails you of Ihe ordinary enjoyments of this world, that you may be weaned irom it, and better prepared to wean others. Some persons, in hiy righteous and adorable provklence, he brings down to death with a single and sudden blow, that th"se around may tremble and prepare to follow. But you should re- joice that it pleases hiin to serve himself in another way wiih you. As he has stopped you in the course in which you start- ed, you are not to suppose, tor a moment, that he has no other course in which you ought to go. Henot only has another, but a better. He never chooses the worse for the better; but, in his wisdom, always the better for the worse. It will be your business to look Gteadily, acutely, and prayerfully to see which way the hand of his jirovidence points, and the next thing you have to do is to go in thiit way. In all probability the way in which you started was selfish, and had not his glory and the good of man enough in view. You must remember, you are his with all you are and have, and should be unreservedly devoted to his service. The best way that you can serve him on earth, is to ad- vance the happiness of raiiukind. He does not leave his children and servants without directions. He does not give them work to do without felling them what work it is. He will fell Ihem by providential indications wli^it he would have ihem do. A multi- tude of things combine and concentre to makeup these providon- tinl indications, tiiis hand of providence, as I have cdled it above. Tl?e strength, which you have; your knowledge of your own feel- ings and abilities ; your pecidiar turn of mind and strength of mind for ihis'or that employment^ the opinions of your most wise and prudent friends; together with the openings which may occur, and the smiling prospects of success ,which may invite; and above all the flattering promise of us-jfulness to m;m. Thus his hand will poin* to the way. Th»isyo»i will hear his voice beliind, saying "this is the way, walk you in it." Ypu need not be surprised, if he THE AFFLKTED. lOS should appoint you to that task or work which se^ms v^ry insigr.i- ficiint. It ishis delight to effect the greatest ends by small means. "C'od hath chosen the foolish things of the world to confound the wise; and God hath chosen the weak things of the world to con- found the things which are mighty; and base things of the world and things which are despised, hath God chosen, yen, and things which are not, to bring to nought things that are: thnt no flesh should glory in his presence." Do you have steadily in view his glory and the good of man, and very probably, he will choose yrai, one of the weak things of the world, to confound the mighty. By your instrumentality, weak as you are, he may work wonders of salvation for others. But you must go the wav jiis hand points and his voice directs, whether as you proceed along you appc^ar 1o ef- fect any thing or nothing. If there is no appearance of good ef- fected, your consolation will be that you have done your duty. It is possible for you to effect great good, but it not appear to you.— Should it appear, it will be much more enlivening and consolato- ry, though it may not be more real nor more extensive. God has made some seeds to germinate quicker than others. Some lie long in the ground before they sprout. In like manner it is with spirit- ual seeds. In speaking of the business in which you may en- gage, I do not intend to convey (he idea that it will be in your power to lie entirely devoted to spiritual thing?. This possibly may be the case, but more likely not. THe highest probability is that you will have to engage in some worldly business to procure a liv- ing. In some hght easy business of the hinds, according to your sex and grade in society. Something with the needle, or if you be of the other sex, something in merchandise or clerkship, &c. In whatever employment you ffiay engage, you will not hkely be excluded from intercourse with others. You may be more or less. The more numerous the circle in which you move, the bettes op- portunity you will have to do good. Let not a single one pass by unimproved. Seize every, and the slightest opportunity to point all the thoughtless and unconcerned around you, **'to the Lamb of God which taketh away the sin of the world.'" Thus, while you are exertincr yourself with all possible prudence, activity, vigilance and faithfulness to advance the happiness of man, it v/ill be a giea* source of consolation to you, that you are allowed of God t«> be thus employed. You, an undeserving, illdeserving, heiideserving sinner, not cut off and cast civA^y, b-it spired and granted a little strcTigth in the world of probation and hope, to speak to men and warn them to be wise. To warn and persuade them "to flee from the wrath to come." If in God's sparing and amazing mercy you ate thus indulged and allowed, thus to serve him, you will have consol.Uion arising 1^4 tidNSOLATlONS ©> frona another source. I mem the regularand daily labor by v?hici. you procure a hving. Thousands cannot do tins nor any thing at all towards it. Great will be your satisfaction that you are not entirely and ^absolutely dependent on others for food and raiment, and a shelter from the slorm. But this is far from being all the sa- tisfaction arising out of your business, Man is made for action. And in that vevy action, when it is lawful and wriglit, God hie placed no smill enjoyment. To the sick person, (as you know by experience.) it is a very considerable addition to his disease to be deprived of this enjoyment. From the industrious and active per- son it is taking away a large part of his life. But this in some measure still remains with you. Great therefore is your consola- tion. Out of this subject there arises an idea which brings to view a still larger amount of enjoyment. It is not the duty of per- sons in health, much less your duty, to live the life of a recluse; secluded from the world and the enjoyment of soeiety. It is al- together advisable that a part of that action in which God hos. pi iced so much enjoyment, and a little of which be has left with you, should be put ff)rth in visiting your friends. All physicians, and all experience, and all the world know, the good effects to the afflicted of a seasonable visit paid at the house of cheerful friends. "Iron sharpeneth iron; so a m;in sharpeneth the countenance of his friend," As often as you can, consistently, it will be well for you to visit your friends and enjoy iheir society , Throw off the cares of the world entirely, and give yoiHself up to relaxation and so- cial entertainment. It will, at times, be admissible not only to lay aside worldly cares, but even your spiritual concerns and exer- lions. *'To every thing there is a season, and a time to every pur- pose under the sun." And there will be a season f jryou to suis* pend all ordinary operations and surrender yourself up to the hos- pitality, courteousness, intelligent discourse, or even innocent chit- chat of those whose characters are good and v^hom you esteem. — Yo»i may listen to their usefid and ftcetious anecdotes, and indulge with them in a hearty lau£;h. Thus by a timely, free and easy, and social visit, you may be entertained with a temperate, and at the same time, rich feast of reciprocal hilarity and sober joy. fa the midst of this, you will forget the afflictions and woes that are upon you. Your spirits will be enlivened— your strength recruit- ed, and you encouraged to goon with a greater degree of alacrity and delight in the desirable path of duty. Tiiis is consolation. As you are a christian T presum?; you will not abuse what I hive said on the subject of visiting friends, by supposing that I thceby design to give you license to frequent or terrd balls, parties, or sutnp^uous entertainments where matters are carried beyond the bounds of temperate sociability and reasonable amusement,— - THE AFFLICTED. I0!j Where wild mirth, dissipation and intemperance are practised, in every supposable way. In licentious and extravagant eating, drinking, exercising, and ruinous loss of rest and sleep. These are no places for a christian to frequent, much less ^n afflicted christian. They are hot beds which produce affliction?, rather than relieve or remove them. — Hundreds and thousands who are chronic valetudinarians if they would be honest and candid, would tell you, that they caught tlieir diseases by the intemperance of such resorts. It was t quiet, and private fiimily circles, to which I designed to advise you to pay your visits. If you visit larger circles, they should be associations of religious persons. This brings us to a close of what we had to say on the subject of providence, to which, and to the obedience of which, we have been referring you for consolation under your afflictions. And it also le^ids us on to the high- and important subject of your own personal enjoy- ments of RELIGION. Here again, as in all theforementioned things, you have greatly the advantage of the patierit who is violently and suddenly brought down and closely confined to his room, the sick pers( n's prison. You cannot only sit up and read your bible at home, but visit reli- -gious assemblies, during the week, that meet to sing and pray — and on the holy sabbath day, vou can say, with and to others, "let us go into the house of the Lord. Our feet shall stand within thy gates, O Jerusalen)!" Your fe<^t can stand, not only witljin her gales, but walk within her palaces, and in the midst of the courts of God's house, surrounded by the congregation of the people, you may unite your heart with them in solemn and exalt- ed worship. In warm and lively devotion before the great King, the Majesty of heaven and eaith. Religion! religion! dearest word sounded in mortal ears, grand and greatest source of conso- lation to unhappy man! Unequalled soother of his pains, and so- vereign antidote for all his maladies! Great banisJtei of guilt, darkness and doubts, and introducer of light, hope, joy and eter- nal life! Kind heaven's highest, richest boon to hapless, hopeless man; bringing life and immortality to light in his soul; his soul otherwise envelo^jed in darkness and filled with misery!! This gift of ^Jod to fallen man, unquestionably paramount to all others, in- cluding in it the gift of his Son, wliich is called "unspeakable;" you, unworthy as you feel yourself to be, do entertain a modest, hnnal.le and strong hope, has been given to you. Has been im- pl in'ed in your soid, by the gracious means of God's appointment, and the powefnl agency of the Divine Spirit, the great Comforter. You have very carefuUv, minutelv :ind extensively examined llrfe 8* i{)6 CO^NSOtATIOKs' OP evidences by which it may be known to a person's s^Vf^ with greafei or less certainty, whether it is within him or not: and willi all diffi- dence and self condemnation, and unspeakable gratitude vou are encouraged to ti)ink it is within you. If this conclusion is ac- cording to truth, (uid 1 must consider it so,) all riches are wifhia f ou, "the unsearchable riches of Christ," to buy which the man is wise who sells all else. Thus you have done, you have p-rted with and forsaken all for Christ, for religion, and are willing to loose your life to gain life. You have a sense of pardoned sin. — You are restored to the favor of God and reconciled unto iiini. — His love is in your heart and you have communion wifh him and with his Son Jesus Christ. You have no fear of eternal torment. *^Perfect love casteth out fear." You feel yourself to be in a safe condition and a safe place. You have fled from the wrath to come. Yon see it coming, but not where you are or are to be. As I have hinted above, you have time and strength not only to read the bi- ble but to read it leisurly, and in all its parts. In its proclama* tions and offers of mercy, pardon and life to the wicked. In its counsels, and warnings and exhortations, and persuasions of them j and its terrible, and alarming threatenings denounced against them by the voice of the eternal God, which speaks from heaven and shakes the whole earth. Threatenings which he will inftllibly ex- ecute upon them if they da not repent and turn. This is the wrath that is to come upon the finally impenitent. You read of it in all the multiplied ways and under all the different and nu- .merous figilres by which it is declared and represented in the sa- cred volume. You firmly believe it and are escaping from it, v.nd have so far escaped as to feel safe. Thus you enjoy religion. — * And again, you have equally as much time and leisure, and are pleased to occupy more of them, much more, in reading and pon* during over repeatedly, and from time to time, all the doctrines and precepts for instruction, with which the scriptures do so richly abound. Furthermore, there is not a single precious promise or rncouraging word wilhin the lids of God's holy book, to which Jon m?^y not turn, and on which fenst your mind. In this yotr will delight to be engaged. It is a feast indeed to the pious heart. A feast at which you are in no danger of excess or smfeiting. — Where you connot partajt-e too freely, and all you do receive will be well relished and give you great strength. Con'^equently, you scarcely let a day p;)ss without partaking of this feast, without reading and meditating upon one or more of the kind and gra- cirus promises of a forgiving and saving God. Thus you enjoy yelioion and are consoled. Acrain, th«'re are n).niv doctrinal and pncticRl books written by pious and able men who were sound in the faith, Whicli book? tllB AFFLKJTRD. lOl Were (ie^igned and are well calculated to aid us in our views of the scrip ures and iii the practice of our lite. 'J'o some if not to all of these you hive access. Some are written in prose, others in poetry. Both will instruct and entertain you. Both will assist you to have higher and more correct and exalted views of many texts of scripture, and of the whole plan of salvation. The more pi- ous of them wil greatly enliven your devotion, kindle your zed, and warm your heart, and fill it with holy and happy and almost rapturous emotions and affectio:!?. The entliusias'.ic sublimity^ and burning ferver of chaste and correct and pious poetry, will in- ^eed fire your mind and make you all alive in heavenly contem- plations and heavenly hopes. Not one of all the thousand chords that twine about your heart will remain unstrung and unmoved as you read but all will vibrate, simultaneous and harmonious; — touched with the exquisite sensibilities of spiritual joy and love, with which indulijent heaven is pleased to visit the christian's breast. This is religion, this is consolation. But tliis is far from hnng the limit of your privileaes. Yon have strength andean have composure to enjoy your private de- votions. You can say, when alone with God, "hearken unto the voice of my cry, n y King, and ray God : for unto thee will I pray. My voice shalt thou hear in the morning, O Lord: in the morning will 1 direct my prayer unto thee, and will look up." — » lltiriiing, noon and evening, can you let your voice be heard by your King and your God, and direct your prayer unto him and look up. And while you thus stand looking up, and directing your prayer to the great One, you feel yourself to be in the imme- diate presence of the august and awful Majesty of all worlds. A deep solemnity falls upon you, and you tremble with reverential fear. You see his greatness and his glory. You remember youf rebellion and the depth to which you had sunk in sin and misery, and how low this great, condescending King stooped to reach you, Tou adore his M jesty. Your heart is filled and overflows with gratitude, and you give thnnks unto him, and praise his holy name that he did not permit you to sink forever. With all earnestness and importunity; and with the feelings of a son in the presence of a tender father, you most devoutly and fervently implore his elemencj and his smiles upon you a poor sinner, one of the chief ©f sinners. That he would forgive all y )ur sins, wash away all your uncleinnesp, entirely renew your nature and make you a new creature in Christ Jesus, "and meet to be pirtaker of the inherit- ance of the saints in light." And thus having prayed for the ren- ovition, and restoration and salvation of your soul, which is the matter of hi^he=!t concern, and feel ina yourself to be heard ind answered, -you next intreat youi heavenly Father to pity your poor ids CONSOLATIONS OP diseased body and remove your disease, if agreeable to his w>il. If not, that he would miUgate your pains, and if not that, that he may be pleased to resign you to them and aflford you courage and strength and patience lo endure them; to endure as seeing him who is invisible, and to endure unto the end, until your soul shall be released from its clay tabernacle and admitted into the society for which it is meet. Of that society, as you thus stand a suppli- ant on earth, your eyes being directed heavenward, you have a foresight, and of its joys your gracious King atibrds you a fore-- taste. This is one of the highest enjoyments of religion. Another, to which 1 must not fail to direct your attention, is singing the praises of God. This is an exercise in which you may frequently engage. Even in your daily employment you may break the silence that surrounds you, chase the woes that press upon you, and enliven your drooping spuits, by a cheerful song of sa- cred praise. The fascinating and charming power of music is in- deed gieat. You remember its elTects upon unhappy Saul. I am speaking of sacred music for you, no matter how you make it or hear it made, with the voice or on musical instruments. I would highly recommend it to you. The voice makes the best and is more natural. It also connects sense with sound. Not every one has a voice for it, and if you have, in your afflicted state you may not have strength to use it. if so, or whether or not, your delightful christian duties will lead you to assemble often with those who sing the songs of Zion. Who "sing with the spi- rit and with the understanding," and mike melody in their hearts and with their voices to God. While in the midst of these soft me lodies, gentle tones, sweet harmonies and enrapturing airs; be- fore "ever yon are awure, youi soul makes you like the chariots of Arnjninudib." You are wafted aloft, heavenward, upon the gen- tle waves of sound, and feel happy. Happy by the alluring effects f)f musical sounds, and by the devotional, worshipful and spirit- ual sense conveyed by the words that are sung. This is religious enjoyment. This banishes the miseries and melancholy of a shat- tered constitution and .-.upevinduces a better state of feeling. And this clone you are consoled. Ad hope. His Son the high and amiable Prince of heaven, touched by the sanifi feeling, vvith all reverence, said to his Father, " i'U mend the wrong they have done, whatever be the cost to myself.^ The Father well pleased accepted the offer. The Son undertook the stupcmdous work, clearly foreseeing the frightful cost. He to^»k it in hand immerti^.tely, and men were gov( rned with steady reference to his umlertaking. It was not required by the F^Jher that he should proceed directly to the execution of the more dread- ful part of the work. Previous to this, men might be saved nd were s;ivcd, by way of credit from the Father to the Son. To execute this more dreadful pirt, refjuired the descent of the Prii.ce of heaven toeartb, required of him, incarnation, humiliation and indescribable suffe'inss. To these he has subini'ted. And ^he di ine Spirit has be^^n sent to apply the salvation wrought out. — Tliese are the counsels of mercv and of orr?ce which moved tho ind'^p^nden^ eternal Fathe 's mind tow rds rebellious men. These atf the deeds of love and pity performed, for them, by his coeter- nal Son. Y')U, my fellow men, with all your race, were made intelligent beings, having underst; ndings to know and wills to choose. — > Yiuv rebellion ]v^s impaired these but not deprived you of hem. — ■ God is a pevfpc.f Sovereion, ind your wiH^ tre pe'ft'cHv fiee. — = Tw» truths plain and easy lo be undeislood wheo viewed sepa . 110 00?«SOLATIO?^ OF lately, hut if you attempt to reconcile them, the undertaking is al)0ve your present powers. 'Tis a mystery vvitii whicii you have nothing to do. Your business is to choose or refuse tiiis great sal- vation. And now, my dear fellow mortals, being ''allowed of God to be put in trust with the gospel," I have thus preached it unto you. "1 have not shunned to declire unto you all the counsel of God." It remains for you to determine and choose how you will treat it. Will you believe it, repent of yourrebelliun, throw down your arms and* accept the otFered mercy, have hope in your life, hope in your death, and in the world to come, perfect happiness and fulness of joy fon.'vermore, in presence of heaveu's iiigh, and holy and happy King, and all the pure spirits that are about him? or will you persist in your rebellion, slight and despise, and reject all these wise and rich and costly provisions of grace, and meet the doom of rebels? Take care, O ye immortals! take all possible care how you decide on this poini 1 No decision made by human beings is equal to this. All others in comparison to it dwindle to nothing. On it is poised your all. Consider what, as rebels, you have already felt. O look at what is before youj and suffer your minds to glance one thought, one slight view to what heaven has done and offers; and the arms of your rebellion will drop to the ground, your hearts will melt with sorrow, and you will embrace with your whole souls the offered salvation. — May heaven''s merciful King grant the same. Amen. You listened to the discourse with both your ears and all your heart. And as the spi.'aker delivered it with deep feeling, great earn- estness, and burning zeal, and pious persuasion, you embraced the " good tidings of j^reat joy" with every feeling of your soul ; you rejoiced and exulted to receive pardon and salvation from heaven's offended King. You, now at the close, look around upon the con- gregation to see if all appear to take as much interest in hearing the*' good tidings of great joy." You see some few tliat do, some careless, others asleep. Not so with you. One good effect of your afflictions is to make you hungry and eager to hear the kind mes- jiages of grace, the free offers of pardon and life. They give all parts of your religious exercises a sweeter relish than otherwise they are apt to have. Thus at church, you enjoy religion and are con- soled. You retire with the retiring congregation, and as you walk al.ng you think of THE PRINCE OF HEAVEN, the Son of God, Je-^us Christ. You say to yourself, in the pioui and silent medititions and musings of your heart, is it possd^e? is it posiMp? did the Prince of heaven do nnd suffer all these things forme? Is it a ''fiiibful siying and worthy of ^dl accept:.' ♦ion, that Christ Jesus came, into the world to save sinners," and me who THE AFFLICTEB. Ill am one of the chief of sinners? The bible declares it,— -he preocher declares it — the Saviour when on eurth proved it, and my heart loves him, and ihis is pioof to me thil he died not only for sinners but for me a sinner. O the love of Jesus! ihe love of Jesus, the Prince of heaven! how great! liow great! re chujg from heaven ^oedth, ;'i.(! drawing him down from the throne of all hon- or, and glory and blessedness to a cross of lowest shame and un- uttoralile wo! You think cf the " glorv which he had wi!h the Father before the world was." That he vv-s the " brightness of his Fiither's glory and the express im: se of his person, uphold ng all things by the word of his powe'.*' That the Father said unto him — '' Tiiy throne, O God, is for ever and ever."— That he created '' all things visible and invisibh ." That the father said " let all the angles of God worship him." " And that in him dwelleth all the fulness of the Godhei.d bodily." You call to your recollection every 'hing that is said of him in the scriptures. You think of every attiiluteof his whole chirac- ter as God and m;.n, and every trait by which he ise.xhibited to an- gles and men. Un^o the angels he is good and im}3arteth unto them {;f his fulness; so that they love him much and v^orship him continually. Un^o men and to you, he is much more thnn good; he is merciful. Theiefore your lo\e iiim more and would desire to excel the angles in his worship, in him every excellence cen- tres. Hischaracier is complete and nothing can be added unto him. He is the glovy of tlie heavens, and the joy of the wh(;le earth! Your love and gratitude and attachment and devotion un- to him are so great, that the 4anguf>ge of your whole heart is •' When) have 1 in heaven liut thee? and there is none upon earth that I desire decides thee.?' Thus in meditating upon the character of the Prince of heaven, the Saviour of men, you enjoy religion, And yourenjoyment will be equal in meditating'upon tlie character of tlieeternul Father. You will !)e in no danger, of honoring the Son more than the Father. As you are affiicied and specially need comfort, you think much of the great comforter. In all ihe scenes tlirough which you pass, and particiilarly in all your religious exercises end experience, you meditate very observingly and most deeply concerning his gifts and graces and operations which are within you. You, like v\\ others, once had no religion, w«s a child of nature, wi-hout these gifts and graces ^nd operations; but now, the" love of God i« shed abroad in vour heart by the Holy Ghost which is given unto yon." You are « the tojnple'of the Holy Ghost, and the spirit of God dwelleth in yo;." " The Spirit itself bejre^h witne-^s with your spirit that vou are a child of God." '< And if a child, then an ilg CONSOLATION'S OF heir, an heir of God, and a joint heir with Christ.^' An h^ir ^» to an inlieritance incorruptible, iindetiled, and tin; f.jdeUi nol aw :y, veservi-;d in heaven for you.*" The spirit itself heareth vviiness with your spirit of ihese great and most comforiablp. ficts, iliat you are no longer a child of nature, but a child of Ciod, nnd % joint heir with Christ the Pinc^ of hejven; whiise inht;riiance >9 very large and extensive, in his Father's dominions. Luge enough to divide out liberally to all those who >r' joint heiis \\\[h. him. So large that the number of ihese cannot be ao much in- c; eased, but thai he will beabU.Mo give uno everyone to the full ex- tent of iiis 01 her wishe«. And becatise the gr-int which every one shall receive, will be thus c mmensurate with every iiidividn d's largest desires, it is called his inheriting all ihinus. " He tl^it ovcrcomoth shall inlierit all things; and 1 will hn his Cod and he shall be my son " 'J'hus while "'• the spi'it itspjf heareth witness with your spiiit that you are a child of God," it heareth witness that you sh:jll eventually inherit all your heart can wish, shall in- herit all things, and he a son of < -od, like unto the Priiiceof hea- ven his first horn. When the Spirit, the Holy Ghost, the great Comforter is thus within you, comforting you and teaching you and bruiiiing to your rememberance all the things of Christ, what- soever he has said and done for your salvation, and giving you strength and courage to suppress all doubts, and a full assurance of faith and hope that yon ~wdl ultimately conquer and triuiTiph over all enemies visible and invisible, ;md enter into and take pos- session of the above heavenly inheritance, you enjoy religion and are consoled. Indeed, my d^-ar friend, this is the highest enjoy- ment of religion. This is the enjoyni'^nt of ^>od; and together with what wehnve said of 'he Father and the Son, is the enjoy- ment of the triune God, which is the fullest consolaticn a creature on enrfh cnn have, and which is the last I shall attempt to suggest to your thong!]ts. These are your personnl enjoyments of leiigion. And it pleas- eth the God of grace to j>rnnf you tliese from time to time, as vou move along in life, and need consolation. This is religion, and you increase in it mor<» and more, and abound and grow, " and hope to continue to gvow till yo'i siidl come unto a perfect man, unto the mesure of the stnture of the fulness of Christ." I have now my dear afflicted fellow su^erer, according: to my feeble abilities, performed tlie task I to(*k in hand. lam done. — I haveJMOUtrht nil things to your view, or at least given yoti a clew to all thinizs. To nature, throughout her multiform and vast df>- m-in; and to nature's God, who is the God of Abraliarn, the Cod of our fathers, -md the^^od ^^f s;.lva*ion. Accordiidy you lurn yotir attention to tliese things, and thoughts, and considerations, to ob THE AFPLICTEM. llS 1-ahi cnnsoiation and exhilarating cordials as you move on in the eJ.iTk vAh'.y of adversity. You reap more or less advtintagcs from thern, according (o the gentleness or violence of your disease, and the time and leisure allowed you. Thus you linger alonnr, witii intervals of better and worse, for weeks, or months, or p-rhaps a few years. BiU, in the appoint- ments and allotments of ^r<.vidcnce, the lime has arived when your di«e?se instead of permitting you to take long journeys, or neigh- hourhood rides or widks, or even dooryard walks, shuts you up to the contracted circumference of y(tnr room, and prostrates you up- on your back on the bed of sickness, feebleness and languishment. This is now your undesirable and unlovely condition; your consti- tution shattered; the animal madiine greatly worn and WMstcd and approaching to exhaustion and dissolution, and the mind almost un<". void inly dejected and discouraged. It is diincidt now to hope for life, but difficult as it may be you mvst do it. You have be«^n down before, and quite as low as you are ni»w, and from that depression and prostration, you neverthe- less arose and h^ve since seen many good days on tlie eartfj. This y<.u may do again, notwithstanding all the advantages the disease has obtained over your frame. You have become accustumed to endure pain and weakness, and may endure this renewed atlack and rise again! Be that as it may the circumstances under which you are brought down nov/, are better than in any former cf>se. You have had time after time, and repeated opporUmites and favorable ones too, to think, and meditate, and foresee, and prepare for this season of sorrow and trial. You have before been nigh unto death and locked the monster in the face. You have had time to be engaged in the manner I have described above. — Time to con- verse with your friends— read the Bible, and other books, and this book of consolations; to make up your mind, and beiuMllre- specta prepared in your views and feeliegs to meet whatever Provi- dence may have before you. You are at this lime upon your back, a feeble mortal contend- ing and si rnggrng with a disease which has long waged warupoa you, and often got the better, and sunk you very low; and is now daily sinking you lower and lower than ever before. Your esse at this juncture loses ils peculiarity and runs into the case of ihe patient described in the former part of this work; with this excep- tion tliat your sinking or rising will most likely be much more gradual than his. To th?it case I refer you. I shall not repeat in so full a manner, the d-scpption of the serious scene tiirouoh which you are passing, nor of that which is before you in either cale of life or death. I have already mentioned the advantage you have over him in the slow gradual manner in which vou wefe"^broufT]it 10 ' ^ 114 CONSOLATIONS OlP down. In other respects, like him, you have your physician.-*^ Though you had discliarged him, yd now he comes to see you to do you wliat Hule good he can. Your friends are around you. — You have their aid, cind iheir prayers, and pious convers:Mion. — Your good minister of ihe gospel visits y«!U. And your fait{;fiil, guardian nurse is conlinuuUy with you. You are now come il.o acfjndition more serious than any you ever knew yourself to he jn since you commenced your existence. And this condition is he- coming more and more serious every day. Your disease is mani- festly gahiing ground. You are losing strength rapidly. You are already so much reduced as t. exhihit to view rather a skeleton than a human being clothed with flesh. There is a crisis, not m:my weeks, or at the furthest a very few months before you, which will decide to which world you beloncj, the visible or invisi- ble. The wheels of time are steadily rolling you on t(» it. You have no way to stop them, and you cannot stop yourself. You must approach this crisis. You must come to it. *' It is appointed unto all men once to die and after death the judgment." Ijere you speak out and say if I- have that to do, ^* lam noi afraid to die. There is no fear of death in my heart. It is true I have had all the advantages of which you have spoken, and it has pleased God to bless them unto me, so that I f<^el entirely prepared to meet death. My Saviour has robbed him of his sting, and removed the glooms from about him. I feel much of the confidence of the apostle, when he said " I am now leady to tje offered and the time of my departure is at hand. I have f u^ht a good fight, T have finished my course, I have kept the f ith : hmceforlh there is laid up for me a crown of righteousuess, which the Lord the righteous pidge shall give me at that day." In short (^.o(\ is with me, and 1 feel myself to be a cluistain. And to you mv frif^nds I would sty, and to the world, that it is better not to he a human being, than not to he a chn.stain. Form-vself I can s:!y "I jrng to eat of that tree which is planted in the m^dst of the paradise of God, and to diink of the pure river, cleat as crystal, tliat runs through the streets of the Ne\\-Ternsc'lem. I long to be refeshed with the souls of thein that are under ♦Ijc altar, who were slain for the word of God, and tlie testimony that they lield; and to have tho'^e long white robes given mo, that I may w:,lk in white r.niment with those glorious saints, who have washed their ga^tneuts, and made tliem white in the blood of the L imb. VVhy sljould I think it a strange thing to be removed from this place, to that where my hope, my joy, my crown, my elder Brother, my Head, my Father, my Comforter, and '11 the glorious saints are, and where the song of Moses and the Lamb is sung jf>yfully; where we shall not be compelled to sit by the rivers of Babylon, and hang up our harps THK AFFLICTED. 115 on the willow trees, but shall take them up, and sinsf the new hal- Ifilijjah, Bl.'ssiiio, honor, gk>ry and powrr, to liirn iliat sifs upon the^thtono, iind to tlie Liiub, for ever and eve ? Wiiat is there under the old v.inlt of the hejven>^, and in this old-vvotn earth, which is groaning under the hondage of cor'upiion, that should m tke me desire to rem dn here? I expect thai new heaven and new eirth, wherein righteousness dwelleth, wherein 1 shall rest for evermore. I look to get entry to the New-Jerusdern at one of these twelve gi^es, whereupon are wiitten the nunes of the twelve tribes of Isreil. I know that Jesus Christ h;Uh prepared them for me. Why miy I not «hen, with boldness in his blood, step in- to thit gl^ry, wiiere my head and Lord hath gone before me? — Jc-siis Christ is ihe door and the porter; who 'hen shall hold me on ? O thou fiirest anions tlie children of men, the delight of minkind,the light of the 'lentiles, the glory of the Jews, the life ol' the deid, the joy of angels and saints, my soul p.nteth to be wi3:in7 eich oHiev's hearts, but as of tierce warriors upon the pi ;'u f single combat. Rither, your meeting will be within the confined circunitV;renceof this room, and in that corner, and on that bed where .you now lie. It is yet unc?rtain what the result of your meeting wdl be, whether yon will have to surrender or death be fjil'Ml and retire. But one filing is certain; at this moment you are not far apjrt,and death, like a heist of prey, the nearer he gets the more rapid his movements. He comes! he comes I Ol lie com e as a fiend. Dear relations and friends of e^rth! Firewell! Fire'.veM! I cannot stay! I go to seek a better world! Prepare to follow!! " Piepareto meet vuir God!!!" Death lays hold and tho prey is his. Sabbath Morning, Oct. 1,1 tU 1829. FOR THE YOUNG, IIV AFFLICTION; It w'll be recollected by the reader that I promised to writc-^jy- several classes of mankind, who might be in affliction. I selected the christian community for the first class, and thus far have writ- ten for them. I select the young, who may be in affliction, for the next class. This is a very interesting part of mankind; and one which, iniiealth, stands greatly in need of insiruction and correct feelings. Much more so, when in affliction. That person who is so fiir blessed of God as to do or write any thing which shall ex- tensively advance their intellectual and moral interests, is indeed blessed of God, and in no small degree serves his generation. Un- speakably great is the responsibility of him who sets himself to this task, especially in the way of writing. Their temporal and eternal destmies may be suspended upon what may drop from his pen. Their usefuln^^ss and Inppiness in time and in eternity. — To do or say any thing which will turn a large number of them out of that "way in which they should go,*' is hke turning a great river out of its course at its head, which as it rushes along will desolate the country through which it passes. Thus they will overrun and destroy others, and in the destruction will destroy themselves. Were we to see those of one nation, and of another, and of all nations, thus misguided, we would behoW a worW, rush- ing to desolation and destruction. And on the other haixl, if they be gtiided into "the way in which they should go," and do go in that way, we would behold a world regularly moving on to "glory, honor, immortality, yea, and eternal life." Such is the weight, and such the intrinsic importance of what is done to guide our youth. It is far from being the object of the writer to attempt, in an extensive degree, this guidance. I write for the afflicted, and do not mean lo enlarge on what I may be enabled to introduce to their notice and consideration. Be it my task then to spej^k unto such, in a plain, easy, familiar and affectionate style, a word or two of consolation. Those who are yet in their childhood I shall not stop to address. Such, who may be in affliction, (for no age is exempt,) I shall leave to l>e con- Staled by their parents and friends. I have to do with those \vh© OnrTE AFFLICTED. IIT tfan rpr^(?. This will embrace nil from ihe aee of ten to twenty, w i J !i . ve had thy prop t and desirable advant -ges of sc'iooliiig. At this lime of life, both sexos are liable to be s -ized by diseises mo-eor less violont; of s[i you read along then, ve fair on"s in trouble, my dear sisters in affliction and sorrow, it is o?dy necessary for you to substitute the words she and her, «fcc., in plice of he and him, &c., in order to receive into your own ten- der, but aching heirts, the consolations that may be offered. And now my dear juvenile cotnpsnion in affliction, mny kind heaven touch mt/ heart with the liveliest sympathies, while I hum- bly but earnestly attempt to pour into your disconsolate heart some reviving cordial, some ''oil of joy for mourning," and to pre- sent nnfo you, some "garment of praise for tlie spirit of heaviness." At the close of the two preceding cases, I ventured to say to the patient, that 1 had brought all things to his view for consolation, or at Ifast given him a clew to all *hings. But this I did without 3pe(-ifying or particularizing any particular characters further than thit they were christians. They might be m their afflictions, young or oil, poor or rich, single or married, at home surrounded by a belovpd circle of dear rel itives and friends, or in a distant or foreian land, strangers among strnngors. « A< [ had in that, done what I drsicjned to do in particularizinnr, in T s'fmm try way, the different sources of consolation, the various things cind thoughts and bei.igs which might contribute to the re- lief or help of the sons md daughters of sorrow, I now proceed to the executi(>n of mv purpose in particularizing characteis. — This pirt of my pi in, owing to its nature, ^nd to its connection with tiie foregoing, 'vill be in its parts even more summoy tlian that. I h ve there emhodit^l tho main part of my consolations. — In what follows it will be mv chief business to refer several di&r- 10* 118 CONSOLATIONS OF ent classes of mankind to them, and tell them how to receive antf appropriate them. In short it will be to attend to the peculiaii- ties of their cases, rather, as it respects iheir standing and condi- tion in society, than the ditFerent diseases which may be praying upon them. Accordingly, I procct^d to consider your case, my dear young friend. YoJi are young; and this is that grand piiculicirily in your character and condition to which 1 now di>ect my attention. Al- most literally, you "are of yesierday." Accoiding to the purpose and by the power and order of the eternal Creaior, you sprang into existence, but a short time since, upon the earth. Out of notliing you made your appearance here ui)on this struggling world, 'J'ho' struggling, yet it is fascinating, and often promises to its inhabi- tants, especially to the new comers among them, great and flatter- ing things. Indeed to the new comers, this it almost alw;y« does. Tims it did to you. As soon as your senses began to open and notice its surrounding objects, you were allured and elated with the prospect. Like all that are born of women, at your intro- duction to its scenery you were entirely ignorant of its nature and •onditiori. You mistook this wilderness of thorns and briars for a paradise, and vainly thought the people here hnppy. In this manner you passed the days of your childhood, without any great or signal check in your thoughts, and views, and feelings and pro- gress. External things and circumstances continued fair and in- viting. No dark cloud intruded itself info the atmosphere of your prospects, to put out your hopes and cover you with gloom. The 5tate of internal things was equally flattering. You grew with a vigorous and rapid growth, and you daily felt an increase of strengtk in your frame. Your limbs and features, and whole person, were VGgnlM and well proportioned, and as you advanced towards ma- turity of growth, api)eared more and more noble and grand to others, but especially to yourself. Your hair was fine and beauti- fiil. Your eye penetrating and attracting. The rose in all the fVeshness and glory of its bloom perched upon your cheek. Not ai wrinkle or furrow, as yet, had trials and sorrow plougljed across the lineaments of your noble featues. Your lips smiled graceful ly and pleasantly, and you had entirely come up to the bloom of life. But what is more than all, you were an almost entire stran- ger to sickness and pain. Scarcely a d^iy had you felt even slightly ill. Scarcely a single ptiin had you discovered in any part of your frame. The foiintain of life flowed full and healthy, throughout your whole system. Then, it was sweet to eat — it was sweet to Sileep. Your mind, your mind, was so easy and so much delight- ed, yea, intoxicated, that you were almost constantly employed ia bmiding castles ifl the air, as we say in modera phraseology.— THB AFFLrCTB». 119 And into one of these cas>les, with your head full of sche'ues, yoM h;id rnouii'ucl, t^ti- above the level and oidinaiy niovf^ments of per.-Jons of riper yenis and more experience. But at length, the iinih<;ught of aud undreidrd moment comes, and a fell diseasa creeps up the long ascent to wliere you are, puts out its merciless, mighty, monstrous h.ind, def'ces your heauty, teais from you your strength, and hrealjs your hold. Down heidlong, from your lofiy, aeaal height, you fall, with a sudden shock and dreadful crush! O! my dear young prostrated friend, I admit you need consolation! you do indeed greatly need consolaiion 1 And if the disease which has laid hold on you, is violent and raging, you need it hastily or it niiiy come forever too late. But in either case, whether vio- lent or rnoderaie, were your tongue to attempt to express the feel- ings of your aching heart, and could it use words most expressive^ all in the superlative degree, it would utterly fail to express the m- tensity of your desires for consolation, relief and restoration to health. The thought, the keenly penetrating thought, that all your earthly hopes mtty now be blasted, in addition to the pains you feel, gives a sting to every nerve, and harrows up all the ex- quisitively unhappy feelings of your disconsolate soul. VVhr^t! say you, to be pulled down and stopped, and it may l>€ cut off, in the very bloom of life! not in the midsl of my days but in the very beginning of them!^ not when my career is half or almost run, but just at its commencement! O! how irreconcila- ble the thought! how intf»lerable! I cannot bear it ! I cannot bear it! it will break my heart! it will indeed bre^k my heart ! Perhaps not, my friend. It is possible thot it is one of the best things that has ever yet happened to you. It may bring you to your senses, and help to teach you the nature of this world, and of yourself, and of the great and good and terrible God who made you and governs you. And this study is the very first thing to which I shall endeavol to turn your attention, in order to your receiving consolation. It is the want of knov.ing this world, and yourself and God, which not merely adds to yotir present trouble, but actually makes up a large part of it. I wotdd therefore most seriously r,nd most warm ly recommend this study to you, no matter how well and intimate- ly you mriy have before thought yourself acour.inted with the?:e things. No matter if you have before this, considered ynnrsdt a christian and even m-tde a profession of chrisii;le condition, and perhaps more rapidly and to better pnrposc Confined to youi bick thin in 'iiiy othtjr situaiion. in adirion then, to whir I hivesiid in \he forincir part of my book, to winch I now refer you for every tfnng wliich you cm apply lo youiself, I Woidd siy U) you, in order to suii your special cise as a youthful SUiferer, look arc ind up>.n *he world, und try to see and discover not what if appears to k-, Ijut what it really is. Vir w it, in all its shapes and fjrms and par*s and append ge^-, in its ch..nges and re- volutions, in its honors and emoluments, in i<.s joys and sorrows, and in is emptiness of good and fuhier^sof evil. Afier you h.ive d(me this most aiten»ively, and contiijued it as long as your dis- ease and circ ims ances will perrni , then pause and asii yourself whether this world is in reality so line, so valuable and excellent a thing, that an immortal being, such as you are, should break his heart about it, even if it is known to him that ho must leave it in a few days. Yei, go further and suppose that you are not called nor compolhd to leave it in a few days, hut permitted to accom- plish your mosi sanguine and aspiring schemes, and have as much of the world at your command as your heart craves ; and settle the question wMether it will satisfy the cravings of your undying, immortal and imperishable soul. To assist you in this business, which is so well calculated to bring resignation and consolaiioa into your disappoint(;d heart, call to your aid those of greater age. Inquire of your paients, and the old people, yea, the oldest to "whom you have access, what their sentiments and feelings are con- cerning the world. And they will te'l you, unless they speak what their hearts know to be untrne, th.it it has never realized their expectations. That it has been continually disappointing them from year to year throughout their whole lives, no matter how successful thev wf^ro in laying hold of it and having if at their commmd. And if these disappointments have taught them Vv'isdom and virtue, and made them rich in valuable experience, they will tell you that they have Ions since come to 'he full and d'Cided concbi-ion, that this miterial world utterly fiils to satis- fy the wants and desires of spirit. That tliey have clearly found its true place to be, where it ifi placed, under your feet, ind no* in your mind. This, no doubt, your parents and those around you, revorend with age and wisd(;ni, ofien told you, in the cJ; ys of your flourishing. But you were not only illprt^pared but entiely un- prepared to listen to, mach less believe, their old fashioned lec- tures and dry talk. Perhaps at this tim«^ you are in a belter con- dition, not only to listen, but to believe too. You are in the way to hp and thorough ex'minuion of yourself, that you may know yourself, foV/thls is the l»esr kind of ktiowledge, and indisp iisJiblv ne- o^ssary to your receiving consolation. Bt^cause if you are igna- 12S CONSOLATIONS 6v lant of yonrsnlf, yon will think of yourself not accordin/» to tnjthj not according .0 your real chnrac^er: and v; ill thciefore be expc;!- inloft with your head fidl of earth- ly empty schemes. As you are thus lookitig in upon your p-jssionf^ and rcinemliering what they \v\vo been, how nfen perturbed, and violent and vengeful and r'liiious to yourself nu 1 others; and re- mrnhering too the deeds w!iich tb-y have often caused you to coaioii^; but above al!, retrimhering lint both have always J)<*en ''n^ked and open" to the ev<'S of the eternal and allseeing Ood; and 'h\i he has been continually looking upon them ever since y-n h d passions and was rhe auilior of deeds, -nd that you are accouatahle 'o him f r every imprejier feeling, as well as e^ery idle word, vou may indeed be greatly humbled -nd very pem'ent. Yf'ur consol.'ion that will arise from this sourc<- .vill come from the ficts, thjit — " 'before honor cometh humility," and befor * bad passions and bad words and bad deeds are pardoned, mm must repen* of them. By this view of yo ;rself an 1 ihe thought tljat " «ad seetli you," you will ^p naturally led on to learn what you cau of this infinite and f^nful beinir. You will find him to be frotn everlasting, self existent, indepen- dpi^t, and possesse;! of all o«her perfections. The great One who made all things and reignelh over all. It is youi duty as an in- THE AFFLirTED. "123 telli^ent being to cFo whit you can to learrv anci mMitafe upon, and admire and love every perfeclion of this august one. This is that for which he mnde you, und in which you ought to be eng^gvd botli Ml time and in eternity. But always according to the cir- cumsfmces in which you are. You are now in your youth, and not only so hut afflicted, and it. is |)ossib!e you may die in a short time. Your ciicumst;inces therefore, do not require of you to at- tempt to study, at this time, all his holy per fee ions, in the man- ner in which a theological student does. You may do whit you can at this, but it will be your proper and special business to view him as he stands related to yourr^elf. Y(iu aie a being of feeling. You are capable of endmiiig pain or enjoying happiness. You have 8lre:idy tasked some litUe of the latter and have endured and are now enduring much of the former. The great prnctic il ques- tions with you t;ien are, how will G(jd order this for me as I advance in time and in the eternal world? what is liis natu e? how does he view me? will I be happy or misf;,ral»le? i his leads me on to ask you my dear fellow mortal whether you are a christian or noi?— ^ These questions which you ask concerning C-od nud yourself, 1 feel myself warranted in STying I cnn ari'^wer. If you live and die a cAr/. Y/an, yoii will be happy, if you do not, ynn will be mis- erable. If you hive evidence that ye.u are a chrislian, my duty wi'h respect to you is done. . The former parts of my b#ok, to which I have referred yo«i, contain all that I cnn s:ty for yon, v^'hate- ver be the nature of your disease* or the time when you must die. All that is said there you cnn easily appropriate to yourself. But if you are not a christian and know that you are not, much of it will not be applicable to you, and my most serious and earnest and wnm advice and exhortation, is to become one without de- hy . Now is the time of salvation, now is the diy. now is the hour. If you are not a christian no consolations will come into your heart from the invisible world. And if you are atlhis time called to die, I can discover not one sinijle consolatory considera- tion before you, but all that is disconsolate. When I attempt to look for consolation for you, I am utterly foiled and look in vain. 1 cnn see nothing before you but darkness, thick darkness and woes worse than diseases bring, woes so g'eat that nothing but the p*^n of iiispiration cm dH>^c"ibe them. Ynu will see the description in the Bible. The condition in which you are, thit of affliction, is one of the best to induce yon to become a christian. And youth is the proner se tson, the spring time of religion as well as of life. Should you listen to my advice and exhortation, and to the advice and exhortations of your friends, arid to the v(»ice of Providence, to tlie voice of Cod, and in tnith .ind reality become a christian, all the coitsolations, the strong consolations that cluster 124 OOKSOLATIONS OF around the christian's heart, would gather round yours and stitu- ujatt^ and encourage and sU(>port you living or dying. And if you aie so far blessed as to uo so u)id have the christian charac- ter, there is but one more thought which \ shall attempt to bring to your consideration. And that is, that you are an immortal be- ing! uid though but a few years old, have made sure of existence. This you have done in spite of all God's enemies and yours. In spite of all the diseases ihat do or can prey upon you, or ?11 ihe enemies visible or invis'ble that do or can rise up against you. A huppy immonality is the highest perfection of hunjan nature. An unhippy immortality is the deepest impeifecaon. ImmciUaU'y in God himselt, unblessed would not be a p^rfecticn. Let this then, be to you the sum of all consolation, and emirely resign you to whatever may be before you, ^ood or bad health, life or death, that you are a plant of immort 1 growth, and thouah yon but yester- day sprjiug up on earthly soil, and might grow in this soil a num- ber of years longer, and it may be have some strong desires to do so, yet there is another and better,"even a heavenly" soil ipto which whf.n you are rem*>ved, sooner or bier, you w'ill be tr;msplanted,an^ fltuu'ish, and flourish with a ])e?veti]y vigorous and immortal grow'.h. A sr^owth which c^nfiot be interrupted or blasted. What matter then if yo.i should b*-: ronjoved even in yonr youth, in the very morning of your days? You may be taken from many and great evils on the earth, and as y^»u hyve m?de sure of a happy immor- tality, would certniidy enter into the world of the blessed. If «:o, you would nf ver know what old age and decrepitude aie. You would be taken fiom them on earth, and with the rest in heaven w^uld always be young, and bloom, and bh)om in perpetual youth. Taken awr.y in the bloom on earth, to the more beautifid,ond glo- rious and everlr-siing bloom of heaven. And now my dear yonng Comp*:nion in afflic'inn, in this vale of tears, fiir sister or dear brot-er, whatever be the severity, the duration, or termination of your disease, may it be your lipppy lot to get there at las-, and in- to the hands of our merciful God I now resign you. — Farewell. October 31st, 1829. FOR THE POOR, IN AFFLICTION. There are different kin^ls and various dciirees of poverty. There is uiora! poverty and th(U'e is natural p.-verty, and bo'h i have rheir m-'derate and extreme de^nees. The poor for whotn I wrir ', are those who labor under thai, kind of poverty which consists in th ur ' ciiig desiiiute, in a greater, or less degree, of the actual comforts ^f life, land and r..inient and a «heiter fr' m the storm. Many are of this class, perhaps a majority of the THE AFFLICTBB. 125 human race. According to my general plan, it is not my pur- pose to inquire into the causes of their poverty. My business is not to account for the miseries of man, but to do what I can to alleviate them. A passing remark or two, however, 1 will make on the subject. Some are naturally destitute of talents or abilities to con- trive. Others are, by nature indolent, or in more familiar lan- guage, lazv. Some are shackled and surrounded by circum- stances which they are utterly unable to break through or sur- mount. The English nation and other monarchies give us ex- amples of the-^e, and they are also not wanting among our- selves. Others are brought to poverty by their vices and crimes. I am far from entertaining the presumption that my little hook will pass over to the transatlantic countries. I write for the Aiiierican continent; and specially for the United States of America; and shall be more happy and more gratefal than my tonfue or mv pen can express, if I am enabled to make it use- ful even to a few of the sons and Jaughlers of affliction in my own country. Therefore I j^hall not attempt to shape it to suit the condition of those of f>riegn lands, who groan under still more dreadful degrees of poverty than are presented to our view around us. I.jdeed o\ir own beloved country, of most happy government, vast extent, great salubrity of clime, and inex- haustible fertility of soil, even ^^flowiog with milk and honey," contains thousands and tens of thousands of those who present degrees of poverty deep and dreadful enou;^h to awake and em- ploy all the energies of all ifs philanthropists. Poverty alone is au ait I can through the means of pen, ink and paper. In your afflictions your grand peculiarity is, that you are p;>(>r. Previous to this you havy been struggling along, often- tiines des'itute of even c-jarse f ; >d to nourish your body ; of rai- ment suihcient to defend you from the inclesnencies of the sea- sons, and it may be, even to cover your nukedness; and without a sihelter good enough to turn off the fl jwing rain, the driving wind and the piercing cold. This no doubt you thought to be enough of the woes of time, but now a disease eiiiier more or 11 126 CONSOLATIONS OF less violent, as the case may be, has seized upon your unhappy body. Deep and desperate as your condition is, my fellow suf- ferer, you are not to suppose that there are no con-olations for you. There may be not only a few but many. It is true the world is often called an unfriendly world, and perhaps with too much justness; but at the same time it is ndt right to slan- der it. It is the business of every person to be his own friend, in every possible honest way, and in whatever condition he may be. And to all such, so far as my observation and knowledge extend, the people of our nation are disposed to be friendly. Many of the poor, may, without design, be overlooked, and some may be unnoticed on account of their backwardness to make known their condition. The great cause why any are neglected is the impositions that are practised upon the benevo- lent and charitable by undeserving and vicious characters. It has always been true among all nations, and will most likely ever continue so, that the best way to help the poor is to teach and encourage them to help themselves, so long as they have health and strength to do it; and when these fail, to give them the things they need • But even when health and strength are gone, they should exhibit a rftA^osiVtow to help themselves if they could. The maxim — ''first help yourself and then I'll help you," is one of the best of maxims and will never wear out. And if it were ever correct and sound, since the world began, it is truly so in the United States of America You may con- clude from the drift of my observations, my friend, that my con- solations to you will be lean and empty, and like Job's comfort- ers were to him. Be not mistaken, I think 1 have the best that the world affords. The first that I shall offer you, is, notwithstanding you are sick and diseased, to do and contrive every thing in every pos- sible honest way, to get along without the help of others. And when you can do this no longer, possess and manifest a strong disposition to do it if you could. Let all around you, good and bad persons, see plainly your strong determination to do so. Spend the last cent. Sell what few things^you have, to buy those which you cannot live without. Do not beg in an indi- rect manner by throwing out hints to those who are rich when they come in your way. If, of their own accord, they give you any thing, receive it with becoming expressions of thank- fulness and respect. At the sauie time show them by your words and actions that it is your firm resolution not to be de- pendent on others till you are absolutely driven to it. Let the doctor who visits you and witnessess your low, and ddfilitute, and wretch(;d condition, see this disposition in you THE AFFLICTED. 12*? This is not only the most respectable and honorable way to beg, but the aiost eflectual. When the doctor and all your friends thus see and know your condition and disposition, they will feel moved for you, and consider you worthy of attention. Not only so, but they will say to others who are rich, who have the good things of this world in their possession, "do you know how poor, and sick, and helpless, and wretched such a person is?" And "we can assure you that he or she is worthy. He is doing every thing that is possible to hold on and hold out and bear up, but it really does a[)pear to us that it is impossible for him to do it much longer." '•H!jmanit\-'calls loudly for us to do something for him." If you do as 1 have directed above, you will ni'St likely obtain all the assistance your fellow mor- tals can give you, in the most honorable and best way. One good and kind neighbor will send \ ou some delicate food suita- ble f-^r the si -k. Another will sufiply you with the necessary clothing. A third will see that you are properly nursed and kept clean. The doctor, or some fourth person will provide what medicine >ou need. They will see that your house does not leak upon you, nor admit the wind and cold, and they will keep it properly aired and properly warmed. Moreover, they will speak comfortable and encouraging words to you, and cheer and stimulate your heart as much as they can. All these things, we say they may do, but it is pnssible als* that they may do none of them. If they do, ) oir consolations will neither be few nor small. If they do nut. I feel it neces^ sary to advise and caution you still fLirlhcr. 1 would caution you agains! having hard feelings towards ihem. There may be some good reason, unknown to you, why they act as they do. Whether there is or not, you must remember, with a^ll humility, that all the claims you have, are the claims of suffering hu- manity; and it is with them to choose h*-w, and when; and where they will bestow their charities. Again, I would most seriously caution and advise you to be strictly honest. When you see the wealth and abundance of others around you, and these things too very much exposed and easy to be taken hold of by you, resist at all limes, most mightily, every temptation to do so, even in the slightest way. If you have every facility to take some trifle which dos not seem to be of much use to the owner, and to conceal the taking of it from him, "touch not, taste not, handle not." When you beg, beg right out, openly and aboveboard. And when you can no longer get along without doing it, it will be honorable to do so. It will l>e your duty. From the advice I il^ve given to shun U le the last extremity, you must not eirby !28 «ows6lations ^P attempting to shun it too long. It is possible for you to posses^^ too much independence of mind. If you carry his to an un- warrantable degree, it will be an improper and uojustifiinble kind of pride. Pride and poverty are two of the nu st dread- ful evils that can happen to man. If you were originally a person of independent leeiings, or if you were once wealthy, or even, as we say in common language, well off, you will be very liable to have this bad kind of pride. The trial will be exceedingly great, to be reduced to the necessity of begging your bread. So great that you will be apt to suffer longer and more than you ought to suffer, before you will humbly ask your fellow mortals for help. You may even endanger your life by doing without the things which are actually indispensable to support life, and the want of them, and the proper medicince and medical advice, may render your disease mcurable, though your life may not be brought to an immediate end. Therefore 1, as one of your warmest and best friends, would most ear- nestly beg you to beg before you come to that point. It is fit and proper to endure very considerable privations with the hope of getting along and getting through, but not to such an extent as greatly to endanger your bodily health, or put your life in jeopardy. If it should be your lot to bo reduced to the necessity of beg- ging, go first to your relations who are able, if you have any in reach. In them God bus placed, by nature, an asylum for the poor, who are bone of their bone and flesh of their flesh. This asylum was in their breasts by nature, and is still there, if neither they nor you have, by improper conduct between you, broken it down. The walls . and strength, and excellence of this asylum consisted in their and your natural and mutual afiections; your love for one another. If neither they nor you jarred, or lulled, or deadened the^^e affections, they constitute nature'* poor-house, and heis is the best. As we have said, if there is such a poor hov^se within yt^ur reach, by all means make your way to it. Go, or be taken to your relations who have something in their hands, or get them to come to you. If the understanding between you is g«)od, tbey will remember the words which say- *-E\'ecute true judgment, and show mer- cy and compassion every man to his brother," and they will do so. But if it is not good, you will do well to remember, that '*a brother offended is harder to be won than a strong city ; and their contenlions are like the bars of a castle." In this case you may find it to be true, "(hat there is a friend that stickeih closer than a brother." And you will ssee and feel the propriety df the advice givea in another place, where it is Sdid, "Thint THE AFFLICTED. 12^ owTi fHend, and thy father's friend forsake not; neither go into thv brother's house in the day of thy calamity; for better is a neighbor that is near than a brother far off." If j'ou have such a neighbor, who is your friend, or your father's friend, he is your next refuge ; to him 1 would advise you next to apply. Should you fail in this application, Lknow of no other course for you than to fall away upon the mercies of the community at large, to come upon the town, and yield up yourself to be treated and taken care of in whatever way they may find them- selves able and feel themselves disposed to do it. How un- speakably thankful, my friends, should jou and I be. that our fellow men are disposed to help, in any way whatever, those who are in deep adversity And that in our beloved America, it is not every body's business and thus nobody's business, but a matter of official concern. T\at moneys are raised by taxa- tion upon those who have the comforts of life in their hands, which moneys are to be spent for the relief of the poor and help- less. That these provisions are generally made and mak- ing in the country, by townships and counties, and that in our cities there are large and suitable poor houses. And in both country and town, that there are officers appointed whose duty it is to fly to the crying necessities of suffering and languish- ing humanity. AH the forementioned resources having failed, you must make known your condition to tbem. Ic is in their power to help you where you are, if they think best. Or they may remove you to some private house, or lastly take you to the public poor-house. If you have a choice you must men- tion it very modestly, remembejing that ^'beggars should not be choosers." In either case, wherever you may be kept, at home, at some private house, or in the public poor-house,I would most warmly recommend it to you to be very mild and kind to those into whose hands you fall. Endeavor, by every proper and laudable method, to gain the affections and sympathies and tender treatment of those who are appointed to attend upon you. . Be very prudent lest you ( ffend them. And if you should find their treatment to be so rough and unkind, as to be intol- erable, plead your cause with tears in your eyes first with them, and if they do not hear you, then with the proper officers. Let every word you speak be the truth, and beg with an honegt heart, that they will have you faithfully and tenderly nursed (if you are so. low as to be unable to nurse yourself,) and that th»'y will keep you clean. But 1 wish you distinctly to remem- ber, that this great and important business of keeping clean, lies first and mainly with yourself. Had. 5'ou a home of your •\*B, and that full of the comforts of life, and were you une tf 11* HS^ C'dNSOLATIONb eP the richest of the rich, and attended not merely by one, but hy a number of the denrest, tenderest and most affectionate rela- tives, they could not keep ^ou clean without your efforts to keep yourself so. A person whose body is diseased to any great extent, una- voidably sends forth a morbid, loathsome scent. This is bad enough when every thing is done in the mosi prompt and con- stant manner to remove it, by proper airing and changing of clothes, but it is unspeakably worse where every species of filth is suffered by himself and others, to remain about him. It can but increase the disease. From this you will see that it will be necessary fcr you to be very cautious when you are about to complain of others, that the blame is not mostly, if not en- tirely your own. If you are, however, upon good grounds^ persuaded that in these great matters of nursing, giving medi- cine and keeping clean, the fault belongs to the nurses and other officers, and they all refuse to hear your intreaties for better attention, the doctors are that class of men to whom yoa will, in the next place, most easily have access, and whose bu- iiness it is to listen to your tale of wo, and interfere on your behalf. But should even these appear cruel, and refuse to do or say any thing for you, the clergy are the next class, whose proper business it is to visit the poor and the sick, and to com- fort them both in word and jdeed. To them you may impartial-' fy expose your condition. From some, or all of these different characters you may expect consolation. If it be your lot to be taken to the public poor house, this is the place to which other* who are poor and sick are also taken. And for convenience in nursing, the sick are sometimes placed in the same room» This may be the case with you; and if so, you will have not duly your own filth to contend with, but that of others. This will indeed be a sore trial; and one of the sorest, if you have been a person raised in the more decent wa\ , and do possess- something of a correct and delicate taste. Should \o i find yourself lying in the midst of those as bad, and many of them worse, than yourself, and withal not disposed to keep clean, you will need a great degree of patience; and it will be of no small use to you to possess a great degree of prudence, and to have both in constant exercise. Tell them, calmly and delib- erately, the bad elfucts and consequences of their negligence. And persuade them most earnestly, with a warm heart, with the heart of a fellow sufferer with themselves, if they have any reirard whatever, to their own welfare and to that of f h »se around them, to exert all the remaining powers which the\ have, to be patient, and miidj and to keep clean. A word Irom you, or THE AFPLICTBD. iSl ffom some other inmate and fellow sufferer, will have more weight than from any other source. If one of you be not heard, let as many of you as can, join to plead and persuade, and your united efforts will likely have more ir.flaence than the combined exertions of the keeper of the house, the trustees or officers, the doctors and the clergy. It is your incumbent duty to do what you can to instruct, and counsel, and encourage, and comfort your fellow sufferers around you. And they should do the same for you You suf- fer together, and it may be, that you may be called to die, the one by the u aeither he«ir, belkv'^ 134 CONSOLATIONS 6V fior obey the gospel, are a be^orar, destitute of even criimbs, and at the point of death. O! O! my dear afflicted, wretched fellow mortal, what thoughts, what feelings do you, can you have, about dying in this condition? Wretched here, and to be wretched in »he world to come. Going from this deep pov- erty and these dreadful calamities and woes into the place of torments, where they "weep, and wail, and gnash their teeth." And this you will certainly do, if you have no treasure in Heav- en, are not rich in faith and an heir of the kingdom. If you have a few years or months or even days yet allowed you, between this and death, cry, O cry, with the dying thief, 'unto Josus, Lord remember me, now thou bust come into thy kingdom.^ And as you cry and continue to cry, and beg and intreat th it he would remember you, be you careful to Gear in mind, that he did remember ;he dying thief, "and say unto him, verily, I «ay unto thee, to-day shalt thou be with me in Paradise.^' And that he heard the cry of every one that called upo.i him, poor widows, poor cripple*, poor blind men, and all the sons of misery, and turned away none, not a single individual. He wrought miracles after miracles to cure their bodies, and to cure their souls, he forgave iheir sms arid spoke peace unto them. He ^'rememl'ered them in their low estate." He remembered the poor. As then so now ''he delivereth the poor in his afflicli n." "The needy shall not always be forgotten, th ex['ertnti>.n of the poor shall not perish forever." "The L.>rd heareth the poor." "He will regard the prayer of the destitute, and not despise th^ir f>raver." **H3 setteih the poor on high from affliction." *'He shall spare ihp poor and needy, and shall save the s iuIj* of th-! needy." All these important, and weigh-y, and rich, and precious truths call to mind, and let them siuK down into your mind with all their weight. Believe them with your whole •o jl. Believe in him "who though he was rich, yet f jr your stkeho became poor, that you through his poverty mijht b« rich " And then you can apply the two first parts of mv b >ok to yourself. And then too, your spirit will be rich, '*rich in fiirh and an heir of the kingdom " Rich, even if your body fchould starve to death, or be wasted by consumption. 4>r putreft- e.l with sores and should rot and fall frum your spirit. H w- in^T Ibis preci )us fiiint you to .he ^ggar Lazarus. As was his happy departure s^ will yours ber IWB AtTLICTB». 185 Kind guar<^ian angels will wait and wat'.h around you, tilj your spini, already rich with spiritual heavenly ri( hes, shall leap :)ut of its cla) tabernacle; then they will carry it to Alira- hanrs bosom, to the world where all is consolation. Where consolations grow on every twig, float upon ail the waters, are wafted by every breeze, spoken by every tongue, and felt to the full by every heart Where there are none po<»r, nor sick, nor disconsolate. O happy, happy change! thrioe happy! un« speakaMy happy! Daar son or daughter of poverty; Gud grant that this change may be yours, when your spirit is called away from your weather-beaten, way-worn, frai), decavingand crum- bling body. That you may leave all your poverty, and all your woes behind, — find none where yot» go, and eater the world which is full of consolation. ISov, 2 J. St, 1829. FOR THE VICIOUS, IN AFFLICTION. The vicious are those who indulge in vice, who commk wickedness, who do not restrain their bad passions, but gratify them at the expense of virtue, goodness and happiness. Wh« vitilate the wholesome laws of Gcid and man. O thou high and holy One! ngbfeons God! God of the righteous! wh ise providence doth afso afflict the vicious, be gracious now, b« with me and enable me to speak a word to the sons, yea, and to ihe daiighters of wickedness. Supply me \vi(h that word, that ii may i'e a word of wisdom, and efficncious to teach, 'O warn, to territy, and to persuade, to sooth and to comfort the self accusing c<7n«cience, the guilty eoul! I.'i addressing this part of mankind, I am well aware that, in the si^ht of God '(here is none righteous, no, not one. There is none that doeth good, no, not one. They are all gone out of the way. For ad have sinned, and come short of ihc glory of God." C Lit all are not openly vicious and immoral. Neither do all commit secret sins and approve of th<':u and delight in theni continually. There are a part of mankind, hiwever small th.rt part may be, which do a great deal more in restraining their bad passions, in withho Jiiig themselves from all kinds and species of vice, and wickedness, and evil, thnn another part. And this lays a just and t:road foundation for the divisi(-n of the whjle race into jwo classes, the virions and the vici-iis. I entferlaia no doubt, 1 am able to say, I kaow, that the vicious .iS6 (CONSOLATIONS OF is far, is incomparably the larger class. Therefore, should 1 be enabled to write any thing really useful, 1 may be useful to much the larger part ot mankind, and that part too which is much the more needy. Tiie vires which the unhappy sons and daughters of vice commit and indulge in, are also numerous as well as various. The temptations to them are all around, and at every step, and within thorn there are strung inclinations and_ propensities to give way and yield to one, or many, or all of these temptations. "Out of the he;irt proceed evil thoughts, murders, adulteries, f(trmcations, thefts, false witness, blasphemies. These are the things which detile a man." All these are outward acts, ex- cept evil ihoughts, and are declared, as well as evil thoughts, by him who "-knew what was in man," and could not err, to proreed out of the heart. The infallible Saviour, who had all wisdom, in stating to the scribes and pharisees, to the multitude and to his disciples, the things which defiie a man, has here given us a summary of fhe vices. A summary of all these in- ternal and external things which defiie a man, which constitute hi.n a vicious character. I say a summary, and nothing more. M^ny things may be omitted in a sumaiary, yes, even innu- merable particulars. Internal things he includes under tha head of evil ihoughls. Outot evil thoughts, evil desires arise; all kinds and species of evil desires fiom the least to the great- est, from the first to the last, that the unhappy sons of men, sons and jdaughters of vice and wickedness, suffer to brood in their breasts, and to destroy their own peace, and to break out and blast their own reputation, and despoil the honor and de- stroy the happiness of multitudes around them. Under this head he includes every unholy and unlawfui carnal feelniT;, or feoiing of »'the carnal mind." All the unhallowed and f;>roid- den lusts of depraved human nature. Under the next head, in which h« enumerates a f<^w of the most prominent and atrocious, and tlaorrant. and heaven daring vices, out of the thousands he includes all outward acts and words, the tendency, and eflfect and consequences of which, are vicious and evil, and ruinous to -he persons wh > aro the authors of them, and to their fellow jnorfals aroujid. Every single act ahd word of the kind, from the mo^t trivial deed and the m >st insragnilicant idle word to ihe sheddiuof of die blood of their fellow men, who were made in the im a-TO of their Creator, and to the awful blasphemy of this sauie •v,neat Creator of all. As we have hinted above, the vi'-es are th-'usands in n.nn.«er. To enamerate them all, in all ihdir ^haoos a. id form-;, with all iheir miaous bearings, would entirely surpass the iiinits and design THiE AFFLtCTEB. 13*/ of my present undertakina. In different nations^ difterent vices prevail, according to the facilities to commit ihem, and the temp- tations to them; though far the larger part, are common to all na> tiond, especially to all that are civilized. Some of those which pollute, and perturb our l-eloved America, which distain her sons and some of her daufifhiers, wliich despoil her of her glory, — tear up the foundations of her good society, nnd rob her of her peace, I will now mention, observing something like the order in which the sons and daughters of vice generally move on in them. In these movements their most common course is from less to greater ones; and the most common time of life to commence the course, is in youtU^ though there are ma ny exceptions. They generally begin with the use of idle, and low, and obscene, and profane words. If they are not born associates of low and vicious companions, the use of such words very naturally lead them to associate with companions of this order. And as the vices have their associates, as well as mankind, and are linked together like a chain, they proceed on from the use of foul and profane words, to every species of falsehood and lying; to all which their asso- ciates often tempt them. And when they gather together in their associations, the next step is to drink, perhaps only a little strong drink, in company, to cheer each other's spirits. Then to gamble for a few hours. At the next meeting they drink larger draughts, and gambl more extensively, and longer. Thus on till they drink so much as to be intoxicated, (viz.) drunk; and from time to time drunker, and drunker, till they become confirmed drunkards. This vice is generally allowed to be the most extensively practised, and the most ruinous and fatal of all others that prevail in Ameri- ca. Its tendency, if it be not checked, is not only to all kinds of misery, and to the utter ruin of thousands and millions of the bodies and souls of men, but to unpeople the nation. I forbear, however, to make any further remarks on it in this place, and will pursue the vicious some further in their course. From the tippling shop, or grog shop, or tavern, or coffee house, which are also too commonly gambling houses; they next find their way, under covert of *hc darkness of the night, to **her house whose house inclineth unto death, and her paths unto the d< ad. Whose house is the way to hell, going down to the cham- bers of death." I mean the house of sexual debauchery. And here, alas! alas! they are joined in their course of vice by the other sex, the female sex, the fair sex. The scenes of debauchery, and lying, and riot, and stealing, and robbing from one another, and fishtmg, and stabbing, and mUrder, which take place at such houses, I shall not attempt to describe. Those who wish to con- ceive of tbem in some degree according to the extent of th^ir, 12 138 CONSOLATIONS OP enormities and horrors, may think of them as places at which all the unhallowed, violent and raging passions of the human heart are let out. At which there is no aminhle blush of chastity and delicacy, but where all the fires of corrupt human souls are kin- dled, and flame without the least moral restraint, and where all the dreadful, and filthy, and covetous, and vengeful lusts of sordid human bodies meet, with no check, but boil up and overflow, like the boilings and overflowings of a caldron filled with corruption. Here also som.e of the most loathsome and fatal diseases are Caught, and the unhappy persons who catch them, sink into the deepest degradation and misery. When confined to their beds by these diseases they are very righteousb' shunned by all the vir- tuous and decent, and often suftei more than tongue or pen can express. Not un frequently it becomes the very unpleasant duty of the overseers of the poor to take them to the public poor house. Their treatment cannot reasonably be expected to be any other than that which is rough and untender. Who that is virtuous can have a heart to wait on such objects with affection and tenderness? If there is a human being among all the sons and daughters of misery, that deserves to be neglected and ill treated, such a char- acter does. And if, in this condition, they repent of all their wickedness, those who have the care of them do not, nor can tliey readily believe their repentance to be true and real. At the same time this is' the best thing they can do. And if they cannot con- vince men of the truth and reality of their repentance, God will see it and know it to be true, and will have mercy on them if men do not. But it is more common for them to be taken by the constable or sheriff from these resorts of vice, and iniquity,and crime, to the dun- geon of the public jail, and there to be loaded with irons and "fed upon the bread and water of aflliction," until the day of their trial, in the public court house, before the appointed judges and twelve hon- est jurymen of their country. And here, in the presence of the whole court and all the citizens who may come in to hear the account of their enormous crimes, ikey are generally found guilty and condemned, and one of the judge? passes the solemn sentence of their condemnation upon them. They are found guilty and con- demned and sentenced according to their crimes, some to the pen- itentiary, the hateful prison of criminals, to labor for a term of years, or for their life time, shut up from all the cheerful wa>s of men, in dreary and servile and toilsome confinement. Others are sentenced to be taken back to the jail from which they were brought out, and there to be kept so many days till the appointed day to be hung, and then to be brought out dressed in grave clothes, sur- rounded by a guard of armed men, placed in a cart, back foremost. THE APPLICTEP. 139 with a rope round their necks, and their coffin by their side, and thus to be driven to the gallows erected in a conspicuous place, and there in the presence of thousands and ten thousands of their fellow men to be hung, according to the sentence of the judge, "till you are dead, dead, dead, and God have mercy on your soul." This is the career very frequently run by the vicious, but in pursu- ing it, the richer and gayer, generally go by the way of the theatre. The poorer make lying, theft, forgery, robbery and murder, their more special business. This however is far. froni being the only course in which the vicious are to be found. They are among all classes of mankind. And they generally strive to conceal their vices. In this strife many are successful, and though they prac- tice some of the most dreadful, yet escape the eyes of mankind, and pass among men for virtuous, decent and worthy charac- ters. Not only so, but there are many vices and these too very much practiced, which though they can be discovered and well known, yet are excepdingly difficult, if not impossible to be seiz- ed nnd punished by the arm of human law. From these causes, together with the strong propensities of mankind to evil, those are very numerous who practice vice at their own homes, in the pri- vate family circle; so that society is annovedand disturbed both in private and public by the vicious; those immoral and heedless mon- sters of our race who instead of striving to better the condition of mankind ire employed in making it .worse. And you, my afflicted fellow mortal, are one of this class of mankind, are a son or a daughter o£^ vice. Some one or more of all the vices you have s[iven way to and practised, in some or many of all their forms. You have gone on, heedless of tlie laws of God and man, regardless of the peace and happiness of your fel- low beings, and of your own peace and happiness, and what is worse, of tb; honor and glory of God. Perhaps you have pursu- ed this course a length of time, it may be a number of years, and that you have gone to great, and enormous, and frightful lengths in sin and wickedness and cri'me. It is possible you may have con- ' cealed your vices, not only from the eyes of the public officers, so as to have escaped detection, but even from the eyes of the sober and virtuous part of mankind. So that your sins are secret sins, €ir at least known to but few, and you practicing them as ever. Or it may be that you have pushed them to such a length that you have been discovered by the keen and watchful eye of the public guardians, and seized by the strong arm of justice; and that you are at this time in jail or in the penitentiary. Be that as it miy, by the just appointment of Providence you are overtaken by a disease of some kind or another, of more or iessi violence. It may be so shght as to allow you strength still to 140 C!6NS0LATI6NS 6F go on in the practice of that vice in which your corrupt heart takes delight. If so, you may need more consolation than you think you do. A disease has laid hold upon you, and the more you indulge in vice the stronger and stronger will its hold Ix.'come till it may bring you to your bed, if not to your grave. If this is your case, if you are afflicted wiih disease and going on thus in vice and wickedness, my first and last, my main and only consolation •which I shall offer you, is to tell you to stop. It is to give you the faithful ind w«irm advice of a true friend. It is to give you warning in time, and to urge you by all that is sacred and good, and all that is terrible, by every consideration that heaven and earth, yea, and hell itself present to view, to stop in your unholy and mad career. By the claims which society has upon you, by a sense of duty to others, to yourself and to the great and fearful God who made you and who cannot look upon sin with allowance. By all these weighty considerations I would call upon you to cease from vice if you would have consolation in your afflictions. By the stings of your own conscience I would urge you to stop. — By the danger of having the finger of scorn and contempt poiriled at you on the right hand and on the left. By the terrors and pen- alties of human law, and by the more awful terrors and penalties of the good and holy and inflexible law of the eternal God, who is all knowing to know and almighty to execute. By your own love of yourself as an intelligent and moral being. By the charms which a good name has, a good reputation, a good character. But if these considerations, and this love of character, have no weight with you, you are a being of feeling, consider what the disease that has settled upon you has already done, is now doing and threatens to do, if you do not stop from your vicious course and bestir yourself to cheek and remove it. It is your disease which has introduced me to you, and it is my great object to offer you consolation. Your case differs from all the foregoing. Your dis- ease has been either brought on or increased by your own criminal indulgence m vice. It is a mat(er then, in a great measure, of your own choice and of your own procuring, and if you have not, by too long and too frequent indulgence, settled and riveted it too deep in your constitution, it may still be subject to your own choice and disposal. It may depend upon your indulgence in vice or your ceasing from it. The way that I have attempted to con- sole the afflicted is to advise them to use suitable and promising means for restoration, and to indulge a hope that they will ydur reach and within your power, if (as we have said,) you have not gone too far and given tlie disorder to<) d jep a root. If you Tvould be consoled then, and so effectually consoled as to need na more consoluion, on the subjcci, stop, stop 1 say, and ^et well.-*^ Never indulge again, not one sintjle time in vice from this mo- ment forwards. Slop, O stop! before the disease stops yon. If you gither up resolution and receive this my great and good Consolation and get well, it will be unnecessary for me to refer you to the tvvotirst parts of my book. You would have no need to read them, except as a well person may read them. Should you take my advice, and act upon it from this time forth, so as to re- move your disease, you will by thus removing it, remove two at once, the moral disease which you have chosen to fix upjn youf chdracter, which is, of the two, by far the worse, and the natural discLLse in your body. But in spite of the powerful and repeated rebukes of your own conscience, and all the high and weighty claims and considerations which 1, and all your friends, togeihej with your doctor, have urged upon you, you hear not, you heed not, un'il at length you are broutjht down by the disease and stopped, etTectually stopped, confined to your room and to your bed, flat upon your back, nnd brought so not only by diseiise, but by a die* ease arising out of vice, which makes it the more hateful, and de- test 'ble, and loathsome. Most richly you now deserve to be forsaken by all in whom there is the least spark of decency and virtue. Especially oy all those who have so warmly, so earnestly, so repeatedly and so long cau- tioned and warned you against the danger of ceitina into the con- dition into which you h:ive now Hillen. You fully deserve to be abmdoned, and given up by all heing>, visible and invisible, hu» man, angelic, and divine, who nre capable of ministering to youf relief and .comfort. But strange to tell, this is not yet the case. There are a finv persons, among whom is your doctor, who do not give you up. Persons wlvo possess an uncommon decree ol hu- mini'y, whom your great and crying wickedness, and deep and dreadful pollution, have not yet driven from you. Whose hearts are still anxious and strongly desirous to relieve and rescue you if possible. And all this not fiora any love which ihey have to ^ouE chaiacter, but the high conc.-rn which they have for your nature. Even the invisible holy angels are willincr and ready to do you good. Ye', even God himself ha« not yet cast you off to utter d^spiir and endless wo, but is now, -ifer all your heaven-diring crimes and unspeakable ingiatiude towards him, wailing to bet. g'-af ious, willing to forgive and receive you. And to prove this, he hfs commissioner! me, and is now sentlin^ me, the writer of ♦he consolations of the afflicted, the friend of the afflicted, the 12* 14fe OONSOLATIONS OF ftiend of the vicious, (so long as he himself will be their fViend,) to visit you with counsels of mercy, with offers of pardon and life; sending me with all the consolations which can consistently be offered to a person in your wretched condition. 1 am there- fore come into this your unhappy sick room, like your pljysician, not to catch your disease, but to cure it. 1 am come, sent by the great God who created us both, whose goodness has ever be'n around us, and whose power o\er us. I am come on an errand of love and pity to yon, a poor miserable creature, and am perhaps, the last "messenger of giv^ce" that will ever be sent to you a dy- ing mortal, with offers of pardon and life, with stnuig consola- tions and comforts. 1 therefore stand this day over you, by your feed side, and in the name, and by the authority of the (lod of mercy and salvation, most solemnly, most earnestly, most warmly, and most affectionately address you. Holy angels, upon the wing, with deepest concern surround me, and God himself looks on, while I offer to your disconsolate spirit, these great offers of con- solation and peace, and make, perhaps, the last appeal to your con- science, and for your decision, that will ever be made to you tliis 3ide the eternal world. No doubt devils cling to you with anxiety greater than human language can express, lest now, after all youE past life of vice and sin, you should repent of the same and es- cape from their ranks, disown them for ever, and res<;lve eternal hate and war against them, and rejoice with joy unspeakable, to be allowed at this late hour, to join the rank of the decent, the virtuous and the g«)dly. To be instrumental in effecting this, is Ihe great object of my errand. I come to bring you consolations, but your spirit is incapable of receiving these happy and cheering consolations which I brin», because you have ever resorted to vi- cious indulgences for consolations in past life, and these that I have are virtuous, and have no connection with vice.. You se« yourcondiion then, here you lie confined to your back by disease, unable to rise, and unable to resort to your former vicious indnl-^ gences, so as thereby to gain even temporary consolation. Dis- consolate! disconsolate are you indeed ! Low and feeble, and to all appearance gone beyond the hope of obtaining any consolations whatever, unless you accept these holy comforts which I am per- mitted and commissioned to bring you! You have no rich treas- ure of sacred, holy knowledfife, and yoiir passions are all out of order; peace is gone, and hope is almost on the wing to take its flight. Darkness and de-sp^ir you now discover to be fathering yound vou, and threatening to overwhelm you. Your disease ra- ges with greater and greater violence, and manifestly threatens soon lo close your career of vice, and at the same time your day of ^ace. Of your rapid decline you arc very sensible. You see THB APFLICTBB. 14S phinly that there must be a change for the better in a very short timf, or you must die. 1'he world with all its scenes falls back out of y()ur sight The business, and pleasures, and allurements of it cannot be brought before you so as to attract your attention, and beguile your pains and give yor, quieting comfort. Your con)panioiis in vice are poor comforters now. They are ex- perienced in nothing but sensuality and sin; their thoughts have all been of this world, as well as their desire^ and lusts. "Like brutes they live." Like brutes they ate. Their thoughts have all been confined to the surfice of the earth. They have nol looked beyond the stars. They have built too low. And as they have done, so did you. When they come into your p'esence and attempt to comfort you, they talk of the things of this world, but this world is out of your view. They say not}>ing a})Out a tnture state of existence. Nothing about immortality and eternal hap- piness. They say to you "be c (urageous, act the man, and if you have to die, die like a man." By this they mean that you should he courageous, and act the brute,, and die like the brute. Of all comforts, these to a dying person, are the most con)forl]ess. To present the world to him when he is about leaving it, and not to say a word about whiiher he is going, but to cast as much d irkness around him as possible. Thus you have found them in their late visits to you. They did you no good ; they gave you no comfort, but bewildered yom mind, and added, greatly added, to your per- plexities and pains. Tliey were literally ministers of darkness and not of ligh^ They do not pretend to have any liirht, and ac- tually ha-.e none. And al.is! thus it is with yourself. "It is ap- pointed unto all men once to die." In this truth all agree, -md you seem to hivecnme to the very borders of this most solemn and trying change. You look forward in expectation of this change, as being but a few days, and it m>!y be, only a few hours before you. Neither the eyes of your bodv or your mind are yet out, but they are both turned away from the world. The world is now. completely behind you, you cannot see it. Nevertheless your eyes unavoidably look, and look forward (u havini; this rapidly, but a«! reasonably as ra- pidly, settled t'lese pr vious and minor questions, there rem - ins one more, which is Hie Inst and crreate^t of all, for your mind to corne to rest upon — Tn living for ever shall I be happy? O (Ques- tion! qviestion! area test of alliiideed! what, will immortality be without hap|)iness? Such is the unspeakable solicitude of your Sjurit in asking this question, th"it it writhes within you while you do it. In the tra»isi*ory e.nhly life which you have p'S% though there is but little hnppiness heie below, vet you have, even in your vicious career, found en<^u2h to enable vou to le-?rn the difference between hnf)piness .nd misery, and yo^r spirit lonszs and p;ints to kno-v wh'-t are its prospeets f >r hippiness ,in the etc^n* 1 world. Il>\vev*^r ianorant vou may have lived, your life has been spent in a ehris'.i n land, and it is hirdlv poss^'le for you to be so is'ioront as to know nothing of the chrisiiaa religion j iiioie likely you have THB AFFLICTS9. 145 heen well instructed in it. It is the only religion known to man which can enable his dying spirit to know with any certainty, whether it will be happy in the eternal world or not. But this re- ligion you have not only turned away from, but despised and re- jected, and gone lar m the way of folly, and vice, and sin, and un- holiness. This religion, throughout, teaches virtue and not vice, and the sum of it is, without purity of character no person shall bo happy in the eternal world.— "Without holiivess no man shall SEE THE Lord." "The rrRE in heart shall see God." This is tlie great truth of the Bible, and without the belief and practice of it, the Bible is of no use. Believed and practiced, the Bible is of the highest use. At this juncture, at this most solemn, soul-trying moment, you look back over your past life. All the scenes of it are fresh in your memory, and present to your view. A gloomy, dark picture — black " as the tents of Kedar" — dark as mid-night, and terrible to look back upon. Such is the picture you have drawn of yourself, such the history you have furnished, and you cannot new help it. Over the past, none have power; but the past may have great power over you, and actually has, as you now look back upon it. The whole course of your conduct towards your parents, your brothers and sisters, and all your good and kind, and virtuous friends, rises up before you and disturbs your soul. Vou now exclaim with the deepest feeling, and the mos« pungent grief, O my mother! my mother! my tender, and af« fectionate, and pious mother! her kind care over the moments of my childhood, her sweet kisses and caresses, and in riper years her gentle teachings and faithful warnings, all unfelt and unheed- ed by me! O wretch, wretch, wretch that 1 am! All her soft and gentle dealings, and soothing, and restraining words, and looks, and the darts of pain too, which my vicious course caused to pierce her tender heart, are now become pointed daggers in my own ungrateful, unfeeling, unholy and guihy soul! My fi»her too, was kind, was faithful to teach, and counsel, and guide, and warn, and threaten, and rebuke, and chastise, hut I took it all for unkind- nes-, and despised every thing he could say or do for me. I es- teemed his counsels folly, Ins warnings no better, and his correc- tions tyranny My dea'- brothers and sisters that are now alive, can each say, "I told you so," "I told you, you would come to this." It is true they did aflectirmjtely can' ion me, and foretell my ruin, and repeat their c lutions and predictions, and piirstie me as though they could not, and would not give me up. Their \\o(\^ and f'X- ertions are now like b.-irbed arrows in my heart. My friends were- numerous; many of them moral, and virtuous, and resprc^ahlf ; and many, f lelicve, tndy 'fli^iri-s. Tl f^y are ?11 wi ncfses against mo thijs day; and especially the faithful ministers of the 146 CdNsoLATiaNS ot gospel whom Tsometimfis hearA, and might have listened to at all times, but I refused. I now see that all these were in earnest. — That they believed what thev said and taught. — That they felt it too. — That they felt for me. — 'Vhut they believed T was immortal. That they loved me And in justice to them, I must acknowledge, that they all said that God too, was kind, and waited to be gra- cious, was willing to forgive and receive me, and make me his son, and be to me a father, better than all fit hers or friends besides. Abundant proof have they all, and God too by his providence, given, of their and his kindnes and goodnes to me. Yea some of you are now mMnifesting your continued, and unwearied, and un- common kindness, and condescension, and affection. Your kind- ness is great beyond measure and beyfind expression. H^re you are now around ine a most vile, and diseased, and loathsome, and sinful, and ill deserving wretch. And there too, stands the kind doctor who is doing all he can for me. And even here, over me, stands the writer of the consolations of the afflicted, the great friend of the afflicted, who is devoted to do them good and console them, if thoy are within the reach of consolation. You, dear sir, dear friend, have followed me in my career with your counsels, and warnings, and threatenings, and entreaties. But as to all others, so to you, my ear was deaf, my heart was hard; I neither heard nor felt; I put you off. To you the whole catalogue of my crimes is known. lam, in truth, constrained to say that you have been my continual and faithful monitor. The remembrance of my cold-hearted, proud-hearted, stern rejection of you, nov7 causes my conscience to sting me like an adder within my soul. The gospel too, did warn, but I trampled it under my feet. Ah! this was the height of my guilt, This stings the keenest and deepest of afl. The gospel! a revelation of God's will to man, to enable him safely to shape his course here below, and happily to enter into that eternal world, on to the very borders of which, to all human appearance, I have now come. Yes, the eternil world just before me, and I neither safe nor happy. What shall I do? what shall I do? O friend of the afllicted and of the dying, speak and say! for my unhappy soul is spotted, and stained, and covered with guilt and polution, and overwhelmed with sorrow and grief, and feels like sinking into hopeless despair, even before I die. No wonder, no wonder my feeble dying fellow creature, that your spirit should now be distressed and in anguish, since you have fought your wicked way against all these friends, and God himself, and his gospel. You now, in this trying hour, feel the need of consolation whether you deserve it or not. It is possible you may be gone beyond the re'ch of consol ition, and may now be enveloped in the immovable glooms of despair. It is out my THE AFFLICTED. 147 power to tell; indeed it may be known to none but God himself. I hope you are not, and feel myself strongly urged, yea, bound by the sacredness of my undertaking, and by my duty, not to give over my attempts to console you, as long as you have strength and hfe enough to think, and hear, and attend. But all I can do for you in this extremity of yq^ur case, is, in the name, and by the warrant of God Almighty, once more, even now again, to offer yon pardon and life. Accept these and your spirit will be con- soled. Believe the gospel ; repen: of all your crying sins. Look away, in haste, to him who "died the just for the unjust." Em- brace the Saviour. Embrace God's whole plan of salvation, and you may, even in a few moments, rejoice in hope, and your conso- lations m*iy abound by Christ; and, vile as you may have been, if your spirit beat this time called away, it may go rejoicing and Iriu'iiphing in God. Your condition will not now permit me to speak to you at any length, but for your encouragement I will just refer you to three CHses given in the scriptures. The first is the prodigal son. Bear in mind to what lengths he went, in vice, and sin, and iniquity; and remember how graciously and affectionately he was received when he returned. Again, think of the exceed- ing and raging madness and wickedness of Saul, and of his sud- den and happy conversion. But last and most of all, think of the dying thief who was crucified with his Saviour, and who even af- ter he was, for his great ciimes, nailed to the rugged wood, railed upon his Saviour, then dying for him a most guilty wretch. Think! O think! I say, of this unequally great sinner, — this hardened, ha'-dened monster, who in his very last moments, in his dying ag- onies, reviled his unspeakably compassionate Saviour who hung by his side; but suddenly stopped, and with a penitential melting heart, cried out — "Lord remember me when thou comest into thy kingdom." Let the reply which the insulted and abused Saviour immediately gave him, encourage, and support, and console your sinking spirit — "To-day shalt thou be with me in Paradise." — This is all I can do for you, to tell you these things, and to recommend them unto you. To persuade and exhort you to take this course, this last, this only resort to obtain consolation. But if 1 am done speaking to you, I can attempt to speak to God, and this attempt 1 will now make. O Lord God Almighty ! Creator of the heavens and of the earth, great God, with whom is all power to make worlds and to govern them, to make the universe out of nothing, and to uphold it, and and control it — all power to make the soul of man and his body — to give life, and to take life — to redeem the soul and to raise the body again from the dust — all power to coYnfort and console the disconsolate spirit of man! Thy human creature that lies upon 14^ CONSOLATIONS 0^ this bed, sinful, and diseased, and disconsolate, needs consolation, and greater, and more immediate, and more effect u^il consolation, than I or any of our feHow creatures, or any of thy creatures can. give; 1 therefore come unto thee, the great source and fountain of all consolation, m whom is inexhaustible fullness of happiness and peace, who canst by one act of ibine, or by one single word, pardon and console, deliver and bless, yea, even fill with consola- tion and joy, this sinful, sinking worm. Come, O come, make haste to deliver! snatch this poor soul from sin, and misery, and ruin, as a brand from the fire! O mngnify, magnify the riches of thy grace in working instantaneous wonders of grace and sal- vation for it! Make it a splendid trophy of thy grace, a bright and glorious and everlasting monument of thy redeeming love. Without delay O God! come dovv'n and save. Give unto it faith and repentance and holy love, and entire sanctification of its nature. O make it a new creature in Christ Jesus, 1 very humbly and most earnestly pray. Even now banish from it all clouds and glooms, darkness and doubts, and fill it with peace and hope. If it be thy righteous will, grentLord of Lords, and King of Kings, sovereign Disposer of all events, even yet, at this extreme mo- ment, rebuke the disease and restore this afflicted dying mortal to health and active life: that it may from this time forth see many good days upon the earth, and long be thy faithful servant, devoted m all its powers of soul and. body to serve thee, to spend and be spent in doing good; in actively advancing the glory of thy great name, and the good of man. But if it be thy sovereign determi- nation for its body at this time to die, and its spirit to take its flight; be moved with pity and do not drive it away in its sins; lot this poor mortal die the death of the righteous, and let its last end be like his. And now, into thy compfjssionate hands, O God of grace and tender mercy, of amazing condescension love and salvation, I resign this my feeble In ngiiishing fellow mortal; thine it is by crCrTtion and by preservation, make it thine by redemption and eternal salvation, to the praise of the glory of thy great name, now and for ever. Thus my unhappy, afflicted friend, I have familiarly talked to you, and taught you, and cautioned you, and warned you, and plead with and persuaded you, and prayed for you; and all these I have done in sincenly, with a feeling, affectionate heart, with all my soul. My duty towards you appears to be done, and the time to have com^, when T should take my leave of you and with- draw, but before F go 1 will say a word or two more. Pray for yourself, as the dying thief did, and if it please God to raise you up and restore you to health and prolong your life, remember how you felt when you were at the point of death, remember how ear- THM AFFLICTED. 149 liestiy yon desired to have a little time allowed you, if it were but a month, or a week, or a day or two, of coaiposme and freedom from pun, to m^ke your peace with God; and henceforth be con- ti'iitaily engaged in seeking "his favor whicii is life, and his lov- ing kindness whi«;h is better !han lifi;\" Do all the good you can — lose no opportunity to teach and persuade your fellow creatures to prepare to die and to meet •'rod. Nev^T, never so much as look tow-rds, or have one desiring thought or feeling towards your form- er c -.rseof vice and sin. But should it not please him to restore yon, 'od should you be call-'d to die in a few days, or even in a few hours, die with the voice of prayer on your lips, if you have strenc'h enough to utter a voice, if not with prayerful desires on your heart. And now, as 1 have done and said all I can, give me your h.ind that I may bid you an affectionate farewell. Farewell, farewell ray afflicted fellow mortal, and should we never meet again on earth, may the. infinite and merciful God who made us, grant that we may meet in heaven; no more to sin, no more to be afflicted, but for ever to feel grateful to him, and to enjoy him, and unceasingly and eternally to praise and glorify his adorable and gracious Majesty. Jan. I6th, 1830. FOR PARENTS IN AFFLICTION. A considerable part of the inhabitants of the continent of America are parents. A larger proportion of the community are married, and raising families, than in older settled countries. — And far the larger part of this proportion are to he found in the lower classes of society, and particularly among the poor. All persons are liable to afflictions and de-ith; parenis are not exempt. It is no uncommon thing in a family, for one, or both, the parents to be disabled by some calamity or disease; or to be cut ofi' by death. The children have many and great ditfjculties lo cope with, when their parents are virtuous and industrious, and both spared to contrive and labor for them, and. instruct, and encour- age, and counsel them. Their ditficulties are increased when 13 150 CONSOLATIONS OF either their father or mother is idle, or vicipus, or is disabled by sickness or cut off by death. Much more, when both are disabled or cut off. In either case it is difficult, if not impossible, for the children to be kept together. As a general rule, it is much better for them to be raised together, than to be separated into different families. The loss of one or both parents, is not only the loss of those who are bound to provide for them, but it is the loss of that natural affection which they can find in none else. Parents may be deficient in providing for them, may indulge them too much, or may even show partiahty to one, to the injury of others; but when mixed in other families, with other children, their injuries are apt to be greater and more discouraging; more neglect, mark- ed partiality, and down right abuse, are likely to take place. Some of the leading advantages of their being brought up to- gether, are, that they may know one another, and become inti- mately acquainted, and be united together in strong and still Stronger bonds of affection, and thus be prepared and inclined to assist one another as they grow up, and after they are grown, and even after they are separated and settled in life, having the same habits manners and customs, views, sentiments and character. For these reasons, generally speaking, (as I have said) t})ey had better be raised together. If pirents are spared to them, the most common exceptions to this rule, are, when they are not disposed to discharge their duty towards them, <>r not able to do it. It is for those who are not able to dp it,. and for those who are threaten- ed to be cut off and taken from' them, that I now write. I have already written for those not disposed to do it, the vicious; and also for their children, the young in affliction. This however, I have done, only as it respects their being diseased, and not partic- ularly with regard to the want of a disposition in parents to dis- charge their duty to their children, nor with regard to children's being bereaved of their pr^rents. On these points I have not, nor do I intend to enlarge. My plan was, more particularly to attend to those afflictions which consist in actual diseases of the body, and those distresses of the mind which naturally arise from such diseases. I cannot refrain, however, fiom saying a word to all those bereaved of near and dear relations or friends, particularly to young people and children. Dear friends, however much you may hove depended on, or been attached to the person or persons you h=>ve lost, reflect seriously that they had once to die, sooner or later, according to the appointments of j'Tod, and his appointed time hnd come, ihirrefue tb'^y had to obcjy his cill. Just give them up then, remembering and being very sensible that you too must die, hut yo-i ^re nof y*?^ d^nd, and h ive yet vour work to do on ihe earth, and perhaps a great deal more now, since the removal ''HE AFFLICTED. 151 )f your friends. — It is one of the best things that you can do to sooth your minds, actively to engage in doing tliis work, and doubtless it is the design of Providence that you should do so. Do not look then, for other such friend? on whom to depend, for you cannot likely find such. D«pend therefore, on God and on yourselves, and in all things and in all respects, do your duty, and he will comfort your minds and reconcile you to your losses, and make up your losses unto you, and cause all things to go well, and end well with you. I must now hasten on to console the parent in affliction. And you too, my fellow mortal, are afflicted, and are a parent, a father or a mother, having charge of one, or more, or many chil- dren, and these perhaps small and helpless. You have been an in- strument in the hands of God of bringing them into existence. Hitherto you have he^n\ devoted to take care of them, and provide for them; and whether riches or poverty was your lot, you found the task a great and arduous one; but now a disease has taken hold of you, one of the grc.nd [>illiirs of iheir support, the piop on which their infVincy was lodged and urjpheld, and on which they still depend. Before you were married you had yourself to take care of. Af- ter the birth of your children, in them you recognized yourself; yomself enlarged or multiplied. The wants of your original self were the same as Ix^fore, and in them the enlarged part of yourself, your wants were inore;nd restore you to health and stiength, and «pare you to go in and out before yur chddren, and long enough to see them' all grown ?nd able to provide for themselves. This is quite possible, and not only so, but a very common thing. He often brings i)ersons low, very low, and mothers too, such as you are, and then restores them. * Tliis he does to show them how insignificv.nt and feeble they are, and how entirely they depend on hun This may ne his purpose witn ymi. Who knows? who can tell^' It is unknown to you, neither do I know. 1: is known to God alone We hops he will restore you; and you too should hope and 'you may not hope in vain. Your hoping is one of the best moans to brin? it about. But though it is your duty to hope, it is uncertain what the . vent will be. • If when we are in heilth, it is our Wisdom to be preparing for, and 'standiuiT ready for death, how much more is it your wisdom and duv at"" this time, threatened, threatened to an alarming de* ffree O! siy you, how can I go? howcin T go and leave these precious little ones, dready fatherless, and to be motlierless in this wi>rld of trouble and sorrow? Loving, fond mother, should it be so- consider for a moment that you will not be the first mother that was ever called away from her helpless offspring. Perhaps, as vou have passed throuah life you have had frquent opportuni- ties of seeing children left by both father and -nnther; and though you observed some of them to meet m my difficulties, and sore trials, and much abuse, yet yo'i m^y have seen others who got along ex- ceedingly well, and some who did better without their parents, than they likely would h ive done with them. Some who grew up to be men and women of superior worth and no^e, of g^eat respectability anil influence, and of uncommon usefulness; who, m ^11 probabili'y would never have risen to such eminence if their paren s had lived. One reason why orplian ( hildren sometimes do so w«'ll, is, that they learn, very early in life, to depend upon their own energies and efforts. The greatest men have come up unassisted, and ma- ny of the most vir'uois and amialile women were orphans in theif youth. Another reason is, they were not injured or spoiled by tl.H excessive indulgence of over-fond parents. From these reason* and others which I do not t^rrv to mention, I s.^y they not nnf;o- ^ueiuly become great j and God, in mercy, someumes makes ihem tS& (?O?ra0LATI0N9 OE good as well as ^eat. So that you see he can provide fbr theni without pareii's, and cause tliem to do well, both ma natural and nior.d poin- of view, llo can in the highest s^m^e, be a father to the fat he less, acci»idiiiiif to his promise. And in uccordance to what i hive siid above, what lie does y>r thern he does nuinly by them. When he removes parents he docs not bless the father- less without means. He will put them into the h mds of other nien and women, whom he will use as instnnnents to take care of them a little while, lill they can take care of ihemsilves; then he will use their own instrunientali'y, and make it the great means to advance their own interest and h^ppinrss. You recollect h(jw he did this for the litile infant Mo^es; in wlut minner his providence took him up« ut of the ark of i)ulri!shes,liidamfnigtlie flags by the river'^s brink; and hid him fiirhfully nu sed in his iuf uicy, even by his own mother, and ably ins^rucioH in his rippr y^ars, and fin illy brought on to be the g'eat and good biw-giver of Israel. It is iiotsaid in vaint'ien, — "A father of the fatherless and a Judge of the widows, is God, in his holy habitation." Listen to the wor v!s of this father of she fithevless, when he speiks ^nd says — **Be lold the fowls of the air f )r they sow not, neither do they reap, nor gather into barns; yet your heaveViiy father feedeth them. Ae ye no' much better th m they?" Are not your child- Ten, poor afflicted motlier, better than the fowls of thenir? Fur- thermore, he says — "Conside.r the lilies of the field, how they grow; they toil no% nei'hnr do they spiii : and yet 1 say unto you, that even Solomon in all his glory w iS not arriyed like one of these. Wherefore if (^od so clothe the grass of the field, which to-day is, and t(j-morrow isc^st into the oven, slmll he not much more clothe you, O ye of lirtle faiih." And will he not, poor dy-^ ing mother, clothe your tafherless children even if they become motherless too? Jf then, it is your lot now to be taken away from them, as you are dying, let these words of tlieir great heavenly f ither fall soothingly u[)on your ear, and find their way into your }ir:uK — ''Leive thy Vathf^rless children, I will pre^eyve them alive.'* Do tiiese things, and you w'll h.ve consolation concerning youf children, in yu can do is to give them into tjie h.nds of one 'or more of your best friends, who you think wdl be able '^nd disposed to' do belter f.r them than any other person or persons. Thus leave them to CJod that he mny preserve them alive. TJius commit them into the hinds of their henvcniy Irtlher, the great God, who created them and all things else, afld THE APJ^LtCTED^ 153^ done for them. Even if it is in your power to leave them wealth, you should strive thus to impress them to depend upon themselves;, lest others impose upon them and lake their wealth, and they fin illy come to starvation and ruin. But above all, it is your duty, indisperrsably incumbent on you, to impress them with the great and all-impoitant truth, that though y u be taken from them, yet they have a heavenly Parent, who can be disturbed by no sickness nor calamity, can never be brought down, nor die, nor even sleep. "Behold he that keepeth Isruel shall neither slumber nor sleep. The Lord is thy keeper." Re* mind them most affectionately, of the beginning of the Lord's prayer — ''Our father vi^hich art in heaven." Tell them what the apostle Siiys — "To us there is but one God the Father, of whom are ali things." And what he says i» another place, of God— "I will be a Father un^o you and ye shall be my sons and daugh* ters, sdith the J^ord Almighty." O toll them of their great heav- enly Parent, with a feeling heart, with tears in your eyes, with all the earnestness of a dying earthly parent! Point ihem, point them to their heavenly Father, with so much zeal and earnestness that they will look up and beheve indeed that God is their Father, and that tliough >hey cannot see him, yet he sees them at all times, and will watch over them and keep them, if they continually trust in him, and feel themselves to be his sons and daughters. Exhort them wi'h all your heart to shun idleness, and all kind of bad words and evil ways, and to treat all persons with the respect due unto them, and to be very kind unto all, but especially unto one another. Persuade and beg them never to quarrel among themselves, but to love one another most tenderly and affection- ately, and to do every thing that they can to serve and help one another. Thus much you can do for your children, even if 5'ou are very low and feeble. Again, it will he another great source of consolation to you, if your companion is alive and well, and able to go in and out before the children of you both, the dear pledges of your love. This will be the greatest earthly source of consolition tkit will likely rise up to your view, from any quarter whatever. It ought to do a greM deal towards calminfj, and soothing, and consoling your anx- ious aching heart. Great, great is the wisdom of God, and his goodness too, and thesf^ appear very strikingly in the creation of mankind; "'male and female createcl he them." This was his p!in to mike them fruitful to multiply and replenish the earth, and si^hdue it. A plan all over full of wisdom and goodness, sjid admivablv calc!il ited to accomplish its great end, the increase »nd hcippiness of mankind. I do not say that God fould Rft 18* 154 CONSOLATIO??g 0I< have nrmde them social beings wihout making them male and female, but 1 do say that by unking them so, he has ably and wonderfully secured to them a social nature, and made socie y their natural state, with all its hapjiy consequences. Accordingly, in this wcrld of innumerable ditficullies, mankind are not propagated by single, lonely unassisted individuals, hut bv pans, by a father and mother. The grent \vr»rk of providing for, and rearing, and educating children, is committed to ihe joint counsel and elibrts of two. Is one by nature not as able in mind or in body as the other, the children will depend more upon the abler. Is one diseased or cripled, C)r in any way disabled, they lo^A with hope to the other. Is one cutoff by the great destroyer death, the other may be left to be tbeir friend and helper. These are the instruments, or means, which (>od has provided for the bringing into existence, and for the reariiig, and defending, and supporting, and counsel- ing, and encouraging, and coinfor'ing, and educating generation after generation. But, as 1 have hinted; in his righteous sover- eignty, it sometimes pleases him to disable one or both of them; sometimes to cut off one, yea, sometimes to cut off both. And you are one of those instruments, and it may be your case is an extreme one. Perhaps you ane a widow, who in the days of your husband, had great ditiiculties to encoui;ter, in this great work of rearing children, notwithstanding all the help he could give you, ^\hen he was called away the whole burden came up-n Vf>". Tou felt like being crushed to the earth under it, and it has indeed been a heavy burden upon you; nevertheless y(ni have struggled along under it up to the present lirne, and struggled so constantly and futhfully as to have been successful in providing something for them and in keeping them together even till now. But, times out of number, did you say to yourself, — '*h;ird is the task, hard, hard indeed is the task! You thought it altogether hard enou/2h, but it seems it has pleased God to add to it, by afflicting you, and threatening to take you away fn m this world; fiom all your deal fjiend?, and from what are denrest of all to you, your children, your truly dear little ones. Ptior afflicted mother, I must ac- knowledge your case to be an extreme one indeed, one of tlie most tryitig *Mhat flesh is .h*Mr to." A multiplicity of ills have gathered around you, and settled upon you. You, in the days of your husband's life, at best, the wea'^pr vessel ; he cut off frf m you and gone; you left a helpless woman, with ch Idren still more help- less, and to complete the whole, a disease preying upon you, and fendering you more helpless still, yea, bringing you down upon that bed where you now lie; and threateninu, ere h^nj?, to m:dlf? Do you love them more than you' love yourself? Is it no matter what becomes of you m eter- ni»y,if you are so much concerned for their temporal \yell-being, or porhnps mainly for their temporal condition, v^hile in a oreat measure you overlook their spiritual and eternal concerns? If they be spared alive and provided for, and do well on the earth for a few vears, is it no matter whether you go down to hell for eve» or not? Have you thought of their bodies and your own body so constantly and exclusively, as to forget and neglect your own im- dyinff and imperishable soul ? Have you not yet, up to this trying and sorrowful moment, been made to see the wants of your soul, and the dangers to which it is exposed? Have you never had a discovery of^'your soul's real condition, and been enabled to sec it as God seps it ? O my dear female fellow mortal, dyi ng mother, have you never discovered, and known, and felt yourself to be a sinner in the sight of God, sru'lty, guilty, and exposed to his just and eternal venoeance; and have you not further discovered and fully believed— "'hat it is a faithful saying and worthy of all ac- ceptation that Christ Jesus came into the world to save sinners?'^ Hive you not seen your need of this great Mediator and Saviour, and fled to him as a shelter from the comina storm of divine ven- oeance, and for your soul's eternal salvation? If not, if not, all That I have said to othr^rs I now, say to you, in one word— "flee from the wrath to come— lay holrPon eternal life." Your time is short, vou cannot do it ore moment loo soon. Do so if vou wouH Obtain eveilaslins consolation for yourself. And while you are handirig your children out of your feeble dying arms, into tJjQ hands of their heavenly father, comnjit your own spirit t (1, but much foMd and many changes of r:iiment. You aic sn'onnd^d with the rich priir own. You have ^'fruits and much good*^ l.iid up for in-ny yews." You h^ve also treasnres of silver and trei-sHres of gold; your coffers or cli^^sts^ontnin alarrre amonnt. ♦But Jhcseare not ;ill. You have h^'O, as I now j«ee with my own eye?, n greiit house with many ou'-hoMse^, a splendid minsion witii its convenient ajip'trtenances and append iges; with its apnr'rnen*", rooms, h lis and fnrnit«ire. All -he itpptratns, the uteos'ls nnd fiiTn-tute of yonr house are in Conformity to the house itsell, convenient and grand^ many of TU£ AFPLICTKD. 159 ihem glittering with splendor. Your table furniture is of the most costly kind, of the best materials and ino3t beautifully orna- mented. Your mirrors or looking-glasses, are bro;id, ond long as men and women, and gilt with gold. Your floors are elegantly carpeted, and walls as elegantly papered and adorned with much carved work. There too, are your easy-backed, soff cushioned, "accomplished sofas," fixed on wheels to move whiiher your judgment may dictate, or your fancy prompt. And here is your "bed decked with coverings of tapestry, with carved works, with fine linen," and filled with the softest down. And I observe all these things around you to he as clean as skilful hands with much labor can make them. Moreover, you have as many domestics either servants or hirelings as you wish. And as it is true '4hat wealth maketh many friends, but the poor is separated from his neighbor," you have many friends. Thus I find you in the midst of all this abundance, this splendor, these domestics and these friends. Your compHcated and extensive affairs you have been accustomed to superintend and direct hitherto. You were a per- son having authority; to one you said go and he went; to another Gome and he came; to a third do this and he did it. You appeared with the full glow of he 1th upon your countenance, moving from place to place with activity and strength. Not un- frequently yo'j cauijht hold of the instruments in the hands of those under your authority, and witJi uncommon expertness, ra- pidity, skill and strength, showed them not only how to do their work well, but rapidly t.>o. fn short, wiJh g^eat ability and suc- cess you stood at the bead of a very large ;ind difDcult concern. But instead of finding you this day at the head of this concern, standing or moving with th^it health, and streniith, and activity in which you have heretofore so much exulted, I find you checked, stopped, and prostrated by disease. You, now, like all others in afflic-ion, need consolation. Does the poor person in affliction need consolation? so do you. But it is possible tliat the poor prrsrtn, af'er all, may not be so needy as yotirseU'. This depends upon the state of things within you both. It depends upon inter- nal riches. You have external nches, the poc*r person has not, but you may have internal r'Vhes, and if he has, nd you have no riches within, he in affliction, has th*^ advantajreof you, isnothmg like as ne^dv as you are. Bit if y.m have, in iddition to yojir external liches, intern-^l riches, f cm ?:ee no reason why )'^';u may not h;ive grea'ly tlieavlv-.ntage of him. If you aie thus rich with- out and within, it appe rs to me that vou h;:ve greater ad vant^aes thtiv. eJ'her charicter for wliom I have yet wr.tten or in-end to wri'r; va, irreriter advantnn^^s than any <'h'TiCter thit can be found among the sons and daughlers of affliction and sorrow. 160 CONSOLATIONS OF By infernal riches I mean a good character; and by a good character 1 mean all that is excellent in a moral point of view, from I he least good morsl trait, disposition, or act, up to the highest that is attainalile by man here 1x^1 ow. I mean those riches which consist in knowledge and wisdom, in faith and love, ii. holiness and hope, in patience, and resignation. I mean what I have described at length, in the tirst part of my book, (viz:) the inter- nal riches of a true christian Jf you possess these in connection with your extevnr-l riches which 1 have just described, y;»u are rich indeed, and rich even in your afflictions; yea more, will be rich even in your death and in eternity. But though you may be thus doubly rich, and rich to the furthest extent in both these kind of riches, nevertheless you may be disconsolate and need consolation. Neither the one kind of riches nor the other, nor both together, can remove distressing pains and sorrows, and do away the need of consolation from the disconsolate sons and daughters of atHiction. The one kind can do much move than the other, vastly, incomparably more. External riches can do but little, internal riches can do very much. I say then, if you possess internal riches as well as external, but are notwithstand- ing disconsolate, in your afflictions, all I can present to you I have already done, in the two first parts of my book. To the first or second part according as your disease may be, rapid or chronic, I now most seriously refer you ; if you humbly and confidently think, and satisfactorily know, upon good evidence, that you do possess these internal richfs; in other words, that you are a true christian, you may find much there to console you. Every variety and form of consolation thero brought to view — every consoling thing, and thought, and consideration you may apply and appropriate to yourself. And this you may do by the help of your external riches, to the greatest advantage. If you have been so wise, and so resohite and happy, as to put your external riches into their place, and keep them there — if^ you have not set your heart su- premely upon them — if you have not made them your God-, but used them as your temporal and temporary servant, they have been a good servant, and now in the days of your calamity, and sorrow, and helplessness, will be a very good one. If your af- flictions remain long on you they will supply all your eariiily wants. You will be able to have thar food which is the most suit- able — that raiment which is the most comfortable, and your house dry and warm in winter, and well aired in summer, and always clean. You will be able to have the attention of the best doctors, and all that nursing and waiting upon which can do you any good. Your riches u'ill enable you to take long journeys or clrmge your climate if that is thought best, and they will always enable you. i«E AFFLICTED. i6J where ever you may be, to have many friends aV)Out you. Again, if your disease is of the violent and raging kind, and should it actu illy lake you out of the world in a very short titne. your riches will enable you to hive all that help which the earth affords. They will hand you out of the world moregonily and ujore easi- ly, ihan the cold'h mds of poverty hand out the poor. All these things they may do for yon accordiiig to your need. On the oihei- hand if you have heen so unwise, irresolute and nnhippy, as to let your external riches get out of their place, and rem-.onso, and if they are.it this moment out of their proper place, thev no doubt have alreao'y done you murh injury, are doing it fjow, and if you do not succeed in getting thorn into their place, will liiially do you an irrepjra!)le and endless evil. Perhaps, h< vvever, you are at a loss to know what I mean by your riches being out of their pi ce. If so, I will attempt lo give you a little more clear and full cxplaiiation. If your riches are out of their plrKC, they got so, in something like the following manner. You discovered yourself to be in a world in whidh food was absolutely nece-sary to sustain life. You saw that you must ex- ert yourself and obtain it, or perish with hunger. Further, 5'ou f()und that proper elothingand a suitable covert from the weather and storm, greitly conduced to your health and comfort. There- fore you devoted yourself, body and soul, to get these things; and perh^ips so unreservedly, that vou did not allow yourself any time even to enjoy the society of friends; much less to improve your mind by L-ainma us 'ful knowledije, or attending to any other of the high concerns of your immortal soul. All other o' jects dwindled down to a point , to a shadow, to nothing. You overlooked them, and as you looked around and frward, riches, riches filled the whole compass of your view. Riches, riches ■ were the great, grand, absorbing object, forward to which yoj looked with eager, intense penetration ; and strided with long ^1 d rapid strides; and grr.ppled and grasped with all your powe'*s. You, with others, gained the name of "seeing far into the mill- gtone." in laying plans, and of "making every edge cm" in execu- ting thern. This business of getting rich employed your whole time, aud exhausted all your energies. It called into perpetual and vigorous action, your head, your hands and your heart. You thoucjiit of it by day, and weie enfraged and overwhelmed in it, un'il the dirkness of the nigh^, and the lassitude or weiriness of nature, he.it you. f>om it, and caused you to sink in sleep; and your sleep i S'^lf was not sound and undisturbed by the darlin^f pursuit of vour heart. Riche=, richer came up before you, in the vis'^ns and d' ? !ms of the night. Thus t'ey occupied your whole soul by day and by night; and you drove on until you acquired 14 162 CONSOLATIONS OF and accumulated more than enough to furnish yourself and all. those dependent upon you, with food and raiment, house and home and every convenience during your ovi'n and their lifetime. And in the language of an ancient satirist, you held all you got, with fist, and tooth, and nail. As the every where, and every day proverb is true — "the more you have the more you want," so it was with you. The scriptures were verified — "he that loveth silver shall not be satisfied with silver, nor he that loveth abundance with increase." When you had arrived at this elevated stand, a new demand for riches, besides the want of food and raiment, house and home, with equal if not increased urgency, presented itself to you, and pressed itself upon you. A new and higher flame of ambition was kindled, and flamed in your breast. This was the desire of grandeur, pomp and show. You chided your- self for sloth and stupidity, bid your energies awake, Inickled on the harness anew, and braced yourself with redoubled force, to the far more arduous and greater task, of putting a polish and |lat^ upon all your possessions, so that the eyes of all beholders might be dazzled, and their inquiries extorted, "whose are these glittering possessions? who lives here?" Thus you have labored and toiled, striven and struggled, till you have got every thing about you most grand and splendid, in the finest paintings and colorings, as 1 have already hinted. Those who visited you beheld in your residence, something like an earthly palace. And when you went out your dress was fine and elegant, 'twas gorgeous apparel, 'twas surpassed by none. When you chose, you would be drawn by the noblest horse or hoises, in a gig, chariot or carriage, fixed on the easiest springs, cushioned and curtained in the highest style, and both it and the harness with their trappings, plated so as to be all over white with silver, or it may be yellow with gold. In all this magnificence and earthly glory, you were able to appear both at home and abroad. Thus you were permitted to be successful, anil accomplish your proud and aspiring projects; and when yoii had arrived at this pitch, you were pleased, elated, proud. You had such fe^^lings as the great king Nebuchadnezzar had, when he walked in the palace of the kingdom of Babylon. — "The king spake and said, is not tliis great Bibylon, that 1 have built for the house of the king- dom Hy the mioht of my power, and for the honor of my majes- ty?" Thus you felt when you looked upon your superb and splendid builtlin«T., with all their appendages, and your rich and costly equipage; and thought of all the bank notes and dollars which were in your possessi. n. It was >. feeling of selt" sufricien- cy and independence; you exulted in 'he "might of vour power, and in the honor of your majf?sty." You had these riches; you XHE AFFLICTED. 163 aot them yourself; yoa thanked no body, nor any being for them. You were proud of them, and you loved them with all your heart. There was nothing, nor any being either visible or invisible, that YOU loved so strongly as these your oxternal riches. They were your idol. — They were your God; and thus they got out of their place entirely, altogeilier out of their place. And, by this mourn- ful truth, we are enabled to come to the knowledge, and the cer tain and uiiquestion.ible knowledge too, of another truth still more mournful. This truth, which we can know with so much certainty, is the dreadful and alarming fact, that, your external riches being thus out of place, you are destitute of internal riches. Your whole interior, your whole soul is void of those virtues, those moral excellencies, which enrich, adorn, ennoble and bless the soul. Which make the human being superior to all other an- imals of the earth; and the want of which makes him inferior to tliemall. Alas! alas! you have spent all your time and wasted all your strength in providing for your body, which at best can only li\e a short lifetime; and concerning which, the words of the poet are strictly true, when he siys — ^*man wants but little, nor wants that little long." Yea indeed, your folly has even been greater. You h ive been so foolish, so mad, as to attempt to feed your soul, your spirit, with the coarse food which was made for your body. You have shiven with nil your energies, to cram nnd till, and safiate your immortal soul with the material, crude and gross husks, and trasli of the earth. And the mistake you have recei /ed within yourself, leanness of so il, empMness of soul; 'tis all hollow wi'hin, m aching void. 'I'wys made to be fed with heavenly, spiritual food, such as angels use, such as religion brings; but this you have neither sought nor found. And now, a cruel disease has t iken hold of you, with a strong, unyi'^lding, merciless grasp. Ii has alreidy drawn you down from your lofy elevaticm of strengtli and glory; and alaimingly threatens todng you stilliower, enven into the narrow precincts of the cold,silen% gloomy grave. This is your unhappy condi- tion this day, and it is my painful lot to find you in this condition. To all hum m appearance the grave not mmy steps before you, a.) I all the p apirition which vo*i hive for it, consists in your out- ward wealth, •A'hich is worse than no preparation at all. Do you now look around upon your possessions and treasures, and thmk of employing some-doctov of surpassing and unequalled eminence, and of oriving him a very liberal compensition if he will cure you, even as much as he may choose to ask? Such a one is a man and nothing more. He did not give you life, neither can he pre- serve your life. Vain, vain then nny be your hope from this iource. Your possessions and treasures may avail you nothing, 104' CONSiJLAtlONS OF Again, do you think of employing a numerou;? council oF th\; :iblest physicians? You may buy their wisdom, aid skill, and xperience, and endeavors, but all these may but h isten your pace to the dark house appointed for all living. If doctors cannot iielp you, none of the men of power can. 'Tis >ain to apply to princes or kings, monarchs or potentates, with whole nations at their command. You might empty your treasures into theirs, but they, with all their legions and armie", could not beat and drive the disease from you, which has settled and flxed^ and clinched its hooked, penetrating and rude talons, deep into your mortal body. Utterly vain then will be your attempts to moke youv riclies serve you in this way. Being disappointed and foiled in all these hopes and expectations, does a thought come into your head to bribe death? Gold never did, nor ever will bribe the monster. He hath ever laughed at a bribe. Seeing the folly of this, does another thought rise in your mind, to give up and die, 3nd take your riches along with you, and enjoy them in the world to which you are going? A sight of the absurdity and impossibility of this, stares you in the fice like lightning, and a sense of it strikes your mind like thunder. You see in aojoment, in the twinkling of an eye — *'that you brought nothing into this world with you, and it is certain you can take nothing out." Being again utterly foiled in this, does it occur to your mind that God his all power to rebuke and remove diseases, and restore to health, and prolong life, and peradventure he may be tempted by a price? Vainest hoi)eof all is this. There is no price in your possession to which he will look for a moment. Impious! impious thought! to suppose the Deity to be tempted by your silver and gold. It is true, that the Son of God who was God,, and who was made flesh and dwelt among us, did cure all manner of diseases. But it is also true that he never received a price for doing it in one single instance. Were he now upon the earth, and even here, your gold would be no inducement to him to cure and restore you. But he is not now upon tlie earth, neither does it please God in these days, to pertbrn^t minculous cures, or to have tliem performed by any instruments or in any way. Looking in this direction then, your hopes must all sicken, and lan^juish, and die, and vanish. You will be shut up therefore, to the one only course, if the disease prove iqp strong for you; and that is the onwirds course which leads hence, away from your riches, your friends and all that you hold dear, into the eternal world, to meet your God immediately, and on the resurrection morn, and on the great day, the day of general and tinal judgment. But you are not ready to go into the presence of this terrible God, this august and solem» Judge. You are rich without, but not within. Your soul is un- TIIE AFFLICTED. 165' renewed, unadorned, wrapped up in eartlily riches and decora- tions, all which must fall from about you, the moment you start to meet this awful God. And do you now, after all, with the feelings of a desperado, look around once more, and for the last time, and for the last effort upon your external riches, and suffer a fond and final hope to rise in your breast, that God will accept your external riches for internal wealth? That he will admit the exchange, and allow you to buy the renewing and adorning of your soul, the new creation, so as to be a new creature, by the means of your treasures of silver, and treasures of gold, houses and lancis, and your cattle upon a thousand hills? This last hope is vainer than tha vainest. '-You were not redeemed with corrup- tible things, as silver and gold;" but (if at all) with the precious blood of Christ, as of a lamb without blemish and without spot." Neither can. you be renewed in any other way, than by the Spirit's application of this precious blood to your soul, io '^cleanse it from all sin." There is no other possible wiy in which you can obtain internal riches, riches withm. This is in short, the way of Chris- tianity, the way the Bible points out. 1 say, I tell you, there is no other way. Vou are destitute of internal riches. You are without those happy traits of character, those important moral qualities and qualifications, without which, neither you nor any other human being can meet God in peace. Without which^, you can meet him in no otlier way than as an avenging Judge. This way of Christianity, this way through Christ, is God's way, his only way, and aU the way he will allow or permit the sons and daughters of mankind, to approach him, to meet him, and to be happy \;ith him. He appointed it himself, and has long approved of it. It is the "Kind's high way of holiness." It is the way of salvation, along which the "ransomed of the Lord may return and come to Zion with songs and everlasting joy upon their heads." But if yon aie not satisfied with this wiy, and think that there either his been another and better way found, or that there can be, and that even you can do it,, if you are not satisfied with some one of the past discoveries made by others, I would like to know "what that way is. Whit .re the ways, dear feeble friend, that have ever yet been discovered? I know of none but the ways of idola.ry, in some one of its thousand, its numberless forms; or those wiys which are corruptions of God's way, such as Mahomedan- ism. if you choose, and settle upon some one of the many ways of ancient or modern idolatry, what sjood will it do you? What, internal riches can you thereby obtain? what safe preparation to meet the true God? What did the ancient heathens gain, who worshipped g(jds of their own formation, gods of carved wood, gods of molten silver or molten gold, gods of the animals, from 14* 166 CONSOLATIONS dP the ichneumon and the cat, up to the bull; or gods of the hosts of heaven, the san, moon and stars; or great men for gods, or gods of their imagination, that vveie not only no gods, but noth- ing at all? What did they gain I say? what internal richest what prepiiraiion to meet ihe God that made the heavens and the earth, the true, living and eternal God? It is impossible for you or any other person to tell vi'hat they gained, except it was an in- crease of sin, and iniquity, and degradation, and an accumulation of guilt. And modern idolatry can do no better. False then, is this way, false, false, and leads from bad to worse, and from worse to utter ruin. And what better' can mahomedanism do? certainly nothing. It, too, 'like the schemes of idolatry, is an invention of a man, to fkid out the way to be rich within, the way to meet God in peace in the world to come, which way was so hidden and deep, that none but God himself could find it out and make it known. Not satisfied then, with idolatry or mahom- edanism, will you summon all your powers to find out a way of your own? How can your powers, poor feeble creature, accom- plish an undertaking so great, an undertaking under which a vast multitude of the ablest men, not as you are now, but in good health, with full vigor of body and mind, yea, having superior minds, have staggered, reeled, and fallen, and failed. If Seneca, Cato and Cicero, Aristotle, Plato and Socrates, men of the strong- est and most matured intellect, surrounded by the most exciting circumstances, utterly failed to discover a safe way to meet God af- ter death, and were but idolaters after all, what can you in your feebleness do? What can you do, who have spent far the largest part of your past hfe in acquiring riches? What have you learnt besides the dimensions and value of a shilling and of a dollar? What can you now learn, with this disease upon you, and in the short time which may be allowed you? If the heat l^n v^orld had years after years, and ages after ages allowed them, to discover and learn what you vainly think you can find out in a few days, or it may be in a few hours, are you not indeed vain and presump- tuous? Are you not vain and presumptuous in the highest pos' sible or imaginable degree, to think that you can, under these circumstances, discover that way, which as I have said, none but God himself could devise or find out? Certainly,. certainly you muslbe,, and whether you see and believe it or not, you are thus vain and presumptuous; and it is true that "there is none other name under heaven given among men," whereby you must be saved," but the name of Jesus Christ of Nazareth. "He is the way" and the only way, "neither is there salvation in any other.^ He is God's way. Of the truth of this, my dear diseased fellow mortal, I am deeply sensible and fully satisfied. I am entirely THE AFFLICTED. 1^ cdnviiiced, and very confident, that if you do not receive consola- tion, against the fears of death, in this way, you will receive it in no way, but will die unconsolea and hopeless. What has the infidel world done? what have the^*a«^5 of infi- delity done? They have spent their strengti) to obscure and block up this way, and to prevent mankind from entering in thereat, but have never discovered another to which t!iey could pc»int. Their great business has been, to pull down and destroy, nf»t to build up. To do mischief, not to do good. To pull down and put out him whom God hath given "before the face of all people; a light to lighten the Gentiles, and the glory of his people Israel." But they have never discovered another light. What are infidels doing in this age? what will they ever do? what can they do? much evil, no good. Neither they nor their principles can do any thing better than this, for the poor or for the rich. If you persist in your endeavors to discover a way of your own, by, or through whfch, to meet God in peace, you will but increase your doubts and darkness; you will but gather clouds and darkness around you, and every effort you may put forth, instead of beating away those clouds, and letting light in upon your soul, and consolation witii the light, will, on the contrary, thicken the darkness that is about you, and multiply and magnify your disconsolate, and un- happy, and hopeless feelings. If you become discouraged in your attempls to discover some high and safe way of your own, to meet God after death — some grand scheme — some bold and able plan, you v/ill be very apt to turn your thoughts, and your feet too, to the way of morality. Nothing is more common, especially with the rich. But the way ©f morality is not God's way, and therefore he will not meet you in that way, and receive you, and welcome you home to his rest. I* mean by morality, what you consider your good deeds — your works of righteousness. God may look very differently upon these good deeds, from the manner in which you look upon them. You may look back with much pleasure and self complacency, upon every act which you consider to have been good; and perhaps in their place, and in a certain sense they were good, but not good for the purpose to which you wish now to apply them. You wish to make a merit of them by which to be accepted of God. That is to say, you wish to meet God on your own terms, and in your own way. But he has declared that you shall not, that you can- not. He has ever had a law for man since he made him. You have broken that law, and you cannot repair it. You cannot per- form the works that if re^juires. "By the deeds of the law there sliall no flesh be justified in his sight,"" "The law worketh wrath." "A man is not justified by the woiks of the law, but by the faitfi 168 OO^'S0LATI0NS OP of Jesus Christ." "As many as are of the works of the law are under the curse, for it is written, cursed is every one that coniin- ueth not in all things that are written in the book of the law to do them." "That a man is not justified by the law in the sight of God, is evident : for the just shall live by faith." "For whosoever shall keep the whole law, and yet offend in one point he is guilty of all." Christ offended in no point, and was guilty of nothing. *'He was holy, harmless, undefiled, and separate from sinners." He was the perfect way. 'I'he holiest men have acknowledged themselves sinners and unholy, in words like the following, which were the words of one of the holiest, a id which briefly point out the manner in which men are saved in God's way. — "For we our- selves also -were sometimes foolish, disobedient, deceived, serving divers lusts and pleasures, living in malice and envy, hateful, and hating one another. But after thai the kindness and love of God our S.iviour toward man appeared, not by works of righteousness which we have clone, but according to his mercy he saved us, by the wasliing of regeneration and renewing of the Holy Ghost; which he shed on us abundantly through Jesus Christ our Sa- viour." If such a man, who had been devoted to do works of righteousness, and had literilly spent his life in doing them,. felt constrained to say of himself nid others — "not by works of right- eousness which we have done," what language can you use, who have been all your life gathering together riches? But perhaps you re»nember that you were a very honest, liberal, benevolent dealer. That you paid all your debts most prompt- ly — did not ex'\ct all that was due to you — sent not the poor away hungry nor naked, but abundantly fed and completely clothed, and that you were ever moved with pity towards the widow and the fatherless, and ate not your bread alone but divided it most freely. Especially that you visited all the sick and afflicted, and poun^d in the healing wine and oil, lifted and encouraged the drooping head, -nd emptied your pockets to procure for them all that aid that mortal can give to mortal in this vale of tears. All these acts, no doubt, wr^re good and very goo^l in their proper time and place, and are commendable, and hivs^ always been com- mended, and always will i)e by all the virtuous and the good. The same holy m n of whom I havesjwken above, directs all "to be careful to maintain g^)od works, decl '.ring that these things are good and profitable unto men." Bui this sime h.,ly m:n as clearly and as forci!)1v declares tint they will not save a man — that they are not God's way of salvation, when be says — "Though I speak with the tongues of men and of angels, and have not charity, I am become as sousiding brass, or a tinkliag^ cymbil. And though 1 have the gift of prophesy, and undeistdnd all my^ 1^1 E AFFLIOTED. 16^ leries, and all knowledtre: and though I have afl faith, so that I could remove mountains, and have not charity, I am nothing. And though I bestow all my goods to feed the poor, and though I give my hody to be burned, and have not charity, it profiteth me nothing." These are works of righteousness, and the most ex; alted works of righteousness. They are much more than com-^ men morality, and yet you see how entirely they fail to enable a person to meet God in peace. What then! what then! O thoa that art rich in dollars, and in good deeds too, will either or both of these avail thee, if the disease which has seized, you, hurry you away wifli no other preparation, to the bar of that God who had a way of salvation, and told you of thu w'^y so plainly, and so repeatedly? Wfiat good will your morality do you, when you begin to reckon with this august, unyielding and terrible Judge, who will be approiched in no other way than his own? It will be nothing in the account, and you will be hastily spurned from his presence, as an evil doer, a disobedient and impenitent sinner. You know, my afflicted friend, what is said of the rich: if yoa do not, I will tell you with a feeling and an affectionate heart. *They that trust in their wealth, and boast themselves in the mul- titude of their xiches; none of them can by any means redeem his brothe'-, nor give to God a ransom for him.^' "Will he esteem thy riches? no, not gold nor all the forces of strength.'' — "Riches profit not in \hi day of wrath.'' "Their sdver and their gold shall not he able io deliver them in 'the day of the wrath of the Lord " "For the love of m.oney is the root of all evil; which while some coveted 'after, they have erred from the faith, and pierced themselves through with many sorrows." "What is a man profited, if he gain the whole world and lose his own soul, or what sl^.H a man g've in exchange for his soul." "Not many wise men after the flesh, not many mighty, not many noble, are calle;!." "il )W hard is it for them- that trust in riches to enter into the kingdom of God !" "Go to now, ye rich men, weep and howl for your miseries that shall come upon you. Your riches are corrupted, and your garments are moth-eaten. Your gold and silver is cani;ered; and the rust of them shall be a witness against you, and shall eat your flesh as it were fire. Ye have heaped treasure together for the Inst days." "W^oe unto you that are- jich! fo' ye have re<*eived your consolation." "There was a certain rich man which w:*5 clothed in purple and fine linen, and fared sumptuously everyday * * ^^ * the rich man died and was buried; and in hell he lifted up his eyes, being in torments, and seeth Abraham afar ofi', and Lazarus in his bosom. And he cried and said, Father Abraham, have mercy on me, and send Lazerus, that he may dip tlie tip of his 170 ©ONSOLATIONS OF finger in water and cool my tongue; for I am tormented in this iiame. But Abraham said, son, remember that thou in thy life- time receivedst thy good things, and likewise Lazarus evil things; but now he is comforted, and thou art tormented. And besides all this, between us and you there is a great gulf fixed; so that they which would pass from hence to you cannot; neither can they pass to us that would come from thence.'' This is what is said of the rich — all these different sayings and declarations are made of them. And now the great matter is, — the great query, are these things applicable to you? shall they be said of you? shall they come upon you, and shall this be your doom? If so, you appear to be moving on to it with greai rapid- ity, and the time is at hand. Again, 1 say, shall it be so? A^ it respects all secondary things, means and causes, more dep-^nds upon your own choice, than any other one thing, or all other things taken together. If you choose to have these sayings and declarations verified in yourself, and to meet this doom, you will have it so. If you choose and determine that it shall not be so, then it will not be so. We know that nothing can be this w^y or that, without the agency, or permission of him on whom all things depend. Yet mysterious -is it may appear .to us, and really is, this great being tells us all, poor and rich, that our doom will be according to our choice. But perhaps you are unconcerned and indifferent. about all these things, or at least profess to be, and en- deavor to appear so. It miy be you are concerned about being sick, and disabled from business, and in pain and distress, if not about deith. If this is the case let me take a view of your con- dition, and as I attempt to see it and describe it, it m.iy be well for you to i(x>k at it too. Here you lie upon your "bed, decked wi;.h coverings of tapest- ry, with carved works, wiih fine linen." Your cloMiing *'is purple and fine, linen." You are a rid) person, and you hnve every thing rich and splendid Mbout you, as T have before siid. in these things you have taken, and if yon could Ke spared, would still take delight. And herest nd your friends, to whom you are at- tached by the tenderest and sironfjest lies. IIow can it be that you have no concern about lenving these things and these friends? Why did yon tike delight in procuring them anack to tell us what they t^aw and felt beyond death, as I have already fullv shown in a former part of my book. JehUs Christ wasjGod and man, but as man and after the manner ot man, he made no comnuinications to mankind on ihe sui ject of immortaiity. H^i did not lei! us ihnt he either saw, or heard, or fell the fact, but he toid us. us God, that he knew it; he told us by his own mouth and by the mouth of his in- spired servants This is wbai we are to believe, il we wish to be full} satisfied thai we are immortal; believing this, life and iminoriaiit> are lull} brought to iight to us. but, not to wander from the point, 1 would just furiher observe, that neithei ypu tllE AFFLICTED. llo nor anv other person, no matter how learned, can find any true, unsophisticated argument or chain of reasoning to show the impossibility of your being immortal. Many more and stronger arguments can be found to show the possibility of it. Such as this, you once had no life or being, but now you have. It was therefore possible for you to begin to be and live, and if it was possible for you to begin to be and live, is it not easier for a thing to continue to be than to begin to be? The conclusion is fair and without the least sophistry, that it is more possible for you to continue to be and live, than it was for you to com me nee being and life. Upon the whole, 1 say therefore that you do not know, and cannot know, that jou will not live again. You are, then, in uncertainty ab.out it; and what con^olatii^n is there in un- cerfainty? 1 cannot see how there can possibly be any. But I lo know that uncertainty, even in ihe small affairs of life and time, generally produces very great perplexity and dis- tress. VVhat, then, must it be supposed to produce about the infinitely greater matters of life and immortality! Ii is exceedingly difficult for us who are here around you, to believe that you have no concern about the consequences of death. It may be yon pretend to have none, but at the same time really have a very deep concern. If this is the case, you had better ne honest and candid, and j-ist tell us your real feelings and condition thit we may do all we can to administer conso- lation to you; but I have before admitted that it was possible for you actually to have no concern, even at this time when you should have the most. If so, it is, as I have said, because you do not believe that Jesus Christ has brought life and immortality to ligth And now the lima has come for me to he very plain and honest, and sympathetic, and unreserved with yoi*. A;c 'ruingly, I now tell you my rich, a filleted, dying friend, that your not believing that Jesus Christ brought life and im- mortality to lighi, does not make it untrue. It is no less true for the want of your faiih. No more ihan it would be untruo that there ever existed such cities as Babylon, Jerusalem and 11 >me, or such men as Cyrus, Alexander the great, Augustus Ca3?;ar, Napoleon Buonaparte, or our father Washington, merely because you do not be.ieve that there were such cities and such men. Your unbelief cannot destroy a/Z that, or awi/ of that evid- ence which presents this glorious and happy truth in full shape and size upon the broad face of the gospel sun. Others may see it you ;o shit your eyes. Every leaf of the sacred scriptures have stared you and all of us in the face, and said,** VV ho hath bo. nV 6eN£OLATIO?f5 OF jieved our report?" You have answered, not I. We havtr answered, ''Lord, to wliom shall we go? ihou hast ihe words of eternal life, and we believe and are sure that thou art that Christ, the son of the living God," and that thou hast brought life and immortality to light, through the gospel. Vour unbe- lief can neither destroy the truth, nor the belief of the truth in us. We believe and are sure, that is, we know that Jesue Christ has brought life and immortality to light; that we, and all men, are immf»rtal. No point has more abundant, more various, more clear or more decisive evidences concnlering and combining to establish it. We have ever lived in the midst of this overwhelming evidence, and "been compassed about wjth a great cloud of witnesses;" and we have the wit- ness within ourselves. And we, this day, this day of affliction and grief to you, stand around your sick and dying bed. with feeling, anxious, achmg hearts, and most solemnly repeat the two last things of thase that we have alref^dy told you were said of the sick. The first of the two, is that frightful woe which rolled from the nn>uth of him who brought life and immortality to light; ''Woe unto you that are rich! for ye have received your consolation." The other IS his story of the rich man who died and was buried, and in hell lifted up his eyes being in torments. You have received your consolation, then. You have been and are now rich. You may kx)k back over the whole journey of your life, and reflect upon the consolations that you have received as you passed along. With the help of all your riches* I expect you will not see the whole to have umounted to much. And whatever you may see, the multiplicity, and the richiiess, and sweetness of your consolations to have been, they are now all gone by, and like the plentiful meals which you ate five and ten years ago, they neither do nor can give you any eiijoy- ment now. You have received your consolation. Thou, in thy lifetime, hast received thy good things. And you have now come to the end of your lifetime, and are about to receive no more good things. It is not now, and it never can l»e any consolation to you that you have had consolation. You are about to die, and no doubt be buried with great parade, and pomp, and show. Over your dead body will likely be ra.sed a splendid monument or a huge mausoleum, with some high sounding epitaph inscribed upon it; it may stand for several generations, and those that pass may read your name there, and be reminded of your riches and greatness, and may bear the story of all your extensive possessions and of these your grand and magnificent buildings. JJut the other part oftli€- THE AFFLICTED. 177 serious story which I am now telling you, and which is as cer- tainly and undoubtedly before you [if you do not believe and repent] as it is certain and undoubted that you will die, is, that in hell you will lift up your eyes, being in torments. And you may see Abraham afar off with Lazarus in his bosom, in the company of all holy and happy angels and men; and you may cry and say, father Abraham, have mercy on me and send some Lazarus that he may dip the tip of his finger in water and cool my tongue; for I am tormented in this flame. But Abraham wHl say, son, remember that thou in thy lifetime receivedst thy good things. A.nd besides all this, betwt.en us and you there is a great gulf fixed, so that they which would pass from thence to you cannot; neither can they pass to us that would come from thence. And there you will be. Across that great, that vast, that impassable gulf you can never pass. And I will tell you what makes me believe, and be sure, and know, and be satisfied that you will be there in torments, and never be able to pass that tremendous gult^. Because Jesus Christ did prove himself in many ways to be a great being, the son of God, yea himself to be God, by curing all manner of dis- eases, b} working thousands of benevolent miracles, by restor- ing the dead to life, by saying to the sea and to the winds, *' peace, be still I and the winds ceased and there was a great calm, the winds and and the sea obeyed him;" by telling men their thoughts; by fortelling things to come, which actually did come to pass, particularly the state of the Jews, which are a kind of standing miracle; and finally because he always did tell the truth and always will, and cannot lie: he said, *'heaven and earth shall pass away, but my words shall not pass away;'* and he said, if you believe not on him, you shall lift up your eyes there in torments, and be there and never be able to pass that awful gulf; and it will be true, it za:ill be so, it zoiU, it will, I say. This present world is a place of much wretchedness, misery and wo. You have seen it with your eyes: you have been in the midst of it; you have felt it, you now teel it, and feel it severely too. You have often thought, when you have bem witnessing and feeiing this misery and wo, of the powep of God, and felt surprised and wondered why he did not stretch out his strong, mighiy and almighty rii:>ht arm, and deliver your- self 'And others from the pains and agonies which you were en- during. Yea, you have wondered why he did not deliver and make happy this groaning world. But you see he does not do it. The plain reason he has given is, because all have sinned.. Theretbre he lets them sntfer. Therefore* he lets you siifFer and will let vou suffer, even unto death, and will let you lift 15* 17S C0?5S0LATI0yS OF Up your ey6s being in torments, beyond the impassable gulf.- "A God all mercy would be a God unjust." His mercy does not reach you now to such an extent and to such a degree as to ward oft' from you all suffering and misery. He sees you lying, and groaning, and languishing on this bed, and does not come nigh to help and deliver you from these present, moderate, incon- siderable sutferiijgs. It is not inconsistent with all the goodness of his nature, his kindness, his tenderness, his great pity, and amazing love, and condescension, thus to look upon you at this moment. And if you resist and reject all this his goodness, this boundless love of his, with which he "so loved the vvorld that he gave his only begotten son, that whosoever believeth in him should not perish, but have everlasting life;" he will look upon you being in torments, beyond the impassable gulf, and none of all the goodness of his nature will be moved towards you at any period or in any degree, but the greatness of his power and ven- geance will be unchangeably set against you. This he has de- clared, and this he will make good. It will be as true, and as certain, and as real as any ofalj the things which you have al- ready experienced and felt, or which you now experience and feel.. But this you do not believe. God has already done, not only many things, but a great many things, and very weighty and im- portant things, things exceedingly condescending and kind, to induce and incline, and persuade you to believe it. He ha& given you the most striking evidence. He has set before you a body of the most commanding and irresistible evidence, which evidence is of long standing and of imperishable cha- Facter, was given to your forefathers from generations imme» morial, and has been increasing in strenght and clearness ever since it was first given. He has ever surrounded you with *'a cloud of witnesses," who have continually told you that they believed, and knew, and felt it to be true, that God would do what he has said he would do. He has set before you many and various motives, motives of the highest and most weighty clmracter. Thx)se that were terrible to the most frightful ex- tent; and those that were alluring and captivating beyond ex- pression. He has set before you hell with all its horrors, aid heaven with all its glories and happiness. And all these things he has done for yourgood ; to induce and cause you to believe what he sayg, and to act towards him as you ought to do; and by sa doing to shun everlasting misery and gain everlastmg happiness. And now my rich, but languishing fellow mortal, I feel my- self prompted , constrained and urged, by the weight of ail tiiie evidence resting upon my mind, and by all these tremendous Hid solemn motives afifecting. and moving my heart, by knovv- THE AFFLICTED. 17^ ing both the terrors and the love of the Lord, to persuade and prav \ oil, even yet, at this late hour, to be reconciled unto God. I have already told you God's way, and his only way, to be reconciled unto him ; and that way is through Christ. " Other foundation can no man lay, than that is laid, which is Jesus Christ." Another way can no man find, than that is found, which is Jesus Christ. And here lel me tell you — and my heart rejoices, and greatly rejoices to be able to tell you — that it is possible to find this way, both easily and quickly, even in a moment, in the twinkling of an eye. So Matthew the pub- lican tbund it. So Zaccheus, who climbed the tree, found it; and many others, but most strikingly of all, the dying thief. — And you.— O my heart is moved, and melts with tenderness and sympathy while I stand over your pale and emaciated body and speak itl and so you may find it, even yet. What you have to do I will now plainly tell you. Immediately let your yiches go — give them up — turn your eyes from them — unrivet your affections from them, and " set your affections not on things below , but on things above;" and be truly sorrowful that you have let these things below occupy and engross so much of your time and attention, and esteem; and be entirely willing to surrender them up to be disposed of by God as he may think best, not to be thrown away and lost, but to be used for His own glory. You must now be willing to give up all earthly things and considerations, "your houses, your brethren, your sisters, your father, your mother, your wife, your children, and your lands, for the name's sake of Jesus Christ, that you may receive an hundred fold, and inherit eternal life." You must be as willing to do this, and even more willing, than he who is owner and commander of a ship is, in time of a storm, to cast overboard the lading of his ship, not only those articles which are less valuable, but the more valuable, and the most valuable, yea, the whole, even to the last one, in order to save his life. You must deny yourself, not only in part, but entirely. Further, you must "cast down your imaginations, and every high thing^ in you, that exalteth itself against the knowledge of God, and bring into captivity every thought to the obedience of Christ. You must go out of yourself into Christ, and then you will be ia God's way of salvation. All your unbelief must die away and perish, and your soul must fill with faith, with strong feith;you must believe in Jesus Christ with your whole soul Your hard heart must be softened and melted, and wrung with sorrow for all your sins and iniqaities, your crimes and follies; and you must, with grief and hatred of them, turn from them unto God A.11 your exalted views and notions of your superiority 180 CONSOLATIONS OF and greatness, vvhVh your riches begot in you, must vanish.— Yviur ideas of having noble blood must fly away. And if you had a strong mind, and have received a gcjod education, and are a learned person, you must consider your learning as nothing. ^*Verily I say unto you, whosoever shall not receive the king- dom of God as a little child, he shall not enter therein.''-— '•Except you be converted, and become as a little child, you shall not enter into the Kuigdom of Heaven." Not the most distant thought or feeling must remain about you that you are more acceptable in the sight of God on account of your wealth, your knowledge, your power, or your influence. You must remember that Jesus Chiist came "not to call the righteous but fcinners to repentance. That the whole need not a physician, but they that are sick." And you must bear ni mind, and let it sink deeply into your mind, that he went unto the multitude — that he taught the multitude, miLgling with them, and sat down to eat with publicans and sinners. You must, therefore, con- cider and feel yourself sick in soul as well as in body — sin sick, diseased by sin, and now be induced most hastily to apply to the great Physician of souls, and most humbly to beg of Him, to heal your soul. Because he was not great after the manner of men, was not a general, prince nor king, you must not des- pise hjm; he must not therefore be unto you a stumbling block, nor foolishness, but you must consider him as he really is — *' the power of God and the wisdom of God;" and he must be made unto yoUj wisdom, and righteousness, and sanctification, and redemption: that according as it is written, "he thatglori- eth, let him glory in the Lord." Thus you must gl'-ry, and not in yourself. And because Christ's people have generally been and are now poor and lowly, of the lower and lowest or- ders of men, you must not be ashamed of them, and thereby be deterred from contessing Christ before men; you must not be ashamed of Christ, nor ashamed in any way, on any account, or in any degree, to confess him before men — for he himself has said — '• Whosoever therefore shall be ashamed of me and of my words, in this adulterous and sinful generation; of him also shall the Son of Man be ashamed, when he conieth in the glory of hi!5 Father, with the holy angels." Upon the whole then, you must not let unbelief, or hardness of heart, shame or fear, enemies visible or invisible, bad men or devils, deter and stop you from coming unto Christ. You must, I repeat it, and with emphasis too, — oro out of yourself into Christ, and then you will be iu God's way of salvation; and then, and only then, you will liod consolation, which was the thing tL> be found. Taking this advice and this course, my SHE AITLXC'TEB. i^i dear friend, \ou will not only find consolation, but a fountain ofconsokition. You will be a christian right away. The Christian's hope will be yours, and all his encouragements and supports; and all his" high and holy and happy and glori- ous prospects will open before you ; such as I have described them in the iirst two par^s of my book, to which you may then look, and in which you may read, and as you read, may con- sider yourself the person addressed, using either tho first or se- cond according to the disease which is upon you. Being thus and doinfT thus, you will lay up for yourself, '^treasures in hea- re«, where neither moth nor rust doth corrupt, and where thieves do not break through nor steal,*'' and I may add where you w ill not be torn away from your treasures by death. You will thus secure unto yourself a title ^'to an inheritance incor^ Tuptible, and undetiled, and that fadeth not away, reserved in heaven for you." A title to lands in the heavenly Canaan, and not oniy to"^ lands but to mansions too. A title signed, sealed and delivered by the hand of the eternal God himself, and se- curiug unto vou the highest and most valuable possessions or inheruance that is possible for you to have and hold in all his universe. Havitm secured this title, -vhieh as 1 have shown, you may do even in a moment of time, you will not die and be buried and in hell lift up your eyes being in torments. ^ You will die, it is true, and leave these possessions which you now hold, but as you die " Will read your title clear To mansions in the skies, And bid farewell to every fear, And wipe your weeping e>es." Your fellow mortals will carry your dead body out of this your earthly mansion, and kind kindred angels will carry yiur living spirit into the heavenly mansions. 1 bid you an affec- tionate farewell. June {jih, 1830. Note.— If I attempt at this moment to express the gratitude which I feel to GA fur enabling me to advance thus far, under mv very great bodily weakness and through ten thousand in- terruptions, m writing the Consolations of the Afflicted, I know I shall utterly fail to express what I feel. I am encouraged to b. pe that as he has upheld and strengthened me thtis far, ho will at least continue my little strength and sustain me nil I accomplish my whole plan, my whole work cf sympathy and benevolence for the afdictcd. 'Should I not, but die, may sur- 182 CONSOLATION'S OP vivors print what is done for the good ofmankind. I ^lavc yet to write for the Stranger — The Aojed — Those afflicted by the afflictions of others— and the Melancholy. "The author's life was at this time threatened by a periodical disease." FOR THE STRANGER IN AFFLICTION. At the discovery of America, by the EMropeans, i^ was very natij."il!y and very proper!)^ called the ''^iew World." It was a oe V nnd extraordinary degree of courajre in an tmcommnnly bold and adventuring man, (viz.) Colum* us, which bore him up on the trackless and frightful bosom of the ocean, un-ii his eyes beheld ibis -N^'w Wirid," and his feet stepped heir infancy an J youth, the bosoms of the families in which ihey have long enjoved the s ciety and assistance of relations and friends, and go h uidrods and thousands of miles in search of some gain, or souic new "home in a newer and more untried part of this "New Word." S'^me parts are more healthfid thnn others: on this account, travellers are very frequentlv taken sick f^om home. There are many other causes of their sickness be.ng rivers flow and huge mountains stand between you and them; their faces smile not, and shine not upon you; their hands min- ister not to your necessities; their gentle voices speak not. whis- per not kind and cheering words into your ear; the fireside and door-yard scenes of much loved home are not now before your eyes; all things around are new and strange and more or less dismal; glooms hover over you; your eyes weep; your heart is pensive and sad ; you are disconsolate. I have already said all I can for you on all points save one, and that is the point or fact of your being a stranger. To this point it is my special object aow to direct my attention. There will be the utmost propriety in my making my com- munications to you in private ; because it will be my special business to tell you how to feel and act towards these strangers who are around you. 1 will therefore close and bolt the door for an hour or two. And now, my tnend, 1 must tell you thot 1 well know the thoughts and feelings of \our sad, the secret and sorrowful workings of your lonely liear^t, Yau lie here upon this bed •and think and ponder. Your th' uii.hts and desires go back — they retrace your whole journey ar*d linger about that home you left, now dear enough if never before Your heart fills and overflows, and you inwardly exclaim — "'O that I were ihis moment within the doors of that well known and long known house, and surrounded by those dear telatii>ns and friends in the circle of whom I have so hmg been, and for the more part been belssed and happy." The object whn h brought you here now appears trivial and tiifli.ig, if not alb»ge'her atter whether you ever see your old home again or not^ and let your thoughts and desires centre upon a higher and better home, "a city which hath foundations, whose builder and maker is God," a heavenly aod happy home.- And rejoice, O thoi? 198 consolatio:n9 of stranger! thou afflicted stranger! that though thou art a stranger - here to men, ihou mayest not be a stranger to God. God is a stranger no where; He is in all places; He is every where. He can draw nigh here as hastily and help you, and comfort, and encourage, and support you, living or dying, as effectually as he could if you were at home. "God is no respecter of persons: but in every nation he that feareth him, and worketh righteousness, is accepted of him." In every nation, and of course in all parts and places of every nation. As well here where you are now, as in tlie place from which you came. And let it be all that encour- agement you n^ed, that it is written — "Whosoever shall call upon the name of the Lord shall be saved." At tiie same time be cire- ful to call in a prop'^r manner, with all your heart, feeling your need of salvation, and your utter helplessness to save yourself; for it is also written — "Not every one that saith unto me. Lord, Lord, shall enter into the ki«gdom of heaven." C ill then, upon the name of the Lord with your whole soul, and you shall be saved. And thus you may find consolation in this strange land, living or dying, which was the thing to be found, and which brings me to a close of all I undertook for you. And now, af- flicted stranger, I bid you farewell, and go on my way to console -others. July Ihth^ 1830. FOR THE AGED IN AFFLICTION. So many are the ills and calamities of life, so many are the afflictions of the youth and of the middle aged, that but a small part of t!ie human family arrive at old age, — but very few are permitted to number three score years and ten. Here I feel it necessary again to say, that tiiis is a world of sin and therefore of misery. Because all have sinned, there is no reason why we should wonder that the great body of mankind should he afflicted, and distressed, and smitten, and cut off in the earlier stages of life. Such is the fact however, and the more mournful part of it is, that a large majority of these do not arrive at the prime of life. Notwithstanding a few of the whole are permitted to advance not only to the prime, but to go beyond to old age. 1 do not pre- tend in this work, to fix an exact limit at which persons become ®ld. I sh ill speak of them as advanced in yeir^. It is fur the afflicted am<»ng those for whom I now purpose to seek consola- tion, But why do 1 say for those among ihem? are not all oW THE AFFLtifrED, l9S persons, or very nearly all, afflicted? Can one among a thousand of them be found who enjoys good health? Scarcely. This class of mankind, therefore, will differ from most of those whom I have already attempted to console, by its being a small class, and from all otiicrs by there being very few in it exempt from afiliciion. The afflictions which are peculiar to old persons are the infirm- ities of old a^o, as they are very commonly and very properly called. I say peculiar, 1 do not mean that they arc not at all sub- ject to sudden and periodical diseases: for such not only afflict them greatly, but often take them off. 1 mean that it is not so common for them to be afflicted and torn by sue!; attacks, as it is for them to be worn and wasted by the infirmities of old age. Th-y aie almost all chronic patients; and as such T shall view them and speak to them, in what T am about to say; not forget- ting, however, that they too may be scorched with a raging fever, exhausted by choleia morbus or dysentery, distressed by convul- sive fits, or thrown into anguish by violent cholic, or any other of the sudden diseases which seize upon the sons and daughters of sorrow and wo. The aged arc those to whom much is due on many accounts. They are our fiitliers and mothers. By them we received ouf existence; they nourished us in out infancy, and provided for us in our youth, and counseled and guided us in our riper years. We are in debt to them, and our 'debt is great, we owe them much. We are bound by many weighty and solemn obligations to pro- vide for all their wants, and to treat them most affectionately and tenderly, and lO do all in our power to make smooth and easy the short remains of that path of life, which their aged- and feeble feet have yet to tread. As a civilized, evangelized and enligiiten- cd nation, we should set an ^mblemished and perfect example to the whole world, in our treatment of our flnhers and mothers, wlioso long and laborious toils, and great experience; and whose grey heids and hoary locks clothe them witli reverence, and call for much resgfct from all juniors and inferiors. And those among them who have peculiar afflictions, have greater demrnds upon our care, and attention, and sympathies. We should re- member that wc too may be old, and as we treat them, so will we likely be treated. The ancient nations treated their old pf^oplc with much respect. and esteem. The Egyptians embalmed their fathers when they died, and kept them in their houses standing on their feet ajjainst their v.alls, wifh their faces outwards, for years. The command given to the descendants of Abraham, was *-<"Honor tliy fither and thy mother, that thy d.ys may be \ono in the land.*' The reason of this command is manifest. Should IW * CdWSatATIOKS OF they not honor the aged, but put them to death, when they become old or less serviceable, or helpless, (tis some heathen na- tions now d< ) they in turn would be pui to death by those younger tJian thenasc^lves, when they become old, and so their days could not be long in the land. Tberefbre, it was further said — *'Heark- en to thy father that begat thee, and despise not thy mother when she is old. Cursed be he that setteth light by his father or his mother, and all the people shallsay, Amen." The Romans and Grecians would rise with the utmost respect, and give place, and give seats, when the aged came in. Cicero says — "We ought to hold our parents most dear, because from them was delivered to us, life, matrimony, liberty and cit- izenship." Another Latin writer says — "Make yourself such to- wards your parents as you would desire your children to be to- wards you." And I must even delay briefly to relate what Plu- tarch and Lidy tell us of Coriolanus, a brave general of the Ro- mans. They say — "After doing much for his country, he was, by a decree of the people, banished. He went to a neigoboring nation, the Volsci. They immediately made him one of their generals, to head their armies against the Romans, his own people. He rapidly conquered many of their towns. Tliey became alarm- ed, and sent orators to beg for peace. The orators carried back a fierce answer. They were sent again, he would not admit them into his camp. The Priests, a more sacred order of men, clothed in their most sacred attire, were sent, but all in vain. At length Coriolanus' mother, an aged woman took his wife having two sons, and also took a large company of women, and went to the camp. It was announced to Coriolanus that a large band of women had come. But he, who could not be moved by the public majesty of the legates, nor by religion in the Priests, was much more ob- stinate against the tears of the women, until he saw his aged mother, when he exclaimed — "Thou hast overcome and conquered my anger, O my country, by my mother's prayers, for whose sake I now forgive thy injury done to me. And he immediately deliv- ered Rome from hostile arms." All that are not themselves aged, should vie with one another, and stiive to see who could treat the aged in the most becoming and proper manner. It is true, that — "The glory of young men is their strength: and the beauty of old men is the grey head. Yea, the hoary head is a crown of glory, if it be found in the way of righteousness." A crown of glory, yes, a crown of sur- passing and unequalled glory. If it be found in the way of righteousness, not all the fields of nature furnish a cluster or head of flowers blooming with such transcendent splendor and loveli- ness; and the crowns that kings and conquerers wear are heavy > IHE AFFUCTJU^. iUX» ?i^geger, or dying now, as God in his wisdom and sov- ereignty may drder. No doubt you may have some little difficulty in your reasoning powers, and a good deal in your feelings, to see why it is that God still afflicts you in your old age. But it is on- ly necessary for me briefly to remind you, that you are a sinner still, notwithstanding you may really be in the way of riehteous-^ nesss and that you have not yet got through that training and discipling on the earth, which- the great Captain of our salvation thinks jfiecessary for you. You will remember that he was himself *'A man of sorrows and acquainted with grief; and that he said it was enough for the disciple that he be as his master;" and his sorrows did not end till his resurrection. Further, that when he promised his disciples good things here below; that they should "receive a hundred fold now in this time, houses and brethren, and sisters, and mothers, and children, and lands, he added, with persecutions." That is, they were not only to endure the com- mon afflictions of life, but to these were to be added the peiseru- tions of fierce and cruel men. All these trials and sufterings they were to endure, and not only to endure, but he was caref«il to tell them, that he, and he only, "that endureth to the end shMl be saved," And now, my dear friend, reverend and aged friend, you have not yet endured unto the end, either of your afflic leaving us an exuniple, that ye VnVi AFFLICTEWv 20lv sJlould follow his stpps/' He is our great example to guide us, ami fiiconrage us in our sufferings and attiictions. But he is not our only example. — The apostle James says to us — ''Take mv brethren, the prophets, who have epoken in the name of the Lord, for an example cf suffering attliction, hucJ of patience. Behold we count ihem happy which endure." It appeare \\wn, that the prophets are to be our example, as well as the Saviour., And why should not you be an example, and a good one too, of Siiffering affliction, and of p.itience, seeing you have so much ex- pfMience, and have been so long enabled to exhibit the christian characier in all the varied scenes of life, and in the most trying circumstances. I can see no reason why you shou'd not strive to your utmost, to make yourself a worthy example to all that are around you, but e?[>eciaUy to all who are younger than your- self. You can certainly bear these present afflictions much better thiin you did those which you endured, ten, twenty, thirty or forty years ago. Not only with respect to the pains whicii distress you, but with respect to your hopes and fears. Y u cannot be so easily alarmed now as you used to be; and as you have always hitlieito recoveied, you will now, notwithstanding you are old, more readily and more easily hope to recover again; or if you have no ground at all to hope, you will be indifferent about it. Bv your great r.ge and your h;!p;>y experience, and by feeling as if your work wis done, or nearly done upon the earth, you are en- al)led to have that resignation to'the divine will, by which you caa most readily, and suddenly, and most cheerfully and entirely ac- quiesce in wliatever God appears to ha\e immefliately before you, life or death. O let i» be so, my dear aged afflicted fiend ! Show the world, prove to (he world, that "though your outward man perish, ye\ your inward man is renewed day by day.*' Put it be- y(jnd a doubt that tlifve is such a thing as sanctified afflictions, And though your afflicion be ^reat, exceedinoly severe, "even beyond measure," feel in your heart, and he able to say with your mouth — "my liffhi affliction which is but for a moment, is work- ing out for me a far more exceeding and eternal weight of glory .^ "ft is sanctified unto me — it is holy and reforming chastisement — God brings it upon me for my gof)d, not as a vengeful judge, but as a loving father." And thus you will prove it to be true to all around, that "whom the Lord Icveth he chasteneth, and scourgeth every son, vea, and daughter too, wliom he receiveth.'" And ycu will not despise the chassening of ilie Lord, nor fvnnt when thou art rebuked of him; but will rejoice, knowing that if "youenduie chas^fuing, God dealeth wi'h you as with sons; but if you b? without chastisement, whereof all are pailakeis, then are you?> feaslaiu and not a son" or a daughter. ]7« 1 know, my aged feeble friend, that "no rlmstpninf for tfie present seemeth lo be joyous, but grievous: neveitlieUss sifpr- wards it yieldelh ihe peaceable f uiis of righteousness unto them which are exercised tbercoy." "•Wherefore lift up your hnnd» which hang clown,:!nd your feeble knees," and hope to be s}> iv« d, <'thai you may recover strength, before yctu go beitce, ynd be no more," among the living upon the earth. Hope to recover stienijtlj I say, yes, and to see a goodly number of days yet upon theenrth. You cannot easily be so old, that you cannot live to be some older Still. It may be three, or four, or five, or possibly len or fifteen years. But perhaps you do not feel pleasant to hear me tjilk about that, which, to you, seems so improbable as to be almost impe-ssible in your estimation. And it may be that you are not so perfectly and entirely resigned to live, as you aie to die, as I but new spoke- of your being as easily reconciled to the one as to the other Per- haps it would be your decided choice to die, if it were God's will, rather than to live any longer. This was the case with an apostle, and has been with many others, and very decidedly so with the writer. They so fully discovered, and knew, and experienced, and groaned under the sins and miseries of this world, and so atvtHiffly and confidently believed that there is a world of happi- ness, in which there isneither sin nor misery, and h;id such a full assurance of faith and hope, that they would go to that world wiien they died, that they said — "We knoio that if our earthly h'use of this tabernacle were dissolved, we have a building of God, a house not made with hands, eternal in the heavens. For in this we groan earnestly desiring to be clothed upon, with onr hv'UsewhicJi is from heaven; if so be that being clothed, we shall Bot be fi>und naked . For we that are in this tabernacle do groan, being burdened: not for that we would be unclothed, but clothed upon, that mortality might be swallowed up of life. We are con- fident and willing rather to be absent from the body, and to be present with the Lord, having a desire to depart, and to be with Christ; which is far better. To die is gain." Truly, truly it is gain, my aged friend, to tiie confirmed believer, and no doubt would be to you, as it respects your own individual self, but would it be gain to others, and would God's wise, and glorious, and happy purpfjses be more advanced thereby, than by your continu- ing a little lonser in the flesh. Of this, after all, God must be al- lowed to be the final and decisive judge. But I venture to believe, my aged christian friend, that without the wide ranging, infinite knowledge of the Deity, I can rny?elf suggest to you several pos- sible considerations or reasons, why or how you may (h niore gtjod by being required to remain some longer still upon the earU}. larB AFFLTCTSJd, -2i^ ^n the first place, (notwithstanding you may think it impossible) it is possiale for you so far to recover, as 1o have a considerable d 'g!er« of enjoyment yet upon the earth, and to attend to the orr d.niry business of life. This is very frequently the case, tiven y,\ih those greatly advanced in life. Again, y(»n may be useful here, 1 do not mean by doing a great deal of the ordinary busi- ness or work (»f life, which you osed to do with so much activity. To labor with the hands is not the only way to do good in the world. You may do good and be useful to all around you, by sotting them a good example, by expressing every thing that is good and excellent in your countenance and in your whole car" ri ;ge and deportment, but especially by your words. 1 fear you have, with all your experience and knowledge, hut a flint and imperfect impression upon your mind, of the vast amount of good you may do in either of these ways, but espe- ci 'lly by your words, yes it may be by one single word that may drop from your aged lips, and be heard by some person or other, perhaps by some thoughtless youth. In order to assist you in f.»rming an idea of how much good it is possible for you to do, let your mind pass back to the things you did in your youth, Pevhaps when you were quite young, nearly a hundred years aoo, y»>M h.ippened to pick up a chesnut and an acorn, and it may be out of mere curiosity you planted them, but they came up and you cultiv\ted and protected them; and now you can look out and see standing on those very spots the huge oak and the grea( chesnut. Two or three years ago, 1 myself, when so feeble as to be scarcely able to walk, planned a cedar twig in the door-yard, which is now three-fourths of my own height, and a flourishing evergreen in winter, to revive my spirits when I cast my eyes upon it. Again, you may h^ve been the parent of children, at the age •f twen'y or Uventy-five, and they may have grown up and mar^ ried early, and raised children, some of whom miy also now have ehl^dren, so that you may look around and see a large family or tribe, spruiig from yourself, among whom may be a considerable number of great grand children, and all doing well in the world, being moral, respectable and useful, and many of them hopeful tit was so ordered by ProviHence, that just when I came to write for the agpf! in a^ictioii, my owir christian mother, most worthy, anrl to ine and nianv others, most dear, was seized, and held, and threatened hy a vijJent a-ifl alannniii; attaclc of dysentery, in her seventy-fifth year, (my Reverend father iieing in his seventy-seventh year) so that a patient was presented immediately before me, of the most interesting and intimate character, whom I a Idressc i after the mann.=>r of what yon here read. It thprefor©. mav he considered stri.tlv practical. Sh© was restored^ aad is now in tcl= nable health, Se^it. 25li>, 1830, F. ^ M^^ 204t CONSOLATIONS 0^ professors of religion. And possibly yon were the inafrnmeiii not only of bringing thern into existence, but of gnidin" iheio into the "right wnys of the Lord." And it may be you have guided not only these, but others not a few. Perhaps a word of advice, and instruction, and caution, and warning, given by you to some heedless young man, sixty yens -ago, which you irive long ago forgotten, was so powerful a word to him, that lie did not and could not forget it — that it entered into his heart and rankled there, till (in the hands of the Spiri) it convicted and 'Reproved him of sin, and of righteousness, and of judijmefit," auresented to our view, and we see it with our eyes; but when we follow these happy effects and con- sequences, together with wh-ai have yet to proceed from you, oa to eternity; their vas'ness, grandeur and sublimity rise in glori- ous prospect before us, to such an extendrls utterly fiil lo conceive of all the good you m'^y yet do upon the earth, siy- ing nothing about what you havealreadv done. What my fi-nd, is it not written? — "Let him know, thnt he which conver'eth a -sinner from the error of his way, shall s;ive a soul from dei'ih, and sh dl hide a multitude of sins. And they that be wise sli dl shine as the brightness of the firmament; and they that turn many to righteousness, as the stars for ever and ever." If you hive, and do yet turn so many to riijhteousnoss, you shall shine as a star for ever and ever, and they that you hive turned and sh^dl turn, and all those turu'-d by them sh ill thus shine. VVhv, it would seem tint vou, and all they shining thus, would yourselvflp make a world of glory and happiness (J theu, wy aged afflicted friend, try yoiu- utmosi to be willing 10 live some longer still, if it be the will of God, though you be dreadfully aliiicted, pained, and sick, and feeble; seeing, even we short-sighted beings can discover much good that you may yet do upon tht earth. Furthermore, this is not all I can say on the subject, nof all I have to say. You know that "all things shall work together for good to them thai love God." And it may be his righteous and kind purpose to spare you here, not only to cause unpleasant things, afflictions, to work for your good, and to permit you to do good, but to have great satisfaction in seeing others do good, and be- holding the wonderous and happy changes, which his own hand may work in saving the souls of men. You may see those happy changes wrought upon those immediately around you, and in whom you are nearly and deeply interested. And this may le- joice your heart enough to compensate you doubly for all the pains you may have endured in living to witness it. In addition to these, you may hear of extensive, stupendous and glorious Qhanges at a distance from you, which will greatly revive your heart. You may hear of the most happy revolutions of the nov- ernments of the nations. You may hear of the most signal tri- umphs of the Redeemer's kingdom of righteousness and peace, and the most rapid, complete, fatal, and final prostration of the kingdom of Satan. As many believe, and as we have, at least, some faint appeai'anee of it, that we have come near to the dawn of the millennium, you ma\ even yet live to see or hear of a na- tion being born to God in a day. This would truly be glorious and highly interesting news for you to carry home to the inhabi- tants of heaven. It would not only fill your heart with joy, but the hearts of men and angels above, when you get there with it. By this I am led on to take a still more extended, exalted and cheering view of the subject, and of your case. God may re- quire you to remam here for a short season, not merely for purpo- ses and services for this world, but for the next. To stand at your post as a sentinel in the army, not only till the last hour, but the last minufe of your time; to observe all the movements of the enemy, and collect all the informntion you possibly can, both good and b^.d, pleasant and unpleasant, not merely with respect to the condition of individuals around you, but vvith respect to the con- dition, the doings and movements of the nations of the world, Tiritthus, when you go, you m-'y have a large amount of infor- mation, quite a history of the state of things here below, gathered up during your lon^ life, to carry up on high, to the heavenly city, Ihe metropolis of all worlds. And that at'th© very first appeaf- ii06 CbT^soLKTibss Of ahce of your aged, reverend head, within the gates? o^ that eity, the joyou«», in(|uisitive and enquiring inhabitants, m«^n and angels, rtiay run to meet you, and hs large a circle surround you as can hear your voice hastily, and gladly relating and rehearsing to them, all the news you have from the earth, the whole history of your long, and laborious, and active, and afflicted life, including the las», and therefore the most interesting intelligence which you re- ceived, just before your departure; togeiher with a fi.ll narrative to your profoundly silent nnd very attentive audience, of all the late, great, grand and glorions pi sns, operations and advances of King Messiah, aided by all his active officers, as instruments, his 7rorrf, and his happy instinitions as means, his sacraments and Ordinances; and giving them (what they will cerl'inly expect to hear from every new comer) the most recent and particular ac- counts of the progress of all the great benevoU nt societies of your nation, ard of the world; the b.ble societies, the theological seminaries, the missionary societies, the tract and sund:!y school societies, together with ;jH other benevolent institutions, common schools, and education, moralitv and religion in general: wot forgetting by any means to give them, in the most minute n).uiner, all the latest knowledge you may have obt.-iined of the opposition of wicked and ungodly meri, ag:(inst these benevolent and philan- thropic institutions: and you wilt not certainly forget to pour into th»:ir listening and sym])athetic ears, the wtiole story of your own afflictions and woes, that they-mr.y rejoice with you in youi deliv- erance and trijunph; and as \ou are a being of sympathy, you will rem*mbor all the sous and daughters of affliction whom you left below, and p^int your active tmd swifi-winged hearers down to them, begging thorn to make haste to reb.eve and C(>tnfori theni: and thus 'hey having heard your whole namtive, embracing every item of news, which you as a finite being could collect, will be more fully instrucied with regard to the state of things here be- low, and belter prepared to come down as "ministering spirits, srnt forth to minister for them who shfill be hf^-rs of s.-ilvi'ion." TJjey will better know where all the sorrowful objects (^f affliction are to l;e found, who need tbnr ministry and consolation; and where they may meet and repel the enemies advnnc'ng to jn: ke att cks upon those who shall l>e heirs of solvation; and lastly, wliere they m.y most adv;»n';>geously fall in ?nd put forth their at ength, to advance and make triumphant the Redeemej's king- dom. This, in connec'i-'n with other purposes, my aged afflicted fr'end, gaod ^>ld soldier, mny !)e a reason why the a 11 wise God TX)^v see it best, npfin Mie wluile, f(;r vou t?:- remiin here some longei still. To wait for approaching events, small and great. TME AFFLMTED. 207 gaod and bad, and as soon as they have arrived and occurred, for you to gather up the news, and carry it on high, to add, not only to the joy, but to the knowledge and usefulness of the inhabitants of heaven. All these things taken together, that I have said on the point, appear to be some of the reasons discernable by us mortals, of finite and limited vision, why it may be best for yourself and otiiers, and most advance the glory of the great God, tor you to be detiined in the flesh, (though in great affliction and weakness) some days, oi even years longer. But if God should continue you, and were you not able, nor I for you, nor any body else, to see or to suppose one single reason for it, that would be no proof that he had not sufficient reasons, for he certainly would have« You know, that "now we see through a glass, darkly, but thcR face to face: now we know in part; but then shall we know, even as also we are known." And you remember distinctly, what our kind S^iviour s\id to one of his disciples, who was a liftle ioo inquisitive— "Jesus answered and said unto him. What I do »h<)U knowest not now, but — (O how kind!) thou shall know hereafter.'* Bear up, bear up then, be courageous firm and unmovnble, and hope unto the end, anaid, "thou shalt know hereitfter,'*' will make good his woid, and you have only to remember that *heaven and •^arth shall pass away, hut his words shall not pass away." His svords cannot fail, and he will satisfy you with regard to rh ^ vvh de matter. But on 'he other hand, my old rfflicred friend, i^ there at this moment not the least prospect or h>pe of your life being con- tinued, but is it mnnitest to yourselt and tu ail around that the *'time of your departure is at hand;" it will be much more easy for you ''to set your h-.use in order" and be ready for the great chaoge, than if you were in active IH'q. i^ou have, some tiine ^S ^6n30lations eF jsince, laid aside tiie difficult and burdensome concerns of litis, and it will not take you many minutes to settle all your affairs, give your dying advice, and charges, and exhortations to all around you, and to bid farewell to all friends. Then, it will only remain for you, like good old Jacob, to gather up your feet into the bed, and, with the fund of information whi, may, for aught we know, be a loss to all who are removed in their infancy or early years. To those who commence their existence on this world it may be a great pi ivation to b taken away before they learn any thing about the wo; Id on which thev sprang into being. And this may be true of those sfieatly afflicted and dreadfully distressed, yes, even idiots and df^ranureH persons. Ccd may make their stay altogeth er better fur them than their removal. His wisdom is infinite 212 c6n?olations of ''•How unsearchable are his judgments, and his ways past liiiu ingout." Thus much I feel warrantetl to say, and to sugges? with regard to the afflicted itself, as reasons and suggestion* why its existence is prolonged here. But there may be far greater and more weighty reasons not only why it is afflicted, but why it is continued in life. The greatest and most probable of all reasons may be, that it is, first, for your good, and next, for the good of others. Perhaps you were altogether out of the right way, before this trouble, this calamity was brought upon you. You may have been greatly lifted up with pride, going on with a high head, a lofty look, a stiff neck, a stout heart and an unbending knee, in the way to temj>oral and eternal destruction; feeling much self- importance and independence, and thus being far above the level of what this world really is, and what it is safe to aspire to. The AH wise, in great kindness to you, came to the conclusion that you needed a check, that you required to be humbled, lest you should rise so high that in bringing you down, you would eventu- ally fall below hope and beyond recovery. And for the same reason this is continued upon you. It is that you* may see, and learn, and know the truly humbled and unhappy condition of this world, and be sensible, that "before honor cometh humility.'' not merely to be humbled, but to feel humble. It is, (if you view it and receive it as you should) to give you an opportunity to show the world how many excellent qualities you can exhibit, in the most difficult and trying circumstances^ in the discharge of the most arduous, unpleasant, wearisome and overcoming duties. How large an amount of submission, mildness, tenderness, pa- tience and faithfulness you can possess, and exercise, and mani- fest continually. It is to be a perpetual beacon to remind you of your low, and sinful, and helpless state, and to make you know (hat your dependence is not in yourself, but upon God, who made you, and, who could in a moment put you into the condition of this poor afflicted creature. It is further, for a warning to others,- that all, who come into its presence, aH, who come this way, may look, see, learn, know, fear, tremble, and be humble, and be ^vise. These are reasons sufficient, why the life of this afflicted mor- tal should be prolonged, and it is unnecessary for us to attempt to search out others, though there may be others discoverable by lis, and a multitude of those which we cannot discover, far better than those which we can. It remains, therefore, that you view the matter thus, and act accordingly — that you bring your mind to your condition, if you would have consolation in the midst of your labors and trials. That you consider these reasons as sati^ THE AFPLICTEl). 2io fartory, and acquiesce and submit without a murmur (o the wise, and ever kind allotments of a superintending Providence over you. That you submit 1 say, not '*as a wild bull in a net, nor yet as the tamer animals which are accustomed to the bndle arid the yoke, but as a reasonable anmial which has its duty so clearly pointed out to it that it cannot mistake. This is not the most trifling consolation, to know in so clear a manner your duty, and to have steady business. One of the greatest consolations how- ever, is, that the affliction is not directly upon yourself, however much you m;iy be indirectly affected by it. The proud phansee thanked God that he was not as other men; that is, that he was more wise, more excellent, more holy and righteous, all of him- self; he fisted twice in the week, and gave tithes of all he pos- sessed. This was truly pride, self-conceit, and self-deception. But you may most humbly and gratefully thank God, that you are not as this poor mortal, and be in no danger of self-conceit Dor self-deception. You can eat, and your food nourishes you, and you enjoy it ; and therefore you have strength to go and come and do your work. You can also sleep soundly aiid sweetly ■when not interrupted; and, by beinsr accustomed to be interrupted can fill asleep more suddenly, and sleep moresoun)vv to meditate and view things so as to draw favorable conclu- sions and to bring in every thing and circumstance to comfort and console its mind. You should teach it how to pray — how to go to its heavenly father, and to speak to him and plead with him, and to beg for help aufl consolation from 'his patern-l and Al- mighty hand. And, lastly, you should by no means fail to ^n- l^lOf G6N60LATION5 Of oourage it to hope with all itvS heart, for final deliverance from all affliction, sin and sorrow, and admission into a better and hap- pier w 'rid. These things you should do for it, from time to time, continually praying to God most earnestly for his kind interposition in its behalf, and committing it into his hands, and trusting him to take care of it, as I have advised you to trust him to take care of yourself. And if it is incapable of receiving instruction, you should in the same unreserved way, commit it into his hands and trust him to take care of it, both in time and in eternity, and he will do it according to his justice, wisdom and mercy. Doing these things and taking this course, wliich is altogether the best that I can think of for you, you will have good ground to hope that all will eventually be well with you and it. That, though you both are afflicted now, and may be for sometime long- er, yet in due time you wiU both be delivered from and raised aoove all afflictions, trials, pains and sorrows, and be put in pos- session of all that happiness which you are capable of enjoying in the heavenly world. Thus you will now, at this present time, have hope, and hope reachi.'yg not merely the short length of the things of time and earth, but reaching into heaven and on through eternity. Hope, I say, and hope of one kind or another, higher or lower, earthly or heavenly, in all cases whatever, constitutes fat the larger part of the consolations of the afflicted. And ir is my warm and parting wish for you, my afflicted friend, that all t'ood hopes, earthly and heavenly, may be yours, and may be realized unto you. Farewell. Aug, m, 1830. FOR THE MELANCHOLY. Many and various are the diseased and unhappy affections of the human mind, to which the sons and daughters of men are sni)ject. As it is impossible fori he body to suffer without the mind's partaking of its sufferings, so also is it irnpo-^sihle for the mind to sulfer without the body's being afflicted. The physi- cians as well as metapl yi^icians differ among themselves concern- ing the nature and faculties of the min I, when in heilth, or in its best state here Uilow, and no loss aboiH it when disordered. Nol- wilhstanding, they are pretty generally unitod in classing its dis- orders into two great g.^neral classes — Melancholia and Munia. In this they follow the ancinnt Gn-eks, and adopr the words of fheir language to convey their meaning. The word melancholia, J- HE AFFLICTED. 21 I in Greek, means, black bile, and was origiiidlly used by the Greeks, because they believed a gloomy, pensive, slate of mind to arise from an abundance of black bile. The word mania, in iheir language, means fury or rage. When a person, with ihem, became wild in the mind, and raved and raged, ihey called it mania. Tiiere are many other words used, either synonymous with the?e two, or expressing some particular species, or degree of mental disorder or alienation, under one or the other of these two general classes. Because the opinion prevailed foi a length of time that the spleen was the principal scat of that disease which produced a gloomy state of mind, persons being thus af- fected were said to have the spleen, or to be splceny, or splenetic. This is synonymous with melancholia. — It is a fact that the phy- sicians have never yet been able to discover the offices of the spleen. Again, from the fact that such patients, who were men, complained of much uneasiness and distress in the hypochondrical regions of the abdomen, it was called hypochondriasis, viz: a disease seated in the hypocliondria. This is also generally con- sidered synonymous, or nearly so, with melancholia. It is a Greek word, and if we were to examine its etymology we would soon see how nearly the two words are related to one another in their original meaning. Melancholia means black bile. — The liver is that great organ or viscus, which produces the bile. Hy- pochondiion, means, under the cartilage. — The liver lies under the cartilages of the ribs of the right side, and partly under the ribs themselves. Thus, when we speak of melancholia', black bile, we spenk of that which is produced or secreted in the right hypochondrion, by the liver, and, thus far^ it plainly appears that the two words have the same meaning. But because there is a left side as well as a right, there is a hypo- chondrion there also, in which are contained the stomach and the spleen, so that the two cavities are called by a Greek plural hy- pochondria, that is, the places on both sides under the cartilages of the ribs. Following the etymology, it would give us a rather more extended meaning to hypochondriasis, than to melancholia. The one however is generally admitted to embrace the other. Therefore, when a mile person is said to have the hypochondria- si-, you may und'^rstand him to have the same thing as melancho- lii. The words hypo and hyp, are part" of the word hypochon- driasis used in familiar huiguige, bv people in general, and con- veying the same meaning that the whole word does in more scien- tific phrasc'logy. Tnat disease in the female sex which, in some of its great anrl leadmg characterij-tirs, verv m'lr'h, re?5emMe9 the hvpo- chondriasis in raeuj but which the ancients believed and mv»st J^IS fO]!?S0LATIOXS OF moderns believe to be altogether a different disease, is called by a greek word hysteria, which has a meaning peculiar to the female sex. In English it is called not hysteric, but hysterics, because it effects them much more in the way of fits than ihe hypochondriasis does men. It is attended in a general way with the same depression of spirits and gloominess which be- long to the other, and therefore when women are subject to hysteria or hysterics, it is the same thing as their being in a melancholy state, with all those peculiarities which belong to their sex. There is an otlier and plainer term for the dis- ease applicable to both sexes, under which name, of late, it has spread and is prevailing to an alarming extent in the middle and southern sections of our country ; this term is in plain Eng- lish, the iiver disease. And because all the digestive organs, the stomar-h and bowels, liver and paacreas, are found to be more or less disordered in melancholy patients, they are said to have the dyspepsia, that is a general derangement of the chy- lopoetic or digestive organs. And further, those person;* that fall into a despairing way, and think they will come to starva- tion and the lowest degrees of wretchedness, and shame, and contempt, and ruin on the earth, expecting to be forsaken by- all their friends, by all peace and hope, and by God himself, not only in this world, bat in the world to come, are said to be melancholy. They ofien accuse themselves with all m inner of ci-imes, small and great, the most atrocious and diring, and h )rricl, even '"the ^dasplie my against the holy ghost, whinh is n it to he forgiven in this world nor in that which is to come." The pers )n«» who go to surh extremes in blaming themselves are ^jenerally known by all who know them to be guilty of no such things, but to be very moral and exem- plary in their lives There are however some exceptions. Lidstly, because the nerves of persons who complain in some sui.h manner as I have said are aim >si invariably f >uud to be in a state of general derantxement; thev are sud to be nervous. I have sometimes thought thit the melical faculty have tallon iiiio a mistake in sayinn of the g'vvt outlines of the nervor.s system Thn word nerve i^ di2- rived from the latiu word nervuSf and means a string or cordj a HE AFFLICTED. J^lj^ tfO that the nerves of the animal system arc strings or cords running in all directions throughout our bodies. Writers, on the subject, until of late, considered the head to be the great origin and centre of the nerves. Some more modern writers of indeiatigable research have questioned that position, and from discoveries which they made particularly in acephalus monsters^ have advanced and maintained the idea that a considerable number originate in the spinal marrow independentely of the head, and are so many mdependent systems of nerves. They admit however that all the different systems are connected by filaments; so that with regard to what 1 have in view, it is not very material whether you follow the old writers and consider the head to be the only great origin of the nerves, or the more m.^dern, and consider the head to be a great system in connection with smaller systems. Taking either view of the subject, the nerves are the organs of our five senses, smelling, seeing, hear^ ing, tasting and feehng. You may view the nerves, then, as commencing in the head and along the back bone of considerable size and running in every direction throughout our whole frame, becoming smaller and smaller as they approach to their places of termination. Their branches and ramific^ations become so numeroui and S9 small where they terminate in the outside of the skin, that we cannot see them with the naked eye, though they cover the whole surface of the skin, so that you cannot put down the point of a needle without touching one of th>nr terminations. And this, by some, is believed to be the case in our inner parts, vea, in the bones themselves. The effect of a touch no larger than this is received by the small p.«int of the nerve and runsalon* back the little, minute branch, until it comes to a larger branch, and so on to the larger stiii, till it runs the whole round of the nerves, even to the most distant part from fhat from which it started. If it be received at the foot, it vv'ill be instantly telt in the head, an., in the very skin of the head, and to the'very cnt> of the fingers. This is what is called the sympathies o^ the S) stem. \nd that >ou may have a more enlarged and cor- rect view of the matter stili. I would inform you that in order to make these sympathies perfect and instantaneous, the former of our bodies has placed in the midst of all these branches and plexuses a large nerve coinnumicating with the whole, which the doct iect, from ihs head down through all the members, their gangii«, ^20 CONSOLATIONS Of trunks, branches, plexu'es and ramifications, the whole a com plete but complex net work of threads or nerves running across one another and interlocking in every direction; suppose this, I say, to be suspended be tore you, and then suppo&e all these threads to be wires instead of what they are, and take a bit of iron in your hand and hit one of the extremities a slight blow, and you will see every particle vibrate and hear a sound run throuf»^h the whole. All this will help your views of the nerv- ous system, and plainly show you that it is the great organ of feelino' in our frame. It is the great organ through which we have all our aches and pains as well as our joys and pleasures. The physicians sum up their account of the uses and powers of the nerves bv calling them the organs of sensation and motion. With'.'Ut them we would have neither of our five senses nor be able to have any m-.'tion in our bodies. We would be like the troes of the forest which do not twinge nor groan when we cut them down. It" an incision be made into a limb of the human body and its nerves tak«n up by a hook, and a thread tied round them, th$ outer end of the limb will lose its feeling and its power of mo- tion. The like of this you may see wi*h great clearness in persons who are palsied. The palsy is strictly a nervous dis- ease, and one too of ihe most dreadful kind. It most usually efiects one whole side, passing down exactly in the centre of the body. You only need to see such patients to be convinced of the truth of what I say. Haudie the palsied side and they will tell you thev do not feel it : ask them to raise tlieir hand or foot and they canno^ do it, they have no power of motion in those parts. Upon the whole, I take it for granted that you are nov prepared to see that the nerves are a very important as well a verv delicate part of us, and that, when diseased, especially in a hi"-h def^ree, we must necessarily be wretched throuhout our whoTe frame. It is tru« that the nerves may be suddenly and violently aftected by any or all pleasant or unpleasant passions of the mind; especially by fear, or being suddenglv alarmed; but they will soon become composed and calm again, as a mu- sical instrument when the bow is removed from the strings; and unless the person is a very delicate female or the fright truly (Tieat, no bad effects will be felt or ensue Suyh afflictions do Sot gain the name of nervous disorders. The nerves are not said to be diseased until the cause producing their disease has operated so long and so severely as to put them habitually out of order, so that nervous diseases are mostly of a chronic cha- racter. It is true that all nervous patients are affected more or ip^g by spells or paroxisms, and you know that the strongest JlIE AFfLK'TEJj. 221 aiiU most violent and terrific convulsions are caused by disor- dered nerves and head. Lest the reader sh'juld labor under a mistake concerning a disordered state of the nerves, I nmst not fail to tell him that it is one ot the most difficult and inscrutable things that presents itself to the investigation of -the philosophic mind. It is totally unlike other diseases in any part of the animal frame. The following definiton is that given in Rees' cyclopaedia, "Nervous diseases arc those diseases which ap- pear to arise independentely of any organic change of structure, and are therefore ascribed to some indefinite derangement of the sensible and irritable powers of the animal frame, of which the brain and nervous svsti3m are the seat and channel of commu- nication." Take notice; he says, "independently of any organic change of ^ftructure."" This is true, there is no change i.i the size, shape, colour, or appearance of these little threads or nerves in us, when th'iy become diseased. Even when patients are very much diseased, and the se?«t of their disease is no where else but in their nerves, 'hey appear j'.ist as they did when the persons were well. ''When the p.Aver of Uansmittiug sensation and motion is lost, nutrition sliil g;>es on, and the nerves remain as large in a paralysed as in a healthy limb. Perhaps they may be diminished ia size when the whole limb begins to be redu- ced. We kni.w nothing of any cha:iges in th^se organs, after long continued p-'.infil diseases, as cancers ete.," Rees' cyclo: Such is ihe peculi.rity of iheir niiture and structure, that when a person dies by gangrene or niorrifi ation, or in orther words lOiS while alive, they resist mortification more powerfully than moat other parts. Yes, even after death , the\ decay more slowly thaft most o^her parts. This may satisfy your mind h)W it is that persons can suffer so much and so long in their nerves, even a long life, and all the time appear preity well, anil at intervals, have a g.f-eat deal of strength; not only how it is that melan- choly persons appear so well and hist so long as they often do, but ho»v it is that those actually and totally deranged can eat as they do, and be strong at times, and live a long tiii]ie. 1 say, from these facts yuu may see wii- those (iisordres are not moro fatal tlian they are, hut 1 do not mean that you can see any thing v)f the cause and nature of ^hem. 1 wish you speoially to bear in mind another part of the defittition given above; that is this ;'' therefore, ascribed to so. no iudefiniie derangenier-t of the sensible and irritable powers ol the animal franie.*" Indefinite derangement; un efined, and I -nay add undefinable. It cannot be discovered, known or told what the derangemen' is, no, not ■\Y the most penetrating genius. '* We are profoundly ignorant^* 19 says Rees, *'not indeed for the want of attempts at explanatioL. for they h&ve been abundant in all ages of physiology; but be- cause ihe operations are not cognisable by our senses, any more thun those which take place in matter when it exhibits the phenomena of gravitation, electricity, magnetism, etc." It is as inscrutable as the first causes or essences of light, heat and cold, and many other things in metaphysical science and in re- ligion. These things are mysterious ; are mysteries. The lear- ned world have, some time since, after long and indefatigable and almost invincible labor, given up that these things cannot be fathomed and explained, and that it is decidely (he wisdom of man to let the first causes and essences of things alone, and to attend to their operations and effects, which come within the range of their intellectual powers, and which may be useful when known; the others are not useful, and therefore are not permitted to come within the compass of our understandings. They are the secret things which belong unto the Lord our God. All this I have thought it necessary to say to you concerning melancholy, as you will hear of it under the name of nervous disorders; that when you hear, you may know something about what you hear, having at least an outline of the nerves and their operations. But perhaps you feel at a lOss and are ready to ask me why I have spoken to yoa so much in giving the various names and definitionsofmelancholy, about black bile, the'spleen, the liver, the nerves etc., all which are parts of the body and not the mind; and this too, when the very first sentence which I penned under the head of melancholy, spoke of it as a diseased affection of the human mind, and when this is, what mankind in general understand melancholy to be, and what it really is more orle-s. I would just reply to this enquiry, that the word melanch>l y itself, and all others that I have mentioned as conveying the sfime or nearley the same meaning, were used by the medical faculty, because ihey believed trouble in the mind to settle in some one or moie of these partsof the body, or trouble originating in some one or more of these parts to find its way into the nnnd- and trouble that. Thiis believing them to be in some cases causes, and in others etTects. This is undoubtedly the fact, of which more ^reafter. I will now gratify you by proceeding to speak directly of ^he mind itself as being afl'ected or diseased. H;iman beings are com- posed of two constituent parts aiid no more, soul and body, or what is the same thing, mind and matter. O .'r bodies are matter, and every thing that we see or feel around us is matter. With ihis all are well acquainted. About cur minds we know less, much THE AFFLICTED, 223 les3, but we are conscious that we have mindsj and God, in great kiucluess, has clearly and fully revealed and declared the fact unto us. The mind is the immaterial or spiritual part of us; it is the intellectual or thinking and reasoning part. INot like the body, it receives its origin directly from God himself, and it is immortal or deathless, not tending to or subject to death as the body is. None but Gdd can put it out of existence or des- troy it. It is capable of enjoying much and of suffering much. To speak by the way of comparison, infinitely more than the body. It suffers from melancholy, and melancholy is strictly in the mind, and has its origin and first s.'at there, when it arises from things without us, by our thoughts and desires going out to th^m. When any of our passions are mo.ed, or excited, or at- tracted by external objects, u\ such a manner, to such an extent, and degree, and duration, as to mane us habitually pensive or sad, or to have a tendency to sadness, then we are melancholy and our melancholy is in the mind. Perhaps you do not ap- prehend my meaning, and are at a loss to know how the mind is affected in the way tiiat I mean. I will illustrate it by afow suppositions, examples and statements. In the first place, I will select the passion of fear. Suppose you yourself were quietly and composedly walki^ig, in the bilent hours of night, along a lonely path leading trough a thick copse of dismal wojds, and that all of a sudden you should hear some unknown, loud and terrific noise right by your side, and that you should stand agast, and your heart beat quick and high. I would jm(^ — the mother was surrounded by three or f 'ur children, one nearly half grown. She seated herself again, and silenHy and attentively resumed her sewin^. Being we^ry myself and desirous to rest and regain my strength before 1 should commence conversation, I was ilso silent for some minutes, but my eyes were neither shut nor my ears stopped. The profound silence was broken and my attention attracted by a deep sigh from the good woman of the house. — [ said nothing —-in a few minutes 1 observed another such, oniy apparently mote dtep, and in a few minutes more, a thi'd onr?, which was so great as to cause her to raise her head and extend her chest in making it. I observed at tlie same time on every lineament of her coun- tenance, sorrow and grief to be glaringly dt'picted. 1 couM no longer permit silence to reign —madam, said I, what is the rnntie, ? Shj slowly replied wi'h another deep sigh, that she had trouble — that within three weeks she had hurried three of her children. I tenderly, and with an affectionate tone added, that that w; s in- deed trouble. I listened with the deepest mterest to the sod mr- lative of her uncommon trials. It was truly affectinor. — Tiie hardest heart could but have been moved, and the dryest eyes must have overflowed, while witnessing the overflowings of hers, and the heart-rending sobs which it was beyond her strength and fortitude to restrain. I conversed with her most soothingly and atfectionately for a length of time. I brought to view every thought and consideration I could possibly think of, to calm and console her. When I hid said every thing that it wis in my power to say, I told her that if she would call her remiining chil- dren around h( r, and have them to kneel down, I would p'ay witli her. This she most gladly did, but by bursts of grief, in some measure interrupted my most earnest supplications and inlreaties to the God who giveth life and taketh life, for his gracious smiles,, and his kind blessings, on her and her absent husband and tlieii surviving children. When we arose from prayers, she seemed as if she considered my kindness as indescribably great. I wjs feeble — I had exhausted my strength, (for it w^s in my feeble iays since I commenced the writing of this book,) and therefore- thought it best to get home to the place where 1 then lived. l> «BE AFFLICTEli, 221^ jhook hands with her and bid her an aflfectionate farewell. She was at an utter loss for woids. to express her tijanks to me.-— Though I caiint myself describe her feelings, the reader may have some faint conception of her gratitude. Tuis was the hist and last time 1 ever saw her. I have introduced this mournful tale. of wo to explain to you, by a striking example, the melancholy of the mind, and its etlects upon the body. This poor bereft mother was in good heahii of body, and looked very liearty, hut her mind, brooding c:nd pounng over the uriparalkled afflictions through which she had just c»tme in a constant and iincontroiable way, retarded and niade slug- gish, the healthy and active operations of her body, and causle hundred taken together speak but one w.rd, and that is a very weak and feeble one, viz: folly. F«;lly indeed, for instead of g lining any thing, they veiy frequently h>se their health, and are added to the list of the melancholy. ' And thus not merely by being confined in making gewgaw dresses and bonnets, but by compressing their chests and destroyin^r the ac- tion of their lungs by tight lacing. — The aspiring, restless, un- satisfied, discontented slate of their minds, tends" grei-tly to ihe same unhappy end. They are nM students, but they smkIv, pon- der, hope and fear. Their nervous systems are much more deli- ^32 CONSOLATIONS OF cate, and of course their sensibilities far more acute. These aie the causes of much melancholy arntmg cheni. There is one, and only one other cause of melancholy which I shall ui^^ntion, and that is a studious life added to a sedentary and confined one. This belongs almost exclusively to the male sex. U is to men we look for teachers, o^jitors, writers, authors, doctors, lawyers and divines, and this ve^y properly too, and ac- cording to the arrangement of nature It reijuires great and al- most invincible strength of constitution, to endure a long and severe course of study. It is. generally speaking, oiir most talent- ed men that devote themselves to a siudious lite. Though others sometimes do, through vanity and want of self-knowledge, yet they either discover their mistake and turn back, or creep along in such a manner as never to kill themselves by study. Others who are really gifled with strong minds, are aspiring and ambi- tioiis to acquire knowledge and to excel in their calling or pro- feBsioo., It is right for the ladies to desire to be cleanly and neat, and Vq have a good and reasonable degree of taste in their dresseSj "but not to surpass ihe bounds of reason and moderation, and to make themselves appear fulsome and disg-jstiug. They too, should acquire knovvhulge. [t is right f<»r s^udeits to -acquire a large fond of g»-;ieral knot(^ Mnd 'ipply themselves with all the ener«ies of theii rnind'5; and are so entirely engrossed and a'-'^ori>ed in their favorite pursuit, th\t no comuon thing turns them issde from it by d^y, and tl>e darkness of the night they e\'|)ei from around them l)V the steady blaze of their nocturnal, dontestic luminaries. During these mental labors 'here is no part of tlieir bodies which they can advantageously use, to give it any thinw i^juE APTLrcri'.f). 233 -Sike proper and needful exercise but iheii eyes and their norves, and these they not only use, but in many instances, greatly abuse, particularly their nerves, of which I shall say more hereafter. Such is the constitution and physiology of their nature, and the connection of their souls and bodies, that it is greatly hazardous to employ the one to the neglect of the other. Either course is ruinous. The minds of students are wearied by too constant and intense labor and activity, as vvell as the nerves of their bodies, Whether or not, holy and happy, disembodied spirits ever become weary in the active discharge of their pleasant duties, we are un- able to say. It is certain, however, that if they do. it is not a weariness which reduces their happiness, but their resting again tends to the perfection of it. Heaven is sometimes represented as a pl'ice of rest, at others, as a place of great activity. The world in which we dwell we know to be a world of sin, and mis- ery, and imperfection. Our souls and bodies are diseased and liable to be weary and enfeebled. The scriptures speak of the soni as bemg'^veary'" — as "fainting" and being "grieved," 6lc. We have no difflcnlty in believing that our bodies can become weary. About the v.efjiiness and sufferings of our souls inde- pendently of our bodies, we know nothing by experience,. in our present state. It is perhaps illogical and incorrect to speak of the one as. suffering wilhont the other; such is the intim-cy and closeness of their cnnection. But it is not incorrect to speak of trouble commeTicirg in theoneor theother, as I liave spoken at 1 ugd in explaminsr the commencement of mrlanch^ly, when it has its origin in the mind. Neither can it be inmrrect tc speak of trouble commencing in b^h at once, as 1 ^m now doing. In the mind and parts of the body by excessive exercise, in other p irts of the body, by the want of exercise. Perliaps the reader is read) to ask me how the minds of stuients can become weary in acquiring knowledge, when their minds constantly take delight in this ex- erase. If ir were true that their minds constantly took delight, and met with nothing unpleasmt, I might hwe difficulty to an swer, but as this is not the fac^.I piesnme I sh 11 have none. The very labor which their minds have in gaining knowledge, and the slowness with which they are compelled to do it, and the disap- pointments they very frequently meet with, when they have gained it, are abundantly sufficient to weary their minds, say- ing nothing ai>out the uneasiness of their bodies all the while. But we know much more, and are able to speak wily. N )thwith3tanding all their nerves, both those terminatingexternilly and internally, are at times, greatly quickened in their sensibilities, yet it is a fact that they labor under very great mistakes, wiih respect to their i iternal diseases. This arises out of the obscure and uncertain reports which are sent to the mind, from the ab- dominal viscera, along those comparatively few nerves, with wliich they are supplied; as also from th.; generally deranu^d St ite of all their nerves.- Hypochondriac and hysteric patients, receive so many various, fdse, untrue, exaggerated and contra- dictory reports from the abdomen, that they fmcy a thousand things that are untrue with respect tothestiie cf things there. H'^:ice, their anxieties, and dis're^s, and* d eadfd forebodings concerning' their health. About all other matters their judge- ZS8 <;iftfS0LATIONS o? inenls are as sound and correct as they were before they became dii^eased. . These observations v;. 11 tend to show the reasons oi their frf^queiit mistakes, when their disease is general, and has no't settled upon any particular part. When it has done this, say upon the liver, there is another cause which leads them into error, and that is s, mpathy. Fium what 1 have said upon the nervous system, the reader is prepared to see how p.an or any other feeling will pass from the part pained or affected, towards the head, and be the same kind of pain or distress, ail the way, or it may be, more in some particular part than m another. Ihus when the liver is diseased, there is usually the same kind of pain felt up the right shoulder. The original pain in the liver is called an idiopathic atfection, the other IS called a sympaiheiic affisction. You can easily see how these syuipatlieiic atiectioiis cangothvoughout the whole system, following iJie nerves. Tfiey are not conhned to the nerves ex- clusively, but communicated by them to other parts. The Dow- els, lungs and heart &.c. will sympathize with the liver, and it with them, when they are diseased. 'J'hese sympathies are mom general, and at the same time more shifting and uncertain, and distressing, when all or any of the abdominal viscera aie diseased than in any other disoideis. It is owing, as I have said, to the peculiar connection of the nervous system to these parts. It is but little matter what you call pain, idiopathic, synipaihetic or imaginary, it any be equally distressing under any of these names. The minds of students who become diseased, as above^ either imagine that they have dreadful and alanning diseases^ which in fact they have not, or their minds, in the way that Ihave said, do greatly magnify thfir real disease^, and thus they suffer in the most dreadful manner, and they become disheartened, low spirited, gloomy, melancholy. Upon the whole, from all that I have brought to view on the subject, the reader is now prepared J.oste that there is scarcely any class of suflerers that drag out as miserable lives as the melancholy, particularly those whose nerves are very much out of tone. When from some, or any, or all the causes above mentioned, they become very bad, so effect- ually deranged in their nerves, as to fancy that their legs are made of glass or wax, so that no person must touch them, lest they be broken all to pieces, or melf, if they go near to the fire; or to imagine that they cannot walk, &c.' &-c. they have then gone beyond the limits of m* lancholy, and become deranged or insane, insanity arising from these causes, is not usually of the worst kinci however, for the patients very frequently recover. For the sake of those who may be in an incipient state of mel- ?vncholy, acd at a Joss to know what is the matter with them, I THi! AFFLICTIH). j^39 will subjoin a few of the moat prominent symptoms of their trouble, partictiiaily as it respects tlie nervVs. Yi.y will feel a general uneasiness ull over you, and truly be at a lo?s to kno<;v \viiat is the matter, especially, if you have no local disorder. And what will be astonishing to you, you will -suddenly become bttier, and feel perhaps pertlc'vly well again, and it may be beitei' th..n usual. And, if you are nof. really restored, tlj:3 wjH be your course con inually. As you giow worse there will be little spasms of ilie ne;ves all through you, jerkings or twitchiugs which will not give you much if any pain at all. The jerkings of* tne f esh of a beef, immediately after the hide is taken off, is the most striking exhibiuon of nervous twitching that i have ever been able lo discover, — iC yours are bad they will resem le them. If they are acute they will resemble, in some measure the p. ickings of needles — and there may hv, at times, larger shoois or dar s of pain, connnonly railed stitches, but these do not take plice vers often, unless in the chest or abdomen, svhere there is local diseaoe. Ail those symptoms are more abundant on parts lociliy diseased. You may have spells of lethargic sleepiness, and contrary spells of sleeplesness. You will he at times, very weak, and at others feel yourself uncommonly strong. Your ap- petite v;ill likelv be very irre-ular — ;n shot, tins will be the sta e of your whole system, in all the thoughts, and views, and feelings, and operations of your mind and body, and you will be almos. entirely unlike yourself. All these things [ have thought it necessary and advisable *o say and pnrnise, in order to prepare the way, and be better able to console the melancholy. There is o le other remark which I ronsider highly important, and whi'h I must not iail ro add to the already lon^ catalogue of the foregoing, h is concerning those persons who are piofessors of religion, anJ who fall into melancholy, and come to the con- clusion that they are the m st wicked wretches on the earth — th t they are guilty of' all manner of crimes, in thought, word and deed — and particularly that they have committed the sin against the Holy Ghost. No doub; their real sins and crimes are numerous enough and bad enough, and there are unquestion- ably some cases of very wicked p rsons, wh >, there is no doubtj have actually committed the sin against the Holy Ghost, and have been given up by a righteous God, to awful desperation. These are more commonly male persons, who have sinned against great light ; but far the lurger part of those who charge themselves with the commission of this sin, are femalfs, most of them in an advanced stage of life, and laboring under nervous derange- ment. and hysteiic affections, of who-se delicate and di^^iagff^- •sed to withhold the enjoyment of it from them for a season. — And, tiierefore, they are m distress, and mourn their lo.^s, and are mel- ancholy. But everlasiing thanksgiving to hi.-? ;idora!)le ani gra- cious Majesty, he infalibly restore.-; it again to his children, and tiieir hearts are revived again, ai.d their mouths shout aloud f«)r j(iy . It appears therefore, that it is as I siid, not religion, but iho want of it, that has a tendency to make persons mela;.choly.' XUE APFLICTE-D. 241 And now, after so long a time, it has become my duty to visit you, my unhappy, low spirited, gloomy, melancholy, afflicted friend. From some one or more of the foregoing causes, and in some one or more of the forementioned ways, the state of youv mind is not desirable, is not happy — you have fallen into a state of des- pondency and discouragement. In your view, the world has, in a great measure, lost its attractions and its charms. It seems to you that there is not as much light admitted into it, as there used to be. All the beautiful forms and alluring colors, appear to you to be very much defaced — the flowers and leaves have fa- ded and fallen — creation is unrobed — to you it is perennial win- ter — ihesun, the greater light that rules the day, and moon, the lesser light that rules the night, with all the stars, appear to you to be suffering an almost continual eclipse. You now, very sel- dom see the encouraging and glorious bow of covenant and of promise^ m the heavens, notwithstanding it frequently presents itself in all its glowing colors, and full orbed glories. Thus your days slowly roll and drag along, with only now and then a brighter one, and that but little brighter, perhaps having a bright hour or two. For all the busy, lively and cheerful employment?, works and ways of men, you have, . in a great measure, lost your relish. The pleasing and animating expression of your counte- nance is gone; seldom or never, in these days, are the linea- ments of your features wrought up into the pleasant and desira- ble paroxism of a smile or a laugh. Truly sorrow and melan- choly hang heavy upon your brow, and your heart is sad and sick, and thus [ find you this day. Of a truth, my friend, all the sym- pathies of my soul are moved for you, and if I can do you good I v/ill. Your sufferings are real and great, whatever be the cause, imaginary or real ; whether it is in part or entirely your own fault, or you are altogether without fault, or even the shadow of fault in tlio matter. If, in your own heart you know that >ou have brought this state of things upon vou, by-your own impro[»rieties or imprudoncps,for that you sirouid be sorry. Bur you may very easily rn^.ke bad worse, by sorrowing improperly. You should be sorry in such a way, as to be so guarderl, as to shun all such im- proprieties and imprudences in future, and not repine and pine away about things that you cannot now help. Saying nothing m >re about the causes of your trouble, f will proceed to observe, that in all proliability you were, and are still, in a great measure, and mf^st likely totally ignorant of the nature of it. Our mast sentimental and s>und poet says, on a matter of highest moment, of moment paramount to, all others. — "T^ know .se works which handle tlie subject in (he most practical manner,ot the same time pretty fully, is the best f >r you, particularly that which is most historical, which gives the greatest number of examples and accounts of the mistakes, imaginations and high conceits of the melancholy. I am decidedly of opinion that the reading of these will enable you to shun mistakes, and false fears, and forebodings yourself; parlicularU when they tell of such per- sons getting along preity well, and getting better, when them- selves had not the most distant hope or expectation of any such thing. Bat take notice, and do not forget that I forewarn and most seriously caution you against enteiing into minute, abstruse and difticult study on the subject. INoihing -.vould likely do you more injury. The doctors themselves find that the decree of .he Almighty meets them — saying, *'Thus far shalt thou come and no farther." And there would be the highest impropriety in your attempting to go as far as they can do. You are in no condiiion. at all to become a severe student. It is practical knowledge mainly which I am advising you to seek, and I am confident that it may be of the most signal j^ervice to you. And the iuost striking and serviceable to you, which you will likely find any where, will be the history of animal magnetism. Animal magnetism was an invention of a certain man in Frince, by the name of M^smer, which invention had a very^ high standing there, in the year 17S4. "This agent," which Mesmer pretended to have discovered, he atfirmed, was "a fluid universally diffused and filling all space, being ihe medium of a reciprocal influence between the celestial bodies, the earth and living beings ;~it insinuated itself into the substance of the nerves, upon which therefore it had a direct operation ; — it was capable of being communicated from one body to other bodies, both animaicd and inunimated, and that at a considerable distance, without the assistance of any intermediate substance;— and it exhibited m the human bo'l-- some properties analogous to those of the loadstone, es- pecially its two poles. This animal magnetism," he added, ^'was ca,>able of curing directly all the disorders of the nervous system^ and indirectly other maladies; it rendered perfect the 21 246 CONSOLATIONS OF operation of medicines, and excited and directed the salutary crises of diseases, so that it placed these crises in the power of the physician. Moreover, it enabled him to ascertain the state of health of each individual, and to form a correct judgment as to the origin, nature and progress of the most complicated dis- eases," &c. Deslon, a pupil of Me^mer, also practised animal magnetism at Paris, and undertook to demonstrate its existence and properties. He commenced his instructions by reading a memoir, in which he maintained that *'there is but one nature, one disease and one remedy ; and that remedy is animal mag- netism.'" This curious and most extraordinary invention, or rather delusion (as it was clearly found to be), performed so many marvelous and astonishing cures, and was carried to such an extent in Paris, that the French king appointed a committee consist'ngoffour phisicians and five members of the royal academy of sciences, to investigate the matter, in the year 1784. Among the latter were Baily, Lavoisier and doctor Frank, lin, who was at that time the American minister at Paris. These learned gentlemen submitted to be magnetised themselves and bad others magnetised blindfold, in separate rooms, &c., fee, till they found, and were entirely satisfied, that it was a perfect delusion ; — that those that had Heen cured, were cured by the effects of their own imagination, and they were generally of the more ignorant class uf mankind. Mesmer and Deslon perfor- med their cures by means of iron rods, and cords, and the lock- ing of the hands of the patients, and by pointing their fingers at them, particularly the diseased part, and by music, &c., &c. This history will show you in the most striking and decisive manner the effects of the imagination on the nervous system, or, in other words, the power of the mind over the body, and it will enable 3'^ou to brace up against it. The next most astonishing and most marvelous history ofthe kind which will call your attention, is that ofPerkinism, which derives iis name from its author, Perkins, an American of New- England. This extraordinary characier and impostor, by the moans of two small pieces of metal of different kinds, which he called "Tractors," performed some very extraordinary cures i^ New-England, simply by holding them to and touching in a gentle manner the diseased part. Tractors means diawers or things that draw He gave them this name because he said they drew out diseases when held to them or near them, and drawn slightly over the surface, without penetrating it in the least. After having performed some wonderful cures in his own THE AFFLICTKC. 247 ooiintiy, he came to the conchision that he could do better by o-oiag over to England. He did so in the year 1798. For his orand and glorious discovery and hastv and elTcctual method of curing diseases, *'he obtained the royal letters patent" of that most enlightened nation; and immediately went to work as the great friend and restorer of the afflcted. * 'Multitudes of painful disorders were removed, some most speedily, and some after repeated applications of the metalic points. Pamphlets were published announcing the wonderful cures accomplished by this simple remedy ; and periodical journals and newspapers teemed wiih the evidence of the curative powers of the tractors; insomuch that in a course of a few months, they were the sub- ject of general conversation, and scarcely less general use. The religious sect of the Quakers, whose benevolence has been sometimes displayed at the expense of their sagacity, became the avowed and active friends of the tractors; and a public estab- lishment called the^'Perkinean Institution," was formed under their auspicies, for the purpose of curing the diseases of the poor, without the expense of drugs or medical advice. The transactions of this institution were published in pamphlets, in support of the extraoctor Whytt says, "it has frequently happened in the royal infirmary here (at Edinburgh) that women have been seized with hysteric fits, from seeing others attacked with them."" 4nd the story of the extraordinary cure performed at Haerlem by the very famous doctor Boerhaave is well known. It seems that in a house of charity there, a girl, under an im-. pression of terror, fell into a convulsive disease; a bystander intent upon assisting her, was seized with a similar fit. On the day following, another was attacked; then a third, and a fourth, until almost all the boys and girls in the house would be taken at the same time by these convulsions. Under these distressing circumstances the physicians used all the antiepi- leptic medicines with which their art furnished them, but all in vain. They then sent for Boerhaave. In compassion to the dis- tressed children, he repaired to the place, and while inquiring into the n>atter, one was taken, and another, and all. He flaw that it was the effects of imitation, and as the best medicines had been used in v^iin, he determined to make tho imagination counteract the imitative propensity. He had a number of red hot irons prepared, bent to a certain form, and with the utmost dignity, gravity, confidence and firmness, he told them that medicines could do them no good, and that the first one that had another fit should have his or her arm burnt to the bone with a red hot iron. The childern terrified at the thoughts of this cruel remedy, when they perceived any tendency to a recurrence of the paroxism, immediately exerted all their strength of mind, and called up the horrible idea of the burning, and were thus enabled by the stronger mental impression to resist the influence of the morbid propensity.*" One more case 1 will add — A. child of a certnin man, who had a large family was taken with S-aint Vitus' dnnce, whereupon most of the other children, when witnessing the other in a fit of it, would be seized with the same, and this continued for some time. At length, the father determined to put a stop to it an a short way. He got a block with an axe, and placed them convenient, and told the children with a firm and positive tone, that if any, except the ^rst one, did so again, he would cul THE AFFLICTED, ^49 ©ff their heads on that block.— This was an effectual cure. Aiid thus you see the power of imagination in cuniij?, as well as of imitation in producing diseases. The eft'ects of the ima- gination and imitation upon the nervous and muscular systems, have lon«y been known to take place with enthusiastic and fa- natical professors of religion. That the Holy Ghost does operate upon the hearts of men, and that in so powerful a way as to make them new creatures in Christ Jesus, that is, true christ ians, here is no rea onable ground to doubt. And that the persons on whom he thus operates are differently aflected, is eq lally plain. Sjme are suddendly and more highly wrought up and agitated than others; some know the time of his com- mencement; others do not. But that these operations and ef- fects may be counterfeited and often are, is equally plain. It is possible for these counterfeits to proceed from the devil him- self; but I apprehend it is much more common for them to pro- ceed from a distempered imagination, and that they can generally be accounted for on such philosophical principles as the fore, going. The church has, in most ages, b en disturbed and dis- graced by wild enthusiasts and fanatics. Sach were in their commencement the x^Ienonites, Anabaptists, French prophets, Qiakers, Shakers and New-Lights of this western country, and others whom Iwill not delay to mention. The Shakers are the most deluded fanatics in the United States of America, which at present disgrace the human understanding among us. In order for you more fully and satisfactorily to learn the effects of the mind over the bod'v, in all these different ways and res- pects of which I have spoken, for the purpose of knowing your own disease, and being much profited by that knowledge, I would refer you to medical l30oks, medical journals, and to church history. You will find them quite largely and satis- factorily treated upon in Ree.s' cyclopaedia, under the articles— hypocondriasis, hysteria, imagination, imitation, nervous sys"- tern, mental derangement, &c. And I would refer you to a little book, not many years since written in New-England by a 3Ir. Powers— »^Oa the effects of the imagination upon the ncrvojs system." You will find this, plain, practical, full and jatjj'factory on all the above points. By this course, mv friend, if you are not too far gone,--^ too de jplv, inexplicably and inextricably involved and envel^ oped in the thick glooms and dark clouds of melancholy, you may bo enabled and be successful in doing much towards find- ing your own relief and consolation. The next idea which I shall offer to your view and consider ration for consulution, you and others, wi41 perhaps consider fv 160 CONSOLATIONS OF very extraordinary one. It is that your life will likely be longv Neither I nor any other finite being can give you any guaran- tee or security for long life. By some one of the thousand ways by which men are brought to their death, you may be, I cannot tell how soon, it is possible within a few hours. What I mean by your having a prospect for long life, is that your melancholy or nervous disease is not one of those diseases which take people off early. On the contrary, the long and general observation of mankind has been and is, that the lives ofpersonsofthis character are generally marked with longevity. This is the case while at the same time they themselves never thmk, or very rarely think, that they will live long. Indeed, they are the patients, who very frequently apprehend, and think, and believe that they caimot live long, that it is in- possible, that they must die in a few years, at the farthest extent. And how numerous are the examples of those among them, who have apprehended, and firmly believed, and said that death was upon them; that they would be dead in a few minutes, that they were dying; and not a few have said, and positively affirmed and adheared to the affirmation that they were dead. Their coffins have not only been made for them, but they have been put into them, and the funeral procession have started off with them to their grave; but as it happens, they generally break out before they get into those cold, lonely, dismal cells, and furiously chide those, who were carrying them thither. I have already explained the cause and manner of these their great and dreadful mistakes and errors, when speaking of the nervous system. If there is an object of pity to be found among all thesuffe- ling mortals of the earth they present it. Bat enough on this point; what 1 have. said is sufficient to show that it is not only possible for you to live lonjf, but probable that you will do so. The aJvantages of a lon^ lite should it be given to you, and the consolation which you may derive from it, will be that you will havo time allowed you to study, and discover, and learn, and know your disease, as I have advised you to study it out, and thus be enabled to manage it. Again, you will have longer time and opportunity, not only to hope to recover, but actually to do so. O.ving to the intense and almost invincible lore of life in man, I exp^^ct this idea will not fail to console you. When you have a very gloomy spell , and feel like desponding and despairing of getting along in any thing like a comfortable manner, it may console you to ^teflect and remember that the fee ings of all others do not change and fiuctaate as yours do. Suddenly and frequently 4TIB APPLlCTBtt. 25-1 getting worse and getting better, as I have before hinted to you, will most likely be your constant course. And one of your spells will affect vour mind, and make yoa feel gloomy, and like despairing, and giving up all, as comple- tely as a severe fever does a common patient. But you are ia nothing like the danger that he is. It will be a consolation to you, I ?ay, that all others are not tossed upon the winds and waves of irritable, uncertain and deceitfil feelings as you are. Were they, and did melancholy hang upon their brows and becloud their faces as it does yours, it would make you worse, whereas l)eing as it is, their Cijuutenances sharpen yours. Furthermore, it will be no small consolation to you, that meo and things generally do not change with your changes. — Creation moves on regularly, amidst all its varieties, in its straight forward course. — The earth rolls — the sun, moon and stars rise and set — ?pring, summer, autunm and winter succeed each other, with the early and the latter rains — the bow is in the cloud — the earth ia not drowned — "seed time and harvest, and cold and heat, aiid day and night do not cease " Therefore, lift up your head, and be encouraged, O thou sorrowful and gloomy one'. Creation smiles, and how can you refrain? You need not suppose that others have not some troubles and uirjls, as well as yourself, or that they have not causes, greater or less, for melancholy. There is no one that is entirely without; notwithstanding, they hold up their heads, look cheerful, and smile, in the midst of this beautiful, splendid and smiling creation, which the great Creator has placed around his creatures here below. Busy and active in the moviiing they turn every one to his or her own emplo\ment, until tho **evening shades prevail," and then all return for the repose of the night. And here rises to view the next grf at source of con- solution, to which I shall most seriously, and most earnestly di- rect }ouY attention. This is, some suitable employment for ex- ercise, and to divert your thoughts from your troul.'le. I have already recommended it to the chronic patient. From a very extensive knowl'^dge of the suhject, and from the opinions of others,! consider this a matter of vital importance to you, and indispensihle to your comfort and recovery. Neglect, refuse (*r reject this, and you have no ground to hope. If you are not con- fined to your bed, or if you cnn barely rise off it and walk, and this only at times, you should think of some useful, proper, and if possii'le, profitable employment, at which you might do at least a little. In vain will you think and say that you are too weak. — All experience loudly exclaims — take exercise! take exercise! if you can but walk or creep a little; and this especially to patients «tf your order. It is true that jou do,, at times, becoiBe very 252 CM>N?OLATlONg OF weak, but if you have no local disorder, or whether or not, youi weakness is of a peculiar kind. It will both come on and go off quicker, than the weakness of patients laboring under other dis- eases. Someiiines when you may be so weak that you cannot rise up, in a few hours, yea, sometimes in a few minutes, your strength will come to you, and you will be able to go almost where you please, and to do almost what you please. Such is the peculiar and extraordiniry nature of the disease. Perhaps some may think that it is not real weakness, but conceited weak- ness. To this I reply, that conceited weakness may be real; no matter, so it is weakness, whether the cause be real or imaginary. Imaginary pain may be as great as any kind. Admitting it to be true then, that you are ni a very weakly state, it will not at all follow, that you should not, at the proper times and seasons, exert yoursjlf to take exercise. You may injure yourself by taking it improperly, or too much, as well as by taking too little. By exercise strengtJi is gained. But in the takinc; of it, the diverting of your rnind from trouble, and occupying its at- tention, I consider, for you, of unspeakably great importance. Man was not made for idleness. In idleness he will work his own misery. If he has strength, he will be vicious — if not, but is confined to his bed, liis thoughts will go out and wander in endless, and fruitless, and profitless vacuity; or will turn upon himself and pore, and pore, and pore over his own trouhles, and thus magnify them. Therefore, no proverb or wise saying ever was spoken by the tongue of tnan, or written u'ith a pen, more fully and sirictly true, than that one which says- -"Idleness is the mother of mischief." If, then, you are determined to rivet helplessness,nnd misery, and ruin, upon yourself, so that no earthly means or power can ever unrivet IhemjSink down and give up to absolute idleness. Or rather, are you determined and resolved to exort y )urself to the last degree, and the l:ist moment, lo shake off your troubl«^s and to rise above them, rou^c yourself up lo exi rcise, and to as constant and busy employment as your strength will at all admit of, and I will con- fidently predict, that the advantages which you will reap will he great. You m^y do something towards earning your livinf^, and not eat the bread of others. Or if you are as we:iltliy as Crcr.sj.'S, and have no need of doing this, do it to gain the far greater and far better riches of health and comfort. Do as 1 did in the d-ys of my feebleness for months, before 1 commenced the writintjf of this lx>ok; do any of ihe light, ordinary concerns, afthirsor works of life, which are useful and most needed, and which you can Ixst do. And as I have done, in writing this book, for a greater niunber Af months still • putting foi th what Utile strength 1 hud tt) rise THE AFFLICfEl>. 25c? fforn the bed, and to creep away to the table or desk, and brace myself up to write, perhaps only one sentence, or it may be two or hree, or a short page and then getting back again. Be very careful however, to turn your attention to that which you and others most seriously think, promises the most usefulness and good in the world, to yourself and others. Such is the intrinsic, and Ijmay safely say, indescribable excel- lence, of having the mind occupied and entertained, in ca?eslike yours, by some useful employment, that the indolent, whose indo- lence is so great, that they will neither do nor attempt any thing of the kind, deserve no consolation whatever, however much hey may need it. What is such useful, entertaining emuloym»^nt like, in its operations and etfects? 'Tis like the -effe^'s of ihe indispensable vital air, which we breathe. 'Tis like thehe^il'hy flowing of our heart's blood through our veins and arterios. — 'Tis almost an essential part of our life. Therefore, it is not onlv our duty to do "whatever our hands find to do," to procure our living, or to advance our own and rhe best interests of others, but our high privilege. 1 consider it, tny friend, one of the best and most promising sources of relief and C0ti«()l ition, for ifou. The greatest, best and last source of consr >la;ion to which I shall direct your attention, is the iirornises nf the Bible. Melancholv! melancholy! indeed! vvould be this world of darkness and of wo, were there no world of light, nor anv hope in man of attaining to that world. Hud no* the ete'nal Ki';g, who dwfdls in the world of light, who is benevolence and love itself, whose empire is the univerr^e, with all its worlds, looked down in pity, and let fall a promise, to be seized and hrUl ;y mebnrholy man. — Had not the kind angels sung their anylic song — " 'lory to God in the hij/hest, and on e-rth pe;ice, good will toward men." . And, hid not the Messiah, the Saviour come and fulfilled all the preceding promi:«is concerning him- self, and given, from his own month, * vast multitiide of encour- aging words and precioirs proinis'^s, assuring men that the world of light, was re.lly attninable l)V them, and encouragin'r them o turn their faces towards it. But nil these things have actu.-lly taken pl;ice. The Bible abounds with promises, from b'-ginning to end. — Then''s scarcely ^ leaf on which von c:innot find one. And man may look up, and lift iiis voice on high — saying — "Yet pave a trembling sinner, Lnid, Whose hope still hov'rinjr round thy wor^i, Wou'H light on some sweet prn.nise there, Some 3iue support against despair.'* 254 sJONSOLAl^IOXS M? These promises are of two general characters. — First, to gb courage men while here below, in all they have to do and suffer • — and next, to hold out to their view, the bright and joyful world of light, for their entrance at their departure. And who of all the sons and daughters of men, need tliem more, ^han the doubt- ing, the desponding, the gloomy, the melancholy? None, and for them they were specially written. Turn to them, then, my friend, and read them, and believe them, ana embrace them, and hold on to them, and they will bear you up as the strong ship does tlie sinking, drowning man, when he has again obtained a firm hold of it. As the strong ship! — contemptible comparison! as the "everlasting arms" of the eternal God, underneath you. I will give you a few, for a specimen of the whole, and for your encouragement. "When thou art in tribulation, and all these things are come upon thee, * * 'S^ * * if thou turn to the Lord thy God, and shalf be oljedient unto his voice; (for the Lord thy God is a merciful God;) he will not forsike thee, neither destroy thee, nor forget the covenant of thy fathers, which he sware unto them." '*in a little wrath I hid my face from thee, for a moment: but ■with everhisting kindness will T have mercy upon thee, saith tho Lord thy Redeemer. For the mountains sh.ill depart, and the bills be removed; but my kindness shall not depart from 'hee, neither shall the covenant of my peace be removed, sai'h the Lord that bath mercy on t' -^e, O ihou afflict* d, tossed with ♦em- pest, and not comforted, beh.>ld," F will lay thy stones with fair colors, and lay thy foundations with sapphires. And I will mike thy windows of agates, md thy aates of carbuncle^ and all thy born ers of pleas. =nt ston<-:s.'" "Miuy are the afflictions of the righteous: but the Lord delivereth him out of them all. He keepeth all his bones; not one of tJKsm is broken. Evil shdl si ly the wicked! and tiiey that hate the righteous shall be de*? lite. The Lord redeemeth the soul of his servants: and none of them that trust in him shall be desolate.'^ T.'ieseare the words that contain the promise — none of thf^m that trust in him shall be desf-lue. Agjin — "He shall he like a tree plaiited by the rivers of w ter, that brifinerh f »rth his fruit in his season: his leaf dso shall not wi her; and whatsoever he doeth sh ill prosper." "The steps of a good man are ordered by the Lord: anrl he deliijhtoth in his way. Though he fall he shr;^U not be utteHy cist down: for the Lord upholdeth him with his hand '\ "When thou passest through the waters, I will be wi'h thee; and Uirough the rivers they shall not overflow thee: whm thoti walkest throunrh the fire, thou shult not be burned: nr-ifher shall the flame kindle upon thee. For I am the Lord thy God, TH« APFLlCTLb. '^Oi> the Holy One of Israel, thy Saviour." "The J.ord will strength- en him upon the bed of languishing: thou will make all his bed in his sickness." "And I will bring the third part through the fire, and will refine them as silver is refined, and will try them as gold IS tried : they shall call on my name, and I will hear them: I will say, It is my people: and they shall say. The Lord is my God." Open your ears rny friend, to these promises — "Blessed are they that rnourn, for they shall be comforted. Blessed are the poor in spirit, for theirs is the kingdom of heaven. Blessed are they which do hunger and thirst after righteousness, for they shall be filled. Blessed are the merciful, for they shall otitain mercy. Blessed are the pure in heart, for they shall see God." "He that ioseth his life for my sake" (s;iys Christ) ''shall find it." "He that endurelh unio the end shall be saved." "Thou slinlt have treasure in heaven." "Shalt inherit everlasting life." "Be thou faithful unto death, and I will give thee a crown of life." "To him that overcometh will i give to eat of the tiee of life, which is in the midst of the paradise of God. He that overcometh shall not be hurt of the second death. To him that overcometh will 1 give to eat of the hidden manna, and will give him a white stone, and in the stone a new name written, which no man know^ eth saving he that receiveth it." And what more could be promised, than is promised in -the following passage — "To him that overcometh will I grant to sit with me in my throne, even as I also overcame, and am set down with my Father in his throne." 1 will mention two mOre — tlie first of the two was given to Job, and will therefore suit you. "If iniquity be in thy hand, put it far away, and let not wickedness dwell in thy tabernacles. For then shalt ihou lift up thy face without spot; ye% fhou shult be steadfast, and sh:ilt not fear: because thou shalt forget thy misery, and remember it as wafers that pa.ss au'ay: and thine age shall be clearer than the noon d ly; tho'i shalt shine forth, thou shalt be as the morning. And thou shalt he secure, because there is iiope; yea, thou shalt dig about thee, and thou shalt take thy rest in siftty." The next, and lisS that I shall pvopo?e for your consideration, is one which is sufficient of irself to revive and suppori the droop- ins spirits of the most melancholy person that cm be found, if his or her melanch ;ly dees not go l)oyond the limits of melan- choly, into actual insanity; or w!iat is worse, if he or she has not commiltcd the sin :'g finst the Hely'.Jhost. It is tender aiul af- fectionate beyond paral'el, beyond comp-irison. It was breathed from the mild li{)S of the Prince uf pcce^— the Prince of life, to whom •.-,11 power in heaven tnd eartli is committed, and, who i§ iible to ful^l all his promises — always did, and always will.— 25b CONSOLATIONS OF These are the sweet and sootiiing words, in which it fell from Iiib sacred and holy hps — "Let not your heart be troubled: ye believe in (jod, believe also in me. In my Father's house are many man- sions: if it were not so 1 would have told you, I go lo prepare a place for you. And if J go and prepare a plice for you, 1 will come again and receive you unto myself; that where I am ihere ye may be also." 1 conclude therefore, with the aapostle Peter — that there are given unto us — yea, unto you, many "exceeding great and jjiecious })romist^s,*' 1 would say then, to you, with the exhortaiion of this tuime ap(>stle — "Wherefore let them thai suffei r ceo 1 ding to the will of Cod, commit the keeping of their souls to him in well doing, as unto a faithful Creator." This closes all I can do or say for you, my dear friend; attend to these things — hold up your head — "he of good cheer" — beat the clouds from about you — come forih into the light — he cheerful and lively — ind all will lie well, and end well. And now 1 must bid you an aiiectionate farewell. ^ept. 2i)th. 1830. To all those who are conversant with the melancholy, and es- pecially to \]\',?e who live with them, and nw)re especially siill, to their relations, who are with them, and deeply interested i i thom, I feel it to be my indispr-nsable duty to say a word. My dear friends, it is a clear, rnarufest and unquestionable truth, case. Be iiatient ^lud persevering in your efforts . Do not de^paii yourselves too sron — hold on and h(^ld out — do not give them up, and may success crow^ your eft'^rts. It will be recollected by the voder, th-