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COUNSELS TO YOUNG MEN 
 
 FORMATION OF CHARACTER, 
 
 THE PRINCIPLES WHICH LEAD TO SUCCESS AND HAPPI- 
 NESS IN LIFE ; 
 
 ADDRESSES 
 
 PBINCIPALLY DELIVERED AT THE ANNIVERSARY C0MMBT7CB- 
 MENTS IN UNION COLLEGE. 
 
 BY ELIPHALET NOTT, D.D., 
 
 PRKSIDKNT OF UNION COLLEGE, 
 
 NEW YORK: 
 SARPER & BROTHERS, PUBLISHERS, 
 
 329 & 331 PEARL STREET, 
 
 FRANKLIN SQUARE. , «»^ "^ ,^ 
 
 1856. ^. ■ 
 

 Entered, accoKung to acv of Congress, in tne year IS'lO, b» 
 
 HakPKK & HkOTHKUS, 
 
 In the Clerk's Oflice of tlie Southern District of New-York. 
 
zm^W- 
 
 PUBLISHER S' ADVERTISEMENT. 
 
 The great experience of the venerable author of 
 these addresses as an instructor and guardian of 
 youth, gives a value to his counsels which can be 
 best appreciated by those whose happiness it has 
 been to be trained to knowledge and virtue under 
 his paternal guidance and care. To those, and 
 the number is not small, who have gone forth 
 from the halls of Union to honour their alma mater 
 by their conduct in life, this volume must be pecu- 
 liarly acceptable. Nor will the discourses it con- 
 tains be read with scarcely less interest by others ; 
 being replete with sound moral and religious in- 
 struction, and written with all the originality, ear- 
 nestness, and eloquence so characteristic of their 
 able and excellent author. By young men, espe- 
 cially, they may be made of invaluable use, in di- 
 recting them to the adoption of such principles as 
 
?1 PUBLISHERS ADVERTISEMENT. 
 
 will lead to prosperity and happiness in this world, 
 to the favour of God, and the assurance of a bet- 
 ter inheritance in the world to come. 
 
 A few of the discourses in the series, although 
 delivered on special occasions, and differing from 
 the others in their leading design, will be found 
 full of important information and the most striking 
 views, in relation to subjects deeply interesting to 
 every Christian mind. The publishers would also 
 state, that, by permission of the author, a brief 
 table of contents has been prefixed to each dis- 
 course for the convenience of the reader. 
 
 H.&B. 
 
 New- York, October, 1840 
 
CONTE 
 
 I. 
 
 Sanguine Anticipations of the Young.— Education should be 
 the Business of Life.— Duty of controlling and subjugating 
 the Passions. — Of cultivating and cherishing the Sympathies 
 of our Nature. — Of practising Justice, and adhering scrupu- 
 lously to Truth. — Religion inseparable from our Nature.— 
 Christianity: its Character, Effects, Objects, Encourage- 
 ments, and Rewards Page 13 
 
 II. 
 
 Nature of Man threefold : Sensitive, Intellectual, and Moral. — 
 Pleasures of Sense : lawful and innocent in themselves, and 
 forbidden and pernicious only when sinfully and excessively 
 indulged.— Intellectual Pleasures : their elevated, refined, and 
 durable Character. — Man's Moral Nature, and the Responsi- 
 bilities derived from it. — Virtue alone leads to Happiness. — 
 The duty of judging charitably of others : of avoiding Slan- 
 der.— Claims of Parents upon their Children . . . 26 
 
 III. 
 
 The Young require to be specially cautioned against the pre- 
 dominant Vices of the Day.— Spirit of mutual Injury, Re- 
 crimmation, and Revenge, characteristic of the Times. — Def 
 inition of Revenge, and its wicked and odious Character de- 
 scribed.— Private Revenge forbidden by the Divine Law, and 
 Vengeance declared to belong to God alone. — Under what cir- 
 cumstances, and how far we may resist personal Injuries. — 
 False and true Honour.— The Practice of Duelling, its sinful- 
 ness and awful consequences. — Christian Treatment of Ene- 
 mies. — An arrogant, ambitious, and revengeful Disposition in 
 the last degree hateful in a Christian Minister.— The Char- 
 acter of the Saviour, his Precepts, and perfect Example, 
 teach us how we should at all times act under Injuries . 43 
 
 IV. 
 
 Two opposite Systems offered to our Acceptance, the onefoand- 
 ed on Human Reason, the other on Divine Revelation. — Man, 
 
VIU CONTENTS. 
 
 by his own Wisdom, never has, nor ever can have & true and 
 proper Conception of God. — Contradictory, false, and unwor- 
 thy Notions entertained by the wisest of the Ancients in re- 
 gard to the Nature and Attributes of the Supreme Being, their 
 confused and erroneous Ideas as to Virtue and Vice, and the 
 gross Immorality of their Lives. — The Appearance of Chris- 
 tianity in the World dispelled the Darkness and Delusion that 
 had before universally prevailed, and brought in a new Era 
 of Light, and Hope, and of pure and perfect Morals.— The 
 Simplicity and Purity of the Christian System soon corrupted 
 by being incorporated with the Errors of the ancient Philos- 
 ophy. — Modern Infidelity, and the pernicious and absurd 
 Doctrines on which it is founded. — Skeptical System of Hume 
 (see Note). — Infidelity and Christianity, in their Character, 
 Moral Effects, and ultimate Results, contrasted. — The Chris- 
 tian alone can have Hope in Death, and Assurance of a blessed 
 Immortality Page 64 
 
 Painful Feelings of Teachers in parting from their Pupils. — 
 Responsibility of Teachers. — Constant Succession of Actors 
 on the Stage of Life. — Motives held out to the Young to act 
 their part well.— Discouragements to an honourable Ambition 
 removed. — The Examples of Howard, Sharpe, Clarkson, and 
 Lancaster.— A mixture of virtuous and vicious Characters in 
 the World. — The Practice of Virtue, even as it regards this 
 Life, to be preferred. — But there is a God : Man is accountable 
 and immortal, and should act with constant reference to these 
 great Truths.— Concluding Exhortation . . • .78 
 
 VI. 
 
 The Moral, no less than the Physical World, subject to convul- 
 sions and changes. — The present an age of Political Revolu- 
 tions.— Our Country involved in the contentions of Nations. 
 — Importance of the Era in which we live.— The hopes of 
 Society in the rising Generation.— Knowledge is Power. — Tht. 
 Savage and the civilized Man compared.— The dominion of 
 Mind, as exhibited in the general and statesman — in the ex- 
 ample of ancient Athens. — Encouragements to Perseverance 
 in the pursuit of Intellectual Superiority. — Examples of Ho- 
 mer and Demosthenes. — Power beneficent only when associ- 
 ated with Goodness. — Human Endowments should be con- 
 secrated to Religious and Moral ends. — Nature of Civil Gov- 
 ernment, and duty of Obedience to it.— Exhortation to de» 
 
CONTENTS. iX 
 
 fend the free Institutions of our Country. — ^Whatever Triali 
 befall the Christian here, his Reward is sure hereafter 
 
 Page 97 
 
 YII. 
 
 J*ove of Distinction. — Honour and Religion, though distinct, 
 are allied to each other. — Modern definition of the Law of 
 Honour. — Fallacies of this Definition exposed. — A sense of 
 Honour in different degrees operative on all Minds except the 
 most debased. — The offices of this Feeling and of Conscience 
 contrasted. — Purpose for which the Sense of Honour was im- 
 planted in the human breast. — Its Perversion an abuse. — Dig- 
 nity of Man, and the lofty distinction conferred on him by his 
 Maker. — His Fall and Recovery. — His Rank, Capacities, Pa- 
 rentage, and Destination, all call upon him to persevere in a 
 steady Course of honourable Action, in his Amusements, his 
 Pleasures, and his Occupations. — Dignity of tUe good Man in 
 his last moments. — All false and deceptive appearances will 
 be exposed in a future state ; and those only who are truly 
 and sincerely good will be accounted worthy of acceptance 
 and honour Ill 
 
 VIII. 
 
 Public Opinion as opposed to the Moral Law. — Games of 
 Chance. — Objectionable because they unprofitably consume 
 Time. — Because they lead to a misapplication of Property. — 
 Because they impart no Expansion or Vigour to the Mind. — 
 Because their Influence on the Affections and Passions is del- 
 eterious. — Dreadful Effect of Gaming on Morals and on the 
 Sympathies of our Nature. — It leads to Debauchery, to Ava 
 rice, to Intemperance. — The finished Gambler has no Heart. 
 — Example of Madame du Deffand. — Brutalized and hopeless 
 State of the Gambler and Drunkard. — Warning to Youth to 
 avoid the Temptations which-lead to these soul-destroying 
 Vices 128 
 
 IX. 
 
 Skeptical Notions in regard to the Providence of God, and his re- 
 tributive Justice.— The condition of the Virtuous and Vicious in 
 this World affords no argument against the position that God 
 will reward the one and punish the other. — A future State of 
 Existence is certain, and must be taken into account in judging 
 of the Character and Designsof God.— The inward Peace en- 
 joyed by the Virtuous, and the Trouble and Remorse experi- 
 
X CONTENTS. 
 
 enced by the Vicious, indications of God's Moral Govern 
 ment. — The Trials of the Righteous intended to exalt and pu- 
 rify their Character. — Consolations of the Righteous in the 
 view of Death, and the Happiness that awaits them in a fu- 
 ture State of Being Page 147 
 
 X. 
 
 Instability of all earthly Things.— Motives to early Piety. — 
 Filial Love and Gratitude.— Parental Affection. — Anxiety of 
 Parents to promote the Happiness of their Children.— Chris- 
 tian Parents. — Instructions of Solomon. — Early Piety inter- 
 esting in itself. — Leads to Happiness. — Joy of Christian Pa- 
 rents in pious Children, in Life and in Death.— Example of a 
 pious Child. — The Good on Earth and the Angels in Heaven 
 rejoice over Souls converted from Sin to Righteousness. — 
 Union of Parents and Children in Heaven . . . 159 
 
 XI. 
 
 Effects of the Apostacy.— Man vainly seeks for Happiness in 
 Riches — in Power — in Wisdom. — Man's boasted Wisdom 
 considered— in the Philosophy of Mind— in the Philosophy of 
 Matter. — Chymistry. — The Microscope. — Astronomy. — The 
 Telescope. — The Fixed Stars. — True Wisdom consists in the 
 Knowledge of God. — Pagan and Christian Theology, in their 
 Character and Effects, compared. — The Bible the source of 
 the most precious Knowledge. — To be truly Wise is to under- 
 stand the great Truths which it reveals, and comply with its 
 Requirements 179 
 
 XII. 
 
 Absolute Independence predicable only of God. — The Relations 
 between Parents and Children. — A foolish Son a Grief to his 
 Father. — Sin the greatest of all Folly. — The Sinner's Charac- 
 ter and Course described. — The Effects of Sin. — Children 
 growing up in Sin. — The Prodigal Son. — The Anguish occa- 
 sioned to Parents by dissolute Children. — Their AJffliiction in 
 leaving such Children behind them.— Their Hopelessness 
 in the Death of such Children. — David and Absalom. — The 
 Petition of Dives.— Future Stp.t? of the Wicked. — Close oi 
 the Argument , 206 
 
CONTENTS. XI 
 
 XIII. 
 
 ill wish to Die with the Assurance of Happiness hereafter.— 
 As Youth is the most important, it is also the most danger- 
 ous Period of Life, — Religion only can guard against the 
 Temptations incident to this Period.— The Example of Jo- 
 siah.— All Men mean to repent of their Sins. — Danger of 
 delaying Repentance-r-from the uncertainty of Life and of 
 the continued possession of Reason— from the hardening ef- 
 fects of Perseverance in Sin — from being left to a Reprobate 
 Mind Page 226 
 
 XIV. 
 
 Character and Design of the Bible Society. — Christian Com- 
 munities do not sufficiently appreciate their indebtedness to 
 the Bible.— Nearly all that is pure in Morals or kmdly in Feel- 
 ing derived from it.— In the first Ages of the World, God's 
 Communications to Man were direct, and were perpetuated 
 and extended by Tradition. — The early Longevity of Mankind 
 favourable to this — The Traditions and Institutions of heathen 
 Nations coincide with and confirm the sacred Records of the 
 Jews. — Divine Revelation and the Speculations of human 
 Reason, as exhibited in their different Effects.— Dreadful 
 Moral Corruption of the heathen World.— Influence of Chris- 
 tianity in ameliorating the Condition and Morals of Mankind. 
 —Unspeakable importance of Divine Revelation in regard to 
 a future State.— The duty of Christians to extend it to all 
 Nations 240 
 
 XV. 
 
 Difference in the Intellectual and Moral Condition of Individ- 
 uals and Nations. — Ignorance and Knowledge the principal 
 Causes of this Difference.— Advantages of Associated Efforts 
 in promoting Science. — Intelligence and Happiness capable 
 of being vastly extended. — First crude Discoveries in Sci- 
 ence contrasted with the Progress since made. — Present State 
 and future Prospects of Scientific Research.— Chymistry. — 
 Astronomy. — Mineralogy and Botany. — Meteorology. — Elec- 
 tricity. — Medicine. — Political Science. — Popular Govern- 
 ments.— The United States.— Anomaly of domestic Slavery, 
 in its Origin, &c., considered. — Ameliorations in our Institu- 
 tions and Laws in regard to Debtors— to Criminals.— Reli- 
 gious Freedom. — Multiplicity of Religious Sects not incom- 
 patible with Chrislian Union.— Science and Religion recipro- 
 eally aid each other, anrd should never be disunited . 275 
 
fx^ Of THB '^ . 
 
 ftrir.TTi?iis!7t] 
 
 ^IPOl 
 
 SSES. 
 
 DELIVERED MAY 1, 1805. 
 
 [Sanguine Anticipations of the Young. — Education should be 
 the Business of Life.— Duty of controlling and subjugating 
 the Passions.— Of cultivating and cherishing the Sympathies 
 of our Nature. — Of practising Justice, and adhering scrupu- 
 lously to Truth. — Religion inseparable from our Nature. — 
 Christianity; its Character, Effects, Objects, Encourage- 
 ments, and Rewards,] 
 
 Young gentlemen, this day closes your collegiate 
 life. You have continued the term and completed 
 the course of studies prescribed in this institution. 
 You have received its honours, and are now to go 
 forth adventurers — unsuspecting, perhaps, and cer- 
 tainly inexperienced — into a fascinating but illusive 
 world : a world where honour flaunts in fictitious 
 trappings ; where wealth displays imposing charms, 
 and pleasure spreads her impoisoned banquets. 
 And that, too, at a period when the passions are most 
 ungovernable, when the fancy is most vivid, when 
 the blood flows rapidly through the veins, and the 
 pulse of life beats high. Already does the opening 
 scene brighten as you approach it ; and happiness, 
 smiling but deceitful, passes before your eyes and 
 beckons you to her embrace. 
 
 Called to address you at this affecting crisis, and 
 
14 KNOWLEDGE. 
 
 for the last time, had I, like the patriarch of the East, 
 a blessing at my disposal, how gladly should I be- 
 stow it. But I have not ; and can therefore only 
 add to the solicitude which I feel, my counsel and 
 my prayers. 
 
 Permit me to advise you, then, young gentlemen, 
 when you leave this seminary, and even after you 
 shall have chosen a profession and entered on the 
 business of life, still to consider yourselves only 
 learners. Your acquirements here, though respect- 
 able, are the rudiments merely of an education 
 which ' must be hereafter pursued and completed. 
 In the acquisition of knowledge you are never to be 
 stationary, but always progressive. Nature has no- 
 where said to man, pressing forward in the career 
 of intellectual glory, " Hitherto shalt thou come, but 
 no farther." Under God, therefore, it depends upon 
 yourselves to say how great, how wise, how useful 
 you will be. Men of moderate talents, by a course 
 of patient application, have often risen to the highest 
 eminence, and, standing far above where the mo- 
 mentary sallies of uncultivated genius ever reach, 
 have plucked from the lofty cliff the deathless lau- 
 rel. Indeed, to the stature of the mind no boundary 
 is set. Your bodies, originally from the earth, soon 
 reach their greatest elevation, and bend downward 
 again towards that earth out of which they were 
 taken. But the inner man, that sublime, that ra- 
 tional, that immortal inhabitant which pervades your 
 bosoms, if sedulously fostered, will expand and ele- 
 vate itself, till, touching the earth, it can look above 
 the clouds and reach beyond the stars. 
 
THE PASSIONS. 15 
 
 Go, then, and, emulous to excel in whatever is 
 splendid, magnanimous, and great, with Newton, 
 span the heavens, and number and measure the orbs 
 which decorate them ; with Locke, analyze the hu- 
 man mind ; with Boyle, examine the regions of or- 
 ganic nature : in one word, go, and with the great, 
 the wise, and the good of all nations and all ages, 
 ponder the mysteries of Infinite Wisdom, and trace 
 the Everlasting in his word and in his works. A 
 wide and unbounded prospect spreads itself before 
 you, in every point of which Divinity shines con- 
 spicuous ; and on whichever side you turn your en- 
 raptured eyes, surrounded with uncreated majesty, 
 and seen in the light of his own glory, God appears. 
 He leads the way before you, and sheds radiance 
 on his path, that you may follow him. 
 
 Control and subjugate your passions, — Origin- 
 ally order pervaded human nature. The bosom of 
 man was calm, his countenance serene. Reason 
 sat enthroned in his heart, and to her control the 
 passions were subjected. But the days of inno- 
 cence are past, and with them has also passed the 
 reign of reason. Phrensy ensues. He who was 
 once calm and rational is now blind and impetuous. 
 A resistless influence impels him. Consequences 
 are disregarded, and, madly pressing forward to the 
 object of desire, he exclaims, " My hohour, my 
 property, my pleasure ;" but is never heard to say, 
 " My religion, my duty, my salvation.''* 
 
 While reason maintained her empire, the passions 
 were a genial flame, imparting warmth to the sys- 
 * See Saurip on the Passions. 
 
16 THE SYMPATHIES. 
 
 tem, and gently accelerating the circulation of the 
 blood. But, that empire subverted, they kindle into 
 a Vesuvius, burning to its centre, and pouring out 
 on every side its desolating lava. The passions, 
 said an inspired apostle, war against the soul ; and 
 the same apostle who said this commands you to 
 overcome them. 
 
 Cultivate and cherish the sympathies of your 
 nature. — These, though blighted by the apostacy, 
 still retain the tints of faded loveliness ; and when 
 sanctified in the heart and unfolded in the life even 
 of fallen man, they possess a resistless charm, and 
 furnish some faint idea of what he must have been 
 m a state of innocence. 
 
 For the exercise of these sympathies in all the 
 paths of life, you will meet with pitiable objects, 
 who will present their miseries to your eye, and ad- 
 dress the moving eloquence of sorrow to your heart. 
 Always listen to this eloquence ; always pity this 
 misery, and, if possible, relieve it. Yes, young gen- 
 tlemen, whatever seas you may navigate, or to what- 
 ever part of the habitable world you may travel, car- 
 ry with you your humanity. Even there divide your 
 morsel with the destitute ; advocate the cause of 
 the oppressed ; to the fatherless be a father, and 
 cover the shivering limbs of the naked with your 
 mantle. Even there sooth the disconsolate, sym- 
 pathize with the mourner, brighten the countenance 
 bedimmed with sorrow, and, like the God of mercy, 
 shed happiness around you, and banish misery be- 
 fore you. 
 
 In all your intercourse ivith manhind^ rigidly 
 
TRUTH AND JUSTICE. It 
 
 practise justice and scrupulously adhere to truth : 
 other duties vary with varying circumstances. What 
 would be liberality in one man would be parsimony 
 in another : what would be valour on one occasion 
 would be temerity on another ; but truth and justice 
 are immutable and eternal principles — always sa- 
 cred and always applicable. In no circumstances, 
 however urgent, no crisis, however awful, can there 
 be an aberration from the one, or a dereliction of 
 the other, without sin. With respect to everything 
 else, be accommodating ; but here, be unyielding 
 and invincible. Rather carry your integrity to the 
 dungeon or the scaffold than receive in exchange for 
 it liberty and. life. Should you ever be called upon 
 to make your election between these extremes, do 
 not hesitate. It is better prematurely to be sent to 
 heaven in honour, than, having lingered on the earth, 
 at last to sink to hell in infamy. In every situa- 
 tion, a dishonest man is detestable, and a liar is still 
 more so. 
 
 I have often, young gentlemen, recommended to 
 you a sacred adherence to truth. I would on this 
 occasion repeat the recommendation, that I may fix 
 it the more indelibly on your hearts. Believe me 
 when I tell you, that on this article you can never 
 be too scrupulous. 
 
 Truth is one of the fairest attributes of the Deity > 
 It is the boundary which separates vice from virtue ; 
 the line which divides heaven from hell. It is the 
 chain which binds the man of integrity to the throne 
 of God ; and, like the God to whose throne it binds 
 bim, till this chain is dissolved his word may be re- 
 
18 RELIGION. 
 
 lied on. - Suspended on this, your property, your 
 reputation, your life are safe. But against the mal- 
 ice of a liar there is no security. He can be bound 
 by nothing. His soul is already repulsed to an im- 
 measurable distance from that Divinity, a sense of 
 whose presence is the security of virtue. He has 
 sundered the last of those moral ligaments which 
 bind a mortal to his duty. And, having done so 
 through the extended region of fraud and falsehood, 
 without a bond to check or a limit to confine him, 
 he ranges, the dreaded enemy of innocence — whose 
 lips pollute even truth itself as it passes throug-h 
 them, and whose breath blasts, and soils, and poi- 
 sons as it touches. 
 
 Finally, cherish and practise religion, — Man has 
 been called, in distinction from the inferior orders 
 of creation, a religious being, and justly so called. 
 For, though his hopes and fears may be repressed, 
 and the moral feelings of his heart stifled for a sea- 
 son, nature, like a torrent which has been obstructed, 
 will break forth and sweep away those frail barriers 
 which skepticism may have erected to divert its 
 course. 
 
 There is something so repulsive in naked infidel- 
 ity, that the mind approaches it with reluctance, 
 shrinks back from it with horror, and is never set- 
 tled till it rests on positive religion. 
 
 I am aware that that spirit of devotion, that sense 
 of guilt and dread of punishment, which pervade 
 the human mind, have been attributed to the force 
 of habit or the influence of superstition. Let the 
 appeal be made to human nature. To the position 
 
RELIGION. 19 
 
 of irreligionists on this article, human nati re itself 
 furnishes the most satisfactory refutation. Religion 
 is a first principle of man. It shoots up from the 
 very seat of life ; it cleaves to the human constitu- 
 tion by a thousand ligaments ; it entwines around 
 human nature, and sends to the very bottom of the 
 heart its penetrating tendrils. It cannot, therefore, 
 be exterminated. The experiment has again and 
 again been tried, and the result has always proved 
 worthy of the rash attempt. 
 
 Young as you are, you have witnessed, with a 
 view to this extermination, the most desperate ef- 
 forts. But just now a formidable host of infuriate 
 infidels were assembled. You heard them openly 
 abjure their God. You saw them wreaking their 
 vengeance on rehgion. For a season they triumph- 
 ed. Before them every sacred institution disap- 
 peared, every consecrated monument fell to dust. 
 The fervours of nature were extinguished, and the 
 lip of devotion palsied by their approach. With 
 one hand they seized the thunders of the heavens, 
 and with the other smote His throne who inhabits 
 them. It seemed to crumble at the stroke. Mount- 
 ing these fancied ruins, Blasphemy waved its ter- 
 rific sceptre, and, impiously looking up to those eter- 
 nal heights where the Deity resides, exclaimed, 
 " Victory !" 
 
 Wliere now are those dreaded enemies of our 
 religion? They have vanished from the sight. 
 They were, but are seen no more. Nor have the 
 consequences of their exertions been more abiding. 
 A. great nation, indeed, delivered from the restraints 
 
IW^ RELIGION. 
 
 of moral obligation, and enfranchised with all the 
 liberties of infidelity, were proclaimed free. But 
 have they continued so ? No : their minds pres- 
 ently recoiled from the dismal waste which skepti- 
 cism had opened before them, and the cheerless 
 darkness it had spread around them. They sud- 
 denly arrested their steps ; they retraced, in sadness 
 and sorrow, the paths which they had trodden ; they 
 consecrated again the temples they had defiled ; 
 they rebuilt the altars they had demolished ; they 
 sighed for the return of that religion they had ban- 
 ished, and spontaneously promised submission to its 
 reign. 
 
 What are we to infer from this ? That religion 
 is congenial to human nature ; that it is inseparable 
 from it. A nation may be seduced into skepticism, 
 but it cannot be continued in it. Why, I would 
 ask, has religion existed in the world in ages which 
 are past 1 why does it exist now ? why will it exist 
 in ages to come ? Is it because kings have ordain- 
 ed and priests defended it 1 No : but because 
 God formed man to be religious. Its great and 
 eternal principles are inscribed on his heart ; they 
 are inscribed in characters which are indelible ; nor 
 can the violence of infidelity blot them out. Ob- 
 scured indeed they may be by the influence of sin, 
 and remain not legible during the rage of passion. 
 But a calm ensues : the calm of reason or the 
 night of adversity, from the midst of whose darkness 
 a light proceeds, which renders the original inscrip- 
 tion visible. Man now turns his eye inward upon 
 himself. He reads "Responsibility;" and, as he 
 
RELIGION. 21 
 
 reads, he feels a sense of sin and dread of pun- 
 ishment. He now pays, from necessity, homage to 
 religion — a homage which cannot be withheld : it is 
 the homage of his nature. We have now traced 
 the effect to its cause, and referred this abiding trait 
 in the human character to its principle. 
 
 The question is not, then, whether you will era- 
 brace religion — religion you must embrace — but 
 whether you will embrace revealed religion, or that 
 of erring and blind philosophy. And, with respect 
 to this question, can you hesitate ? 
 
 The former has infinitely more to recommend it 
 than the latter. It originated in heaven. It is 
 founded, not on conjecture, but on fact. Divinity 
 manifested itself in the person, and shone in the life 
 of its Author. True, he appeared in great humility ; 
 but though the humility in which he appeared had 
 been greater than it was, either the sublimity of his 
 doctrines or the splendour of his actions had been 
 sufficient to evince his Messiahship, and prove that 
 he was the Saviour of the world. He spoke as 
 man never spoke ! Whence did he derive wisdom 
 so transcendant ? From reason 1 No : reason 
 could not give it, for it had it not to give. What 
 reason could never teach, the gospel teaches — that 
 in the vast and perfect government of the universe, 
 vicarious sufferings can be accepted ; and that the 
 dread Sovereign who administers that government 
 is gracious as well as just. Nor does it rest in dec- 
 laration merely. It exhibits before our eyes the 
 altar and the victim — the Lamb of God, which ta- 
 keth away the sins of the world. 
 
22 CHRISTIANITY. 
 
 The introduction of Christianity was called the 
 coming of the kingdom of Heaven. JVo terms 
 could have been more appropriate ; for through it 
 man shared the mercy, and froni it caught the spirit 
 of the heavens. The moral gloom which shrouded 
 the nations receded before it. The temples of su- 
 perstition and of cruelty, consecrated by its entrance, 
 became the asylums of the wretched, and resounded 
 with their anthems of grace. 
 
 Most benign has been the influence of Chris- 
 tianity ; and were it cordially received and univer- 
 sally submitted to, war would cease, injustice be 
 banished, and primeval happiness revisit the earth* 
 Every inhabitant, pleased with his situation, resigned 
 to his lot, and full of the hopes of heaven, would 
 pass agreeably through life, and meet death without 
 a sigh. 
 
 Is the morality of the gospel pre-eminently ex- 
 cellent 1 So is its object pre-eminently glorious. 
 Philosophy confines its views to this world princi- 
 pallyi It endeavours to satisfy man with the grov- 
 elling joys of earth, till he returns to that dust out 
 of which he was taken. Christianity takes a nobler 
 flight. Her course is directed towards immortality. 
 Thither she conducts her votary, and never forsakes 
 him till, having introduced him into the society of 
 angels, she fixes his eternal residence among the 
 spirits of the just. 
 
 Philosophy can only heave a sigh, a longing sigh, 
 after immortality. Eternity is to her an unknown 
 vast, over which she soars on conjecture's trembling 
 wing. Above, beneath, around, is an unfathoraahle 
 
CHRISTIANITY. 23 
 
 void ; and doubt, uncertainty, or despair is the re- 
 sult of all her inquiries. 
 
 Christianity, on the other hand, having furnished 
 all necessary information concerning life, with firm 
 and undaunted step crosses death's narrow isthmus, 
 and boldly launches forth into that dread futurity 
 which borders on it. Her path is marked with 
 glory. The once dark, dreary region brightens 
 as she approaches it, and benignly smiles as she 
 passes over it. Faith follows where she advances ;" 
 till, reaching the summit of everlasting hills, an un- 
 known scene, in endless varieties of loveliness and 
 beauty, presents itself, over which the ravished eye 
 wanders, without a cloud to dim or a limit to ob- 
 struct its sight. In the midst of this scene, render- 
 ed luminous by the glory which covers it, the city, 
 the palace, the throne of God appears. Trees of 
 life surround it ; rivers of salvation issue from be- 
 neath it. Before it, angels touch their harps of 
 living melody, and saints, in sweet response, breathe 
 forth their grateful songs. The redeemed of the 
 Lord who remain upon the earth, catch the distant 
 sound and feel a sudden rapture. 'Tis the voice 
 of departed friendship — friendship, the loss of which 
 they mourn upon the earth, but which they are now 
 assured will be restored in the heavens — from 
 whence a voice is heard to say, " Fear ye not, death 
 cannot injure you ; the grave cannot confine you ; 
 through its chill mansion, Grace will conduct you 
 up to glory. We wait your arrival : haste, there- 
 fore, come away." All this Christianity will do for 
 you. It will do more than this : it consecrates tba 
 
24 CHRISTIANITY. 
 
 sepulchre, into which your bodies, already touched 
 by death, will presently descend. There, moulder- 
 ed into dust, your flesh shall rest in hope. Nor 
 will the season of its humiliation last for ever. 
 Christianity, faithful to her trust, appears for its re- 
 demption. She approaches, and stands before the 
 tomb : she stretches out her sceptre and smites the 
 sepulchre ; its moss-grown covering rends asunder ; 
 she cries to the silent inhabitants within it ; her en- 
 ergizing voice echoes along the cold, damp vaults, 
 of death, renovating skin and bones, and dust and 
 putrefaction. Corruption puts on incorruption, and 
 mortal immortality. Her former habitation, thus re- 
 fined and sublimated by the resurrection, the exult- 
 ing soul re-enters, and thenceforth the measure of 
 her joy is full. 
 
 Here thought and language fail me. Inspiration 
 itself describes the glories of futurity by declaring 
 them indescribable. Eye hath not seen, ear hath 
 not beard, neither hath it entered into the heart of 
 man to conceive the things which are prepared for 
 the people of God. What ideas are these 1 How 
 must the soul exult at the prospect, and swell with 
 the amazing conception ! 
 
 As Christianity exhibits the most enrapturing mo- 
 tives to the practice of virtue, so it urges the most 
 tremendous considerations to deter from vice. She 
 declares, solemnly and irrevocably declares, " That 
 the wages of sin are death." And, to enforce her 
 declaration, points to the concluding scene of na- 
 ture — when, amid a departing heaven and a dis- 
 Bolving world, the Son of Man shall descend, with 
 
THE GOSPEL. 25 
 
 the voice of the archangel and the trump of God, to 
 be glorified in his saints and take vengeance on his 
 enemies ! 
 
 Such is the gospel : and here I rest my observa- 
 tions. At this affecting crisis, my beloved pupils, 
 this gospel I deliver you. It is the most invaluable 
 gift ; and I solemnly adjure you to preserve it in- 
 violate for ever. To whatever part of God's crea- 
 tion you may wander, carry this with you. Consult 
 it in prosperity ; resort to it in trouble ; shield your- 
 selves with it in danger, and rest your fainting head 
 on it in death. 
 
 Do this ; and, though the world be convulsed 
 around you, the elements dissolve, and the heavens 
 depart, still your happiness is secure. But should 
 you ever, in an hour of rashness, be tempted to cast 
 it from you, remember that with it you cast away 
 salvation. 'Tis the last hope of sinful, dying man. 
 This gone, all is lost! Immortality is lost, and 
 lost also ia the soul, which might otherwise have in- 
 herited and enjoyed it. Under these impressions, 
 go forth to the world : and may God go with you. 
 
 Committing you to his care, and with a heart full 
 of parental solicitude for your welfare, I bid you an 
 affectionate and final farewell. 
 
 a 
 
^6 TEMPTATIONS OF THE YOUNG. 
 
 II. 
 
 DELIVERED WLY 30, 1806. 
 
 [Nature of Man threefold : Sensitive, Intellectual, and Moral. 
 — Pleasures of Sense : Lawful and Innocent in themselves, 
 and Forbidden and Pernicious only when sinfully and ex- 
 cessively indulged. — Intellectual Pleasures : their elevated, 
 refined, and durable Character. — Man's Moral Nature, and 
 the Responsibilities derived from it. — Virtue alone leads to 
 Happiness.— The duty of judging charitably of others : of 
 avoiding Slander.— Claims of Parents upon their Children.] 
 
 Young gentlemen, most affecting to a parent is 
 the moment when his children, commencing masters 
 of their fortune, leave their paternal home and enter 
 on the world. The disasters which may dissipate 
 their property, the temptations which may corrupt 
 their virtue, and the maladies which may assail their 
 persons, present themselves in clusters to his eye, 
 and crowd upon his mind. Were it possible, gladly 
 v/ould he accompany, counsel, and direct them on 
 their way. But it is not. possible. He can, there- 
 fore, only vent his full heart in benedictions, and, 
 looking up to God, commit the inexperienced adven- 
 turers to his care. 
 
 Parting with a class endeared to me by a course 
 of the most filial and affectionate conduct, my sit- 
 uation and my feelings resemble those of a parent 
 parting with his children. 
 
 Dear pupils, thus far your instructors have ac- 
 companied and directed you in your studies and 
 pursuits. But the time of separation has arrived : 
 
THREEFOLD NATURE OF MAN. 27 
 
 WO have reached the point where our ways divide. 
 Before we part, indulge a word of counsel, the last 
 to be communicated hy him who now addresses 
 you. 
 
 The end that each of you has in view is happi- 
 ness. To be informed beforehand of the course 
 that will conduct to it, must be infinitely important : 
 because, should you mistake the means, with how- 
 ever much ardour and constancy you may pursue the 
 end, your efforts will be vain, and your future expe- 
 rience prove but the sad disappointment of your 
 present hopes. How, then, may success be ensured ? 
 what manner of life will conduct to happiness ? To 
 answer this interrogation, the character of man must 
 be developed, his constitution analyzed, his capaci- 
 ties of enjoyment ascertained, and the correspond- 
 encies between those capacities and their resp*^*- - 
 ive objects unfolded. 
 
 What, then, is man ? Man is a being in whom are 
 mysteriously combined a sensitive, an intellectual, 
 and a moral nature : each of which should be kept 
 in view in the present inquiry, and the comparative 
 claims of each considered in making a decision. 
 
 You have been told by an author, more esteemed 
 for the benevolence of his heart than the profound- 
 ness of his doctrines, " that human happiness does 
 not consist in the pleasures of sense, in whatever 
 variety or profusion they may be enjoyed." It is 
 true that human happiness does not consist exclu- 
 sively or principally in these. The senses, how- 
 ever, are a real source of enjoyment ; nor would 
 I wish you either to despise or undervalue them. 
 
28 PLEASURES OF SENSE. 
 
 The God of nature has not thought it derogatory to 
 his wisdom, his goodness, or his sanctity, to bestow 
 on you this class of enjoyments ; and surely it can- 
 not be derogatory to yours to receive them at his 
 hand. 
 
 No inconsiderable part of the happiness allotted 
 to man is conveyed through the medium of the 
 senses, at least in the present world, and, perhaps, 
 in the world to come. For the bodies we inhabit, 
 the sleep of death being ended, will be rescued from 
 the tomb ; and it is not easy to perceive why they 
 should be rescued, if tKeir recovery is to have no in- 
 fluence on the pleasures and pains of eternity ; to 
 add nothing to the amount of endless misery or im- 
 mortal bliss. 
 
 True, they deposite in the grave (I speak of th« 
 redeemed) all their present grossness, pollution, and 
 corruptibility : for they are to be raised from thence 
 spiritual bodies. But whether this transformation, 
 this refinement, this sublimation, which the renova- 
 ted body undergoes, puts an eternal end to its influ- 
 ence on the happiness of the exulting soul, which at 
 the resurrection enters it, or whether this mysteri- 
 ous change do not rather exalt its powers, and ren- 
 der them capable of communicating a happiness 
 more refined and sublimated, is an article on which, 
 though revelation were silent, it should seem that 
 reason could scarcely entertain a doubt. 
 
 I know that there are men, and good men too, 
 who calumniate, indiscriminately, all the pleasures 
 of sense. I say calumniate, for the language they 
 utter is neither the language of reason nor revela- 
 
PLEASURES OF SENSE. 29 
 
 lion. The finger of God is too manifest in the 
 sensitive part of human nature to admit a doubt 
 concerning the innocence of those enjoyments which 
 spring from it. Christianity, instead of abjuring, 
 approbates the pleasures of sense. She claims 
 them as her own, and bids the possessor indulge 
 them to the glory of the God who gave them. 
 And the author of Christianity, that great exemplar 
 of righteousness and model of perfection, came eat- 
 ing and drinking. Again and again he graced 
 the festive board with his divine presence : he de- 
 livered his celestial doctrines amid the circles of so- 
 cial friendship, and the first of that splendid series 
 of miracles which signalized his life was performed - 
 at a marriage supper. 
 
 But, though the pleasures of sense constitute a 
 part, and an innocent part, it is but a very humble 
 part of human felicity. While they are restrained 
 within the limits, and conformed in all respects to 
 the decorum of gospel morality, they are perfectly 
 admissible. But if this decorum be violated, if 
 these limits be transgressed, order is subverted, and 
 guilt, as well as misery, ensues. 
 
 On this article nature herself coincides with reli- 
 gion, and fixes at the same point her sacred and un- 
 alterable boundary. She has stamped on the very 
 frame of man her veto against excess ; and the ap- 
 athy, the languor, the pains and disgusts consequent 
 upon it, are her awful and monitory voice, which 
 says distinctly to the devotee of passion, " Rash 
 mortal, forbear : thou wast formed for temperance, 
 for chastity ; these be the law of thy nature. Hith- 
 
 ^ v' 
 
 . ;^^. 
 
30 
 
 erto thou mayest come, but no farther ; and here 
 must all thy appetites be stayed." 
 
 Attend to the voice of nature : obey her man- 
 date. Consider, even in the heat of youthful blood, 
 consider thy frame, " how fearfully, how wonder- 
 fully made ,•" how delicate its texture, how various, 
 how complicated, how frail its organs ; how capable 
 of affording thee an exquisite and abiding happiness, 
 and, at the same time, how liable, by one rash act of 
 intemperate indulgence, to be utterly deranged 'and 
 destroyed for ever. 
 
 And let me forewarn you that the region of in- 
 nocent indulgence and guilty pleasure border on 
 each other ; a single step only separates them. If 
 you do not regulate your pleasures by principles 
 fixed and settled ; if you do not keep in your eye 
 a boundary that you will never pass ; if you do not 
 impose previous restraints, but leave your hearts to 
 direct you amid the glee of convivial mirth and the 
 blandishments of youthful pleasure, it requires no 
 prophetic eye to foresee, that, impelled by the gusts 
 of passion, ** conscience will swing from its moor- 
 ings," and that your probity, your virtue, your inno 
 cence will be irrevocably shipwrecked. 
 
 The intellectual nature of man, — And here the 
 design of the Creator is more than intimated. The 
 posture of man is erect, and his countenance, irradi- 
 ated by an expressive intelligence, is directed to- 
 wards the heavens. If he possesses some faculties 
 in common with animals, he possesses others dis- 
 tinct from theirs : faculties as much superior to those 
 of sense, as the stars which decorate the firmament 
 
31 
 
 of God are higher and more resplendent than the 
 worthless pebble that sparkles amid the dust and 
 rubbish on his footstool : faculties which no indul- 
 gence surfeits, no exercise impairs, or time destroys : 
 often sustaining the infirmities of age ; often beam- 
 ing with intellectual radiance through the palsied or- 
 gans of a dying body, and sometimes even gilding 
 the evening of animal existence with the anticipated 
 splendours of immortal life. 
 
 The appetites of the body are soon cloyed, and 
 the richest banquets of sense disgust. But the ap- 
 petites of the mind, if I may speak so, are never sat- 
 isfied. In all the variety, in all the plenitude, in all 
 the luxury of mental enjoyment, the most favoured 
 individual was never surfeited, or once heard to say, 
 ** It is enough." The more of these delicate, these 
 pure, these sublime, I had almost said holy pleas- 
 ures, an individual enjoys, the more he is capable 
 of enjoying, and the more he is solicitous to enjoy. 
 It is the intellectual eye that is never satisfied with 
 seeing, the intellectual ear that is never satisfied 
 with hearing. 
 
 The powers in question are not more superior to 
 those of sense than the provision for them is more 
 abundant. Beauty, grandeur, novelty — all the fine 
 arts — music, painting, sculpture, architecture, garden- 
 mg, considered scientifically, are so many sources 
 of mental enjoyment. But why do I n^ention these 
 pai Jiculars ? AH the region of nature — earth with 
 its varieties — heaven with its sublimities — the en- 
 tire universe, ^*> s^K^ad out before the intellectual 
 ' observer. 
 
B2 MAN'S MORAL NATURE. 
 
 Nor the visible creation alone. To principalities 
 and powers ; to thrones, dominions, and all the 
 nameless orders which constitute the interminable 
 line of heavenly excellence, man is introduced : or- 
 ders for ever advancing in wisdom, and brightening 
 in the splendours of intellectual glory, at the head 
 of which appears the Eternal Being, who alone 
 changes not, because infinite perfection cannot 
 change. The pleasure which springs from the 
 knowledge and contemplation of these objects, 
 this universe of good, is so ineffable, so transcend- 
 ent, that the wretch who does not prefer it to the 
 mere indulgence of sense, though free of other 
 crimes, evinces a depravity which merits eternal 
 reprobation. 
 
 His moral nature, — Man was made to be reli- 
 gious, to acknowledge and reverence God, and to 
 be conTormed in his moral conduct to the law of 
 God. You have only to consult your hearts to be 
 convinced of this. The proof is there inscribed in 
 characters which are indelible. 
 
 When even the child looks abroad into the works 
 of the Creator, he naturally ref(^rs the objects which 
 surround him to an adequate first cause, and asks, 
 " Where is God their maker." If sudden danger 
 threatens him, his eye is directed to the heavens for 
 relief. If unexpected happiness overtakes him, his 
 heart breaks forth in grateful acknowledgments to 
 an unseen benefactor. Even the untutored savag-^ 
 surveys the wilderness of nature — the extended 
 earth, the distant heavens — with religious awe, and 
 pays to their creator an instinctive homage. 
 
SKEPTICISM. 33 
 
 Devotion is a law of human nature ; and you 
 can with no more consistency deny its existence, 
 than you can deny the existence of the laws by 
 which heaven and earth are governed. You may 
 as well deny that there is a principle in your bodies 
 that binds them to the earth, as that there is a 
 principle in your souls which elevates them to the 
 heavens. 
 
 Nor is the reality of the moral sense more ques- 
 tionable. Self-complacency springs from the per- 
 formance of duty ; shame and regret from the com- 
 mission of sin. Skepticism may endeavour to per- 
 suade you to the contrary, but it never can. It has 
 indeed weakened the faith and clouded the hopes of 
 thousands, but it never gave a single individual a 
 settled, firm, and abiding belief that there is no God, 
 no futurity, or that man is not accountable. There 
 have been serious and awful moments in the lives 
 of ihe boldest champions of infidelity when they 
 have discovered symptoms of dereliction : moments 
 when the struggles of nature could not be repressed, 
 and when the voice of nature has been heard to 
 break forth. The punishment of Cain, given up to 
 the tortures of a guilty mind, was greater than he 
 could bear ; and the spectre of John the Baptist 
 haunted the bedchamber of Herod long after the 
 tomb had become to that martyr a bed of repose. 
 Who was it, think you, that anticipated the prophet 
 in interpreting the handwriting of Belshazzar, and 
 «mote the sacrilegious wretch with trembling 1 Why 
 did Galerius relent on his death-bed? And what 
 made Caligula afraid when it thundered 1 It was 
 
34 CONSCIENCE. 
 
 conscience : who, startled by danger from her slum- 
 bers, shook her terrific sceptre, and uttered her mon- 
 itory voice. 
 
 Nor is it material to inquire why man is thus 
 formed. It is a fact that he is so formed ; nor is it 
 possible for him to be happy in a course of conduct 
 which does violence to his nature. From the pen 
 alties of the mind you can no more escape than 
 from the appetites of the body. You may avoid the 
 malediction of an earthly tribunal. You may avoid, 
 says the irreligionist, the malediction of God : but 
 yourselves — the retribution of justice within youi 
 own bosoms — how is this to be avoided? Con- 
 science, like that Divinity of which it is a symbol, 
 with respect to you, is omnipresent. Though you 
 ascend to heaven — though you make your bed in 
 hell — though you take the wings of the morning, 
 and dwell in the uttermost parts of the earth, this 
 avenger of sin will accompany you : watching with 
 an eye from which no darkness can conceal, and 
 chastising with a thong that no fortitude can endure. 
 The spirit of man will sustain his infirmity, but a 
 wounded spirit loho can bear ? 
 
 Such briefly is man : in providing for whose hap- 
 piness his entire constitution must be consulted, 
 each distinct capacity of enjoyment must be furnish- 
 ed with appropriate objects, and a due proportion 
 between them all must be preserved. 
 
 Be this your care. Despise not corporal pleas- 
 ures, neither exalt them too highly. Hold them 
 subordinate to intellectual enjoyments, and these 
 subordinate to moral Your intellectual and moral 
 
VIRTUE AND HAPPINESS. 35 
 
 nature is what allies you to angels and assimilates 
 you to God. Age will presently rob you of all the 
 delights of sense ; but of intellectual and moral 
 delights neither age nor death can rob you. To 
 the votary of science and religion, the last cup of 
 heavenly consolation is not poured out till his eye 
 is closing on the world, and his flesh descending 
 into the grave in hope. 
 
 A life of virtue and happiness, then, exactly co- 
 incide. To practise the one is to secure the other. 
 The God of virtue formed every faculty of pleasure, 
 and has made them all subservient to duty. There 
 are those, I am sensible, who represent religion 
 shrouded in gloom and covered with scowls ; but 
 the attitude, the drapery, the features are unlike the 
 divine original, and betray the pencil of an enemy. 
 There never was, nor ever will be, one source of 
 happiness which religion does not authorize. 
 
 Some, indeed, speak of all the pleasures of sense 
 as pleasures of sin. But such language is at once 
 an outrage to common sense and an indignity to 
 God. Sin never gave the faculties of sense, and 
 let not sin claim the bliss that springs from them. 
 There is not a being in the universe that owes to 
 sin a single enjoyment. The immortal God is the 
 author of them all. He made you what you are ; 
 and if, in the abuse of the faculties he has bestowed, 
 a single delight remain, it is owing to his clemency. 
 
 Which of the faculties is it, I would ask, that sin 
 improves ? Is it the eye ? Is it the ear ? Is it 
 the palate ? Does sin add any new faculties ? No ; 
 she only palsies the energies, perverts the use, and 
 
86 VIRTUE AND HAPPINESS. 
 
 poisons the pleasures of those which before existed : 
 these are her baneful and damning work — under 
 whose influence, delights, once desired, disgust the 
 thoughts and pall upon the senses. My God ! if 
 you are beguiled by an idea of the pleasures of sin, 
 look once upon the emaciated body, the pallid coun- 
 tenance, the bloated features, and the mutilated face 
 of the loathsome and worn-out sensualist ! Look 
 again ! And can you believe the place of his resort 
 is the habitation of pleasures ? No : .'tis the temple 
 of pollution, of disease, of death ; there sin, occur' 
 sed sorceress, mingles her cup and infuses her poi- 
 son. Mark the place, avoid it, turn from it, and 
 flee away. 
 
 After this, will you believe that virtue is your en- 
 emy? that religion requires sacrifices? If so^ in 
 the name of God, what are they ? I know of none, 
 unless of disease, of pain, of infamy. 
 
 True, you may not riot at the banquets of Bac- 
 chus ; but you may participate in temperance at the 
 table of convivial mirth, and, exhilarated, rise from 
 thence to give God thanks. You may not steal at 
 midnight to the infamous pleasures of the brothel ; 
 but you may cherish at your homes the refined, the 
 hallowed pleasures of connubial friendship. You 
 may not, indeed, so much as lay your head upon 
 the lap of Delilah ; but you may live joyfully with 
 the wife whom you love all the days of your pil- 
 grimage, for it is the portion which God gives you 
 under the sun. 
 
 As we have said, a I'fe of virtue and a life of hap* 
 piness coincide ; and .le who seeks the latter in op- 
 
CONDUCT TO OPPONENTS. 37 
 
 position to the former, counteracts the laws of na- 
 ture ; contradicts the experience of ages ; and, to 
 succeed, must transcend not himself only, but his 
 Maker also, and become more potent than omnip- 
 otence himself. The body can subsist in health 
 without aliment as easily as the soul without virtue : 
 nor is poison more fatal to the one than the venom 
 of sin to the other. This is a matter of experience, 
 of fact ; and whoever asserts to the contrary, belies 
 his heart, and contradicts the testimony of a world. 
 
 I have detained you so long on the means of hap- 
 piness, that time would fail me were I to enter in 
 detail on the conduct of life. The great principles 
 of morality and piety are involved in the argument we 
 have been pursuing. An incidental thought or two, 
 suggested by the times in which we hve, is all that 
 will be attempted. 
 
 Permit me, then, particularly to enjoin you to con^ 
 duct honourably and charitably towards those who 
 are opposed to you in their opinions. Diversity of 
 sentiment is inevitable in a state of things like the 
 present. The dispensation of time is an obscure 
 dispensation, and, till the light of eternity shall break 
 upon the mind, it is not to be expected that erring 
 mortals will see eye to eye. While groping in this 
 world, and following the guidance of that erring rea- 
 son which is scarcely sufficient to direct us through 
 it, it must be folly to suppose ourselves always in 
 the right, and more than folly to reprobate thop^^^ 
 whom we consider in the wrong. 
 
 Society, on which you are about to enter, is al- 
 ready divided into various sects in religion, and agi- 
 
38 FORMATION OF JUDGMENT. 
 
 tated by contending parties in politics. Between 
 these hold the balance with an equal hand, and let 
 merit, and not prejudice or interest, turn the beam. 
 
 To judge correctly, you must take a comprehen- 
 sive view of the whole field of controversy ; and, 
 having honestly formed your judgment, give full 
 credit to the merit of those who differ from you, 
 and be sparing of the censure which you conceive 
 to be their due. 
 
 Beware of judging bodies of men in the gross^ 
 as though each individual were chargeable with the 
 vices of the whole. There is no body of men among 
 whom you may not find something to admire and 
 much to blame. Be careful to separate, therefore, 
 the gold from the dross, and to distinguish the pre- 
 cious from the vile. 
 
 If there can be anything that can disgrace civil- 
 ized society, it is a spirit of indiscriminate and wan- 
 ton slander ; a spirit, the vilest with which any na- 
 tion can be cursed. And yet this spirit exists. It 
 exists among us. It pervades the whole extent of 
 a country once proudly pre-eminent for every social 
 virtue. It insinuates itself into the cottage of the 
 peasant ; it enters, I had almost said resides, in the 
 mansion of the great. It is cherished by every 
 party ; it moves in every circle. It hovers round 
 the sacred altar of mercy ; it approaches the awful 
 seat of justice. In one word, it surrounds us on 
 every side, and on every side it breathes forth its 
 pestilential vapour, blasting talents and virtue, and 
 reducing, like the grave, whose pestiferous influence 
 
PRACTICAL DUTY. 39 
 
 it imitates, the great, and the good, and the ignoble, 
 and the vile, to the same humiliating level. 
 
 Permit me to indulge the hope, young gentlemen, 
 that you will never enlist under the banner of this 
 foe to human happiness, nor prostitute your talents, 
 or even lend your names, to this work of intellectual 
 massacre. 
 
 Having taken so much pains and expended so 
 much treasure in preparing for future usefulness, 
 will you consent to become mere scavengers in so- 
 ciety, and spend your lives in collecting and retailing 
 filth 1 Remember that the course of the eagle is 
 directed towards the heavens, and that it is the ser- 
 pent that winds along the fens, creeps upon his belly^ 
 and licks the dust. 
 
 Whatever party you may join, or in whatever ri- 
 valships you may engage, let your warfare be that 
 of honourable policy, and not the smutty contest 
 which succeeds by blackening private character. 
 Convinced of the sacredness of reputation, never 
 permit yourselves to sport with the virtues, or even 
 lightly attack the vices of men in power. If they 
 pass a certain boundary, indeed sufferance would be 
 pusillanimity, and silence treason. But the public 
 good, and not private interest or private resentment, 
 must fix that boundary. 
 
 There is a homage due to the sanctity of office, 
 whoever fills it : an homage which every man owes, 
 and which every good man will feel himself bounid 
 to pay, after the sublime example of him who, 
 though a Jew and residing at Jerusalem, rendered 
 honour and paid tribute to Caesar at Rome. 
 
40 DUTY TO PARENTS. 
 
 I cannot sum up all that I would wish to say to 
 you on practical duty better than by placing the en- 
 tire character of Jesus Christ before you as a per- 
 fect model, in the imitation of which will alike con- 
 sist your happiness and glory. On every important 
 question, ask what would have been his opinion, 
 what his conduct ; and let the answer regulate your 
 own. 
 
 Methinks your parents, some of whom I see in 
 this assembly, add their sanction to the counsel I 
 am now delivering. Parents whom I cannot but 
 commend particularly to your ingenuousness, and 
 from their kindness and solicitude derive an argu- 
 ment to enforce all that I have said. You will never 
 know, till the bitterness of filial ingratitude shall 
 teach you, the extent of the duty iViat you owe them. 
 On you their affections have been placed : on you 
 their treasures expended. With what tenderness 
 they ministered to your wants in helpless infancy ; 
 with what patience they bore with your indiscretions 
 in wayward childhood ; and with what solicitude 
 they watched your steps in erring youth. No care 
 has been too severe ; no self-denials too painful ; no 
 sacrifices too great, which would contribute to your 
 felicity. To your welfare the meridian of life has 
 been constantly devoted, and even its cheerless 
 evening is rendered supportable by the prospect of 
 leaving you the heirs of their fame and of their tor- 
 fnnr. For all thU affection and kindness, the only 
 reward they expect, the only requital they ask, is, 
 that, when you enter on the world, you will act wor- 
 thy of yourselves, and not dishonour them. 
 
FILIAL PIETY. 4J 
 
 And shall this requital be denied thenri? Will 
 you, by your follies, disturb even the tranquillity of 
 age ; rob declining life of its few remaining pleas- 
 ures, and, snatching away from the palsied hand of 
 your aged parents the last cup of earthly consola- 
 tion, bring their gray hairs with anticipated sorrow 
 to the grave ? 
 
 It was a noble spectacle^ amid the flames that 
 were consuming Troy, and while the multitude were 
 intent only on rescuing their paltry treasures, to see 
 the dutiful iEneas bearing on his shoulders the ven- 
 erable Anchises, his aged father, to a place of safety. 
 But ah ! how rare such examples of filial piety ! 
 My God ! the blood freezes in the veins at the 
 thought of the ingratitude of children. Spirits of 
 my sainted parents, could I recall the hours when 
 it was in my power to honour you, how different 
 should be my conduct ! Ah ! were not the dead 
 unmindful of the reverence the living pay them, I 
 would disturb the silence of your tombs with nightly 
 orisons, and bedew the urn which contains your 
 ashes with perpetual tears ! 
 
 It is within your power to prevent the bitterness 
 of such regrets. But I must arrest the current of 
 my feehngs. Your future usefulness, your eternal 
 salvation, constitute a motive so vast, so solemn, 
 that, were I to yield to its overwhelming influence, I 
 should protract the hour of separation, and fill up 
 with counsel and admonition the declining day. 
 
 I shall address you no more. I shall meet with 
 you no more, till, having passed the solemnities of 
 death, I meet you in eternity. So spend the inter- 
 D 
 
42 FAREWELL. 
 
 vening period, I adjure you, that that meeting may 
 be joyous ; and the immortality which shall follow 
 it splendid as the grace of that God is free, to 
 whom, surrendering my charge, I now commit you 
 Leavmg with you this counsel, I bid you an ajQTec 
 tionate and final farewell. 
 
ADDRESS TO THE YOUNG. 43 
 
 III. 
 
 DELIVERED JULY 29, 1807. 
 
 fThe young require to be specially cautioned against the pre- 
 dominant Vices of the Day. — Spirit of mutual Injury, Recrim- 
 ination, and Revenge characteristic of the Times — Definition 
 of Revenge, and its wicked and odious Character described. — 
 Private Revenge forbidden by the Divine Law, and Ven 
 geance declared to belong to God alone.— Under what cir- 
 cumstances, and how far we may resist Personal Injuries.— 
 False and True Honour. — The practice of Duelling : its Sin 
 fulness and awful Consequences.— Christian Treatment of 
 Enemies — An arrogant, ambitious, and revengeful Disposition 
 in the last degree hateful in a Christian minister. — The Char- 
 acter of the Saviour, his Precepts and perfect Example teach 
 us how we should at all times act under injuries.] 
 
 Young gentlemen, a seminary is a world in min- 
 iature. The resemblances are strong and numer- 
 ous : none of which, however, strike the mind more 
 forcibly than that succession of actors, who, trip- 
 ping over the stage, sustain the parts of the passing 
 drama. As generation follows generation, so class 
 follows class ; and the gladsome smile of social in- 
 tercourse soon gives place to the solemn gloom of 
 final separation. On these occasions, custom author- 
 izes an address to the young adventurers, and nature 
 sanctions what custom authorizes. Anxious for 
 your future welfare, your instructers, who have hith- 
 erto guarded your virtue and watched for your hap- 
 piness, seize on the parting interview, and, by the 
 solemn circumstances which crowd upon the mixid^ 
 urge their last counsel. 
 
44 SPIRIT OF THE TIMES. 
 
 It is not possible, in the few moments allotted to 
 this address, to develop, or even hint at all those 
 doctrines of faith which demand your attention ; nor 
 should I feel as if I had discharged the sacred duty 
 which I owed you, had I left these to a hasty dis- 
 cussion in this place and on this occasion. To 
 furnish you with a complete summary of practical 
 duty is also impossible. A glance only at a topic 
 or two is all that will be attempted. The real friend 
 adapts his admonitions to the dangers which threaten, 
 and shapes his cautions to the spirit of the times : 
 the spirit of the times is a spirit of mutual injury, 
 recrimination, and revenge. In such an age, to hope 
 to pass through life unassailed is vain. The only 
 question is, therefore, how are you to sustain the as- 
 sault ; how treat the assailant 1 
 
 Were the ivorld to utter its voice in this place, it 
 would tell you to be ever vigilant to discover causes 
 of offence ; quick in repelling, and inexorable in re- 
 venging to the uttermost the slightest aitack upon 
 your person or your honour. The gospel, how- 
 ever, adopts a different counsel, and, in the bland 
 accents of its Author, inculcates forbearance and 
 forgiveness. 
 
 The crimes and miseries resulting from revenge 
 have been witnessed in every country and regretted 
 in every age. Philosophy, in attempting to regulate, 
 hath increased the evil. Christianity alone directs 
 her weapons at its root, and aims at preventing the 
 effects by exterminating the principle. 
 
 Revenge has been defined, the inflicting of pain 
 upon the person who has injured or offended us,far^ 
 
CHARACTER OF REVENGE. 45 
 
 ther than the just ends of punishment or reparation 
 require, "There can be no difficulty in knowing 
 when we occasion pain to another, nor much in 
 distinguishing whether we do so with a view only to 
 the ends of punishment or from revenge ; for in 
 the one case we proceed with reluctance, in the oth- 
 er with pleasure." 
 
 Most, if not all the human passions, have their 
 use in the economy of life ; and, when sanctified 
 by grace, conduce no less to virtue than to happi- 
 ness. But how can a passion which has misery as 
 its object be useful — how agreeable to the Deity? 
 Where could have been its sphere of action in the 
 primeval state — or towards whom could it have been 
 directed, while mutual love predominated in the 
 breast of man? To these interrogations it is not 
 easy to give a satisfactory answer. Is revenge, 
 then, a new principle resulting from the apostacy ? 
 I know that the apostacy touched the vital principle 
 of man with deaih ; that it corrupted and perverted 
 those faculties and powers which before existed ; but 
 I do not know that it created new ones. And when 
 man shall be restored to that perfection from which 
 he hath fallen, the restoration will consist, not in the 
 annihilation of any of his faculties, but in the recov- 
 ery of his entire nature from sin to holiness ; so 
 that he who before hated will now love his Maker 
 with all his heart, soul, mind, and strength, and his 
 neighbour as himself. 
 
 May it, then, not be supposed, that the principle 
 in question is not a new one ; but the ruins of a 
 once holy principle implanted in the breasts of moral 
 
46 DISTEIBUTIVE JUSTICE. 
 
 agents, predisposing them to acquiesce in distributive 
 justice, and to say, in view of the executed penal- 
 ties of the fearful law of God, true and righteous 
 are thy judgments ? and which principle, now per- 
 verted and depraved, prompts the proud possessor 
 not to acquiesce in, but to seize on the administra- 
 tion of Jehovah : to utter his maledictions, and hurl 
 his thunders on every being who has done, or is 
 supposed to have done him an injury. 
 
 Though there cannot be an intentional injury 
 without sin, and though pain is, and for ever will be, 
 the just desert of the sinner, it is not the province 
 of any created being to ascertain the degree of pain 
 due for any offence, or to inflict the same when as- 
 certained. This is an act of distributive penal jus- 
 tice, which belongs to God, and to him exclusively. 
 Vengeance is mine, saith the Lord, 
 
 So minute are the causes which operate on hu- 
 man minds, so imperceptible are the shades of moral 
 turpitude, that the Omniscient Being alone is com- 
 petent to distributive justice. In civil governments, 
 even penal codes are not founded on distributive, 
 but general justice ; nor do these aim at the appor- 
 tionment of penalties to personal demerit, but at 
 the prevention of crimes or the reformation of offend- 
 ers — a thing totally different in its nature from the 
 assignment of a certain degree of suffering to a 
 certain degree of criminality. Hence the difficulty 
 of detecting, and the necessity of preventing certain 
 offences, and not the malignity of each particular 
 case, determine human legislators in the severity of 
 their penalties. 
 
INFLICTION OF PUNISHMENT. 47 
 
 But, if civil governments, authorized by Divine 
 appointment, are not to execute vengeance on offend- 
 ers, much less are individuals to do this. It is, 
 therefore, no apology for, or, rather, justification of, 
 an act of vengeance, that the person who is the ob- 
 ject of it is guilty : nor does it alter the case that 
 that guilt has been incurred by an injury done to 
 you. He may deserve to be chastised for his te- 
 merity, but you are not constituted either the judge 
 or the executor of that chastisement. 
 
 Not that I would inculcate that pain may never 
 be inflicted on the individual who has done you 
 wrong. It sometimes may and ought to be inflict- 
 ed. But the motive to this infliction of pain, and 
 the measure of pain to be inflicted, are to be look- 
 ed for in the good it will produce, and not in the 
 misery due to the offender. There are cases of 
 personal injury where the will of the great Law- 
 giver is expressed. In every other instance your 
 own good, the good of the offender, or the public 
 good, can alone constitute a justifiable motive for 
 punishing, or fix the measure of the punishment. 
 And where neither of these ends can be answered, 
 no matter of what crime an individual may have 
 been guilty — no matter what punishment he deserves 
 from God, his Maker and his Master, he deserves 
 none from you. Avenge not yourselves, hut rather 
 give place unto wrath. These are the words of an 
 apostle. But I say unto you that you resist not 
 evil : but whosoever shall smite thee on thy right 
 cheek, turn to him the other also. And whosoever 
 will take away thy coat^ let him have thy cloak also* 
 
48 RIGHT OP SELF-PRESERVATION. 
 
 These are the words of Christ. They are, how- 
 ever, not to be interpreted literally, but proverbially : 
 inculcating habitual forbearance, and the overcoming 
 of evil with good. 
 
 Express declarations of Scripture give you a 
 right, in extreme cases, to defend yourselves, even 
 at the expense of the life of the assailant. Here 
 the motive is self-defence, and the force made use 
 of ought to be proportioned to the danger, and not 
 to exceed it. In such cases, where human laws 
 cannot operate for your protection, or repair the evil 
 to which forbearance might subject you, the Divine 
 law interposes, and constitutes you the executor of 
 its justice ; and where the alarm does not produce 
 a state of mind incompatible with moral agency, 
 your act on the invader of your rights may be con- 
 sidered as an official one. But these acts are es- 
 sentially different from those revenges which are 
 every day taking place, where the injury done to the 
 aggressor neither prevents nor repairs the injury 
 done by him. Besides, those acts are in direct vio- 
 lation of civil government, which make the laws 
 umpire in cases of controversy, and leaves not the 
 injured individual to be judge in his own cause. 
 
 Far be it from me to wish to extinguish in your 
 bosoms the genuine principles of honour. These 
 spring up from the very seat of virtue ; and where 
 these are not, greatness disappears — probity, integ- 
 rity, and valour are no more. Rather let me incul- 
 cate high notions of personal character ; let me fos- 
 ter a lofty sense of individual dignity, and adjure 
 you scrupulously to avoid whatever would tend to 
 
DUELLING. 49 
 
 stain the one or degrade the other ; but let me tell 
 you that is but a sorry honour which requires to be 
 established by a challenge or vindicated by a shot. 
 
 Personal bravery is commendable. You live not 
 for yourselves, but for your friends, your country, 
 your God. In a good cause you ought not to re- 
 gard even life itself. On great occasions, and when 
 the voice of public justice calls you, face danger, 
 tread with undaunted step the field of death, and 
 covet the place of desolation. But in your own in- 
 dividual cause ; in the little pitiful neglects and in- 
 sults which may be offered you, be too great to feel 
 them, too magnanimous to resent them. 
 
 Shall you, then, desert your honour? No: de- 
 fend it — scrupulously defend it. How ? By a good 
 life ; by a uniform course of probity, integrity, and 
 valour. Whenever you are accused, you will either 
 be guilty or not. If guilty, an exchange of shots 
 cannot expiate that guilt : if you are not guilty, the 
 Har's tongue cannot make you so. 
 
 What a humiliating spectacle do those appellants, 
 in cases of personal controversy, to the chancery of 
 firearms, furnish to the world ! 
 
 But to this degrading farce there is appended a 
 solemn after scene, which stifles irony, and from 
 which appalled humanity turns away with horror. 
 Suddenly the scene changes into the tragic pomp of 
 death. The mania of passion subsides. The eti" 
 quette of honour is laid aside ; the stream of life, 
 flowing out from the wounded heart, quenches the 
 fire of vengeance, and swallows up the injuries 
 which produced a catastrophe so awful. Conscience 
 E 
 
60 BtTELLlNG. 
 
 awakes ; the fictitious drapery which custom had 
 filing around the rash adventurer falls off; the fell 
 assassin stands, naked and aghast, over the expiring 
 victim of his anger ; a witness of that blood, which, 
 issuing forth, attaches to his parson the stain of 
 murder, and lifts from the steeped earth its accusing 
 voice to the God of life. With the emotions of 
 Cain imbrued in his brother's blood, he goes back 
 into the world from the field of death. There his 
 eye meets the frantic stare of the wife whom his 
 wrath hath made a widow. The plaints of her hap- 
 less children, whom he has doomed to perpetual or- 
 phanage, sigh upon the breeze and linger on his 
 ear : while a distracted father shakes his gray locks, 
 and utters from his quivering lips his deep-toned 
 execration on the wretch who has felled at a blow his 
 hopes, and consigned to the grave his son ! 
 
 From these sad objects he tears himself; but, as 
 if the tomb refused to repose the dust consigned to 
 it by violence, the form of his fallen adversary pur- 
 sues him. He hears, amid the silence of the mid- 
 night hour, a groan — and sees blood still issuing from 
 the wound which in his wrath he opened. 
 
 And for what is this rash act indulged, which 
 drags in its train such accumulated horrors ? For 
 an unguarded word — a turn of wit — the omission of 
 a nod — or, perhaps, the fighting of a spaniel. Great 
 God ! and is this the boasted magnanimity of duel- 
 lists 1 Sooner may my joints indurate in their sock- 
 ets, or mine arm fall severed from my shoulder- 
 blade, than be raised in such an action. 
 
 But, aside from powder and bullets, and all that 
 
RETALIATION. 61 
 
 nameless machinery of justice which constitutes the 
 tribunal of honour (a tribunal before which, I pray 
 God, you niay never disgrace yourselves by appear- 
 ing), it remains a question how you are to meet 
 those disingenuous attacks to which you will inev- 
 itably be exposed 1 
 
 The law of retaliation is an eye for an eye, and 
 a tooth for a tooth. Sheltering themselves under 
 the rigour of this law, men of implacable temper 
 indulge resentment ; and when a malicious slander- 
 er spits forth the venom of his heart, they spit forth 
 the venom of theirs in return. But I say unto you, 
 resist not evil, but overcome evil with good. Must 
 you, then, always restrain your pen, and, passive to 
 injury, seal your hps in silence 1 No : there may 
 be cases in which the cause of truth requires not 
 only the avowal of your sentiments, but also a firm 
 and manly vindication of them. When this is the 
 fact, to shrink from the ordeal of scrutiny were pu- 
 sillanimity — were treason. When this is the fact, 
 be regardless of personal consequences, encounter 
 reproach, and become a voluntary martyr to right- 
 eousness. But, even in the act of martyrdom, 
 watch your deceitful hearts, that righteousness, not 
 self, be your motive. 
 
 There may, too, be cases in which a reply to dis- 
 ingenuous insinuations or open slanders may be re- 
 quisite as a vindication of yourselves. These cases, 
 however, are fewer, much fewer than you imagine $ 
 and prudence, not passion, will point them out. You 
 may never reply for the sake of goading your ad- 
 versary, however much you may have him in your 
 
52 SCANDAL. SUSPICION. 
 
 power; and seldom, very seldom, will it be wise to 
 reply a? a personal defence. 
 
 Scandal, left to itself, usually loses its power to 
 injure. Suspicion will not easily attach to the char- 
 acter of a good man while he a^ts consistently, and 
 remains in the dignified posture of self-approving 
 silence. He who pursues the path of duty, noi 
 swerves from his purpose, however attacked, carries 
 his vindication with him ; and usually proceeds more 
 successfully, and always more nobly, than he who, 
 halting, stomps to indulge the littleness of anger, 
 and ei'cher growls at the tiger, or barks back at the 
 whelps and " whiffets" that follow, and yell and 
 yelp along his path. 
 
 Where the public have no interest in being de- 
 ceived — where their passions and prejudices are not 
 embarked, slander seldom needs any other refuta- 
 tion than that furnished in the spirit of its author. 
 But will the public always be impartial] Can their 
 candour always be relied on ? No : party-spirit, po- 
 litical prejudice, " sectarian zeal," and self-righteous 
 bigotry, often blind the eyes of men to justice, and 
 stop their ears to truth. But when this is the case — 
 when prejudice, and bigotry, and passion are called 
 into action, a wise man will hardly expect, by apology, 
 by argument, by explanation, to stop their progress. 
 Expect to stop their progress by apology, by argu- 
 ment, by explanation ! You might as well expect 
 to tame the lightnings ; to confine the tempest, or 
 lash the maddened ocean to submission. No : 
 rather stand in silent confidence ; let the storm pass 
 by, and wait the returning calm of reason. 
 
REVENGE. 53 
 
 Moreover, our enemies, uncandid as they may 
 be, often declare the truth of us — and truth which 
 our friends would be likely to conceal. Their state- 
 ments, however disingenuous, may therefore be im- 
 proved to our advantage if we have magnanimity 
 to examine them impartially, and humility to correct 
 the errors which occasioned, or, at least, counte- 
 nanced what we may deem invective. But the mo- 
 ment we put ourselves on the defensive — the mo- 
 ment we become apologists for our faults — that mo- 
 ment we become blinded and wedded to them. 
 
 Nor is this all. We cannot enter the lists of in- 
 vidious controversy without placing our peace of 
 mind in jeopardy. Revenge, even in a war of 
 words, cannot be indulged with impunity. A spark 
 of it is never smitten from the flinty heart without 
 kindling the fire of hell, which it is in vain to hope 
 will remain unextinguished in the bosom without 
 consuming it. The boiling fury of resentment 
 scalds the heart from which it is poured out. When 
 an enemy imparts to you his gall, when he provokes 
 you to recriminate, then it is that he may claim vie- 
 tory ; for he has torn away your shield, and your 
 happiness lies naked to his scorpion sting. Wha^, 
 then, shall you do? Retire into the sanctuary of 
 your own integrity ; and while the enemy of your 
 peace struts, and roars, and swells, and foams around 
 you, remote in your feelings from the tumult he oc- 
 casions, enjoy the holy calm of forgiving mercy : 
 recollecting that he who is slow to an^er is better 
 than the mighty ; and he that ruleth his spint than 
 he that taketh a city ^, - • '^ 
 
 ;>^ or 
 
f4| CONDUCT TO ENEMIES. 
 
 You will not construe this advice into an encour- 
 agement to that haughty, selt'-confident demeanour, 
 which indicates insensibility to praise, and contempt 
 for the opinions and censures of the world. It is 
 in virtue's self, and not the affectation of virtue, 
 that true greatness hes. I never see a man tran- 
 quil under injuries, and candid and ingenuous to- 
 wards enemies, but his character rises in my estima- 
 tion, and I pay to him a voluntary homage. Nor do 
 I ever see one vindictive, railing at his enemies, cry- 
 ing down their talents, affecting to despise their 
 opinions, and to regard their censures only as the 
 idle wind, but, in the act of doing this, his character 
 suffers degradation. This is the language of wound- 
 ed pride, intended, indeed, to conceal, but which, in 
 fact, discovers most effectually the ch igrin which is 
 felt and the vexation which is suffered. In ques- 
 tions that affect yourselves or that affect your en- 
 emies, as on every other occasion, be candid. 
 
 If you have taken a wrong position, abandon it : 
 if you have committed an error, correct it ; but if 
 your conscience is satisfied with the part you have 
 acted or the duty you have performed, tranquil and 
 self-possessed, abide the issue. If an enemy revile 
 you, revile not in return : if that enemy have talents, 
 honour them ; and if he merits respect, render it 
 unto him. Favour his interests, deal gently with 
 his failings, shield his fame. Do even more than 
 this. If he be in affliction, sympathize with him ; 
 if he be poor, feed him ; if naked, clothe him, and 
 let his loins be Vburmed iviih the fleeces of your flock; 
 and as for the injury you may have suffered, nobly 
 
UNBECOMING CONDUCT IN MINISTERS. 55 
 
 forgive it, and pray God that it may be forgiven. 
 By so doing you 'will heap coals of fire upon his 
 head : coals not to consume, but to melt him into 
 righteousness. This, this, if I may speak so, is the 
 most effectual and the only laudable revenge. 
 
 Particularly, should any of you enter the sacred 
 ministry, let me enjoin on you this conduct. 
 
 Never do haughty egotism, captious animadver- 
 sion, and acrimonious rebuke appear so unsightly 
 as in the minister charged from the meek and lowly 
 Jesus with an embassy of peace. And yet, alas ! 
 unsightly as these appear, we are sometimes com- 
 pelled, with regret and sorrow, to behold them. 
 
 A particular profession or pursuit does not alter 
 the nature of the human passions, but only gives to 
 them a different direction. The wrath of Paul was 
 as deadly as that of Herod. The one assassinated 
 out of complaisance to a giddy girl, the other per- 
 secuted for conscience' sake. This circumstance, 
 however, made no difference to the wretched victims 
 whom his malignant zeal pursued to death. 
 
 Under the cover of religion, men perhaps more 
 frequently indulge the bitterness of passion without 
 compunction than in any other situation. The 
 wretch who wantonly, and without some ''^ salvo to 
 bis conscience," attacks private character, feels self- 
 condemned. But the sour, sanctimonious, grace- 
 hardened bigot embarks all his pride, gratifies all his 
 revenge, and empties his corroded bosom of its gall, 
 and, having done so, smooths over the distorted 
 features of a countenance on which sits the smile 
 of Judas, and says, and half believes, that he has 
 done God service. 
 
56 UNBECOMING CONDUCT IN MINISTERS. 
 
 The proud, ambitious, arrogant clergyman takes 
 his stand in the church with the same views that the 
 proud, arrogant, and ambitious statesman takes his 
 in the world. 
 
 Is self-aggrandizement the motive of the latter? 
 so it is of the former. And this is to be sought in 
 pursuits and studies which ought, above all others, 
 to sweeten the temper and humble the pride of man. 
 But these studies and pursuits, where grace is not 
 interposed, do not alter human nature. The arch 
 casuist soon, indeed, acquires a zeal for religion, but 
 it is cruel : he learns to contend for the faith, but 
 he contends with acrimony ; and even the cross, the 
 sacred symbol of his Saviour's sufferings, is borne 
 about with him as an ostentatious emblem of his 
 own humility. His own creed is the standard of 
 doctrine, his own church is the exclusive asylum of 
 faith. He fancies that he possesses, solus in solo^ 
 all the orthodoxy, all the erudition, all the taste of 
 the kingdom ; and swaggering, like Jupiter on the 
 top of Olympus, he seats himself as sole umpire in 
 all matters of faith, of fact, of science. If any one 
 dares to pass the boundary he has fixed, or to adopt 
 a mode of expression he has not authorized, he 
 brands him with the appellation of heretic, and in- 
 stantly hurls at his devoted head a thunderbolt. 
 
 If an individual stands in his way, and particular- 
 ly if that individual possesses an influence which 
 he envies, or fills a place which he covets, he marks 
 him as his victim. The sacrifice, however, must 
 be orthodoxly performed, and attended with all the 
 external forms of sanctity. To prepare the way for 
 
UNBECOMING CONDUCT IN MINISTERS. 57 
 
 this, disingenuous insinuations are thrown out against 
 the hated object ; his sentiments are misstated, his 
 language is perverted, and his performances are dis- 
 sected and combined anew, and held up in opposi- 
 tion to sound doctrine, in order to awaken jealousies, 
 to weaken the confidence, and steal away the affec- 
 tion of his Christian friends. 
 
 In the mean time, and the more effectually to 
 conceal the ultimate design, the sacred names of 
 friendship, of sincerity, of candour, are flung around 
 the devoted individual, like the garlands with which 
 the pagans covered the victim they had selected for 
 the altar. Profession swells on profession : a sense 
 of duty, a love of truth, and even thy glory, God 
 of mercy, is declared by the insatiate executioner to 
 govern him, while he feels at the moment the malice 
 of hell rankling in his bosom, and dips his pen in 
 the venom of the damned. The assault, indeed, is 
 conducted under the banner of Jesus Christ. But 
 It is immaterial whether it be the banner of Jesus or 
 Mohammed. A proud, haughty, persecuting spirit, 
 wherever and in whomsoever found, would transform 
 the mild accents of heavenly grace to execrations, 
 and steep as soon the Evangelists as the Alcoran 
 in blood. To the victim who is sacrificed to pride 
 or arrogance, it matters not whether the ceremony 
 be performed on the scaffold or at the altar. 
 
 You may imagine that there is no occasion for 
 cautioning those entering the sacred ministry against 
 such a temper in themselves, or to instruct them 
 how to meet it in others. But if you so imagine, 
 it is because you know little of yourselves or of 
 
58 UNBECOMING CONDUCT IN MINISTEHS. 
 
 others. There is among Christians, and even among 
 Christian ministers (alas ! that it should be so), a 
 rebuke that blasts and a zeal that consumes. Do 
 you not remember who they were that preferred the 
 sanguinary request even to Jesus Christ in person, 
 whether they should not command fire to come 
 down from heaven, and consume a whole village of 
 Samaritans, because they had treated them less ur- 
 banely than they expected 1 And do you not also 
 remember the mild, the heavenly, the endearing, and 
 yet pointed rebuke he gave them — rejecting their pro- 
 posal, and disclaiming the spirit which produced it ? 
 Do you not remember the anathemas which have 
 been uttered, and the gibbets which have been erect- 
 ed, by ecclesiastical authority 1 Ah ! had the spirit 
 of the world never pervaded the sacerdotal order, 
 the saints would not so often have been compelled 
 to famish in dungeons or wander in exile. 
 
 Human nature is the same now as formerly ; and 
 happy will you be should you never, even within the 
 pale of the Christian church, experience the bitter- 
 ness of the wrath of man. Happy will you be 
 should you receive no wound in the house of your 
 own and your Saviour's friends — should you always 
 find in them the same meek, humble, unassuming 
 goodness — the same sincerity of friendship, the 
 same celestial charity and gentleness of rebuke 
 which appeared in him. But should it be other- 
 wise ; should you, where you least expect it, meet 
 with envy, with treachery, with invective, be neither 
 surprised nor disturbed at it. 
 
 In the church as in the world, you will form youx 
 
UNBECOMING CONDUCT IN MINISTERS. 59 
 
 own character ; nor can your enemies prevent it. 
 Their calumny will injure you less than you imagine. 
 The theological calumniator, however muffled up in 
 the habiliments of pieiy, and notwithstanding all the 
 parade he may make of candour, impartiality, and a 
 sense of duty, will be much more successful in de- 
 ceiving himself than in deceiving the world. No 
 matter how loudly he vociferates the glory of God, 
 while his movements evince that he is seeking ex- 
 clusively his own glory. However disguised, the 
 real temper of his heart will discover itself; his in- 
 sidious calumny will be referred to the proper mo- 
 live, and his u^ounded pride will be seen scowling 
 vengeance from behind the tattered mantle of hy- 
 pocrisy which is interposed to cover it. Community 
 will not be brow-beaten into a surrendry of their in- 
 dependence to the insolent pretensions of any indi- 
 vidual ; and the self-puffing censor, who aims at 
 being universal umpire, will have the mortification 
 to see that public, on whom he looks down with su- 
 percilious contempt, instead of placing implicit conr 
 fidence in his decrees, examining and deciding foi: 
 themselves. He will have the mortification to see 
 the very individuals whom he has denounced and 
 marked for the grave, still living unhurt in the midst 
 of execrations, which produce no effect except to 
 burn and blister the lips that utter them ; and though 
 it were more in character for such an intellectual 
 Goliah to curse his opponents in the name of Dagon 
 than in that of Jesus, yet, should he adopt the latter 
 (making the gospel the vehicle of scandal, and sea- 
 soning the doctrines of grace with malice), still re- 
 
60 FORGIVENESS OF INJURIES. 
 
 member that you have not so learned Christ ; vAm 
 forbids you to give place to the devil, and commanas 
 you, putting away lying, to speak every man truth 
 with his neighbour. Let not the subtility of an ad* 
 versary beguile you into the spirit of the world, nor 
 the rudeness of his attack provoke you to use in 
 your defence the weapons of the world. These ill 
 befit a Christian : these are not his armory. It was 
 Abishai, not David, who proposed to go over and 
 take off the head of Shimei that cursed him. 
 
 It is not the prostration of an enemy, but the for- 
 giveness of him, that evinces a Divine filiation, and 
 conducts to the noblest victory : not perhaps the 
 noblest in the estimation of partial friends, who, irri* 
 tated by insult, wish to see you thrash an adver- 
 sary : not in the estimation of men of honour, who 
 account it magnanimous to avenge an injury. But 
 are these the real judges of true greatness 1 or are 
 you influenced by the multitude 1 Whom, then, call 
 jou the multitude 1 The pigmies on this little planet 
 who surround you, or the principalities, and powers, 
 and thrones, and dominions, and all those orders of 
 perfect beings who throng the heavens, and fill the 
 house of God's almightiness ? Behold the thou- 
 sands of thousands who minister unto him, and the 
 ten thousand times ten thousand who stand before 
 him ! In the estimation of these just appraisers of 
 things, which, think you, is deemed more godlike, to 
 forgive an injury or to avenge it ? Seeing, therefore, 
 you are compassed about by so great a cloud of^ 
 witnesses, lay aside all malice, and that wrath that 
 will SO easily beset you ; and on this article as ev* 
 
CHARACTER OF CHRIST. 61 
 
 ery other, look with steady eye to Jesus Christ, the 
 author and finisher of your faith. Had he — pardon, 
 exahed Mediator, pattern of perfection, this deroga- 
 ting supposition, made with reverential awe, and to 
 exalt thy clemency — had he engaged in a single 
 due), or partook in one revengeful contest — but he 
 did not. Whatever is endearing in goodness or 
 touching in mercy, collected into one assemblage, 
 forms his character ; a character on which arro- 
 gance has not cast a shade or envy fixed a stain : 
 a character splendid with virtues, which render pov- 
 erty venerable and humility august. That great 
 Exemplar of righteousness, the purity of whose life 
 baffled the scrutiny of malice, and compelled that 
 bloodstained wretch, who had often sported with the 
 rights of innocence, to exclaim, " I find no fault in 
 the man," how did he meet injuries, and what was 
 his demeanour towards his enemies 1 
 
 Mark his entrance into Jerusalem, that city black- 
 ened by crime and steeped in the blood of martyrs. 
 From the Mount of Olives it opened to his view ; 
 at which sad sight he wept — wept, not over friends, 
 but enemies ; enemies who had rejected, vilified, per- 
 secuted him ; and who were still waiting, with fiend- 
 like impatience, to wreak their vengeance on his 
 person, and quench their malice in his blood. Nor 
 is this a solitary instance of benignity. Trace his 
 paths from Bethlehem to Calvary, and you will find 
 him everywhere meek, humble, long-suffering. ^\v> 
 rounded by adversaries, and called to meet calumny 
 and persecution, he supoorted his matchless clem- 
 
6d DEATH OP CHRIS*. 
 
 ency to the end ; and left the world good abov^ 
 conception, great beyond comparison. 
 
 From the toils and trials of a distressing but per- 
 fect life, follow this illustrious personage to the place 
 of death. Approach his cross, and fix your atten- 
 tion on the prodigies which signalize his sufferings, 
 and stamp divinity on his martyrdom ! Think not 
 that I allude to the terrific drapery which in that 
 dread hour was flung around the great theatre of 
 nature. No : 'tis not the darkened sun, the burst- 
 ing tombs, the quaking mountains, or the trembling 
 world that I allude to ! These indeed are prodi- 
 gies ; but these vanish before the still greater prod- 
 igies of meekness, humility, and sin-forgiving good- 
 ness displayed in the dying Saviour. When I be- 
 hold him, amid the last agonies of dissolving nature, 
 raising his dying eyes to heaven, and, forgetful of 
 himself, interceding with the God of mercy with his 
 last breath, and from his very cross, in behalf of 
 those wretches whose insatiable malice had fixed 
 him there — then it is that the evidence of his claims 
 rises to demonstration, and I feel the resistless force 
 of that impassioned exclamation, which burst from 
 the lips of infidelity itself, " If Socrates died as a 
 philosopher, Jesus Christ died as a God !" 
 
 And shall a worm covered with crimes, and living 
 on sufferance in that same world where the agoni- 
 zing Saviour uttered his dying supplication, and left 
 his dying example for imitation — shall such a worm, 
 tumid with resentment, lift his proud crest to his 
 fellow- worm, and, incapable of mercy, talk of retri- 
 bution ? No : blessed Jesus, thy death is an anti* 
 
A FORGIVING SPIRIT. 6S 
 
 dote to vengeance. At the foot of thy cross I meet 
 my enemies, I forget their injuries, I bury my re- 
 venge, and learn to forgive those who have done me 
 wrong, as I also hope to be forgiven of thee. 
 
 Almighty God, give us grace to do this, and to 
 iky name shall be the glory. 
 
64 REASON AND REVELATION. 
 
 IV. 
 
 DELIVERED JULV 26, 1809. 
 
 [Two opposite Systems offered to our acceptance, the ono 
 founded on Human Reason, the other on Divine Revelation. — 
 Man, by his own wisdom, never has, nor ever can have, a 
 true and proper conception of God.— Contradictory, false, and 
 unworthy notions entertained by the wisest of the ancients 
 in regard to the nature and attributes of the Supreme Being, 
 their confused and erroneous ideas as to Virtue and Vice, 
 and the gross immorality of their Lives.— The appearance 
 of Christianity in the World dispelled the darkness and de- 
 lusion that had before universally prevailed, and brought in a 
 new era of Light, and Hope, and of pure and perfect Mor- 
 als. — The simplicity and purity of the Christian System soon 
 corrupted by being incorporated with the errors of ancient 
 Philosophy. — Modern Infidelity, and the pernicious and ab- 
 surd Doctrines on which it is founded.— Skeptical System of 
 Hume (see Note). — Infidelity and Christianity, in their Char- 
 acter, Moral Effects, and ultimate Results, contrasted. — The 
 Christian alone can have hope m Death, and assurance of a 
 blessed Immortality. 
 
 Young gentlemen, this day tee resign our charge, 
 and you become the ^nasters of your fortune. For 
 the future, two opposite systems will offer you their 
 guidance and proffer you their rewards. On the 
 one hand, human reason ; on the other. Divine revela^ 
 Hon, Which shall be the object of your choice 1 
 Consider well the prerogatives (if each, and then 
 determine. 
 
 Man is a created being, and therefore dependant 
 Neither self-government nor self-guidance befits 
 him. Unreserved submission to the will of his Crea- 
 tor is, and must for ever be, the law of his nature. 
 The first instance of departure from this law was the 
 
WEAKNESS OF HUMAN REASON. 65 
 
 Speculation indulged by the misguided parent of our 
 race upon the tree of knowledge. You recollect the 
 fatal incident. You have tasted, and still taste, the 
 bitter consequences. One rash conclusion, drawn 
 in opposition to the revealed will of God, was the 
 inceptive step to apostacy, and issued in the destruc- 
 tion of a world. Six thousand years have elapsed 
 since this catastrophe, during which, in every na- 
 tion, reason has asserted its claims and opened its 
 schools, but nowhere has it done anything to re- 
 cover its fallen glory. Not a beam of light has it 
 shed on that moral darkness which enshrouds the 
 world. The nations whom faith guides not, still 
 grope benighted ; and all the efforts of their sages 
 only prove tliat this world by wisdom knows not God. 
 And how should this world by wisdom know him 1 
 To deduce the character and design of a workman 
 from his workmanship, the entire fabric which he 
 has constructed must be understood. But of all 
 that Omnipotence hath done, we have seen a small 
 part only ; and that part we comprehend not, or, 
 at most, but imperfectly comprehend. How pre- 
 posterous for a being who yesterday emerged from 
 the dust, and to-morrow will return to dust again, to 
 pretend, by searching to find out God, or by re- 
 searching to find out the Almighty to perfection. 
 What homage he requires of us ; whether he is pro- 
 pitious or inexorable to sinners ; or, if propitious, 
 in what way 1 These are questions that philosophy 
 agitates only to darken. It mocks with delusive 
 and conjectural answers the interrogatories of the 
 dying sinner, and the foundation which it lays to 
 F 
 
66 PHILOSOPHY. 
 
 sustain his immortal hopes is as faithless and insuffi- 
 cient as hay, wood, and stubble would be for the 
 base of a pyramid. The more ingenuous of the 
 pagans acknowledge their weakness and deplore 
 their ignorance. At Athens, the seat of science, 
 there stood an altar inscribed, confessedly, to the 
 unknown God; and even that prince of philoso- 
 phers, Socrates himself, wavered and hesitated at 
 the moment of his death. Others indeed there 
 have been, less humble than Socrates, who have 
 dared to pronounce upon the character of God and 
 the chief good of man. But the systems which 
 imbody their dogmas are now known only as mon- 
 uments of human weakness or of human wicked- 
 ness. 
 
 Do you wish for proof of this ? — the schools of 
 philosophy will furnish it. 
 
 That the world arose from chance, and that the 
 providence of God does not extend to it ; that sen- 
 sual pleasure constitutes the supreme good, and that 
 virtue for its own sake is unworthy of esteem or 
 choice, were doctrines of the Epicureans. 
 
 That it is impossible to arrive at truth ; that the 
 existence of God is doubtful ; that the immortality 
 of the soul is doubtful ; that whether virtue is pref- 
 erable to vice is doubtful, were doctrines of the 
 Academics. 
 
 Aristotle taught, that God, though happy in him- 
 self, was regardless of the happiness and indiffer- 
 ent to the virtue of man. The Stoics, that God 
 was under the control of fate. The Persian phi- 
 losophers, that there was not one God, but two — 
 
CHARACTER OF ANCIENT PHILOSOPHERS. 67 
 
 coequal, coeternal, and with opposite characters and 
 interests. 
 
 It was not illustrious virtues, but egregious crimes, 
 tliat signalized the gods and goddesses of Greece 
 and Rome. Hence that degeneracy of manners 
 which became so universal. A father, without re- 
 proach, might adopt or abandon his infant, child. 
 The massacre of slaves formed a customary part 
 of the funeral solemnity. For having asserted the 
 rights and defended the liberties of their country, 
 prisoners of war were crucified. Unnatural lust 
 was sanctioned by high authority, and even public 
 brothels were consecrated as an act of religious 
 worship. 
 
 This degeneracy was the natural result of their 
 philosophy. Zeno had taught them that all crimes 
 were equal. Cleanthes, that children might devour 
 their parents ; and Diogenes, that parents might de- 
 vour their children. Plato, that lewdness was jus- 
 tifiable ; and even Cicero, that it was only a venial 
 fault. The lives of the philosophers corresponded 
 with their doctrines ; nor were their examples less 
 infamous than their dogmas. If Plutarch can be 
 believed, both Socrates and Plato were intemperate 
 afid incontinent. Nor was the character of Seneca 
 less execrable, if Dion Cassius can be believed. 
 Xenophon was a sodomite. Aristippus kept a se- 
 raglio, and Zeno murdered himself. Such was the 
 wisdom of philosophy ; such were the examples it 
 furnished ; such the morals it inculcated. 
 
 In the midst of this night of pagan darkness th« 
 Sun of righteousness burst upon the world. ^ An 
 
68 CHRISTIANITY CORRUPTED BY PHILOSOPHY. 
 
 from a long and deathlike slumber, the nations 
 awoke to behold its splendours. A new era com- 
 menced. The unlettered apostle delivered his art- 
 less narrative, and the omnipotence of truth Wcis 
 felt. Kingdom followed kingdom in making their 
 submissions, till at length the new religion was es- 
 tablished throughout the Roman empire. 
 
 Christianity was now in prosperity. Philosophy 
 therefore courted her alliance. It was granted. 
 But did either faith or morals gain by the conces- 
 sion 1 No : on the contrary, morals were subverted 
 and faith bewildered by those mystic mazes through 
 which the Gnostic teachers led their hearers. The 
 gospel, thus adulterated by those unhallowed ingre- 
 dients which philosophy mixed with it, lost its char- 
 acteristic influence. The simplicity of truth disap- 
 peared ; the fervour of piety disappeared ; a spirit 
 of dogmatizing ensued, and the minds of men were 
 gradually prepared, by perplexing and contradictory 
 theories, for that profound indifference to truth, that 
 absolute lethargy of mind, which characterized the 
 dark ages. 
 
 When, however, the Peripatetic philosophy was 
 superseded by the Cartesian, this unnatural alliance 
 was dissolved. Then reason, abjuring that faith 
 which it had courted and corrupted, under the name 
 of infidelity commenced a new era. 
 
 To detail the systems of Herbert, Hobbes, 
 Shaftesbury, Wollaston, Tindal, Chubb, and Boling- 
 broke, would be as tedious as unedifying : suffice 
 it to say, that the reign of reason was the jubilee of 
 trinners. Every important duty was weakened ; 
 
MODERN INFIDELS. 69 
 
 every detestable crime was palliated by some one or 
 other of these new apostles. Each contested the 
 palm of having contributed most towards subverting 
 the morals and unsettling the opinions of mankind. 
 Amid this galaxy of malignant stars, Hume arose, 
 in whose sickly light all things appeared dim and 
 doubtful. Real life vanished ; the material universe 
 vanished ; the souls of men vanished ; and spectres 
 only flitted through the brain. To whom the award 
 was due it was no longer doubtful. Even his com- 
 petitors stood amazed at the bolder march of his 
 genius, who, by one mighty effort, subverted both his 
 own and all other systems, and reached at once the 
 point of universal skepticism.* 
 
 * What illumination was shed on the science of unbelief by 
 this great master of negations, can be known only by the peru- 
 sal of his writmgs. To those who have not access to those wri- 
 tings, the following summary (the fidelity of which, Bishop 
 Horn says, was never, so far as he could find, questioned) may 
 serve as a specimen. 
 
 OF THE SOUL. 
 
 That the soul of man is not the same this moment that it 
 was the last ; that we know not what it is ; that it is not one 
 thing, but many things ; and that it is nothing at all. That in 
 this soul is the agency of all the causes that operate throughout 
 the sensible creation ; and yet, that in this soul there is neither 
 power nor agency, nor any idea of either. 
 
 That matter and motion may often be regarded as the cause 
 of thought. 
 
 OF THE UNIVERSE. 
 
 That the external world does not exist, or that its existence 
 may reasonably be doubted. 
 
 That the universe exists in the mind, and that mind does not 
 exist. 
 
 That the universe is nothing but a heap of perceptions with- 
 out a substance. 
 
 That though a man could bring himself to believe, yea, and 
 have reason to believe, that everything in the universe proceeds 
 
^0 SENTIMENTS OF HUME. 
 
 Philosophy had to make but a single advance 
 more to reach its ultimatum. That advance it has 
 
 from some cause, yet it would be unreasonable for him to be* 
 lieve that the universe itself proceeds from some cause. 
 
 OF HUMAN KNOWLEDGE. 
 
 That the perfection of human knowledge is to doubt. 
 
 That we ought to doubt of everything, yea, of our doubts 
 tnemselves ; and, therefore, the utmost that philosophy can do 
 is to give a doubtful solution of doubtful doubts. 
 
 That the human understanding, acting alone, does entirely 
 subvert itself, and prove by argument that by argument no 
 thing can be proved. 
 
 That man, in all his perceptions, actions, and volitions, is a 
 mere passive machine, and has no separate existence of his 
 own, being entirely made up of other things, of the existence 
 of which he is by no means certain ; and yet the nature of ail 
 things depends so much upon man, that two and two could not 
 produce four, nor fire produce heat, nor the sun light, without 
 an act of the human understanding. 
 
 OF GOD. 
 
 That it is unreasonable to believe God to be infinitely wise 
 and good while there is any evil or disorder in the universe. 
 
 That we have no good reason to think the universe proceeds 
 from a cause. 
 
 That, as the existence of the external world is questionable, 
 we are at a loss to find arguments by which we may prove the 
 existence of the Supreme Being, or any of his attributes. 
 
 That when we speak of power as an attribute of any being, 
 God himself not excepted, we use words without meaning. 
 
 That we can form no idea of power, nor any being endued 
 with power, much less one endued with supreme power; and 
 that we can never have reason to beUeve that any object, oi 
 quahty of any object exists, of which we cannot form an idea. 
 
 OF THE MORALITY OF HUMAN ACTIONS. 
 
 That every human action is necessary, and could not hare 
 been different from what it is. 
 
 That moral, intellectual, and corporeal virtues are nearly of 
 the same kind. In other words, that to want honesty, to want 
 understanding, and to want a leg, are equally the objects of 
 moral disapprobation. 
 
 That adultery must be practised if man would acquire all the 
 advantages of life ; that, if generally practised, it would in time 
 
INFIDEL EXAMPLE OF FRANCE. 71 
 
 Since made, passing by an easy and natural transU 
 tion from wavering skepticism to confirmed atheism. 
 A great nation, energized by the doctrines of its sa- 
 pient declaimers against God and nature, has arisen 
 in its strength, and shaken off the restraints of moral 
 obligation, as the toiled lion shakes from his mane 
 the djwdrops of the morning. By a solemn de- 
 cree, Jehovah has been banished from his empire 
 and his throne ; the universe absolved from its alle- 
 giance ; the earth converted into one vast common, 
 and the men and women who inhabit it turned out 
 like cattle to herd together. By a solemn decree, 
 too, the soul has been deprived of immortality ; and, 
 lest the sepulchre should permit the bodies it impris- 
 ons to escape, death has been declared by law to be 
 everlasting sleep. 
 
 But let us turn from this lunacy of the schools, 
 these ravings of distempered minds. Thanks to our 
 God, we are not under the necessity of following 
 such guides. He who formerly sent his prophets 
 to enlighten mankind, has in these last ages spoken 
 to the world by his Son. How know we this 1 By 
 evidence the most indubitable. In him the proph- 
 ecies were fulfilled ; by him the gift of healing was 
 dispensed ; unheard-of miracles sealed his commis- 
 sion, and the doctrines he delivered evinced that he 
 was sent of God. 
 
 cease to be scandalous ; and that, if practised secretly and fre- 
 quently, it would by degrees come to be thought no crime at all. 
 Lastly, as the soul of man, according to Mr. Hume, becomes 
 every moment a different being, the consequence must be, that 
 the crimes committed by him at one time are not imputable to 
 him at another. 
 
72 THE CHRISTIAN, PAGAN, AND ATHEIST. 
 
 It is as characteristic of revelation to exalt, as it 
 is of philosophy to degrade human nature. The 
 unity and perfection of God support, and are sup- 
 ported in, every part of this heaven-descended sys- 
 tem. In the light of His uncreated glory whom 
 the Scriptures reveal, contemplate the obscene and 
 cruel rabble of pagan divinities. Beside the Chris- 
 tian, offering the homage of his heart to the author 
 of his being, behold the Greek, celebrating with 
 songs the lascivious Pan, or the Roman, inebriated 
 at the orgies of the drunken Bacchus. But if the 
 pagan appears degraded in the presence of the 
 Christian, much more does the skeptic and the athe- 
 ist appear so. To the one it is God who rides 
 upon the storm and directs the tempest. To the 
 other, the tumult of the elements is the confusion 
 of chance. Rich in prospect, the one looks up to 
 immortality, and fastens his hope to the rock of ages. 
 The being of the other hangs on nothing, and he 
 has nothing in expectancy but to drop from life into 
 eternal non-existence. 
 
 It was not reason, but revelation, that brought fu- 
 turity to light ; that discovered an atonement ; that 
 proved sin pardonable, and God, against whom it is 
 committed, propitious. 
 
 The Bible is as pure in its morals as it is spirit- 
 ual in its worship or rich in its hopes. By its 
 sanctifying influence thousands have been subdued 
 to holiness and raised to happiness. Not like the 
 bewildering theories of the schools, it speaks to the 
 conscience, and its influence is seen in the life of 
 man. Were its rules of acti jn observed, war would 
 
CHRISTIANITY AS CONNECTED WITH MORALS. 73 
 
 cease ; injustice would cease ; and the earth would 
 become an asylum of righteousness. Of Christian 
 nations, in the strict and proper acceptation of the 
 term, we cannot speak ; because in this sense there 
 are no Christian nations. Here and there only an 
 individual is found whose character is formed on 
 the model, and whose conduct is regulated by the 
 maxims of Christianity. Small as this number is, 
 they everywhere counteract the dominion of sin, and 
 exert on every community in which they reside a 
 redeeming influence. These unassuming, and often 
 obscure individuals, sprinkled like salt among the 
 nations, impart a tincture of godliness, which, though 
 it heals not, preserves the common mass from putre- 
 faction. Hence, wherever the gospel is preached, 
 the standard of morals is raised, and public opinion 
 banishes those gross and brutal crimes which were 
 unblushingly committed in pagan countries. At 
 home and abroad alike we see this position verified. 
 No massacre of slaves signalizes the death of our 
 patriots ; no theatre exhibits for the amusement of 
 our populace the horrid spectacle of lacerated com- 
 batants ; no impure temples invite our youths to 
 lascivious banquets ; nor in any part of Christen- 
 dom does there stand an altar for human sacrifice. 
 
 But if mankind in general are indebted to Chris- 
 tianity for the amelioration of their condition, much 
 more are the poor and the friendless indebted to it 
 for this. Of these the Christian lawgiver has taken 
 especial cognizance ; for these he has made especial 
 provision. To those whom philosophy disregarded 
 is the gospel preached. More than this : in that 
 
74 DOCTRINE OF THE RESURRECnON. 
 
 gospel their rights are guarded, and relief is provided 
 for their miseries by that celestial charity which it 
 inculcates. How must the heart susceptible of pity 
 vibrate at the rehearsal of those words of Jesus 
 Christ, uttered during his humiliation, and which he 
 will repeat when he shall appear in his triumph : 
 " Come, ye blessed of my father, inherit the king- 
 dom prepared for you from the foundation of the 
 world. For I was an hungered, and ye gave me 
 meat ; I was thirsty, and ye gave me drink ; I was 
 a stranger, and ye took me in ; naked, and ye 
 clothed me ; I was sick, and ye visited me ; I was 
 in prison, and ye came unto me ;" adding, " Inas- 
 much as ye have done this unto one of the least of 
 these my disciples, ye have done it unto me." 
 
 The resurrection of the body is peculiarly a doc- 
 trine of revelation. Philosophy shed no light upon 
 the sepulchre. It was not till the star of Judah 
 arose that the grave ceased to be dark and som- 
 brous ; and had he, whose goings forth were from 
 Bethlehem, announced this single oracle, "Behold, 
 the hour is coming in which all they that are in 
 their graves shall hear the voice of the Son of God, 
 and come forth ; they that have done good to the 
 resurrection of life, and they that have done evil to 
 the resurrection of condemnation," and added no 
 more, his mission had been deserving of that costly 
 exhibition of types which prefigured, and of mira- 
 cles which confirmed it. How much more so, then, 
 since it has put not only the question of the resur- 
 rection of the body, but that of the immortality of 
 the soul also to rest: since it has imbodied tb<»« 
 
REASON AND REVELATION, 76 
 
 purest system of morals, the sublimest system of 
 doctrines ; since it has called into action immortal 
 virtues, and awakened deathless hopes. How much 
 more so, since it has held out to righteousness the 
 strongest of possible motives, and imposed on un- 
 righteousness the strongest possible restraints. To 
 the sinner it is announced, that, however he may 
 escape punishment from man, the Lord our God 
 will not suffer him to escape his righteous judg- 
 ments: that, when the Son of Man shall come to 
 be glorified in his saints, he will also execute eternal 
 vengeance on his enemies. 
 
 In whatever light the claims of these two systems 
 which offer you their guidance are viewed, the odds 
 appears immense.. 
 
 Reason tells the parent of a family that his chil- 
 dren are no better than vermin, and that he is not 
 even bound to rear them. Revelation tells him 
 that they are heaven-descended, and that he must 
 train them up for glory. 
 
 Reason tells the child that gray hairs are a re- 
 proach ; that filial gratitude is not a virtue ; and 
 that he is at liberty to abandon his aged parents. 
 Revelation tells him to reverence the hoary head ; 
 as he hopes for long life, to honour, in the Lord, 
 those to whom he is indebted for his being ; and 
 that the eye that mocketh at his father, and refuseth 
 to obey its mother, the eagle shall pick it out, and 
 the young eagle shall eat it. 
 
 Reason tells the sufferer that his pains are im- 
 aginary, and, if not imaginary, that they are irre- 
 mediable, and must therefore be borne in hopeless 
 
76 REASON AND REVELATION. 
 
 and sullen silence. Revelation tells him that they 
 are parental chastisements, enduring but for a mo- 
 ment, and that they shall work out for him a far more 
 exceeding and eternal weight of glory. 
 
 Reason tells the mourner that his tears are as 
 absurd as useless, for the grave is a place of oblivion, 
 and that the dead have perished for ever. Revela- 
 tion tells hitn that they are invisible only, not extinct ; 
 and repeats, beside the urn that contains their ashes, 
 " Thds corruption shall put on incorruption, and this 
 mortal immortality,^^ 
 
 But it is at the bed of sickness and in the hour 
 of dissolution that the superior claims of revelation 
 are most apparent. Here reason is dumb, or only 
 speaks to aggravate the miseries, and render still 
 more horrible the horrors of the death-scene. No 
 relief is given to soften the grim visage of the king 
 of terrors. As nearer he approaches, how the night 
 darkens ! how the grave deepens ! Trembling on 
 its verge, the affrighted soul asks what the nature 
 of death is. And the grave — what are its domin- 
 ions ? The treacherous guide answers, " Both are 
 unknown : that darkness no eye penetrates ; that 
 profound no line measures. It is conjectured to be 
 the entrance to eternal and oblivious sleep ; the pre- 
 cipice down which existence tumbles. Beyond that 
 gulf which has swallowed up the dead and is swal- 
 lowing up the living, neither foresight nor calculation 
 reaches. What follows is unknowable; ask not 
 concerning it ; thus far philosophy has guided you ; 
 but without a guide, and blindfold, you must take 
 the last decisive leap — perchance to hell, perchance 
 
TRIUMPHANT DEATH OF THE CHRISTIAN. 77 
 
 to non-existence 1" How the scene brightens when 
 revelation is appealed to ! As the ark of the testi- 
 mony is opened, a voice is heard to say, " / am the 
 resurrection and the life ; he that believeth in me, 
 though he were dead, yet shall he live again.^^ It 
 is the voice of the angel of the covenant. His 
 bow of promise is seen arching the sky, and reach- 
 ing down even to the sepulchre, whose dark caverns 
 by its radiance are illuminated. Behind those mists 
 of Hades, so impenetrable to the eye of reason, 
 eternal mansions rise in prospect. Already the ag- 
 ony of death is passed. To the redeemed sinner 
 there is but one pang more. Shouting victory, he 
 endures that pang ; and, while he is enduring it, the 
 last cloud vanishes from the firmament, and the 
 heavens become bright and serene for ever. 
 
 Young gentlemen, I shall not longer detain you. 
 In a more exalted sense than could be said of Cato 
 at Utica, 
 
 " Your life, your death, your bane and antidote, 
 Are both before you." 
 
 You must choose between them, and that choice 
 will decide your destiny. May Almighty God di- 
 rect you in it, and to his name shall be the glorv. 
 
78 SEPARATION OF TEACHERS AND PUPILS. 
 
 V. 
 
 DELIVERED JULY 24, 1811 
 
 [Painful feelings of Teachers in parting from their Pupils. — 
 Responsibility of Teachers.— Constant succession of Actors 
 on tne stage of Life. — Motives held out to the Young to ace 
 their part well. — Discouragements to an honourable Ambition 
 removed. — The examples of Howard, Sharpe, Clarkson, and 
 Lancaster. — A mixture of virtuous and vicious Characters in 
 the World. — The practice of Virtue, even as it regards this 
 Life, to be preferred.— But there is a God : Man is accountable 
 and immortal, and should act with constant reference to these 
 great Truths. — Concluding Exhortation.] 
 
 Young gentlemen, another collegiate anniversary 
 has arrived. Again we are called to reciprocate 
 our commingled joys and sorrows. Parting address- 
 es occupy us ; parting sympathies afflict us ; and the 
 sundering ties of duty and of friendship admonish us 
 that another year has been measured by the rapid 
 flow of time : that resistless torrent, which is ingulf- 
 ing in its course the members of human society, 
 and sweeping away the monuments of human glory. 
 
 To us, your instructers, this is a moment of the 
 deepest as well as of the tenderest interest. Here 
 we stand hke the sorrow-stricken parent at the 
 threshold of his door, whither he has accompanied 
 his adventurous sons, leaving their parental home to 
 return no more. My God ! what a trust, what re- 
 sponsibility is this ! to be the appointed guardians 
 of the public hopes and the public safety ; to feed 
 and direct those streams which, as they flow, must 
 either desolate or fertilize our country, and the 
 
CONSTANT SUCCESSION OF ACTORS. 79 
 
 churches of our God ; to train and send abroad an 
 annual corps of actors destined to corrupt or to re- 
 form life's ever-varying drama, and prove the future 
 benefactors or the future scourge of mankind. 
 
 To you, our pupils, this is a moment of no com- 
 mon interest. That world on which you are enter- 
 ing, like this retreat of science you are leaving, 
 changes with rapid succession its inhabitants. As 
 you approach it, indeed, every place of honour, of 
 confidence, of profit, appear preoccupied : there 
 seems to be no room for action. The thought op- 
 presses you, and you feel, perhaps, a kind of melan- 
 choly presage of that penury and obscurity which, 
 from the present state of things, you must be doom- 
 ed to suffer. Believe me, it is a deceptive view 
 that you are taking. If all those places of honour, 
 of profit, of confidence, are not already vacant, it is 
 precisely the same to you as if they were so. 
 Death and age are vacating, and will vacate them 
 in time for you to occupy. Soon the laurels of 
 yonder hero will have withered ; those venerable 
 senators will be incapable of legislating ; those eru- 
 dite judges of presiding ; the tongue of that resist- 
 less advocate will falter as he pleads ; the persua- 
 sive accents of yonder pulpit orator will die away 
 and be heard no more ; and all that intelligence and 
 virtue, that active and successful talent which adorns 
 the age, will disappear, and its honoured possessors, 
 conducted in succession to their graves, will moul- 
 der amid sepulchral ashes, forgotten, or remembered 
 only by the monuments of glory they shall have 
 during their transitory life erected. 
 
80 CLAIMS ON THE YOUNG. 
 
 As you advance, the stage will clear before you ; 
 and the honours, the responsibilities, the treasures, 
 and the destinies of mankind will l^e committed to 
 the rising generation, of which you form a part; 
 and at the head of which you may, and ought to 
 hold a conspicuous rank. They who now award to 
 you these collegiate honours — he who now addresses 
 to you this collegiate charge — this board of trust — 
 that board of regency, will soon give place : and 
 this seat of science — what am I saying 1 every seat 
 of science, every temple of law, of justice, and of 
 grace, will be placed under your care and guardian- 
 ship. To you, under God, the state, the church, 
 the world, must look for whatever of good it hopes 
 for, or of evil it dreads. 
 
 Entering on such a theatre under such circum- 
 stances, can you disappoint the high hopes of those 
 parents who will leave you the inheritors of their for- 
 tunes and the guardians of their fame ? Can you 
 disregard the reasonable claims of that future public, 
 that will soon be anxious to employ you in its ser- 
 vice and to crown you with its honours 1 Entering 
 on such a theatre in such circumstances, are you will- 
 ing to disgrace yourselves by meanness or to de- 
 stroy yourselves by wickedness ? Are you willing 
 to forego the glory to which God calls you, and to 
 prostitute the talents God has given you ? To em- 
 ploy your intellectual vigour in maturing and evolv- 
 ing plans of lust and treachery ; to become the 
 companions of the vile, the panders of the profli- 
 gate, the ministers of evil, and coadjutors of Sa^ 
 tan ; in distracting human society, in disturbing hu- 
 
CALLS TO ACTIVE EXERTION. 8H 
 
 man peace, and in counteracting the benevolent pur- 
 poses of Deity ] Your hearts revolt from the idea ; 
 you shudder at the thought. Such, however, is 
 truly the sinner's employment, such his character, 
 and such surely will be yours if you attach your- 
 selves to his society and accompany him in his ca- 
 reer ; your influence will become malignant, your 
 example infectious, and your names descend to pos- 
 terity black with ifiliamy. Sin diseases the body : 
 it degrades the mind, and damns alike the reputation 
 and the soul. In the records of human glory which 
 are kept in heaven, there is not inscribed one profli- 
 gate, unreclaimed, unrepentant sinner's name. 
 
 You will not make the profligate's wretched 
 choice, his desperate sacrifice. Your past conduct, 
 your present resolutions, are pledges that you will 
 not : God grant you may not ; but it is not enough 
 that you will not do this. 
 
 Again I ask, therefore, whether, entering on such 
 a theatre under such circumstances — a theatre where 
 there is so much good to be accomplished and so 
 much glory to be won — whether the mere negative < 
 praise of living harmless and inoffensive is all you 
 aspire to ? Are you willing, after all the pains which 
 have been taken with you, after all the treasures 
 that have been expended on you, after all the pray- 
 ers that have been ofl?ered up for you — are you will- 
 ing to become, not to say injurious, but useless to 
 society? Are you willing merely to grovel through 
 life ; to creep away from this seminary like unfledg- 
 ed reptiles from their cells, and, buried in obscurity, 
 pass your future years in inglorious sloth, till finally, 
 
8s INDIVIDUAL EFFORTS AND EXAMPLES. 
 
 mere excrescences, you perish unnoticed, unremem- 
 bered, and unlamented ? willing to perish from that 
 world in which you received your being, without 
 having wiped away a tear, without having mitigated a 
 sorrow, without having imparted a pulse of joy, or 
 left one monument on earth, or sent one messenger 
 to heaven, to testify that you have not lived liter 
 ally in vain ? Can the vivacious, the buoyant, tht 
 bold, the daring spirit of ingenuous youth be satis- 
 fied by the prospect of such a destiny ? 
 
 But what can a youthful adventurer, a mere indi* 
 vidual, hope to accomplish for the benefit of virtue 
 or the world ? What ! Almost anything he wills to 
 undertake and dares to persevere in. This world 
 is made up of individuals. All the fame that has 
 been acquired, all the infamy that has been merit- 
 ed, all the plans of happiness or misery that have 
 been formed, all the enterprises of loyalty or of 
 treason that have been executed, have owed their 
 existence to the wisdom or folly, to the courage or 
 temerity of individuals — mere youthful adventurers 
 as you are ; and, though only individuals, each of 
 you possesses a capacity for doing either good or 
 evil, which human foresight cannot measure nor hu- 
 man power limit. Your immediate exertions may 
 benefit or injure some ; your example may reach 
 others ; those whom your example reaches may 
 communicate their feelings to individuals more re- 
 mote, by whom those feelings may be again com- 
 municated to those who will recommunicate them : 
 all of whom may transmit the influence which com- 
 menced with you to a succeeding generatioiiywhic)^ 
 
POWER OF INDIVIDUALS. 83 
 
 in its turn may transmit it to the next, to be again 
 transmitted. Thus the impulse given either to vir- 
 tue or to vice by a single individual may be immeas- 
 urably extended, even to distant nations, and com- 
 municated through succeeding ages to the remotc*^t 
 generations. 
 
 Voltaire, Rousseau, and their infidel coadjutors 
 collected their materials, and laid a train which pro- 
 duced that fata! explosion which shook the civihzed 
 world to its centre. Governments were dismem- 
 bered ; monarchies were overthrown ; institutions 
 were swept away ; society was flung into confusion ; 
 human life was endangered : years have elapsed ; 
 the face of Europe is yet covered with wrecks and 
 desolations ; and how long before the world will 
 recover from the disastrous shock their conspiracy 
 occasioned, God only knows. Yet Voltaire, Rous- 
 seau, and their infidel coadjutors were individuals. 
 
 Did not Cyrus sway the opinions, awe the fears, 
 and direct the energies of the world at Babylon] 
 Did not Caesar do this at Rome, and Constantino 
 at Byzantium ? And yet Cyrus, Caesar, and Con- 
 stantino were individuals. But they were fortunate ; 
 they lived at critical conjunctures, and in fields of 
 blood gathered immortality. And is it at critical 
 conjunctures, and in fields of blood only, that im- 
 mortality can be gathered ? Where then is Howard, 
 that saint of illustrious memory, who traversed his 
 native country, exploring the jail and the prison-ship, 
 taking the dimensions of that misery which these 
 caverns of vice, of disease, and of death had so long 
 concealed 1 whose heroic deeds of charity the dun- 
 
^ 
 
 HOWARD. SHARPE. 
 
 geons alike of Europe and of Asia witnessed ; and 
 whose bones now consecrate the confines of distant 
 Tartary, where he fell a martyr to his zeal — when, 
 like an angel of peace, he was engaged in convey- 
 ing through the cold, damp, pestilential cells of Rus- 
 sian Crimea the lamp of hope and the cup of con- 
 solation to the incarcerated slave, who languished 
 unknown, unpitied, and forgotten there. 
 
 Where is Grenville SJiarpe, the negro's advocate, 
 whose disinterested efforts, whose seraphic elo- 
 quence, extorted from a court tinctured with the re- 
 mains of feudal tyranny that memorable decision 
 of Lord Mansfield, which placed an eternal shield 
 between the oppressor and the oppressed ; which 
 raised a legal barrier around the very person of the 
 enslaved African, and rendered liberty thereafter in- 
 separable from the soil of the seagirt isles of Brit- 
 ain 1 It was this splendid triumph of reason over 
 passion, of justice over prejudice, that called from 
 the Irish orator that burst of ingenuous feeling at 
 the trial of Rowan, when he said, ♦* I speak in the 
 spirit of the British law, which proclaims even to the 
 stranger and the sojourner, the moment he sets his 
 foot on British earth, that the ground on which he 
 treads is holy. No matter in what language his 
 doom may have been pronounced : no matter what 
 complexion incompatible with freedom an Indian or 
 an African sun may have burned upon him : no 
 matter in what disastrous battle his liberty may have 
 been cloven down : no matter with what solemnities 
 he may have been devoted upon the altar of slavery, 
 the first moment he touches the sacred soil of Brit- 
 
CLARKSON. 85 
 
 am, the altar and the god sink together in the dust ; 
 his soul walks abroad in her own majesty ; his body 
 swells beyond the measure of his chains, that burst 
 from around him, and he stands redeemed, emanci- 
 pated, disenthralled, by the irresistible genius of wm- 
 versal emancipation.^^ 
 
 Where is Clarkson, who has been so triumphantly 
 successful in wiping away the reproach of slavery 
 from one quarter of the globe, and in restoring to 
 the rights of fraternity more than twenty millions of 
 the human family : that man who, after so many 
 years of reproach and contumely — after sufferings 
 and perseverance which astonish as much as they 
 instruct us, succeeded in turning the current of na- 
 tional feeling, in awaking the sense of national jus- 
 tice, and, finally, in obtaining from the Parliament of 
 England that glorious act, the abolition of the slave* 
 trade? an act to which the royal signature was 
 affixed at noonday, and just as the sun reached the 
 meridian : a time fitly chosen for the consummation 
 of so splendid a transaction — a transaction which 
 reflects more honour on the king, the Parliament, 
 the people, than any other recorded in the annals of 
 history. Where is this man, whose fame I had 
 rather inherit than that of Csesar 1 for it will be 
 more deathless, as it is already more sacred. And 
 should Africa ever arise from her present degrada- 
 tion — and rise she will, if there be any truth in God — 
 what a perpetual flow of heartfelt eulogy will, to a 
 thousand generations, commemorate the virtues, the 
 sufferings, and the triumph of the ingenuous, the dis- 
 interested, the endeared, the immortal Clarkson—- 
 
tQ LANCASTER. 
 
 the negro's friend, the black man's hope, the de- 
 spised African's benefactor ! 
 
 Where is Lancaster, who has introduced and is 
 introducing a new era in the history of letters, and 
 rendering the houses of education, hke the temples 
 of grace, accessible to the poor ? owing to whoso 
 exertions and enterprises thousands of children, 
 picked from the dirt and collected from the streets, 
 are this day enjoying the inestimable benefits of ed- 
 ucation, and forming regular habits of industry and 
 virtue, who must otherwise have been doomed, by 
 the penury of their condition, to perpetual ignorance, 
 and probably to perpetual misery. 
 
 Ah ! had this man lived but two thousand years 
 ago — to say nothing of the effect which might have 
 been produced on morals and happiness generally 
 by the wide diffusion of knowledge and the regular 
 formation of habits — to say nothing of that vulgar 
 ity which would have been diminished, or of thai 
 dignity which might have been imparted to the char- 
 acter of the species — could this man have lived two 
 thousand years ago, and all the rude materials in 
 society have undergone only that slight polishing 
 which, under his fostering care, they are now likely 
 to undergo, how many mines of beauty and riches 
 would have appeared 1 How many gems, madr 
 visible by their glittering, would have been collected 
 from among the rubbish ! Or, to speak without a 
 figure, had this man lived two thousand years ago, 
 how much talent might have been discovered for the 
 church, for the state, for the world, among those un- 
 tutored millions who have floated unknown and uq« 
 
GENUINE PHILANTHROPY. 87 
 
 noticed down the tide of time ? Had this man lived 
 two thousand years ago, how many Demosthenes 
 might have lightened and thundered ? How many 
 Homers soared and sung 1 How many Newtons 
 roused into action, to develop the laws of matter ? 
 How many Lockes to explore the regions of mind ] 
 How many Mansfields to exalt the bench ? How 
 many Erskines to adorn the bar? And perhaps 
 some other Washington, whose memory has now 
 perished in obscurity, might have been forced from 
 the factory or the plough to decide the fate of battle 
 and sustain the weight of empire. 
 
 And yet Howard, Sharpe, Clarkson, and Lancas- 
 ter, were individuals ; and individuals, too, gifted by 
 no extraordinary talents, favoured by no peculiar 
 theatre of action. They were only common men, 
 brought up in the midst of common life. No 
 princely fortunes had descended to them ; no pater- 
 nal influence had devolved on them ; no aspiring 
 rivals provoked their emulation ; no great emergen- 
 cies roused their exertions. They produced, if I 
 may so speak, the incidents which adorn their his- 
 tory, and created for themselves a theatre of action. 
 Animated by the purest virtue, and bent on being 
 useful, they seized on the miseries of life as the 
 world presented them ; and by deeds of charity and 
 valour performed in relieving those miseries, they 
 converted the very abodes of ignorance and wo into 
 a theatre of glory. 
 
 And, young gentlemen, after all that has been 
 done by these patrons of virtue, these benefactors 
 of niiankind, remains-there no prejudice to correct ; 
 
88 RESPONSIBILITIES OF THE EDUCATED. 
 
 no ignorance to instruct; no vice to reclaim; no 
 misery to alleviate ? Look around you : still there 
 is room for youthful enterprise, for manly exertion. 
 Go, then, into the world : cherish the spirit, miitate 
 the example, and emulate the g'.ory of these illus^ 
 trious worthies. Let no disasters shake your forti- 
 tude ; let no impediments interrupt your caieer. 
 Come what will, of this be assured, that in every 
 enterprise of good God will be on your side ; and 
 that, should you even fail, failure will be glorious : 
 nor will it ever be said in heaven of the man who 
 has sincerely laboured on the earth to glorify his 
 God or benefit his country, that lie lias lived in vain. 
 
 Whatever profession you may select, enter it with 
 zeal, with ardour, with elevated and expanded views, 
 with noble and disinterested motives, as becomes a 
 youth of liberal education, an enlightened adven- 
 turer, bent on glory, and setting out in a career of 
 immortality. Always be alive to the promotion of 
 virtue, to the suppression of vice, to the relief of 
 misery. Always be projecting and maturing new 
 plans of public and glorious enterprise : nor feel as 
 if anything had been done while anything of good 
 remains to be accomplished. 
 
 It is a false as well as a degrading doctrine, that 
 you were made for individual benefit, and live only 
 for yourselves. This is true of no one. Much 
 less is it true of you, whom God has selected t>om 
 the multitude, and distinguished by better means 
 and greater opportunities. And why has he done 
 this? From individual partiality? No. Doubt- 
 less not. But that he may qualify a chosen nun^ 
 
SELFISHNESS NOT UNIVERSAL. 83 
 
 ber to fill a higher station ; to move in a more ex- 
 tended sphere, and practise a suLf imer charity. He 
 has done this that you may become the guides of 
 the ignorant, the benefactors of the wretched, the 
 patrons of the mvjltitude ; that you may protect the 
 more effectually the poor that cry ; the fatherless, 
 and him that hath none to help him ; that you may 
 be eyes to the blind, feet to the lame ; that the de- 
 fenceless may be shielded by your infiuence, the 
 profligate awed by your integrity, and the country 
 saved by your virtue and yoivi* valour. 
 
 But, when all the world are mean and mercenary, 
 is it to be expected that you will be dignified and dis- 
 interested 1 It is false. All the world are not mean 
 and mercenary. If it were so, the stream of life 
 would have corrupted as it flowed, and the race be- 
 come extmct. 
 
 It is conceded, because it cannot be denied, that 
 mean and mercenary motives prevail ; that a crowd 
 of guilty actors have converted the drama of life 
 into one vast exhibition of fraud and falsehood, of 
 deceit and treachery, of avarice and revelry : among 
 v/hom personal interest predominates, and individual 
 emolument forms the bond of criminal alliance. 
 But at the same time it is contended that there ex- 
 ists a countervailing influence ; that a counter scene 
 is continuall}' carried forward, in which actions of a 
 different type are unfolded : actions which tend to 
 relieve the picture of human guilt, and soften the 
 intenseness of human misery. In the worst of 
 times and in the most depraved of countries, there 
 are always scattered some individuals of a benign 
 H 
 
90 DEGREES OF VIRTUE. 
 
 and virtuous character, whose benevolent exertions 
 are limited by no boundaries of territory, shades of 
 con)plexion, or ties of blood ; who, with a perseve- 
 rance that never relaxes and a vigilance that never 
 slumbers, are pursuing, not their own, but the public 
 welfare ; whose hours of relaxation and of business 
 are alike occupied with plans of utility or of reform ; 
 and the grand and predominant object of whose ex- 
 ertions and whose prayers is the happiness of the 
 human family. 
 
 If you knew the world better than you do, you 
 would know that it comprises a great variety of 
 character : " that none are absolutely perfect ; that 
 those who approach towards perfection are few ; 
 that the bulk of mankind are very imperfect, and 
 that many, but not the majority, are exceedingly 
 profligate, deceitful, and wicked." 
 
 But, though the world were universally as mean 
 and mercenary as the objection states, it would not 
 alter the counsel we are giving you. In such a 
 world it would behoove you, the alumni of this seal 
 of science, to be nobly singular. From such so- 
 ciety I would separate ; against such principles 1 
 would protest. However the multitude might live, 
 for my single self I would act uprightly ; I would 
 frown on vice, I would favour virtue — favour what- 
 ever would elevate, would exalt, would adorn char*, 
 acter, and alleviate the miseries of my species, or 
 contribute to render the world I inhabited, like the 
 heavens to which I looked, a place of innocence 
 and felicity. Though all mankind were profligate 
 I would, by. a uniform course of probity and integ*'' 
 
INHERENT DIGNITY OF VIRTUE. 9^ 
 
 mty^ show in what school I had beeit nurtured and 
 to what faith I belonged. 
 
 And I would do this, because I would rather 
 stand alone, or be pointed at among only those ten 
 righteous men who would have saved Sodom, than 
 swell the number of my companions by all the vag- 
 abond profligates that could be raked from the sew- 
 ers of earth or collected from the caverns of hell. 
 
 Even though there were no God- no immortali- 
 ty — no accountability, I would do this. Vice in it- 
 self is mean, degrading, detestable : virtue com- 
 mendable, exalted, ennobling. Though I were to 
 exist no longer than those ephemera that sport in 
 the beams of the summer's morn, during that short 
 hour I would rather soar with the eagle, and leave 
 the record of my flight and of my fall among the 
 5tars, than to creep the gutter with the reptile, and 
 bed my memory and my body together in the dung- 
 hill. However short my part, I would act it well, 
 that I might surrender my existence without dis- 
 grace and without compunction. 
 
 But you are not called to do this. The profane 
 may sneer and the impious scoff*; but, after all, 
 
 THERE IS A GOD MAN IS ACCOUNTABLE MAN IS 
 
 IMMORTAL ; and the knowledge of this stamps value 
 on existence, and renders human action grand and 
 awful. These truths announced, this world rises 
 in importance. Its transitory scenes assume a 
 more fearful aspect and awaken a more solemn in- 
 terest. No portion of existence claims such re- 
 gard or involves such hazard : for it is here, upon 
 this little ball, and during this momentary life, thai 
 
92 INCENTIVES TO VIRTUOUS EFFORT. 
 
 eternity is staked ; that hell is merited, or heaven 
 won. 
 
 This is not conjectural, nor is it merely proba- 
 ble, but certain — infallibly certain. A revelation 
 proceeding from God, sealed by a thousand martyr- 
 doms ; confirmed by a thousand prophecies ; de- 
 monstrated by a thousand miracles, has put human 
 speculation at rest for ever, and settled, impera- 
 tively settled, the question of man's eternal destiny. 
 Yes, you are now, young gentlemen, forming your 
 characters and pronouncing your doom for a dura- 
 tion that has no measure, because it has no end ! 
 
 The tenure of your being, the hazards of this 
 state of trial, are as incompatible with indolence and 
 ease as with prodigality and pleasure, lou were 
 not made to repose on a bed of sloth. You were 
 not sent into the world to lounge and loiter, but to 
 act and to suffer. You are called to brave the 
 storm and struggle against the tempest, as you press 
 forward with never- fainting and never-failing steps 
 in the path of duty : a path which, you are told be- 
 forehand, leads not the downward course, but cross- 
 es rugged and lofty mountains : n)ountains which 
 the patriarchs, and prophets, and righteous men have 
 crossed before you, the impress of whose feet is 
 left upon the flinty road they trod, and whose ac- 
 clivities are smoothed as well as stained by the 
 blood and tears they shed as they passed over them. 
 Beyond the>e mountains lies the heaven that ter- 
 minated their sufferings and crowned their joys. 
 There is Abraham ; there is Moses ; there is Paul ; 
 together with all those sainted spirits which in sue- 
 
DEGRADATION OF THE VICIOTTS. 9^ 
 
 cessive ages have adorned, preserved, and blessed 
 the earth. 
 
 Having chosen those men to be your future com- 
 panions ; having dared to encounter the trials they 
 encountered ; having commenced the journey they 
 have completed, and pressing forward towards the 
 heaven they so triumphantly have entered, you will 
 not, I trust, fear the sinner's frowns nor feel his 
 tauntings. 
 
 He will talk to you, indeed, of a laxer discipline ; 
 of a less rigorous course, and of more immediate as 
 well as of more licentious pleasures. You will tell 
 him, in reply. That you have been nurtured in the 
 school of virtue ; that you have been baptized in the 
 name of Christ ; and, as becomes his foJloivers, are 
 bent on immortalityy a pursuit incompatible alike 
 with inglorious ease and brutal pleasure. 
 
 He will smile — he will sneer — perhaps attempt 
 to pity you for naming Christ and thinking of im- 
 mortality. And again he will talk of ease, of 
 pleasure, of freedom from hope and fear, as he 
 holds forth to you the skeptic's cup, mingled with 
 more than Circean poison, which degrades the 
 wretch who drinks of it in his own estimation from 
 the standing of a man, and sends him, transformed 
 into a mere animal, to root and wallow with the 
 swine ; to caper and grin with the monkey ; to 
 crouch and growl with the tiger ; to mew and purr 
 wilh the kitten, or fawn and yelp with the spaniel, 
 during a momentary degraded life, and then con- 
 signs him to putrefy and rot, together with all this 
 fraternity of brutes, in the kennel — their common 
 sepulchre. 
 
94 CHRISTIAN RESOLUTIONS. 
 
 You will reply to him again as you have already 
 replied to him ; and oh ! with what triumphant su- 
 periority, in point of dignity and destination, will 
 you reply to him : " That you have been imrlured 
 in the school of virtue ; that you have been baptized 
 in the name of Christ ; and that, as becomes his fol- 
 lowers, you are bent on immortality,^' You will tell 
 him that his hopes may be correspondent to his life ; 
 that to him such pursuits, and pleasures, and pros- 
 pects may be in character, but that they are not so 
 to you : that you have no ambition to live brutes, 
 barely that you may have the boasted privilege of 
 dying so ; that you claim no kindred to, that you 
 aspire to no affiance with the bristled offspring of 
 the sty, nor wish to be indoctrinated in that sub- 
 lime philosophy which is to teach you to believe that 
 the race of men were made to manure the soil, and 
 that they only go at death to increase the general 
 aggregate of carcasses and carrion ! In one word, 
 you will tell him that you are Christians ; and 
 that, as such, the all-perfect God, the rewarder and 
 the reward of virtue, calls you to a different course, 
 and has promised you a different destiny. Sinners 
 indeed you are, and as such, by the law of nature, 
 stand condemned : not so by the law of grace, 
 which provides, through the merits of a Saviour, for 
 your recovery of the character and restoration to 
 the felicity of those who have never sinned. 
 
 And now, young gentleman, we separate. In a 
 few years, perhaps — within a century at most — we 
 shall all meet again. Where 1 Beyond the grave, 
 and on the borders of eternity. Life is only a narrow 
 
PARTING EXHORTATION. 95 
 
 tsthmus ; an isthmus already washed and wasted by 
 the flow of time. The earth on which we tread is 
 undermined or undermining : near the margin — per- 
 haps upon the very brink — we tremble. ]Vo matter 
 though it be so. It is not the length, but the man- 
 ner in which th« journey is performed, that secures 
 the plaudit. While it lasts, therefore, and till the 
 earth sinks under us, we will acquit ourselves like 
 men, and contend valiantly for the cities of our 
 brethren and the honour of our God, 
 
 You will live and act when he who now address- 
 es you will neither be known nor numbered among 
 the living. Soon the cold clod will press upon this 
 bosom : this voice, silent in death, will no longer 
 warn the sinner nor sooth the sufferer ; nor will 
 this arm, stiffened and nerveless in the grave, ever 
 again be raised to wipe away the tears of orphanage 
 or to distribute the alms of charity. To you we 
 commend these objects — anxious for those who will 
 live after us. With you, beloved pupils, we leave 
 this memorial ; and we charge you, by the love of 
 virtue, by the hope of immortality, to see that 
 the poor has bread, the mourner consolation, the 
 friendless friends, the oppressed advocates, the Sa- 
 viour of sinners disciples, and the God of heaven 
 worshippers, so long as you remain on earth. And 
 should we, your instructers — ah triumphant hope ! — 
 be so happy as to enter those mansions which grace 
 has prepared for the redeemed of all nations, see 
 you that the spirits of the dying, as they ascend to 
 join us, bring with them tidings of your faith, and 
 patience, and labours of love. Let us hear by ev- 
 
96 REPORT OF GOOD DEEDS IN HEAVEN. 
 
 ery sainted messenger, by every returning angel, of 
 something you have done, or are doing, or are pro- 
 jecting to do for Christ — for virtue — for the happi- 
 ness and honour of the world you live in. Let it 
 be told in heaven that another Howard, or Sharp, or 
 Brainard, or Schwartz has appeared on the earth to 
 enlighten human ignorance ; to mitigate human suf- 
 fering, and to exemplify and perpetuate the knowl- 
 edge and the love of our Lord and Saviour. God 
 Almighty grant that our hopes may not be disap- 
 pointed, and to his name shall be the glory. 
 
COURSE OF NATliKE. 97 
 
 VI. 
 
 DELIVERED JULY 22, 1812. 
 
 [The Moral, no less than the Physical World, subject to con- 
 vulsions and changes. — The present an age of Political Rev- 
 olutions. — Our Country involved in the contentions of Na- 
 tions — Importance of the Era in which we live. — The hopes 
 of Society in the rising Generation.— Knowledge is Power. — 
 The Savage and the civilized Man compared. — The dommion 
 of Mind, as exhibited in the general and statesman — in the 
 example of ancient Athens. — Encouragements to Perseve- 
 rance in the pursuit of intellectual Superiority. — Examples 
 of Homer and Demosthenes. — Power beneficent only when 
 associated with Goodness. — Human Endowments should be 
 consecrated to Religious and Moral ends.— Nature of Civil 
 Government, and duty of Obedience to it. — Exhortation to 
 defend the free Institutions of our Country.— Whatever Trials 
 befall the Christian here, his Reward is sure hereafter.] 
 
 Young gentlemen, the admission of a class to 
 collegiate honours always excites solicitude ; partic- 
 ularly so at seasons of doubtful and momentous in- 
 cident. The course of nature itself is not uniform. 
 At intervals, and after a time of tranquillity, a sea- 
 son of disaster and convulsion ensues. The bal- 
 ance of the elements seems to be destroyed ; rivers 
 change their beds ; seas their basins ; mountains 
 are removed ; valleys are filled up, and the solid 
 world is shaken. Again the balance of the elements 
 is restored ; the conflict subsides ; the regions of 
 matter are tranquillized ; and order in a new form 
 takes place. 
 
 The course of the physical, in these respects, is 
 emblematical of the course of the intellectual and 
 moral world ; at least of that part of it with which 
 
98 INTELLECTUAL AND MORAL WORLD. 
 
 we are conversant. In civil society, after a season - 
 of tranquillity, a season of convulsion usually, per- 
 haps necessarily, ensues. Suddenly, institutions are 
 changed ; the opinions of men are changed ; iheir 
 habits and manners are changed. Attempts of bold 
 and daring enterprise are hazarded ; and they suc- 
 ceed. More is undertaken — more is accomplish- 
 ed in a few years, and by a single set of actors, than 
 was accomplished, or could have been accomplish- 
 ed by preceding generations, and during success- 
 ive ages. Again tranquillity ensues ; things settle 
 down in a new fonn, and society enjoys the ble-ss- 
 ings which have been conferred, or suffers the in- 
 juries which have been inflicted by the change. 
 
 It is our lot to live at a time peculiarly disastrous. 
 Change has followed change in continuity. The 
 course of things has been as unaccountable as 
 alarming. Foresight has proved blind ; calculation 
 has been baffled ; and sages and statesmen have 
 gazed in consternation at a series of events so im- 
 probable in their nature, so rapid in their succession, 
 as to appear in retrospect more like the illusions of 
 fancy than the actual phenomena of real life. Half 
 the civilized world has suddenly been revolutionized. 
 Institutions the most solid in their materials, as well 
 as the most firm in their contexture, have been 
 swept away. Fabrics which human skill had been 
 fur ages rearing up and consolidating, have been 
 demolished ; and from their ruins, as from another 
 chaos, a new order of things has arisen. 
 
 Hitherto we have contemplated these changes as 
 spectators merely. Awed indeed we have been by 
 
POLITICAL REVOLUTIONS. 99 
 
 their magnitude, amazed at their celerity. The 
 scene of suffering which has been disclosed has in- 
 terested our feelings : we have sympathized with 
 the sufferers. We have sighed for the restoration 
 of peace, and the return of repose to the world. 
 We have done this, however, rather out of charity 
 to others than apprehension for ourselves. The ark 
 of our safety, we imagined, was anchored too firmly, 
 and in a harbour too remote to be driven from* its 
 moorings by any rude blast or swelling surge. The 
 scene of devastation has, however, been perpetually 
 extending; wider and wider the destructive vortex 
 has spread itself; realm after realm has been drag- 
 ged into its rapid and hitherto fatal whirl. The cur- 
 rent at length has reached us ; our bark begins to 
 be carried forward by the stream, whether to be 
 moored again in safety, or to be wrecked and lost 
 for ever, God only knows. Our character, perhaps 
 our existence as a nation, is staked upon the issue 
 of that contest in which we are about engaging. 
 We shall not be hereafter what heretofore we have 
 been. Either we shall rise united under that heavy 
 pressure which will soon be felt, or we shall sink 
 beneath it, divided, humbled, and disgraced. W^ar 
 is an experiment on our form of government which 
 has not yet been tried. A momentous experiment, 
 involving alternatives for which no human being can 
 be responsible, and to the issue of which wise men 
 will look forward not without awe and trembling. 
 Perhaps— but I will not agitate this question, nor 
 indulge that anxious train of thought which occu- 
 pies my mind and presses on my heart. 
 
100 THE RISING GENERATION. 
 
 At such a time, every new actor that steps upon 
 the stage is an object of more than ordinary inter- 
 est : for at such a time the facilities of doing either 
 good or evil are increased. Life itself becomes 
 of additional importance ; it becomes more rich in 
 incident ; and, if years were measured by political 
 events, it would become longer in duration. 
 
 Attached to the in.stitutions of our country, and 
 sensible that its dearest interests will soon be com- 
 mitted to those who will survive us, we feel anxious 
 concerning the part which they hereafter are to act. 
 Hence, as we welcome them into life, we charge 
 them to become the guardians of the public weal ; 
 to preserve what is good, to remedy what is defect- 
 ive, and remove what is evil from our civil, our lit- 
 erary, and our religious institutions. 
 
 It is not to the risen, but to the rising generation 
 that we look for great and beneficial changes. The 
 maturity of manhood is too inflexible to admit of 
 being recast in a new and a nobler mould. But if 
 the whole of that group of beings denominated the 
 rising generation be important, how important, then, 
 must be that portion of this group which, in distinc- 
 tion from the residue, has been privileged by a pub- 
 lic and liberal education. Every post of duty is in- 
 deed a post of honour. We revere industry and 
 integrity ; and we ought to revere them at the plough 
 and in the workshop. Still, however, when these 
 virtues are combined with polished manners and lib- 
 eral science, they shine with brighter lustre and 
 command profounder reverence. No determinate 
 number of perfectly untutored beings, so far as hu- 
 
POWER CONFERRED BY EDUCATION. 101 
 
 liian society is concerned, can be put in competition 
 with a youth ot splendid and cultivated talents. 
 The reason is obvious. The ability of such a youth 
 to exalt or to depress, to reclaim or to corrupt com- 
 munity, is greater, and will be of longer continuance 
 than that of any determinate number of his illiterate 
 contemporaries. The latter, limited in their sphere 
 of action to the place where they reside and to the 
 time in which they live, soon sink into the grave, 
 when, ordinarily, their deeds of virtue or of villany 
 are forgotten. The former acts in a higher style 
 and on a broader scale. Nations feel the influence 
 of his genius while living, nor does death itself take 
 aught from the effect of his precepts or example. 
 
 Not that in point of physical strength, youth of 
 erudition acquire any superiority over the rudest 
 children of nature. The contrary is the fact. In 
 muscular exertion, in acts of agility, in the chaae, 
 at the tournament, and the caestus, you will be their 
 inferiors. Not so in point of moral influence. 
 Education qualifies for doing either greater good or 
 greater evil. It is this, young gentlemen, that gives 
 to your existence so much importance, and excites 
 in your behalf so deep an interest. 
 
 It is an old proverb. That wealth is power. The 
 same may be said, and more emphatically, with re- 
 spect to knowledge. Look into the world, and con- 
 template the native savage, surrounded by forests, 
 and in jeopardy from beasts of prey, binding his 
 bark sandals to his feet, and flying from the tiger, or 
 vainly attempting to pierce the fawn with his point- 
 less arrow. How wild and awtlil the state of na- 
 12 
 
102 SAVAGE AND CIVILIZED MAN. 
 
 ture ! How pitiable and impotent this state of man! 
 Contemplate now the citizen. Walled cities are at 
 once his accommodation and defence. By him the 
 forest has been felled, the acclivities of the mount- 
 ains depressed, the deep morass filled up : by him 
 ferocious animals have been destroyed, the noxious 
 productions of the earth have been subdued, and 
 monuments of art erected. Amazing change ! All 
 surrounding nature bespeaks his sovereignty and 
 contributes to his comfort. Whence this prodigious 
 difference in condition ? What circumstance has 
 contributed so much to exalt one portion of the spe- 
 cies ? By what magic has a being of so little phys- 
 ical strength been enabled to acquire a dominion so 
 vast, and establish a government so absolute ? The 
 answer is manifest. By knowledge he has done 
 this. 
 
 «Man possesses less muscle than many, but more 
 intelligence than any other terrestrial inhabitant. 
 He alone has skill to analyze and combine anew the 
 rude materials which surround him ; to dig from the 
 mine its precious metals, and mould from the ores 
 his weapons of conquest and defence. Those me- 
 chanical powers which he has discovered and learn- 
 ed to apply, remedy the effects of his natural imbe- 
 cility. Thus enlightened by science and fortified by 
 art, he is enabled to control and tame the most fero- 
 cious animals, to raise and remove the heaviest 
 masses, and to direct to the accomplishment of his 
 purposes the very elements of nature itself. 
 
 As knowledge extends the dominion of man over 
 matter, so also does it over mind. What an im- 
 
THE GENERAL AND STATESMAN. 103 
 
 mense advantage does he possess who not only un« 
 derstands the machinery of language, but also the 
 iofluence of motive : who comprehends the econ- 
 omy of the passions ; to whom the principles of ac- 
 tion are famiUar, and the avenues of the heart open : 
 who knows hew to remove prejudice, to conciliate 
 affection, and to excite attention : who can at pleas- 
 ure sooth or rouse, inflame or allay, restrain or hurry 
 on to action : what an immense advantage does 
 such a man possess over him who can only stam- 
 mer out his ill-timed, ill-digested, and incoherent 
 sentiments in a manner so rude and repulsive as to 
 disparage the cause he advocates, and defeat the 
 attainment of the object for which he has lent his 
 talents. 
 
 Nor less the advantage of science in every other 
 department of life. It is Minerva who gathers even 
 for Mars his laurel, and wins for Bellona her fields. 
 How august a spectacle of power does an intelligent 
 and intrepid general exhibit at the head of a numer- 
 ous and well-appointed army, himself the bond of 
 union and the centre of influence ; wielding this tre- 
 mendous force, and directing it when to act and 
 where to strike, with as much certainty and as ter- 
 rible effect as if the whole were animated by a single 
 soul. 
 
 A spectacle scarcely less august is exhibited by 
 the sagacious statesman, who, from the retirement 
 of his closet, diffuses a secret influence, tincturing 
 the opinions of courtiers, guiding the decision of 
 princes, embroiling or reconciling different and dis- 
 tant nations, and producing through a thousand in- 
 
104 EXAMPLE OF ATHENS. 
 
 termediate agents, and in regions, perhaps, which 
 he has never seen, the most surprising changes, the 
 most improbable events. 
 
 It was science, displayed in her literature and her 
 arts, that made Athens what she was and still is — 
 the admiration of the world. The record of her 
 triumphs and of her overthrow has been preserved 
 in the midst of the unwritten ruins of a thousand 
 barbarous states. Ages of succeeding darkness 
 have not obscured her glory ; the ravages of time 
 have not obliterated her monuments. The history 
 of Athens is still read, and it is dear : dear, too, are 
 the memorials of her greatness, and dear is the spot 
 where Athens stood. 
 
 ' By a tincture only of science, Russia, amid her 
 snow-covered forests, has recently assumed a loftier 
 attitude, and taken a higher stand among the nations. 
 Indeed, knowledge furnishes the facilities and the 
 instruments of operatmg as certainly, as efficacious- 
 ly, and more extensively upon the mind than the 
 mechanical powers do upon matter. And the man 
 of erudition, aided by these facilities, surpasses in 
 intellectual potency — in a capacity of action and of 
 influence, the unlettered boor, as much as the scien- 
 tific artificer, aided by machinery, surpasses the wild 
 man of the woods, who can only apply to the im* 
 pediments in his path the mere strength of his native 
 muscles. 
 
 ArolAiiiicdes affirmed that he could lift the earth 
 coald be but find a place to rest his lever on. What 
 Archimedes found not in the regions of matter, 
 some intellectual geometrician may yet find in the 
 
ADVANTAGES OF PERSEVERANCE. 105 
 
 regions of mind ; and, finding, exhibit the amazing 
 spectacle of a single individual, but a i\i\v years old 
 and a few feet high, concentrating the influence, 
 swaying the opinions, and wielding in his hand the 
 nations of the world. 
 
 Towards the attainment of mental superiority, 
 during your collegiate course you have made some 
 advance. Other and still greater advances remain 
 hereafter to be made. You may now be youth of 
 promise ; but you must long and diligently trim the 
 midnight lamp before you will arrive to the stature 
 of intellectual manhood. 
 
 Preparing for professional duties ; shortly to min- 
 gle among the busy actors on yonder interesting the- 
 atre ; destined to take sides on those questions which 
 now agitate or which will hereafter agitate com- 
 munity, and on the decision of which the happiness 
 or the misery of unborn millions hangs suspended ; 
 can any sacrifices be deemed great, or any discipline 
 severe, which will enable you hereafter to act a more 
 conspicuous part, or exert a more controlling in- 
 fluence ? 
 
 Perseverantia vincii omnia. Do you not remem- 
 ber what obstacles obstructed Homer's path to glory ? 
 The Grecian orator, too, had to struggle against the 
 influence of constitution. By perseverance, how- 
 ever, he surmounted the most discouraging impedi- 
 ments, and supplied by art the defects of nature. 
 His lungs he expanded by climbing the steep and 
 rugged mountains ; by speaking with pebbles in his 
 mouth he corrected his stammering ; and his voice 
 he strengthened by haranguing on the surge- beaten 
 
106 POWER WITHOUT GOODNESS 
 
 shore to the winds and the waves. Let his suc- 
 cessful efforts encourage yours ; let no ordinary ob- 
 stacles dishearten you ; let no ordinary attainments 
 satisfy you. Remember always, as we have said, 
 that knowledge is power : but remember also, that 
 no degree of power — no, not even power almighty, 
 is in itself an object of complacency. We tremble 
 before the Deity when we hear him utter his voice 
 in thunder ; when we behold him riding on the 
 storm, and mark his terrific course amid the tem- 
 pest. But it is his goodness that endears him to 
 us. We love to contemplate him in the robe of 
 mercy — to trace his footsteps when relieving misery 
 or communicating happiness. As goodness is es- 
 sential to the glory of God, so it is to the glory of 
 his creatures. In him wisdom, truth, and justice are 
 combined with power. And, because they are so, 
 the interests of the universe are secure. But, with- 
 out these essential attributes, almighty power would 
 only be an instrument of evil, and its possessor an 
 object of detestation. 
 
 Nor less truly an object of detestation is a finite 
 being possessing power apart from goodness. Ev- 
 ery unprincipled youth, therefore, that goes forth 
 crowned from our seats of science, is, and ought to 
 be viewed as an assassin doubly armed and let 
 loose upon the world. No matter whether he min- 
 gles poison as a druggist, utters falsehood as an ad- 
 vocate, preaches heresy as a minister, practises 
 treachery as a statesman, or sheds blood as a sol- 
 dier ; everywhere alike, he will strengthen the hands 
 of sinners, increase the amount of guilt, and add to 
 
RELIGIOUS MOTIVES. 107 
 
 the mass of misery. Lucifer may originally have 
 been as sagacious and as potent as Gabriel ; and, 
 had his submission been as profound and his mo- 
 rality as blameless, he might still have enjoyed a 
 fame as fair and as deathless. Oh ! that the failure 
 and the fall of angels were duly considered and at- 
 tended to by men. 
 
 It is the fear of God and the faith of Jesus only 
 that can consecrate your talents — consecrate your 
 \nfluence, and make you to your friends, to your 
 country, and to the universe, instruments of good. 
 Far be it from me to pronounce any benediction on 
 endowments not devoted to the Almighty. There 
 may be cunning, there may be temerity ; but great- 
 ness and glory there cannot be where religion is 
 not. The sinner's splendour is as transient and as 
 ominous as the meteor's glare. It is only the path 
 of the righteous which, like the morning light, bright- 
 ens continually to the perfect day. 
 
 You will enter on life at a critical conjuncture. 
 Your country stands in need of all the talent and 
 all the influence you can carry with you to her assis- 
 tance. May I not hope, that, when you shall be num- 
 bered among her patriots and statesmen, your pru- 
 dence will be as exemplary as your zeal ? Though 
 fou should differ in political opinions, be one in af- 
 fection, one in the pursuit of glory, and one in the 
 hve of ycur country. Do nothing, say nothing, 
 eO produce unnecessary rigour on the one part, or 
 fttwless resistance on the other. Beware how you 
 contribute to awaken the whirlwiiid of passion, or 
 «o invite to this sacred land the rev^ki of anarchy. 
 
108 TRUTH AND MODERATIO^, 
 
 Whatever irritations may be felt, whatever ques- 
 tions n)ay be agitated, and however you yourselves 
 may be divided, be it your part to cairn, to sooth, 
 to allay, to check the deed of violence ; to charm 
 down the spirit of party ; to strengthen the bonds of 
 social intercourse ; and to prove by your own ami- 
 able deportment — by your own affectionate inter- 
 course, that it is possible for brethren to differ and 
 be brethren still. Differ indeed you may, and avow 
 that difference. Freedom of speech is your birth- 
 right. The deed which conveys it was written in 
 the blood of your fathers ; it was sealed beside their 
 sepulchres, and let no man take it from you. But 
 remember that the deed which conveys, defines also, 
 and limits this freedom. And remember, too, that 
 the line which divides between liberty and licen- 
 tiousness is but a line, and that it is easily trans- 
 gressed. The assassin's dagger is not more fatal 
 to the peace of community than the liar's tongue. 
 Nor does the sacred charter of the freeman's privi- 
 leges furnish to the one, any more than to the other, 
 an asylum. 
 
 It is your happiness to live under a government 
 of laws. Nor, were it demonstrated that those laws 
 were impolitic, or even oppressive, would it justify 
 resistance. There is a redeeming principle in the 
 Constitution itself. That instrument provides a le- 
 gitimate remedy for grievances ; and, unless on 
 great emergencies, the only rightful one. Under a 
 compact Uke ours, the majority must govern ; the 
 minority must submit, and they ought to submit ; 
 not by constraint merely, but for conscience' sake. 
 
TRUE PATRIOTISM. 109 
 
 The powers thai be are ordained of God ; and, while 
 they execute the purpose for which they were or- 
 dained, to resist them is to resist the ordinance of 
 God. 
 
 You remember that Jesus Christ paid tribute 
 even unto Caesar, than vvhom there has not lived a 
 more execrable tyrant. You remember, too, that 
 his immediate followers, as became the disciples of 
 such a master, everywhere bowed to the supremacy 
 of the Roman laws. It is a fact that will for ever 
 redound to the honour of the Christian church and 
 of its divine founder, that its members, though every- 
 where oppressed and persecuted for three success- 
 ive centuries, were nowhere implicated in those 
 commotions which agitated the provinces, nor were 
 they even accessory to those treasons which, during 
 that period, so often stained the capital with blood. 
 
 In the worst of times, and however you may dif- 
 fer with respect to men and measures, still cling to 
 the Constitution; cling to the integrity op 
 THE UNION ; cling to the institutions of your country. 
 These, under God, are your political ark of safety ; 
 the ark that contains the cradle of liberty in which 
 you were rocked ; that preserves the vase of Chris- 
 tianity in which you were baptized ; and that defends 
 the sacred urn where the ashes of your patriot fa- 
 thers moulder. Cling, therefore, to this ark, and de- 
 fend it while a drop of blood is propelled from your 
 heart, or a shred of muscle quivers on your bones. 
 Triumph as the friends of liberty, of order, of reli- 
 gion, or fall as martyrs. 
 
 I now bid you adieu. What scenes await you. 
 
110 ANTICIPATION OF HEAVEN. 
 
 your friends, and your beloved country, 1 know 
 not ; and you know not. But this we know, that 
 the Lord God omnipotent reigneth. And, becaiise 
 He reigneth, though the sea roar, and the waves 
 thereof be lifted up. Mount Zion will not be re- 
 moved. 
 
 This world is the region of sin ; and for the rea- 
 son that it is the region of sin, it is also the region 
 of disaster. But though here the tumult of battle 
 rage, and the garments of innocence be rolled in 
 blood, yonder in heaven is a secure abode. There 
 lay up your treasure, thither direct your hopes. 
 This done, face danger, and defy the menaces of 
 death. Unsuccessful indeed you may be. Yolir 
 fame may be blasted, your property may be plun- 
 dered, and your bodies doomed to exile or to exe- 
 cution ; but your souls, as they mount from the 
 stake or from the scaffold, looking down from the 
 scene of utter desolation, may exclaim in triumph, 
 " Our eternal interests are secure ; amid this wreck 
 we have lost nothing." May Almighty God pre- 
 serve you from evil, or enable you to meet it as tri- 
 umphantly as the saints met martyrdom, and to bin 
 name shall be the glory. 
 
LOVE OF DISTINCTION. lU 
 
 VII. 
 
 DELIVERED JULY 28, 1813. 
 
 fLove of Distinction,— Honour and Religion, though distinct, 
 are allied to each other. — Modern definition of the Law of 
 Honour. — Fallacies of this Definition exposed. — A sense of 
 Honour in different degrees operative on all Minds except the 
 most debased — The offices of this Feeling and of Conscience 
 contrasted. — Purpose for which the Sense of Honour was im- 
 planted in the human breast — Its Perversion an abuse. — Dig- 
 nity of Man, and the lofty distinction conferred on him by his 
 Maker. — His Fall and Recovery. — His Rank, Capacities, Pa- 
 rentage, and Destination, all call upon him to persevere in a 
 steady Course of honourable Action, in his Amusements, his 
 Pleasures, and his Occupations. — Dignity of the good Man in 
 his last moments.— All false and deceptive appearances will 
 be exposed in a future state ; and those only who are truly 
 and sincerely good will be accounted worthy of acceptance 
 and honour.] 
 
 Young gentlemen, your term of pupilage is al- 
 most closed. The last scene is acting in which you 
 will take a part on the collegiate theatre. Testimo- 
 nials of approbation have been delivered, badges of 
 distinction conferred. The tokens of respect from 
 your Alma JVlater, with which you will return to 
 your friends and your home, presuppose attainments 
 of no mean value, and are calculated to inspire you 
 with lofty ideas of personal consequence. Man 
 loves distinction, and he ought to love it. That 
 God had originally created him but little lower than 
 the angels, and crowned him with majesty and hon- 
 our, was among the considerations that touched the 
 heart of David with gratitude, and filled his lips 
 with praise. 
 
112 HONOUR AND RELIGION. 
 
 Let it be remembered, however, that the majesty 
 and honour with which man was originally crowned, 
 differ essentially from that spurious majesty, that 
 allectation of honour, in which he too often now ap- 
 pears. And let it also be remembered, that vice it- 
 self is never so dangerous as when it appears in the 
 habiliments of virtue. In nothing is the truth of 
 these positions more manifest than in that self-com- 
 placency with which little men practise those guilty 
 meannesses which fashion sanctions and folly cele- 
 brates. 
 
 Honour and religion are indeed distinct; but, 
 though distinct, they are allied ; and there can be 
 no high attainments in the one without correspond- 
 ing attainments in the other. There is nothing, for 
 instance, estimable or elevating in a mere act of suf- 
 fering ; in the dislocation of joints, or even in the con- 
 suming of the body by fire. But there is a majesty 
 that strikes, a grandeur that overwhelms in the con- 
 stancy of the martyr who endures both without a 
 murmur for God's and for righteousness' sake. 
 
 We do often, indeed, render honour to whom it 
 is not due ; but we do this becajuse we are govern- 
 ed, and are obliged to be governed, in our appraise- 
 ment of merit by external appearances. When, 
 however, any action is pronounced honourable, some 
 internal motive is supposed to have induced to its 
 performance, which, if it had truly induced to its per- 
 formance, would have rendered such action in reality 
 what it is now, perhaps, in appearance only. This 
 is a delicate point, and one on which you are liable 
 to be misguided. I have therefore chosen it for 
 discussion. 
 
FASHION.VBLE LAW OF HONOUR. 113 
 
 The law of honour has been defined to be a 
 rystem of rules, conslrucitd by people of fashion, and 
 calculated to facilitate their intercourse with one an-- 
 other ; and for no other purpose. 
 
 To this definition two objections may be made. 
 It does not discriminate between the object of this 
 law and that of other laws ; and it limits to people 
 of fashion a law which is as extensive as the human 
 race. 
 
 Is it peculiar to the law of honour to facilitate in- 
 tercourse among those who are subject to it 1 Does 
 not the civil law also aim at this 1 And is not this 
 an object at which the divine law aims, and which 
 it moreover effectually accomplishes 1 Again : is the 
 law of honour recognised by fashionable people only? 
 Or who are meant by fashionable people ? Those 
 so denominated in one country would be denomina- 
 ted the reverse in another. And, even in the same 
 country, the term comprehends no precise and def- 
 inite portion of community. The highest are fash- 
 ionable only by comparison : the intermediate ranks, 
 by a like comparison, are fashionable. The series 
 descends from grade to grade, and terminates only 
 with that ignoble herd, in comparison with whom there 
 are none more ignoble. Who, then, are those fash- 
 ionable people by v/hom the law of honour has been 
 constructed ] Are they those only who occupy the 
 first rank ? The terms of this law are familiar to, 
 and its sanctions are acknowledged by people of ev- 
 ery description. Neither husbandmen nor mechan- 
 ics are destitute of rules for facilitating intercourse ; 
 nor among them can such rules be violated without 
 
114 A SENSE OF HONOUR INHERENT. 
 
 dishonour. Remaining traces of the influence of 
 this law are sometimes tound among ruffians and 
 banditti : hence we hear, and the terms are not with- 
 out significancy, of honour among thieves. 
 
 The fact is, I believe, that the law of honour is 
 common to man, because the sense of honour on 
 which it is founded is common : a law which had 
 existence previous to any association of fashionable 
 people, and would have continued to exist though no 
 such association had ever taken place. 
 
 By adverting to such a system of rules as the 
 definition under discussion supposes, an individual 
 might become acquainted with the legalized eti- 
 quette of fashionable life. By experience he might 
 farther learn, that the observance of certain rules 
 facilitated intercourse ; but nature alone could teach 
 him understandingly to say, this action is honoura- 
 ble, that dishonourable ; because nature alone could 
 give him that inward feeling from which the very 
 idea of honour is derived. 
 
 This inward feeling or sense of honour is allied 
 to, if it be not a constituent part of, the moral sense. 
 It exists, perhaps originally, in different degrees in 
 different individuals. Its sensibility may be in- 
 creased by culture or diminished by neglect. Its 
 influence may be blended with other influences ; it? 
 decisions may be biased by custom, by education, 
 by prevalent modes of thinking and acting ; it maj 
 discover itself in different ways among different in- 
 dividuals and in different classes of community ; bu^ 
 among all who have not ceased to be men and be 
 
MORAL DESIGN OF THIS FEELING. 115 
 
 come brutes, some indications of its existence, some 
 traces of its influence remain. 
 
 It is by this sense of honour that we ascertain what 
 pleasures, what pursuits, and what demeanour accord 
 with our nature and rank. Its province is to distin- 
 guish between dignity and meanness, as that of the 
 moral is to decide between innocence and guilty ; 
 and its penalty is shame, as that of the moral sense 
 is remorse. It would exist if there were no fashion- 
 able society, nor even society of any sort. The 
 wanderer in his solitude, and communing only with 
 his heart, would recognise its influence, and, guided 
 by inward feeding, discriminate between actions, high 
 and low, dignified and mean. And, without this 
 feeling, he could not, even in society, make such 
 discrimination. Experience would teach to distin- 
 guish what was useful from what was injurious ; 
 conscience to distinguish what was virtuous from 
 what was vicious ; but to distinguish what was hon- 
 ourable from what was dishonourable, could only be 
 taught by a sense of honour. 
 
 This ennobling principle was implanted to pre- 
 vent the degradation of the species, and to secure 
 on the part of man a demeanour suited to his nature 
 and station, who, being the offspring of God, once 
 wore a crown of righteousness, and was invested 
 with regal honours. This high purpose, it is ad- 
 mitted, in the present state of things, is very imper- 
 fectly attained. The apostacy has diflxised its mor- 
 tal taint through the entire nature of man, and 
 neither honour nor conscience any longer performs 
 with due effect its sacred office. And yet, degra* 
 
116 PERVERSION OF THE SENSE OF HONOUR, 
 
 ded as human nature is, it would be still more de- 
 graded — vice would appear in new and more deba- 
 sing forms if all sense of honour were suspended. 
 Like native modesty against lust, honour, so far as 
 its influence goes, is a barrier in the heart against 
 meanness. Like all those moral tendencies usually 
 comprehended under the idea of conscience, its in- 
 fluence is feeble, and may be counteracted; its de- 
 cisions are erring, and may be swayed by passion 
 or prejudice ; and its sensibility, always defective, 
 may, by criminal indulgence, be greatly blunted, if 
 not utterly destroyed. 
 
 Envy, malice, pride, and lust are ever struggling 
 for dominion in the breast of man. And, where 
 grace is not concerned, they have dominion. To 
 the prevalence and potency of these abominable 
 passions it is owing that, in fashionable circles, 
 so many virtues are disregarded ; so many vices 
 are practised, although no sanction is afforded to 
 profligacy by honour or its laws ; the unbiased de- 
 cisions of which are for ever in favour of whatever 
 is dignified and ennobling, as those of conscience 
 are in favour of whatever is virtuous and holy ; and 
 it is not till their joint influence has been resisted — 
 has been stifled and overcome, that the degraded 
 debauchee can, without shame and without com- 
 punction, enjoy his degradation. 
 
 The result to which this inquiry would conduct 
 us, but which we have not now time to pursue, may 
 be thus summed up. The law of honour has its 
 foundation in an original sense of honour : this sense 
 is common to all men ; it is capable of being either 
 
FASHIONABLE MAN OP HONOTTR. 117 
 
 improved or corrupted : its province is to distinguish 
 between dignity and meanness ; and its final design 
 is the elevation of the human race. 
 
 I am aware, young gentlemen, that in these degen- 
 erate times terms of honour are insensibly changing 
 their significance, and becoming terms of opprobri- 
 um. And it is fit that it should be so. Since the 
 contemptible vapouring of principals and seconds in 
 their humiliating rencounters are conveyed exclu- 
 sively through the medium of these once reputable 
 and sacred terms, it is befitting that the terms them- 
 selves should lose their sacredness ; and that the 
 expression, " a man of honour," should be under- 
 stood to mean, what, in fact, in the modern use of it, 
 it does often mean, an empty, arrogant, and super- 
 cilious coxcomb. 
 
 But, because words are misused, do not suppose 
 that they never were significant, or that the things 
 to which they were once rightfully applied no long- 
 er have existence. To you, not as people of fash- 
 ion, but as intellectual, moral beings, belong the 
 sense and the law of honour. 
 
 Man is ennobled by his descent, by his faculties, 
 and by his destination. A vast chasm intervenes 
 between him and the highest link in the chain of 
 mere animal existence. His port, his attitude, the 
 texture of his frame, the grace and expression of his 
 countenance, bespeak a heavenly parentage, an ori- 
 gin divine. The reptile creeps, the brute bends 
 downwai'd to the earth. Man walks erect ; his el- 
 evated brow meets the sunbeam as it falls by day ; 
 
118 NOBLENE8J5 OF MAN'S NATURE. 
 
 and by night, the immeasurable firmament presents 
 its resplendent garniture to his heaven-directed eye. 
 
 " Two of far nobler shape, erect and tall, 
 Godlike erect, with native honour clad, 
 In naked majesty, seem'd lords of all." 
 
 No wonder that the primeval state of man exci- 
 ted in the poet such ideas. The grandeur of his 
 body strikes not, however, so forcibly as the gran- 
 deur of his mind. How august a spectacle is a be- 
 ing so limited in his corporeal dimensions, and yet 
 so vast in his intellectual resources. Reason, mem- 
 ory, fancy, and imagination are eminently his : no 
 space limits his researches, no time bounds his ex- 
 cursive sallies ; in a certain sense, he pervades the 
 past, the present, and the future. His soul, inde- 
 structible in its nature, and capable of endless im- 
 provement, is but the miniature of what it shall 
 hereafter be. Immortality — immortal progression! 
 what more could Adam covet ! what more can Ga- 
 briel boast of! 
 
 Like a palace for its monarch, this world was 
 reared up that it might become the residence of 
 man. Already were the land and water divided ; 
 already was the earth covered with herbage, and the 
 fruit-tree with fruit ; already had the stars been set to 
 rule the night, and the sun to rule the day, when man, 
 the last and the noblest of terrestrial beings, was, from 
 his native dust, ushered into life. Fresh in the robe 
 of innocence, and bearing on his heart his Maker's 
 image, he was solemnly inducted into the legal of- 
 fice, and constituted sovereign of the world, "And 
 have donr>inion," said the Almighty, addressing him- 
 
RECOVERY FROM THE APOSTACY. 119 
 
 self to our first parents, " And have dominion over 
 the fish of the sea, and over the fowl of the air, and 
 over every living thing that moveth upon the earth." 
 It was on the review of this inauguration that David 
 broke forth in that strain of admiration to which we 
 have already alluded. " When I consider thy heav- 
 ens, the work of thy fingers ; the moon and the 
 stars which thou hast ordained ; what is man that 
 thou art mindful of him, and the son of man that 
 thou visitest him ? For thou hast made him a little 
 lower than the angels, and hast crowned him with 
 glory and honour ; thou madest him to have domin- 
 ion over the works of thy hands ; thou hast put all 
 things under his feet." 
 
 What a lofty distinction to belong to such a race — 
 to be descended from such a parentage — to be des- 
 tined to such a career of progressive and intermi- 
 nable glory ! With what profound reverence ought 
 you to recognise the Author of your being ! with 
 what a burst of filial gratitude ought you to approach 
 His throne, who has bestowed on you such a profu- 
 sion of honours, and made you the heirs of such 
 exuberant felicity ! 
 
 Say not that the loss of primeval honour, the 
 change of original destination which the apostacy 
 occasioned, has absolved you from claims which 
 would otherwise press upon you. The apostacy 
 cancels no debt of gratitude, it severs no tie of duty. 
 And, were it otherwise, such plea to man, under the 
 present dispensation, were unavailable. All that 
 was lost by the apostacy of Adam has been recov- 
 ered, and recovered with boundless increase, by tha 
 
120 AMUSEMENTS. 
 
 mediation of Christ. To be restored to the Divine 
 image, to be reinstated in the Divine favour, to be 
 translated to the heavens, and to be numbered 
 among the sons of God — this honour have all His 
 saints. 
 
 " If the surrendry of my honour," said an illus- 
 trious captive, " be the condition of my liberty, give 
 me back my chains and reconduct me to my dun- 
 geon. I can brave torture, I can meet death, but I 
 cannot do an act that will disgrace one in whose 
 veins circulates the blood of a royal ancestry." Oh ! 
 that souls in captivity to sin would consecrate this 
 sentiment, and act with like becoming dignity. 
 
 Let the animal browse, let the reptile grovel, let 
 the serpent creep upon his belly and lick the dust ; 
 but let not man, heaven- descended, heaven-instruct- 
 ed, heaven-redeemed man, degrade himself 
 
 Your rank, your capacities, your parentage, and 
 your destination, alike bind you to a uniform course 
 of honourable pursuit, of dignified exertion. In 
 your amusements, in your pleasures, in your occupa- 
 tions^ on your deaths, be sensible of this. 
 
 In your ammements. — Man was made for serious 
 occupation, but not for such occupation perpetually. 
 As the bow, unstrung, recovers its elasticity, so the 
 mind acquires fresh vigour from sleep, "kind na- 
 ture's sweet restorer." Nor from sleep alone. 
 During his wakeful hours, severe pursuits must 
 sometimes be suspended ; but suspended only that, 
 after a short interval, they may be the more suc- 
 cessfully resumed. Such temporary suspension, 
 either of labour or study, implies no waste of time, 
 invnJves no degradation of character. 
 
PLEAStJRES. 121 
 
 Newton was still the philosopher when engaged 
 in blowing air bubbles ; Socrates still the moralist 
 when joining in the gambols of the Athenian chil- 
 dren. How does the gravity of pagan philosophers 
 reprove the levity of many a frivolous pretender to 
 character in Christendom. Those active, real sages 
 trifled but to live : these idle, spurious Christians 
 only live to trifle. 
 
 ** On all-important time, through every age, 
 Though much and warm the wise have urged, the man 
 Is yet unborn who duly weighs an hour. 
 * I've lost a day,' the prince who nobly cried 
 Had been an emperor without his crown ; 
 He spake as if deputed by mankind. 
 So should all speak ; so reason speaks in all." 
 
 In your pleasures, — The organic pleasures are 
 usually overrated by youth, and often by age. And 
 yet these pleasures are destitute of dignity. It is 
 admitted that man must eat and drink to live. So 
 also must the ox and the oyster. The viands of the 
 table, in point of elevation, are on a level with the 
 fodder of the stall. And the guests that partake of 
 the one, so far as the gratification of animal appetite 
 is concerned, are no more on an equality than the 
 herd that devours the other. Nor can any pre-em- 
 inence be claimed for the former, unless it be on the 
 ground of a less voracious appetite, or a more tem- 
 perate indulgence of it. Not so with the pleasures 
 of the eye and of the ear : not so with intellectual 
 pleasures. These are dignified as well as exquisite. 
 Honour, no less than enjoyment, springs from a par- 
 ticipation in them. You have tasted of those pleas- 
 ures, but you have not exhausted them. The clas- 
 K 
 
122 SERIOUS PURSUITS 
 
 sic fountain is still open. The streams of Grecian 
 and Roman eloquence and poesy, commingling 
 with those no less pure, of more modern origin^ still 
 flow within your reach. The Academy invites you 
 to its groves, the Lyceum to its intellectual banquets. 
 These are pleasures that become a scholar, that 
 become a man, and that are not incompatible with 
 the temperance and sanctitude of a Christian man. 
 But the pleasures of the debauchee — from these, 
 honour, conscience, every ennobling feeling, no less 
 than reason, revolt ; and no man ever for the first 
 time seated himself at the gaming-table, joined the 
 loud laugh at the horserace, took the inebriating 
 cup at the dram-shop, or crossed the polluted thresh- 
 old of the brothel, without feeling that his honour 
 had received a stain, and that his character suffered 
 degradation. 
 
 In your pursuits, — Useless, or even trivial pur- 
 suits illy befit the majesty of the human soul. Still 
 less do these mischiefs and meannesses befit it, to 
 which genius even is sometimes liable. But, though 
 genius is sometimes guilty of acts of this sort, such 
 acts are by no means indications of genius. There 
 is a trickishness, a dexterity in low and little arts, 
 that characterizes the monkey rather than the man. 
 Shallow minds, like shallow waters, often, perhaps 
 usually, babble loudest. 
 
 Being young is no apology for being frivolous. 
 Frivolity suits no state unless it be a state of idiocy. 
 True, you are just entering on life. The life, how- 
 ever, on which you are entering is life without end. 
 These are the inceptive steps in the career of ini' 
 
DEATH. 123 
 
 mortality '. Not even death interrupts the continuous 
 flow of being. Thus situated, are you willing to 
 forfeit your title to character on earth, and make 
 God, the just appraiser of honour in heaven, the 
 witness of your low actions ? 
 
 The sublime in morals is exhibited only in great 
 and useful pursuits ; and he only is an honourable 
 man who acts worthy of himself, and worthy of the 
 approbation of God, his Maker and his Master ; who 
 attends to every duty in its season ; who fills with 
 dignity his appropriate station, and directs the whole 
 vigour of his mind to the diffusion of knowledge, the 
 promotion of virtue, and the accomplishment of 
 good ; who can make sacrifices ; who can confront 
 danger ; who can resist temptation ; who can sur- 
 mount obstacles ; and who, trampling alike on the 
 world and on the tomb, pursues with undeviating 
 step his march to glory. 
 
 In your death, — There is at least one great oc- 
 casion in the life of every man ; there is one deci- 
 sive act that tries the spirit, and puts the destinies of 
 the soul at issue. Neither the skeptic's wavering 
 confidence nor the duellist's blind temerity befits this 
 dread solemnity. The wretch that thrusts himself 
 into his Maker's presence, and the wretch who, be- 
 ing called for, dares, without preparation and with- 
 out concern, to enter it, deserves alike our reproba- 
 tion. The one resembles the maniac who leaps 
 the precipice ; the other, the sot who staggers off it, 
 regardless of its height, and unmindful of the shock 
 that awaits his fall. From such spectacles of self- 
 destruction, the mind turns away with mingled emo- 
 
124 STEPHEN, ELIJAH, PAUL. 
 
 tions of pity, disgust, and horror. How unlike the 
 good man's death. Here there is real majesty. 
 Nothing below exceeds, nothing equals it. To see 
 a human being crowded to the verge of life, and 
 standing on that line that connects and divides eter- 
 nity and time, excites a solemn interest. But oh ! 
 what words can express the grandeur of the death- 
 scene, when the individual about to make the dread 
 experiment, sensible of his condition, and with heav- 
 en and hell, judgment and eternity full in view, is 
 calm, collected, confident ; and, relying on the mer- 
 its of his Saviour and the faithfulness of his God, is 
 eager to depart ! Perhaps the sainted Stephen here 
 occurs to mind : Stephen, with heaven beaming 
 from his countenance, as, sinking under the pressure 
 of his enemies, he raises his dying eyes to glory, 
 and says, *' Lord Jesus, receive my spirit." Per- 
 haps the Israelitish prophet, as, dropping his conse- 
 crated mantle on his pupil, he mounts the whirlwind 
 from the banks of Jordan ; or perhaps Saul of Tar- 
 sus, exclaiming, in prospect of the fires of martyr- 
 dom, " I am ready to be offered up ; I have fought 
 the good fight ; I have kept the faith ; and there is 
 henceforth laid up for me a crown of righteousness, 
 which the righteous Lord will dehver unto me ; and 
 not to me only, but to all those that love his appear-^ 
 ing." 
 
 " How our hearts burn within us at the scene ! 
 Whence this brave bound o'er limits set to man? 
 His God supports him in his final hour. 
 His final hour brings glory to his God. 
 We gaze, we weep mix'd tears of grief and joy; 
 Amazement strikes; devotion burns to flame ; 
 Christians admiro. and infidels believe." 
 
HONOUR INCOMPATIBLE WITH SIN. 125 
 
 I repeat, young gentlemen, in concluding this ad- 
 dress, a remark which was made at its commence- 
 ment. Though honour and religion are distinct^ 
 they are allied, and there can be no high attainments 
 in the one without con-esponding attainments in the 
 other. Strictly speaking, there is not in the uni- 
 verse, nor is it possible that there ever should be, 
 such a being as an honourable sinner. A sinner 
 may indeed, and often does, perform actions which 
 seem to indicate lofty and honourable sentiments. 
 A factitious splendour is thus flung around his per- 
 son, which may, till death, emblazon his character. 
 The light of eternity, however, will dissipate that 
 splendour. Then the mean and mercenary motives 
 which governed him will appear ; and, appearing, 
 will betray to the just appraisers of merit in heav- 
 en a very wretch, in the person of one whom the 
 blinded inhabitants of earih delighted to honour. In 
 that light the duellist, now pitied for his sensibility 
 or celebrated for his courage, will be seen to have 
 been either a trembling coward, who wanted nerve 
 to endure a sneer, or a malicious murderer, who, 
 could he have as certainly escaped the gallows, 
 would have employed, not the soldier's, but the as- 
 sassin's weapon in his work of death. In that light 
 many a sainted patriot will be discovered to have 
 been only a wily traitor ; and in many a titled con- 
 queror there will be recognised only the grim and 
 ferocious visage of a human butcher. 
 
 It is not the outward action, but the inward mo- 
 tive, that will in heaven secure the plaudit. To you 
 all the path of honour is open, because the path of 
 
126 VIRTUE ALONE CONFERS HONOUR. 
 
 duty is so. Those titles and distinctions whi^ik little 
 minds look up to and covet are merely adventitious. 
 Neither the bishop's lawn nor the judge's ermine 
 confers any real dignity. He only on the bench 
 who imitates the justice of that awful Being who is 
 himself a terror to the wicked ; he only at the altar 
 who imitates the clemency of that merciful Being who 
 is the consolation of the righteous ; he only in the 
 field who has drawn his sword from principle, and 
 from principle risks his life in defence of the people 
 and the cities of his God, will, in the consummation 
 of all things, be accounted an honourable man. Let 
 the ferocious savage present his crimsoned toma- 
 hawk as he mutters his orisons to the demons of 
 destruction, and boast of the sculls he has severed 
 and the scalps he has strung ; but let not the Chris- 
 tian victor count on glory achieved by cruelty. The 
 God of Christians smiles not at carnage, delights 
 not in blood. Nor is glory to be gathered only on 
 the public theatre or in the tented field. You may 
 lead an obscure life, and yet an honourable one. 
 There is in the cottage, no less than in the palace, 
 a majesty in virtue. In presiding over the devotions 
 of the parental board ; in the morning prayer, in the 
 evening anthem ; in those acts of supplication and^ 
 praise by which the soul mounts upward to the 
 throne, and enters the presence of the God of heav- 
 en, there is an honour inferior in degree, but not in 
 nature, to that which principalities and powers enjoy. 
 If the favour of princes confer distinction on those 
 around their persons, what must be the distinction of 
 
SANCTIFYING POWER OF RELIGION. 127 
 
 ♦liat contrite man in whom the spirit dwells, and 
 whom the Father delights to honour ! 
 
 That it sanctifies the soul, that it brings peace to 
 the conscience, these are, indeed, the grand prerog- 
 atives of our religion ; but they are not its only pre- 
 rogatives. The gospel of grace is rich in honour 
 as well as rich in consolation. Its high purpose is 
 to recover the sinner from his apostacy, and to sig- 
 nalize him hereafter among the sons of God. But, 
 in attaining this purpose, and as incidental to it, it 
 does signalize him here among the children of men. 
 There is no illumination so divine as the illumina- 
 tion of the spirit ; there are no virtues so divine as 
 the graces of the spirit ; nor is there any march so 
 truly glorious as the march through faith and pa- 
 tience to immortality. 
 
 Go, young gentlemen ; aim at being great only 
 by being good ; and hope to be good only by con- 
 fiding in that glorious Redeemer, through whose 
 merits alone it is possible that a sinner should be- 
 come so. 
 
 God grant you this grace, and to his name shall 
 be the glory. 
 
128 PUBLIC OPINION. 
 
 VIIL 
 
 DELIVERED JULY 27, 1814. 
 
 [Public Opinion as opposed to the Moral Law.— Games o! 
 Chance.— Objectionable because they unprofitably consume 
 Time. — Because they lead to a misapplication of Property. — 
 Because they impart no Expansion or Vigour to the Mind.— 
 Because their Influence on the Affections and Passions is del- 
 eterious. — Dreadful Effect of Gaming on Morals and on the 
 Sympathies of our Nature. — It leads to Debauchery, to Ava- 
 rice, to Intemperance. — The finished Gambler has no Heart. 
 — Example of Madame du Deffand. — Brutalized and hopeless 
 State of the Gambler and Drunkard. — Warning to Youth to 
 avoid the Temptations which lead to these soul-destroying 
 Vices.] 
 
 Young gentlemen, nian is susceptible of moral 
 no less than of intellectual improvement. These 
 are jhe two grand objects of collegiate education. 
 Hence its importance, not only to the individual, but 
 to community itself. 
 
 No matter what the printed code of civil law may 
 be in any country — no matter what the printed code 
 of canon law may be, to an immense majority, pub- 
 lic opinion constitutes a standard of paramount au- 
 thority. But public opinion itself is directed and 
 settled among the many by the few, who, either by 
 merit or by management, have acquired an ascend- 
 ancy, and become the acknowledged arbiters of 
 faith and of practice. Some of the points where 
 the moral law and public opinion are at issue, have 
 on similar occasions been discussed ; there are still 
 other points which demand discussion. 
 
GAMES OF CHANCE. 129 
 
 A good man regulates even his amusements, no 
 less ihan his serious occupations, by the maxims of 
 morality. Be ye perfect as I am perfect, is the un- 
 quahfied mandate of the Christian lawgiver ; and 
 till we are perfect as He is perfect, we never attain 
 that sublime distinction, to which, as candidates for 
 heaven, we should for ever be aspiring. 
 
 About to bid adieu to this seat of science, per- 
 mit me to admonish you, that it will be your part not 
 to receive a tone from, but to give a tone to public 
 feeling ; not to learn those lessons of morality which 
 the world will inculcate, but to inculcate on the 
 world those lessons w^hich you have elsewhere 
 learned. 
 
 We have a collegiate law which prohibits card- 
 playing, and the other fashionable games related to 
 it. In future life, let this law be adopted as one of 
 those inviolable rules of action which, being irrevo- 
 cably settled, are not to be transgressed. Why ? 
 Because the transgression of it in you, whatever it 
 may be in others, will be improper. Do not mis- 
 take my meaning ; I am not about to insist on any 
 argument drawn from the supposed sacredness of 
 games of chance. 
 
 But, if these games are not objectionable as games 
 of chance, why are they objectionable? 
 
 To this question I will attempt an answer. Be- 
 fore I commence, however, I would premise, that 
 nothing is more foreign from my design than to 
 hold up to universal obloquy all those who occasion- 
 ally indulge in any of these games. That candour, 
 which on all occasions I would wish to exercise 
 L 
 
130 CHARITABLE JUDGMENT. 
 
 as well as inculcate, obliges me to concede, that 
 there may be found, among the groups at the chess- 
 board or the card-table, individuals of very respect- 
 able character ; in other particulars, of irreproach- 
 able morals, and even, perhaps, of exemplary piety. 
 But they are individuals, notwithstanding, whom I 
 believe to be in error. Individuals whom public 
 opinion has misguided, and who, like that apostle 
 who thought he did God service, have this apology, 
 they sin ignorantly. Their situation, in a moral 
 point of view, is similar to his, who, in a country 
 where slavery is common, inconsiderately holds a 
 fellow-creature in bondage. Were that practice the 
 subject of discussion — far from comprehending in 
 the same sweeping sentence of reprobation the hu 
 mane master who treats with paternal indulgence 
 the blacks he inherited from his father, without eve* 
 suspecting that they are not as rightfully his property 
 as the sheep and oxen which he also inherited — far 
 from comprehending this man in the same sweeping 
 sentence of reprobation with the unfeeling wretch 
 who, in despite of conscience, of reason, and of law, 
 still drives that trade, which he knows to be a fel- 
 ony, and deliberately amasses a fortune by the sale 
 of human blood — far from comprehending this man 
 in the same sentence, I could, on the contrary, ad- 
 mit that he might be a philanthropist, and even, in 
 the strictest sense of the word, a Christian. But, 
 having made this admission, were I called to speak 
 in his presence of slavery, I would speak of it as a 
 man and a Christian ought to speak of it, with utter 
 detestation ; and in the same manner I mean to 
 
WASTE OF TIME. 131 
 
 Speak of gaming. No matter how many fashion- 
 able people may be implicated, no matter how 
 many of my own personal friends may be implica- 
 ted, I have a duty to perform, and I shall neither be 
 allured nor awed from the performance of it. The 
 question now returns. Why are these games ob- 
 jectionable 1 
 
 They are objectionable because they unprofitable 
 consume time, which to every man is 'precious : be- 
 cause they lead to a misapplication of property, for 
 which every man is accountable : because they im- 
 part no expansion or vigour to the mind ; and be- 
 cause their influence on the affections, and passions, 
 and heart, is deleterious. 
 
 1st. Because they unprofitably consume time, 
 which to every man is precious. Had I your future 
 lives at my disposal, I would not wish to impose on 
 you any unreasonable austerity. There must be 
 seasons of relaxation as well as seasons of exertion. 
 Rest necessarily follows action, and is in its turn 
 conducive to it. It is conceded that a student needs 
 recreation of mind ; but the card-table does not fur- 
 nish him with it. He needs exercise of body ; 
 neither does it furnish him with that. With what, 
 then, that is worth having, does it furnish him? 
 With nothing. From hours thus spent there is no 
 result beneficial to himself or to any other human 
 being. The time elapsed is wasted. To all the 
 useful purposes of life, of death, or of existence after 
 death, it is as though it had never been. 
 
 But who, during a trial so momentous and so 
 transitory, has vacant hours at his disposal ? Has 
 
132 MISAPPLICATION OF PROPERTY. 
 
 the young man preparing for action ? Has the old 
 man sinking down to death 1 Has the father, 
 charged with the education of his sons ? Has the 
 mother, intrusted with the instruction of her daugh- 
 ters 1 Ah I could I address these eternal idlers with 
 the same freedom that I address myself to you, I 
 would ask them whether so many hours were given 
 to play because there no longer remained to them 
 any duties to be performed ? I would ask them, 
 are the hungry fed 1 Are the naked clothed ? Are 
 the sick visited 1 Is the mourner consoled 1 Is the 
 orphan provided foT ? Are all the offices of friend- 
 ship and of charity executed ? Are all the demands 
 of the closet and of the altar cancelled ^ All, all 
 cancelled ! And yet, as successive days glide away, 
 does there remain in each such a dismal void to be 
 filled with the frivolous, not to say guilty, amuse- 
 ments of the card-table ? Perhaps it is so. But, 
 oh God ! thou knowest it was not thus with those 
 saints of old whom thou hast held up to us as ex- 
 amples. Their time was wholly occupied. With 
 labours of love each day was filled up. Nor were 
 their evenings devoted to play : nay, nor even their 
 nights to repose. Often, for the performance of 
 omitted duties, hours were borrowed from the sea- 
 son of rest which the shortness of the season of 
 action had denied. 
 
 2d. Because they lead to a misapplication of prop- 
 erty. Games of hazard, particularly where cards 
 are concerned, tend imperceptibly to gambling. 
 
 Play at first is resorted to as a pastime, and the 
 gamester becomes an idler only. This is the in- 
 
PLAYING FOR MONEY. 133 
 
 coptive step- But mere play has not enough of in- 
 terest in it to excite continued attention, even in the 
 most frivolous minds. To supply this defect, the 
 passion of avarice is addressed by the intervention 
 of a trifling stake. This is the second step. The 
 third is deep and presumptuous gambling ; here, all 
 that the adventurer can command is hazarded, and 
 gain, not amusement, becomes the powerful motive 
 that inspires him. These are the stages of play at 
 cards : that delusive and treacherous science which 
 has beggared so many families, made so many youth 
 profligates, and blasted for ever so many parents' 
 hopes. 
 
 But is a stake at play wrong ia principle ? It is 
 so. Nor is the nature of the transaction changed 
 by any increase or diminution of amount. Not that 
 it is a crime to hazard, but to hazard wrongfully ; 
 to hazard where no law authorizes it ; where neither 
 individual prudence, nor any principle of public 
 policy requires it. Property is a trust, and the hold- 
 er is responsible for its use. He may employ it in 
 trade ; he may give it away in charity, but he may 
 not wantonly squander it : he may not even lightly 
 hazard the loss of it for no useful purpose, where 
 there is no probability that the transaction will, on 
 the whole, be beneficial, either to the parties or the 
 community. 
 
 But I may not pass thus lightly over this subject. 
 The nature of gambling, considered as an occupa- 
 tion, and the relative situation of gamblers, ought to 
 be attended to. The issue which the parties join, 
 the rivalship in which thev engage, neither directly 
 
134 GAMBLERS. 
 
 nor indirectly promote any interest of community. 
 They have no relation to agriculture, none to com- 
 merce, none to manufactures. They furnish no 
 bread to the poor, hold out no motive to industry, 
 apply no stimulus to enterprise. Gaming is an em- 
 ployment sui generis. The talent it occupies is so 
 much deducted from that intelligence which super- 
 intends the concerns of the world ; the capital it ^ 
 employs is so much withdrawn from the stock re- 
 quired for the commerce of the world. Let the 
 stake be gained or lost, as it will, society gains no- 
 thing. The managers of this ill-appropriated fund 
 are not identified in their pursuits with any of those 
 classes whose ingenuity or whose labours benefit 
 society ; nor by any of those rapid changes through 
 which their treasure passes is there anything pro- 
 duced by which community is indemnified. 
 
 The situation of gamblers with respect to each 
 other is as singular and unnatural as their situation 
 with respect to the rest of mankind. Here, again, 
 the order of nature is reversed, the constitution of 
 God is subverted, and an association is formed, not 
 for mutual benefit, but for acknowledged mutual in- 
 jury. Precisely as much as the one gains, the oth- 
 er loses. JSTo equivalent is given, none is received. 
 The property indeed changes hands, but its quality 
 is not improved, its amount is not augmented. 
 
 In the mean time, the one who loses is a profli- 
 gate, who throws away, without any requital, the 
 property he possesses. The one who gains is a 
 ruffian, who pounces like a vulture on property which 
 he possesses not, and which he has acquired no right 
 
WASTE OF TIME BY GAMING. 135 
 
 to possess ; while both are useless members of so- 
 ciety — mere excrescences on the body politic. 
 Worse than this, they are a nuisance ; like leeches 
 on the body of some mighty and vigorous animal, 
 which, though they suck their aliment from its blood, 
 contribute nothing to its nourishment. No matter 
 how numerous these vagabonds (for I will not call 
 them by a more reputable name) may be in any 
 community ; no matter how long they may live, or 
 how assiduously they may prosecute their vocation. 
 No monument of good, the product of that vocation, 
 will remain behind them. They will be remem- 
 bered only by the waste they have commited or the 
 injury they have done ; while, with respect to all the 
 useful purposes of being, it will be as if they had 
 never been. 
 
 And is there no guilt in such an application of 
 property as this? Did Almighty God place man- 
 kind here for an occupation so mean ? Did he be- 
 stow on them treasures for an end so ignoble 1 It 
 Jesus Christ condemned to outer darkness that un- 
 profitable servant who, having wrapped his talent in 
 a napkin only, buried it in the earth, what think yoi: 
 will be his sentence on the profligate, who, having 
 staked and lost his all, goes from the gaming-table, 
 a self-created pauper, to the judgment-seat. Nor 
 will the Judge less scrupulously require an account 
 of the cents you have for amusement put down at 
 piquet, than he would had you played s way at brag 
 the entire amount of the shekel of the sanctuary. 
 
 But you do not mean to gamble nor to advocate 
 it. I know you do not. But I also know, if you 
 
136 PROGRESS OF THE GAMBLER. 
 
 play at all, you will ultimately do both. It is but 
 a line that separates between innocence and sin. 
 Whoever fearlessly approaches this line will soon 
 have crossed it. To keep at a distance, therefore, 
 is the part of wisdom. No man ever made up his 
 mind to consign to perdition his soul at once. No 
 man ever entered the known avenues which conduct 
 to such an end with a firm and undaunted step. 
 The brink of ruin is approached with caution, and 
 by imperceptible degrees ; and the wretch who now 
 stands fearlessly scoffing there, but yesterday had 
 shrunk back from the awful cliff with trembling. 
 Do you wish for illustration 1 The profligate's un- 
 written history will furnish it. How inoffensive its 
 commencement, how sudden and how frightful its 
 catastrophe ! Let us review his life. He com- 
 mences with play ; but it is only for amusement. 
 Next he hazards a trifle to give interest, and is sur- 
 prised when he finds himself a gainer by the hazard. 
 He then ventures, not without misgivings, on a 
 deeper stake. That stake he loses. The loss 
 and the guilt oppress him. He drinks to revive his 
 spirits. His spirits revived, he stakes to retrieve 
 his fortune. Again he is unsuccessful, and again 
 his spirits flag, and again the inebriating cup revives 
 them. Ere he is aware of it, he has become a 
 drunkard ; he has also become a bankrupt. Re- 
 source fails him. His fortune is gone; his char- 
 acter is gone ; his tenderness of conscience is gone. 
 God has withdrawn his spirit from him. The de- 
 mon of despair takes possession of his bosom ; rea- 
 son deserts him. He becomes a maniac ; the pis« 
 
CORRUPTING EFFECTS OF GAMING. 137 
 
 lol or the poniard closes the scene ; and with a 
 shiiek he plunges, unwept and forgotten, into — hell. 
 
 But there are other lights in which this subject 
 should be viewed. The proper aliment of the body 
 is ascertained by its effects. Whatever is nutritious 
 is selected; whatever is poisonous, avoided. Let 
 a man of common prudence perceive the deleteri- 
 ous effects of any fruit, however fair to the eye, 
 however sweet to the taste ; let him perceive these 
 effects in the haggard countenances and swollen 
 limbs of those who have been partaking of it, and, 
 although he may not be able to discover wherein its 
 poisonous nature consists, he admits that it is poi- 
 sonous, and shrinks from participating in a repast in 
 which some secret venom lurks, that has proved fatal 
 to many, and injurious to most who have hitherto tast- 
 ed it. Why should not the same circumspection be 
 used with respect to the aliment of the mind ? It 
 undoubtedly should. But gaming presents even a 
 stronger case than the one we have supposed ; for 
 not only the fact, but the reason of it is obvious ; so 
 that we may repeat what has been already said of 
 games of hazard : they impart little or no expansion 
 or vigour to the mind ; and their influence on the 
 affections, and passions, and heart is deleterious. 
 
 When I affirm that these games impart little or 
 no expansion or vigour to the mind, I do not mean 
 to be understood that they are or can be performed 
 entirely without intellection. It is conceded that 
 the silliest game requires some understanding, and 
 that to play at it is above the capacity of an oyster, 
 or even of an ox, or of an ane. It is conceded, too. 
 
138 STUPIDITY OF GAMING. 
 
 that games of every sort require some study; the 
 most of them, however, require but httie ; and, after 
 the few first efforts, the intellectual condition of the 
 gamester, so far as his occupation is concerned, is 
 but one degree removed from that of the dray-horse 
 buckled to his harness, and treading over from day 
 to day, and from night to night, the same dull track, 
 as he turns a machine which some mind of a higher 
 order has invented. So very humble is this species 
 of occupation ; so very limited the sphere in which 
 it allows the mind to operate, that, if any individual 
 were to remain through the term of his existence 
 mute and motionless — in the winter state of the 
 Norwegian bear — his intellectual career would be 
 about as splendid, and his attainments in knowledge 
 about as great as they would were he to commence 
 play at childhood, and continue on at whist or loo 
 through eternity. For, though the latter state of be- 
 ing presupposes some exercise of the mental facul 
 ties, it is so little, so low, and so uniform, that, if the 
 result be not literally nothing, it approaches nearer 
 to it than the result of any other state of being to 
 which an intelligent creature can be doomed short 
 of absolute inanity or death. 
 
 How unlike in its effect must be this unmeaning 
 shuffle of cards, this eternal gazing on the party- 
 coloured surface of a few small pieces of pasteboard, 
 where nothing but spades, and hearts, and diamonds, 
 and clubs, over and over again, every hour of the 
 day, every hour of the night, meet the sleepless eye 
 of the vacant beholder : how unlike must be the ef- 
 fect of this pitiful employment, continued for fifty or 
 
NEWTON, BACON, PALEY. 139 
 
 for seventy years, to that which would have been 
 produced on the same mind in the same period by 
 following the track of Newton to those sublime re- 
 sults, whither he has led the way, in the regions of 
 abstraction ; by communing with tlie soul of Bacon, 
 deducing from individual facts the universal laws of 
 the material universe ; or by mounting with Her- 
 schel to the Atheneum of the firmament, and there 
 learning, direct from the volume of the stars, the 
 science of astronomy] How unlike to that which 
 would have been produced in the same period by 
 ranging with Paley through the department of mor- 
 als ; by soaring with Hervey on the wing of devo- 
 tion ; or even by tracing the footsteps of Tooke 
 araid the mazes of philology ? 
 
 Card-playing has not even the merit of the com- 
 mon chit-chat of the tea-table. Here there is some 
 scope for reason, some for the play of fancy, some 
 occasion for mental effort, some tendency to habits 
 of quick association, in attack, in repartee, and in the 
 various turns resorted to for keeping up and enliven- 
 ing conversation. Much less has it the merit of 
 higher and more rational discourse, of music, of 
 painting, or of reading. 
 
 Indeed, if an occupation were demanded for the 
 express purpose of perverting the human intellect ; 
 for humbling, and degrading, and narrowing, I had 
 almost said annihilating, the soul of man, one more 
 effectual could not well be devised than the game- 
 ster has already devised and resorted to. The fa- 
 ther and mother of a family, who, instead of assem- 
 bling their children in the reading-room or conduct- 
 
140 SUBLIME USES OF KNOWLEDGE. 
 
 ing them to the altar, seat them night after night be* 
 side themselves at the gaming-table, do, so far as 
 fliis part of their domestic economy is concerned, 
 contribute not only to quench their piety, but also to 
 extinguish their intellect, and convert them into au- 
 tomatons, living mummies, the mere mechanical 
 members of a domestic gambling-machine, which, 
 though but little soul is necessary, requires a num- 
 ber of human hands to work it ; and if, under such 
 a blighting culture, they do not degenerate into a 
 state of mere mechanical existence, and, gradually 
 losing their reason, their taste, and their fancy, be- 
 come incapable of conversation, the fortunate pa- 
 rents may thank the schoolhouse, the church, the 
 library, the society of friends, or some other and less 
 wretched part of their own defective system for 
 preventing so frightful a consummation. 
 
 Such, young gentlemen, are the morbid and de- 
 grading effects of play on the human intellect. But 
 intelligence constitutes no inconsiderable part of the 
 glory of man ; a glory which, unless eclipsed by 
 crime, increases as intelligence increases. Knowl- 
 edge is desirable with reference to this world, but 
 principally so with reference to the next. Not that 
 philosophy, or language, or mathematics will cer- 
 tainly be pursued in heaven ; but because the pur- 
 suit of them on earth gradually communicates that 
 quickness of perception, that acumen, which, as it 
 increases, approximates towards the sublime and 
 sudden intuition of celestial intelligences, and which 
 cannot fail to render more splendid the commence- 
 ment and the progression of man's interminable ca- 
 reer. 
 
EFFECT OF GAMING ON THE HEART. 141 
 
 But, while gaming leaves the mhid to languish, it 
 produces its full effect on the passmis and on the 
 heart. Here, however, the effect is positively del- 
 eterious. None of the sweet and amiable sympa- 
 thies are called into action at the card-table. No 
 throb of ingenuous and philanthropic feeling is ex- 
 cited by this detestable expedient for killing time, as 
 it is called ; and it is rightly so called, for many a 
 murdered hour will witness at the day of ^gment 
 against that fashionable idler who divides ner time 
 between her toilet and the card-table, no less than 
 against the profligate, hackneyed in the ways of sin, 
 ^nd steeped in all the filth and debauchery connect- 
 ed with gambling. But it is only amid the filth and 
 debauchery connected with gambling that the full 
 ' effects of card-playing on the passions and on the 
 heart of man are seen. 
 
 Here the mutual amity that elsewhere subsists 
 ceases ; paternal affection ceases ; even that com- 
 munity of feehng which piracy excites, and which 
 binds the very banditti together, has no room to op- 
 erate ; for at this inhospitable board every man's in- 
 terest clashes with every other man's interest, and 
 every man's hand is literally against every man. 
 
 The love of mastery and the love of money are 
 the purest motives of which the gamester is suscep- 
 tible. And even the love of mastery loses all its 
 nobleness, and degenerates into the love of lucre, 
 which ultimately predominates, and becomes the 
 ruling passion. 
 
 Avarice is always base ; but the gamester's ava- 
 rice is doubly so. It is avarice unmixed with any 
 
142 AVARICE OF THE GAMBLES . 
 
 ingredient of magnanimity or mercy. Avarice that 
 wears not even the guise of public spirit ; that 
 claims not even the meager praise of hoarding up 
 its own hard earnings. On the contrary, it is an 
 avarice that wholly feeds upon the losses, and only 
 delights itself with the miseries of others ; an ava- 
 rice that eyes with covetous desire whatever is not 
 individually its own ; that crouches to throw its 
 clutches over that booty by which its comrades are 
 enriched ; an avarice, in short, that stoops to rob a 
 traveller, that sponges a guest, and that would filch 
 the very dust from the pocket of a friend. 
 
 But, though avarice predominates, other related 
 passions are called into action. The bosom that 
 was once serene and tranquil becomes habitually 
 perturbed. Envy rankles, jealousy corrodes, anger 
 rages, and hope and fear alternately convulse the 
 system. The mildest disposition grows morose ; 
 the sweetest temper becomes fierce and fiery, and 
 all the once amiable features of the heart assume a 
 malignant aspect. Features of the heart did I say? 
 Pardon my mistake. The finished gambler has no 
 heart. Though his intellect may not be, though his 
 soul may not be, his heart is quite annihilated. 
 
 Thus habitual gambling consummates what habit- 
 ual play commences. Sometimes its deadening in- 
 fluence prevails even over female virtue, echpsing 
 all the loveliness and benumbing all the sensibility 
 of woman. In every circle where cards form the 
 bond of union, frivolity and heartlessness become 
 alike characteristics of the mother and the daughter ; 
 devotion ceases ; domestic care is shaken off, and 
 
EXAMPLE OF MADAME DU DEPFAND. 143 
 
 the dearest friends, even before their burial, are con- 
 signed to oblivion. 
 
 This is not exaggeration. I appeal to fact. 
 Madame du DefTand was certainly not among the ^ 
 least accomplished or the least interesting females 
 who received and imparted that exquisite tone of feel- 
 ing that pervaded the most fashionable society of 
 modern Paris. And yet it is recorded of her, in the 
 correspondence of the Baron de Grimm, whose vera- 
 city will not be questioned, that, immediately after the 
 death of her old and intimate friend and admirer, M. 
 de Ponte de Vesle, this celebrated lady attended a 
 great supper in the neighbourhood ; and as it was 
 known that she made it a point of honour to be ac- 
 companied by him, the catastrophe was generally 
 suspected. She mentioned it, however, herself, im- 
 mediately after entering ; adding, that it was lucky 
 he had gone off so early in the evening, as she might 
 otherwise have been prevented from appearing. She 
 then sat down to table, and made a very hearty and 
 merry meal. 
 
 Afterward, when Madame de Chatelet died, Ma- 
 dame du Deffand testified her grief for the most inti- 
 mate of all her female acquaintances by circulating, 
 the very next morning, throughout Paris, the most 
 libellous and venomous attack on her person, her 
 understanding, and her morals. 
 
 This utter heartlessness, this entire extinction of 
 native feeling, was not peculiar to Madame du Def- 
 fand ; it pervaded that accomplished and fashionable 
 circle in which she moved. Hence she herself, in 
 turn, experienced the same kind of sympathy ; and 
 
144 RECKLESSNESS OP THE GAMBLER. 
 
 her memory was consigned to the same instantaneous 
 oblivion. During her last illness, three of her dear- 
 est friends used to come and play cards every night 
 by the side of her couch ; and she choosing to die 
 in the middle of a very interesting game, they quiet 
 ly played it out, and settled their accounts before 
 leaving the apartment.* 
 
 I do not say that such are the uniform, but I do 
 say that such are the natural and legitimate effects 
 of gaming on the female character. The love of 
 play is a demon, which only takes possession as it 
 kills the heart. But, if such is the effect of gaming 
 on the one sex, what must be its effect upon the 
 other ? Will nature long survive in bosoms inva- 
 ded not by gaming only, but also by debauchery and 
 drunkenness, those sister furies which hell has let 
 loose, to cut off our young men from without, and 
 our children from the streets ? No, it will not. As 
 we have said, the finished gambler has no heart. The 
 club with which he herds would meet though all its 
 members were in mourning. They would meet 
 though their place of rendezvous were the chamber 
 of the dying ; they would meet though it wer*^ an 
 apartment in the charnel-house. Not even the 
 death of kindred can affect the gambler. He would 
 play upon his brother's coffin ; he would play upon 
 his father's sepulchre. 
 
 Yonder see that wretch, prematurely old in infirm- 
 ity as well as sin. He is the father of a family. 
 The mother of his children, lovely in her tears, 
 strives by the tenderest assiduities to restore his 
 * See Quarterly Review. 
 
ULTIMATE RESULTS OF GAMBLING. 145 
 
 health, and with it to restore his temperance, his 
 love of home, and the long-lost charms of domestic 
 life. She pursues him by her kindness and her en- 
 treaties to his haunts of vice ; she reminds him of 
 his children ; she tells him of their virtues, of their 
 sorrows, of their wants, and she adjures him, by the 
 love of them and by the love of God, to repent and 
 to return. Vain attempt ! She might as well ad- 
 jure the whirlwind ; she might as well entreat the 
 tiger. 
 
 The brute has no feeling left. He turns upon 
 her in the spirit of the demons with which he is pos- 
 sessed. He curses his children and her who bare 
 them ; and, as he prosecutes his game, he fills the 
 intervals with imprecations on himself — with impre- 
 cations on his Maker — imprecations borrowed from 
 the dialect of devils, and uttered with a tone that 
 befits only the organs of the damned ! And yet in 
 this monster there once dwelt the spirit of a man. 
 He had talents, he had honour, he had even faith. 
 He might have adorned the senate, the bar, the altar. 
 But, alas ! his was a faith that saveth not. The 
 gaming-table has robbed him of it, and of all things 
 else that is worth possessing. What a frightful 
 change of character ! What a tremendous wreck 
 is the soul of man in ruins ! 
 
 Return, disconsolate mother, to thy dwelling, and 
 be submissive ; thou shalt be a widow, and thy chil- 
 dren fatherless. Farther effort will be useless : the 
 reformation of thy partner is impossible. God has 
 forsaken him ; nor will good angels weep or watch 
 over him any more. 
 
 M 
 
146 EXHORTATION TO YOUTH. 
 
 Against this fashionable amusement, so subver- 
 sive of virtue, so productive of guilt, so inseparable 
 from misery, I adjure you to bear, at all times and 
 on all occasions, a decisive testimony. And I do 
 this, not only that you may escape destruction your- 
 selves, but also that you may not be the occasion ot 
 others' destruction. What more shall I say ? For 
 time would fail me to point out all the dangers that 
 will attend your steps, or to enumerate all the tempt- 
 ations that will assail your virtue. I can only, there- 
 fore, in closing this address, repeat to each of you 
 that summary but solemn admonition which the 
 royal preacher once delivered to the youth of Israel : 
 Rejoice, oh young man, in thy youth, and let thy 
 heart cheer thee in the days of thy youth, and walk 
 in the ways of thine heart, and in the sight of thine 
 eyes ; but know thou that for all these things God 
 will bring thee into judgment. 
 
 Creator of our souls. Father of the spirits of all 
 living, grant to our youth wisdom, and to thy name 
 shall be the glory in Christ. Amen. 
 
DUTY AND INTEREST INSEPARABLE. 147 
 
 IX. 
 
 DELIVERED JULY 26, 1815. 
 
 Skeptical Notions in regard to the Providence of God, and his re- 
 tributive Ju-stice. — The condition of the Virtuous and Vicious in 
 this World affords no argument against the position that God 
 will reward the one and punish the other. — A future State of 
 Existence is certain, and must be taken into account in judging 
 of the Character and Designs of God. — The inward Peace en- 
 joyed by the Virtuous, and the Trouble and Remorse experi- 
 enced by the Vicious, indications of God's Moral Govern- 
 ment. — The Trials of the Righteous intended to exalt and pu- 
 rify their Character. — Consolations of the Righteous in the 
 view of Death, and the Happiness that awaits them in a fu- 
 ture State of Being,] 
 
 Young gentlemen, the God of righteousness is 
 the friend of happiness. Hence man's duty and his 
 interest are inseparable. This has sometimes been 
 doubted, sometimes even explicitly denied. In re- 
 mote antiquity there lived those who said, " It is in 
 vain to serve God ; and lohat profit is it that we have 
 kept his ordinances ?" 
 
 To adopt this gloomy hypothesis, so fatal to the 
 eternal interests of mankind, was not peculiar to 
 those who lived in remote antiquity. Now, as for- 
 merly, there are profane men, who, with respect to 
 all the rewards of virtue, are utter skeptics. Both 
 experience and observation are appealed to ; and, 
 as if this transitory life were the whole of man, it is 
 triumphantly asserted. That the proud are happy ; 
 that those who work wickedness are set up, and those 
 who tempt God are delivered. 
 
148 ERRORS OF SKEPTICIS^i. 
 
 Nor is it profane men only who have miscon- 
 strued, and who still misconstrue, on this article, the 
 ways of Providence. The saint of Uz, the psalm- 
 ist of Israel, and even Solomon himself, than whom 
 a wiser prince has not lived, were embarrassed at 
 the seeming prosperity of the wicked. 
 
 A bewildering obscurity does indeed hang over 
 this part of the Diving Economy. To a short-sight- 
 ed and superficial observer, that balance in which the 
 actions of men are weighed seems to be held with 
 an equal hand. To say the least, it is not always 
 and at every stage of being, apparent that God re- 
 gards the righteous more than the wicked ; and be- 
 cause it is not always apparent, men of perverse 
 minds presumptuously infer that he does not. 
 
 The Divine care, say they, if indeed there be any 
 Divine care, is extended alike to all. No partiality 
 is discoverable in the distribution of His most pub- 
 lic and important gifts. Air, and water, and sun- 
 shine are as free as they are abundant. Does food 
 statedly nourish, and sleep refresh the pious 1 So 
 they do the impious. The flocks of the latter are 
 as vigorous, their pastures are as green, and their 
 husbandry as productive as those of the former. No 
 flower withers as the sinner plucks it ; the earth 
 sinks not beneath his unhallowed tread, nor does 
 the sun avert his beams from his heaven-directed eye. 
 
 If God be the rewarder of virtue, why do trans- 
 gressors live 1 And yet they do live : more than 
 this, they prosper. Those who are hampered by 
 the restraints of duty are overthrown by them ; and 
 through crimes and blood they force their way to 
 
WRONG VIEWS OF THE DIVINE CHARACTER. 149 
 
 place and power. His saints cry to him, but lie 
 hears them not : they present their claim, but it is 
 disregarded. Rags cover them, and they are fed 
 with the bread of bitterness : a conclusive evidence 
 that there is no God, or that virtue is of little estima- 
 tion in his sight. 
 
 Thus argue the enemies of religion. But let no 
 young adventurer, no aspiring candidate for glory, 
 be misguided by it. All that has been said or that 
 can be said in favour of a theory so humiliating to 
 man, so derogatory to God, is mere sophistry : 
 sophistry disguised, indeed, but gross and palpable. 
 
 Because the reward of virtue is not in every in- 
 stance simultaneous with the act, does it follow that 
 virtue has no reward ? Waits not the husbandman 
 for the fruits of his industry until the harvest ? And 
 yet who pretends that his care and labour are thrown 
 away ? No one. On the contrary, all say, as he 
 goes forth weeping to scatter ' the precious seed, 
 Doubtless he will return rejoicing, hearing his sheaves 
 with him. Can that be true where religion is con- 
 cerned, that would be false with respect to all things 
 else ? 
 
 Let the rash theorist remember that he has seen 
 but a very small part of man's existence, and that 
 part, too, which is only inceptive and preparatory. 
 Conclusions drawn from a part to the whole are al- 
 ways defective, and in this instance may prove as 
 fatal as fallacious. Be it remembered that the race 
 must be finished ere the prize is won ; that the vic- 
 tory must be achieved before it can be expected that 
 the crown should be placed on the victor's brow. 
 
150 RETRIBUTIVE JUSTICE OF GOD. 
 
 The unjust steward, as well as the just, retained his 
 talent till the day of reckoning. 
 
 It is not the equivocal fact of having been intrust- 
 ed with a few pieces of money, or with a spot of earth 
 a little larger than others, but the retribution that shall 
 follow the use or abuse of that trust, which will con- 
 vey to the universe the evidence of God's eternal 
 and impartial justice. To ascertain whether religion 
 be advantageous or not, something more than the fu- 
 gitive joys and sorrows of this illusive world must 
 be considered. Is what we see the whole of be- 
 ing, or is there an after scene? If so, what is its 
 duration, what its character ? And will that which 
 precedes give a complexion to that which follows? 
 These are questions which awaken a solemn inter- 
 est, and questions, too, which must be answered be- 
 fore it is possible to pronounce, with even a shadow 
 of truth, upon the destiny of man. 
 
 True, the ultimate reward of virtue is at present 
 a matter of faith and not of sight ; but of faith rest- 
 ing on high and responsible authority. All the phe- 
 nomena of nature, all the economy of Providence, 
 all the forebodings of the heart of man, intimate, 
 what the Scriptures declare. That after death comes 
 the judgment. The impious may sneer, the skep- 
 tic may doubt, and guess, and conjecture ; but dare 
 even he, in the face of all this evidence, affirm that 
 he knows that this is not the case? And if he dare 
 not, then, even the skeptic being judge, the interests 
 of virtue may be secure, and the rapturous anticipa- 
 tions of Saul of Tarsus well founded, who, in the 
 near approach of death, triumphantly exclaimed, 1 
 
HIGHER PLEASURES THAN OF SENSE. 151 
 
 have fought the good Jight ! And should the rap- 
 turous anticipation of Saul of Tarsus be well found- 
 ed, how will stand the account 1 Ah, hearer ! when 
 weighed in the balance of the sanctuary, bonds, and 
 stripes, and imprisonment are only light afflictions, 
 unworthy to be put in competition with that exceed- 
 ing and eternal weight of glory hereafter to be re- 
 vealed. 
 
 But, eternity apart, it is not true that religion has 
 no reward ; and the arrogant assumption that it has 
 not, to whatever period of existence it be limited, or 
 to whatever part of God's creation it be applied, is 
 as false in fact as it is impious in theory. Not that 
 its heaven-approved possessor is uniformly, or even 
 usually signalized by what the sensual call prosperity. 
 And what though he is not ? Is he an animal mere- 
 ly, that his health and thrift should be estimated by 
 the limits or the luxuriance of the pasture in which 
 he ranges, or by the quantity of fodder that is thrown 
 before him by his keeper ? In testing his well-be- 
 ing, the things that concern the body are of small 
 account. Here, as elsewhere, 
 
 " The mind's the measure of the man." 
 
 Food and raiment, to an incarnate spirit, are desira- 
 ble ; but they are not the only things that are so. 
 To such a spirit, the precious metals have their 
 value ; but there are other gifts within the compass 
 of God's almightiness still more valuable than the pre- 
 cious metals. So David, having made the experi- 
 ment, decided ; so Solomon, having made the experi- 
 ment, decided- Not all the honours royalty could 
 
152 RELIGION HAS A PRESENT REWARD. 
 
 confer, not all the luxuries that affluence could pro- 
 cure, furnished, in their impartial estimation, so pure 
 or so perfect a pleasure as that which is conveyed 
 to the heart through the consecrated channel of de- 
 votion : nor is devotion the only channel of delight, 
 refined and exquisite. 
 
 Virtue, in all its acts, carries with it a reward. In 
 the exercise of conscious rectitude, in the perform- 
 ance of charitable offices, in feeding the poor, in min- 
 istering id the sick, in consoling the mourner, and in 
 guiding inquiring souls in the way to heaven, there 
 is a blessedness so holy, so divine, that the gross 
 delights of sensuality, and the corrosive joys of ava- 
 rice and ambition, are in comparison only disguised 
 misery. 
 
 There is much illusion in that apparent glory which 
 wealth and honour seem to throw around the sinner. 
 JNTone but a novice will estimate a man's happiness 
 by the extent of his possessions. Solomon is not 
 the only one who has seen riches kept for the owners 
 thereof to their hurt. What were crowns and king- 
 doms worth, to be held by such a tenure ? And 
 yet by such a tenure many an envied profligate holds 
 whatever of wealth and honour he possesses. In 
 vain he strives to conceal his misery. He smiles 
 and smiles, but is still accursed. 
 
 This is one of the ways in which God, in his in 
 Qcrutable providence, and notwithstanding appear 
 ances to the contrary, distinguishes the righteous 
 from the wicked. To the former, though he give 
 sparingly, he gives in mercy^ and it becomes a double 
 blessing. To the latter he gives bountifully ; but 
 
UNSATISFYING NATURE OF RICHES. 153 
 
 he gives in wrath, and it proves a curse. Hence 
 the favourites of the world are for ever repining at 
 their lot. And well they may repine at it ; for ev- 
 ery addition to unsanctified wealth only corrodes the 
 heart with new cares, and agitates the bosom with 
 new desires. This is no exaggeration. I appeal 
 to fact. Long and ofcen has the experiment been 
 tried. Among those prayerless sinners whom so 
 many account happy, wealth has been distributed. 
 But with what effect? Has ambition anywhere 
 been satisfied ? Or has avarice ever been heard to 
 say it is enough ? No, never. On the contrary, 
 both, hungry as the grave, cry, Give, give. And 
 God does give. But still the cry is repeated, and 
 will continue to be repeated till death stifles it ; for 
 it is prompted by an appetite that is never satiated, 
 and by a thirst that is never quenched. 
 
 Selfishness may possess the world, but benevo- 
 lence alone can enjoy it. Better is a dry morsel 
 with contentment^ than a house full of sacrifices with 
 strife. It is not the flocks that a man numbers, the 
 slaves he commands, or the domains which he calls 
 his own ; it is not the palace he inhabits, the crown 
 on his head, or the sceptre in his hand, but the 
 amount of blessedness he derives from them, that is 
 to be taken into the account in determining whether 
 mercy or vengeance be the predominant feature of his 
 lot. The devout eye, in only beholding the fields, 
 and groves, and gardens which display so many 
 beauties around some licentious court or inhospita- 
 ble mansion, often derives more happiness from the 
 scene than it ever conveys to its graceless and 
 havghty owner. 
 
 / 
 
154 SIN DESTROYS HAPPINESS. 
 
 There is an obscuring and deadening influence in 
 sin. It destroys the sensibihty ; it perverts the taste ; 
 and it sheds over the intellectual and moral eye a 
 sombrous and sickly light, in which heaven, and 
 earth, and nature, and art, appear alike dim and glory- 
 less. No Providence is seen ; no parent's love is 
 recognised ; no pulse of joy, no throb of gratitude is 
 felt. A dismal ennui consumes the solitary hour, 
 and even the social revel is but heartless affectation 
 and mimic mirth. Oh God ! it is by prosperity that 
 thou dost inflict upon the wicked thy strange ven- 
 geance. Their bane is the mercies which they re- 
 ceive, but acknowledge not ; and, not acknowledg- 
 ing them, they cease to be mercies. It was ordain- 
 ed of old that it should be so ; and so it is that 
 virtue enjoys more even of this world in rags and 
 cottages, than does vice in robes and courts ; and it 
 were better, heaven and hell out of the question, to 
 subsist like Lazarus on crumbs sweetened by sub- 
 mission, than to revel at luxurious banquets with 
 Dives and his faithless guests. 
 
 But neither to saints nor sinners is life made up 
 of banquets. This world presents not a uniform, 
 but a mixed scene. Light and shade are blended. 
 And if to all there are some days of sunshine and joy, 
 so to all there are some of darkness and wo. These 
 latter must be subtracted, and the balance of pains 
 and pleasures struck, before we can pronounce with 
 safety on the comparative blessedness of the right- 
 eous and the wicked. Though the former were less 
 affluent and honoured, and more despised and tram- 
 pled on than they are, it would not follow that they 
 
THE christian's JOY IN TRIBULATION. 155 
 
 are less happy or less favoured of God on that ac- 
 count. Are their afflictions great? So also, and 
 more abundantly, may be their consolations. I am 
 aware that the history of godliness is a history filled 
 with objects of terror ; and that many of its scenes 
 are drawn in characters of blood. I am aware 
 that persecution has often prepared her racks and 
 kindled her fires ; that men of the purest virtue and 
 of the holiest faith have been seen to pine in dun-i 
 geons and to wander in exile. But neither dungeons 
 nor exile were to them so great an evil as their per- 
 secutors had imagined. Not sighs, but songs, were 
 heard from that prison where Paul and Silas were 
 confined. As joyous as wakeful, at midnight, when 
 deliverance came, it found them praying and singing 
 psalms. Nor were Paul and Silas the only sainta 
 that have rejoiced in tribulation. Usually, if not 
 uniformly, the confessor's faith has nobly supported 
 him ; nor has the martyr's heart been broken by the 
 stroke that felled his body. And how should the 
 martyr's heart be broken by the stroke that felled his 
 body 1 The afflictions of the righteous differ essen- 
 tially in their nature and in their design from those 
 of the wicked, to whom the arm of the Almighty is 
 a scourge, and who, when the world forsakes them, 
 have no deliverer. To the one the cup of sorrow 
 is salutary and mingled with mercy ; to the other i1 
 is deleterious and overflows with wrath. 
 
 The great refiner subjects both the precious mec 
 al and the vile to the action of fire, but for very dif- 
 ferent purposes. It is to purify the one, it is to 
 
156 TRIALS EXALT AND PURIFY. 
 
 consume the other ; and his purposes are accom-» 
 plished. The one is consumed, the other purified. 
 
 Often have the subhmest virtues, the holiest af- 
 fections been evolved under the inifluence of sorrow. 
 How much has this globe of earth risen in impor- 
 tance ; how much has the race of man been exalted ; 
 how much has the universe gained of goodness and 
 glory, by the afflictions through which, the saints 
 have been called to pass ? Ah ! had the trial of vir- 
 tue been dispensed with, and had there been no such 
 thing in the economy of Providence as tribusation to 
 the righteous, the examples of Abraham, and Moses, 
 and David would have been lost ; the exarkiples of 
 the apostles and of the martyrs would have been 
 lost ; the field of moral beauty narrowed and sullied, 
 and the record of the tenderest incidents stricken 
 from the history of the world. AVhat good man, 
 what friend of God and of righteousness would have 
 been willing, had the question been submitted to his 
 choice, to purchase temporal ease and affluence by 
 such a sacrifice ? No one. It is good for the in- 
 habitants of the earth ; it is good for the inhabitants 
 of heaven ; it is good for the saints themselves, that 
 they have been afflicted. And we may consecrate, 
 therefore, and apply, without the same incertitude, the 
 words which the exiled ^neas addressed to his de 
 sponding followers : 
 
 " O passi graviora ! dabit Deus his quoque finem. 
 
 revocate animos, mcEStumque timorem 
 
 Mittite ; forsan et hsec olim meminisse juvabit .'' 
 
 But what crowns the argument, so far as earth 
 and time are concerned, is this : that virtue, which 
 
CONSOLATION IN DEATH. 157 
 
 in affliction enjoys greater consolation,, in death suf- 
 fers less misery. 
 
 Whatever wealth and honour may be worth to the 
 living, they are nothing to the dead, nothing even to 
 the dying ! That decisive change sunders all the 
 ties that bind a mortal to the world. The hour of 
 dissolution is emphatically the hour of trial. Then, 
 more than at any other period, the affrighted, ago- 
 nized victim feels dependance — needs assistance ; 
 and if there be anything of power to give this — any- 
 thing of power to abate the horrors and cheer the 
 darkness of the death-scene, the bestowment of that, 
 more than any other token within the gift of Provi- 
 dence, ascertains who they are among the dwellers 
 on the earth whom the God of Heaven delights to 
 favour and to honour. There is that which has 
 power to do this. The calm and tranquil, the rap- 
 turous and triumphant death of thousands prove it. 
 
 The hope of eternal life, the sweet assurance of 
 forgiven sin, the smile of redeeming mercy, the 
 sight of heaven breaking on the soul through the 
 twilight of that long, dismal night, of which death 
 seems but the commencement — there is something 
 so precious, so consoling, so divine in such an exit 
 from the world, that, were it attainable only by a life 
 of perpetual martyrdom, I should still devoutly pray 
 to God, Let ?ne, even on such terms, die the death 
 of the righteous,, and lei my last end he like his. 
 Yes, even on such terms I should account the 'joorl 
 man blessed. Yes, even on such terms I should 
 covet the confessor's dungeon, I should covet the 
 martyr's stake 
 
158 exhoriaTion to early piety. 
 
 Ah ! beloved pupils, we may here, and at the 
 moment of separation, discuss the comparative ad- 
 vantages of vice and virtue ; but it is not here that 
 we can feel the full force of that discussion. You 
 will not know how much religion profiteth till you 
 have left this seat ^ ^ience, till you have visited 
 the abodes of sorrow, uU you have stood by the pil- 
 low of the dying. What am I saying? You will 
 not know this till you have made the grand decisive 
 experiment yourselves ; explored the grave in person, 
 and from the dread solemnities of the judgment-day 
 received instruction. Were the secrets of that great 
 day made manifest — and made manifest they shortly 
 will be — there would exist but one opinion on this 
 subject. Revelation, even now, gives an anticipated 
 view of those scenes, both of transport and of ter- 
 T5r, which the natural eye sees not. In its light I 
 beseech, I adjure you ; and, ere you enter on the 
 world, make up your mind, and with God, and heav- 
 en, and hell, and judgment, and eternity before your 
 eyes, decide for yourselves, whether it be not better 
 to suffer affliction with the people of God, than to 
 enjoy the delusive, degrading, damning pleasures of 
 sin for a season ; and as you decide, so act. Time 
 is short, eternity is at stake, and the moments are on 
 the wing that will decide your fate for ever. 
 
 Oh, God ! look down with pitying eye on this 
 group of beings now to be dispersed ; and, where- 
 soever they may wander, so guide their inexperi- 
 enced steps that they may meet in heaven. Do 
 this for the Redeemer's sake, and to thy great name 
 shall be the glory. 
 
THE FLOW OF TIME. 159 
 
 X. 
 
 DELIVERED ON SUNDAY EVENING BEFORE COMMENCE- 
 MENT, 1814. 
 
 Instability of all earthly Things. — Motives to early Piety. — 
 Filial Love and Gratitude. — Parental Affection. — Anxiety of 
 Parents to pronmote the Happiness of their Children.— Chris- 
 tian Parents. — Instructions of Solomon. — Early Piety inter- 
 esting in itself. — Leads to Happiness. — Joy of Christian Pa- 
 rents in pious Children, in Life and in Death. — Example of a 
 pious Child. — The Good on Earth and the Angels in Heaven 
 rejoice over Souls converted from Sin to Righteousness. — 
 Union of Parents and Children in Heaven.] 
 
 There is something awfully impressive in the 
 rapid and perpetual flow of time. To eternity this 
 stream is ever tending, like a river to the ocean. 
 Individuals, families, nations float upon its surface, 
 and are borne away and lost in that absorbing gulf, 
 whose dimensions no eye can measure, and on 
 whose misty surface no wreck is seen. 
 
 Nothing here is stable, nothing permanent. The 
 noblest specimens of genius, the proudest monu- 
 ments of art fade, decay, and disappear. 
 
 Even society itself continues only by succession. 
 The species is preserved, but the individual perishes. 
 The relations of parent and child, of brother and 
 sister, of neighbour and friend, are indeed perpetual. 
 Not so the persons who sustain those relations. 
 They were, but they are seen no more ! Transient 
 as the cloud on which the sunbeam of the morning 
 played has been the glory of the preceding age, nor 
 
160 SUCCESSIVE GENERATIONS. 
 
 will that of the present or of the following be more 
 abiding. All the virtue and talents, all the goodness 
 and greatness that now exalt and adorn society, will 
 soon vanish from the sight, nor leave a trace behind. 
 
 To a reflecting mind there is something deeply 
 affecting in this idea. Life is naturally dear to us ; 
 we cling instinctively to the passing scene ; but we 
 cannot even check, much less arrest its flight and 
 ensure its perpetuity. For us a shroud is weaving, 
 for us the bed of death is spread. The grave waits 
 to receive our ashes, and the church bell will soon 
 have tolled our funeral knell. As individuals, we 
 must die, nor can we continue to live upon the earth 
 except in our successors. That, indeed, is only an 
 ideal life ; but still the thought of it is precious. 
 
 Were the race of men to become extinct when 
 we ourselves expire, the darkness of death would 
 appear still more dark ; more desolate the desolation 
 of the tomb. Standing on the verge of that abyss 
 which has swallowed up our ancestors, and in which 
 we ourselves are about to be ingulfed, how grateful 
 is the idea that to us also there will be successors ; 
 and that whatever of learning, of virtue, and of piety 
 the living world possesses, will survive us, and be 
 perpetuated by those who will constitute posterity. 
 
 We ourselves must quit this theatre of action and 
 of interest. We must resign our places of respon- 
 sibility and of usefulness. The time will soon have 
 arrived when, for our friends, for our country, for the 
 church, for the world, we can do nothing more. 
 Both the opportunity and the ability of efl^ecting 
 good and of eflTecting evil will be transferred to other 
 
S-i'MPATHIES OF PARENTS AND CHILDREN. 161 
 
 hands. How solicitous should we be, then, to im- 
 prove the virtues, to correct the vices, and to fix the 
 hibits of those to whom, under God, are to be in- 
 trusted the future destinies of mankind ? 
 
 The motives to early piety are too numerous to 
 be presented in an address hke this. In the most 
 elaborate discussion a selection would be necessary ; 
 and even then, on the topics selected much would 
 remain unsaid. Among these moiiyasis filial gr at- 
 iiude, on whi<h I am about to insist this evening. 
 
 The sympathies subsisting between parents and 
 children are reciprocal, and in nothing are the wis- 
 dom and goodness of God more manifest than in 
 the bestovvment of those sympathies, which, like so 
 many ligaments, bind in perpetual amity those groups 
 of beings, who, dwelling beneath the same roof, con- 
 stitute the family. 
 
 The parent naturally commiserates his infant 
 child ; the child early feels a glow of affection to- 
 wards his provident and attentive parent ; these mu- 
 tual sympathies are strengthened by indulgence ; and 
 from their habitual exercise springs no inconsider- 
 able part of the bliss of life. Cold and comfortless 
 indeed would human intercourse become, if paternal, 
 filial, and fraternal affection were suspended. Not 
 all the pomp and pageantry of courts, not all the 
 formal and studied courtesies of fashion, could com- 
 pensate for the loss of that heaven-appointed solace, 
 iomestic friendship. Beneath the paternal roof dis- 
 guise is banished, and heart meets heart in amity : 
 here nature operates, and there, and only there, man 
 peaks and acts without dissimulation. 
 N 
 
162 DESIGN OF THESE SYMPATHIES. 
 
 Partial, however, would be our view of Provi- 
 dence, did we consider these sympathies as if im- 
 planted merely to solace human misery and sweeten 
 human intercourse. True, indeed, they do serve to 
 tranquillize our passions, to soften our asperity, and 
 to compensate at home for that tasteless, shallow 
 courtesy practised on us abroad with unmeaning as- 
 siduity by those trained to the deceptive arts of a 
 faithless, fashionable world. 
 
 But they have still a higher office. Time is thft 
 commencement of eternity. To the due 'perform- 
 ance of these duties^ filial and parental sympathies 
 are alike conducive. The one sweetens all the 
 cares and softens all the sorrows incident to the 
 nurturing of children. More than this : it secures, 
 or, at least, tends to secure the exercise of those 
 cares and the patient endurance of those sorrows. 
 That man should not desert his infant offspring like 
 the ostrich, that lays and forsakes her eggs upon 
 the sand, his Creator has bound him to that offspring 
 by ties which he cannot sunder without doing vio- 
 lence to his nature and ceasing to be man. The 
 other sweetens submission, and renders even a state 
 of tutelage not only supportable, but pleasant* 
 More than this : love to parents often prompts to 
 the endurance of restraints, to the practice of vir- 
 tues, and to the formation of correct habits at a pe- 
 riod when, to a thoughtless youth, no other motive 
 would be avaiHng. To this cause may be attributed 
 much of that decency and decorum of manners 
 which are usually observable in well-regulated fam- 
 ilies even among children naturally the mos^ friy 
 clous and wayward; 
 
FILIAL LOVE AND LOVE OF GOD. 163 
 
 But the Christian moralist is not satisfied with 
 mere decency and decorum. It behooves him, 
 therefore, to co-operate with the Deity in his benev- 
 olent intentions ; and, seizing on juvenile tender- 
 ness and filial affection, to endeavour to direct their 
 influence to the accomplishment of the high purposes 
 of revealed religion. When, amid the levity and 
 thoughdessness of youth, other motives prove una- 
 vailing, it becomes him to touch that string which 
 for ever vibrates, and to constrain, if it be possible to 
 constrain, to the love of God by the love of parents. 
 And why may it not be possible 1 Why may not 
 affection, as well as any other natural endowment, 
 be sanctified ; and thus the whole heart, through 
 this as a medium of operation, by the efficiency of 
 the spirit, be regenerated unto righteousness ? 
 
 Nothing on earth is dearer to a parent than the 
 happiness of his children ; nor is anything more 
 grateful to a dutiful child than to contribute to a 
 parent's joy. And to a Christian parent, what joy 
 can be compared to that which springs from seeing 
 his children progressive in the path of righteousness, 
 and adorning, by deeds of early faith and charity, 
 the doctrines of God their Saviour 1 
 
 To have been born and educated in a Christian 
 land is the honour and privilege of the youth I now 
 address. Some of you, I trust, have the still high- 
 er honour of being descended from parents who are 
 Christians indeed : parents who bore you in their 
 irms to the altar of your God in infancy, imploring 
 cn you his paternal benediction ; and who, during 
 your riper years, have never ceased to intercede in 
 
164 INSTRUCTIONS OF SOLOMON 
 
 your behalf, when presenting their evening and morn- 
 ing supplication before the mercy seat : parents 
 whose waking hours have been occupied with your 
 wants, and in whose very dreams has mingled con- 
 cern for your salvation. 
 
 Long as you may have been ungrateful to God, 
 to your parents you have never ceased to be grhteful. 
 Though cold and callous to the love of Jesus, your 
 hearts are yet susceptible of filial love. Though 
 grace has never quickened you, nature has not yet 
 become extinct. Dear is the name of parent, dear 
 a father's counsel, dear a mother's care. In their 
 welfare you feel an interest. You wish them bless- 
 ed : wi^h that the evening of their days may be se- 
 rene and cloudless, and that their gray hairs may 
 ultimately descend, not with sorrow, but with joy to 
 the grave. And do you really and from your henrts 
 desire this? Does the idea of a provident father, 
 of a vigilant and tender mother, excite aught of in- 
 terest in your bosoms ? Then, by the kindness they 
 have manifested, by the anxieties they have felt and 
 still feel, T adjure you to do homage to the Saviour 
 whom they honour, and consecrate the first years of 
 your being to the God whom they serve. 
 
 Solomon, that sagacious king of Israel, urges this 
 motive with force and frequency. The relation 
 which subsists between a parent and a child is in- 
 troduced repeatedly, to give effect to those lessons 
 of instruction imbodied in his proverbs. When the 
 risini; generation are addressed, the majesty of the 
 king is merged in the tenderness of the parent. 
 Then, not the monarch, but the father speaks ; and 
 how tender and affecting are his words. 
 
EARLY PIETY INTERESTING IN ITSELF. 165 
 
 J\Iy son, hear the instruction of a father, and for- 
 sake not the law of thy mother. JMy son, if sinners 
 entice thee^ consent thou not. Hear, ye children, the 
 instruction of a father ; for I give you good coun- 
 sel, forsake not my law. He urges the interest 
 which parents take in the well-being of their chil- 
 dren, and describes in expressive terms the joy 
 which their virtues excite, and the anguish which 
 their vices occasion. *M wise son, he says, maketh 
 a glad father; hut a foolish son is the heaviness 
 of his mother. The same idea is elsewhere ex- 
 pressed, and in terms equally significant and appro- 
 priate. Children's children are the crown of old 
 men, and the glory of children are their fathers ; hut 
 a foolish son is grief unto his father, and bitterness 
 to her that hare him. 
 
 In whatever situation we contemplate the parent 
 and the child, the truth of the positions assumed by 
 Solomon will be apparent. In lffr and in death, 
 with equal justice may it be said that a wise son 
 maketh a glad father. 
 
 In life. — Early piety is in itsrlf an ob- 
 ject OF INTEREST. What a delightful spectacle is 
 a family of docile and dutiful children living in ami- 
 ty ; increasing in knowledge and in virtue as they 
 in^'rease in stature, and destined, after having adorned 
 the earth, to be transplanted to the heavens. Be- 
 hold how good and how pleasant a thing it is for 
 brethren to dwell together in unity ; it is as the dew 
 of Hermon, and as the dew that descendeth upon the 
 mountains of Zion, 
 
 Early piety is in its effects conditcive to 
 
166 EARLY 1»IETY CONDUCIVE TO HAPPINESS. 
 
 HAPPINESS. The work of righteousness shall be 
 peace, and the effect of righteousness^ quietness and 
 assurance for ever, saith Isaiah ; a prediction veri- 
 fied by the experience of every Christian family in 
 which charity is the bond of union ; in which re- 
 ciprocal affection reigns, and filial and fraternal du- 
 ties are alike the business and the delight of life. 
 How worthy of emulation is the condition of such a 
 family ! How pre-eminently blessed that parent 
 whom God has placed at the head of it! AH his 
 joys are heightened, all his pains mitigated, and the 
 most wearisome hours of his life are beguiled by the 
 affection, the constancy, the cheerfulness, and the 
 piety of those around him. Time thus occupied 
 passes pleasantly away, and even eternity itself ap- 
 pears more rapturous in the contemplation, being 
 heightened by the prospect not only of his own sal- 
 vation, but that of his household. 
 
 To the parent thus highly favoured of the Lord, 
 this is the consummation of sublunary joy. It is a 
 joy already tinctured with the spirit of the heavens, 
 and partaking of the tranquillity of the life to come. 
 Even desire itself has ceased, because it is satisfied. 
 It was not that his children might shine in honour or 
 riot in wealth that he nurtured them with so much 
 care, and supplicated for them with so much earnest- 
 ness. Their salvation, more than any other con- 
 cern, occupied his mind and pressed on his heart. 
 Their salvation God has granted ; of which their 
 faith, and patience, and their labours of love are at 
 once an evidence and a pledge. And this having 
 been granted, desire ceases, and the cup of domestic 
 
JOY OF PARENTS IN PIOUS CHILDREN. 167 
 
 bliss is full. Desire ceases because its chief object 
 is obtained ; and because, moreover, the Christian 
 parent knows, that to them who have sought first 
 the kingdom of God and his righteousness, all ne- 
 cessary good will be added thereunto. He knows 
 that, whether his offspring, on whom such early 
 grace has been bestowed, are destined to live in the 
 obscurity of cottages or m the splendour of courts ; 
 whether they are appointed to turn the furrows of 
 the field or to labour in the details of the work- 
 shop ; whether they shall be called to preside in the 
 counsels of the senate chamber, to fight the battles of 
 their country in the field, or to defend, at the stake or 
 on the scaffold, the faith once delivered to the saints, 
 everywhere the God whom they have chosen and 
 whom they serve will be with them, and qualify them 
 for the duties, whether of action or of suffering, 
 which, in their passage to glory, they shall be required 
 to perform. 
 
 In death, a wise son maketh a glad father : a 
 truth equally obvious, whether we consider the death 
 of the parent or of the child. 
 
 Of the parent. — If there be an idea which, 
 more than any other, aggravates to a parent the dread 
 of death, it is that of separation from his children. 
 And yet even this idea, so full of anguish to the dy- 
 ing Christian, is also full of consolation. For, even 
 in death, the pious children which he leaves behind 
 him are his hope, his joy, and the crown of his re- 
 joicing. Many a rapturous thought mingles in that 
 melancholy train \\4iich at this momentous crisis 
 occupies his mind. 
 
168 PARTING BLESSING OF PIOUS PARENTS. 
 
 Do the anticipated ills of orphanage present them- 
 selves to his view? He remembers who it was 
 that said, Leave your fatherless children with mc, 
 / loill provide for ihein, and let your widows trust in 
 God. He feels that they cannot be accounted fa- 
 therless to whom God has become a father; nor 
 destitute to whom an inheritance is bequeathed in 
 heaven. The proiiises of the covenant occur to 
 him, and he reposes his confidence upon the faithful- 
 ness of God. Vain, proflii^ate young man, dost thou 
 require a proof of the truth which is here asserted ? 
 Leave then thy banquet, and visit yonder habitation 
 of expiring virtue, aud thou shalt see with what tran- 
 quillity the parent of a pious off pring can leave the 
 world. Dost thou sneer at the idea 1 Beware : 
 that sneer may be the sneer of death unto thy soul. 
 
 But what proof of the truth which has been incul- 
 cated can yonder habitation of expiring virtue afford? 
 Oh that I could faiih'ully exhibit to thy view the 
 venerable father, like the dying patriarch, assem- 
 bling his household to receive his benediction : a 
 benediction which contains the only patrimony he is 
 able to bestow. Enviable patrimony : the blessing ol 
 a dying and of a pious parent ! More to be desired 
 than all the g<»ld that misers ever counted, than all the 
 crowns that tyrants have bestowed. Oh that I could 
 imitate the strain of heavenly eloquence in which he 
 addresses the weeping auditors who stay his pillow 
 and hang upon his lips. " Persevere, my children," 
 he says, '* persevere in the course on which you 
 have entered ; be faithful to the Saviour you have 
 chosen, and continue to reverence the God of youi 
 
DEATH OF CHILDREN. 169 
 
 youth, and I assure you, by the peace I now feel, 
 by the joys I now anticipate, that, when you are old 
 and gray-headed, He will not forsake you." Then, 
 raising his eyes to heaven, he adds, <* There I ap- 
 point to meet you ; that, approaching the throne of 
 mercy, and presenting you, my children, to my Sav- 
 iour, I may say, Lord, here am /, and those which 
 thou hast given me." Here his voice falters; he 
 smiles adieu, and the serenity of heaven beams from 
 his countenance, as he closes his eyes upon this 
 world, and in faith resigns up his spirit. Oh death, 
 wJiere here ivas thy sting! Oh grave^ ichere thy 
 victory ! 
 
 Of the child. — It is not according to seniority 
 that the king of terrors selects his victims. Often 
 does the disconsolate mother weave her daughter's 
 shroud, and often the bereaved father plants the cy- 
 press beside the tombstone of his sons. Even 
 these sad services the parents of a pious offspring 
 perform not without consolation, because they are 
 performed not without hope. 
 
 Parental love seeks not its own, but the felicity of 
 its object. Whatever loss it may be to the parent, 
 to the pious child it is gain to die ; and the more so 
 the earlier he is called to do this. He who tempers 
 the breeze to the shorn lamb, often takes away the 
 children of his grace from the evil to come. At 
 death the race ceases, the combat ceases, and joy 
 is consummated. Disease no longer preys upon 
 their bodies ; no longer temptation assails their vir- 
 tue. Hitherto they have been sinners on the earth ; 
 henceforth they will be saints in heaven. Before 
 O 
 
170 DEATH OF CHILDREN. 
 
 they were associated with men ; now they have be 
 come companions of angels. 
 
 To have borne and nurtured children for the 
 skies ; to have seen them, even during their state 
 of tutelage, accounted worthy to be transplanted 
 there — what consoling, what triumphant reflections 
 are these to a bereaved parent ! True, he no long- 
 er enjoys the solace of their company. Their seat is 
 vacant at his table ; it is vacant at the fireside ; it 
 is vacant at the altar. A thousand afflicting inci- 
 dents remind him that they are gone. But, as often 
 as this saddening thought recurs, it is softened and 
 transformed by the cheering recollection that they 
 are gone to glory. And, because they are gone to 
 glory, the pang of separation is forgotten, cmd the full 
 heart, almost disburdened of its sorrow, responds to 
 the song of holy resignation : 
 
 " Why should we mourn departed friends, 
 Or start at death's alarms ? ' 
 
 *Tis but the voice that Jesus sends 
 To call us to his arms." 
 
 Delightful idea I Supported by this, 1 have seen 
 the parents of a much-endeared child sitting with 
 composure beside his bed of death. They were 
 parents familiarized with sorrow. Once they had 
 been blessed with an ample fortune and a numerous 
 offspring. But the hand of God had been upon 
 them. Stripped of the one, bereaved of the other, 
 they were left in the decline of life naked and de- 
 fenceless, like the trunk of an aged oak, whose 
 leaves and branches have been swept away by the 
 pitiless storms that have beat upon it. One litde son. 
 
DEATH OF CHILDREN. 171 
 
 jke child of their old age, alone remained to them. 
 His brethren and sisters were dead, and in his life 
 the life of his parents was bound up. Hitherto they 
 had considered this son as a special gift of Provi- 
 dence, granted to solace their sorrows in age, to 
 minister to their wants in death, and afterward to 
 preserve their name and become their memorial 
 among the living. He was, indeed, a lovely child ; 
 and what rendered him the more so in the eyes of 
 his godly parents was, that he also feared God. 
 Often, as he hung upon his mother's arm, or clam- 
 bering his father's knee and stroking back his gray 
 hairs, he would inquire of them so earnestly about 
 death, and talk to them so sweetly about heaven and 
 Jesus, that their hearts were overcome, and their 
 lips had not the power of utterance. 
 
 Thus did this child increase in wisdom as he in- 
 creased in stature: till on a day, like the child of 
 the Shunamite, he cried out. My head, my head ! 
 Like that child, too, he was carried from the field 
 unto his mother. But, alas ! no prophet of Israel 
 was nigh. No swift Gehazi ran from Carmel to 
 lay the staff of the holy seer upon the face of the 
 child. It was, indeed, a sickness unto death. His 
 soul, however, was resigned ; his faith in the prom- 
 ises immovable. " Do not grieve thus," said he to 
 his aged parents, as they watched the changes of his 
 countenance, and in pensive silence bedewed his pil- 
 low^ with their tears ; " God will take care of you, and 
 he will take care of me too. My body will be laid 
 in the grave, where the body of my Saviour was laid. 
 My soul will fly up to heaven, where I shall see my - 
 
172 FILIAL GRATITUDE OF RUTH. 
 
 brothers and sisters, and Jesus Christ, and the an* 
 gels who attend him. Have you not often told me 
 that he is the friend of children 1 I have read, too, 
 how he took them in his arms on earth, and I am 
 sure he will bid them welcome to his arms in heav- 
 en." Thus early ripe for glory, this dear child, 
 without a murmur and without a groan, drew his last 
 breath, and fell asleep in Jesus. I saw, indeed, 
 that his parents wept ; but their tears were tears of 
 joy. Happy, thrice happy parents, called to com- 
 mit such precious dust unto the sepulchre, and to re- 
 sign a spirit thus ripe for glory, unto God who gave it. 
 
 What a powerful motive to youthful piety does 
 this address unfold 1 Oh that I v/ere able duly to 
 enforce it ! Oh that I were able to revive in your 
 minds the recollection of those numerous incidents 
 by which parental kindness has been evinced, that 
 unwearied care that guarded your wayward steps, 
 that sleepless vigilance that watched the slumber of 
 your cradle ! 
 
 Do you not feel the obligation you are under to 
 your parents ? Do you not wish to make requital ? 
 Then break oft* your sins by repentance, and by 
 faith make your peace with God. l^ou remember 
 how the filial gratitude of Ruth the Moabitess evin- 
 ced itself towards the widowed Naomi. " The 
 Lord do so to me, and more also, if aught but death 
 part thee and me. For whither thou goest I will 
 go, and where thou lodgest I will lodge :. thy people," 
 mark these emphatic words, " thy people shall be 
 my people, and thy God my God. Where thou 
 ^ diest I nill die, and there will I be buried." Lovely 
 
EXHORTATION TO EARLY PIETY. 173 
 
 Moabitess, chy vow is accepted, and thy faith shall 
 save thee : thy posterity shall be numbered among 
 the lineage of Jacob for the choice which thou didst 
 make, and the spirit thou didst show evinces that 
 thou wert worthy to become for ever the daughter 
 of a mother in Israel. 
 
 Ah ! would the youth who hear me — ^youth born 
 and nurtured, not m Moab, but in Zion — make the 
 same wise choice, what joy would it light up in many 
 a heart in this assembly] How would that aged 
 father exult to hear his sons openly declare for Jesus ; 
 and what raptures would thrill the bosom of that 
 widowed mother, as her eye caught the first symp- 
 toms of contrition in that little group of beings that 
 surround her, covered with those weeds which are 
 at once a symbol of orphanage and a memorial of 
 the dead. Yes, children, piety in you is lustre to a 
 father's eye ; it is balm to a mother's heart ; it sooths 
 the inquietudes of age ; it mitigates the pains of sick- 
 ness ; it softens the gloom of adversity, and extracts 
 more than half the anguish of the pang of death. 
 
 It was for this high purpose, that you should join 
 yourselves unto the Lord, that they educated you 
 with so much care, that they nurtured you with so 
 much kindness. To Jesus Christ they have given 
 you, his they have ever considered you ; it was in his 
 behalf that, with so many prayers and tears, they 
 have fulfilled the duties of the parental office. Nor 
 will they ever be relieved from the dread of failure, 
 that burden which still oppresses them, till you ratify 
 their vow, and by an act of faith give yourselves to 
 Jesus. Nothing short of this — no other act can 
 
174 EXHORTATION TO EARLY PIETY. 
 
 free your souls from the guilt of abusing parental 
 kindness, because no other act makes requital for 
 that kindness, and cancels the debt of-gratitude 
 which it imposes. And this does cancel it : in the 
 eye of God, and in the eye of those who nursed 
 and nurtured you, it cancels it. All this, and still 
 more would they have done, and done cheerfully, for 
 the sake of swelling Emanuel's retinue, and adding 
 to the number of those who shall wear in heaven his 
 livery. 
 
 " Oh that I were able," methinks I hear some sor- 
 row-wounded heart exclaim, " oh that I were able 
 to call back from sepulchral ashes the spirits of my 
 parents. Could I do this, I would pour my tears into 
 their bosoms if thus I might wash away the re- 
 membrance of those crimes of mine which disturbed 
 their lives, and imbittered even their bed of death." 
 Returning penitent, it is not at the sepulchre, but at 
 the altar, that thou shalt do this. That marble tomb 
 contains not the sainted spirits of those pious pa- 
 rents whom thy sins have grieved. They are either 
 praising God in heaven, or sent from thence to ex- 
 ecute some office of good- will to man. Perhaps 
 they are even now thy guardian angels, commission- 
 ed to watch thy orphan steps by day, and to guard 
 by night thy orphan slumbers. Be they where they 
 may, thy return to God will not long remain unknown 
 to them ; nor will it less occasion joy because they 
 have gone before thee into glory. There, in ecstasy 
 they will receive the welcome tidings, or perhaps 
 themselves will be the bearers of those tidmgs, 
 shouting as they ascend, " Grace hath reclaimed 
 
EXHORTATION TO EARLY PIETY. 175 
 
 another wanderer, and brought home to Jesus a 
 child of ours !" Every redeemed spirit sympathizes 
 in their joy, and every angel strikes on his golden 
 harp with a bolder hand the deep-toned hallelujah, 
 because an immortal soul was dead and is alive again, 
 was lost and is found. 
 
 And well may the angels do this. The recovery 
 of a soul from sin to righteousness is a splendid 
 event. What a range of progressive glory opens 
 before the young immortal ; and what a train of rap- 
 turous ideas must spring up in celestial minds, as 
 they see the heaven-bound pilgrim taking the incep- 
 tive step in that upward way that will conduct him 
 thither 1 They know the issue ; and, because they 
 know it, dwell with ecstasy upon the growing num- 
 ber which the church on earth is nurturing up to fill 
 their own thinned ranks and repeople their native 
 mansions t mansions which, ere our race was made, 
 sin had invaded, and apostacy from God depopulated. 
 
 But not the angels only — all other virtuous beings, 
 the wise and the good of all nations, sympathize with 
 your parents in their joy. Everywhere young con- 
 verts awaken peculiar interest, because they add pe- 
 culiar beauty to the church, which is God's moral 
 husbandry. In this arid world, every spot of moral 
 verdure attracts the eye. Especially does the ver- 
 dure of the springtime of life attract it. We love 
 to contemplate these young willows by the watev'* 
 courses; pleasant trees, the planting of the Lord. 
 The sun of righteousness shines benignly on them 
 with his beams ; the showers of grace water their 
 tender branehesj which already bud and blossom for 
 
176 EXHORTATION TO EARLY PIETY. 
 
 the skies. Oh ! how unlike those aged and barren 
 trunks, which only encumber and deform the vine^ 
 yard ; and which, because they encumber and de- 
 form it, are doomed to destruction ; and the axe 
 and the fire become their portion. 
 
 Thus the angels of God, the saints in glory, and 
 the church on earth, partake in that pulse of joy which 
 dilates the parent's heart when his offspring incline 
 to wisdom. Nor least, nor lasf, beloved pupils, 
 does your Alma JVIatey" partake in this. Ye also 
 are her joy and the crown of her rejoicing. It is 
 not the ignorant, the idle, or the profligate that she 
 numbers among her blessings. These are names 
 that pollute her records, and are spots in her feasts 
 of love. She wishes to be known only as the guar- 
 dian of youthful wisdom, the patroness of talents 
 consecrated to God. In all your future plans of 
 usefulness she will take an interest. She will de- 
 light to see this dim scene of earthly glory brighten 
 as you enter on it. To see vice everywhere, awe- 
 smitten by the dignity of your demeanour, hide its 
 deformed head ; and oppressed virtue, beneath your 
 auspices, look up and triumph : to see the whole 
 force of your example given unto righteousness, and, 
 the whole vigour of your mir>ds directed to the rear 
 ing up of some monument for God. 
 
 In the hope of this requital it was that she open- 
 ed to you her hails of science ; that she delivered to 
 you her lectures of instruction, and that she offered 
 up, and still offers up, her evening and her morning 
 prayers before the altar. And will you disappoint 
 ber hopes 1 Ah ! in her Daternal eye, what a glori- 
 
JOYFUL MEETING IN HEAVEN. 177 
 
 ous spectacle would it be to see the youth she had 
 nurtured, clad in celestial panoply, everywhere 
 breasting the storm, and breaking those bars of er- 
 ror and delusion which apostacy *' has flung across 
 man's obstructed way" to glory. 
 
 Seeing then, beloved youth, that ye are compass- 
 ed about by such a cloud of witnesses, be entreated 
 to lay aside everij weighty and the sin which doth 
 most easily beset yoUy and to run with patience the 
 race set before you, looking unto Jesus, the author 
 and finisher of our faith ; who, for the joy that was 
 set before him, endured the cross, despising the shame, 
 and is now set down at the right hand of God. So 
 even ye, if ye overcome, shall set down with Chnst 
 on his throne ; even as he, having overcome, has set 
 down with his Father on his throne. 
 
 What a glorious jubilee are pious children at once 
 preparing for themselves and for their parents. Oh 
 that I were able to direct your eye to those favoured 
 groups of beings, which in yonder heavens grace will 
 have brought together ! Each redeemed child which 
 the parent numbers in those realms of glory, will be 
 by him accounted a distinct pledge of his Creator's 
 goodness, an additional monument of his Saviour's 
 mercy. 
 
 With what emotions will Abraham recognise 
 among the multitude of the saved that beloved 
 Isaac, whom, when a lad, with so many gloomy 
 thoughts he led towards the altar upon one of the 
 mountains of Moriah! With what emotions will 
 Isaac there ree</gnise that Jacob, whom his eyes, 
 through dimness, saw not, when he came bringing 
 
178 THE GRACE OF GOD INVOKED. 
 
 savoury meat, and to receive his paternal blessing ! 
 And how will Jacob exult, when, presenting his off- 
 spring before his Saviour, he finds himself surround- 
 ed by the twelve patriarchs — all the heads of the 
 tribes of Israel ! 
 
 Nor less the joy of every other parent, who, miss- 
 ing no member of his household, dares to say, as he 
 stands amid the convocation of the righteous, '* Here, 
 Lord, am I, and of all the children thou hast given 
 me have I lost none." 
 
 Remember, ye youth who hear me, that it is only 
 your impiety that can deprive your pious parents of 
 such an honour, and prevent the bliss of such a 
 meeting. 
 
 Great God ! interpose by thy grace, and avert 
 from our children the awful doom of final separation 
 from thy people ; and to thy name shall be the glory 
 iu Christ. Amen 
 
THE APOSTACY. 179 
 
 XL 
 
 [SfFects of the Apostacy. — Man vainly seeks for Happiness m 
 Riches — in Power — m Wisdom. — Man's boasted Wisdom 
 considered— in the Philosophy of Mind — in the Philosophy of 
 Matter.— Chymistry.— The Microscope —Astronomy.— The 
 Telescope. — The Fixed Stars. — True Wisdom consists in the 
 Knowledge of God. — Pagan and Christian Theology, in their 
 Character and Effects, compared. — The Bible the source oi 
 the most precious Knowledge.— To be truly Wise is to under- 
 stand the great Truths which it reveals, and comply with its 
 Requirements.] 
 
 On the morning of man's creation, the first object 
 that met his eye was the God who formed him. If, 
 with a sentiment of personal consequence, he then 
 raised himself from his bed of dust, it was the dig- 
 nity of his parentage that prompted that sentiment. 
 He felt upon his heart, as it throbbed with life and 
 gratitude, the ligament that bound him to a stable 
 and an eternal throne. Little in himself, he was 
 great as the offspring of the Almighty ; and weak in 
 himself, he was strosg in God's strength. 
 
 Not so striking or so mournful was the change in 
 Eden, when its flowers fell withered to the earth 
 beneath the curse that smote it, as was the change in 
 man, who, till now, had continued his song of praise 
 and worn his robe of innocence. But when he de- 
 serted God he was deserted of him, and the decay 
 of all his moral habits gave evidence of that deser- 
 tion. Thenceforward his tone of feeling and his 
 type of character were assimilated to those of the 
 fell spirits, wandering from their prison, with whom 
 
180 PRIDE OF RICHES. 
 
 he had become associated and joined in interests. 
 The ties of filial affection broke bleeding from their 
 hold ; the aspirations of filial love ceased ; even de- 
 votion ceased ; nor did any inward sentiment lift up 
 his soul towards the Author of his being. Bewil- 
 dered amid the mazes and benignted by the darkness 
 of his own depravity, on which ever side he turned 
 him, the glories of the Godhead had faded from his 
 eye, and the very recollections of his mercy were 
 passing from his memory. 
 
 The desire of happiness remained ; but it had lost 
 its object, and a mighty void was felt in the bosom 
 which hitherto God had filled. A substitute was 
 sought. A substitute has been found, as the sinner 
 fancies, in each successive object which excites his 
 concupiscence ; but all of them alike, in the end, 
 fling back his hope unsatisfied, and only mock by 
 disappointment his idolatrous devotion. 
 
 Sometimes it is riches that supplant God, and 
 the sinner's heart fills with covetous desires. Ava- 
 rice becomes the ruling passion ; and in place of the 
 man, erect in posture and with* an eye directed to 
 the heavens, the miser appears, inclined to the earth, 
 picking from the kennel each shining particle, eking 
 out his freehold by usurious purchases, or piling 
 away in coffers, on which mammon has been stamped, 
 his worshipped treasures. It was covetousness 
 that destroyed Ahab ; it was riches that beguiled 
 Crcesus : since whose times there has lived un- 
 blessed, and died unwept, a race of wretches still 
 more mean and more mercenary, concerning whom 
 there is only this memorial left on earth, that their 
 God was gold. 
 
PRIDE OF POWER AND WISDOM. 181 
 
 Sometimes it is might that supplants God : when 
 a little creature, a few feet high and a few years old, 
 may be seen walking in the pride of his strength 
 and indulging in a dream of his independence. 
 That haughty son of Anak, whom the sUng of David 
 humbled while in the act of his proud defiance, is 
 not the only individual who has been the dupe of 
 this illusion. It was in might that Nimrod gloried, 
 that Belus gloried, together with those later and 
 fiercer conquerors who wielded the Grecian phalanx, 
 who prompted the movement and smote with the 
 arm of the Roman legion : men who left, even in 
 the eye of posterity, their bloody track upon the 
 herbage of the valley and the glaciers of the mount- 
 ains ; who indicated the place of their encampment 
 by the desolation which surrounded it, and lit up the 
 whole line of their march to hell by the fires of one 
 great, frightful, continuous funeral pile. 
 
 Sometimes it is wisdom that supplants God : 
 when a creature, religious by the very constitution 
 of his nature, is seen giving those hours to study 
 which belong to devotion, and those afi^ections to 
 knowledge which are a tribute due to goodness. It 
 is among this group of intellectual idolators that we 
 recognise the names of Ptolemy, of Archimedes, of 
 Aristotle, of Plato, together with that lengthened cat- 
 alogue of Athenian sages, by the fire of whose ge- 
 nius we enkindle our own, and in the light of whose 
 intellect Athens is still visible at the distance of so 
 many generations. And if there were anything but 
 God in which it were rightful for man to glory, it 
 should seem that wisdom were that thing. Its love 
 
182 PRIDE OF WISDOM. 
 
 is not sordid like the love of riches ; it is not cru^ 
 like that of power. The groves of the Academy 
 are tranquil, its pursuits are peaceful : alas ! that 
 they are not always holy. 
 
 For years you have joined in those vigils which 
 are kept beside the quenchless lamp that philosophy 
 hath kindled ; and high in hope, and decked with 
 classic honours, you are about to enter on the world. 
 At such a moment, how chilling to youthful ardour, 
 to literary enterprise, is the rebuke that meets you 
 at the very threshold ; " Let 7iot the ivise man glory 
 in his wisdom." 
 
 So spake not Socrates, so spake not Seneca, so 
 spake not Cicero. The lecture-room conveyed no 
 such counsel, the Lyceum contained no such oracle. 
 No, it did not : this is not the language of Athens, 
 but of Zion. We are not now among the groves of 
 the Academy, we are not beside the seat of the 
 Muses. Here, it is not the harp of Orpheus, but 
 of David, that is struck, and the song it breathes is 
 not in the manner of Homer or of Hesiod, but of 
 Isaiah and Habakkuk. We are associated with the 
 disciples of a Christian school ; we have entered 
 the vestibule of a Christian temple, where all that is 
 splendid in intellect, as well as all that is splendid in 
 fortune, is eclipsed by the intenser splendours of 
 righteousness. 
 
 Never was counsel more timely or more pertinent 
 than that which is now addressed to you from the 
 hill of Zion, and by the lips of a prophet of the Lord. 
 JLet not the ivise man glory in his wisdom. 
 
 And why should the wise man glory in his wis- 
 
PHILOSOPHY OF MIND. 18'-* 
 
 dom ? After all the ostentatious eulogy that grace- 
 less learning, that unbaptized philosophy has bestow- 
 ed on itself, what is there that should make a reli- 
 gious being, a being of moral capacities, glory in it 1 
 After all the enlargement of modern discovery, and 
 sublime as the march of genius is said to have been 
 during the last centuries of the six thousand years 
 that have passed away, has the wisdom of the schools 
 become either so clear in its views, so vast in 
 
 ITS REACH, OR SO SUBLIME AND SPIRITUAL IN ITS 
 
 NATURE, as to entitle it to such high distinction ? 
 
 Has IT BECOME so CLEAR IN ITS VIEWS, SO VAST 
 
 IN ITS REACH ? Or, rather, does not human intel- 
 lect, bewildered amid a mighty maze, and met and 
 mocked at every turn with mystery, still look with 
 weak, and wavering, and tremulous perception on a 
 Uttle span only ; a mere hand's breadth, taken be- 
 side those bold and interminable lines of wisdom, 
 the direction of which is so soon hidden in the dis- 
 tance which they run upon the great, measureless, 
 Nintravelled map of infinite intelligence 1 Is it not 
 even so ? I put it to your own experience. You 
 have passed your examinations in the lecture-room : 
 take your last in the sanctuary and at the altar of 
 your God. 
 
 Is it in the philosophy of mind that your wisdom 
 is so clear and comprehensive ? You have studied 
 the philosophy of mind ; you have noticed and named 
 the more obvious acts of the soul within you and of 
 the souls around you. Have you done more than 
 this? If so, with all that more, can you inform me 
 what the soul within you is ? or what the tie that 
 
184 PHILOSOPHY OP MIND. 
 
 unites it to the body on which it acts, and by which 
 it is acted on so wondrously ? Whence that waking 
 and that sleeping state it assumes alfernately ; those 
 bewildering dreams that characterize the one, and 
 the more orderly perceptions that predominate in the 
 other? How do its volitions arise? How is its 
 train of thought kept up ? Or how, blind to the future 
 as it is, does memory bring back with such acknowl- 
 edge accuracy the past ? Can you answer these in- 
 quiries ? You know you cannot : nor can youi 
 teachers answer ihem. Such knowledge is too won 
 derful for us. Does glorying in it, then, befit you 1 
 David did not think so, when» struck by the sublime 
 incomprehensibility of his own mysterious being, he 
 uttered that humble and heartfelt note of homage, 
 / will praise thee^for I am fearfully and wonderfully 
 made, 
 
 I pass to the souls of others. Take those with 
 which you are most familiar ; the members of the 
 families in which you have resided ; the companions 
 with whom you have associated ; the class with 
 which you have so often met. To say nothing of 
 that great world of spirits above you and around you, 
 do you understand and can you explain what pass- 
 es within even this narrow limit ; this bird's-eye 
 field of vision ? The eccentricity of taste, the pe- 
 culiarity of temper, the diversity of talent, the variety 
 of opinion, the secret motive of action, the sudden 
 cbaiige of purpose, the transformation of habits, the 
 revolution of character, the communication of feel- 
 ing, the contagion of passion, together with all those 
 varieties of action and reaction with which related 
 
CHYMISTRY. 185 
 
 beings are affected — do you see these things as God 
 sees them 1 Or, rather, do not mysteries meet you 
 at every step, and rests there not even on this select 
 and frequented field, and on every part of it, a veil 
 which no arm can lift, no eye but the Omniscient 
 penetrate ? 
 
 Is it, then, in the philosophy of matter that your 
 wisdom is clear and comprehensive 1 
 
 In chymisiry there have been recent and great dis- 
 coveries. With these you have become acquainted. 
 You have familiarized yourselves with tables of chym- 
 ical affinity ; you have learned the names and be- 
 come acquainted with the properties of certain agents. 
 More than this, you have been within the laboratory, 
 seen experiments in analysis and combination, and 
 witnessed the action of electricity and of fire. But 
 have you, as yet, detected that hidden agency that 
 solves the solid in the crucible, or that causes in the 
 liquid the elemental movement at the touch of the 
 galvanic pile ? 
 
 You have analyzed the air. Can you tell me why 
 it renders percussion audible 1 You have separated 
 the rays of the solar beam. Can you tell me why 
 it renders visible the bodies on which it falls ? You 
 have analyzed the devvdrop. Why does it ripen the 
 vintage ? You have analyzed the spring shower. 
 Why does it refiesh the herbage, and brighten the 
 verdure on which the eye so sweetly reposes 1 
 
 Among all the processes of combination and anal- 
 ysis through which you have travelled, is there one 
 step in either which you have comprehended 1 or did 
 you ever discover, in a single instance, that unreveal- 
 P 
 
186 THE MICROSCOPE. 
 
 ed connexion between your experiment and the re- 
 sult ? You have been schooled to little purpose if 
 you have yet to understand that here, emphatically, 
 learning teaches the more effectually " to know how 
 little can be known." 
 
 Let us leave these intricacies, these mimic pro- 
 cesses of formation, and glance at the simpler and 
 the lovelier forms of nature. Here, too, regarding 
 only the visible and tangible qualities of bodies, how 
 circumscribed is your wisdom ! Even the eye, the 
 most excursive organ and the richest source of knowl- 
 edge, is confined in its information within humble 
 limits. Above, and beneath, and around, there are 
 elements too subtile, and bodies too near or too re- 
 mote, too large or too minute, to be brought within 
 its field of vision. 
 
 But you have surmounted this obstacle to univer- 
 sal science. You have remedied the defects of the 
 natural eye by the intervention of artificial glasses. 
 Still, even this expedient, which extends so wonder- 
 fully the range of human knowledge, only renders 
 more direct and palpable the evidence of human ig- 
 norance. 
 
 Before this expedient was resorted to, the blos- 
 som that hung suspended from the fruit-tree was, in 
 the eye of man, but a blossom ; nor had it any oth- 
 er or higher use than to shelter the tender fruit which 
 it enfolded. Now that blossom is seen to be the 
 base of a vast and complicated system, and carries 
 on its surface, and on every fibre of its surface, the 
 ample habitation of many a living creature. Noi 
 that blossom only. Every leaf of the forest, every 
 
ANIMALCULE. 187 
 
 flower of the field, every spear of grass ia the valley 
 and on the mountain-top, breathes beneath the mi- 
 croscopic lens with animation, and teems with life. 
 A population as vast, a movement as constant and as 
 hurried, and, for aught we know, as full of incident 
 and interest, takes place on the surface of every 
 new world thus brought forth to view trom its ob- 
 scurity, as takes place on the surface of that world 
 the spectator treads on. Other, and still other, and 
 yet other compartments are unfolded, and new races 
 of beings pass before the eye, as glasses of greater, 
 and still greater and greater magnifying powers are 
 interposed. Indeed, the farther this downward track 
 to nothingness is travelled, the farther seems to 
 stretch the still untravelled residue. No glass has 
 yet been found of power to reach quite down to 
 non-existence. Not even the nether limit of cre- 
 ation has been fixed. That line is yet undrawn that 
 marks creation's minimum — Jehovah's ne plus ultra. 
 After all this reach with artificial means to little- 
 ness, that distant unknown point, that barrier to ex- 
 istence, still remains to be discovered, beyond whose 
 fearful verge the atoms are too small for God to 
 organize, the space too narrow for God to work in. 
 Beneath us, as around us, all is mystery. There is 
 a profound in littleness too vast for man to compass, 
 too deep for man to fathom. Even here God's 
 counsels are unsearchable, and His ways past find- 
 ing out. 
 
 Let us turn, then, to larger masses and bolder 
 lines. Astronomy is a more certain science. It is 
 so. Still, even here, though there be many a lesK 
 
188 ASTRONOMY. 
 
 son of huniility, there is none of pride written on 
 the firmament : at least there is none when read 
 from the hill of Zion and in the light of the sanc- 
 tuary. For, seen in this light, it is God's glory that 
 yonder heavens declare. It is His handiwork which 
 that firmament above us showeth forth. Of Him 
 only, day unto day uttereth speech, and night unto 
 night showeth knowledge. Even a royal observer, 
 surveying the heavens which God has made, and 
 the moon and the stars which are the work of His 
 fingers, uttered, in view of them, only this submissive 
 reflection, " Lord, ivhat is man^ that thou art mind- 
 ful of him ? and the son of man, thai thou visitest 
 him ? But the astronomy of the schools is not the 
 astronomy of the sanctuary. To the novice, in- 
 structed only in the latter, the earth, fixed and mo- 
 tionless, spreads out its ample surface, forming on 
 every side the base which suppcfrts the arches of the 
 sky, across which the sun, and moon, and stars, and 
 planets, in undistinguished order, make their daily 
 and their nightly marches. Even this is grand and 
 awful, especially since God is seen to direct the 
 movement. 
 
 You, however, are able to correct these vulgar 
 errors. You can tell the novice, schooled in the 
 sanctuary, and who has derived his notions of the 
 dimensions of the universe, not from the measure- 
 ments of Newton, but from the melodies of Asaph, 
 that the earth is not a plane, as he supposes, but a 
 globe ; and a globe of secondary magnitude, hung 
 in open space, measuring the day by a revolution 
 on its axis, and the year by the circuit it performs 
 
WONDERS OF THE HEAVENS. 189 
 
 around the sun, the common centre of the earth, 
 and of those other related planets which, with their 
 train of secondaries, constitute this system. 
 
 To confirm your doctrine and strengthen his con 
 viction of your superiority, you adjust the telescope 
 to his eye and point it to the neighbouring planet. 
 With reverential awe he looks upon the hills and 
 valleys, the morasses, and the plains that diversify 
 yon silvery surface. His eye catches the illumi- 
 nated summits that glitter in the sunbeam ; and, 
 thence descending, traces the lengthening shadows 
 that styetch from the broad bases of the lunar mount- 
 ains. You turn the instrument to another, and an- 
 other, and another of those kindred planets, which 
 hang, with their bright array of belts and moons, 
 from the solar centre. 
 
 Amazed, he pauses and reflects upon this vision. 
 The earth he trod on has sunk beneath him, and the 
 heavens he looks at rise into greater majesty. A 
 thousand interesting conjectures start up, a thousand 
 anxious inquiries arise. And who so competent to 
 answer them as he who, by his superior wisdom, un- 
 folded the regions to which they relate 1 Proud of 
 this distinction, and confident of your ability to main- 
 tain it, you proceed to reply. Naming the planets, 
 you tell him their respective densities and distances, 
 the inclinations of their axes, and the angles their or- 
 bits make with the ecliptic. You acquaint him with 
 the seasons of Venus, the length of a day at Jupi- 
 ter, and the duration of the year of the more distant 
 Saturn. Elated with this success, and anxious to 
 know still more of those worlds you have introduced 
 
190 WONDERS OP THE HEAVENS. 
 
 to his acquaintance, he asks to be informed of what 
 material they are composed, when they were created, 
 how long they will continue, and what high purpose 
 they were designed to answer. But you tell him 
 not. 
 
 Again he demands, what is the nature of their 
 soil, the kind and variety of their productions, the 
 number of their inhabitants, the form of their gov- 
 ernments, the character of their Hterature, and the 
 deeds of glory recorded in their histories and cel- 
 ebrated in their songs. Has sin entered there ? he 
 asks ; has death 1 or has salvation been proclaimed 1 
 Again you are silent. You answer not, because 
 you cannot answer. No eyeglass has made visible 
 the hails of justice or the temples of devotion on 
 either of the planets ; no turrets are seen, to indi- 
 cate their cities of commerce or their seats of em- 
 pire ; nor has a sigh or murmur, or a single shout 
 of triumph, ever yet been sent down to earth from 
 yon distant conjectural population. Thus, even 
 here, your boasted wisdom dwindles to a mere 
 knowledge of the naked facts of distance, revolu- 
 tion, and dimension. But on every question of 
 moral moment, concerning all that renders distance, 
 and revolution, and dimension interesting, with all 
 your parade of the measurements of ISewton, you 
 are as profoundly ignorant, nay, much more so, than 
 that humble learner who has gathered his notions of 
 the dimensions of the universe from the meditations 
 of Job or the devotional songs of Asaph. 
 
 Nor, if we pass beyond the planets, will your wis- 
 dom be found more decisive. How much can you 
 
WONDEB** OF THE HEAVENS. 191 
 
 here tell the peasant .;om his cottage, or even the 
 Indian from his thicket, which he before knew not 1 
 
 You can tell him that those stars he sees, and 
 which seem mere radiant points, are suns, and a 
 million times larger than the earth he treads on. 
 That their distance is so great, that, were they struck 
 from existence, their continued light would fall upon 
 the eyes of unborn generations ; and centuries elapse 
 before those rays they have already sent forth, and 
 whose speed is the speed of lightning, would have 
 travelled down from their amazing height to the little 
 planet we inhabit ! 
 
 You might, recurring again to the help of glass- 
 es, show him other and still more distant, and yet 
 other and still more distant central orbs, till you had 
 numbered millions ; each a sun, filling its separate 
 system with light and heat, and seen, even across the 
 immeasurable space between us, in the blaze of its 
 own unborrowed glory. 
 
 Here, at this last, farthest, extremest range of as- 
 tral observation, vision ceases, and with it ceases all 
 your information. But whether even this is crea- 
 tion's ultimate limit, you know not, nor does any 
 other mortal know. For who can tell whether even 
 the range of Herschel's larger telescope was the fix- 
 ed radius to which Jehovah set his compass, when he 
 swept on every side that mighty circle which divides 
 the universe from chaos, and indicates the field with- 
 in whose limits His infinite, eternal spirit broods and 
 operates ? Or whether other and still more power- 
 ful glasses would iiot unfold another and a vaster 
 range of constellated glories, scattered with a bolder 
 
192 WONDERS OF THE HEAVENS. 
 
 hand, and planted at a more awful distance ? This 
 vaster range unfolded, whether even this were all ; or 
 only some small province, some unimportant mem- 
 ber of a yet mightier empire, whose limits and whose 
 line of measure, reaching beyond the ken of angels, 
 is only known to Him who governs it ; and from 
 some loftier height of which an eye looks down on 
 us, and on those suns and planets which stretch 
 across our firmament, as we look down upon the hid- 
 den glories which the microscope reveals suspended 
 on the fibres of the vernal flower; and which suns and 
 planets, if swept from existence, would be as little 
 missed amid the mightier fabrics that still remained, 
 as would be that flower, withered on its stem, among 
 the varied, rich array of blooming nature. 
 
 Whether we take our stand beneath the seen or 
 the unseen firmament, how insignificant is man ! 
 Surrounded by such an infinitude of objects — ob- 
 jects scattered through such measureless extension, 
 what can a creature know of distance or of matter ? 
 Or, space and matter known, why should a moral 
 being glory in that knowledge ? 
 
 Ah ! could you lift the Christian from the sanctu- 
 ary up to ethereal heights, and plant before him, a fix- 
 ed star its pedestal, some mightier telescope than 
 HerschePs, and, turning from point to point its am- 
 ple tube, show him the kingdoms of the universe (as 
 Satan did his master the kingdoms of the world), how 
 would one thought of God — that God he worshipped 
 in the sanctuary, and whom, placed among the constel- 
 lations, he still worships — how would one thought of 
 God, even amid this boundless, this glorious prospect, 
 
KNOWLEDGE OP GOD. 193 
 
 dazzle into darkness all that is bright, and sink into 
 insignificance all that is great ! Descending from 
 his empyrean height, and re-entering the sanctuary, 
 how would he sympathize with yet profounder hu- 
 miUty in the sentiment of the prophet now addressed 
 to you : Thiis saith the Lord : Let not the wise man 
 glory in his wisdom ; but let him that glorieth, gl^^^'y 
 in this, that he understandeth and knoweth JVle ; 
 that I am the Lord, loho exercise loving kindness, 
 judgment, and righteousness in the earth. 
 
 Whatever else we may know, it is the knowledge 
 of God — no matter whether obtained beneath the 
 ceiling of a temple or the ceiling of the firmament— 
 on a globe of earth or a sun of fire — it is the knowl- 
 edge of God which alone gives value and character to 
 all our other knowledge. It is the recognition of his 
 great mastering spirit amid the elemental movements 
 — disposing the atom, balancing in air the vapour, 
 guiding down to earth the sunbeam, sending forward 
 to the shore the billow of the ocean, darting forth from 
 the tempest-driven cloud the lightning, shaking the 
 mountains amid the earthquake, staying the constel- 
 lations in their places, binding the planetary masses 
 to their centres, and propelling the blazing comet 
 along its elongated orbit — it is the recognition of his 
 great mastering spirit amid these elemental move- 
 ments that strikes the silent awe, that wakes the. sol- 
 emn interest ! Ah ! you may measure the distance 
 of the stars ; you may subject to analysis the ele- 
 ments ; but in God only will you find that energy by 
 which they act, that immensity in which they move. 
 
 Mind has a higher majesty than matter; the 
 
194 PAGAN DIVINITIES. 
 
 knowledge of it is sublimer knowledge ; and of this 
 knowledge, that of the eternal mind is immeasurably 
 the most sublime. There is an inward sentiment 
 in man which renders reasoning on this topic use- 
 less. A false and feverish spirit of devotion, even 
 where God has been rejected, prompts the deluded 
 worshipper to seek a substitute. The territories of 
 pagan Rome were endeared by their imaginary genii, 
 and the rivers and fountains thereof were consecra- 
 ted by their nymphs and naiads. It was not the 
 form of Ida nor the height of Olympus, but the 
 gods who frequented them, that caused those hills of 
 Greece to be so intensely interesting. Even Ho- 
 mer has flung additional enchantment over the con- 
 flicts he describes, whether of the elements or of 
 armies, by the sublime agency of those superior be- 
 ings made by his creative fancy, and so admirably 
 marshalled and governed through all the varied in- 
 cidents of his imperishable song. 
 
 But oh ! what deeper interest, what loftier feeling 
 is excited when, not the Jupiter or the Mercury of 
 Homer, but the Elohim of Abraham, the Jehovah 
 of Moses appears : seated, neither on Olympus nor 
 on Ida, but enthroned amid his own immutable per- 
 fections — filling with his eternity all duration, and all 
 immensity with his omnipresence ! 
 
 Taste, as well as morals, is infinitely indebted to 
 those richer views of goodness, those bolder lines 
 of wisdom, and that loftier march of power, which 
 from the hills of Zion the holy seer has rendered 
 visible along the whole course of Providence, and 
 throughout every field of nature* 
 
THEOLOGY OF THE BIBLE. 195 
 
 That juster and sublimer theology of Moses and 
 the prophets, of Christ and his apostles, has banish- 
 ed not only the hero gods of the poets from our al- 
 tars, but also that profane and countless rabble of 
 crawling, purring, mewing, bleating, barking, hissing 
 divinities from our fountains and our rivers, from 
 our fields and our forests. 
 
 The walk of friendship is far more sweet, as is 
 the walk of contemplation far more intellectual, 
 when only the one almighty, universal God is seen, 
 exerting everywhere his wakeful vigilance, and 
 throwing around each little being the arms of his 
 protection, than when the bewildered wanderer is met 
 at every turn by the factitious agency of demons, 
 smiling in the dewdrop, scowling in the December 
 cloud, sighing mournfully through the forests in the 
 mountain breeze, or shrieking angrily from the billow 
 in the ocean tempest. 
 
 Nor the walk of friendship only : a richer colour- 
 ing, a sublimer aspect is given to the whole of na- 
 ture, and a loftier train of associated grandeurs rise 
 in prospect, when her incomprehensible phenomena 
 are held in contemplation, in connexion only with 
 that one great, all-pervading Spirit whom the Bible 
 reveals. 
 
 Ah ! how are the horn of Ceres, the arrow of 
 Mercury, the trident of Neptune, the thunderbolt of 
 Jupiter, with whatever other pagan symbols of di- 
 vinity glow on the canvass, breathe from the statue, 
 or rise in bold relief from the pages of the poet — 
 how is this diminutive, contemptible machinery blot- 
 fed from the fancy by the august conception of thai 
 
196 CONTEMPLATION OF NATURE. 
 
 awful Being, of whom the prophet amid the gran 
 deurs of Sinai saw no simihlude, and of whom the 
 awestruck Israelite, dropping from his trembling 
 hand the instrument of his art, attempted none ! 
 For, being once possessed with the grand idea of 
 the self-existent Spirit, he felt upon his heart, as the 
 disciples of the same school now feel upon theirs, a 
 deep conviction that, however pagans might paint 
 and mould the humble idols of their devotion, the 
 real and the living God is not like anything that 
 may be drawn- upon the canvass or hewed from the 
 marble : nay, that, being himself the maker of all 
 things, he is not like, and therefore may not be pro- 
 fanely likened, either in sculpture, in painting, or in 
 song, to anything which he has made, whether in 
 heaven above, or in the earth beneath, or in the wa- 
 ters under the earth. 
 
 It is not with Homer, or Virgil, or Lucretius, but 
 with Moses, and Job, and David in his hand, that 
 the man of taste should contemplate the scenery of 
 nature. In the heavenly light which revelation 
 throws over the wonders of creation, oh ! how I love 
 to mark the blaze of noonday, to catch the breeze of 
 evening, to watch the shadows lengthening from the 
 mountains as the sun descends behind them, to sur- 
 vey the fading landscape beneath the lingering twi- 
 light, or raise my wondering eye up to the grandeur 
 of the midnight firmament ! All is significant, all is 
 replete with interest ; for it speaks the watchful and 
 active presence of a spirit infinite, who sees even 
 me, marks out my path amid this mighty movement, 
 and shields niy being from the crush of yon uplifted 
 worlds. 
 
THE BIBLE. 19*7 
 
 But it is not in the knowledge of God, as the 
 all-powerful Governor of the material elements — . 
 though this is knowledge more sublime than any 
 which blind, but proud philosophy imparts — it is not 
 this knowledge, but the knowledge of Him as 
 
 THE RIGHTEOUS GOVERNOR OF A MORAL UNIVERSE, 
 
 AND OF EVERY PART OF IT, that we are this day 
 called to glory in. 
 
 With this knowledge we associate neither Ida nor 
 Olympus, hills of Greece, but Carmel and Sharon, 
 hills of Palestine. For here it is not the poets of 
 Athens, it is not the philosophers of Athens, but the 
 prophets of Judah, fishermen from the Sea of Galilee 
 and the Lake of Gennesaret who are our teachers. 
 
 Here the Bible is our only text-book. To it all 
 appeals are made, from it all deductions are drawn. 
 Its doctrines are Jehovah's declarations. These 
 are truth itself. All we gather elsewhere is only 
 ornament or illustration. The learned and the un- 
 learned, on the subject of religion, are all alike shut 
 up wholly to the faith. No eyeglass of philosophy 
 reaches quite up to heaven or down to hell. As- 
 tronomy affords no tables that assist to calculate the 
 soul's duration. Chymistry has not yet revealed 
 the analysis of death, nor taught her proud disciple 
 how to recompose the body once turned to disso- 
 lution. We have heard, indeed, of the perfectibility 
 of man's physical as well as moral nature. We 
 have heard of the progressive triumphs of medicine 
 over disease, and of the prospect of its ultimate tri- 
 umph over death itself. But no facts corroborate 
 this boastful theory. As yet, the march of science 
 
198 THE BIBLE. 
 
 has not kept pace with the march of death. While 
 the limit of knowledge has been extending, the limit 
 of life has been contracting, and it is even now re- 
 duced to a span. Methusaleh lived nine hundred 
 and sixty-nine years ; neither Newton nor Halley 
 lived a century : all their compeers in wisdom have 
 already forsaken us, and the locks of Herschel, 
 their disciple, are whitening for the sepulchre. No 
 astronomer has yet been able to trace a practicable 
 path from mortal up to immortality, nor has the 
 tomb of any alchymist, like that which contained 
 Elisha's bones, quickened his remains enclosed with- 
 in it. The time is far distant when the druggist 
 shall vend an antidote for death, or the chymist, by 
 any subtile process, revivify the ashes of the urn. 
 
 All of moral moment that we know on these high 
 subjects God has told us. And all that God has 
 told us is written in that authentic record of his will 
 and revelation of his purposes, the Bible, 
 
 Here we learn, what philosophy teaches not, or 
 only indistinctly teaches, that material pomp and 
 splendour do not constitute the only or the princi- 
 pal exhibition of the Godhead ; that matter, and mag- 
 nitude, and distance are no more than his theatre of 
 action ; that, amid this outward movement of nu- 
 merous worlds, and the conflict of mighty elements, 
 he is carrying forward a vast, continuous, and eter- 
 nal plan of wisdom and of goodness, which embraces 
 not only the armies of heaven and the legions of 
 hell, but all the dwellers that are upon the earth. 
 
 Wide as his empire extends, and countless as are 
 the worlds which spread their wants before his eye 
 
BIRTH OF CHRIST. 199 
 
 and present their claims upon his attention and his 
 mercy, how welcome the message assuring us that 
 God, rich in the resources of his own exhaustless at- 
 tributes, has time and goodness to exercise loving 
 kindness, judgment, and righteousness, in this incon- 
 siderable province of his immeasurable domains. 
 Cold to gratitude must the heart be, and dead to vir- 
 tue, which does not respond to that annunciation of 
 the angel to which the heavenly host responded, " Be- 
 hold, I bring you glad tidings of great joy, which shall 
 be to all people ; for unto you is born in the city of 
 David a Saviour, who is Christ the Lord." Were a 
 wandering planet, that had been driven by some con- 
 iTulsion from its orbit, brought back to move in it 
 again, or were the fires of some quenched sun re- 
 kindled in the firmament, would philosophy behold 
 such renovation with indifference ? And was it, 
 think you, an incident of minor interest, when the 
 light of virtue again broke forth from the dark disk 
 of the moral world, driven by apostacy from its 
 sphei'e of duty, and wandering away from its centre, 
 God ; but now brought back, to move, and shine, 
 and harmonize, a redeemed member in the one great 
 and changeless system of love and righteousness? 
 So thought not the angels. Ah ! what an hour was 
 that, when on the strings of a thousand harps there 
 trembled this note of exultation, Alleluiah, For a 
 world was lost, but is found : ivas dead, but is alive 
 again. 
 
 It is the exercise of God's loving kindness on the 
 earth which has made it the theatre of scenes that 
 excited the highest joy in heaven, and awoke in an- 
 
200 god's covenant mercies. 
 
 gelic minds the deepest emotions. True, in dimen- 
 sions it is a little world, but its interests are vastly 
 important in the plan of Providence. It is the world 
 where Adam once lived in innocence, and where the 
 posterity of Adam will be raised in power. Defaced 
 as its beauty has been, and rebellious as its inhabi- 
 tants have become, it still retains many an impress 
 of mercy on its surface, and many a beacon of hope 
 rises along the entire line of its duration. 
 
 At no period of its history has it been completely 
 abandoned. Even in its antediluvian age, Enoch 
 walked with God, and Noah preached righteousness. 
 Thereafter a covenant was made with Abraham, and 
 many a subsequent message was conveyed from 
 heaven to earth, through the ministry of angels or 
 the inspiration of prophets. In the record of its his- 
 tory we read of the ladder of Jacob, the chariot of 
 Elijah, and that bush of Moses which burned, but 
 consumed not ; and, after the revolution of so many 
 ages, there may yet be pointed out upon its map 
 that Sinai where the tables of the law were given, 
 and that Moriah on which the temple of Jehovah 
 stood. But its tenderest memorials of the past, its 
 surest tokens for the future, are its manger of Beth- 
 lehem, its Garden of Gethsemane, its Hill of Calvary, 
 its rock of Joseph, and its top of Olivet. 
 
 These are points of vision on which the eye of a 
 sinner, nay, of a seraph, rests with more rapturous 
 hopes, gathering more sublime associations than from 
 the radiant orbs in that mighty range of constellated 
 glories which the telescope reveals. 
 
 Not without reason did an angelic messenger 
 
KNOWLEDGE OF REDEMPTION. 201 
 
 congratulate the shepherds on that night when the 
 heavens resounded with Christ's natal anthem. The 
 tidings which he bore were indeed glad tidines, and 
 to ail people: tidings of justice vindicated, of heav- 
 en reconciled, and of sin forgiven. Oh, how the 
 moral night brightened when the Star of Bethlehem 
 broke upon it ! Since which, this earth has been ad- 
 vancing with every revolution towards the dawn oi 
 a more effulgent day : this earth, comparatively in- 
 significant in its physical dimensions, but great in 
 its moral consequence, as being the centre of a glori- 
 ous plan of redemption, and distinguished among the 
 planets as the theatre of God's loving kindness and 
 the birthplace of his Son. 
 
 It is the knowledge of this system of redemption, 
 in which such mighty interests are concentred, such 
 conflicting claims harmonized, such matchless glories 
 brought to light : it is the knowledge of this system, 
 and of God in Christ acting by it, that sinks and de- 
 grades all other knowledge, and becomes itself ex- 
 clusively the sinner's ground of hope and cause of 
 glorying. Even Paul, brought up at the feet of Ga- 
 maliel, and deeply instructed in the learning of the 
 Rabbins, counted his attainments but loss for the ex- 
 cellency of the knowledge of Christ Jesus his Lord. 
 
 And how is it with you ] You have been study- 
 mg the works of God and the Providence of God. 
 You have been exercising your intellectual powers 
 in the analysis of matter and of mind. With what 
 success have you done this 1 Among all the rela- 
 tions you have discovered and traced, have you yet 
 discovered and traced that great moral relation which 
 
202 god's loving laNDNESS. 
 
 binds you to your Creator's throne ; which mjikea 
 allegiance obligatory ; which makes sii\ heinous, and 
 heU just ? While you have been solving the body in 
 the crucible, or gazing on the firmament through the 
 (elescope, has the conviction fastened upon your 
 hearts that, as the sovereign of the universe, God 
 deserves the homage of the moral beings who inhab- 
 it it ; and that, as being rebels against him, your dam- 
 nation has slumbered only because He exerciseth 
 loving kindness^ as^well as judgment and righteous- 
 ness, on the earth 1 
 
 Of this loving kindness of God, what has been 
 your own individual experience 1 I speak not now 
 of your creation, or of the protection and defence 
 you have found in his Providence. I speak not of 
 the preservations of infancy ; of your recoveries from 
 sickness ; your rescues from danger ; your hair- 
 breadth escapes during so many years, and in the 
 midst of such mighty desolations : desolations which 
 have already swept away more than half the human 
 beings who were on the earth when you began to 
 exist ; while you, surrounded on every side by the 
 remains of the dead, and walking among their sep- 
 ulchres, yet continue companions of the living and 
 monuments of sparing mercy. I speak not now of 
 these things ; but I speak of that loving kindness of 
 God, by which the soul of a sinner is regenerated 
 and redeemed. 
 
 You are each of you acquainted with at least one 
 wanderer from virtue, one rebel against God. What 
 do you know of grace having followed that wander- 
 er, and what pf his submission and return ? What 
 
RIGHT EDUCATION. 203 
 
 reception did he meet with, and was it a father's 
 welcome that he received 1 In one word, have you, 
 who have heard so many lectures and studied so 
 many sciences, have you yet acquired that saving 
 knowledge by which you are enabled more and 
 more to die unto sin and live unto righteousness ? 
 Do you feel in your souls the hope of sin forgiven, 
 and do you find there the evidences of renewing 
 mercy? Has God shed abroad his love in your 
 hearts, restraining your appetites, subduing your 
 passions, purifying your desires, elevating your af- 
 fections, and carrying forward, by the indwelling in- 
 fluences of his spirit, a work of sanctification so 
 progressive, so holy, so tinctured with the temper 
 and the humility of heaven, that you dare to hope 
 He purposes you shall enter it. If so, your educa- 
 tion, though not complete, has been begun aright. 
 Its elements are pure and durable. You have laid 
 your foundation deep and broad, and you may build 
 upon it a superstructure which no shock shall over- 
 throw, and which shall rise in those heavens where 
 no telescope can reach. 
 
 But if you have not acquired this knowledge, 
 with all your boasted attainments you are fools, and 
 the^day of judgment and the bar of God will prove 
 you so. Yours will be no common destiny, and 
 you are even now weaving its fearful web. As 
 there are degrees in guilt, so there will be degrees 
 in retribution. The servant who knows his mas- 
 ter's will and does it not, deserves to be beaten with 
 many stripes. It were better to sink into perdition 
 from the cities of the plain than from the hills of 
 
204 HEAVEN REPLETE WITH BEAUTY. 
 
 Zion ; and Sodom and Gomorrah will have less to 
 answer for in the day of judgment than Chorazin and 
 Bethsaida : nor only than Chorazin and Bethsaida. 
 
 To be driven from the halls of science to the 
 prison of demons is to be doubly damned. Ah ! 
 how many sad associations, how many agonizing 
 contrasts will rush upon the mind of the lettered 
 reprobate, dof>med to the confinement of convicts 
 and the companionship of the finally impenitent ! 
 
 Accustomed to all that is tasteful in art, or sub- 
 lime and picturesque in nature, how will he endure 
 the privations and the disorder of that abode of hor- 
 ror which light never visits, and where salvation 
 never comes. In hell there are no temples of sci- 
 ence any more than of devotion, no walks of con- 
 templation or fields of verdure ; no Ida, or Parnas- 
 sus, or Vale of Tempe. All is dark and sombrous, 
 as well as impious and guilty ; and the smoke of 
 torments endless overhang that starless firmament, 
 across which no healthful planet moves, no bow of 
 promise stretches. 
 
 It is in other and holier regions where taste as 
 well as devotion finds its object and receives its 
 consummation. Heaven is as replete with beauty 
 as it is secure from evil. There is the tree of life, 
 and there the river of salvation. There the cher- 
 ubim chant their paeans, and the harps of angels give 
 forth their notes of melody. There God for ever 
 reigns, seen in the light of his own uncreated perfec- 
 tions, and filling the realms of paradise with his pe- 
 culiar glory. There his redeemed children obey 
 and worship Him. At home in every province of 
 
INVOCATION. 205 
 
 their Heavenly Father's empire, swiftly and securely 
 they fly from world to world, to bear his messages, 
 to admire his wonders, and adore his majesty. 
 Ah ! who would not inherit heaven ! Who does 
 not shrink appalled at the thought of hell ! 
 
 Oh! if a guardian's fondness, if a father's love 
 could move you, how would I pour out my full heart 
 in expostulation and entreaty. But expostulation 
 and entreaty fall powerless on souls which grace 
 has never quickened. Oh ! thou Maker of these 
 immortal beings, guide them to the knowledge of 
 thyself, and bring them to thy kingdom, and to thy 
 "»ame shall be the glory. 
 
806 RELATIONS AMONG CREATED BEINGS. 
 
 XII. 
 
 1^ Absolute Independencepredicableonly ofGod.— The Relations 
 between Parents and Children.— A ibolish Son a Grief to his 
 Father.--Sm the greatest of ail Folly.— The Sinner's Charac- 
 ter and Course described.— The Effects of Sin.— Children 
 growing up in Sin.— The Prodigal Son.— The Anguish occa- 
 sioned to Parents by dissolute Children.— Their Affliction in 
 leaving such Children behind them.— Their Hopelessness 
 in the Death of such Children.— David and Absalom. — The 
 Petition of Dives.— Future State of the Wicked. — Close of 
 the Argument.] 
 
 Absolute independence exists not except in God. 
 Through the whole line of created intelligences, be- 
 ing acts reciprocally upon being. Between the in- 
 dividuals of different races the influence of this action 
 is felt. Noi the angels themselves are unaffected 
 by those changes that affect the destinies of men. 
 There is joy in Heaven over the repentant sinner 
 on earth. This action increases as the relation be- 
 tween beings becomes more intimate. But no re- 
 lation is more intimate than that which subsists be- 
 tween the parent and the child ; none more indis- 
 soluble, and, of course, none more fruitful in pleas- 
 ures and in pains. 
 
 Of this, Solomon, that sagacious observer of hu- 
 man society, was duly sensible. Taught both by 
 experience and observation, he asserts not only 
 that a wise son makelh a glad father^ but that a 
 foolish son is a grief to his father and bitterness to 
 her that bare him. 
 
 It is not the folly of idiocy, however, but the folly 
 
IDIOCY. 207 
 
 of sm, to which the wise man here alludes. God 
 may, and in his inscrutable wisdom sometimes does 
 withhold intelligence from children ; or, having be- 
 stowed it, he suffers it to be impaired by disease or 
 disaster, and, it may be, even to be utterly destroyed. 
 A human being destitute of intellect is, indeed, a 
 pitiable spectacle, and doubly so in the eye of an 
 affectionate and anxious parent. But even in such 
 an eye it is not the most 'piiiabU spectacle. The 
 sight of it occasions sorrow, it is true, but not the 
 most poignant son'ow ; not sorrow inconsolable, be- 
 cause, with reference to eternity, it is not sorrow 
 without hope. 
 
 Death, which crumbles down the body, at best 
 a prison, may remove the veil that has so long ob- 
 scured the vision of the mental eye, and pour upon 
 the idiot's soul, as it escapes from the confinement 
 of material organs, the radiance of intellectual day. 
 And even though it should be otherwise ; though 
 death should bring no relief, and the idiot in eternity 
 should be an idiot still, neither the parent nor the 
 child would be responsible ; neither would feel com 
 punction, neither suffer reproach. 
 
 Idiocy is the act of God. It displays his sov- 
 ereignty who in a thousand ways teaches us that 
 He is the potter and we the clay ; clay which He 
 moulds at pleasure, and for his own glory, into ves- 
 sels of honour or of dishonour. 
 
 The withered intellect of an immortal being is, 
 indeed, a mystery which reason cannot comprehend, 
 and which can be solved by faith even only by 
 referring it to that awful Being who sometimes 
 pleases to coyer hjmself and his ways with dark- 
 
208 SIN THE HIGHEST FOLLY. 
 
 ness from the scrutiny of man. Providence, as 
 well as creation, has its shades; but in both aUke 
 they are only shades, which reUeve the picture of 
 good, and soften the blaze of mercy. 
 
 It is not, however, with foolishness as opposed 
 to intelligence, but as opposed to virtue, that we are 
 at present concerned. The folly of sin is a folly 
 which transcends all other folly, and wrings into the 
 cup of parental misery that wormwood which no in- 
 gredient sweetens or can sweeten. 
 
 This is not a constrained interpretation of the 
 words we are now considering. Folli/ and wisdom 
 are expressive of 6m and righteousness on numerous 
 pages of the sacred volume. Says Job, Behold the 
 fear of the Lord that is wisdom; and to depart 
 from evil is understanding : says David, The fear 
 of the Lord is the beginning of wisdom : a good 
 understanding have all they that do his command' 
 ments : says Solomon, The fear of the Lord is the 
 beginning of knowledge ; but fools despise knoicU 
 edge and insiruction. It was the fool whose soul 
 was required of him in the midst of his revelry ; it 
 was the fool ivho said in his heart there is no God, 
 
 Nor is this a perversion of language. Sin is the 
 most consummate folly, and the sinner is pre-emi- 
 nently a fool. Not the idiot, slavering out his non- 
 sense, furnishes so foul and disgusting a spectacle of 
 folly as the sinner muttering his imprecations, hymn- 
 ing in secret his obscenities, or belching forth in pub- 
 lic his deep-toned blasphemies. What ! shall that 
 man be deemed rational who insults the God above 
 him, who resists tha conscience within him, who 
 
I 
 
 THE SINNER A FOOL. 209 
 
 prostitutes the ineicies around him, and, outraging 
 reason, outraging faith, outraging decency, bieaks 
 down before him all the barriers of truth, of justice, 
 of temperance, of chastity, and transgresses ai every 
 8tep of his bewildered course those eternal rules of 
 action which are sanctioned by wisdom, and which 
 constitute the boundary between sanity and mad- 
 ness ? Shall the man who does this — who does 
 this without relenting, and in spite of admonition, in 
 spite of warning, in spite of entreaty— the man who 
 does this, not casually, but habitually, and who per- 
 sists in doing this from his cradle to his sepulchre — 
 shall this man be deemed rational ? Ah ! beloved 
 pupils, to drink poison one's self, or to cast among 
 others firebrands, arrows, and death, and to say, 
 "Am I not in sport?'' are not indications of sanity, 
 but of madness. Yet such are the indications which 
 the life of the sinner furnishes. 
 
 True, the sinner may be endued with natural tal- 
 ents. So may the maniac. Sallies of wit, flights 
 of fancy are occasionally discoverable : even the 
 fire of imagination sometimes sparkles, and corus- 
 cations of genius glare amid that ungoverned and 
 ungovernable train of thought which he pours forth 
 during the paroxysms of his phrensy. Yet the ma- 
 niac is not a reasonable creature : so neither, with 
 all his love of arts, with all his talents for excelling, 
 is the sinner. 
 
 The wicked man, accomplished and erudite as he 
 
 may be. is, notwithstanding, a deranged man. That 
 
 intellectual order which God ordaine.d is subverted, 
 
 and all within is anarchy. Reason is prostrate, lust 
 
 R 
 
210 RECKLESSNESS OF THE SINNER. 
 
 predominant, and conflicting passions agitate his 
 bosom, and wring and rend his soul. Like the ship 
 dismantled and rudderless, and at the mercy of the 
 elements, he is driven about by every wind that 
 blows, and turned from his course by every surge 
 that rises. What port he shall arrive at, or on what 
 shoals be wrecked, he neither cares nor calculates. 
 He takes no observations, he keeps no reckoning, 
 he shapes no course : neither chart nor compass is 
 regarded : he is impelled by accidental causes and 
 in opposite directions, and his whole voyage is a 
 voyage at random. • 
 
 This is not exaggeration. Whatever else the 
 fiinner possesses, he possesses no discretion : at 
 least he exercises none. He acts according to no 
 fixed rules, he lives in conformity to no established 
 plan. His intermissions in excess, his changes 
 from crime to crime, are wholly capricious ; so that 
 whether he becomes less profligate or more so, the 
 act is not deliberative, but, as it were, instinctive. 
 And, even when he seems to deliberate, the means 
 he chooses are mischosen, and have no relation to 
 the end he aims at. All is wild, and fanciful, and 
 erratic. 
 
 Neither is this exaggeration. If you think so, 
 mark the sinner in his bewildered and delirious 
 course. His fortune is squandered, his constitution 
 destroyed, his honour sullied, his conscience defi- 
 led, and his soul sacrificed — heaven sacrificed — im- 
 mortality sacrificed. And for what? For nothing. 
 He deliberates not, he makes no calculafion ; but is 
 hurried on, as if lashed by demons, from play to 
 
MATEItNAL TENBERNESS. 211 
 
 gambling, from gambling to the dramshop, from the 
 dramshop to the brothel, from the brothel to the mad- 
 house or the prison, and from thence to — hell. 
 
 Again I ask, can such a man be deemed rational 1 
 No, he cannot. As we have said, sin is the most 
 consummate folly, and the sinner pre-eminently a 
 fool. With truth and reason, therefore, Solomon 
 calls a wicked son a foolish son ; and with no less 
 truth and reason, he affirms of such a son that 
 
 HW IS A GRIEF UNTO HIS FATHER, AND BITTER- 
 NESS TO HER THAT BARE HIM. 
 
 Mark these emphatic words. Solomon does not 
 say that a foolish son is grievous, but a grief unto 
 his father : not bitter, but bitterness — the very gall 
 itself — to whom? to her that bare him. 
 
 Who would have expected such an issue 1 Be- 
 hold with what anguish the mother bears, and with 
 what constancy she nurtures that infant at her bo- 
 som. All her other cares are laid aside, all her oth- 
 er pleasures are forgotten. She tends and caresses 
 it by day, and by night she watches the slumber of 
 its pillow. She is ever vigilant, ever active, and 
 never weary in performing the humblest and most 
 tender offices in behalf of that little being. 
 
 So strong is the maternal instinct, so true, so 
 steady to its object, that, when the prophet sought 
 an image to illustrate the ever-wakeful and never- 
 failing faithfulness of God, among all that assem- 
 blage of related beings which surrounded Him, no 
 ties were found so tender, so indissoluble as those 
 which bind a mother to the tenant of her cradle. 
 Hence he significantly asks, as being the least prob- 
 
212 A mother's wretchedness. 
 
 able of all things, and because he could seize on no 
 stronger instance of kindness and of constancy, 
 Can a mother forsake her sucking child] 
 
 And can it be possible that this child, whom, be- 
 fore its countenance has been lit up with intelligence 
 and smiles — even from the first moment of its being 
 the mother forgets not — can it be possible that this 
 child, now the source of so much happiness, the ob- 
 ject of so many and such delightful hopes, wil/ 
 hereafter become the source of the most aggravated 
 and unmitigated misery l 
 
 Yes, even this is possible. Sin subverts the or- 
 der and destroys the harmony of all God's works. 
 It poisons the very fountains of felicity, and causes 
 pain to spring from the soil where pleasure alone 
 might be expected to grow. It sunders the ties of 
 friendship, and renders the ties of nature even, which 
 it cannot sunder, galling and corrosive : so that the 
 very bond which binds a mother to her offspring 
 binds her to the object of her misery : a misery 
 which the partner of her bosom shares, but without 
 alleviating ; for it is a misery which admits not of 
 consolation, and which division even lessens not. 
 Thus it may be said emphatically that a foolish 
 son is a grief unto his father, and bitterness to her 
 that bare him ; for he is so in life, he is so 
 
 IN DEATH NAY, EVEN AFTRR DEATH IN THAT 
 
 ONLY WORLD WHERE POSTHUMOUS MISERY 13 POS- 
 «IBLR. 
 
 In Life. Of all the wounds inflicted by one 
 hmnan being on the peace of another, none are so 
 deep, so lasting, so incurable as those which sin in* 
 
A PIOUS MOTHERS SORROW. 213 
 
 flicts : nor is there any object so noxious, so hateful, 
 as the agent who iuflicts those wounds. Other 
 causes may deface the beauty of the body, but sin 
 deforms the very soul of man. It renders even 
 thar deathless inhabitant of the bosoni vile and pol- 
 luted, as well as guilty and hideous. Not the most 
 odious object that meets the eye is so offensive a 
 spectacle as ihe .soul of man in ruins : the soul de- 
 graded by appetite, defiled by lust, and infected 
 throughout with the leprosy of sin. Such a spec- 
 tacle, so loathsome even to the eye of strangers, 
 what must it be to the eye of kindred : what, espe- 
 cially, to the eye of virtuous parental affection ! 
 
 With what emotions must a father, a mother, look 
 upon such a child, upon such children : children, the 
 objects of their tenderest love, and of their earliest 
 and most anxious care ! Children whom they have 
 warned and counselled by day, and borne upon their 
 hearts to the throne of grace by night ! 
 
 With what emotions must those parents, who them- 
 selves feel an habitual horror of sin and dread of 
 the displeasure of the Almighty — with what emotions 
 must such parents witness the broils, the recrimina- 
 tions, and contentions of children, whom they have 
 taught so long, and with such assiduous care, to live 
 in amity ! Ah ! with what dissonance must oaths 
 and imprecations grate on the parental ear, from lips 
 whose first accents were prayer and praise ; but 
 whose later and hoarser tones have filled even the 
 hallowed retirement of the domestic circle with the 
 clamour and the ribaldry of demons ! 
 
 To see the members of a family ripen in sin as 
 
214 A PIOUS mother's sorrow. 
 
 . they ripen in years ; to see them trampling on au- 
 thority, breaking through restraints, and, finally, tear- 
 ing themselves away from those withered arms that 
 would have still led them back to virtue ; or, if this 
 were quite impossible, would at least have kept them 
 for a season from perdition ; to see them tearing them- 
 selves away fiom those arms, and, in the spirit of 
 fiends, entering on the world only to corrupt and curse 
 it — mere outcasts, forsaken of God, despised of men; 
 to see this downward course, this surrender of prerog- 
 atives, this sacrifice of prospects, this perversion of 
 talents, this prostitution of reason ; to see this in the 
 person of a child, already diseased in body as well as 
 in mind, and literally corrupting in anticipation for the 
 sepulchre ; to see this as a parent sees it, especial 
 ly as a mother sees it, and, at the same time, to re- 
 member, and to be obliged to remember, that the ob- 
 ject of all this guilt, and misery, and disgust, and 
 pollution, is hone of her bone and flesh of her flesh — 
 oh ! this, this it is that drains from the very worm- 
 wood its dregs, and gives to the bitterness of mater- 
 nal misery its consummation. The spirit of a man 
 may sustain his infirmities ; but a luounded spirit 
 who can bear? 
 
 When Brutus raised his treacherous arm in the 
 Roman senate-chamber, the heart of Caesar sunk ; 
 and, concealing his face beneath his mantle, without 
 resistance he received in his bosom the parricidal stab, 
 and fell. And yet Brutus owed not Ccesar so much 
 as children owe their parents ; nor did that parrici- 
 dal stab of his inflict so deep or so unnatural a wound 
 on Caesar's bosom as children by their crimes in- 
 flict on the bosoms of their parents. 
 
THE PRODIGAL SON. 215 
 
 EH's was not the only priesthood that has been 
 dishonoured, nor were his the only gray locks which 
 have been brought, by the profligacy of sons, with 
 sorrow to the grave. 
 
 You remember that prodigal, whose crimes and 
 whose repentance have been rendered memorable by 
 the record which Jesus Christ has left of them. 
 What, think you, was the father's anguish, when this 
 his younger son, impatient of restraint and incapa- 
 ble of submission, demanded his portion, and, desert- 
 ing his home, commenced his rash and ominous ca- 
 reer ? What was his anguish when he saw this son, 
 gradually receding from virtue, changing the habits 
 of his childhood, and, finally, relinquishing both char- 
 acter and conscience, giving himself up wholly to 
 debauchery ? W^hat when he saw him deserted by 
 the good, a companion of the vile, surrounded by < 
 harlots, and squandering even the last remnant of his 
 patrimonial inheritance in wanton and riotous living ? 
 What, finally, must have been his anguish, when he 
 saw that son, once perhaps so amiable, so respecta- 
 ble, so promising, and still to a parent's aching heart 
 so dear — what must have been his anguish when 
 he saw that son, deserted and despised even by the 
 wretches who had feasted on his bounty, at length 
 reduced to beggary, a keeper of swine, and driven 
 by hunger to feed, in common with the herd he tend- 
 ed, upon husks 1 Let that burst of parental joy 
 which welcomed the first hom&ward movement of 
 this repentant, returning prodigal, answer our inter- 
 rogation. , 
 
 Vile, and wretched, and covered with rags as he 
 
216 THE PRODIGAL SON. 
 
 was, his exulting father waited not for his arrival ; 
 but, flying to meet him, in ecstavsy he fell upon his 
 neck and kissed him. The best robe was instantly 
 ordered to be put upon him, shoes up(m his feet, and 
 a ring upon his finger. The fatted calf was killed ; 
 the festive board was spread ; and the noie of joy 
 was again heard within the so long sad and silent 
 mansion. 
 
 It was meet it should be so. Why ? X father's 
 heart declares the reason for this domestic jubilee : 
 Because this my son was dead and is alive again ; 
 he was lost and is found. To conciliate the elder 
 brother returning from the field, and offended at the 
 welcome the prodigal had received, the same reason 
 was repeated : This thy brother ivas dead and is 
 alive again ; he was lost and is found. It was meet^ 
 therefore^ that we should make merry and he glad. 
 
 It was, indeed, meet they should do this : nevei 
 was festivity more rational. The very angels sym- 
 pathized in it ; for there is joy in heaven over onti 
 sinner that repenteth, more than over ninety and nine 
 just persons that need no repentance. 
 
 Ye parents, ye afflicted fiarents, whose hard lot i< 
 is to have ungodly children ; who in the bitterness 
 of your souls have said, and still say, in the closet 
 and at the altar, oh ! that G<»d would recall another 
 wanderer, and cause that abandoned son of mine to 
 relent and to return ; parents whom not death, but 
 sin — more cruel than death — has robbed at once of 
 your peace and of your children, what solace can I of- 
 fer you ? what words of consolation address to you ? 
 None : for none would be availing. These are mis- 
 
PARENTS LEAVING PROFLIGATE CHILDREN. 217 
 
 eries which solace reaches not, and which words of 
 consolation ordy aggravate. Ah ! who can comfort 
 those whom the Gt)d of heaven has not comforted ? 
 Sorrow is yours by [lis appointment; and to llim, 
 therefore, you can only Hft up your hearts and weep. 
 Peiadventure, even as respects that prodigal of thine, 
 His mercies are not quite gone, and His wrath will 
 not burn for ever. 
 
 Pity, oh God ! we beseech thee, our guilty and 
 erring children. Pour out thy spirit upon them, 
 and they shall be renewed. Turn them from the 
 error of their ways, and they shall be turned. 
 
 But if a foolish son be a grief to his father, and 
 bitterness to her that bare him in life, how much 
 more is he a grief and bitterness to them in death : 
 and this, whether respect be had to the death of the 
 parent or of the child. ^....^ 
 
 The death of the parent. — Can the mind of man / 
 conceive a thought (except, indeed, it be the dread ' 
 of damnation for one's own sins) — can the mind of 
 man conceive a thought so full of terror, of anguish, 
 of all that can distract the soul, as the thought of 
 dying, and leavini; behind a profligate and ungodly 
 child — a family of profligate and ungodly children ; 
 children with whom all the means of grace have 
 proved unavailing ; children whom no kindness 
 could conciliate, no counsel influence, no tears soften, 
 no motives move ; but who, in despite of parental 
 love and parental virtue, have remained obstinately 
 impenitent ; and who are now about to be deprived 
 of those abused mercies they have hitherto enjoyed, 
 and to be left orphans as well as profligates in the 
 
218 PARENTS LEAVING PROFLIGATE CHILDREN 
 
 midst of an insidious and treacherous world? I 
 repeat it, what other thought is there, except it be 
 the dread of* one's damnation, which can plant so 
 sharp a sting in a parent's bosom, or press upon his 
 \heart in death with such a tremendous weight ? 
 
 To be surrounded, when dying, by impiety and 
 impenitence, by intemperance and debauchery ; to 
 be deprived even of the hope of being forgotten 
 when dead ; to foresee that one is to be remember- 
 ed only through the profligacy of children who are 
 left behind, to nurture, it may be, other children 
 still more profligate than themselves, and who, in 
 their turn, shall nurture others, thus transmitting guilt 
 and misery through a race of immortal beings, and 
 sealing reprobation, perhaps, to a remote posterity — 
 what ideas are these ! ideas rendered still more 
 dreadful by the remembrance of these tremendous 
 words : For I, the Lord thy God, am a jeal- 
 ous God, visiting the iniquities of the fa- 
 thers UPON THE CHILDBEN, UNTO THE THIRD AND 
 FOURTH GENERATION OF THEM THAT HATE ME ! 
 
 Miserable comforters indeed are wicked children 
 around the pillow of a dying parent. What an af- 
 flicting prospect to the eye ! What sad forebodings 
 does it press upon the heart ! My God, deliver me 
 in that hour from the bitterness of such a scene. 
 Oh ! grant that the hand of filial piety may wipe 
 the cold dew from this forehead and close these 
 eyelids. Then shall thy servant die in peace, when 
 his eye shall have seen thy salvation in the person 
 of his children. 
 
 The death of the child. — Ah ! how hard, how 
 
DAVID AND ABSALOM. 219 
 
 very hard to a pious parent to give up for ever an 
 unrepenting and incorrigible child. David had such 
 a child : but mark how he loved him ; even after he 
 became his enemy, how he loved him. 
 
 Though he had alienated from his father the af- 
 fections of his people, wrested from his hand the 
 sceptre, and seized by violence on his throne, Absa- 
 lom was still unsatisfied. With the ingratitude of a 
 demon he pursued that father, who, bowed with age, 
 fled before his son over Kedron into the wilderness, 
 as a doe flies to the thicket before the tiger. Yet, 
 even in this exile so afllicting, so unnatural, David, 
 forgetful of himself, remembered only Absalom, and 
 pitied him. Yes, even //lere nature asserted her 
 empire in the heart of the deposed monarch ; and 
 the compassion of a father, in all its tenderness and 
 strength, returned. Gladly would he have stayed 
 the arm of retribution, and snatched this intended 
 parricide from the vengeance he deserved. Thus, 
 even at the hazard of his kingdom and his life, in 
 opposition to himself, he interceded for the traitor. 
 All were strictly charged, for the father^s sake^ to 
 spare his son, though in arms against him. To the 
 captains oC Israel, even to Abner, Abishai, and Ittai, 
 as he sent ihem forth to the battle, he said. Deal 
 gently, for my sake, iinlh the young man ; even with 
 Jihsalom, 
 
 When the messens^ers, Ahimaas and Cushi, arri- 
 ved in succession with tidings from the camp, though 
 his crown and kingdom were suspended on the issue, 
 the first anxious inquiry which David addressed to 
 them was not, has Abner been victorious 1 but w 
 
220 DAVID AND ABSALOM. 
 
 the you7ig man Mscdom safe ? The enemies of my 
 lord the /uwo*, replied Ciishi, the enemies of my lord 
 the king^ and all that rise up against thee to do thee 
 hurt, be as that young man is. Not the tender and 
 flattering terms in which this triumph was announced 
 could render it acceptable. The voice of Cushi, 
 joytlil to every oiher heart, conveyed no joy to the 
 sorrow-stricken heart of David. Far from it. The 
 king urns much moved, and went up to the chamber 
 over the gate, and wept : and as he ivept, thus ht 
 said, Oh ! my son Absalom ! my son, my son Absa- 
 lom ! luould God I had died for thee, oh Absalom, 
 my son, my son! 
 
 Nor is David the only father who has felt this 
 sentiment, and spoken this language beside the bier 
 and at the grave of his son. There is a sorrow far 
 more inconsolable than that of Rachel's, who filled 
 ancient Rama with her lamentation, and who refused 
 to be comforled ; because there is a thought far 
 more distressing, even to a mother's heart, than the 
 thouoht that her infant children are not. The wick- 
 ed lives of children, their unforgiven sins, ah ! this 
 it is that robs the mourner of the mourner's conso- 
 lation, and changes, even in the maternal hand, the 
 cup of death, always bitter, into bitterness itself 
 
 Ah ! ye unnatural children ! ye murderers of your 
 parent's peace, in what language of remonstrance 
 shall I addre-s you ? Alas ! there is no language of 
 remonstrance of power to reach and quicken a bosom 
 dead to every ingenuous feeling — d*-ad even to filial 
 gratitude. That is the last throb felt by the seared 
 conscience ; the last sentiment of hopeful omen that 
 
PROFLIGATE PARENTS. 221 
 
 forsakes the indtiratijig heart. But remember, scof- 
 fer, though dead to virtue, you are not dead to suf* 
 fering. From the habitation of your mother, made 
 wretched by your profligacy; from the tomb of your 
 father, slain by your ingratitude, your sins cry aloud 
 to heaven against you. Forbearance has its hmit ; 
 God is just as well as merciful ; and wo unto that 
 sinner on whom at once reats his parents' bl tod and 
 his Maker's mdlediction. The eye that mocketh at 
 his father and despiseth to obey his mother, the ra* 
 Vens of the valley shall pick it out, and the young 
 eao^les shall eat it. These are awful words. Let 
 them sink into thy heart, profligate young man ; thou 
 rebel at once against nature and against God. 
 
 But to return from this digression. Not even the 
 wickedness of parents invalidates the truth of the 
 position we have been attempting to illustrate and 
 enforce. Profligate as your father or mother may 
 be, they are not so profligate but that your sins will 
 aggravate their misery. Yes, even profligate pa- 
 rents wish the happiness of their children. In their 
 hearts so obdurate, there is still one cord that vi- 
 brates in unison vvitl^ nature. 
 
 But, even were it otherwise ; though they had lost 
 the parental instinct, and become as selflsh and as 
 reprobate in their feelings as the damned, a foolish 
 son would still be a grief and bitterness to them. Sin 
 mingles its poison in the cup of the wicked, and 
 carries its woes into their families as well as into 
 the families of the righteous. A wicked son, there- 
 fore, even to wicked parents, must be a grief and 
 bitterness. He must be so in life, so in death ; 
 
222 DIVES* 
 
 and so after death, in that only world where 
 
 POSTHUMOUS SUFFERING IS POSSIBLE. 
 
 When Dives lifted up his eyes in torments, and 
 saw Abraham afar off, and Lazarus in his bosom, 
 he addressed to the patriarch two petitions, and but 
 two ; the one respecting himself, the other his kin- 
 dred. Sweltering beneath his Maker's wrath, and 
 finding no rest, he cried and said, Father Abraham, 
 have mercy on me ; and send Lazarus that he may 
 dip the tip of his finger in water and cool my tongue ; 
 for I am tormented in this flame. This denied him, 
 he added, / pray thee, therefore, father, that thou 
 wouldst send him to my father's house ; for I have 
 five brethren ; that he may testify unto them, less 
 they also come into this place of torment. 
 
 Whether this petition was prompted by a dread 
 that the presence of his brethren would aggravate his 
 misery, or whether the sympathies between kindred 
 on the earth find place in hell, is not material to in- 
 quire. It is enough for us to know that Dives thus 
 prayed. And be it remembered, this is the only 
 form of prayer we have any knowledge of having 
 ever been offered up in those regions of dark despair 
 which mercy never visits, and to which deliverance 
 never comes. Methinks I hear the same mournful 
 cry repeated in behalf of children by every ungodly 
 parent that has joined Dives in his abode of misery. 
 
 Since it is so — since not even Lazarus may be 
 permitted to administer to our relief, though but one 
 drop of water, oh! that it were granted that he 
 might go to yonder world, where mercy is still ad- 
 missible ; that he might go to the houses we once 
 
FUTURE PUNISHMENTS. 223^ 
 
 inhabited ; to the children we have left — left, cor- 
 rupted by our counsel, ensnared by our example — 
 oh ! that it were granted that some messenger might 
 be sent to warn them, lest they should also come te 
 aggravate our doom in this place of torment. 
 
 Nor is it strange that the anticipated dread oj 
 such a vengeance should extort, even from damned 
 spirits, such a note of supplication. For, among all 
 the forms of retribution which incensed justice has 
 in store for sinners, what damnation is there so doub- 
 ]y to be deprecated as the meeting of a parent with 
 a child — in hell ! Ah ! what mutual curses and re- 
 criminations will be exchanged between the malig- 
 nant, fiendiike offspring, and the no less malignant 
 and fiendlike author of his being and his misery ; 
 who, having inherited on earth his father's crimes and 
 fortunes, has come to share in hell, and to aggravate 
 by sharing, the torments of his reprobation. 
 
 Imagine such a meeting. Oh ! how the cavern 
 deepens ! how the darkness blackens ! while from 
 the gulf below is heard a groan of more, more deep- 
 toned misery. But I forbear. Let the veil rest 
 which covers a scene by living men not conceivable. 
 As yet, thanks to Almighty God, we know not its ter- 
 rors. May He grant that we shall never know them. 
 
 I have now reached the consummation of my ar- 
 gument ; and, in view of all that has been said, are 
 you, who have heard me, willing to take, with a life 
 of sin, its consequences 1 Art thou willing, thou 
 gowned fool — thou fool even from the halls of litera- 
 ture and from the vestibule of science — art thou 
 willing to sacrifice at once thine own peace and the 
 
224 HEAVENLY WISDOM. 
 
 peace of those whose happiness is identified with 
 thine, bone as thou art of their bone, and flesh of 
 their flesh 1 Are ye wilUng, ye profane young men, 
 who, with all your learning, have yet to learn that 
 the fear of the Lord is the beginning of wisdom — 
 are ye willing to become the assassins of your godly • 
 parents on the earth, or the executioners of eternal 
 vengeance on your ungodly ones — in hell ? 
 
 By all that is touching in a parent's misery — by all 
 that is dreadful in the Almighty's malediction — by the 
 terrors of the hour of final separation, and the deep- 
 er terrors of an after-meeting to the wicked, doomed 
 to become, and to continue through eternity, tor- 
 mentors of each other — I adjure you to renounce 
 your folly, and, ere the guardianship of the spirit is 
 withdrawn and the temple of mercy shut, betake 
 yourselves to acquiring that heavenly wisdom which 
 will abide the coming of the Son of Man, and be 
 availing in the day of judgment and at the bar of 
 God : a wisdom which the Academy teaches not, 
 and cannot teach. It is not from Socrates or Sen- 
 eca that we learn to know God and Jesus Christ, 
 whom to know aright is life eternal : a knowledge, 
 in comparison with which the learning of the schools 
 is folly, and the boastful possessor of it, untaught in 
 purer doctrine and by a holier teacher, is, and will 
 remain throughout eternity, a fool. 
 
 Oh God ! tnis wisdom from above is thy hallow- 
 n^. hallowed gift. Bestow it on these youth ere 
 they depart from around thine altar, lest they return 
 to their homes the harbintrers of discord, and carry 
 into the domestic circle, and to their parents' hearts 
 
GOD S BLESSING INVOKED. 225 
 
 that deep misery for which, grace apart, there is 
 neither antidote nor remedy. 
 
 Hear this our prayer in their behalf. Confirm 
 the wise in their wisdom, and turn the heart of the 
 fool from his folly. Do this, thou Author of our 
 being, thou Father of our spirits and object of our 
 hopes, for Christ's sake, and to thy name shall be 
 the glory. 
 
226 THE DEATH OP THE RIGHTEOUS. 
 
 XIII. 
 
 [All wish to Die with the Assurance of Happiness hereafter.— 
 As Youth is the most important, it is also the most danger- 
 ous Period of Life. — Rehgion only can guard against the 
 Temptations incident to this Period. — The Example of Jo- 
 siah.— All Men mean to repent of their Sins.— Danger of 
 delaying Repentance — from the uncertainty of Life and of 
 the continued possession of Reason— from the hardening ef- 
 fects of Perseverance in Sin — from being left to a Reprobate 
 Mmd.] 
 
 Let me die the death of the righteous, and let my 
 last end be like his, exclaimed the son of Beor, 
 when summoned by Balak to curse the Israel of 
 God. Lives there a man who does not sympathize 
 in this sentiment of the prophet, or who would not 
 appropriate his language ? 
 
 Could we travel round our world, and, visiting all 
 the dwelling-places of its guilty inhabitants, collect 
 their various opinions, adverse as we might find 
 them on other questions, on this they would be found 
 to harmonize in one common and fraternal senti- 
 ment. Let us die the death of the righteous, and let 
 our last end be like his. 
 
 Let me die the death of the righteous is articula- 
 ted by the tongue of the miser, as he appropriates 
 the dower of the widow, and throws his remorseless 
 fangs over the orphan's patrimony. 
 
 Let me die the death of the righteous trembles 
 on the lips of the drunkard as he mingles his cup, 
 and in the intervals of his execrations. Even from 
 the hall of youthful revelry might be heard, were the 
 
EARLV IMPRESSIONS. 227 
 
 language of the heart audible, that prayer, their only 
 prayer, Let us die the death of the righteous, and let 
 our last end be like his. 
 
 Much, however, as all desire to die the death of 
 the righteous, few are disposed to live his life ; and 
 yet the one is not to be expected without the other. 
 
 To urge the immediate adoption of the life of the 
 righteous cannot, therefore, be impertinent at such 
 a time and before such an audience. 
 
 If piety be desirable at all, early piety is desirable. 
 Youth is at once the most important and the most 
 perilous period of man^s existence. 
 
 It is the most important, because it is the first ; 
 and, as such, leaves its own impressions on all those 
 other periods that follow in an endless series. 
 
 Man enters on existence ignorant and impotent, 
 but pliable and docile. The first impressions on 
 his heart are the deepest and the most abiding. 
 Thus, at the outset, and during the inceptive process 
 of moral agency, a cast is given to his tone of feel- 
 ing and his type of character. Secondary impres- 
 sions of a similar kind only deepen the preceding, 
 and carry forward the process of formation. Soon 
 his taste receives a bias ; soon his pleasures are se- 
 lected, his companions chosen, and his manner of 
 life settled. Thenceforward he advances, I do not 
 • say under an absolute necessity of being, but strong- 
 ly predisposed to be, for ever after what he hitherto 
 has been. Habit renders pleasurable what indul- 
 gence has made familiar. Hence the sentiments 
 cherished, the maxims adopted, the modes of think- 
 ing and acting practised in youth, cleave to the man 
 
228 DANGERS OF YOUTH. 
 
 with the tenacity of a second nature ; and thus the 
 web of life runs on uniform in its texture, and woven 
 of the same material to its close. All, therefore, 
 that is either grand and glorious, or mean and mis- 
 erable, in ceaseless being, is contained in embryo in 
 life's first act. And every step which the actor 
 takes on earth is a step of destiny ; for it is a step 
 towards hell or heaven. 
 
 As youth is the most important, so it is the most 
 perilous period of mail's existence. 
 
 It is the period of fancy, of imagination, of pas- 
 sion ; the period when the world appears most gaudy, 
 and pleasure is most enticing. Reason, as yet, has 
 not detected the sophistry of sin, nor experience re- 
 vealed its bitterness. Even that worldly prudence 
 which age imparts is not yet acquired ; and all the 
 avenues of the heart are left open and unguarded to 
 the assaults of every invader. 
 
 Now it is that health nerves the arm, ardour fires 
 the bosom, and insatiable desires prompt to action. 
 Now it is that a field of ideal glory presents itself, 
 rich in objects of interest, and replete with scenes of 
 gratification ; a field where every evil is disguised, 
 every danger concealed, every enemy masked ; 
 where vision follows vision, and phantom succeeds 
 phantom. Wealth, honour, pleasure, each big with 
 promise, but faithless in performance, courts his at- 
 tention and solicits his choice. Forms of beauty 
 flit before his eye, songs of melody enchant his ear, 
 streams of bliss invite his taste ; and, before a crea- 
 ture who is to die to-morrow, a long life rises up in 
 prospect; while from the banquet of bewildering 
 
RELIGION THE BEST SAFEGUARD. 229 
 
 folly a voice is heard to say, " Rejoice, oh young 
 man, in thy youth, and let thy heart cheer thee in 
 the days of thy youth ; and walk in the ways of 
 thine heart and in the sight of thine eyes ;" but that 
 voice adds not, and the deluded victim knows not, 
 that it remains to be added, " Know thou that for all 
 these things God will bring thee into judgment?" 
 
 At such a moment of danger, at such a crisis of 
 being, ah I how needful the eye of faith, the anchor 
 of hope, and the monition of the Spirit. 
 
 Religion, at the very outset, places her votary on 
 the vantage ground in this warfare of the soul. To 
 him, in anticipation, she unmasks the world, exposes 
 its vanity, discovers the sting which sin conceals, 
 and detects the poison which pleasure mingles in her 
 chalice. When temptation assails, when passion 
 impels, when companions invite, she interposes eter- 
 nal sanctions, sheds prophetic light on the eye turn- 
 ed heavenward ; and God, who sees, is seen by it : 
 the spell breaks, the vision vanishes, and the child 
 of promise, recovering his decision, shrinks back, 
 and drops the fatal cup, untasted, from his hand. 
 His patrimony is spared, his constitution spared, his 
 honour spared : life still remains a blessing, and 
 heaven is still attainable. 
 
 What but piety preserved Joseph in the house of 
 Potiphar ? W^hat but piety sustained Josiah on the 
 throne of Israel ? You remember the history of this 
 enviable youth ? Descended from a libertine parent- 
 age, nurtured at a licentious court, he succeeded at 
 a tender age to the sovereignty of a mighty empire. 
 But even on this giddy height, and compassed by 
 
230 EXAMPLE OF JOSIAH. 
 
 every allurement and seduction, the young Josiah 
 stood secure ; and, though he had no example to 
 copy, no friend to counsel, no monitor to warn, still 
 he continued inflexible, and to the end resolutely 
 maintained his integrity. More than this, he breast- 
 ed the torrent of national corruption, gave a new 
 tone to public sentiment, and brought back a whole 
 community to the practice of virtue and the worship 
 of Jehovah. 
 
 And what was the cause of this singular felicity 1 
 Religion. His heart had been early imbued with 
 the spirit of piety, and he entered on his reign in the 
 fear of the God of his fathers. It was not the bat- 
 tles he fought, it was not the desolation he occasion- 
 ed, but the deeds of goodness he performed which 
 endear his memory, and will continue to endear it to 
 a. thousand generations. 
 
 Adventurous youth, just entering on the world, 
 need you not that shelter which Josiah needed 1 
 Are you quite sure that no temptation will prevail 
 against your virtue ? no sally of passion pollute your 
 honour 1 no deed of rashness wreck your hopes ? 
 Go, then, daring adventurer ; go unsheltered to the 
 combat, and without thine armour. Thy very con- 
 fidence is ominous, and presages naught but danger. 
 Now, as formerly, Quern vult Deus perdere^ prius 
 dementat. 
 
 But, apart from the virtue it secures and the safety 
 it affords, it were wise to become religious in youth, 
 because of the uncertainty of becoming so thereafter. 
 
 Whether you desire at all to become religious is 
 not now, nor has it ever been, a question. Live as 
 
FOLLY OF DELAYING REPENTANCE. 231 
 
 he may, no man means to die a sinner. Each one 
 who hears me has already offered up the prayer of 
 the son of Beor ; and you all intend to put your- 
 selves in an attitude for receiving its fulfilment. 
 Yes ; you all intend, ere long, and before the sum- 
 mons shall have gone forth, Atvay, sinner^ away to 
 judgment, you all intend to break off your sins by 
 repentance, and by faith to make your peace with 
 God. 
 
 But when ? Perhaps in meridian life — in old at 
 farthest. But know you not that the meridian life, 
 the old age on which you calculate, and on which 
 such mighty interests are to hang suspended, are quite 
 uncertain ] Has mortal man any claim upon tha 
 future 1 Or lives there one who is certain of to- 
 morrow ? 
 
 Rash neglecter of present opportunity, who art 
 thou 1 or what was thine origin, and what will be thine 
 end, that thou shouldst court such hazard, and stake 
 thy soul on a mere contingency ? 
 
 On repentance that is future thou art relying for 
 the expiation of present crimes. But when is that 
 repentance to be performed ? Where is it to be 
 performed 1 On earth ? Hast thou, then, made a 
 covenant with death 1 Hast thou entered into a 
 league with hell ^ Are the ministers of wrath shut 
 up, or is the arm of Omnipotence chained back, that 
 folly should presume on sufferance, and treason rely 
 upon impunity? 
 
 Behold, saith the high and lofty One that inhab- 
 iteth eternity, whose name is Holy, your covenant 
 with death shall not stand ; your agreement with hell 
 
232 UNCERTAINTY OF THE FUTURE. 
 
 shall be disannulled. When the overflowing scourge 
 shall pass through, then ye shall be trodden down of 
 it. Judgment also will I lay to the line, and righte- 
 ousness to the plummet; and the hail shall sweep 
 away the refuge of lies, and the waters shall overflow 
 the hiding-place — of sinners. 
 
 Preposterous youth, and are thy powers of action 
 at the outset to be perverted, and thy first years of 
 being to be filled up with sin 1 How durst thou, 
 even for a moment, make God thine enemy, and 
 set thy Maker at defiance? When he but wills the 
 sinner's overthrow, every agent in the universe be- 
 comes a messenger of evil, and every element of 
 nature a minister of death. Now, as formerly, there 
 is a destroying angel that walketh in darkness, and 
 a pestilence that wasteth at noon day. 
 
 Be your intentions what they may as to a future 
 reformation, what assurance have you of a future op- 
 portunity ? How know you that God will propor^ 
 lion his mercy to your misery, and spare you until 
 age, that you may bewail the crimes of youth : 
 crimes deliberately committed, and with a view to 
 be repented of? 
 
 A fearful uncertainty overhangs the future. Youth 
 and age, strength and imbecility, bow alike before 
 the King of Terrors. That young man, devoid of 
 understanding, whom Solomon saw from the case- 
 ment of his window, presumed on future penitence. 
 Imboldened by this presumption, he yielded to the 
 voice of flattery, and hastened to that banque* whence 
 he returned not ; for suddenly a dart passed through 
 his vitals. Thus goeth the sinner to his pleasure, as 
 
PROBABILITY (F EARLY DEATH. 233 
 
 the ox goeth to the slaughter, or the bird to the snare, 
 and knoweth not that it is for his life. 
 
 Indulge not the vain dream of a future opportuni- 
 ty. In the counsels of God no such opportunity 
 may ever be granted. On the contrary, many of 
 you will die ; will have appeared at the bar of God ; 
 will have received your doom, and passed onward to 
 that state where the unrighteous are unrighteous still, 
 before that period shall have arrived which you are 
 now presumptuously appropriating to a preparation 
 for these dread events. 
 
 Do you ask for proof of this ? The monuments 
 in every cemetery furnish it. There it is written on 
 many a marble tablet, with the iron pen of death. 
 Have you not beheld those mounds where youth and 
 beauty lie interred 1 Have you not read the prophet- 
 ic lessons there inscribed? The testimony of the 
 dead is decisive testimony : sustained by which, we 
 announce to you who hear us, that many a living youth 
 is marked for the sepulchre, and will prematurely 
 reach it. The decree has passed ; the designation 
 for early death has already been made in heaven ; 
 and time will reveal the order of that succession 
 which will conduct you severally to your unlooked- 
 for dissolution. How dangerous, then, delay ! 
 Hopes built on future opportunity, how fallacious ! 
 Know, oh man ! that now is the accepted time, 
 now the day of salvation. By embracing religion 
 now, you make God your friend, and secure the prize 
 of immortality. By neglecting to embrace it, you 
 put your souls in jeopardy, and leuve the question 
 of ultimate salvation suspended on contingency : a 
 
234 MENTAL DERANGEMENT. 
 
 contingency how full of peril ! since more than half 
 of all who yet have lived have died before maturity. 
 And, knowing this, will the living still procrastinate ? 
 Or. if they do, will not death, that finds them with- 
 out preparation, find them also without excuse ? 
 
 But death is not the only contingency which ren- 
 ders dependance on future penitence fallacious. 
 
 Those mental powers, without the exercise of 
 which repentance is impossible, are held by a preca- 
 rious tenure. God, who withdraws his spirit and 
 the heart indurates, touches the nerves of the brain 
 and reason departs, foresight departs, reflection 
 departs, and all the attributes on which moral 
 agency depends, and which give to being all its value, 
 as if blotted from the soul, cease to be manifest ; 
 or, if manifest, appearing only in conflict, like the 
 troubled elements of nature when the laws which 
 govern them are disturbed or suspended. 
 
 Have you not read of that king of Babylon, ex- 
 iled by mental malady from the society of man, who 
 ate grass like the ox, and was wet with the dew of 
 heaven till his hair became like birds' feathers, and 
 his nails like eagles' claws ? 
 
 Have you never seen a fellow-creature bereft of 
 reason, chained in his cell, or fearfully ranging in 
 his liberty ? And felt you not the withering influ- 
 ence of that glance which he cast upon you ? Felt 
 you not the spell of that piercing shriek which he 
 sent forward to your ear] That unhappy being 
 once possessed talents ; once indulged in dreams 
 of happiness ; once formed plans of reformation. 
 Wretched wanderer, what avail him now those plana 
 and purposes ! 
 
GOD CALLS TO PRESENT REPENTANCE. 235 
 
 Can he pray ? Can he believe ? Can he repent, 
 or make aught of preparation for death, for heaven, 
 or for judgment 1 Ah ! no. Whatever of guilt was 
 on his conscience, when from the Almighty this 
 blight came over him, he must carry it unrepented 
 of, and therefore unforgiven, to the bar of retribution. 
 
 His fate, presumptuous young man, may be thine 
 own. Minds of the finest texture and the highest 
 cultivation are peculiarly exposed to mental malady. 
 They who think most are most in danger of losing 
 the capacity of thought. It is from the halls of 
 science, from among the votaries of the muses, that 
 lunatic asylums receive their most regular and con- 
 stant accessions. Oh, then, serve God now. Here- 
 after thou mayest not have the ability to serve him ; 
 or, if the ability, not the disposition. 
 
 You imagine reason permanent, death distant; 
 and that ample time remains to be appropriated to 
 religion. Suppose it were so : does it follow that 
 that time will be so appropriated I Having despised 
 God in youth, are you sure that you will be disposed 
 to render, or he to accept the services of age 1 It is 
 not quite so clear that sin indulged conduces to the 
 renunciation of sin ; or that the dregs of life are the 
 most acceptable offering which man can present to 
 his Maker. 
 
 It is not said of those who seek God late, but of 
 those who seek him early, that they shall find him. 
 Wherefore, ye young, turn at his reproof. On you 
 he will pour out his Spirit : to you he will make 
 known his words. Reason allows of no delay : re- 
 ligion allows of no delay. The language of both 
 
236 SIN HARDENS THE HEART. 
 
 is, Remember now thy Creator in the days of thy 
 
 youth, before the evil days come, and the years draw 
 
 nigh when thou shall say, I have no pleasure in 
 
 them. Now is the time for decisive action ; noio^ 
 
 not to-morrow. God is found of them who seek 
 
 him early : 
 
 *' Now is the time he bends his ear, 
 And waits for your request ; 
 Come, lest he rouse his wrath, and swear 
 You shall not see ray rest." 
 
 But if you neglect to secure salvation in a season 
 the most favourable, is it probable that you will se- 
 cure it in a season that is the least so ? Will crime, 
 think you, appear more odious the more it is famil- 
 iarized 1 Or will the love of God fall with greater 
 power upon the heart the longer it casts contempt 
 upon that lovel , 
 
 Ah ! no ; though you were to live as long as did 
 Methusaleh, if you embrace not religion in youth, it 
 is not probable that you will afterward embrace it. 
 As the twig is bent the tree is inclined throughout 
 the whole extent of God's moral husbandry. Ex- 
 ceptions, indeed, there may be, but they are only 
 exceptions. 
 
 Far be it from me to detract from the power of 
 grace, or to set limits to the Holy One of Israel. 
 There is a bolt by which the cedar of Lebanon is 
 riven, a blast before which the oak of Bashan 
 bows. But not like these are the ordinary visita- 
 tions of the Spirit. It descends, not like the tem- 
 pest in its strength, assailing the aged, and subduing 
 the confirmed in sin, but like the shower upon the 
 new-mown grass, the dew upon the tender plant. 
 
AGED SINNERS. 23T 
 
 causing th^ young to hearken, and out of the moutha 
 of babes and sucklings perfecting praise. 
 
 I repeat it : if you do not in youth embrace reli- 
 gion, it is not probable that you will ever afterward 
 embrace it. 
 
 Among the multitude by crime rendered memo- 
 rable, can you name one sinner whom age has re- 
 formed ? It was not Cain ; it was not Ahab ; it 
 was not Jezebel ; it was not Herod : no, nor was it 
 any of their profane coadjutors. But, waving the 
 record of by-gone days, where is now its reforming 
 influence 1 
 
 Look into the world. Do you not see the misei 
 still hugging his treasure, and the drunkard still rev- 
 elling in his cups, though both are gray with age, 
 and bending to the tomb? Even these wretched 
 outcasts, now so dead in sin, so callous to reproof, 
 once seriously intended to devote the evening of their 
 days to God. 
 
 But have they done this ? No : nor will they. 
 In the attitude you see them now, death will find 
 them, and, with their sins upon them, they will ap- 
 pear at the bar of judgment. 
 
 Age reform the sinner ? Ah, no ! Age has no 
 reforming power. As well might the Ethiopian 
 change his skin or the leopard his spots, as that 
 they who have been accustomed to do evil should 
 learn to do well. 
 
 But you imagine that with you it will be different. 
 That, unlike those miserable men who have lived be- 
 fore you, you will love sin less the more you prac- 
 tice it ; that you will think of God more the longer 
 
238 god's spirit essential to conversion. 
 
 he has been forgotten ; that, having first secured this 
 world, you will be all attention to secure the next. 
 
 Were it even so, still your salvation would be un- 
 certain. Wearied and worn out in the service of 
 Satan, what assurance have you that you will be ad- 
 mitted to the service of God ? The vigour of youth 
 exhausted in dishonouring your Creator, is it certain 
 he will accept the dregs of age — the valueless trib- 
 ute you have the audacity to intend offering him ? 
 
 When the frosts of threescore years shall have 
 passed over you, withering all your joys, and ex- 
 tinguishing all your hopes ; when, having reached 
 the verge of life, and standing on the brink of eter- 
 nity, you shall turn your affrighted eye to heaven, 
 and try your unpractised voice in supplication unto 
 God, are you quite sure that he will hear your cry, that 
 he will answer your petition ? May he not then say 
 to you as he said to Judah, Go now, and cry unto the 
 gods to whom you have offered sacrifice ? May he 
 not say unto you. Go, sinner ; go to the world — to 
 its pastimes and pleasures : these have been thine 
 idols ; let them save thee. 
 
 There is a state, in regard to which God says of 
 the wicked, they shall cry to me, but I will no an- 
 swer. 
 
 The spirit of God is indispensable to your con- 
 version. That spirit now offers you its aid. Be- 
 hold, I stand at the door and knock. Hitherto you 
 have refused it admission. Even now you say, De- 
 part from us : we desire not the knowledge of thy 
 ways. Taken at your word, that spirit may depart 
 from you. Know you not who it was that said. 
 
SINNER ABANDONED BY GOD. 239 
 
 My spirit shall not always strive with man 1 Wo 
 unto that sinner, abandoned by the Spirit, concern- 
 ing whom it shall be said, as it was said of Ephra- 
 im of old. Let him alone ; he is joined to his idols. 
 Oh God ! ipterpose thy mercy, and avert from us 
 so frightful a doom ; and to thy name shall be the 
 glory. Amen. 
 
240 COMMAND OF CHRIST. 
 
 XIV. 
 
 ADDRESS DELIVERED BEFORE THE BIBLE SOCIETY, 1819, 
 
 [Character and Design of the Bible Society. — Christian Com 
 munities do not sufficiently appreciate their indebtedness tu 
 the Bible. — Nearly all that is pure in Morals or kindly in Keel- 
 ing derived from it.— In the first Ages of the World, God'g 
 Communications to Man were direct, and were perpetuated 
 and extended by Tradition. — The early Longevity of Mankind 
 favourable to this — The Traditions and Institutions of heathen 
 Nations coincide with and confirm the sacred Records of the 
 Jews. — Divine Revelation and the Speculations of human 
 Reason, as exhibited in their different Effects. — Dreadful 
 Moral Corruption of the heathen World.— Influence of Chris- 
 tianity in ameliorating the Condition and Morals of Mankind. 
 — Unspeakable importance of Divine Revelation in regard to 
 a future State. — The duty of Christians to extend it to all 
 Nations.] 
 
 Go ye into all the world, and preach the gospel to 
 every creature, said the risen Saviour to his aston- 
 ished disciples. Obedient to his nnandate, and re- 
 nouncing their humble occupations, they began to 
 publish the glad tidings. 
 
 What was said to them is, in effect, said to us, 
 and to all who have received the doctrine of his res- 
 urrection. Though not evangelists ourselves, it is 
 our duty to become helpers to those who are. And 
 this we may do extensively, and, if God please, ef- 
 ficaciously, by aiding to translate, to print, and to 
 distribute the book in which that gospel, command- 
 ed to be preached to every creature, is contained. 
 
 The speaker's voice is evanescent : this printed 
 record permanent. The speaker's voice is erring * 
 
CHARACTER OF THE BIBLE SOCIETY. 241 
 
 this printed record is truth itself; the pure, unmixed, 
 unadulterated word of God. 
 
 I address the members of this society, not as a 
 few isolated individuals, associated for ihe purpose of 
 giving a Bible to each one of their destitute acquaint- 
 atnce (though this were laudable), but as an integral 
 part of a vast association : an association which 
 stretches across the ocean, and compasses both con- 
 tinents ; an association which concentrates the in- 
 fluence of distant nations, and is grasping the mighty 
 object of preaching by the printed word, in ail lan- 
 guages, the gospel of their common Lord to every 
 creature. An association, in behalf of which saints 
 on earth offer up their prayers ; on which angels in 
 heaven look down propitious ; and which shall, as 
 we trust in God, continue to exist long after its pres- 
 ent members are forgotten ; nor remit its exertions 
 till every family under heaven possesses a Bible, 
 and each member thereof has read or listened to its 
 contents. 
 
 In contemplating such an association, with what 
 force do the prophetic words of St. John rush upon 
 the mind ! And I saw another angel flying through 
 ihe midst of heaven, having the everlasting gospel 
 to preach unto them that dwell on the earth ; and to 
 every nation, and kindred^ and tongue, and people. 
 
 If the most splendid triumphs followed the first 
 proclamation of the glad tidings by the living voice, 
 what may we not hope for from a second proclama- 
 tion of the same tidings by the written word ! And 
 who knows but the reappearance of that primitive 
 catholic spirit, which is forcing into union sects so 
 T 
 
242 AIM OF THE B1B1.E SOCIETV. 
 
 adverse, and giving a moral organization to the com- 
 monwealth of Christendom — who knows but this 
 spirit is the welcome harbinger, and this organiza- 
 tion the honoured instrument destined to introduce 
 the church's jubilee — mankind's millennium 1 
 
 To justify the formation of a society, it is suffi- 
 cient that its object be a rightful one. But if the 
 public patronage be claimed in its behalf; if the 
 community are called upon to embark in its design ; 
 if the rich are required to contribute their riches, the 
 powerful their influence, and the pious their prayers, 
 then is it incumbent on its advocate to show, not 
 only that the object proposed by it is rightful, but 
 that it is also in)portant ; and that great exertions 
 are not called for without an aim commensurately 
 great. 
 
 In behalf of the society in whose name I now 
 address you, great exertions are called for ; and I 
 trust it can also be shown that its aim is commen- 
 surately great ; equally great in point of goodness 
 and of magnitude. 
 
 To attempt this before a Christian audience may 
 by some be deemed unnecessary. Alas ! that it 
 were not so. We eulogize the Bible, but how much 
 of this is from habit. We boast of our advantages ; 
 but are they not merely words of course 1 Do the 
 people generally realize — does the statesman real- 
 ize — does even the Christian at the altar of his God 
 realize the supreme felicity he enjoys, or feel the 
 eminence of that moral elevation to which the Bible 
 has exalted him. Basking in the sunshine of gos- 
 pel ordinances, and having never groped amid that 
 
ERA OF ORAL COMMUNICATION. *243 
 
 frightful darkness which elsewhere overshadows the 
 nations, we measure not the distance which separ- 
 ates the pagan from the Christian, nor appreciate 
 what a wretched, friendless, hopeless world this earth 
 had been without the light of Divine revelation. 
 
 To this light is owing whatever of benignity of 
 manners, whatever of elevation of character, what- 
 ever of sublimity of morals or purity of faith the 
 world exhibits. 
 
 In travelling along the track of ages, scarcely a 
 monument of mercy or a deed of glory appears to 
 rescue from infamy the fame, and from oblivion the 
 memory of successive generations, which is not di- 
 rectly or indirectly referable to the influence of that 
 revelation imbodied in the Bible. By the revelation 
 imbodied in the Bible, I mean all the communica- 
 tions made by God to man, from the first intimation 
 of his law in the Garden of Eden, to the last splen- 
 did discoveries of his grace in the island of Patmos. 
 
 Late, indeed, were inscribed the first pages of 
 this sacred book : a book which, amid the wrecks 
 of art and the revolutions of empire, it hath pleased 
 God to preserve entire. The commencement of 
 its inscription, however, was not the commencement 
 of the revelation which it contains. An era of oral 
 communication preceded that of the written word. 
 As the human race was in its origin confined to a 
 single family, and the first revelations were made to 
 the heads of that family, the direct benefits thereof 
 were coextensive with the race itself As, again, its 
 members increased and spread, they each became 
 a medium of conveyance through which these thea 
 
244 EARLY LONGEVITY OF MAN. 
 
 unwritten oracles of trutfi were carried to distant 
 regions, and handed down to succeeding genera- 
 tions. 
 
 The longevity of man in the first ages favoured 
 this method of transmission. Few, indeed, were 
 the links in that chain of descerit which connected 
 the family of Moses with the family of Adam. A 
 single individual might have communicated the say- 
 ings of the senior inhabitant of Eden to the senior 
 surviver of the flood. With each of these venera- 
 ble personages, it was the lot of Methusaleh to have 
 lived contemporary ; and thus an authentic history 
 of the world could have been furnished, reaching 
 through a lapse of more than seventeen centuries : 
 during which period, and through faith in God's un- 
 written testimony, Enoch was translated, and Abel 
 crowned with martyrdom. 
 
 Even amid that wide-spread dissoluteness of man- 
 ners and abandonment of principle which preceded 
 and produced the deluge, the true religion was pre- 
 served by Noah and the pious of his household. 
 Those infidels, his contemporaries, who had lost the 
 knowledge and forsaken the worship of the God of 
 their fathers, were swept from the earth as one 
 brushes dust from off his garment, and the race 
 was again reduced to a solitary family : a family, 
 however, instructed in the events of antediluvian 
 history ; made the depository of early and sacred 
 tradition, and retaining within itself a knowledge of 
 the origin and end of that multitude who had so 
 miserably perished. 
 
 To receive this family, the Mountain of Ararat 
 
THE FLOOD. 245 
 
 lifted its head above the waters ; whence, as from 
 another Eden, Shem, and Ham, and Japheth went 
 forth to repeople the desolate earth, and to re-estab- 
 lish the worship of the true God upon it. From one 
 or the other of these favoured individuals, the mill- 
 ions now alive have derived their being. The Gen. 
 tiles, therefore, must have been originally conversant 
 with revelation — with the same revelation that we 
 now possess ; and which, after being enlarged and 
 perfected, was imbodied in the Bible : a revelation 
 competent to make, and which has made as many 
 as have preserved and obeyed it, wise unto eternal 
 life. 
 
 To what extent the true religion was thus spread, 
 or how long, and in what degree of purity it was pre- 
 served, we know not. But we do know, that as late 
 as the time of Abraham, the courts of Pharaoh, king 
 of Egypt, and Abimelech, king of Gerar, retained 
 the knowledge, were familiar with the institutions, 
 and acknowledged the authority of the same invisi- 
 ble Being who was worshipped by the father of the 
 faithful. And we also know, that when he returned 
 from the pursuit of Chederlaomer, even in the vi- 
 cinity of Sodom, he passed through Salem, a city of 
 righteousness, and there received the benediction of 
 a priest of the most high God. How many such 
 cities of righteousness the world at that time con- 
 tained, we are not informed ; nor, considering the 
 brevity of sacred history, is it to be expected that we 
 should be. But we may well suppose that (he un- 
 written revelation which had accomplished thus 
 much may have accomplished much more ; for, as 
 
246 EARLY REVELATION. 
 
 we have said, there were but few links in the ehain 
 of descent between the first man and the first inspired 
 writer ; and those links are all known. Thus Mo- 
 ses might have conversed wilh Kohath ; Kohath with 
 Jacob ; Jacob with Abraham ; Abraham with Shem ; 
 Shem with Methusaleh, and Methusaleh with Adam. 
 
 Had the genealogy of other nations been kept 
 with the same exactitude, and reported with the same 
 fidelity, doubtless many additional channels of tradi- 
 tionary knowledge, and, perhaps, equally unexcep- 
 tionable, had been afforded. 
 
 It is evident, therefore, from the longevity of man 
 and the condition of society in the first ages, that, 
 whatever just ideas of God were entertained, what- 
 ever hallowed sentiments of devotion were cherish- 
 ed, whatever acts of practical goodness were exhib- 
 ited, all these may have resulted from revelations 
 made to Adam, repeated to Noah, and transmitted 
 to his descendants. 
 
 But if, from the longevity of man and the condi- 
 tion of society in the first ages, this may have been 
 the case, from other indubitable facts it is obvious 
 that it must have been so. 
 
 Similarity of ceremonies and institutions, of points 
 of doctrine and forms of devotion, between the Isra- 
 elites and the other ancient nations, evinces not only 
 a common origin, but that they all derived the great 
 constituent parts of their worship, as well as the es- 
 sential articles of their belief, from the same pure 
 source — the revelation of God. 
 
 Nor is this mere assumption. That the world 
 was created in six days ; that the human race sprung 
 
REVELATION AND TRADITION. 247 
 
 from a single pair ; that their priraeval state was holy 
 and. happy ; that they apostatized from God ; that 
 misery followed, and that their whole posterity, with 
 the exception of Noah and his family, were destroy- 
 ed by a flood : these are truths of revelation with 
 which the records of all antiquity are replete. They 
 are replete, too, with direct and solemn recognitions 
 of the institution of marriage, of the Sabbath as a day 
 of rest, and of sacrifice as a propitiation for sin.* 
 
 * The ancient Hindus, according to Strabo, declared that the 
 world was made; that it will have an end ; that God made it; 
 that he governs it ; and that he pervades the universe. The 
 ancient Chinese, Egyptians, Phoenicians, Greeks, and Romans 
 held nearly the same doctrines. 
 
 In the Orphic Hymns it is thus written : " Regard steadily the 
 Maker of the world. He is one ; he is self-existent : from him 
 all things sprung. Surrounding the whole universe with his 
 present energy, no mortal sees him : he alone sees all things." 
 
 Maximus Tyrius declares that it is the universal opinion of 
 mankind that there is one God ; and Sophocles, that God is one, 
 and only one, and that he made all things. 
 
 " The Spirit of God moved upon the waters," says Moses. 
 " The world was all darkness, undiscernible, undistinguisha- 
 ble, till the self-existent God dispelled the gloom," says Menu, 
 son of Brahma. 
 
 Sanchoniathon styles the wind which breathed on the original • 
 chaos the voice of the month of Jehovah. Thales says that the 
 night was older than the day ; and Ovitl, that at first, when cha- 
 os existed, the sun was not, nor the moon. 
 
 Sanchoniathon asserts that the first parents of mankind sprang 
 from the earth ; being one male and one female. 
 
 Homer and Hesiod agree that man was formed from the earth ; 
 and Euripides adds, that the spirit returns to heaven, whence it 
 was derived. 
 
 Plato says, '* In the days of old there flourished a divine nature 
 in the first man ; and the likeness of man to Goa consists in this, 
 that man be holy. After the father of the universe beheld his 
 work, he rejoiced therein. He willed that all things should be 
 good. It was not fitting that he who is the best good, should 
 make anything but what was perfect. Then God led and gov- 
 erned men himself, as men now feed and govern themselves. 
 They fed on the fruits of trees, as the earth spontaneously sup- 
 
248 REVELATION AND TRADITION. 
 
 Whence had the Gentiles these things 1 Did dif- 
 ferent nations, and kindred, and tongues, and people, 
 
 plied them without culture. They were naked also, and passed 
 their time in the open air, reposing on the verdant herbs." The 
 cause of vice, he adds, is from our first parents. , 
 
 Eurysus says that God made man in his own image ; and Ca 
 tuUus affirms the corruption of the race, after they had lost their 
 original righteousness, to have been generally believed. 
 
 Hesiod declares that the first mortals were of a serene and 
 quiet spirit ; that the next generation or sort of men were of a 
 bad moral character ; that they destroyed each other by acts of 
 violence, and that Jupiter hid them. 
 
 Berosus, the Chaldean, says thaji there were ten generations 
 before the flood ; and he stales, as do also Manetho, Hieronymus, 
 and Hesiod, that in the first age the life of man was a thousand 
 years. 
 
 An ark, in allusion to Noah's preservation, was introduced 
 into the religious riles of many pagan nations. The dove, which 
 announced the subsiduig of the waters, was held to be a sacred 
 bird ; while the raven, which returned not, was accounted a birc^ 
 of ill omen. 
 
 The bow, the token of the covenant spoken of by Moses, waji 
 revered for ages. To this covenant Hesiod alludes : he calls it 
 the great oath, and says it was placed in the heavens as a sign 
 to mankind. 
 
 Berosus, the Chaldean, aflSrms that, at the time of the flood, 
 men fled to the top of a mountain in Armenia ; and Abidenus, 
 that birds were repeatedly sent out of the ark, and that, the third 
 time they returned, their feet were marked with mud. 
 
 Three generations after the flood, says Melo, Abraham was 
 born; and he had a son Isaac, whom he was about to sacrifice, 
 when a ram was substituted in his place. 
 
 Hesiod says the seventh day is a sacred day ; Homer the 
 same ; and Theophilus of Antioch affirms that it is a day which 
 all mankind celebrate. Porphyry stales that the Phoenicians 
 consecrated one day in seven as holy ; Linus, that a seventh day- 
 is observed among holy people ; Lucian, that the seventh day is 
 given to boys as a holyday. 
 
 Eusebius asserts that almost all philosophers and poets ac- 
 knowledge the seventh day as holy ; Clemens Alexandrinus, 
 that the Greeks, as well as the Hebrews, observe the seventh day 
 as holy ; and Josephus, that no city, either of the Greeks or barba- 
 rians, can be found which does not acknowledge a seventh day's 
 rest from labour. Plato affirms that the seventh day is a festival 
 to every nation ; Tibullus, that the seventh day, which is kept 
 holy by the Jews, is a festival to the Roman women ; and Sue 
 
INSTITUTION OF SACRIFICE. 249 
 
 Without concert and without motive, stumble on the 
 septenary division of time ? Did the inhabitants of 
 the world, by mere accident, all concur in resting 
 from their labours on the very day on which its 
 Maker rested from his ? 
 
 The institution of sacrifice also forces upon the 
 mind a similar interrogatory. Sacrifice, so frequent, 
 so extensive, whence did it arise 1 Was it the ef- 
 fect of chance ? Was it from caprice ? Or did 
 speculation, in regard to everything else so change- 
 ful and so contradictory, in this, uniform and univer- 
 sal as the laws of nature, guide nations of every 
 temperament, and inhabiting every clime, to the 
 same grand result, the hope of expiating their 
 
 SINS BY THE BLOOD OF VICTIMS SHED IN SACRI- 
 FICE? 
 
 Had the solemnities of the altar no assignable 
 origin 1 Had they no intelligible significance 'I Or 
 did they not rather originate in the mandate of Je- 
 hovah, and express as a symbol, and contain as an 
 envelope, that great mystery hid for ages — the mys- 
 tery of godhness — God manifest in the flesh ] which 
 envelope was removed when the veil of the second 
 temple was rent ; and the significancy of which 
 symbol was announced when the cross of Calvary 
 
 tonius states that Diogenes, the grammarian, used to dispute at 
 Rhodes on the Sabbath-day. 
 
 The ancient Celtae, the Hindus, and the Arabians computed 
 time by weeks ; and Dion Cassius affirms that all the world learn- 
 ed thus to reckon time from the Egyptians. Isidorus states 
 that the ancient Romans computed time in this way ; and He- 
 rodotus asserts that this method of computation was very an- 
 cient.— (See Panoplist for 18ia-U» Shuckford's Connexiona, 
 and Asiatic Researches.) 
 
250 TRADITION FOUNDED ON REVELAflON. 
 
 was lifted up, imbued with the blood of the last 
 great sacrifice — the Lamb of Gody thai iaketh away 
 the sins of the world. 
 
 That these institutions existed among the nations 
 is undeniable ; and if they did not exist from the 
 beginning, and the commandment of God did not 
 give rise to them, when were they first introduced, 
 and what was the object of their introduction 1 The 
 records of what historian indicate the one ? the dog- 
 mas of what philosopher reveal the other 1 Of- no 
 one. Here antiquity is silent, or speaks only to con- 
 fess its ignorance. If you doubt this, let the ancient 
 sages be consulted. They will tell you that it was 
 neither reason nor the authority of the wise, but 
 tradition, which gave to them their doctrines and 
 their institutions.^'^ 
 
 Thus did revelation, even while unwritten, restrain 
 and guide the researches of the wise, direct tov/ards 
 heaven the hopes of the humble, and for ages pre- 
 
 * Plato, in his Philebus, says : " The tradition which I have 
 had concerning the unity of God, his essence, and the plurahty 
 of his perfections and decrees, was from the ancients, who were 
 better than the Grecians. The Grecians received their learn- 
 ing from the ancients, who lived nearer the gods." 
 
 What is Plato, exclaimed Numenius, on reading his works, 
 but Moses speaking in Greek? Plato had learned the unity of 
 God from Pythagoras ; the immortality of the soul from The- 
 recydes. But these revered sages, as well as Orpheus, and 
 Linus, and Mussus, if we may believe what is said of them, 
 rested the truths they delivered upon tradition, and not upon 
 the deductions of human reason. And, so long as the light of 
 tradition was followed, mankind entertained more just ideas of 
 Qod and of duty than prevailed among them in later times : 
 ideas in many respects accordant with the sacred writings. 
 The history of the ancient Greeks, of the Persians, of the Ara« 
 bians, of the Chinese, and of the Hindus, proves inconUsuoi^ 
 tViis surprising truth. — See Panoplist for July, 1810, p. &a 
 
TRADITION SUCCEEDED BY PHILOSOPHY. 251 
 
 *serve from atheism and idolatry no inconsiderable 
 portion of the human family. 
 
 ^ The articles of ancient faith, while they were tra- 
 ditionary, retained something of the unction of that 
 Spirit which dictated to the progenitors of mankind 
 the original creed from which these articles were de- 
 rived. Although the systems adopted were in many 
 particulars fabulous, still, amid their fable, some 
 grand truths were apparent ; some traces of wisdom 
 and subHmity, which sufficiently distinguish these 
 venerable compilations from those degraded and de- 
 grading theories which mere human reason has 
 since palmed upon the world. For, no sooner had 
 philosophy extinguished the lamp of tradition, than 
 an impenetrable gloom settled over the temple and 
 the altar, through which there has since gleamed 
 only a portentous light, which, like the meteor's 
 glare, has everywhere " led to bewilder, and dazzled 
 to blind." 
 
 This claim, set up for the exclusive influence of 
 revelation in the production of whatever there has 
 been of sublimity of faith or purity of morals among 
 the nations — is it disputed? Let facts then be appeal- 
 ed to ; and facts are not wanting : facts which bear 
 directly and conclusively on the point in question ; 
 for, in process of time, the whole world, the Israel- 
 ites alone excepted, lost the knowledge, and disre- 
 garded the sanctions of revealed truth. Out of 
 Judea, where the sacred traditions were imbodied 
 and their records deposit(^d, the human race were no 
 longer influenced by them. Here, then, mere hu- 
 man intellection found an opportunity to display its 
 
252 CRUELTIES DP HEA.THEN WORSHIP. 
 
 resources and exert its strength. Mark the issue. 
 Be it what it may, it definitively settles the compar- 
 ative merits of faith and reason, of revelation and ^ 
 philosophy. 
 
 Where are those productions of human intellec- 
 tion to be found which may be put in competition 
 with the sacred oracles ? What system of ethics 
 is there so pure in its doctrines, so sanctifying in its 
 influence as that of the Law and the Prophets? 
 What nation can boast a faith so sublime, a worship 
 so. spiritual, as that which signalized the land of the 
 patriarchs 1 
 
 Is it Egypt ? . Egypt is, indeed, renowned for her 
 sages arid philosophers, her arts and literature. 
 Greece even borrowed letters from the schools of 
 the Nile. But her religion. To say nothing of 
 the spotted calf at Memphis, or the sacred ox at 
 Heliopolis, regarded as divinities, what think you of 
 an erudite and polished people paying religious hom- 
 age to cats, to dogs, to wolves, and to crocodiles ? 
 What think you of pools and pastures kept sacred 
 to their accommodation ; of a tithe imposed for their 
 maintenance ; of a priesthood set apart for their re- 
 ligious rites ? And, finally, what think you of death 
 inflicted for the smallest insult offered to these four- 
 footed deities, these fleecy wanderers of the fields, 
 or finny monsters of the waters ?* My God ! is it- 
 possible ? It is. Such was ancient Egypt. Het 
 history, her antiquities, her temples, her pyramids — 
 the very monuments which attest her intellectual 
 glory, preserve the evidence also of her moral deg* 
 radation. 
 
 * Ant. Univfir. Hist-^ fol.» vol L, book i.. chap. iii. 
 
CRUELTIES OF HEATHEN WORSHIP. 253 
 
 Is it PhcEnicia, then 1. Ah ! it was at Phoenicia 
 where were heard the shrieks of children sacrificed to 
 Saturn ! At Carthage, then ? Here, too, the grim 
 Moloch stood, extending his burning arms to enfold 
 the immolated infant. 
 
 Where next ? India, perhaps, will afford a more 
 benign prospect. We have heard of the wise men 
 of the East. But they are not at Orissa ; they are 
 not in Bengal. The ghastly visages of the famished 
 pilgrims assembled there, evince that the temple they 
 frequent is the abode of some malignant demon, and 
 not the temple of the God of mercy. No ; it is 
 not in India that a pure faith and a spiritual worship 
 are to be found. From the coast of Malabar to the 
 banks of the Ganges, the flame flares terrific from 
 the widow's funeral pyre. Graves open to swallow 
 up the living, not the dead ; and even the sacred 
 Indus, along whose margin so many devotees assem- 
 ble — even this sacred river bears away to the croc- 
 odiles and the sharks many a shrieking victim whom 
 an accursed superstition consigns to its waters.* 
 At Thibet, too, a no less detestable superstition 
 reigns ; and the fact that, in the single city of Pe- 
 kin, more than three thousand infants are annually 
 exposed to die, sufficiently acquaints us with the 
 moral state of China.'f 
 
 Let us, then, visit Greece. The Greeks were a 
 polished nation, and yet not even barbarians were 
 more barbarous in regard to religion. 
 
 * Ryan on Religion, p. 54 ; also Researches in Asia, by Clau- 
 dius Buchanan, 
 
 t Gibbon's Rom. Empire, chap. xv. Puffendorf, de jure nat 
 et Gen., lib. vi. Ryan, sec. iii., p. 253. 
 
 Y 
 
254 CRUELTIES OF HEATHEN WORSHIP 
 
 History informs us that Themistocles sacrificed 
 his Persian captives to conciliate the favour of the 
 gods. At Salamis, a man was immolated to the 
 daughter of Cecrops ; one also at Chios, another at 
 the temple of Diomede, and three at the temple of 
 Juno. In Arcadia, even, there stood an altar to 
 Bacchus, on which young females were beaten to 
 death with rods. 
 
 Achilles butchered twelve Trojan captives at the 
 funeral of Patroclus. A similar act of devotion was 
 performed by the far-famed iEneas of Troy to the 
 manes of Pallas. Indeed, it was a common custom 
 of the Greeks, before a war, to propitiate their gods 
 by human sacrifices. On one of these occasions 
 Aristomenes offered three hundred human victims to 
 Jupiter ; and Italy was supposed to have been visi- 
 ted by calamity because a tenth part of its inhabi- 
 tants had not been sacrificed to the gods.* 
 
 In the worship of the Greeks — nay, in pagan 
 worship generally — obscenity forms as prominent a 
 feature as cruelty : obscenity so gross, so public, so 
 brutal, that the delicacy of a Christian audience al- 
 lows only of its being alluded to. And how could 
 it be otherwise ? Is it to be expected that the wor- 
 shipper should be less cruel or more chaste than the 
 divinities he worships? But let the veil rest on 
 this loathsome and detested part of pagan devotion. 
 
 What shall we say, then, to these things ? Or 
 where else shall we fly, to find among the Gentiles a 
 temple in which the worshippers assemble apart from 
 
 ♦ Plutarch's Lives. Horn., II., xxiii., 175. Virg., ^n., x., 520. 
 E sebei, Praep. Evan., lib. iv., chap. viii. Ryan, 247, 8. 
 
PURITY OF TH£ JJiJVViSH WORSHIP. 255 
 
 scenes of licentiousness and blood 1 Not the tired 
 dove that went forth from the window of the ark, so 
 vainly sought, amid the waters of the flood, a rest- 
 ing-place for her foot. 
 
 Again I ask, what shall we say to these things^ 
 Or how comes it that, amid this universal degrada- 
 tion of the species, the Jews were not degraded ? 
 How comes it that, while so many nations were wan- 
 dering in the darkness of this moral midnight, the in- 
 habitants of Palestine, as if separated from the rest 
 of mankind by a wall of fire, enjoyed light? For 
 nearly two thousand years after the world had be- 
 come idolatrous did this favoured pe :)ple preserve 
 the knowledge and worship of the true God. So 
 stood Mount Zion as age after age rolled away ; so 
 stood Mount Zion amid the moral desolation, as an- 
 other Ararat amid the deluge of waters. And 
 whence this proud pre-eminence? Whence? From 
 the ark of God's covenant resting on its summit. 
 It was not the pagan talisman, but the sacred ora- 
 cles, which shed a bright radiance around this hal- 
 lowed eminence. 
 
 Mount Zion boasted no superiority in. refinement 
 or in arts. She produced no philosophers, no ora- 
 tors, no tragedians. Neither the Lyceum, nor the 
 Academy, nor the Forum, nor the Theatre was hers. 
 But hers (ah! enviable distinction), hers were the 
 oracles of God ; hers the Shekinah that overhung 
 the mercy-seat ; and hers the perpetual fire that 
 burned upon the altar. Hers, too, was the hope of 
 Messias, and the temple of Jehovah, whither the 
 ehosen tribes repaired to hear his law and to cele- 
 brate his w^rshipt 
 
266 THE HILL OF ZION. 
 
 The facts that a sublime morality was inculcated, 
 a spiritual devotion practised, and the unity of God 
 preserved m this chosen spot during so many ages 
 of calamity and darkness, sufficiently evince the 
 illuminating and hallowing efficacy of those sacred 
 oracles from which alone were derived these admi- 
 rable results. 
 
 Ah ! had Judea been destroyed before the diffii- 
 jsion of mankind's last hope, the Bible, the sanctions 
 of duty had ceased ; the purity of worship had 
 ceased f the example of the patriarchs had been 
 lost ; the history of the antediluvian world had been 
 lost ; nay, the history of creation itself had been 
 lost, and all correct ideas of the great God had per- 
 ished ; and, unless restored by a second revelation, 
 had perished for ever. Not the needle points the 
 eye of the mariner more steadily to yon polar star, 
 than does the finger of history the mind of the mor- 
 alist to the hill of Zion. The hill of Zion is, as is 
 shown by every page he reads, and by every monu- 
 ment that he inspects, the source and centre of all 
 that is pure in faith or sublime in morals. The rays 
 which enlighten the firmament proceed not more 
 obviously from the natural sun, than do those whiclv 
 give light to the nations from the Sun of righteous- 
 ness. 
 
 Thus far the effects of the written word in the 
 land of the patriarchs and among the countrymea 
 of the prophets. 
 
 But let us take a wider range. With the coming 
 of Messias (whose coming was ag the lightning of 
 heaven) a new era commenced. Other oracles 
 
ANCIENT ROME. 257 
 
 were added to those already given ; God completed 
 bis revelations to man ; and the Christian church 
 was made the depository of the authenticated record 
 in which they were imbodied. Truth now quickly 
 flashed across that mighty empire of which Judea 
 was a province. More than this : beyond its lim- 
 its — even in the cold regions of the North, hearts 
 were warmed and softened, and .the distant islands 
 of the sea, in the light of the Son of Man, saw light. 
 
 But what was the condition of these unbaptized 
 nations when revealed truth was first promulged 
 among them ? To begin at Rome : 
 
 Rome had succeeded to the arts and the erudidon 
 of Greece. Alas ! that we should be compelled to 
 add, she had succeeded to her superstitions also. 
 Over this vast empire — an empire where so many 
 sciences were taught, where so much genius was 
 elicited, where so many philosophers reasoned, 
 where so many poets sung — over this vast empire, 
 polytheism, with all its pollutions and all its cruelties, 
 maintained undisputed dominion. A proof unan- 
 swerable, if such proof were wanting, that the world 
 by vnsdom knew not God. 
 
 These things are not lightly said. Plutarch af- 
 firms, that on the event of a war in Gaul, both men 
 and women were buried alive, in obedience to an 
 oracle. Porphyry states, that in his own time hu- 
 man sacrifice was offered at the feast of Jupiter. 
 More than this : in their own blood the priests of 
 Bellona did homage to that terrific goddess ; and 
 the Druids, who continued to the reign of Tiberius 
 and Claudius Caesar, added torture to murder, some- 
 
258 ROMAN FUNERALS. 
 
 times crucifying their victims, and at other times 
 burning them alive upon the funeral pile.* 
 
 But not to the temple and the altar were the enor- 
 mities of Roman superstition confined. 
 
 A funeral was not solemnized without carnage ; 
 the theatre was not attended without carnage ; nay, 
 in process of time, all Italy, and the empire itself, 
 were filled with carnage and steeped in blood. 
 
 That the dead required the same accommodation 
 and attendance as the living was one of the absurd- 
 ities of ancient paganism. When a distinguished 
 citizen died, wine and food were buried with him for 
 his sustenance ; and his wives and slaves were mas- 
 sacred to attend upon his manes. Besides these, 
 one friend presented his servant, another his wife, 
 and a third his son or daughter, as a token of respect 
 to the deceased, and to swell the number of his ret- 
 inue in another world. All these fell together, and 
 one grave received their remains. f 
 
 This barbarous and most unnatural superstition, 
 with the detestable practice founded on it, was adopt- 
 ed by the Romans ; a practice modified, indeed, 
 during the latter periods of their history, but so mod- 
 ified as to lose nothing of its cruelty, since the vic- 
 tims now fell by their own hands, instead of falling, 
 as before, by the hands of the executioner. 
 
 On this murderous practice another still more 
 murderous was founded : that of the gladiatorial 
 shows, which became so general, and were so de- 
 
 * Plutarch's Life of Marcellus. Leland, part i., chap, m 
 Tooke, part ii., chap. ix. Ryan, page 56. 
 t Ryan, p. 215. 
 
GLADIATORIAL SHOWS. 259 
 
 lightful to the Roman people. I say delightful, for, 
 incredible as it may appear, these furnished the fa- 
 vourite amusement of the populace, the magistrates, 
 and even of the imperial Csssars.* 
 
 On a single occasion Juhus presented before the 
 public three hundred and twenty pairs of gladiators ; 
 and at another time a thousand pairs were exhibited 
 by Trajan. Even Titus solemnized the birthday 
 of his brother by a show, in which two thousand 
 five hundred human beings perished ; and the birth- 
 day of his father was commemorated by a similar 
 tragedy. " No wars," says Lipsius, " ever made 
 such havoc of mankind as these games of pleasure, 
 which sometimes deprived Europe of twenty thou- 
 sand lives a month." Indeed, this passion for blood 
 became so ardent and so universal, that not only 
 senators and knights, but even women, turned gladi- 
 ators. 
 
 The moral state of the other heathen nations fur- 
 nishes no milder views to soften the horrors of this 
 dismal picture. Everywhere human limbs might 
 be seen bleeding on the altar, or human entrails 
 quivering beneath the eye of the haruspex. 
 
 This is no exaggeration. The Gauls offered hu- 
 man sacrifice ; the Thracians offered human sacri- 
 fice ; the Germans offered human sacrifice ; and, to 
 add no more, the Lithuanians offered human sacri- 
 fice, and imagined that they could only please the 
 devil whom they worshipped by torturing their vic- 
 tims before they killed them.l 
 
 * Ryan, p. 249. 
 
 t Ross, Religion of all Nations, sect. v. Ryan, p. 59. 
 
260 THE ANCIENT BRITONS 
 
 How was it in Britain ? in Britain, where now so 
 many alms are distributed, where so much philan- 
 thropy is displayed, where so many spires now 
 pierce the skies, pointing the eye of man to heaven, 
 and his hopes to immortality — ah ! precious fruits 
 of the Christian dispensation ! — how was it in Brit- 
 ain before the Bible entered there ? Go to her tem- 
 ples of cruelty — to her altars of blood, and ask. 
 Ask of her ferocious priests, and of her still more 
 ferocious Druids, Approach her images sending 
 forth flames, and listen to the victims within as they 
 shriek and expire. Take the dimensions of that do- 
 mestic felicity where children are articles of traffic ; 
 where marriage is unknown ; and where whole clans 
 herd together like the cattle of the stall.* 
 
 That such was the state of Britain before the 
 Bible entered it, I appeal to Collier, to Guildas, to 
 Jerome, to Tacitus, and to Coesar. Great God ! 
 and did we descend from such parentage ? and are 
 these the miseries fr-om which the Bible has redeem- 
 ed us ? Ah ! Book of Life ! henceforth, if I for- 
 get thee, let my right hand forget her cunning : if I 
 do not prize thee above my chiefest joy, let my 
 tongue cleave to the roof of my mouth. 
 
 But enough of this Eastern polytheii^m : the heart 
 is sick with contemplating it. Let us quit these 
 bloodstained temples, and cross the ocean. Per* 
 haps in the Western wilds we shall find some se- 
 questered spot where a purer faith is cherished, a 
 less sanguinary worship maintained. Alas ! though 
 we cross the ocean, we only change, we do rot es- 
 
 * Ryan, p. 251, 252, 253. Caesar, De Bel. Gal., lib. vi. 
 
SAVAGE TRIBES OF AMERICA. 261 
 
 cape the scene of misery. What the Eastern con- 
 tinent was, the Western is, excepting only where the 
 Bible has reclaimed it — covered with idolaters. The 
 sun, and the moon, and the stars, and not the Being 
 who created them, receive the homage of the wild 
 man. Even the infernal gods, so conspicuous in 
 Grecian fable, are here acknowledged and honoured. 
 The natives of Canada, of Virginia, and of the Flor- 
 idas, literally worshipped the devil, to whom they 
 sacrificed children to quench, as they affirmed, his 
 thirst in blood. 
 
 Through all the regions of the North, false ideas 
 of God have imparted to human nature a strange 
 ferocity. The infant savage learns revenge from 
 the sacred rites of his father, from the nightly ori- 
 sons of his mother. Cruelty grows with his growth, 
 and strengthens with his strength ; until, at length, 
 he inflicts torture as coolly, and drinks blood as 
 greedily as the imaginary demons whom he worships. 
 
 As we descend along the isthmus towards the 
 south, we discover monuments of art, but none of 
 mercy. 
 
 In New-Spain the hearts of men were offered to 
 the sun, and youths of both sexes drowned, to bear 
 this idol company. When the corn first vegetated, 
 young children were slain to ensure its growth ; and 
 it was afterward twice watered with the same blood 
 before the harvest. Here, too, the domestics of a 
 chief were interred in the same tomb with their rm-" 
 ter ; and the manes of a prince were followed to the 
 other world by a still larger retinue.* 
 
 ♦ Ross, sec. iii. Ryan, p. 200, 216, 222. 
 
262 MEXICAKS AND PERUVIANS. 
 
 On the event of the King of Cholulah's death, ^ 
 human heart, riven from some Hving bosom, was by 
 the high-priest offered to the sun ; and for the or- 
 dinary sacrifices of this place alone, and for a sin- 
 gle year, five thousand children were deemed in- 
 sufficient.* 
 
 Mexico presents a Slill more bloody spectacle. 
 Here every captive, without exception, was sacri- 
 ficed. New wars were undertaken to obtain new 
 victims ; and in a time of peace, their gods were 
 said to be perishing with hunger. As late as 1486, 
 sixty-four thousand and eighty human beings were 
 sacrificed by Ahuitzol, king of Mexico ; and the or- 
 dinary victims of the altar cost the empire twenty 
 thousand lives a year.^ 
 
 Even the Peruvians, the mild and amiable Peru- 
 vians, sacrificed the subject for the health of the sov- 
 ereign while living, and, when dead, an ample retinue 
 was supplied to attend upon his manes. Their 
 children they offered up to the ghosts of departed 
 kindred, and often the son was slain to procure a 
 respite from death for the father. J 
 
 * Acosta's Hist. Ind., book v., chap. xx. Ryan, p. 256. 
 
 t At the feast of Quitzalcoult, the heart of a slave was pre 
 sented by the merchants of Mexico to that idol; and ten to the 
 same idol at Cholulah. And, as if this were not enough of cru 
 elty, they added the ceremony of drawing blood from their own 
 tongues and ears : a ceremony surpassed in madness only by 
 that of the kings of Malabar, at the jubilee of the twelfth year ; 
 which jubilee the sovereign commenced by cutting off his nose, 
 ears, and lips, and closed by cutting his throat in honour of the 
 devil. Ross, sec. 3. Robertson's America, book vii. Raynal, 
 vol. ii., book ii. Ryan, p. 220, 221, 223. Broughton, art. Quit- 
 Ealcoult. Acosta's Hist. Ind., book v., chap. ix. Ryan, p. 255 
 
 X Ryan, p. 226. Robertson, book vii. Ross, sec. 3. 
 
EFFECTS OF CHRISTIANITY. 263 
 
 But we have proceeded far enough — perhaps too 
 far already, and yet but a glimpse of this abomina- 
 tion of desolation has been taken. Other, and still 
 other, and other riles, both of licentiousness and of 
 blood, remain untold, which deserve yet severer ex- 
 ecration, and which could be mentioned only in ac- 
 cents of deepest-toned horror. I might conduct you 
 to the temple in which — but I forbear. As has been 
 already said, let the veil rest on these enormities. 
 
 And now, over what a wilderness of crime and 
 folly we have travelled : a wilderness which, for cen- 
 turies, revelation has, step by step, been penetrating. 
 And what have been its effects ? It has everywhere 
 shed the light of truth on the temple and the altar; 
 and along its whole line of march has left its sacred 
 impress on the moral map of nations. 
 
 Never were materials more stubborn and refracr 
 tory than were those on which, at the commence- 
 ment of the Christian era, revelation was called to 
 operate. But these materials, hard and unyielding 
 as they were, it melted, it refined, it remoulded. The 
 temper, the manners, the habits, the pursuits, the in- 
 stitutions — nay, the very texture of society, was 
 changed in every city, and province, and kingdom 
 into which the Bible entered. 
 
 It allayed the thirst for conquest ; it diminished 
 the carnage of conflict ; it infused a milder spirit into 
 the law of nations. Extermination was no longer 
 identified with victory ; the vanquished were ac- 
 knowledged to have rights, and these were respect- 
 ed ; nor were prisoners of war thenceforth subjected 
 to the dire alternative of massacre or vassalage. 
 
 i/o^ Of tm 
 
264 EFFECTS 3F CHRISTIANITY. 
 
 Ancient slavery it abolished ; modem slavery it 
 is fast abolishing ; and the trade itself — that accursed 
 traffic in the muscles and the blood of man — is ver- 
 ging to its close, and will, ere long, cease to be the 
 reproach of Christendom. 
 
 By one wise statute it terminated polygamy, with 
 its broils and its vigils ; and suddenly the chains 
 fell from the mother and the dfiughter, and half the 
 species emerged from the vilest degradation. By 
 another, it put an end to the exposure of children, 
 their desertion by parents, and the abandonment of 
 the poor in their hovels of wretchedness and want, 
 and on their beds of sickness and death. No soon- 
 er had the gospel law of charity touched the heart, 
 than mercy flowed from it. The members of the 
 infant church, though few in numbers, everywhere 
 stood forth the defenders of orphanage, the relievers 
 of want, the moral heroes and the almoners of na- 
 tions. 
 
 It banished those gladiatorial shows which had 
 so long piled the theatre with carcasses ; those hu- 
 man sacrifices which had so long defiled the temple 
 with blood. It banished, too, the worship of de- 
 mons ; the worship of heroes and of harlots, of im- 
 ages and of shiines. 
 
 No victims now bleed (with thankful exultation 
 be it spoken) — no victims now bleed on European 
 altars ; no widows now burn on European pyres. 
 Tile oracles which required such sacrifices are hush- 
 ed ; the altars on which they were offered, and the 
 gods they were intended to propitiate, have sunk to- 
 gether in the dust, and the spiritual worship of the 
 unseen Jehovah occupies their place. 
 
EFFECTS OF CHRISTIANITY. 265 
 
 The mummery of the haruspex has ceased ; the 
 mummery of the magician has ceased ; the games, 
 the festivals, the vigils, the lustrums, all have ceased. 
 The entire machinery of the altar and the temple, 
 the oracle and the response, the groves and the high 
 places ; the whole of that gigantic and tremendous 
 fabric which fraud, and folly, and superstition, and 
 cruelty had for ages been rearing, at the approach 
 of the Bible, as if struck by the lightning of Omnip- 
 otence, fell to the dust, and has been swept by the 
 breath of Heaven from the face of Europe. On the 
 very site of these abominations, schools of edut-ation, 
 asylums of mercy, and temples of grace suddenly 
 arose ; and these have everywhere been the results 
 of the Gospel dispensation : proud monuments, an- 
 nouncing in every part of Christendom that the 
 reign of demons is past^ and the kingdom of JMessias 
 come. 
 
 What a comment is this upon that song of the an- 
 gels which burst on the listening shepherds on the 
 night of the Saviour's advent : Behold, I bring you 
 glad tidings of great joy which shall be unto all peo- 
 ple ; for unto you is born this day in the city of Da- 
 vid a Saviour, who is Christ the Lord, 
 
 Glad tidings indeed they were, and to all peo- 
 ple ; for, far as their annunciation has reached, the 
 state of things has been changed. With every en- 
 largement of the church's limits, the boundaries of 
 the field of moral beauty have been extended. Ex- 
 amples of piety and patience, of charity and fortitude, 
 have been multiplied. The character of man has 
 assumed a new majesty : for his soul, loosed from 
 A. 
 
266 EFFECTS OF CHRISTIANITY. 
 
 the bonds which once confined it, and the alliances 
 by which it was degraded, has beconne animated by 
 a heaven-directed principle, progressive in its na- 
 ture, which, advancing in the track by Emanuel 
 pointed out, has so raised Christian nations above 
 the level of the rest of the species, that they seem 
 as though descended from a different ancestry, and 
 belonging to a nobler race. 
 
 As many centuries have shed their influence on 
 Asia and Africa since the commencement of the 
 Christian era as on Europe. When revelation was 
 first promulgated in the West, Europe, in a moral 
 view, was no leSs degraded than Asia — perhaps we 
 might say, than Africa itself. How happens it, 
 then, that while in Europe human nature has been 
 progressive, and the march of mind has advanced 
 with the rapidity of lightning, in Asia and in Africa it 
 has remained stationary ; or, if there has been any 
 movement, that it has been only retrograde 1 How 
 happens it that, even at this late day, the grossest 
 idolatry and the r ^ost cruel superstition pervade those 
 entire regions where revelation has not yet penetra- 
 ted ; that the whole mass of pagan population, the 
 uncounted millions of the East and of the South, of 
 the continents and of the isles, still grope in the 
 profoundest darkness ; still grovel in the most bru- 
 tal degradation ? 
 
 What is it that has elevated the Gaul, the Belgi- 
 an, the German, and the Briton ; that has given a 
 (generous impulse to the Dane and the Swede, and 
 raised the Russian, even amid his snow-clad for- 
 ests, so much above the wandering Tartar, who re« 
 
EFFECTS OF CHRISTIANITY. 267 
 
 moves his gods as he does his flocks ; or the un- 
 happy negro, who worships the very vermin, and 
 even the trees which grow upon his native hills of 
 Africa 1 
 
 There is but one answer. The v/hole world 
 knows that it is the Bible only which has done this. 
 The line which separates the light and shade in an 
 eclipse is not more distinctly drawn on the disk of 
 the sun, than is the hne which separates Christian- 
 ity from paganism on the map of nations. 
 
 In the light of the Sun of Righteousness Chris- 
 tendom enjoys light ; while the rest of the earth is 
 as one vast Valley of Hinnom, over which a dark- 
 ness broods that is all but tangible. The very race 
 is degraded ; and the sons of God, ignorant of their 
 origin and regardless of their destination, bow down 
 to the earth and lick the dust. 
 
 If the view of the world here taken be correct (and 
 where is the evidence that it is not so?), apart from 
 those nations which the Bible has reclaimed, is there 
 a single exception to this moral degradation 1 Not 
 to speak of empires, or even provinces, is there a 
 town, or village, or hamlet — nay, is there a family 
 on which no ray of revealed truth has fallen, that 
 retains the knowledge of God, that cherishes a ra- 
 tional faith, and offers to the Ruler of the universe 
 a spiritual homage ? I know not of such a family : 
 the civilized world is ignorant of such a family. If 
 it exists, its residence is in some sequestered spot 
 to which no traveller has yet penetrated ; its history 
 is written in a language which no philologist has yet 
 read. Beyond a doubt there is no such family; 
 
268 THE BIBLE. 
 
 and if there be not, then the view we have taken is 
 correct ; and, being correct, the proposition with 
 which we commenced this discourse is fully estab- 
 lished : That ivhatever of benignity of manners^ 
 whatever of elevation of character, whatever of 
 sublimity of morals or purity of faith this ivorld ex- 
 hibitSf is owing to the Bible. 
 
 From whencesoever these oracles were derived, 
 the present state of the world — nay, the history of 
 its condition in all past ages, clearly evinces, that 
 they, and they alone, have power to sanctify on 
 earth or qualify for heaven. And, though no retrib- 
 utive justice awaited the guilty, if mankind are to 
 exist after death, and in circumstances at all corre- 
 spondent to their earthly tempers and habitudes, then 
 must the future condition of the Christian transcend 
 that of the Mexican or of the Hindu, as much as 
 the exquisite touches of St. John, in his portraiture 
 of the New Jerusalem, transcend the coarse daub- 
 ings of the false prophet on those pages of the Ko- 
 ran which he defiles with his gross picture of the 
 Mussulman's paradise, devoted to licentiousness, and 
 crowded with harlots. 
 
 The Bible is the world's first, last, best, and only 
 hope. Much it has accomplished already, but much 
 more remains to be yet accomplished by it. 
 
 Idolatry, with its impious, cruel, and lascivious 
 rites, has been banished from the civilized states of 
 Europe, and from all the settled portions of the Can- 
 adas and the United States. Even the Mexican 
 temples, those Golgothas that swallowed up such 
 multitudes, are demolished in the valleys ; but bloody 
 
PRESENT HEATHEN ABOMINATIONS. 269 
 
 ly, human blood, even now trickles from the cliffs 
 where those idol temples still stand among the 
 mountains of the South. In the forests of the 
 West and of the North the worship of the devil is 
 still maintained ; and Africa, India, Thibet, Tartary, 
 and the millions of China, to say nothing of the isl- 
 ands of the sea, what is their condition ? 
 
 Ah ! could I transport you to those regions of dark- 
 ness ; or, seizing the painter's pencil, c6uld I but 
 sketch a faint outline of the scenes of horror there 
 acted ; could I show you, at Calcutta, the son apply- 
 ing, with not even an averted eye, the lighted torch 
 to the funeral pile of his living mother : at Giagas, 
 the mother pounding her infant i^ a mortar, and 
 smearing her body with the horrid ointment, to pro- 
 pitiate the demons that ride upon the wind, and 
 shriek for the blood of children in the tempest : 
 could I show you, on the banks of the Ganges, 
 the father struggling to force into its depths his little 
 son, still raising his supplicating eyes, and still cling- 
 ing to the marble bosom of his parent — ah ! hapless 
 boy ! in pagan hearts nature has left her seat, nor 
 can the note even of filial anguish excite one pulsa- 
 tion of compassion there : could I show you, at Su- 
 matra, the son whetting his knife, and adjusting his 
 festive board beneath the shadow of some death- 
 boding tree, at the foot of which a decrepit father, 
 shaken from its top, is about to be devoured by his 
 assembled children, who, as their sire descends, join 
 in this precomposed chorus, " The fruit is ripe and 
 must be eaten :" could I show you, at Juggernaut, 
 the wretches crushed beneath the car of that dread 
 
270 PRESENT ItEATHEN ABOMINATiaNS. 
 
 Moloch ; or at the feast of Ganga, that terrific queen 
 riding amid her quaking worshippers, with many a 
 living victim literally spiked to her triumphal seat : 
 could I show you, at Pekin, the infants whose 
 brains bestrew the streets, and whose unburied bod- 
 ies choke the very gutters; in the numerous cities 
 of populous India, the poor that crowd the pathway 
 of the traveller, in vain supplicating mercy, and trod- 
 den down as if they were dying weeds instead of 
 dying men* — ah! could I show you these things, 
 my purpose would be accomplished. You would 
 pour out your wealth in alms : more than this, you 
 would pour out your hearts in prayer, giving God 
 no rest until he establish and make Jerusalem a 
 praise in the earth. 
 
 Even though there were no day of judgment — no 
 hereafter — and heaven, and hell, and eternity were 
 chimeras, still reason, humanity, every motive that 
 can touch an enlightened and ingenuous mind, should 
 impel us to send to these benighted pagans the 
 Bible, that we may rescue them from the bondage 
 under which they groan, and terminate the miseries 
 they suffer. But, great God ! if there be an here- 
 after, if there be a day of judgment, and if heaven, 
 and hell, and eternity be not chimeras, but reality — 
 here my tongue falters, my heart overflows, and 
 thoughts press upon me too solemn and too big for 
 utterance. 
 
 On other occasions of charity I have wept, I have 
 
 * Mod. Univer. Hist., fol., vol. vi., chap. xiv. Ryan, p. 214, 
 219. Buchanan, Res., p. 144, 145. Broughton, Art. Ganga 
 Gramma. Quar. Review of Baptist Mission. 
 
SIGNS OF THE TIMES. 271 
 
 entreated. On this I can do neither. The subject 
 is too awful ibr tears, too authoritative for entreaty : 
 and if its own inherent claims, its own tremendous 
 importance does not interest, does not overwhelm 
 you, nothing can. Tears would be vain, entreaties 
 vain. I should tremble less for the poor pagans 
 whose cause I advocate, than for the petrified audi- 
 ence — the hearts of stone which I address. For 
 then, oh ! thou Avenger of abused mercies, it would 
 be manifest that we had been enlightened by thy 
 gospel, and tasted thy rich grace for naught. 
 
 The signs of the times indicate that the chariot- 
 wheels of the Son of God are approaching. It is 
 rumoured among the nations that the Bridegroom 
 Cometh. Millions of supine Christians have sud- 
 denly awoke from their slumbers. The church has 
 arisen, and is girding herself, that she may hasten to 
 prepare the way of the Lord, and make his paths 
 straight. No matter in what region we reside, nor 
 whether the first object of our compassion be Jew 
 or Christian, Mohammedan or pagan. The cause 
 is one, the object is universal. It is the union of 
 the redeemed of all nations, rising in the strength 
 of their Lord and Saviour, to extend the limits of 
 his reign, and multiply the subjects of his mercy. 
 
 Those missionary invaders of the kingdom of 
 darkness whom the benevolence of Christendom is 
 sending forth, not, like the promulgators of the Ko- 
 ran, clad in armour, rely on the omnipotence of truth 
 and of the Spirit alone for success. Their weapon 
 is the incorruptible word : at once the symbol and 
 the seal of peace, which they carry with them to the 
 nations. 
 
272 A NEW ERA COMMENCED. 
 
 Already, since this great effort began, has the cov* 
 enant of mercy passed by translation into many a 
 pagan tongue, and to many a worshipper of idols 
 has it been distributed. 
 
 These achievements mark the commencement of 
 a new era ; and if the first beams of the millennial 
 morning fall so benignly on the borders of the wil- 
 derness, how resplendent will be the noonday glory^ 
 when those entire benighted regions shall be re- 
 claimed to virtue and flooded with light ! Ah ! 
 thou church of the living God, cherish the spirit 
 which at length inspires thee. Let no expenditure 
 exhaust thy bounty ; no divisions damp thy ardour. 
 Still multiply and send abroad impressions of this 
 life-giving record, till every nation, and kindred, and 
 tongue, and people are supplied, and the whole earth 
 is filled with the salvation of God. 
 
 But what can we do to help forward this vast, 
 this gigantic undertaking ? What ? As much, at 
 least, as did that poor widow who cast her willing 
 mite into the Gospel treasury. 
 
 Every drop of water that distils from the distant 
 mountain top, mingles with some rivulet which de- 
 scends to swell the deep and broad river that rolls 
 its mighty mass into the ocean. So every copy of 
 the Word of God, whether written out with the pen 
 or struck from the press, causes that hallowed stream 
 to flow in a wider channel and with a more resist- 
 less force, whose waters are destined to heal the 
 city and the country, and to make even the desert 
 blossom like the rose. And how cheering the 
 tiiought, that the very volumes purchased by oui 
 
DISTRIBUTION OF THE BIBLE AT HOME. 273 
 
 money or distributed by our hands may chance to 
 fall, like the dews of Lebanon, on some barren spot 
 in God's moral husbandry, and convert it into a spot 
 of fruitfulness and verdure. 
 
 Let us, then, cherish the spirit and emulate the 
 example of our brethren in the East, Let us be- 
 stow our property as cheerfully, and bend our exer- 
 tions as steadily to the advancement of the glorious 
 enterprise in which, with them, we are engaged. 
 Let us strive to erect a monument to the Redeemer 
 of mankind on this side the ocean, no less sublime 
 than has been erected by his disciples on the other ; 
 nor leave to the seagirt isle alone the expense and 
 honour of sending the Gospel to all nations. 
 
 Let us, at least, endeavour, by a more general 
 distribution of these heaven-descended records, to 
 console our own mourners, to prepare our youth 
 for living, and our aged for death. Let us endeav- 
 our to purify our towns ; to purify our villages ; to 
 raise the standard of our public morals, and exalt 
 still higher our national character. In a word, let 
 us endeavour completely to Christianize these Uni- 
 ted States, that the condition of our citizens may 
 be more blessed on earth, and our whole population 
 made meet for an inheritance in heaven. 
 
 What a lofty hope ! and how welcome to the 
 bosom of the patriot Christian ! And shall we, hav- 
 ing tasted the preciousness of this hope, lightly re- 
 linquish it ? Ah ! no. Necessity is laid upon us. 
 We have sworn, and may not repent ; we have lift- 
 ed up our hand to God, and cannot go back. And 
 let the thought animate us, that, by supplying our 
 
274 CONCLUDmG EXHORTATION. 
 
 own destitute brethren, we are indirectly aiding to 
 supply the destitute pagans. Yes, every Bible we 
 distribute here is, in effect, a Bible distributed in Ara- 
 bia, in Egypt, in India, or in the islands of the sea ; 
 for every Bible we distribute here spares the price 
 of it from the common fund of Christendom, and 
 leaves the same to be expended in some heathen 
 country. 
 
 Let us, then, freely put forth our exertions and 
 bestow our charities ; and, though the morning dawn 
 not, let us go forward confidently to our work, re- 
 membering who it was that said, purely J come 
 quickly. Even so, come, Lord Jesus. 
 
MAN S MORAL STATE CONTINGENT. 275 
 
 XV. 
 
 4UDRESS DELIVERED BEFORE THE PHI BETA KAPPA SO- 
 CIETY OF UNION COLLEGE. 
 
 [Difference in the Intellectual and Moral Condition of Individ- 
 uals and Nations. — Ignorance and Knowledge the principal 
 Causes of this Difference. — Advantages of Associated Efforts 
 in promoting Science. — Intelligence and Happiness capable 
 of being vastly extended. — First crude Discoveries in Sci- 
 ence contrasted with the Progress since made —Present State 
 and future Prospects of Scientific Research. — Chymistry.— ^ 
 Astronomy. — Mmeralogy and Botany. — Meteorology. — Elec- 
 tricity. — Medicme. — Political Science. — Popular Govern- 
 ments. — The United States. — Anomaly of domestic Slavery, 
 in its Origin, &;c., considered. — Ameliorations in our Institu- 
 tions and Laws in regard to Debtors— to Criminals. — Reli- 
 gious Freedom, — Multiplicity of Religious Sects not incom- 
 patible with Christian Union. — Science and Religion recipro- 
 cally aid each other, and should never be disunited] 
 
 Of other worlds than our own, and other races 
 of moral agents than ourselves, our knowledge is 
 extremely limited. These are subjects on which 
 reason is silent, or speaks only in conjectural ac- 
 cents. Revelation, even, gives but a few brief no- 
 tices of the existence or habitudes of unimbodied 
 spirits. From these brief notices, however, it would 
 seem rather probable than otherwise, that the original 
 condition of moral agents generally has not been 
 fixed, but contingent ; and that all have been permit- 
 ted, under God, to weave the web of their own des- 
 tiny, and severally to form, by a series of individual 
 actions, their ultimate and unchanging character. 
 
 But whether this be generally so or not, that it 
 has been so with terrestrial moral agents is undeni- 
 able : for, though the elements of a common nature 
 
276 POWER OF KNOWLEDGE. 
 
 are apparent in the entire posterity of Adam, those 
 elements have been so modified by circumstances, 
 so transformed by education, as to present the ex- 
 tremes of vice and virtue, of dignity and meanness 
 in the human character. Nations there are whose 
 march for ages has been onward and upward ; and 
 other nations, again, who have either remained sta- 
 tionary, or whose movement has been retrograde- 
 Individuals too there are who seem approximating 
 towards the perfection of angels ; while other indi- 
 viduals are degraded almost to the condition of 
 brutes, or even of demons. 
 
 Various and inscrutable as may be the causes 
 which have contributed to these opposite results, it 
 is sufficiently apparent that ignorance is wholly in- 
 compatible with improvement, and that everywhere 
 alike knowledge is power. Were God, even, not 
 omniscient, he would not be omnipotent ; or, if om- 
 nipotent, he could not, as now, display his glorious 
 attributes in those marvellous phenomena which con- 
 stitute the universe, and which stand forth as the 
 august expression of his joint wisdom and of might. 
 
 It is knowledge which makes the mighty differ- 
 ence between man and brute — between man and 
 man. The unlettered savage of the forest is more 
 muscular and fleet than the polished premier who 
 wields a nation's energies, and from his closet sends 
 forth a controlling influence over realms he has not 
 SO much as visited. 
 
 It was knowledge which gave, and it is knowl- 
 edge which upholds the dominion of man over so 
 many orders of beings, superior to him in numbers 
 
SCIENTIFIC ASSOCIATIONS. 277 
 
 as well as in agility and strength : a dominion ex* 
 tending with every extension of science, not only 
 over animals, but over the elements, and bringing 
 Nature herself into greater and greater subjection. 
 
 But the duration of human life is too short, and 
 Jhe range of individual observation too narrow for 
 ihe acquisition of that profound knowledge, and the 
 arrival at those grand results, for which faculties, in 
 their nature progressive and immortal, had otherwise 
 quahfied their possessor. To remedy, therefore, the 
 defects which necessarily spring from the brevity of 
 human life and the locahty of human residence, and 
 to prevent the loss of triumphs actually achieved, a 
 moral organization has been resorted to, and isolated 
 individuals, distant from each other, have united 
 themselves into societies, supplying the want of per- 
 sonal ubiquity by the distribution of their members, 
 and of immortality by their continued succession. 
 By such organization remote and scattered agencies 
 have been combined, and the wise and good of dif- 
 ferent nations and ages, who otherwise, perhaps, as 
 to any permanent effect, might have lived in vain, 
 have become fellow-labourers with one another ; nor 
 is it too much to say, fellow-labourers with God, in 
 carrying forward his grand and beneficent designs. 
 
 As an intei^ral portion of such an association — an 
 association whose aim it is to increase human knowl- 
 edge and perfect human virtue, which has extended 
 its ligaments across the ocean, and the influence of 
 which is felt in both hemispheres — as an integral 
 portion of such an association I now address the 
 members of this society. 
 
278 DIFFERENT STATES OF MANKIND. 
 
 Without indulging in Utopian dreams, and mindful 
 of the nature of man, as seen in the light which rev- 
 elation and experience have shed upon his history; 
 without pretending to have ascertained the precise 
 measure of intelligence or happiness possible to be 
 attained by beings so constituted and so situated, it 
 is surely neither presumptuous nor unphilosophical 
 to anticipate the future existence of both these attri- 
 butes through a greater extent and in a higher de- 
 gree than they have hitherto existed. Nor can it be 
 derogatory to scholars or statesmen to embrace this 
 cheering hypothesis, and to combine their influence 
 to secure to future generations its blessed reality. 
 
 In glancing even casually over the map of na- 
 tions, it is impossible not to perceive that there is a 
 striking difference in regard to everything which ren- 
 ders being valuable between the different branches 
 of the human family. Neither man himself, nor his 
 condition in enlightened Europe and America, can 
 be contrasted with what they are in benighted Asia, 
 or still more benighted Africa, without mingled emo- 
 tions of exultation and pity. 
 
 But were it even the case that, in the former and 
 more favoured states, human nature had received 
 its highest finish, and human intellect put forth its 
 utmost energy, most powerful motives would still 
 exist to preserve and perpetuate among civilized na- 
 tions the triumphs already achieved ; and to rouse 
 their barbarous neighbours to the achievement of 
 similar triumphs, that the entire race might be raised 
 to the highest standard of merit, and share the largest 
 measure of happiness. 
 
INTELLECTUAL ELEVATION OP JIAN. 279 
 
 Nor will, nor ought the friends of science to re- 
 mit their exertions until this shall have been accom- 
 plished ; until the most degraded of the tribes of 
 earth shall have become regenerate, and shall stand 
 forth each one in the glories of its own Augustan 
 age ; until the hills and valleys, the lakes and rivers 
 of other states, as well as of Greece, shall have been 
 consecrated by the slumbering genius that remains 
 in each to be yet awakened ; until Attic wit and Athe- 
 nian models shall everywhere appear ; until JVegro- 
 land shall have produced her own Granville Sharp, 
 Abyssinia her Milton, Thibet her Homer, and the 
 wandering Tartar's reed shall sound a note as tender 
 as the shepherd's pipe, when, in olden time and in 
 classic fields, the Arcadian Corydon and Thyrsis 
 sung ; until all that is gross, and vulgar, and revolt- 
 ing shall disappear, and not cities and provinces 
 merely, or even empires, but the entire world shall 
 exhibit through all its territories whatever is tasteful 
 in art, recondite in science, or enchanting in elo- 
 quence and song. 
 
 True, we cannot reach directly the distant and 
 scattered elements of ignorance and degradation, 
 noB can we bring our influence immediately to bear 
 on the process of their transformation. Still we 
 may do both indirectly and remotely. 
 
 Every collegiate institution, with its associate 
 alumni, is the source and centre of a mighty influ- 
 ence, which is sent abroad, not only over the scien- 
 tific, but the unlettered public — an influence which 
 reaches in its course every academy and school, and 
 even every habitation — inspiring genius, stimulating 
 
280 INFANCY OF SCIENCE. 
 
 enterprise, and supplying motives and means through 
 many a town and hamlet for assailing ignorance, 
 vindicating truth, and extending the empire of learn- 
 ing and refinement. So that the measures we are 
 adopting, and the strength we are putting forth, may, 
 after acting on successive individuals, reach to re- 
 mote places, descend to future generations, and 
 finally be felt to the extremities of the world. 
 
 Let us not deceive ourselves as to the amount, 
 either of good or evil, which may be produced by a 
 single scholar, especially by a society of scholars. 
 It is wholly impossible to measure the power, to 
 trace the connexions, or to fix the limits, either in 
 duration or extent, of moral causes. 
 
 To the laboratory of Tubal-Cain, Europe and 
 America may be indebted for their chymistry ; to 
 the harp and organ of Jubal for their instruments of 
 music ; to Noah for their navigation, and to Belus 
 for the art of masonry. To the astrologers of 
 Egypt or the shepherds of Shinar, mankind may re- 
 motely owe the calculations of La Place — nay, even 
 the astronomy of Newton. But for the signs of 
 the zodiac and other sidereal localities, so fancifully 
 sketched by the first eager observers, the eye of 
 this sublime inquirer might never have been direct- 
 ed upward, and the whole energy of his mighty mind 
 might have been wasted, as had been the energy of 
 so many other great minds, on essential forms and 
 occult qualities. 
 
 Who can*tell how much Athens was indebted to 
 Phoenician voyagers, or how long the genius of 
 Greece might have slumbered, but for the alphabet 
 
THE SPREAD OF KNOWLEDGE. 281 
 
 of Cadmus ? or whether even Greece herself, dis- 
 membered and trodden down by her enemies, shall 
 continue, as she has done, to form the taste of nations, 
 and to send forth an influence to bear on the moral 
 destinies of the world 1 And since Greece, dismem- 
 bered and trodden down as she is, still struggles for 
 existence, and science and the arts have pervaded 
 or are pervading France, and Spain, and Portugal, 
 and Italy, and Germany, and Russia, and Sweden, 
 and Denmark, and Britain, and last, though not 
 least, the young American republics ; since com- 
 merce is furnishing a universal medium of inter- 
 course, and the press is everywhere supplying facil- 
 ities for instruction, is it extravagant to anticipate 
 that a redeeming spirit may, and will, ere long, go 
 forth from civilized nations of sufficient power to ef- 
 fect the wished-for deliverance of nations still in a 
 state of barbarism 1 
 
 This were a truly sublime achievement : though 
 exertion here ceased and progression here termina- 
 ted, this were a triumph possessing enough of good- 
 ness and of grandeur to stay the eye of hope and 
 to stimulate the eagerness of enterprise. 
 
 But is there anything, either in the nature of man 
 or in the history of the world, which favours the 
 opinion that all which is attainable has been attain- 
 ed, even by educated nations ] and that, to them, 
 nothing remains but to retrace the circle already 
 traced, by the landmarks planted by the pioneers of 
 science as they have advanced along their adventu- 
 rous and unbeaten pathway ? Is it to be believed 
 that even schooled reason has so soon come to know 
 Y 
 
282 MODERN DISCOVERIES. 
 
 all of God that is knovvable, and that the whole field 
 of glories spread around him has been so quickly and 
 so cheaply gathered ? This appalling apprehension 
 may, perhaps sometimes does, cross the mind of 
 aspiring youth, as their eye glances on the heights 
 already gained, and the distance already passed over 
 in the march of science. But the illusion quickly 
 vanishes ; for it is perceived that everywhere the 
 boundary recedes as the inquirer advances towards 
 it, and that discoveries made, however great, have 
 hitherto only prepared the way for discoveries still 
 greater. The time is yet distant, it is believed, 
 when nothing will he left in religion to be pumjied ; 
 nothing in the remedial system to be improved ; no^ 
 thing in political institutions to be refoimed, and no^ 
 thing in the physical sciences to be acquired. 
 
 Great, indeed, is the disparity between the con- 
 jectural alchymy of the middle ages and our pres- 
 ent inductive chymistry, founded on actual and ac- 
 curate analysis. The phenomena of light, and heat, 
 and electricity, and magnetism, as well as of bodies 
 gross and ponderable, are now incalculably better 
 understood than they were formerly. Earth, and 
 air, and water, once regarded as uncompounded el- 
 ements, are now resolved and recombined at pleas- 
 ure. New distinctions have been made, a classifi- 
 cation more conformable to nature has been substi- 
 tuted, and a nomenclature more intelligible and sig- 
 nificant has been introduced. More than this : gal- 
 vanic electricity has been discovered, the alkalis 
 have been analyzed, and the doctrine of chymical 
 equivalents has been established. 
 
FUTURE DISCOVERIES. 283 
 
 Much, however, as science owes to Berzelius, to 
 Davy, to VVoUaston, to Guy Lusac, and their coadju- 
 tors, shall we be so weak as to imagine that they 
 are the only wise men, and that wisdom will die with 
 them ? Who knows but that discoveries are now 
 making which will cast a shade over even theirs, 
 admirable as they are ? Who knows but that some 
 bolder and more fortunate experimenter is even now 
 unsettling doctrines hitherto believed to be settled, 
 and is displacing by solution from the rank they oc- 
 cupy, not only potassium and sodium, but the entire 
 kindred class of metallic bases 1 Who knows but 
 that a more condensed heat brought to bear upon 
 the crucible, or the electric stroke from some more 
 powerful battery, may not reveal to the sense of man 
 still simpler elements and more subtile combina- 
 tions, by which the artists of future times shall be 
 enabled to approximate, in their humble imitations, 
 nearer to those matchless fabrics which God pro- 
 duces in his vast laboratory ? Nor will analysis have 
 reached its utmost limits until all the elements which 
 Omnipotence employs are known and named, and 
 all the processes are revealed by which, in variety so 
 changeful, he produces those endless forms both of 
 utility and beauty, which perpetually succeed each 
 other throughout the entire extent of a decaying and 
 reviving universe. 
 
 Astronomy, indeed, so far as mathematics are 
 concerned, is among the exact and certain sciences . 
 and so precisely have the magnitudes and densities 
 of the sun and planets been ascertained ; so accurate- 
 ly have their paths been traced, and their motions 
 
284 PROGRESS OF ASTRONOMICAL DISCOVERY. 
 
 noted ; so exactly has the influence even of their re- 
 ciprocal disturbing forces been computed, that their 
 several revolutions and localities may be determined 
 by calculation for ages to come with nearly the 
 same precision that they have been by observation 
 during ages that are past. 
 
 But these, perhaps, are neither the whole nor the 
 most interesting phenomena which the heavens ex- 
 hibit ; and, after having become familiar with the 
 bolder lines of their outward aspect, man still looks 
 upward with an eager eye, under the influence of a 
 vague presentiment that the firmament above him 
 contains something more than a mere orderly dis- 
 play of magnitude and motion, and that the orbs 
 which roll in it may perchance be the residence of 
 some race of kindred spirits : spirits, it may be, 
 whose acuter vision or more powerful glasses ena- 
 ble them to look down on us, regardful of our prog- 
 ress, eager to communicate their sympathies, and 
 impatiently waiting for the time when our improved 
 instruments shall enable us to recognise their signal, 
 and to give back by telegraph from our sidereal 
 watch-towers the signs of recognition. 
 
 Much that was once unseen, has b'een already 
 rendered visible ; and since the same light that falls 
 on them is reflected upon us, and the light that falls 
 on us is reflected back to them, who knows but some 
 future and greater Herschel may construct an eye- 
 glass of power to bring their habitations within our 
 range of vision, and thus enable man to commence 
 a correspondence with his sidereal neighbours? 
 Who knows but that future generations, communica* 
 
CONJECTURES AS TO THE FUTURE. 285 
 
 ting with the nearest planets, and, through them, with 
 planets more remote, may effect an interchange of 
 tidings, passed from world to world with the celerity 
 of light, and carried far as the sunbeam travels ? and 
 that thus successive glories may be revealed, till our 
 race, improved in knowledge and purified in affec- 
 tion, shall be prepared to respond in a loftier sense 
 to the sentiment expressed from every sun and plan- 
 et, Great and marvellous are thy works, Lord God 
 JUmighty ; in wisdom hast ilwu made them all. 
 
 These may seem idle and extravagant conjec- 
 tures, and yet be conjectures below the elevation 
 of the subject, and short of that reality which futurity 
 shall reveal. 
 
 Had the ascertained grandeurs which astronomy 
 has made apparent been suggested to patriarchal 
 man, who probably saw in the firmament above 
 him only a spangled canopy, revolving at no great 
 distance around this one fixed, central planet, 
 would they not have seemed conjectures as idle 
 and extravagant? And if, during the first six 
 thousand years of their existence, the human race 
 have found means to acquire a knowledge of the 
 number, and distance, and dimensions, and localities 
 of the planets which surround them, is it quite in- 
 credible that they should, in some hundreds of 
 thousands of years to come, find means to acquire 
 a knowledge of their zoology and botany, and of 
 the condition and habitudes of the beings who in- 
 habit them 1 
 
 There has been, I am aware, a time when it 
 would have been deemed impious to suggest that 
 
286 LAWS OF THE SOLAR SYSTEM. 
 
 such might be the duration of the world, or such 
 the destiny of the race inhabiting it ; for there was 
 a time when reHgion, unmindful of the apostolic 
 counsel and of prophetic calculation, saw in the 
 everyday appearance of the heavens omens only of 
 immediate dissolution. 
 
 Philosophy, too, has given countenance to the 
 same delusion, by asserting that the solar system 
 contained within itself a principle of destruction, 
 which was hastening its end by approaches that 
 were visible. But that time has now gone by. 
 Religion having purified her faith, and Philosophy 
 corrected her deductions. Science no longer sup- 
 plies arguments against even that endurance of the 
 earth which St. John, in the Apocalypse, has been 
 thought to predict : it having been shown in the 
 JVEechanique Coeleste that those apparent deviations 
 which filled the mind with such gloomy presages 
 were apparent only, and that the forces which pro- 
 duced them were so adjusted by the Maker of the 
 universe as to compensate at intervals the irregu- 
 larities they occasioned, and thus bring back the 
 planets to the same relative position in a readjusted 
 system. 
 
 Nor is it in astronomy only that room for new 
 achievements and motives for new efforts remain. 
 The downward series of combinations is, for aught 
 we know, as continuous as the upward, and its neth- 
 ermost limit as far removed from human observa- 
 tion. The minimum of nature is as difficult of as- 
 certainment as the maximum, and perhaps as many 
 Avonders are yet concealed by nearness and minute- 
 ness as by distance and dimension. 
 
MINERALOGY AND BOTANY. 287 
 
 After all that Linnaeus and Jussieu, Werner and 
 Haiiy, have accomplished, mineralogy and botany 
 are only in their infancy. Countries yet remain to 
 be traversed, caverns to be explored, and beds of 
 rivers and basins of seas to be examined, before 
 the materials can be supplied for completing even 
 the distribution of the genera and species. But is 
 the completion of the genera and species all that re- 
 mains to tempt and recompense the skill of the 
 artist and the eye of the observer 1 No : nor will 
 the triumphs either of art or intellect be complete 
 in these departments, till the internal structure both 
 of plants and minerals shall have become as famil- 
 iar as their external aspects ; till the true atomic 
 theory shall be exhibited in experiment and verified 
 by observation ; till, by a more skilful arrangement 
 of glasses and a more dexterous management of 
 sunbeams, visibility shall be imparted to elemental 
 particles, and the arrangement shown which they 
 assume in all those tasteful and brilliant varieties of 
 vegetable development, and the no less tasteful and 
 brilliant varieties of crystalline formations. 
 
 With respect to rarn, and snow, and earthquakes, 
 and tempests, and the various meteorological phe- 
 nomena, we possess little more than hypothesis. 
 The observations remain yet to be made, the facts 
 to be collected, and the conclusions drawn, by which 
 anything can be arrived at deserving the name of 
 knowledge. And yet the time may come when 
 these various, and changeful, and apparently capri- 
 cious phenomena shall be reduced to fixed and gen- 
 eral laws ; and their return, and duration, and de- 
 
288 THE REMEDIAL SYSTEM. 
 
 gree shall be as capable of calculation as the ebbing 
 of the tides or the changes of the lunar phases ; 
 so that the voyager and husbandman, relieved from 
 uncertainty and no longer the sport of chance, shall 
 pursue their occupations under the additional advan- 
 tage of an enlightened prescience. 
 
 We have lived to see the lightning chained, and 
 its dread stroke averted from the frail edifice reared 
 for human habitation. We have lived to see the 
 ship made independent of the breeze, riding tri- 
 umphant on the billow, and breasting the tempest 
 by the impulse of steam. We have lived to see 
 inland villages converted into ports of commerce, 
 and inland products floating on artificial rivers traced 
 by human hands, and connecting distant lakes with 
 the distant ocean. These are achievements which 
 must ensure celebrity to individuals, and render 
 memorable the age they lived in. But what farther 
 achievements yet remain to be accomplished we 
 know not ; for who can set limits to science 1 or 
 say that posterity will not employ still mightier 
 agents, and obtain the mastery over elements which 
 now only mock our efforts to control them ? 
 
 In the healing art, nay, in the whole remectiai 
 system, progression is apparent. 
 
 For the relief of the deaf and dumb, a language 
 has been invented and a system of education intro- 
 duced, which, in a single age and during the existing 
 generation, has produced the most admirable rem 
 suits. Suddenly has a portion of the human fam- 
 ily, hitherto degraded by their ignorance, and nearly 
 excluded by their condition from human intercourse, 
 
EDUCATION OF THE DEAF AND DUMB. 28<l 
 
 been raised to the rank of intellectual beings ; in- 
 troduced to the mysteries of science, to the mys- 
 teries of religion, and to a participation in the de- 
 lightful sympathies and charities of social life. 
 
 This benevolent expedient, while imparting hap- 
 piness, has evolved talent : talent under very pecu- 
 liar circumstances, the remote effects of which can- 
 not now be estimated ; for the situation of educated 
 mutes, insensible to the allurements of sound and in- 
 capable of interruption from it, must be eminently 
 conducive to mental application, and especially to 
 mathematical research ; nor would it be surprising 
 should they hereafter cancel, by their contributions 
 to science, the debt which they at present owe to 
 charity. 
 
 In the mean time, those schools, founded for their 
 benefit, are diffusing the knowledge of a system of 
 signs already extensively adopted, and which, from 
 the number of mutes among the different nations, is 
 likely to be still more extensively adopted. Even 
 now voyagers and travellers profit by their use, as 
 courtiers and statesmen hereafter may ; so that an 
 art, introduced by charity into the cottages of the 
 poor, may come to dwell in the palaces of princes ; 
 and an expedient, devised by the benevolent Sicard 
 to alleviate the ills resulting from deafness, may be 
 employed to remedy the more diffusive ills that have 
 resulted from the confusion of tongues at Babel ; 
 and thus a general intercourse may be established 
 among the nations, trained to this new language of 
 the eye : the only language which has any prospect 
 of remaining uniform or of becoming universal. 
 
290 TREATMENT OF THE INSANE. 
 
 Nor have the deaf and dumb alone shared in the 
 distribution of new benefits : for the aged, eye-glasses 
 have been provided ; for the maimed, artificial limbs 
 have been constructed ; and to the diseased, appro- 
 priate remedies have been administered. 
 
 Maladies once deemed incurable have been 
 cured. Neither vegetable nor mineral poisons, how 
 ever virulent, are now uniformly mortal. Even hy- 
 drophobia is said to have yielded to surgical opera- 
 tion ; and vaccination, introduced by the philosophic 
 Jenner, has nearly removed the terrors of one ol 
 the most dreadful scourges of mankind. 
 
 The maladies of the mind, as well as those of the 
 body, are beginning to be better understood, and to 
 be treated more successfully than they formerly 
 were. No longer is the lunatic bound in chains or 
 scourged with tliongs ; nor is mental alienation any 
 longer regarded as the most hopeless, because the 
 most incurable of evils. 
 
 And here it is gratifying to remark, that American 
 physicians have contributed to the introduction of 
 those juster views and that more benign practice 
 which are destined to bless the nations. With the 
 wisdom of the sage and the benevolence of the 
 saint, the late lamented Rush urged the substitution 
 of kindness for cruelty in the management of the 
 insane. But it was reserved for another and more 
 highly-favoured individual to develop, by a series of 
 patient experiments, the practical benefits of such a 
 substitution. 
 
 This man, even yet unknown to fame, without 
 fortune and without patronage, ventured to establish, 
 
Chaplin's asylum. 291 
 
 and has for years continued to manage an asylum 
 which, in its results, has surpassed, not only the asy- 
 lums of other times, but of other countries ; and from 
 which there has been sent back to their friends and 
 to society a larger proportion of patients restored to 
 reason and to happiness than from any kindred in- 
 stitution now known on earth or recorded in history. 
 
 A design so benevolent and adventurous, execu- 
 ted under great discouragements, and with such in- 
 comparable success, needs no present commend- 
 ation ; nor will future eulogy be necessary to render 
 the name of Chaplin hereafter as dear to fame as 
 it is already to humanity. 
 
 To the increase of medical skill in Britain more 
 than to any other cause, perhaps, is to be attributed 
 that increase in the average duration of human life 
 which has become of late a subject of remark. 
 
 And shall we suppose, in this conflict with mor- 
 tality, because triumphs have been achieved by the 
 disciples of Esculapius, that farther triumphs are 
 therefore impossible 1 And that to the future prac- 
 titioner it only remains to mark the diagnosis of dis 
 ease laid down in his textbook, and apply the rem 
 edies prescribed in his dispensatory ? 
 
 There is no greater reason for believing the mor- 
 tal maladies which remain necessarily mortal, than 
 there once was for believing those to be so which 
 now yield to the power of medicine. Here, doubt- 
 less, as elsewhere, and now as formerly, the field lies 
 open ; nor will the faculty have done all that man 
 requires or that God enjoins so long as a disease 
 remains to be healed or a pain to be relieved. 
 
292 POLITICAL SCIENCE. 
 
 Brilliant are the successes of the past ; but iiope 
 lights up the future with a prospect of successes 
 still more brilliant, to be continued until, by a more 
 perfect knowledge of disease, a more complete de- 
 velopment of remedies, a farther augmentation of 
 comforts, a wiser formation of habits, and a holier 
 manner of life. Pandora's box shall again be closed, 
 the vigour of primitive constitution reappear, and the 
 longevity of antediluvian man return. 
 
 Let it not be deemed either visionary or profane 
 to indulge such anticipations, since prophets divinely 
 inspired have indulged them. Visionary or profane 
 as we may deem it, the time approaches when the 
 age of man shall be as the age of a tree ; and the 
 inhabitants shall not say I am sick ; for the mouth 
 of the Lord hath spoken it. 
 
 This may, indeed, be supernaturally induced ; but 
 it is not according to the analogy of Providence that 
 it should be so. Means are the instruments in ef- 
 fecting man's moral renovation, and why should they 
 not be in effecting his physical renovation also? 
 From misery as well as from guilt, it is his, by the 
 help of God, to accomplish his own deliverance and 
 to work out his own salvation. 
 
 In political as well as in physical science, a like 
 progressive development is apparent. 
 
 The older governments were reared, and they rest 
 on the right of prescription. That authority is a sacred 
 deposite in the hands of the few for the control of 
 the many ; that it is hereditary, and its possessor 
 responsible to God alone for its exercise, has long 
 been asserted by sovereigns and admitted by their 
 subjects. 
 
8LATERY IN THE UNITED STATES. 293 
 
 These ancient doctrines, for the continued main- 
 tenance of which such efforts are making on the one 
 Continent, are to a great extent abjured on the other. 
 Not merely new, but adverse doctrines have been 
 promulgated : that national sovereignty is placed in 
 the aggregation of individual volition ; that the peo- 
 ple themselves are the original source and ultimate 
 depository of human authority ; and that office is a 
 trust from them, reclaimable at their pleasure, and to 
 be executed conformably to their will. 
 
 These doctrines, once mere speculation, are now 
 not only imbodied in form and adopted in theory, 
 but millions of human beings, scattered over exten- 
 sive territories, are carrying them into effect ; and 
 are making, on a mighty scale, and in behalf of the 
 human race, the sublime experiment of practical 
 self-government. Should this experiment succeed — 
 and we trust in God it will — to say nothing of its re- 
 action on Europe and Asia, nearly half the human 
 race will probably, at no distant day, in America, 
 participate in its blessed results. 
 
 And yet, even in the land where this experiment 
 is making, its legitimate effects are but partially ap- 
 parent; for even here slavery exists, and freemen 
 are attended and served by slaves. This only in- 
 stitution of tyranny is a curse engendered in other 
 times and under a different form of government. 
 Had the opinions and wishes of the primitive colo- 
 nists been consulted, such an anomaly as slavery, in 
 any of its forms, could not now have had existence. 
 Still its existence is not the less an evil on that ac- 
 
294 SLAVERY IN THE NORTHERN STATES. 
 
 count, and an evil that we seem doomed, for the 
 present at least, to retain and to deprecate. 
 
 Thus has the most benignant form of government 
 the nations ever witnessed brought no blessings with 
 it to a multitude of wretched beings over whom 
 Compassion weeps, but whom Compassion even can- 
 not disinthral ; and whose final disinthralment Hope 
 sees only in distant and dim perspective, in the light 
 of some future jubilee, when domestic as well as 
 civil oppression shall have ceased, and no print of 
 vassal footsteps remain thereafter on freedom's soiU 
 nor chain be worn beneath the sun of freedom. 
 
 I am aware that our domestic slavery is consid- 
 ered by many as merely a local evil ; and that it has 
 become fashionable to think and speak of it as 
 though we at the North were no way implicated in 
 its guilt, or liable to be affected by that ultimate ven- 
 geance it threatens to inflict. 
 
 Is it then forgotten that slavery was once legalized 
 in New-England ? or is it unknown that, till recently, 
 it was legalized in New- York ? Meet we not with 
 the memorials of its once greater prevalence in those 
 degraded menials that still carry about with them the 
 print of chains, retain the manners, and speak the 
 dialect of bondage 1 If the number of blacks and 
 of slaves be less at the North than at the South, we 
 owe this enviable distinction to our climate, not our 
 virtue. It was neither the foresight nor the piety of 
 the Pilgrims, but the good Providence of God, that 
 traced the lines of their inheritance on this side the 
 natural limit of negro habitation. If the planter of 
 the South has long appeared in the odious charac 
 
NEW-ENGLAND SLAVE-TRADERS. 295 
 
 ter of receiver of stolen men, the trader of the North 
 has as long appeared in the still more odious charac 
 ter of man- stealer. 
 
 It must be admitted — with humiliation indeed, but 
 still it must be admitted — that with New-England 
 capital slave-ships have been built, and with New- 
 England seamen navigated. In New-England, too, 
 have stood the workshops in which those yokes and 
 manacles were forged that weighed on the limbs of 
 the captive negro during his passage to bondage. 
 On Virginia, at least, slavery was forced contrary to 
 her will and against her remonstrance. Can as 
 much be said in favour of all other and more north- 
 ern colonies ? 
 
 But, whatever may have been the comparative 
 guilt of the parties concerned in making merchan- 
 dise of men, the alarming consequence of their joint 
 iniquity is sufficiently apparent in the existence 
 among us of more than one million six hundred 
 thousand slaves. This is an abatement of national 
 prosperity connected with no alleviating circum- 
 stance ; nor is there any softening light in which this 
 feature in our condition can be viewed. Slavery, in 
 all its forms, is odious ; in all its bearings, hurtful. 
 It is an evil gratuitous and unmixed ; and equally an 
 evil to the slave, his master, and the state. 
 
 Its existence bespeaks an unnatural state of things. 
 In whatever society the few lord it over the many, 
 the balance of energies is disturbed ; and there will 
 be a constant tendency in the system to weaken the 
 preponderance of power and restore the equilibrium. 
 Even in governments less popular than our own, this 
 
296 SLAVERY IN DESPOTIC COUNTRIES. 
 
 tendency is apparent. Roman slavery has long 
 since ceased. Feudal tyranny has passed away 
 from Europe, and the condition of the serfs of Sax- 
 ony and the boors of Russia is ameliorating ; and, 
 though not free, they are gradually approximating 
 towards freedom. 
 
 But there are causes that render the perpetuity of 
 slavery here more difficult than elsewhere, and more 
 difficult in the present than in former ages. 
 
 Domestic slavery is not abhorrent to the feelings 
 of a community accustomed to political slavery, nor 
 inconsistent in principle with governments founded 
 on prescriptive and hereditary privilege. It harmo- 
 nizes with the institutions of Tunis, Morocco, Al- 
 giers, and other provinces of Turkish despotism. 
 Religion there even sanctions it ; and it is felt to 
 be as righteous as it is convenient, to compel the 
 followers of Christ to become hewers of wood and 
 drawers of water to the followers of Mohammed. 
 With us it is otherwise. Slavery is here a perfect 
 anomaly. It stands out by itself, an isolated insti- 
 tution, unsupported, unconnected, and at variance 
 with all our other institutions. It is at variance with 
 the spirit of our government ; at variance with its 
 letter. It is at variance with our political principles, 
 at variance with our religious principles, revolting to 
 our moral feelings, and crosses all our habits of 
 thought and action. And can there be a question 
 whether slavery, under such circumstances, in such a 
 country, and among such a people, can be eternal ? 
 If villanage in Britain, and even in Gaul, has ceased 
 —if the serfs of Saxony and the boors of Russia af o 
 
SLAVERY ONCE UPHELD BY THE CHURCH. 297 
 
 rising in the scale of being, and there be even hope 
 that the degraded Hindu wiil one day be disinthral- 
 led by the diffusion of science, and the slow but re- 
 sistless march of public opinion, is there no hope of 
 disinthralment for the African, who breathes the air, 
 and sees the light, and treads the soil of freedom 'i 
 Impossible I such an outrage cannot be perpetual. 
 The constitution of man, of nature, of heaven and 
 earth must change, or slavery be subverted. It 
 cannot stand against the progress of society. Its 
 doom has been pronounced already ; and the for- 
 ward movement of the world will overthrow it. 
 
 Is it forgotten that slavery was once sanctioned 
 by even ecclesiastical authority ? and that the cross 
 and the crescent were alike arrayed on its side ? Is 
 it forgotten that the negro race have been solemn- 
 ly consigned to perpetual bondage by the highest 
 authority in Christendom, because they never at- 
 tended mass, and were of the colour of the damned 1 
 And, thereafter, that centuries rolled away, during 
 which Africa was considered as rightfully given up 
 to plunder by Christian nations, who, without com- 
 punction and without regret, conspired to ravage her 
 coasts and reduce her captive sons to slavery ? 
 
 Nor was it till our own times that the spell which 
 /lad so long bound the understanding and the moral 
 sense of Christendom was broken. There are those 
 Jlow living who remember when the slave-trade, un- 
 assailed and without an enemy, remained interwoven 
 with the policy and intrenched in the prepossessions 
 of every Christian nation ; when the king, and the Par- 
 liament, and the people even of Britain stood firm 
 Z 
 
298 ABOLITION OF THE SLAVE-TRADE. 
 
 ill its defence ; when, in opposition to this array of 
 opinion and of power, Granville Sharp first raised 
 his voice, and Clarkson, and Wilberforce, and their 
 coadjutors took their stand ; and who remember, 
 too, the contempt with which the first humble efforts 
 of these men of mercy were regarded : efforts which 
 were destined to shake, and which have already 
 shaken, the system the)t assailed to its base, and 
 changed the current of feeling throughout the world. 
 The slave, of whatever cast or colour, has long since 
 been declared free the moment he sets his foot on 
 British soil ; and the trade in slaves, already abolish- 
 ed by Britain, has been denounced by almost every 
 Christian nation. 
 
 Everywhere, as discussion has increased, the 
 friends of slavery have diminished ; and results as 
 memorable have been effected on this side the Atlan- 
 tic as on the other. Time was when slavery sat 
 as easy on the conscience of the Puritan of the 
 North as of the planter of the South ; when states- 
 men of the purest patriotism, and clergymen of the 
 loftiest intellect New-England ever boasted, were 
 found among its champions ; and when, even there, 
 men of every rank as much expected their slaves 
 as their lands to descend in perpetuity to their chil- 
 dren. 
 
 The slave-trade, however, has not only been abol- 
 ished by the national republic, but slavery itself has 
 also been abolished in the whole of New-England, 
 New-Jersey, New-York, and Pennsylvania. In Del- 
 aware and Maryland it is waning to its close, and in 
 "Virginia, though it exists in strength, yet its exist- 
 
PROGKfiSS OF PUBLIC OPINION. 299 
 
 '^iice is abhorred ; while, by the rise of kindred re- 
 publics in Spanish America, it has, through vast and 
 contiguous territories, suddenly ceased to exist. 
 
 These are splendid triumphs which the march of 
 public opinion has achieved. It*is still on the ad- 
 vance, gathering momentum as it advances. And 
 the posterity of those now so intent on sustaining 
 slavery will not consent to its being sustained. 
 
 There are few enlightened patriots at the South 
 who do not already abhor the system ; who do not 
 regard it as an evil ; who do not desire its abolition. 
 Our brethren of the South have the same sympathies, 
 the same moral sentiments, the same love of liberty 
 as ourselves. By them as by us, slavery is felt to be 
 an evil, ahinderance to our prosperity, and a blot upon 
 our character. That it exists to such a fearful extent 
 among them is not the result of choice, but of ne- 
 cessity. It was in being when they were born, and 
 has been forced on them by a previous generation. 
 
 Can any considerate man, in the view of what 
 has been done and what is now doing, believe that, 
 amid so many merciful designs, so many benevolent 
 activities, the negro slave will experience no deliver- 
 ance ? That the master will remain for ever undis- 
 turbed by the presence of stripes and chains, and 
 continue without relenting, from year to year, and 
 from generation to generation, to eat the bread, and 
 wear the raiment, and export the staple produced by 
 the tears and sweat of bondmen ? That the free 
 and enlightened inhabitants of this proud republic 
 will go on celebrating their Fourth of July, reading 
 their Declaration of Independence, and, regardless 
 
300 CERTAIN SUBVERSION OF SLAVERY. 
 
 of the groans of so many millions held in bondage, 
 persist in the mockery of reproaching despots, of 
 eulogizing republics, and holding up before the eyes 
 of an insulted universe the ensign of liberty? It 
 cannot be. To sustain such an abuse under such 
 circumstances is impossible. There needs no do- 
 mestic insurrection, no foreign interference to sub- 
 vert an institution so repugnant to all our other in- 
 stitutions. Public opinion has already pronounced 
 on it ; and the moral energy of the nation will soon- 
 er or later effect its overthrow. 
 
 Already planted on the African shore is seen a 
 beac()n of promise. There an asylum has been 
 provided, and thither the ransomed captives are be- 
 ginning to return, reconveying to the land of their 
 fathers both civilization and religion. These may 
 be but the pioneers of a progressive civilization, to 
 be continued until a continent has been reclaimed, 
 and a race redeemed through the agency of our 
 emancipated slaves. 
 
 True it is that neither the trader's manacle nor 
 the driver's whip is the most obvious omen of na- 
 tional enlargement. It is, however, as much so as 
 the yoke of Israel or the prison-house of Poti- 
 phar. Nor is the way to glory f )r Cush through 
 bondage in America more circuitous and indirect 
 than it was to Israel through bondage in Egypt. 
 And since the Israelite has reached the one by ma- 
 king the circuit of the other, it will not be unparal- 
 leled in the history of the world should the Cushite 
 also. 
 
 The civil jurisprudence of these states, retaining 
 
AMEL10RA.TI0N OF THE CRIMINAL CODE. 301 
 
 whatever was consonant to reason and congenial to 
 liberty in the Common Law — that matchless monu- 
 ment of wisdom — has silently accommodated itself 
 to our new condition. 
 
 In most of the states the despotism of creditors 
 has been abridged, and the prison limits of debtors 
 enlarged, and enlightened and philanthropic states- 
 men are now employed in wiping from the nation 
 the reproach of making misfortune penal, and ren- 
 dering to honest bankruptcy the retribution of im- 
 prisonment. 
 
 Our criminal code, by repeated revision, has been 
 greatly ameliorated, and is still ameliorating. 
 
 Trial by batde has ceased ; the practice of rid- 
 ding society of felons by the summary process of 
 the gallows is diminished, and, by rendering penalties 
 disciplinary as well as retributive, a new principle 
 has been introduced ; a principle, the effects of 
 which will then only be fully apparent when, by a 
 more measured graduation of crime, a more judi- 
 cious classification of criminals, and a more efficient 
 administration of moral discipline, prisons shall have 
 become retirements for contrition and schools of 
 virtue, instead of being halls of ribaldry and nurseries 
 of vice. Nor will farther revision be unnecessary 
 until another principle shall have been introduced, 
 and prevention as well as amendment rendered 
 prominent in the system ; for it is not only requisite 
 that criminals should be reformed, but also that 
 temptations to crime should be removed, facilities 
 to crime diminished, and that the children of the 
 republic, at least, should be so guarded and educa- 
 
302 PROGRESS OF RELIGIOUS TOLERATION. 
 
 ted, that, though the aged should never be reclaimedi 
 the state may, notwithstanding, be freed from the 
 burden of maintaining either paupers or convicts, 
 and society become purified from vagrancy and 
 crime by the gradual production of a more indus- 
 trious and virtuous generation. So that in this de- 
 partment, also, there remain new measures for policy 
 to discuss, and fields untroddren over which patriot- 
 ism may expatiate. 
 
 But there are improvements which owe their ex- 
 istence not so much to the wisdom of legislation as 
 to the higher wisdom of forbearing to legislate. 
 That undefined boundary where utility from regu- 
 lation ceases and injury begins has not always been 
 regarded. 
 
 Time was when even the homage man owes to his 
 Maker was deemed a fit object for legal enactment 
 and penal enforcement. The secret aspirations of 
 the heart and the delicate workings of conscience 
 were held to supervision by human inquest, and 
 subjected to the rude discipline of terrestrial courts. 
 Thought itself was regulated, opinion made penal, 
 and fire Euid sword legalized in defence of faith. 
 France and Britain, as well as Spain and Portugal, 
 enforced uniformity by torture, and from dungeons 
 and scaffolds addressed to dissent their rebuke. 
 And, strange as it may seem, the land of those very 
 Pilgrims who fled from martyrdom was itself stained 
 with the blood of martyrs ! 
 
 This most fearful of errors has at length been dis- 
 covered and corrected. Cases of conscience have 
 been dismissed from the courts, and penalties for 
 unbelief blotted from the statute-book. Enactmenta. 
 
THE CHRISTIAN SYSTEM. 303 
 
 against witchcraft have ceased, and prosecutions 
 against witches have been discontinued : the learned 
 disquisitions of divines on the nature of the crime, and 
 the grave distinctions of jurists in trying the offence, 
 as well as the vulgar tests of water and fire in dis- 
 covering the offender, have all been alike disregard- 
 ed. And it is satisfactory to add, that the crime of 
 witch-riding, as well as the dread of being witch- 
 ridden, have both disappeared with the disappearance 
 of that pomp of inquest and execution which ag- 
 gravated, if they did not even produce, the very evil 
 they were intended to prevent. 
 
 These happy results have been effected, not by 
 the doings of statesmen, but by their abstaining 
 from action: an unostentatious method of conferring 
 benefits, but not the less effectual on that account ; 
 and one by which still other benefits, perhaps, re- 
 main to be conferred : for, whether vagrancy and 
 pauperism, as did witchcraft, do not owe much of 
 their thrift and increment to the stimulus of legisla- 
 tion, is a problem that yet remains to be solved. 
 
 In religion, which has been the occasion of the 
 purest virtues and the blackest crimes, of the keen- 
 est anguish and the holiest joys, though progress has 
 been made, there is room for still farther progress. 
 
 As yet, even Christian nations neither fully know 
 the merits nor feel the benefits of the Christian sys- 
 tem. IVor is it strange that they do not. For no 
 sooner did ihe church cease to be persecuted by the 
 state, than she received the impress of its form, and 
 became thereafter the subject of its policy. 
 
 The authority of priests was reared on the same 
 base as that of princes. To regulate human action 
 
304 READING OF THE BIBLE PROHIBITED. 
 
 was the prerogative of the one, io regulate human 
 opinion that of the other. They who might not 
 think, need not read. Hence, to the vassal multi- 
 tude, the Bible was prohibited. A dense and fright- 
 ful darkness thereafter overspread the world, of 
 which the darkness of Egypt, that could be felt, 
 was but an emblem. In the mean time, the soul as 
 well as the body of man, under this double despo- 
 tism of the altar and the throne, became bowed to 
 the dust. 
 
 Ages elapsed before the recoil was felt and the 
 Bible restored ; and even its restoration produced 
 but a partial benefit. In Protestant Christendom, 
 where liberty to read was granted, the book itself 
 was rare ; by many it could not be procured, while 
 multitudes were incapable of reading it. 
 
 To meet this exigency, creeds and catechisms 
 were compiled ; and to these the people were sent, 
 to acquire a summary knowledge of the contents of 
 that restored and authoritative volume. 
 
 These manuals, though rich in doctrine, were yet 
 abstract and unimpassioned in manner ; addressing 
 the intellect rather than the conscience, the affections, 
 the imagination, or the heart. They contained the 
 real, but naked, elements of the Christian system. 
 
 Truths, indeed, were thus communicated; but 
 they were drawn up in form and stated with brevity : 
 truths unaccompanied by that freedom of discussion, 
 that variety of illustration, that freshness of colour- 
 ing, that persuasiveness of motive, and general im- 
 press of divinity so apparent in the sacred writings. 
 Useful as these helps might have been in the ar- 
 rangement of Christian knowledge already acquired. 
 
CREEDS AND CATECHISMS. 305 
 
 they could never avail to an adequate acquisition- ot 
 that knowledge ; for they contained, at best, a mere 
 skeleton of revealed religion, and not revealed religion 
 herself, robed in beauty, glowing with animation, 
 throbbing with life, and in the full array of those 
 celestial glories which beam forth from the sacred 
 canvass, on which her features are drawn with skill 
 inimitable and by a pencil divine. And yet even 
 children acquired their first ideas and received their 
 first impressions from the study of lessons containing 
 only formal propositions, systematically arranged in 
 some chosen abstract of Bible truths ; and not by 
 the study of those simpler and richer, as well as di- 
 viner lessons of wisdom adapted to their years, ad- 
 dressed to their sensibility, and presented in forms 
 so alluring, and in variety so attractive, on the pages 
 of the Book of God itself. 
 
 Hence it happened that Luther, and Calvin, and 
 Knox, and their revered coadjutors, while assailing 
 the authority of Rome, silently established over many 
 a mind a milder but a paramount authority ; nor 
 was it till a later age that the bearing of that great 
 principle they had assumed was fully perceived, or 
 that measures were taken to render its application 
 universal. 
 
 An effort is at length making to give, not merely 
 creeds compiled from the Bible, but the Bible itse.lj 
 to every family in Christendom ; nay, not only to 
 every family, but even to every individual on the 
 earth. 
 
 By the joint influence of the Bible and the Sun- 
 day-school, thousands o^ children are now exercising 
 
306 THE BIBLE AND THE SUNDAY-SCHOOL. 
 
 their understandings on the doctrines, treasuring up 
 in their memories the facts, stimulating their con- 
 sciences by the precepts, and staying their hopes 
 on the promises of that blessed book which has 
 power to make man wise unto salvation. 
 
 Already is the result beginning to be apparent in 
 the excitement of Bible sympathies and the forma- 
 tion of a Bible character. Thus has an impulse 
 been given to the juvenile mind training in these lit- 
 tle nurseries of wisdom, which will be hereafter felt 
 through all the ranks of society ; which will even re- 
 act on the sanctuary and the doctors of the law; 
 not only inducing a holier life, but restoring to the 
 universal church a purer faith and a sounder form 
 of words : the words in which the great Teacher 
 himself delivered to mankind his oracles. 
 
 It has been said that bringing the public mind into 
 contact with the Bible, though it should unite opin- 
 ion on obvious and important points, must, on points 
 not obvious or important, call forth debate and en- 
 sure division. Be it even so. Is this an evil so 
 greatly to be dreaded ? 
 
 How much crime, and blood, and treasure, has 
 the attempt to coerce uniformity cost the nations 1 
 How few have even yet attained it 1 And when at- 
 tained, what people did it ever benefit 1 Has it any- 
 where either promoted industry, advanced science, 
 or purified morality ? 
 
 If it be so important that the train of future 
 thought should be kept for ever within the limits of 
 existing forms, it were as well to resume the ancient 
 mould, and again subject the operations of the 
 mind to the pressure of that great moral lever, the 
 
RELIGIOUS UNIFORMITY. 307 
 
 fulcrum of which has, for so many ages, been plant- 
 ed at Rome. 
 
 Apologies, indeed, have been offered for the vari- 
 ety of opinion in which freedom of thought has is- 
 sued. But apologies were unnecessary. A multi- 
 plicity of sects, differing in faith and forms, and yet 
 reciprocating kindness and dwelling together in uni- 
 ty, is among the fairest features that modern Chris- 
 tendom exhibits. How do the racks, and gibbets, 
 and dungeons, and scaffolds, and fires, with which 
 uniformity has for ages been surrounded — how do 
 these compare with the mild, and tranquil, and vari- 
 ed array of different Christian communities, advan- 
 cing side by side towards heaven, and provoking 
 one another on the way only to love and good works ! 
 
 And is it, then, to be dreaded as so great an evil 
 that, under the more diffusive influence of the Bible, 
 other and yet other Christian denominations may 
 arise to quicken the labours and stimulate the zeal 
 of existing denominations ; to correct, perhaps, their 
 errors ; to check their declension, to augment their 
 means, and co-operate in the execution of their de- 
 signs of goodness ? 
 
 Notwithstanding the dogmatism of courts and 
 councils, the fatal maxim that diversity of doctrine 
 or worship is incompatible with social happiness and 
 public safety has been at length refuted, and it is 
 ours to share in the glory of its refutation. And 
 who knows but, in the farther progress of Christian 
 knowledge and the farther development of Christian 
 principle, it may come to be universally apparent, 
 that the unity of the church itself, and the only unity 
 which God requires or of which he approves, consists 
 
308 BENEFICENT EFFECTS OF RELIGION. 
 
 not in that outward identity of aspect which perse^ 
 cution has for ages been struggling to impress, but 
 in an inward oneness of spirit : a unity nowhere on 
 earth more apparent than in the diveis Christian 
 communities, each performing its appointed duty, 
 each moving in its appropriate sphere, and all com- 
 bined and harmonized in one common system of be- 
 nevolent exertion, by the influence of that celestial 
 charity which on earth, as in heaven, is the cement 
 of society and the bond of perfectness ; and which 
 requires only to be cherished and extended to ban- 
 ish discord, and transform the world itself into a 
 theatre of peace, in which nothing shall remain to 
 molest or make afraid, as in God/s holy mountain. 
 
 Religion is intimately connected with the best in- 
 terests of the human race ; and every advance made 
 in the knowledge of its doctrines or in the admin- 
 istration of its discipline must be favourable to those 
 interests. To religion, even under its pagan form, 
 both art and science are indebted. It was the 
 achievements of the gods that woke the harp of 
 Homer ; it was the statues of the gods that employed 
 the chisel of Phidias ; it was the portraitures of th^ 
 gods that imbodied those touches of the pencil of 
 Apelles. 
 
 Hunger, and cold, and nakedness may call forth 
 mere physical energy, but the inspirations of genius 
 result from sublimer stimuli, and require both motives 
 and models from an incorporeal world. Those mo- 
 tives and models revelation furnishes, in a higher de- 
 gree and of a holier kind than were ever elsewhere 
 furnished ; and the scholar is now encouraged in his 
 efforts and in his anticipations by the indications of 
 
SENTIMENTS INSPIRED BY THE BIBLE. 309 
 
 Providence as well as the language of prophecy, 
 since it is impossible for him not to see, in the light 
 the Bible sheds upon his prospects, that great and 
 benign results must follow from the operation of that 
 moral machinery which is beginning to bear upon 
 the world. 
 
 It has been truly said that science is the hand- 
 maid of religion ; and it may be as truly said that 
 religion, especially revealed religion, is the patroness 
 of science ; for, though its direct object is to make 
 man holy, in effecting this it cannot fail to make him 
 wise also. Without regard to rank or condition, the 
 Bible furnishes both the means and motives to im- 
 provement, in whatever language it is read, and far 
 as its editions circulate. Imbodying a system of 
 history the most authentic and the most ancient, a 
 system of morals the most pure, and of theology 
 the most sublime, it carries this epitome of universal 
 truth to every cottage, bringing its quickening and 
 mighty influence to bear on the native elements of 
 individual character, as they exist in all the varieties 
 of a changeful and scattered population. Its spe- 
 cimens of composition are as finished as its maxims 
 of wisdom are profound. The study of it, there- 
 fore, must tend to purify the taste as well as the 
 heart, to fix the habit of investigation, and to sharpen 
 the appetite for knowledge : nor is it possible that 
 any kindred or nation should continue either igno- 
 rant or degraded among whom the Bible has been 
 distributed, and by whom it is studied and revered ; 
 and it is now perceptible that the sphere it fills is 
 rapidly enlarging, and that the influence it exerts is 
 becoming more extensive and decided. 
 
310 DIFFUSION OF THE BIBLE. 
 
 We pa&s onward, therefore, to encounter new dif- 
 ficulties and to achieve new triumphs with increased 
 confidence, inasmuch as religion is bringing fresh 
 auxiliaries to our aid, and experience supplying new 
 proofs that God is on our side. It can no longer 
 be a question whether the world is to be filled with 
 other knowledge, since it is about to be filled with 
 the knowledge of his word. 
 
 There was a time when priests alone were capa- 
 ble of reading, and when even many of them pos- 
 sessed not the Bible. Now its entire text is stereo- 
 typed in diflTerent languages, and the press in many 
 a land is perpetually employed in throwing off new 
 copies of the history of Moses, the dramatic com- 
 positions of Job, the Lyrics of David, the Proverbs 
 of Solomon, the Prophecies of Isaiah, the Lamenta- 
 tions of Jeremiah, and the piercing rebuke of Zeph- 
 aniah and Habakkuk ; together with whatever else of 
 wisdom and goodness, of grace and mercy, of beau- 
 ty and grandeur, either the prophets or evangelists 
 contain. Agents, too, are actively employed in scat- 
 tering these productions among every caste, and 
 wide as the race of men are scattered. 
 
 And is it to be believed that the Scriptures of both 
 Testaments are to be read by the millions of the hu- 
 man family, and yet those millions continue to groan 
 in bondage and grovel in ignorance ? Where has 
 the Bible ever entered that arts and science, that mu- 
 sic, and painting, and sculpture, and poetry, and elo- 
 quence have not followed in its train ? Nowhere : 
 nor will it hereafter. 
 
 Within the limits traced by its circulation, even 
 now is found all that renders life a blessing and being 
 
OBLIGATIONS OF SCIENCE TO THE BIBLE. 311 
 
 desirable ; but cross those limits, and you leave be- 
 hind you whatever is lofty and endearing, and you 
 see around you only that which is debased and re- 
 volting. 
 
 To the Bible science owes a mighty debt, which 
 the friends of science should be neither reluctant to 
 acknowledge nor slack to pay. Nor is it only on 
 account of the aid it gives to other science, but also 
 on account of that science which itself alone con- 
 tains, that we are called upon to array ourselves 
 among its advocates and its defenders. 
 
 The advance of political science will, it may be 
 hoped, ameliorate the sufferings, multiply the com- 
 forts, extend the privileges, and elevate the character 
 of man. The world itself may perchance become a 
 republic in government as well as letters. Progress 
 in the arts may increase the efficacy of remedies, 
 diminish the inveteracy of diseases, and prolong the 
 duration of life. Still death will be not the less 
 dreadful, since it will be not the less inevitable. 
 There is a limit to everything but omnipotence ; and, 
 however skill may delay, it cannot prevent man's 
 ultimate mortality. 
 
 The grave is, and, in spite of all our efforts, will 
 continue to be, as appointed, the house of all living. 
 No elixir that will render man immortal remains by 
 future analysis to be revealed. Nor is there any 
 hope that synthetic chymistry will, in its progress, 
 reverse the process of final dissolution, recompose 
 the ashes of the urn, and reproduce those fabrics de- 
 molished by death. In the mean time, shadowy 
 forms satisfy not the fabled inhabitants even of Elys- 
 ian fields ; nor has philosophy been able to discover 
 
312 UNIOK OF SCIENCE AND RELIGION. 
 
 a more substantial residence, or song to inspire a 
 less visionary hope. 
 
 After all, it is the Bible, and the Bible only, that 
 meets the case, and supplies a remedy to the mis- 
 eries of man. Its sublimer chymistry, distancing 
 our puny efforts and dissipating our childish fears, 
 reveals a process by which the desolations oi a thou- 
 sand generations shall in a moment be repaired, and 
 heaven enriched with new forms of beauty, repro- 
 duced immortal from the ruins of the sepulchre. 
 
 Astronomy, indeed, has disabused reason of many 
 a superstition, and extended to many an unknown 
 orb the range of human vision ; but no star which 
 the telescope reveals casts so benign or cheering a 
 light across a benighted sinner's pathway as the Star 
 of Bethlehem ; nor does any sun guide up the eye 
 of man to a firmament so high, so holy, or so endu- 
 ring, as that made visible by the Sun of Righteous- 
 ness. 
 
 Let us, then, hereafter connect Jerusalem with 
 Athens ; entwine the ivy of Parnassus around the 
 cedar of Lebanon ; weave into the wreath of flow- 
 erets plucked from the Vale of Tempe, the rose ot 
 Sharon, and remember at our festivals that among 
 the hills of Palestine there is a hill of tenderer in- 
 terest and of higher hope than either Ida or Olympus. 
 Yes : let us plant the bauner of religion in the vesti- 
 bule of science ; nor feel that our object is accom- 
 plislied till we shall have rendered her temple, al- 
 ready sacred to Truth, sacred also to DevotioD. 
 
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