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 REMAINS 
 
 OF THE LATE 
 
 REV. CHARLES WOLFE, A. B. 
 
LONDON 
 PRINTED BY S. AND II. BENTLEY, DORSET STREET. 
 

 
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REMAINS 
 
 Or THE LATE 
 
 REV. CHARLES WOLFE, A. B 
 
 CURATE OF DONOUCI-IMORE, DIOCESS OF ARA'AGH. 
 
 WITH A BRIEF 
 
 MEMOIR OF HIS LIFE. 
 
 BY THE 
 
 REV. JOHN A. RUSSELL, M. A 
 
 ARCHDEACON OF CLOGHER. 
 
 THIRD EDITION. 
 
 LONDON: 
 
 PRINTED FOR 
 
 HAMILTON, ADAMS, AND CO., 33, PATERNOSTER ROW 
 M.DCCC.XXVII. 
 
PREFACE. 
 
 IT was long a matter of painful doubt 
 to the Editor whether he should be justi- 
 fiable in committing to the press the col- 
 lection of Remains contained in this volume ; 
 convinced as he was that none of them 
 were ever designed for that purpose by the 
 Author himself, who, indeed, would have 
 shrunk from the idea of publication. How- 
 ever, his hesitation has been overborne by 
 the strong hope that they may prove gene- 
 rally instructive as well as interesting, and 
 afford a peculiar gratification to a wide circle 
 of friends. 
 
 b 
 
 520245 
 
ii * * * * 
 
 : *- . v :s*:%/ 
 
 VI PREFACE. 
 
 It was at first intended to publish the 
 Sermons only ; but, on a more mature con- 
 sideration, it seemed advisable to give a 
 short account of the Author, interspersed 
 with his poems and other remains, particu- 
 larly as many of them have been for a con- 
 siderable time in private circulation amongst 
 a few acquaintances, and would, most pro- 
 bably, have found their way to the press 
 in some other shape. In fact, their pub- 
 lication appeared inevitable ; and it there- 
 fore seemed better that they should go 
 forth to the public through the hands of 
 a friend, who was in possession of all the 
 original manuscripts, and who had also the 
 happiness of an uninterrupted intimacy and 
 communication with the Author, from the 
 time he entered college until his lamented 
 death. 
 
 The state in which the papers were 
 committed to him rendered it a task of 
 greater labour to select, arrange, and trail- 
 
PREFACE. vii 
 
 scribe them for the press, than can easily 
 be imagined. This circumstance, and the 
 late arrival of some promised communica- 
 tions, caused a greater delay in the pub- 
 lication than the writer could have antici- 
 pated. 
 
 The miscellaneous nature of the work 
 may possibly render it more generally use- 
 ful than one exclusively upon religious sub- 
 jects. Many, who admire the raptures of 
 the poet, may be induced to regard with re- 
 verence the instructions of the divine : they 
 may feel a peculiar desire to mark what 
 thoughts a heart, animated by the Muse, 
 can bring forth when hallowed by a loftier 
 and purer inspiration. 
 
 The Editor is painfully conscious how 
 imperfect is the sketch which he has here 
 given of the Author's life and character ; 
 and must throw himself upon the indulgence 
 of the friends who are most deeply inter- 
 ested in the work, with an humble hope 
 
Vlll PREFACE. 
 
 that they will make candid allowance for 
 any error of judgment, or defect in exe- 
 cution, which they may observe in the per- 
 formance of the pleasing but anxious task 
 he has had to fulfil. 
 
CONTENTS. 
 
 PAGE 
 
 Memoir . .... 1 
 
 " Jugurtha incarcerates, vitam ingemit relictam" . 8 
 Battle of Busaco ; Deliverance of Portugal . .19 
 
 Burial of Sir John Moore .... 29 
 
 Spanish Song . ... 37 
 
 The Grave of Dermid .... 38 
 
 Song . . 42 
 
 Song . .44 
 
 The Frailty of Beauty . . 45 
 
 The College Course ... 49 
 
 Patriotism . 64 
 
 Fragments of a Speech delivered in the Chair, in the 
 
 Historical Society . . 70 
 
 Farewell to Lough Bray . . . .97 
 
 Song . . . 99 
 
 The Dargle . . . . . .101 
 
 Birth-day Poem . . . . .108 
 
 Song . . . . - . .111 
 
 To a Friend . . . . .113 
 
 Speech before a Meeting of the Irish Tract Society, 
 
 Edinburgh, May 1821 . . .172 
 
X CONTENTS. 
 
 SERMONS. 
 
 PAGE 
 
 SERMON I. 
 
 ECCLESIASTES, xli. 1. 
 
 Remember now thy Creator in the days of thy youth 223 
 
 SERMON II. 
 HEBREWS, xi. 1. 
 
 Faith is the substance of things hoped for ; the evidence 
 of things not seen . ' . . . . 240 
 
 SERMON III. 
 
 GENESIS, i. 26. 
 
 And God said, Let us make man in our image, after 
 our likeness . . . . .257 
 
 SERMON IV. 
 MATTHEW, xiii. 44. 
 
 The kingdom of Heaven is like unto treasure hid in a 
 field ; the which when a man hath found, he hideth, 
 and for joy thereof goeth, and selleth all that he hath, 
 and buyeth thatfeld .... 275 
 
 SERMON V. 
 MATTHEW, xi. 28. 
 
 Come unto me, all ye that labour, and are heavy laden } 
 and I will give you rest . ., 288 
 
 SERMON VI. 
 MATTHEW, ix. 12. 
 
 They that be whole need not a physician^ but they that 
 are sick . ... 306 
 
CONTENTS. XI 
 
 SERMON VII. 
 
 1 CORINTHIANS, vi. 20. 
 
 PAGE 
 
 Ye are bought with a price . . . 323 
 
 SERMON VIII. 
 
 COLOSSIANS, iii. 2. 
 
 Set your affections on things above, not on things on the 
 earth . . . . . .339 
 
 SERMON IX. 
 LUKE, ix. 23. 
 
 And he said to them ally If any man will come after me, 
 let him deny himself, and take up his cross daily and 
 follow me . . . . . 350 
 
 SERMON X. 
 
 MATTHEW, xi. 30. 
 
 My yoke is easy, and my btirden is light . . . 364 
 
 SERMON XI 
 
 ROMANS, v. 12. 
 
 By one man sin entered into the world . . 378 
 
 SERMON XII. 
 1 CORINTHIANS, xiii. 12, 13. 
 
 Now we see through a glass darkly, but then face to 
 
 face : now I know in part ; but then shall I know 
 
 even as also I am known. And now abideth Faith, 
 
 Hope, Charity, these three ; but the greatest of these 
 
 is Charity ..... 395 
 
Xll CONTENTS. 
 
 SERMON XIII. 
 ECCLESIASTES, viii. 11. 
 
 PAGE 
 
 Because sentence against an evil work is not executed 
 speedily ; therefore the heart of the sons of men is 
 fully set in them to do evil .... 409 
 
 SERMON XIV. 
 1 JOHN, iv. 10. 
 
 Herein is love, not that we loved God) but that he loved 
 us, and sent his Son to be the propitiation for our 
 sins . . . . .425 
 
 SERMON XV. 
 1 CORINTHIANS, x. 13. 
 
 There hath no temptation taken you but such as is com- 
 mon to man ; but God is faithful, who will not suffer 
 you to be tempted above that ye are able ; but will 
 with the temptation also make a way to escape, that 
 ye may be able to bear it . 437 
 
 APPENDIX. 
 
 Observations on Religious Poetry . 449 
 
 Jesus raising Lazarus .... 453 
 
 On the Death of Abel (prize poem) . . . 454 
 
 Graecia capta ferum Victorem cepit . . 461 
 
 Principiis Obsta . 462 
 
 Ira furor brevis est . . . . - 462 
 
 Miscellaneous Thoughts .... 463 
 
REMAINS 
 
 OF 
 
 THE REV. CHARLES WOLFE. 
 
 IN attempting to sketch even a brief Me- 
 moir of a friend, whose existence had been for 
 many years blended with our own, there are 
 difficulties which may be more easily conceiv-. 
 ed than described. 
 
 It is hard to restrain the pen from the ex- 
 pression of feelings which to others would be 
 tedious and uninteresting. It is hard also 
 to speak fully and freely of the immediate 
 subject of the narrative, without an apparent 
 self-obtrusion. This, however, shall be care- 
 fully avoided in the present little work ; the 
 object of which is simply, to collect the 
 Remains, and record a few particulars of the 
 life and character of one, little known to the 
 
 B 
 
2 REMAINS OF 
 
 world ; but who, throughout the circle in 
 which he moved, excited an interest which 
 cannot easily be forgotten, and diffused bless- 
 ings with which his name and his memory will 
 long be held in grateful association. 
 
 Amidst the pensive recollections awakened 
 by an attempt to record the life of a departed 
 friend, there may be much to afford comfort 
 and instruction to one's self, which it -vquld 
 be difficult, perhaps impossible, to convey to 
 an uninterested reader. It can easily be con- 
 ceived in general, with what a tender and 
 prevailing influence the instructions received 
 at former periods of life come home to the 
 heart, when they are associated with the recol- 
 lection of the amiable qualities, the exalted 
 principles, and the early death of a cherished 
 friend, from whom they have been imbibed. 
 " Amidst the sadness of such a remembrance 
 " (says an eloquent writer),* it will be a con- 
 " solation that they are not entirely lost to us. 
 " Wise monitions, when they return on us 
 " with this melancholy charm, have more pa- 
 " thetic cogency tharir when they were first ut- 
 " tered by the voice of a living friend." " It 
 
 * Foster's Essays, p. 16. 
 
THE REV. C. WOLFE. 1 
 
 " will be an interesting occupation to recount 
 " the advantages which we have received from 
 " beings who have left the world, and to rein- 
 " force our virtues from the dust of those 
 " who first taught them." 
 
 Such have been the feelings of the writer, 
 and such will probably be the feelings of other 
 friends upon the recollections which this little 
 memoir may awaken. But upon these senti- 
 ments it is unnecessary, as it would perhaps 
 be obtrusive, to dilate. I shall therefore pass 
 on to the immediate subject of the memoir. 
 
 To those who have personally known him 
 whose Remains are presented in this volume 
 to the public, it may be satisfactory to learn 
 some particulars of his life. 
 
 Charles Wolfe was the youngest son of 
 Theobald Wolfe, Esq. of Blackball, county 
 Kildare. His mother was the daughter of the 
 Rev. Peter Lombard. He was born in Dublin, 
 14th December, in the year 1791. The family 
 from which he was descended has not been un- 
 distinguished. Through the military achieve- 
 ments of the illustrious hero of Quebec, the 
 name stands conspicuous upon the records of 
 British renown. It has also been signalised 
 
 B 2 
 
4 REMAINS OF 
 
 at the Irish bar, especially in the person of the 
 much-lamented Lord Kilwarden, one of the 
 same family, who was elevated to the dignity 
 of the judicial bench. At an early age the 
 subject of this memoir lost his father ; not 
 long after whose death the family removed to 
 England, where they resided for some years. 
 Charles was sent to a school in Bath in the 
 year 1801 ; from which, in a few months, he 
 was obliged to return home in consequence of 
 the delicacy of his health, which interrupted 
 his education for twelve months. Upon his 
 recovery, he was placed under the tuition of 
 Dr. Evans, in Salisbury, from which he was 
 removed in the year 1805 ; and soon after was 
 sent as a boarder to Winchester school, of 
 which Mr. Richards sen. was then the able 
 master. There he soon distinguished himself 
 by his great proficiency in classical knowledge, 
 and by his early powers of Latin and Greek 
 versification, and displayed ' the dawnings of 
 a genius which promised to set him amidst 
 that bright constellation of British poets which 
 adorns the literature of the present age. 
 
 The many high testimonies to his amiable 
 disposition and superior talents, which -are sup- 
 
THE HEY. C. WOLFE. 5 
 
 plied by the affectionate letters of his school- 
 masters, shew that he was not overvalued by 
 his own family, with every member of which he 
 seems to have been the special favourite. I can- 
 not better describe the manner in which his cha- 
 racter as a boy was appreciated at school and 
 at home, and how deservedly it was so prized, 
 than in the following simple language of a very 
 near relative, to whom I am indebted for some 
 of the particulars of his life already mentioned. 
 " The letters I enclose you bear testimony to 
 " the amiable character of my dear, dear 
 " Charles, such as I ever remember it. Those 
 " from Mr. Richards I can better estimate than 
 " any one else, from knowing that he was not 
 " easily pleased in a pupil, or apt to flatter. 
 " He was greatly attracted by superior talents; 
 " but you will see that he speaks of qualities 
 " of more value. He never received even a 
 ' slight punishment or reprimand at any school 
 " to which he ever went ; and in nearly twelve 
 " years that he was under my mother's care, I 
 " cannot recollect that he ever acted contrary 
 " to her wishes, or caused her a moment's 
 " pain, except parting with her when he went 
 " to school. I do not know whether he ever 
 
6 REMAINS OF 
 
 " told you that he had, when a boy, a wish to 
 " enter the army, which was acquired by being 
 " in the way of military scenes ; but, when he 
 " found it would give his mother pain, he to- 
 " tally gave up the idea, which I am sure, all his 
 " life, he thanked God that he had done. In 
 " 1808 he left Winchester (where he had been 
 " three years), owing to our coming to Ireland, 
 " as my mother could not think of leaving him 
 " behind. His company was her first earthly 
 " comfort, and she could not relinquish it; 
 " indeed, we used to count the hours when the 
 " time drew near that he was expected. We 
 " were often told that we should spoil him, but 
 " you know whether it was so. When we arrived 
 " in Ireland, it was intended that he should go 
 " to some other school ; but he did not go to 
 " any, nor had he any one to read with him, so 
 " that he entered college with much less pre- 
 " vious instruction than most others. I believe 
 " you knew him soon after; and I need not tell 
 " you of him since, or what he has been, even if 
 " I could. I have never heard of a schoolfellow 
 " or a college acquaintance who did not respect 
 " or love him; but I will not say more to you" 
 The pleasing testimony to his character and 
 
THE REV. C. WOLFE. 7 
 
 abilities contained in this extract is indeed 
 fully borne out by the accounts which some of 
 his schoolfellows have given of him to the 
 writer. They spoke of him with the strongest 
 affection, and represented him as the pride of 
 Winchester school. Some of the poems and 
 Latin verses by w r hich he distinguished him- 
 self there, shall appear at the close of this 
 volume. 
 
 In the year 1809, he entered the University 
 of Dublin, under the tuition of the late Rev. 
 Dr. Davenport, who immediately conceived the 
 highest interest for him, and continued to shew 
 it by special proofs of his favour. In a few 
 months after his entrance, the writer had the 
 happiness of becoming acquainted with him. 
 This casual acquaintance soon became a cordial 
 intimacy, which quickly ripened into a friend- 
 ship that continued not only uninterrupted, but 
 was cemented more and more by constant in- 
 tercourse, and by community of pursuits : it 
 was, above all, improved and sweetened by an 
 unreserved interchange of thoughts on those 
 subjects which affect our eternal interests, and 
 open to us the prospects of friendships which 
 death can only suspend, but not destroy. 
 
8 REMAINS OF 
 
 Our author immediately distinguished him- 
 self by his high classical attainments, for which 
 he was early rewarded by many academical 
 honours. The first English poem which at- 
 tracted general notice was written very early 
 in his college course, upon a subject proposed 
 by the heads of the university. It evinces a 
 boldness of thought, a vigour of expression, and 
 somewhat of a dramatic spirit, which seems to 
 entitle it to a place in this little collection ; and 
 it shall therefore be presented first in order 
 to the reader. The prison-scene of Jugurtha 
 (which is the subject of the poem) gave the 
 author full scope for a masterly exhibition of 
 the darkest and deadliest passions of human 
 nature in fierce conflict. Disappointed ambi- 
 tion, revenge, despair, remorse, were to be re- 
 presented as raging by turns in the captive's 
 mind, or dashing, as it were, against each 
 other, and struggling for utterance. The sub- 
 ject was proposed in the following form 
 
 " JUGURTHA INCARCERATUS, VITAM INGEMIT 
 RELICTAM." 
 
 Well is the rack prepared the pincers heated ? 
 Where is the scourge ? How ! not employ 'd in Rome ? 
 
THE KEV. C. WOLFE. 
 
 We have them in Numidia. Not in Rome ? 
 
 I'm sorry for it ; I could enjoy it now; 
 
 I might have felt them yesterday ; but now, 
 
 Now I have seen my funeral procession : 
 
 The chariot-wheels of Marius have roll'd o'er me : 
 
 His horses' hoofs have trampled me in triumph, > 
 
 I have attain'd that terrible consummation 
 
 My soul could stand aloof, and from on high 
 
 Look down upon the ruins of my body, 
 
 Smiling in apathy : I feel no longer ; 
 
 I challenge Rome to give another pang. 
 
 Gods ! how he smiled, when he beheld me pause 
 
 Before his car, and scowl upon the mob ; 
 
 The curse of Rome was burning on my lips, 
 
 And I had gnaw'd my chain, and hurl'd it at them, 
 
 But that I knew he would have smiled again. 
 
 O v 
 
 A king ! and led before the gaudy Marius, 
 Before those shouting masters of the world, 
 As if I had been conquer'd ; while each street, 
 Each peopled wall, and each insulting window, 
 Peal'd forth their brawling triumphs o'er my head. 
 Oh ! for a lion from thy woods, Numidia ! 
 Or had I, in that moment of disgrace, 
 Enjoy'd the freedom but of yonder slave, 
 I would have made my monument in Rome. 
 Yet am I not that fool, that Roman fool, 
 To think disgrace entombs the hero's soul, 
 For ever damps his fires, and dims his glories ; 
 That no bright laurel can adorn the brow 
 
10 REMAINS OF 
 
 That once has bow'd ; no victory's trumpet-sound 
 
 Can drown in joy the rattling of his chains : 
 
 No ; could one glimpse of victory and vengeance 
 
 Dart preciously across me, I could kiss 
 
 Thy footstep's dust again ; then all in flame, 
 
 With Massiriissa's energies unquench'd, 
 
 Start from beneath thy chariot-wheels, and grasp 
 
 The gory laurel reeking in my view, 
 
 And force a passage through disgrace to glory 
 
 Victory ! Vengeance ! Glory ! Oh these chains ! 
 
 My soul's in fetters, too ; for, from this moment, 
 
 Through all eternity I see but death ; 
 
 To me there 's nothing future now, but death : 
 
 Then come and let me gloom upon the past. 
 
 So then Numidia's lost; those daring projects 
 
 (Projects that ne'er were breathed to mortal man, 
 
 That would have startled Marius on his car), 
 
 Overthrown, defeated ! What avails it now, 
 
 That my proud views despised the narrow limits, 
 
 Which minds that span and measure out ambition 
 
 Had fix'd to mine ; and, while I seem'd intent 
 
 On savage subjects and Numidian forests, 
 
 My soul had pass'd the bounds of Africa ! 
 
 Defeated, overthrown ! yet to the last 
 
 Ambition taught me hope, and still my mind, 
 
 Through danger, flight, and carnage, grasp'd dominion ; 
 
 And had not Bocchus curses, curses on him ! v 
 
 What Rome has done, she did it for ambition ; 
 
 What Rome has done, I might I would have done ; 
 
THE REV. C. WOLFE. 11 
 
 What thou hast done, thou wretch ! Oh had she proved 
 
 Nobly deceitful ; had she seized the traitor, 
 
 And join'd him with the fate of the betrayed, 
 
 I had forgiven her all ; for he had been 
 
 The consolation of my prison hours ; 
 
 I could forget my woes in stinging him ; 
 
 And if, before this day, his little soul 
 
 Had not in bondage wept itself away, 
 
 Rome and Jugurtha should have triumph 'd o'er him. 
 
 Look here, thou caitiff, if thou canst, and see 
 
 The fragments of Jugurtha ; view him wrapt 
 
 In the last shred he borrowed from Numidia ; 
 
 'Tis covered with the dust of Rome ; behold 
 
 His rooted gaze upon the chains he wears, 
 
 And on the channels they have wrought upon him ; 
 
 Then look around upon his dungeon walls, 
 
 And view yon scanty mat, on which his frame 
 
 He flings, and rushes from his thoughts to sleep. 
 
 Sleep ! 
 
 1 11 sleep no more, until I sleep for ever : 
 When I slept last, I heard Adherbal scream. 
 I'll sleep no more ! I'll think until I die: 
 My eyes shall pore upon my miseries, 
 Until my miseries shall be no more. 
 Yet wherefore did he scream ? Why, I have heard 
 His living scream, it was not half so frightful. 
 Whence comes the difference? When the man was 
 
 living, 
 Why, I did gaze upon his couch of torments 
 
12 REMAINS OF 
 
 With placid vengeance, and each anguish'd cry 
 
 Gave me stern satisfaction ; now he's dead, 
 
 And his lips move not ; yet his voice's image 
 
 Flash'd such a dreadful darkness o'er my soul, 
 
 I would not mount Numidia's throne again, 
 
 Did every night bring such a scream as that. 
 
 Oh yes, 'twas I that caused that living one, 
 
 And therefore did its echo seem so frightful : 
 
 If 'twere to do again, I would not kill thee ; 
 
 Wilt thou not be contented? But thou say'st, 
 
 " My father was to thee a father also ; 
 
 " He watch'd thy infant years, he gave thee all 
 
 " That youth could ask, and scarcely manhood came 
 
 " Than came a kingdom also ; yet didst thou" 
 
 Oh I am faint ! they have not brought me food 
 
 How did I not perceive it until now ? 
 
 Hold, my Numidian cruise is still about me 
 
 No drop within Oh faithful friend ! companion 
 
 Of many a weary march and thirsty day, 
 
 'Tis the first time^that thou hast fail'd my lips. 
 
 Gods ! I 'm in tears ! I did not think of weeping. 
 
 Oh, Marius, wilt thou ever feel like this ? 
 
 Ha ! I behold the ruins of a city ; 
 
 And on a craggy fragment sits a form 
 
 That seems in ruins also : how unmoved, 
 
 How stern he looks ! Amazement ! it is Marius ! 
 
 Ha ! Marius, think'st thou now, upon Jugurtha ? 
 
 He turns ! he 's caught my eye ! I see no more ! 
 
THE REV. C. WOLFE. 13 
 
 The above poem was written in the first 
 year of his college course, at which early 
 period he had gained the highest distinction 
 amongst his contemporaries for his classical 
 attainments. Towards the close of the same 
 year, he had to sustain a severe domestic afflic- 
 tion, in the death of his mother, an event 
 which wrought upon his affectionate heart an 
 impression of the deepest regret. 
 
 As soon as he was enabled to resume his 
 studies, he entered upon them with diligence. 
 He did not, at first, apply with much inter- 
 est or assiduity to the course of science pre- 
 scribed in our university ; and it appears that 
 the circumstance which first led him to be- 
 stow upon it the attention proportioned to its 
 importance, was a desire to assist some less 
 gifted acquaintance in that branch of his aca- 
 demic pursuits. This was indeed truly charac- 
 teristic of his natural disposition, which ever 
 led him to apply himself with greater zeal in 
 promoting the advantage or interest of others 
 than his own. It had, however, a favourable 
 effect upon his own studies, as it drew out 
 his talents for scientific acquirements, and gave 
 such an impulse to his progress that he soon 
 
14 11EMAINS OF 
 
 after won the prize from the most distin- 
 guished competitors, at an examination in 
 which the severer sciences formed the leading 
 subjects. When his circumstances, some time 
 afterwards, rendered it expedient for him to 
 undertake the duties of a college tutor, he dis- 
 charged the task with such singular devoted- 
 ness and disinterested anxiety, as materially to 
 entrench upon his own particular studies. He 
 was indeed so prodigal of his labour and of 
 his time to each pupil, that he reserved little 
 leisure for his own pursuits or relaxations. 
 
 At the usual period he obtained a scholar- 
 ship, with the highest honour, upon which he 
 immediately became a resident in college. A 
 new theatre of literary honour was opened to 
 him at the commencement of the same year, 
 where his genius for composition in prose and 
 verse, and his natural powers of oratorical ex- 
 cellence, had more ample sphere for exercise 
 and cultivation. In the Historical Society, of 
 which he was now admitted a member, they 
 were encouraged and expanded by the stimulus 
 of generous competition, and by constant men- 
 tal collision with the most accomplished and 
 enlightened of his fellow-students. He soon 
 
THE REV. C. WOLFE. 15 
 
 obtained medals for oratory, and for composi- 
 tions in prose and verse; and was early ap- 
 pointed to the honourable office of opening the 
 sessions, after the summer recess, by a speech 
 from the chair. This was the grand post of 
 distinction to which the most successful speak- 
 ers in the society continually aspired. The 
 main object of the address was to unfold the 
 advantages resulting from the Institution, and 
 to expatiate at large upon its three leading 
 departments, History, Poetry, and Oratory. 
 Our author, though he had not fully completed 
 his speech, was received with the highest ap- 
 plause, and the gold medal was adjudged to 
 him by unanimous acclamation. This speech 
 seems never to have been written out fairly ; 
 but some fragments of it have been preserved, 
 which, with a few other of his early produc- 
 tions, shall be presented to the reader in the 
 course of this volume. 
 
 Most of his poems were written within a 
 very short period, during his abode in college ; 
 but the order in which they were composed 
 cannot be exactly ascertained. It is not the 
 editor's object to enter into any minute critique 
 upon the several fugitive little pieces which are 
 
16 REMAINS OF 
 
 here collected together. They shall be accom- 
 panied principally with such brief notices as 
 may appear necessary to throw light upon the 
 occasions which gave rise to them, and the cir- 
 cumstances under which they were written. 
 
 The next specimen of his poetical talents, 
 which it may not be uninteresting to insert 
 here, seems to have been but little valued by 
 himself, as he never took the trouble of tran- 
 scribing more than a few lines from the first 
 rude sketch. His native modesty, and the fas- 
 tidious judgment which he exercised over all 
 his own compositions, led him often to under- 
 value what even his most judicious friends 
 approved and admired. 
 
 The subject of the present poem is one of 
 great historical interest. It chiefly refers to 
 the battle of Busaco, which first inspired the 
 allied armies with mutual confidence, and led 
 the way to those successful struggles which 
 terminated in the complete deliverance of Por- 
 tugal from the usurpation and tyranny of France. 
 A brief account of this engagement, extracted 
 from the Edinburgh Annual Register (vol. iii. 
 p. 462), may form an appropriate introduction 
 to the poem. 
 
THE REV. C. WOLFE. 17 
 
 " Busaco, which was now to become fa- 
 " mous in British history, had long been a 
 " venerable name in Portugal. It is the only 
 " place in that kingdom where the barefooted 
 -' Carmelites possessed what, in their language, 
 " is called a desert, an establishment where 
 " those brethren whose devotion flies to the 
 " highest pitch, may at once enjoy the ad- 
 " vantage of the eremite, with the security of 
 " the cenobite life ; one of those places where 
 " man has converted an earthly paradise into 
 " a purgatory for himself, but where super- 
 " stition almost seems sanctified by every 
 " thing around it. The solitude and silence 
 " of Busaco were now to be broken by events, 
 " in which its hermits, dead as they were to 
 " the world, might be permitted to feel all the 
 " agitation of worldly hope and fear. The 
 " British and Portuguese army was posted 
 " along the ridge, extending nearly eight 
 " miles, and forming the segment of a circle, 
 " whose extreme points embraced every part 
 " of the enemy's position, and from whence 
 " every movement of the enemy below could 
 " be immediately observed. On the 26th 
 " Sept. 1810, the light troops on both sides 
 
 c 
 
18 BEMAINS OF 
 
 " were engaged throughout the line; at six 
 " on the following morning, the French made 
 " two desperate attacks upon Lord Welling- 
 " ton's position ; one on the right, the other 
 " on the left of the highest point of the sierra : 
 >' this spot is remarkable, as commanding one 
 " of the most extensive views in Portugal ; 
 " and on the very summit stands a cross, 
 " planted upon a basis of masonry of such 
 " magnitude, that it is said three thousand 
 " carts of stone were used in the work. One 
 " division of French infantry gained the top 
 " of the ridge, and was driven back with the 
 " bayonet ; another division, farther on the 
 " right, was repulsed before it could reach the 
 " top. On the left they made their attack 
 " with three divisions, only one of which 
 " made any progress towards the summit, and 
 " this was charged with the bayonet, and 
 " driven down with immense loss. Some of 
 " the Portuguese charging a superior force, 
 " got so wedged in among them, that they 
 " had not room to use their bayonets ; they 
 " turned up the but-ends of their muskets, 
 " and plied them with such vigour, as com- 
 " pletely to clear the way." 
 
THE REV. C. WOLFE. 19 
 
 BATTLE OF BUSACO ; DELIVERANCE OF 
 PORTUGAL. 
 
 The breeze sigh'd sadly o'er the midnight flood ; 
 
 On Lisbon's towers Don Henry's spirit stood : 
 
 He wore not helm, he wore not casque ; his hair 
 
 Streamed like a funeral banner in the air : 
 
 In mournful attitude, with aspect drear, 
 
 He held reversed his country's guardian spear ; 
 
 Dark was his eye, and gloomy was his brow, 
 
 He gazed with sternness on the wave below ; 
 
 Then thrice aloft the deathful spear he shook, 
 
 While sorrow's torrent from his bosom broke : 
 
 Fiends ! may the angel of destruction shed 
 
 This blood-red cup of horrors on your head ! 
 
 Throughout your camp may hell-born demons play, 
 
 Grin ruin to your host, and howl dismay ! 
 
 Was it for this, dear, desolated shore ! 
 
 I taught proud Commerce here her gifts to pour, 
 
 Allured from fairer Italy the maid, 
 
 And here the ground- works of the empire laid ? 
 
 Is there a bolt to mortal guidance given ? 
 
 Where are the thundVing delegates of Heaven ? 
 
 Through Europe's plains the tyrant's voice is heard, 
 
 And blood-red anarchy her flag has rear'd, 
 
 Rolled round her gorgon-eyes from native France, 
 
 And petrified the nations with a glance ; 
 
 Affrighted Italy her blasted vines 
 
 Has dropped, and Spain let fall her orange linos, 
 
20 HE MAINS OF 
 
 And tough Teutonic forests, though they broke 
 Awhile her force, yet yielded to the stroke. 
 Where shall I turn, where find the free, the brave, 
 A heart to pity, and an arm to save ? 
 To Britain, glorious Britain, will I call, 
 Her bulwark, valour, and the sea, her wall. 
 Around her crest, Gaul's javelins idly play, 
 And glance with baffled impotence away ; 
 Her hands the reddening bolts of vengeance bear, 
 Fate 's on her helm, and death upon her spear ; 
 She scorns at Victory's shrine her vows to pay, 
 She grasps the laurel, she commands the day. 
 England, what ! ho ! as thus the spectre spoke, 
 All Lisbon's turrets to their bases shook : 
 England, what ! ho ! again the spectre cried, 
 And trembling Tagus heaved with all his tide, 
 England, to arms ! at this dread call advance ! 
 Assist, defend, protect ! now tremble, France ! 
 He spoke, then plunged into the river's breast, 
 And Tagus wrapt him in his billowy vest. 
 O'er seas, o'er shores the solemn summons pass'd, 
 It rode upon the pinions of the blast : 
 The midnight shades are gone, the glooms are fled, 
 See ! the dawn broke as Britain rear'd her head ! 
 With Albion's spear upon her shield she smote ; 
 Through every island rung the inspiring note. 
 Roused at the sound, the English lion rose, 
 And burnt to meet hereditary foes ; 
 
THE REV. C. WOLFE. 21 
 
 From Highland rocks came every Scottish clan ; 
 
 Forward rush'd Erin's sons, and led the van : 
 
 The Usurper shook, then sent each chief of name, 
 
 Partners of victory, sharers of his fame, 
 
 Who bore Gaul's standard through the hostile throng, 
 
 While Lodi trembled as they rush'd along ; 
 
 Who traversed Egypt's plains and Syria's waste, 
 
 And left a red memorial where they pass'd ; 
 
 Who bathed, midst French and Austrian heaps of slain, 
 
 Their gory footsteps on Marengo's plain : 
 
 And those who laid the Prussian glories low, 
 
 Yet felt a Brunswick's last expiring blow ; 
 
 Who on Vimeira's heights were taught to feel 
 
 The vengeful fury of a freeman's steel ; 
 
 Who hung on British Moore in his retreat, 
 
 And purchased dear experience by defeat. 
 
 Such were the chiefs that Gaul's battalia led; 
 
 Yet England came, they met .her, and they fled. 
 
 At dark Busaco's foot stood France's might, 
 
 The hopes of Britain occupied the height. 
 
 Gaul's mantling terrors to the summit tend, 
 
 Hold, Britain, charge not, the attack suspend ; 
 
 Hush'd be the British whirlwind, not a breath 
 
 Be heard within thy host, be still as death ! 
 
 With gathering gloom comes France's dark array, 
 
 Rest, Britain, on thy arms, thy march delay 
 
 See ! France has gain'd the summit of the hill ! 
 
 See ! she advances ! Soldier, yet be still 
 
22 REMAINS OF 
 
 She's at our bayonets, touches every gun, 
 
 Now speed thee, England ! and the work is done. 
 
 Now where is France ? Yon mountain heap of dead, 
 
 Yon scattered band, will tell you how they sped ; 
 
 The dying groan, the penetrating yell, 
 
 May tell how quick she sunk, how soon she fell ; 
 
 Her sons are gone, her choicest blood is spilt, 
 
 Her brightest spear is shivered to the hilt. 
 
 Nor ceased they here ; but from the mountain height 
 
 Tempestuous Britain rolls to meet the fight, 
 
 Pours the full tide of battle o'er the plain, 
 
 And whelms beneath the waves its adverse train : 
 
 The vanquished squadrons dread an added loss ; 
 
 They skulk behind the rampart and the fosse ; 
 
 Why lingers Wellesley ? Does he fear their force ? 
 
 Dreads he their foot, or trembles at their horse ? 
 
 Alas ! by hands unseen he deals the blow, 
 
 By hands unseen he prostrates ev'ry foe. 
 
 One night (and France still shudders at that night, 
 
 Pregnant with death, with horror, and affright;) 
 
 One night on plans of victory intent, 
 
 A spy into the hostile camp he sent ; 
 
 It was a wretch, decrepit, shrivel'd, wild, 
 
 A haggard visage that had never smiled ; 
 
 The miscreant's jaws were never seen to close, 
 
 The miscreant's eyes had never known repose : 
 
 Swift to the Gallic camp she sped her way, . 
 
 And Britain's soldiers, ere the dawn of day, 
 
THE REV. C. AVOLFE. 23 
 
 Heard through the hostile tents her footstep's tread ; 
 
 For Famine raging Famine claim'd her dead ! 
 
 With frantic haste they fled the fatal post, 
 
 Long boldly held now miserably lost ; 
 
 Dismay, confusion through the rout appear, 
 
 Victorious Britain hangs upon their rear. 
 
 No, sweet Humanity ! I dare not tell 
 
 How infants bled, how mothers, husbands fell ; 
 
 I dare not paint the agonizing look, 
 
 The mother gave, when Gaul her infant took, 
 
 Took, and while yet the cherub's smile was fresh. 
 
 Pierced its fair limbs and tore its baby-flesh ; 
 
 I dare not paint the wife's transporting woe, 
 
 When sunk her husband by Massena's blow . 
 
 Hear, thou dread warrior ! hear, thou man of blood ! 
 
 Hear, thou, with female, infant gore imbrued ! 
 
 When, sinking in the horrors of the tomb, 
 
 The avenging angel shall pronounce thy doom 
 
 When war's loud yell grows faint, the drum's dead roll 
 
 Strikes languid, and more languid on the soul 
 
 When Britain's cannons may unheeded roar, 
 
 And Wellesley's name has power to fright no more, 
 
 Yon widow's shrieks shall pierce thee till thou rave, 
 
 And form a dread artillery in the grave ! 
 
 Heard ye that burst of joy? From Beira's coast 
 
 To Algarve's southern boundaries it crost ; 
 
 It passed from undulating Tagus 1 source, 
 
 And burst where Gaudiana holds his course. 
 
24 REMAINS OF 
 
 Farewell ! proud France! (they cried) thy power is broke; 
 Farev/ell for ever to thy iron yoke ! 
 But blest for ever be old Ocean's queen. 
 Still on his bosom may she reign serene. 
 When on these plains our future offspring gaze, 
 To, them our grateful heart shall sound thy praise. 
 To Britain's generous aid these plains we owe, 
 For us she drew the sword, and bent the bow. 
 We sunk, we crouched beneath a tyrant's hand 
 Victorious Britain loosed the usurper's band. 
 We bow'd to France, obey'd each stern decree, 
 Majestic Britain rose and all was free. 
 
 It requires no apology for introducing here 
 a poem already well known to the public the 
 Ode on the Burial of Sir John Moore. For 
 some years past it has excited considerable inte- 
 rest in the literary circles ; and it was men- 
 tioned by a highly respectable authority, as 
 having been long a matter of surprise among 
 them, that its author had not revealed his name, 
 or published any other similar production. 
 Subsequently to this account, it has obtained 
 a very general popularity from the splendid 
 eulogium pronounced upon it by the late Lord 
 Byron. Little as the author himself seemed to 
 
THE REV. C. WOLFE. 25 
 
 value the shadowy prize of poetic reputation, 
 or of any mere worldly distinction, it appears 
 but an act of literary justice to establish his 
 claim to the production of a poem so justly 
 and so honourably appreciated, by giving it a 
 place amongst his more valuable remains. The 
 noble poet's enthusiastic admiration of this 
 nameless and unpatronized effusion of genius, 
 is authenticated in a late work, entitled, "Med- 
 win's Conversations of Byron." The impress 
 of such a name upon the poetic merits of an 
 ode deemed not unworthy of his lordship's 
 own transcendent powers, is too valuable not 
 to be recorded here. 
 
 The passage alluded to occurs in vol. ii. p. 
 154, (second edit.) of the above-mentioned 
 publication, and is as follows : 
 
 " The conversation turned after dinner on 
 " the lyrical poetry of the day ; and a ques- 
 " tion arose as to which was the most perfect 
 " ode that had been produced. Shelley con- 
 " tended for Coleridge's on Switzerland, be- 
 " ginning ' Ye Clouds,' &c. ; others named 
 " some of Moore's Irish Melodies, and Camp- 
 " bell's Hohenlinden; and had Lord Byron 
 " not been present, his own Invocation in Man- 
 
26 REMAINS OF 
 
 " fred, or the Ode to Napoleon, or on Prome- 
 " theus, might have been cited. 
 
 " ' Like Gray,' said he, < Campbell smells 
 " too much of the oil : he is never satisfied 
 " with what he does ; his finest things have 
 " been spoiled by over-polish. Like paintings, 
 " poems may be too highly finished. The great 
 " art is effect, no matter how produced. 
 
 " ' I will shew you an ode you have never 
 " seen, that I consider little inferior to the 
 ' best which the present prolific age has 
 " brought forth.' With this, he left the table, 
 " almost before the cloth was removed, and 
 " returned with a magazine, from which he 
 " read the following lines on Sir John Moore's 
 " burial. 
 
 " * The feeling with which he recited these 
 " admirable stanzas I shall never forget. After 
 " he had come to an end, he repeated the 
 " third, and said it was perfect, particularly 
 " the lines 
 
 4 But he lay like a warrior taking his rest, 
 ' With his martial cloak around him.' 
 
 " ' I should have taken the whole,' said 
 Shelley, ' for a rough sketch of Campbell's.' 
 
THE REV. C. WOLFE. 27 
 
 " No,' replied Lord Byron ; ' Campbell 
 " would have claimed it, if it had been his/ " 
 
 The poem found its way to the press with- 
 out the concurrence or knowledge of the au- 
 thor. It was recited by a friend in presence 
 of a gentleman travelling towards the north of 
 Ireland, who was so much struck with it, that 
 he requested and obtained a copy ; and im- 
 mediately after, it appeared in the Newry 
 Telegraph, with the initials of the author's 
 name. From that it was copied into most of 
 the London prints, and thence into the Dublin 
 papers ; and subsequently it appeared, with 
 some considerable errors, in the Edinburgh 
 Annual Register, which contained the narra- 
 tive that first kindled the poet's feelings on the 
 subject, and supplied the materials to his mind. 
 It remained for a long time unclaimed; and 
 other poems,* in the mean time, appeared, 
 falsely purporting to be written by the same 
 unknown hand, which the author would not 
 take the pains to disavow. It lately* however, 
 
 * Amongst those was an " Address to Sleep/' which 
 appeared in Blackwood's Magazine. 
 
28 REMAINS OF 
 
 seemed to have become the prey of some lite- 
 rary spoliators, whose dishonest ambition was 
 immediately detected and exposed. Indeed, 
 it is hard to say, whether the claims were 
 urged seriously, or whether it was a stratagem 
 to draw out the acknowledgment of the real 
 author. However, the matter has been placed 
 beyond dispute, by the proof that it appeared 
 with the initials C. W., in an Irish print, long 
 prior to the alleged dates which its false 
 claimants assign. 
 
 It is unnecessary to enter into further par- 
 ticulars upon this point, as the question has 
 been set at rest ; and as Captain Medwin, who 
 at first conjectured the poem to have been 
 written by Lord Byron himself, has avowed, in 
 his second edition of his work, that " his sup- 
 " position was erroneous, and that it appears 
 " to be the production of the late Rev. C. 
 " Wolfe." It may be interesting to prefix the 
 paragraph in the narrative of Sir John Moore's 
 burial, which produced so strong an emotion 
 in the mind of our author, and prompted this 
 immediate and spontaneous effusion of poetic 
 genius. 
 
 " Sir John Moore had often said, that if he 
 
THE REV. C. WOLFE. 29 
 
 " was killed in battle, he wished to be buried 
 " where he fell. The body was removed at 
 " midnight to the citadel of Corunna. A 
 " grave was dug for him on the rampart there, 
 " by a party of the 9th regiment, the aides- 
 " du-camp attending by turns. No coffin 
 " could be procured, and the officers of his 
 " staff wrapped the body, dressed as it was, in 
 " a military cloak and blankets. The inter- 
 " ment was hastened ; for, about eight in the 
 " morning, some firing was heard, and the 
 " officers feared that if a serious attack were 
 " made, they should be ordered away, and not 
 " suffered to pay him their last duty. The 
 " officers of his family bore him to the grave; 
 " the funeral service was read by the chaplain ; 
 " and the corpse was covered with earth." 
 Edinburgh Annual Register, 1808, p. 458. 
 
 THE BURIAL OF SIR JOHN MOORE. 
 
 I. 
 
 Not a drum was heard, not a funeral note, 
 As his corse to the rampart we hurried; 
 
 Not a soldier discharged his farewell shot 
 Q'er the grave where our hero we buried. 
 
30 REMAINS OF 
 
 II. 
 
 We buried him darkly at dead of night, 
 
 The sods with our bayonets turning ; 
 By the struggling moonbeam's misty light, 
 
 And the lantern dimly burning. 
 
 III. 
 
 No useless coffin enclosed his breast, 
 
 Not in sheet or in shroud we wound him ; 
 
 But he lay like a warrior taking his rest, 
 With his martial cloak around him. 
 
 IV. 
 
 Few and short were the prayers we said, 
 
 And we spoke not a word of sorrow ; 
 But we stedfastly gazed on the face that was dead, 
 
 And we bitterly thought of the morrow. 
 
 V. 
 
 We thought a as we hollowed his narrow bed, 
 
 And smoothed down his lonely pillow, 
 That the foe and the strnger would tread o'er his head, 
 
 And we far away on the billow ! 
 
 VI. 
 
 Lightly they 'II talk of the spirit that 's gone, 
 And o'er his cold ashes upbraid him, 
 
 But little he '11 reck, if they let him sleep on 
 In the grave where a Briton has laid him. 
 
THE REV. C. WOLFE. 31 
 
 VII. 
 
 But half of our heavy task was done, 
 
 When the clock struck the hour for retiring ; 
 
 And we heard the distant and random gun 
 That the foe was sullenly firing. 
 
 VIII. 
 
 Slowly and sadly we laid him down, 
 
 From the field of his fame fresh and gory ; 
 
 We carved not a line, and we raised not a stone 
 But we left him alone with his glory ! 
 
 The principal errors in most of the copies of 
 this poem were pointed out by an early friend 
 of the author in an eloquent letter, which ap- 
 peared in the Morning Chronicle, October 
 29th, 1824. One error, however, which oc- 
 curred in the first line of the third stanza, he 
 omitted to correct. The word " confined" 
 was substituted for " enclosed." manifestly for 
 the worse, as it appears somewhat artificial, and 
 inconsistent with the nervous simplicity of 
 thought and expression which marks the whole 
 poem. The third line of the fourth stanza has 
 been commonly altered thus " on the face of 
 " the dead." I cannot forbear quoting the 
 
32 REMAINS OF 
 
 critical and just observations of the friend 
 above mentioned, upon this unhappy error. 
 " The expression as it has been printed, is 
 " common-place ; that for which it was igno- 
 " rantly substituted, is original and affecting. 
 " The poet did not merely mean to tell us 
 " the fact, that the comrades of Moore gazed 
 " on the face of their dead chief, but he 
 " meant to convey an idea of the impression 
 " which that form of death made upon them. 
 " * They gazed on the face that was dead,' 
 " gives not merely the fact, but the sentiment 
 " of death. It is like some of those fine scrip- 
 " tural expressions where the simplest terms 
 " are exuberant with imagination. It inti- 
 " mates the awful contrast between the heroic 
 " animation which kindled up that counte- 
 " nance just before in action, and its now cold, 
 " ghastly, and appalling serenity." Upon 
 another error which has universally prevailed, 
 in the seventh stanza, *the same eloquent friend 
 has observed, " The third and fourth lines 
 " have been thus given, 
 
 ' And we heard by the distant and random gun, 
 ' That the foe was suddenly firing : 
 
THE REV. C. WOLFE. 33 
 
 " But it was originally written, 
 
 ' And we heard the distant and random gun 
 ' Of the enemy sullenly firing.'* 
 
 " I need scarcely point out to any reader 
 " of the least poetic taste the superiority of 
 " this passage to the fictitious one. The state- 
 " ment of the foe being suddenly firing, implies 
 " a new and vigorous attack, which was con- 
 " trary to fact. The lines, as Wolfe wrote 
 " them, are better poetry, and more agreeable 
 " to truth. They represent the enemy, who 
 " had come on with the flush of anticipated 
 " victory, now sullen in defeat, firing rather 
 " from vain irritation than useful valour, keep- 
 " ing up a show of hostilities by ' the distant 
 " and random gun,' but not venturing on any 
 " fresh and animated onset. In this way, the 
 
 * The writer of the ahove observation seems not to have 
 been aware, that the fourth line of this stanza was at first 
 written by the author as I have copied it. It was subse- 
 quently altered in the way he gives it, at the suggestion of a 
 literary friend; but it seems proper to print it as it actually 
 stands in the author's own manuscript, from which I take it. 
 There is no difference in sense; but, perhaps, some may think 
 the rhythm better as it was originally written. 
 
 D 
 
34 REMAINS OF 
 
 " passage becomes as picturesque as it is con- 
 " cise and energetic." 
 
 It appears from the interesting conversation 
 in which the above poem was assigned so high 
 a place in the lyrical compositions of our lan- 
 guage, that Campbell's Hohenlinden was also 
 brought forward by some of the company as 
 one of the finest specimens of the same order. 
 This powerfully descriptive and sublime ode 
 was a peculiar favourite with our author. The 
 awful imagery presented in such a rapid suc- 
 cession of bold and vivid flashes, the burning 
 thoughts which break forth in such condensed 
 energy of expression, and the incidental 
 touches of deep and genuine pathos which cha- 
 racterise the whole poem, never failed intensely 
 to affect his imagination, and to draw out the 
 most rapturous expressions of admiration. It 
 was, indeed, the peculiar temperament of his 
 mind, to display its emotions by the strongest 
 outward demonstrations. 
 
 Such were his intellectual sensibilities, and 
 the corresponding vivacity of his animal spirits, 
 that the excitation of his feelings generally dis- 
 covered itself by the most lively expressions, 
 and sometimes by an unrestrained vehemence 
 
THE REV. C. WOLFE. 35 
 
 of gesticulation, which often afforded amuse- 
 ment to his more sedate or less impressible 
 acquaintances. 
 
 Whenever, in the company of his friends, 
 any thing occurred in his reading, or to his 
 memory, which powerfully affected his ima- 
 gination, he usually started from his seat, flung 
 aside his chair, and paced about the room, 
 giving vent to his admiration in repeated ex- 
 clamations of delight, and in gestures of the 
 most animated rapture. Nothing produced 
 these emotions more strongly than music, of 
 the pleasures of which he was in the highest 
 degree susceptible. He had an ear formed 
 to enjoy, in the most exquisite manner, the 
 simplest melody, or the richest harmony. 
 With but little cultivation, he had acquired 
 sufficient skill in the theory of this accom- 
 plishment to relish its highest charms, and to 
 exercise a discriminative taste in the apprecia- 
 tion of any composition or performance in that 
 delightful art. Sacred music, above all, (es- 
 pecially the compositions of Handel,) had the 
 most subduing, the most transporting effect 
 upon his feelings, and seemed to enliven and 
 sublimate his devotion to the highest pitch. 
 
 D 2 
 
36 REMAINS OF 
 
 He understood and felt all the poetry of music, 
 and was particularly felicitous in catching the 
 spirit and character of a simple air or a na- 
 tional melody. One or two specimens of the 
 adaptation of his poetical talents to such sub- 
 jects may give some idea of this. 
 
 He was so much struck by the grand na- 
 tional Spanish air, " Viva el Hey Fernando," 
 the first time he heard it played by a friend, 
 that he immediately commenced singing it 
 over and over again, until he produced an 
 English song admirably suited to the tune. 
 The air, which has the character of an ani- 
 mated march, opens in a strain of grandeur, 
 and suddenly subsides, for a few bars, into a 
 slow and pathetic modulation, from which it 
 abruptly starts again into all the enthusiasm 
 of martial spirit. The words are happily 
 adapted to these transitions; but the air should 
 be known, in order that the merits of the 
 song should be duly esteemed. The first 
 change in the expression of the air occurs at 
 the ninth line of the song, and continues to 
 the end of the twelfth line. 
 
THE REV. C. WOLFE. 37 
 
 SPANISH SONG. 
 
 Air Viva el Rey FERNANDO. 
 
 The chains of Spain are breaking 
 
 Let Gaul despair, and fly ; 
 Her wrathful trumpet's speaking 
 
 Let tyrants hear, and die. 
 
 Her standard o'er us arching 
 
 Is burning red and far ; 
 The soul of Spain is marching 
 
 In thunders to the war. 
 Look round your lovely Spain, 
 And say shall Gaul remain ? 
 
 Behold yon burning valley 
 
 Behold yon naked plain 
 
 Let us hear their drum 
 
 Let them come, let them come ! 
 For vengeance and freedom rally, 
 And, Spaniards ! onward for Spain ! 
 
 Remember, remember Barossa 
 
 Remember Napoleon's chain 
 Remember your own Saragossa, 
 
 And strike for the cause of Spain 
 Remember your own Saragossa, 
 
 And onward, onward for Spain ! 
 
38 REMAINS OF . 
 
 The following little tale may serve to shew 
 with what feeling and refinement of taste he 
 entered into the spirit of our national melodies. 
 It was designed as a characteristic introduction 
 to the well-known and admired song, " The 
 " last Rose of Summer." 
 
 " This is the grave of Dermid : he was the 
 best minstrel among us all, a youth of a ro- 
 mantic genius, and of the most tremulous and 
 yet the most impetuous feeling. He knew all 
 our old national airs, of every character and 
 description : according as his song was in a 
 lofty or a mournful strain, the village repre- 
 sented a camp or a funeral ; but if Dermid 
 were in his merry mood, the lads and lasses 
 were hurried into dance with a giddy and irre- 
 sistible gaiety. One day our chieftain com- 
 mitted a cruel and wanton outrage against one 
 of our peaceful villagers. Derm id's harp was 
 in his hand when he heard it. With all the 
 thoughtlessness and independent sensibility of 
 a poet's indignation, he struck the chords that 
 never spoke without response, and the detes- 
 tation became universal. He was driven from 
 
THE REV. C. WOLFE. 39 
 
 amongst us by our enraged chief; and all his 
 relations, and the maid he loved, attended our 
 banished minstrel into the wide world. For 
 three years there were no tidings of Dermid, 
 and the song and dance were silent ; when one 
 of our little boys came running in and told us 
 that he saw Dermid approaching at a distance. 
 Instantly the whole village was in commotion ; 
 the youths and maidens assembled in the green, 
 and agreed to celebrate the arrival qf their 
 poet with a dance ; they fixed upon the air he 
 was to play for them ; it was the merriest of 
 his collection. The ring was formed ; all 
 looked eagerly towards the quarter from which 
 he was to arrive, determined to greet their 
 favourite bard with a cheer. But they were 
 checked the instant he appeared ; he came 
 slowly and languidly and loiteringly along ; 
 his countenance had a cold, dim, and careless 
 aspect, very different from that expressive tear- 
 fulness which marked his features, even in his 
 more melancholy moments: his harp was 
 swinging heavily upon his arm ; it seemed 
 a burden to him ; it was much shattered, and 
 some of the strings were broken. He looked 
 at us for a few moments, then, relapsing into 
 
40 REMAINS OF 
 
 vacancy, advanced, without quickening his 
 pace, to his accustomed stone, and sat down in 
 silence. After a pause, we ventured to ask him 
 for his friends : he first looked up sharply in 
 our faces, next, down upon his harp, then 
 struck a few notes of a wild and desponding 
 melody, which we had never heard before ; but 
 his hand dropped, and he did not finish it. 
 Again we paused then, knowing well that if 
 we could give the smallest mirthful impulse to 
 his feelings, his whole soul would soon follow, 
 we asked him for the merry air we had chosen. 
 We were surprised at the readiness with which 
 he seemed to comply ; but it was the same 
 wild and heart-breaking strain he had com- 
 menced. In fact, we found that the soul of the 
 minstrel had become an entire void, except one 
 solitary ray, that vibrated sluggishly through 
 its very darkest part : it was like the sea in a 
 dark calm, which you only know to be in mo- 
 tion by the panting which you hear ; he had to- 
 tally forgotten every trace of his former strains, 
 not only those that were more gay and airy, 
 biit even those of a more pensive cast ; and he 
 had got in their stead that one dreary, single 
 melody ; it was about a lonely rose that had 
 
THE REV. C. WOLFE. 41 
 
 outlived all his companions ; this he continued 
 singing and playing from day to day, until he 
 spread an unusual gloom over the whole vil- 
 lage : he seemed to perceive it, for he retired 
 to the churchyard, and remained singing it 
 there to the day of his death. The afflicted 
 constantly repaired to hear it, and he died 
 singing it to a maid who had lost her lover. 
 The orphans have learnt it, and still chant it 
 over poor Dermid's grave." 
 
 Another of his favourite melodies was the 
 popular Irish air, " Gramachree." He never 
 heard it without being sensibly affected by its 
 deep and tender expression ; but he thought 
 that no words had ever been written for it 
 which came up to his idea of the peculiar 
 pathos which pervades the whole strain. He 
 said they all appeared to him to want indivi- 
 duality of feeling. At the desire of a friend 
 he gave his own conception of it in these 
 verses, which it seems hard to read, perhaps 
 impossible to hear sung, without tears. 
 
42 REMAINS OF 
 
 SONG. 
 
 Air Gramachree. 
 
 I. 
 
 If I had thought thou couldst have died, 
 
 I might not weep for thee ; 
 But I forgot, when by thy side, 
 
 That thou couldst mortal be : 
 It never through my mind had past, 
 
 The time would e'er be o'er. 
 And I on thee should look my last, 
 
 And thou shouldst smile no more ! 
 
 II. 
 
 And still upon that face I look, 
 
 And think 'twill smile again ; 
 And still the thought I will not brook, 
 
 That I must look in vain ! 
 But when I speak thou dost not say, 
 
 What thou ne'er left'st unsaid ; 
 And now I feel, as well I may, 
 
 Sweet Mary ! thou art dead ! 
 
 III. 
 
 If thou wouldst stay, e'en as thou art, 
 
 All cold, and all serene 
 I still might press thy silent heart, 
 
 And where thy smiles have been ! 
 
THE REV. C. WOLFE. 43 
 
 While e'en thy chill, bleak corse I have, 
 
 T-hou seemest still mine own ; 
 But there I lay thee in thy grave 
 
 And I am now alone ! 
 
 IV. 
 
 I do not think, where'er thou art, 
 
 Thou hast forgotten me ; 
 And I, perhaps, may soothe this heart, 
 
 In thinking too of thee : 
 Yet there was round thee such a dawn 
 
 Of light ne'er seen before, 
 As fancy never could have drawn, 
 
 And never can restore ! 
 
 He was asked whether he had any real in- 
 cident in view, or had witnessed any imme- 
 diate occurrence which might have prompted 
 these lines. His reply was, " He had not ; 
 " but that he had sung the air over and over 
 " till he burst into a flood of tears, in which 
 
 " mood he composed the words." 
 
 i 
 
 The following song was written, at the re- 
 quest of a lady of high professional character 
 as a musician, for an air of her own composi- 
 tion, which I believe was never published : 
 
REMAINS OF 
 
 SONG. 
 
 I. 
 
 Go, forget me why should sorrow 
 O'er that brow a shadow fling ? 
 
 Go forget me and to-morrow 
 Brightly smile and sweetly sing. 
 
 Smile though I shall not be near thee; 
 
 Sing though I shall never hear thee : 
 May thy soul with pleasure shine 
 Lasting as the gloom of mine ! 
 
 Go, forget me, &c. 
 
 II. 
 
 Like the Sun, thy presence glowing, 
 Clothes the meanest things in light ; 
 
 And when thou, like him art going, 
 Loveliest objects fade in night. 
 
 All things look'd so bright about thee, 
 
 That they nothing seem without thee ; 
 By that pure and lucid mind 
 Earthly things were too refined. 
 
 Like the Sun, Sec. 
 
 III. 
 
 Go, thou vision wildly gleaming, 
 
 Softly on my soul that fell ; 
 Go, for me no longer beaming 
 
 Hope and Beauty ! fare ye well ! 
 Go, and all that once delighted 
 Take, and leave me all benighted ; 
 
THE REV. C. WOLFE. 45 
 
 Glory's burning generous swell, 
 Fancy and the Poet's shell. 
 Go, thou vision, &c. 
 
 THE FRAILTY OF BEAUTY. 
 
 I. 
 
 I must tune up my harp's broken string, 
 For the fair has commanded the strain ; 
 
 But yet such a theme will I sing, 
 
 That I think she'll not ask me again : 
 
 II. 
 
 For I'll tell her Youth's blossom is blown, 
 And that Beauty, the flower, must fade; 
 
 (And sure, if a lady can frown, 
 
 She'll frown at the words I have said.) 
 
 III. 
 
 The smiles of the rose-bud how fleet ! 
 
 They come and as quickly they fly : 
 The violet how modest and sweet ! 
 
 Yet the Spring sees it open and die. 
 
 IV. 
 
 How snow-white the lily appears ! 
 
 Yet the life of a lily 's a day ; 
 And the snow that it equals, in tears 
 
 To-morrow must vanish away. 
 
46 REMAINS OF 
 
 V. 
 
 Ah, Beauty ! of all things on earth 
 How many thy charms most desire ! 
 
 Yet Beauty with Youth has its birth, 
 And Beauty with youth must expire. 
 
 VI. 
 
 Ah, fair ones ! so sad is the tale, 
 
 That my song in my sorrow I steep ; 
 
 And where I intended to rail, 
 
 I must lay down my harp, and must weep. 
 
 VII. 
 
 But Virtue indignantly seized 
 
 The harp as it fell from my hand ; 
 
 Serene was her look, though displeased, 
 As she utter'd her awful command. 
 
 VIII. 
 
 " Thy tears and thy pity employ 
 
 " For the thoughtless, the giddy, the vain,- 
 " But those who my blessings enjoy 
 
 " Thy tears and thy pity disdain. 
 
 IX. 
 
 " For Beauty alone ne'er bestow'd 
 " Such a charm as Religion has lent ; 
 
 " And the cheek of a belle never glow'd 
 " With a smile like the smile of content. 
 
THE REV. C. WOLFE, 47 
 
 X. 
 
 " Time's hand, and the pestilence-rage, 
 
 " No hue, no complexion can brave ; 
 " For Beauty must yield to old age, 
 
 " But I will not yield to the grave." 
 
 The history of Mr. Wolfe's college life is 
 too deficient in incidents of general interest to 
 dwell minutely upon it. He never took any 
 share in concerns of a public nature ; but, on 
 the contrary, endeavoured to shun all occasions 
 of notoriety. This portion of his life, accord- 
 ingly, supplies but little other materials for his 
 memoir than a short account of his studies, 
 and of his few desultory poetical efforts. Be- 
 fore we enter upon the more important part of 
 his life, or attempt to exhibit his character in 
 its more serious aspect, it may be well to col- 
 lect together, in this part of the volume, the 
 principal compositions by which he distin- 
 guished himself amongst his fellow- students, 
 and gave so fair a promise of future celebrity. 
 Two of those which obtained medals in the 
 Historical Society shall be given here at full 
 length, and such parts of his speech on opening 
 
48 REMAINS OF 
 
 the sessions as the editor has been able to 
 collect with accuracy from the mutilated frag- 
 ments of the manuscript. 
 
 The prose composition which follows will 
 be principally interesting to those who are 
 conversant with the usual course of academic 
 studies. It seems unnecessary to add any 
 explanatory notes for such readers ; and per- 
 haps no helps of this kind, that would not be 
 absolutely tedious, could materially heighten 
 the interest to others. 
 
 Its general design and manner may pos- 
 sibly remind some readers of a beautiful paper 
 by Addison, in the Tatler, called, " The Vision 
 " of the Hill of Fame." I do not know that 
 the author was acquainted with it ; but even 
 though it may possibly have suggested the 
 outline of the plan to his mind, it will be found 
 that the imagery and descriptive parts are 
 perfectly original. In two or three instances, 
 the same characters which are introduced in 
 this vision appear in that of Addison ; but it 
 will probably be allowed that the peculiar ge- 
 nius and character of each is more distinctly 
 and fully brought to light in this little work of 
 fancy, and that, on the whole, it need scarcely 
 
THE REV. C. WOLFE. 4*9 
 
 shrink from a comparison with the beautiful 
 paper above mentioned. 
 
 THE COLLEGE COURSE. 
 
 At the close of that eventful day to me 
 the period of a new existence, and the date to 
 which I yet refer many a pleasure and many a 
 pain on which I became the adopted son of 
 the university, I lay for a long time pensive 
 and sleepless, pondering on the state into 
 which I had entered, and anxious to ascertain 
 what treatment I was to expect from my second 
 mother ; till at length, though not naturally 
 superstitious, I took my gown, as yet perfect 
 and untorn, and folding it up with a sort of 
 sacred awe, (not totally devoid of pride at my 
 new dignity,) I placed it on the bed, and, 
 blessing the omen, reclined my head upon this 
 academic pillow. You smile, no doubt, at the 
 account I have often smiled at the recollec- 
 tion of it myself and yet the charm was suc- 
 cessful; for scarcely had I closed my eyes, 
 before it raised a vision which I shall never 
 forget, and upon the remembrance of which, 
 
 E 
 
50 REMAINS OF 
 
 whether in the midst of occupation or the 
 midst of sorrows, I have often lingered with 
 fondness. 
 
 I fancied myself in front of those awful 
 portals, from which I had that day, for the first 
 time, emerged. They opened spontaneously ; 
 and I beheld a monster of a most extraordinary 
 appearance seated in the entrance. He had 
 three heads ; and a poet would have called 
 him Cerberus ; but I, to whom nature never 
 gave a simile, discovered his name to be Syl- 
 logism. Two of the heads grew from the same 
 neck ; one larger than the other. The third 
 grew from the other two, and always leaned to 
 the weaker side. It seemed not to have any 
 thing original ; but catching at the words which 
 fell at one time from the greater head, and at the 
 other from the smaller, it formed a ludicrous 
 combination from both. They all talked with a 
 sort of harsh and systematic volubility ; and yet 
 I was surprised to find that their whole gram- 
 mar consisted of one verb, one case, and one 
 rule in syntax. At this moment, an old man 
 advanced, of a most venerable and commanding 
 appearance; and Syllogism shrunk at his ap- 
 proach. Instantly I felt as if my mind was 
 
THE REV. C. WOLFE. 51 
 
 unfolding itself, and that the recesses of my 
 heart, and the springs of my feelings, were 
 thrown open to his view. His visage was 
 emaciated with cares, but they were not the 
 cares of the world ; his cheeks were pale with 
 watching, but they were not the vigils of 
 avarice. He turned to me with a look of en- 
 couragement, and unfolded to my eyes a map 
 the most magnificent I had ever beheld it 
 was a map of the intellect. There I saw a 
 thousand rivers, and thousands and ten thou- 
 sands of rills and rivulets branching from them; 
 yet all these he traced to two grand sources ; 
 and the mountains whence those sources issued, 
 he told me, reached to heaven : and for that 
 very reason, clouds and impenetrable darkness 
 enveloped them. He then pursued them 
 through all their windings, pausing, at times, 
 to shew the delightful verdure of their banks 
 their mild and equable flow and often pointing 
 to the dreary desert occasioned by their ab- 
 sence, and the frightful precipice by their tor- 
 rents. At length he traced them to the one 
 grand ocean the ocean of knowledge. On this 
 were innumerable straits and quicksands : and 
 he shewed me the waters of probability, and 
 
 E 2 
 
52 REMAINS OF 
 
 the wrecks of millions who had mistaken their 
 soundings : and lastly, those vast polar waters 
 which the Deity had locked with barriers of 
 eternal ice, and from which those who entered 
 them returned no more. I observed that he was 
 rather garrulous and fond of repetition ; but I 
 checked any disrespectful idea that might 
 occur, by recollecting it was the effect of his 
 condescension. He waved the roll at his de- 
 parture ; and retiring, he left me in admiration. 
 The next was one whose steps were irre- 
 gularly slow, and his paces measured with 
 extreme exactness. His eye was riveted upon 
 a chain which he was slowly linking ; the links 
 were eternal adamant, and the chain was in- 
 dissoluble. His look was the most contempla- 
 tive I had ever beheld : Reason seemed to- 
 tally to have expelled all the passions, (which 
 frequently share, and sometimes usurp her 
 throne,) and to reign uncontrolled upon his 
 brow ; until, at the close of about five minutes, 
 when he had- accomplished some happy link in 
 his chain, he gave a start of ecstacy, and Reason 
 seemed to share her throne with Joy, and to 
 reign triumphant and combined upon his brow. 
 Two other sages then approached him, and 
 
THE REV. C. WOLFE. 53 
 
 from their conference, I collected that these 
 two were Plato and Pythagoras; and that their 
 intention was to lay the foundation of their 
 temple of science. Phythagoras laid the cor- 
 ner-stone: all mutually contributed their la- 
 bours ; but I observed that they consigned to 
 the first the arrangement of the materials. 
 More than half the work was effected, when 
 their strength began to droop, and I trembled 
 for the temple, I trembled for mankind ; 
 when a youth advanced, arrayed in a robe 
 depicted with strange symbols and characters ; 
 his language was almost wholly numerical, so 
 that I could not discover the country from 
 which he came ; but I believe he was an Arab : 
 he joined them with alacrity ; and the founda- 
 tion was complete. 
 
 Just at that moment a flourish of martial 
 music assailed my ear, so grand, that Plato, 
 Pythagoras, and the temple were forgotten, 
 and every sense was directed to the quarter 
 whence it issued. A flood of glory enveloped 
 him who entered, and concealed him, at first, 
 from my view ; but I heard the thunder of his 
 footsteps. At length, I perceived an old man 
 of the most august deportment : gods and men 
 
54 REMAINS OF 
 
 appeared to obey him ; for he raised his sceptre 
 to heaven, and it thundered; he stretched it 
 over the earth, and a shock of a thousand 
 armies was heard ; he struck the ground, and 
 the groans of Erebus arose. His garment 
 flowed loose and unrestrained ; and a crown of 
 immortal amaranths overshadowed his brow, 
 in artless and unarranged luxuriance. I now 
 found that I had known him long before ; the 
 fire of heaven was in his eyes ; and this was 
 the cause that I did not at first recollect that 
 I had known him before ; for then he was 
 blind ; but the powers of darkness could no 
 longer control them, and they had " burst 
 " their cerements." I knew him now ; and 
 knowing him, I almost instinctively looked 
 for another, and that other came. Unlike the 
 rapid step of the former, his was composed 
 and majestic : his garment flowed not unre- 
 strained, but was adjusted with the most grace- 
 ful and admirable symmetry : his wreath was 
 not so luxuriant, but selected and combined 
 with a taste the most fascinating and charm- 
 ing : he held a golden ploughshare in his right 
 hand, and in his left a rich cluster of grapes ; 
 while bees fluttered in harmless swarms around 
 
THE REV. C. WOLFE. 55 
 
 his garland. He approached the first with a 
 timid and hesitating step, and plucked some 
 of the amaranths from his crown : the first 
 turned to detect the theft ; but when he per- 
 ceived the exquisite judgment with which 
 they were disposed, he beamed forth an im- 
 mortal smile of approbation : it was the smile 
 of Apollo upon Mercury, when he found that 
 he had stolen his arrows. 
 
 Then came one in whose sparkling eye 
 and rosy cheeks wit and good humour for 
 ever beamed. I found I had known him 
 before ; and I confess I had the impudence to 
 run and shake hands with him. His crown 
 was of almost every leaf and flower that the 
 earth produces ; among the rest, the myrtle of 
 Venus, and the vine-leaf of Bacchus. At one 
 time he gave enforcement to virtue and morality, 
 with as much gravity as he could command ; at 
 another, he handed me a goblet with an en- 
 chanting familiarity. I observed that he had 
 an arrow from the quiver of Cupid ; yet, as 
 soon as he had anointed it with a juice he had 
 obtained from Momus, it became the shaft of 
 Satire. At length he retired, and bidding me 
 not to forget the happy hours we had spent 
 
56 REMAINS OF 
 
 together, he followed the other two. Farewell, 
 immortal bards, I will not forget you ; I will 
 often turn from occupation and the world to 
 you ; and even when I enter on paths strewed 
 with the flowers of other poets, I will remem- 
 ber that many of the sweetest are yours ! 
 
 Then appeared a hero in a Grecian habit, 
 who seemed deeply intent upon delineating a 
 portrait, and, from the inscription, I perceived 
 it to be that of Socrates. When it was per- 
 fected, he suddenly dropped the portrait, and 
 grasped his sword, but still retained the pen ; 
 at the same time, an invisible hand spread the 
 spoils of Persia over his shoulders. 
 
 Next came a Roman, whose words and ap- 
 pearance were widely at variance ; his loose 
 garments indicated his dissolute life, while his 
 language was chaste and succinct ; his ges- 
 tures indicated the debauchee, while historic 
 truth and philosophic morality issued from his 
 tongue. 
 
 The next was in the habit of a Carthaginian 
 slave ; modest wit and unaffected humour 
 came in all the simplicity of nature from his 
 lips: he held a volume which he incessantly 
 studied, and in which I perceived the name of 
 
THE REV. C. WOLFE. 57 
 
 Menander. I then saw one, whose face it was 
 impossible to behold without laughter : the 
 most poignant and yet the most indirect satire 
 was depicted in every feature. I knew that he 
 was a native of the East, as he discharged his 
 arrows in the Parthian method ; but he wore a 
 Grecian garment, so truly graceful and genuine, 
 that it would not have disgraced the wardrobe 
 of Plato. Still 1 could not help .feeling some 
 indignation, when I saw him point his arrow in 
 the direction in which Homer departed, and 
 set his foot upon the image which Xenophon 
 had dropt. I believe he perceived my dis- 
 pleasure ; for he turned, and handing me three 
 volumes, which I found to be Herodotus, 
 Thucydides, and Xenophon, accompanied them 
 with such a beautiful flow of precepts upon the 
 mode in which I should imitate them, that I 
 totally forgot my resentment. 
 
 Two others then appeared, similar in many 
 respects, yet possessing some striking marks of 
 difference. The first wielded a vengeful lash, 
 under which folly and vice writhed in torture. 
 Bold, intrepid, and open was his brow ; and as 
 the streams of satire issued from his tongue, 
 Rome seemed to rise with all its debauchery 
 
58 REMAINS OF 
 
 before me; yet, once that he extended his 
 theme to mankind in general, Rome and its 
 peculiarities were forgotten, and he burst forth 
 into a strain of such sublime morality, that I 
 listened in expectation that, in the next sen- 
 tence, I should hear the name of Christ issuing 
 from his lips. The second who appeared used 
 the lash with the same adroitness and severity, 
 but with more caution. He seemed fearful of 
 detection: his face was muffled in such a 
 manner, that many words escaped my ear, and 
 therefore I could not always fully understand 
 him. 
 
 Scarcely had they departed, when I thought 
 I heard the shout of countless multitudes ; and 
 a Grecian and a Roman entered, both in the 
 attitude of speaking. The first looked like Jove 
 haranguing the gods. The thunder seemed to 
 issue from his tongue, and the lightning from 
 his eye ; he stopped not to ornament, but all 
 was irresistibly simple and commanding. But 
 the second put me in mind of Apollo : the 
 Graces and the Muses seemed to throng around 
 the rostra on which he stood: the music of 
 Helicon was on his lips ; and his eye, though 
 devoid of the lightning of the former, beamed 
 
THE IlEV. C. WOLFE. 59 
 
 with a steady and diffusive light, an eye 
 that told all that was within, and collected all 
 that was without. The first clanked a massy 
 chain, and defied me to elude it ; the second, 
 ere I was aware, had silently entangled me in 
 golden shackles. A civic crown appeared to 
 descend, and was just lighting upon the head 
 of the first, when I beheld one hastily advance, 
 and attempt to withdraw it ; he was equal to 
 his antagonist in agility, but inferior in strength, 
 and after a desperate contest he was compelled 
 to yield, and the crown rested for ever on the 
 victor's brow. Over the head of the last was 
 inscribed, in characters of living gold, " Pater 
 " Patria?," and tyrants, usurpers, women, 
 and hirelings, eagerly attempted in vain to 
 erase it. 
 
 But who can describe the scene that fol- 
 lowed? a scene of stupendous grandeur and 
 overwhelming magnificence. For then ad- 
 vanced the man of science the priest of nature,, 
 who cast a long and venturous look into the 
 holy of holies ! the sanctuary of creation. 
 Heaven and Earth saluted him the Elements 
 paid him homage, and Nature gave a burst of~ 
 universal gratulation. He waved his wand, 
 
60 REMAINS OF 
 
 and it seemed as if a vast curtain had been 
 withdrawn from the face of heaven, and I saw 
 the Sun with all his satellites in tenfold magni- 
 tude and splendour, as if just fresh from the 
 Creator ; the print of his hand was upon them ; 
 and the traces of his finger, when he described 
 the orbits in which they should move, were 
 visible ; the harmony of their motions was so 
 great that it could not be confined to one sense ; 
 the harps of cherubim and seraphim beat time 
 to their movements ; " the morning stars 
 " were singing together, and all the sons of 
 " God were shouting for joy." I looked 
 again at the sage: angels and archangels 
 were conversing with him, and were revealing 
 to him the mysteries of the universe. After 
 some interval, he stooped to the earth, and a 
 voice, (as it were) from the bowels of the earth, 
 seemed to declare the secrets of its prison- 
 house, and the power of that tremendous grasp 
 which holds the world together. Instantly a 
 great number of philosophers crowded around 
 him to catch the sound of the voice : each, ac- 
 cording to the different words which he caught, 
 formed some peculiar instrument, either of 
 surprising efficacy, or beautiful construction. 
 
THE REV. C. WOLFE. 61 
 
 Still I never withdrew my eyes from him, upon 
 whom indeed all eyes were intent ; and I be- 
 held a rainbow, like a glory, encircling his 
 brow ; and the seven colours of heaven beamed 
 with a living lustre around him. 
 
 I know not how to describe the ludicrous 
 circumstance which drew my attention from a 
 scene so enchanting ; I saw a figure approach, 
 which I did not at first perceive to be myself, 
 so tattered and disfigured was my academic 
 dress ; while I was looking at myself with the 
 most sincere mortification,* my gown began 
 gradually to gather itself into large and grace- 
 ful folds above my whole person ; the sleeves 
 began to lengthen ; and a sleek velvet over- 
 spread the unsightly pasteboard of my cap. 
 I assure you, I gazed with perfect self-conceit 
 upon the improvement of my costume ; but I 
 was soon roused from my dream of vanity, by 
 the appearance of Archimedes weighing the 
 king of Syracuse's crown in water, and detect- 
 ing the fraud of its master. 
 
 Then advanced two buskined Grecians, both 
 
 * It may be proper to observe, that this alludes to the 
 change of academic costume upon obtaining a scholarship, 
 which honourable distinction he had just then acquired. 
 
62 REMAINS OF 
 
 in long and sweeping garments, who looked 
 with an eye of jealousy upon each other, and 
 often related the same tale in different style 
 and language, but still with all its shades of 
 sorrow and horror. Their voices both seemed 
 to have softened down the deep-toned thunder 
 of Homer, into the refined tenderness of Athe- 
 nian music. They were attended by a band 
 of virgins, who mimicked all their * motions, 
 wept as they wept, and raged as they raged. 
 Their language was sometimes so enigmatical, 
 that, but for their beauty, I should have taken 
 them for sphinxes. 
 
 The last of that illustrious train which my 
 vision presented, unfolded an immense picture, 
 where I saw Rome in all and through all its 
 vicissitudes. I saw it rising under Romulus, 
 and sinking beneath the Gauls, reviving 
 under Camillus, trembling before Hannibal, 
 triumphant with Scipio, the mistress of 
 the world beneath Augustus. But, alas ! a 
 large and brilliant portion was lacerated and 
 defaced ; and I, in the warmth of my emotions, 
 cursed the unclassic hand that could mar so 
 fair a picture. I then heard a confused noise of 
 Reason, right Reason, Obligation, Government 
 
THE REV. C. WOLFE. 63 
 
 when, unluckily, my cap, which I had hung 
 but loosely on a peg, fell and awoke me. I 
 must however remark, that there were many 
 forms, in academic dresses, passing to and fro 
 during my dream, which I did not then notice, 
 but which I have since learnt to value most 
 dearly ; friends, who have since formed the 
 brightest parts of the picture, and without 
 whom, the beauties of the rest would to me 
 have almost terminated with the vision in 
 which they appeared ; friends, to whom I 
 have turned from the page of Horace, to rea- 
 lize the scenes he has described ; whose kind- 
 ness has assisted me, whose generosity has up- 
 held me, and whose conversation has height- 
 ened my hours of pleasure, and mitigated my 
 days of despair : and when I shall revert from 
 the toils of manhood, and the imbecility of 
 age, to this youthful period, it shall not be one 
 of my least gratifications to recollect, that while 
 I was employed in cultivating an acquaintance 
 with the illustrious dead, I did not neglect to 
 form a still more endearing attachment to the 
 living. 
 
64 REMAINS OF 
 
 PATRIOTISM. 
 
 Angels of glory ! came she not from yon ? 
 
 Are there not patriots in the heaven of heavens ? 
 
 And hath not every seraph some dear spot 
 
 Throughout th' expanse of worlds some favourite home 
 
 On which he fixes with domestic fondness ? 
 
 Doth not e'en Michael on his seat of fire, 
 
 Close to the footstool of the throne of God, 
 
 Rest on his harp awhile, and from the face 
 
 And burning glories of the Deity, 
 
 Loosen his riveted and raptured gaze, 
 
 To bend one bright, one transient downward glance, 
 
 One patriot look upon his native star? 
 
 Or do I err ? and is your bliss complete, 
 
 Without one spot to claim your warmer smile, 
 
 And e'en an angel's partiality ? 
 
 And is that passion, which we deem divine, 
 
 Which makes the timid brave, the brave resistless, 
 
 Makes men seem heroes, heroes, demigods 
 
 A poor, mere mortal feeling ? No ! 'tis false ! 
 
 The Deity himself proves it divine ; 
 
 For when the Deity conversed with men, 
 
 He was himself a Patriot !* to the earth 
 
 * The observation of Bishop Newton upon the passage of 
 Scripture thus alluded to, may be introduced here as autho- 
 rity for the boldness of this expression. " So deeply was our 
 " Saviour affected, and so tenderly did he lament over the 
 
THE REV. C. WOLFE. 65 
 
 To all mankind a Saviour was he sent, 
 And all he loved with a Redeemer's love ; 
 
 " calamities which were coming upon his nation ! Such a 
 " generous and amiable pattern of a pat riot -spirit hath he 
 ( ' left to his disciples, and so contrary to truth is the insinua- 
 " tion of a noble writer, that there is nothing in the Gospels 
 " to recommend and encourage the love of one's country !" 
 18th Dissert, on the Prophecies, vol. ii p. 138. 
 
 I beg leave to add a quotation from Brown's admirable 
 Essays on Lord Shaftesbury's Characteristics. To the objec- 
 tion of the noble writer, that " Christianity does not enjoin a 
 ' ' zeal for the public and our country," it is thus replied : 
 " If by zeal for the public, and love of our country, be meant 
 " such a regard to its welfare as shall induce us to sacrifice 
 " every view of private interest for its establishment, yet still 
 " in subordination to the greater law of universal justice, 
 " that is naturally, nay, necessarily involved in the law of 
 tc universal charity. The noble writer indeed affirms, that 
 " it is no essential part of the Christian's charity. On the 
 " contrary, it is a chief part of the Christian's charity. It 
 " comes nobly recommended by the examples of Jesus and 
 " St. Paul ; the one wept over the approaching desolation of 
 " his country ; the other declared his willingness to be cut 
 " off from the Christian community, if by this means he 
 " might save his countrymen." Speaking of the principle of 
 universal love, in which this natural affection is included, the 
 same author observes : " Christianity alone hath kindled in 
 (C the heart of man this vital principle, which, beaming there 
 " as from a centre, like the great fountain of light and life 
 
 F 
 
66 REMAINS OF 
 
 Yet still, his warmest love, his tenderest care, 
 
 His life, his heart, his blessings, and his mournings, 
 
 His smiles, his tears, he gave to thee, Jerusalem 
 
 To thee, his country ! Though, with a prophet's gaze, 
 
 He saw the future sorrows of the world ; 
 
 And all the miseries of the human race, 
 
 From age to age, rehearsed their parts before him ; 
 
 Though he beheld the fall of gasping Rome, 
 
 Crush 'd by descending Vandals ; though he heard 
 
 The shriek of Poland, when the spoilers came ; 
 
 Though he saw Europe in the conflagration 
 
 Which now is burning, and his eye could pierce 
 
 The coming woes that we have yet to feel ; 
 
 Yet still, o'er Sion's walls alone he hung ; 
 
 Thought of no trench but that round Sion cast ; 
 
 Beheld no widows mourn, but Israel's daughters ; 
 
 Beheld no slaughter but of Judah's sons 
 
 On them alone the tears of Heaven he dropp'd ; 
 
 Dwelt on the horrors of their fall and sigrTd, 
 
 " Hadst thou but known, even thou in this thy day, 
 
 " The things which do belong unto thy peace, 
 
 " Hadst thou, O hadst thou known, Jerusalem !" 
 
 Yet well he knew what anguish should be his 
 
 " that sustains and cheers the attendant planets, renders its 
 " proselytes indeed burning and shining lights, shedding their 
 " kindly influence on all around them in that just proportion 
 " which their respective distances may demand." t'p- 23J , 
 236. EDITOR. 
 
THE REV. C. WOLFE. 67 
 
 From those he wept for ; well did he foresee 
 The scourge the thorns the cross the agony ; 
 Yet still, how oft upon thy sons he laid 
 The hands of health ; how oft beneath his wing 
 Thy children would have gathered, O Jerusalem ! 
 Thou art not mortal thou didst come from Heaven, 
 Spirit of patriotism ! thou art divine ! 
 Then, seraph ! where thy first descent on earth ? 
 Heaven's hallelujahs, for what soil abandon 'd? 
 Close by the side of Adam, ere he woke 
 Into existence, was thy hallowed stand ; 
 On Eden and on thee his eyes unclosed : 
 For say, instead of wisdom's sacred tree, 
 And its sweet fatal fruit, had Heaven denied 
 His daily visit to his natal spot, 
 Say, could our father boast one day's obedience ? 
 And wherefore, Eden, when he pass'd for ever 
 Thy gates, in slow and silent bitterness, 
 Why did he turn that look of bursting anguish 
 Upon thy fruits, thy groves, thy vales, thy fountains,, 
 And why inhale with agonising fervour 
 The last last breeze that blew from thee upon him ? 
 'Twas not alone because thy fruits were sweet 
 Thy groves were music and thy fountains, health 
 Thy breezes balm thy valleys, loveliness ; 
 But that they were the first his ear, eye, taste, 
 Or smell, or feeling had perceived or tasted, 
 Heard, seen, inhaled ; because thou wert his country ! 
 Yes, frail and sorrowing sire, thy sons forgive thee ! 
 
 F 2 
 
68 REMAINS OF 
 
 True, thou hast lost us Eden and its joys, 
 But thou hast suffered doubly by the loss ! 
 We were not born there it was not our country ? 
 O holy Angel ! thou hast given us each 
 This substitute for Paradise ; with thee, 
 The vale of snow may be our summer walk ; 
 The pointed rock, the bower of our repose ; 
 The cataract, our music ; while, for food, 
 Thy fingers, icy-cold, perhaps may pluck 
 The mountain-berry ; yet, with thee, we '11 smile- 
 Nor shiver when we hear, that Father Adam 
 Once lived in brighter climes, on sweeter food. 
 But, ah ! at least to this our second Eden 
 Permit no artful serpent to approach ; 
 Let no foul traitor grasp at fruits which thou 
 Hast interdicted ; and no sword of flame 
 Flash forth despair, and wave us to our exile. 
 Yet, rather than that I should rise in shame 
 Upon my country's downfal, or should draw 
 One tear from her, or e'en one frown from thee 
 Rather than that I should approach her walls, 
 Like Caius Marcius, with her foes combined, 
 Or turn, like Sylla, her own sons upon her, 
 Let me sit down in silence by thy side, 
 Upon the banks of Babylon,-^and weep, 
 When we remember all that we have lost : 
 Nor shall we always on the stranger's willow 
 Allow our harp in sorrow to repose ; 
 But when thy converse has inspired my soul, 
 
THE REV. G. WOLFE. 69 
 
 Roused it to frenzy, taught me to forget 
 
 Distance, and time, and place, and wo, and exile, 
 
 And I no more behold Euphrates' bank, 
 
 And hear no more the clanking of my fetters, 
 
 Then, in thy fervours, shalt thou snatch thy harp, 
 
 And strike me one of Sion's loftiest songs, 
 
 Until I pour my soul upon the notes 
 
 Deep from my heart and they shall waft it home. 
 
 O Erin ! O my mother ! I will love thee ! 
 
 Whether upon thy green, Atlantic throne, 
 
 Thou sitt'st august, majestic, and sublime ; 
 
 Or on thy empire's last remaining fragment, 
 
 Bendest forlorn, dejected, and forsaken, 
 
 Thy smiles, thy tears, thy blessings, and thy woes, 
 
 Thy glory and thy infamy, be mine ! 
 
 Should Heaven but teach me to display my heart, 
 
 With Deborah's notes thy triumphs would I sing 
 
 Would weep thy woes with Jeremiah's tears ; 
 
 But for a warning voice, which, though thy fall 
 
 Had been begun, should check thee in mid-air, 
 
 Isaiah's lips of fire should utter, Hold ! 
 
 Not e'en thy vices can withdraw me from thee; 
 
 Thy crimes I M shun thyself would still embrace ; 
 
 For e'en to me Omnipotence might grant 
 
 To be the " tenth just man," to save thee, Erin ! 
 
 And when I leave thee, should the lowest seat 
 
 In heaven be mine, should smiling mercy grant 
 
 One dim and distant vision of its glories, 
 
 Then if the least of all the blest can mix 
 
 With heaven one thought of earth, I '11 think of thee. 
 
70 REMAINS OF 
 
 The fragments of the speech delivered from 
 the chair, in the Historical Society, which shall 
 now be presented to the reader, can give but 
 an imperfect idea of its merits as a whole ; 
 however, they may serve to exhibit the cha- 
 racter of his mind at that early period of his 
 life, and afford an interesting ground of compa- 
 rison between his juvenile efforts as a speaker, 
 and his graver exertions in maturer years, 
 when the sublime realities of religion had more 
 fuUy engaged those sensibilities which were 
 now so keenly alive to the romance of poetry 
 and the charms of general literature. 
 
 After a modest and appropriate introduc- 
 tion, and a high panegyric on the objects and 
 constitution of the society he was addressing, 
 the speaker thus proceeds : 
 
 She (the Historical Society)' sends her am- 
 bassador, to recall the wavering and disaffected 
 to their allegiance, by displaying the beauties 
 of her constitution ; that you may not desert 
 the station for which nature and education have 
 designed you ; that you should not dare to 
 frustrate a nation's hope, which looks to you 
 for the guardians of her laws and the cham- 
 pions of her political prosperity ; that you 
 
THE REV. C. WOLFE. 71 
 
 should not presume to neglect the voice of 
 your God, who demands from among you the 
 supporters of his church ; that a portion of 
 mind, a mass of concentrated intellect, may 
 issue from these walls, and overshadow the 
 land ; and that, at length, after a glorious 
 career of enlightened and diffusive utility, you 
 may retire with dignity from the part you 
 have acted, and Ireland command posterity 
 to imitate your example. Such are the ob- 
 jects to which you are now invited, from low 
 
 pursuits and sordid gratifications, 
 
 ***** 
 
 Poetry* demands no laborious intellectual 
 intensity to imbibe her angelic counsels ; it is 
 upon the hours of our pleasures she descends ; 
 it is our recreation she exalts. Thus, she 
 makes our hours of rapture or enjoyment, the 
 hours of our greatest elevation of soul: our 
 
 * The introductory part of the subject of Poetry (which 
 those who heard the speech delivered can recollect as pecu- 
 liarly happy) is not to be found amongst the loose papers 
 from which these fragments are transcribed. This will ac- 
 count for the abruptness with which this part commences. 
 EDITOR. 
 
72 REMAINS OF 
 
 relaxations become the most dignified moments 
 of our existence. 
 
 Will Science bend from her throne, or Phi- 
 losophy relax her stateliness, to attend us in 
 our brighter moments and regulate our plea- 
 sures ? Science and Philosophy we must follow 
 for their favours ; but lovely, lovely Poetry con- 
 descends to be our companion. Poetry pos- 
 sesses an attribute of which all her sisters are 
 destitute. The mind must conform itself to 
 them ; but Poetry conforms herself to the mind; 
 she accompanies it in every varied posture and 
 every delicate inflection, in buoyancy, and 
 exertion, and indolence. 
 
 It is this insinuation into all our pleasures, 
 which gives her a species of omnipresence ; 
 for, to him who loves her, where is not 
 Poetry? * * * 
 
 And believe not those who tell you that 
 she will seduce the youthful mind from severe 
 occupations that science is excluded from 
 her power, and philosophy from the heaven of 
 her conversation. In the first ages of man, the 
 Sciences entered the world in the disguise of 
 Poetry. Morality it not only taught but im- 
 pelled.. Instruction was conveyed not by pre- 
 
THE REV. G. WOLFE. 73 
 
 ceptive sternness, but by the burst of inspira- 
 tion. The bard was then all in all. He 
 accounted for the phenomena of nature; he 
 inquired into the essence of the mind ; and the 
 savage looked up to him for the ethics that 
 were to regulate his conduct. Poetry (it is 
 known) had an early and intimate connexion 
 with Astronomy : some say that she was born 
 in yonder starry sphere, that she first de- 
 scended upon man, in the dews of heaven, 
 while gazing on the firmament ; and the first 
 music that saluted mortal ears, was the har- 
 mony of the morning stars : and, in process of 
 greater refinement, when Poetry and Philoso- 
 phy were necessarily distinguished, yet did their 
 union and attachment still remain. Together 
 they visited the same happy plains : the Muses 
 danced in the groves of Academus ; and Greece 
 gave the world at once its sages and its bards. 
 
 But didactic poetry not only admits, but 
 requires the co-operation of Philosophy and 
 Science; and our bold and independent lan- 
 guage, by removing the barriers of rhyme, has 
 thrown open to both a wider range for combin- 
 ed exertion. Then doubt not the rapturous 
 exclamation of that sightless bard, who could 
 
74 REMAINS OF 
 
 penetrate all the mysteries of the one, and 
 tasted all the joys and consolations of the other, 
 when he cried in admiration, 
 
 " How charming is divine Philosophy !" 
 
 for he found it 
 
 " musical as is Apollo's lyre. 1 ' 
 
 O divine preceptress ! that extinguishes no 
 youthful ardour, but sends it kindling up to 
 heaven, that collects all the riches of the 
 material creation, to beautify and illustrate the 
 moral world, that, by instilling admiration of 
 what is lovely and sublime, assimulates the soul 
 to what it admires, that, setting unattainable 
 perfection in the eye of youth, yet renders it 
 so fascinating that he cannot but proceed. 
 ***** 
 
 But the science with Poetry loves most 
 to study and to inculcate, is the philosophy of 
 human nature, the science of the human 
 heart. The man of the world will tell you that 
 he understands it, and will send you to the 
 world as the source of his knowledge. He has 
 collected a few loathsopie and selfish depra- 
 vities, and bestows them, without distinction of 
 
THE REV. C. WOLFE. 75 
 
 character, as the attributes of the whole human 
 race ; and the result of all his important calcu- 
 lations, mighty researches, and accumulated ex- 
 perience, is caution, distrust, and a contracted 
 heart. But (Jo not you likewise ; do you look 
 upon your common nature with hearts full of 
 sensibility ; weak as it is, contemplate its grand 
 and generous faculties, as well as its baser in- 
 gredients ; let it be yours to pity perhaps 
 to improve it. Poetry, both ancient and mo- 
 dern, presents the heart and passions perpe- 
 tually to our contemplation. 
 
 The criticism of Poetry is perhaps the best 
 introduction to an analysis of the human mind. 
 The dreariness of metaphysical abstraction has 
 often deterred genius from attempting a rugged 
 pursuit, in which the mind is almost always 
 fugitive, and will not pause to admit of a near 
 inspection : but to ascertain the nature of the 
 sublime, the beautiful, and picturesque, to 
 investigate the sources of our purest pleasures, 
 and cultivate a taste, quick, delicate, and 
 philosophical, these bestow a gracefulness 
 
76 EEMAINS OF 
 
 and elegance upon metaphysical disquisitions, 
 that relax their sternness, and invite to more 
 profound investigation. Nor would they merely 
 invite, they would advance, they would en- 
 liven our progress ; and a sensibility of taste 
 would make us acquainted with many a pos- 
 ture, and many a nice inflection of the mind, 
 which logical and unrefined penetration would 
 never have discovered. 
 
 ***** 
 
 But the man of the world interposes, and 
 tells us our joys are but ideal. Poor wretch ! 
 and what are your realities? The smile of 
 capricious royalty, which the next hour's de- 
 traction may turn to a frown ; the shout of a 
 stupid multitude, which scarcely waits a change 
 of sentiment before it becomes the hiss of de- 
 testation ; the roar of nocturnal intemperance, 
 which soon dies away in the groans of an ex- 
 piring constitution ; a catalogue of possessions, 
 which extravagance may dissipate, which the 
 robber may enjoy, and which war and the ele- 
 ments may annihilate ; and, when sorrow and 
 misfortune shall send you to your own heart 
 for consolation, you will find it without ima- 
 
THE REV. C. WOLFE. 77 
 
 gination to enliven, and yet without sensibility 
 enough to break it. Give me my visions and 
 my phantoms again ; they will not desert me, 
 phantoms as they are, the world has not the 
 magic to dispel them ; they shall still remain 
 to give rapture to my joy and alleviation to 
 my sorrows ; for gracious Nature has decreed 
 that imagination shall survive when friends 
 and fortune have forsaken us ; nay, even when 
 reason itself has departed, and even when the 
 noblest of our faculties is fled, not madness itself 
 should quench that loveliest one : and well did 
 the Grecian bard attest his conviction that the 
 Muse would not abandon her afflicted votaries, 
 when, amid the horrors of shipwreck, the poet 
 stood naked over the ruins of his fortune, and 
 said, " I have lost nothing." Yet, once he had 
 enjoyed all the pomp and magnificence of 
 courts, and all the luxury that affluence could 
 procure; but well he knew that winds and 
 waves could not waft him from his Muse. They 
 might fling him in mid-ocean, and one single, 
 solitary rock, amid the wilderness of waters, 
 might be his home, yet even there the Muse 
 would follow ; she would seat him on the top- 
 most crag, and place all the grandeur of sky 
 
78 REMAINS OF 
 
 and ocean beneath his dominion, the riches of 
 the firmament, 
 
 " And all the dread magnificence of heaven." 
 
 He would exult in the terrors of the deep, and 
 hold mysterious converse with the genius of 
 the storm; the very desolation that sur- 
 rounded him would minister to his pleasures, 
 and add a fearful enthusiasm to his con- 
 templations. Nor to these alone would his 
 enjoyments be confined : but, while he seemed 
 chained by nature to the rock on which he sat, 
 his soul might be wandering into regions wild 
 and luxuriant as the fancy that gave them 
 birth, which Philosophy was never destined 
 to discover, nor even Poetry, till then, had 
 explored. 
 
 Nor will the Muse leave her son comfortless 
 in that more dreary solitude into which he 
 may be drifted by shipwreck upon an un- 
 grateful world, where the poet stands isolated 
 in the midst of mankind. 
 
 There lived a divine old man, whose everlast- 
 ing remains we have all admired, whose me- 
 mory is the pride of England and of Nature. 
 His youth was distinguished by a happier lot 
 
THE REV. C. WOLFE. 79 
 
 than, perhaps, genius has often enjoyed at the 
 commencement of its career : he was enabled, 
 by the liberality of fortune, to dedicate his soul 
 to the cultivation of those classical accomplish- 
 ments in which almost his infancy delighted : 
 he had attracted admiration at the period when 
 it is most exquisitely felt : he stood forth the 
 literary and political champion of republican 
 England ; and Europe acknowledged him the 
 conqueror. But the storm arose; his fortune 
 sunk with the republic which he had defended ; 
 the name which future ages have consecrated 
 was forgotten ; and neglect was embittered by 
 remembered celebrity. Age was advancing 
 Health was retreating Nature hid her face 
 from him for ever, for never more to him re- 
 turned 
 
 " Day, or the sweet approach of even or morn, 
 " Or sight of vernal bloom, or summer's rose, 
 " Or flocks or herds, or human face divine." 
 
 What was the refuge of the deserted veteran 
 from penury from neglect from infamy 
 from darkness ? Not in a querulous and peevish 
 despondency; not in an unmanly recantation 
 of principles erroneous, but unchanged; not 
 
80 REMAINS OF 
 
 in the tremendous renunciation of what Heaven 
 has given, and Heaven alone should take away ; 
 but he turned from a distracted country and 
 a voluptuous court, he turned from trium- 
 phant enemies and inefficient friends, he 
 turned from a world that to him was a uni- 
 versal blank, to the Muse that sits among the 
 cherubim, and she caught him into heaven ! 
 The clouds that obscured his vision upon 
 earth .instantaneously vanished before the blaze 
 of celestial effulgence, and his eyes opened at 
 once upon all the glories and terrors of the 
 Almighty, the seats of eternal beatitude and 
 bottomless perdition. What, though to look 
 upon the face of this earth was still denied 
 what was it to him, that one of the outcast 
 atoms of creation was concealed from his view 
 when the Deity permitted the Muse to un- 
 lock his mysteries, and disclose to the poet the 
 recesses of the universe when she bade his soul 
 expand into its immensity, and enjoy as well 
 its horrors as its magnificence what was it to 
 him that he had " fallen upon evil days and 
 " evil tongues," for the Muse could transplant 
 his spirit into the bowers of Eden, where the 
 frown of fortune was disregarded, and the 
 
THE REV. C. WOLFE. 81 
 
 weight of incumbent infirmity forgotten in the 
 smile that beamed on primeval innocence, and 
 the tear that was consecrated to man's first dis- 
 obedience. 
 
 The Muse, in this instance, raised the soul 
 immediately, almost visibly, to heaven, and 
 brought Religion, with all her charms, to co- 
 operate in the consolation she bestowed. But 
 were we to analyse the effects of Poetry, we 
 should soon discover that this is no partial 
 union, but that the Muse must be necessarily a 
 worshipper and an adorer of the Deity. I do 
 not call upon you to view her in the moments 
 of enraptured piety, in her vigils and de- 
 votions with Young, or her heavenly con- 
 versations with Cowper : it is her interest that 
 there should be a God it is her occupation 
 to dwell with delight upon his attributes ; for 
 are not the beautiful and sublime perpetual 
 objects of her contemplation ? And she will 
 naturally seek where they reside in superior 
 perfection ; and where shall she look for 
 sublimity but in that unseen Being in whom 
 is nothing finite, that Being of eternity, im- 
 
 G 
 
82 REMAINS OF 
 
 mensity, and omnipotence ? Nay, even in ideas 
 of inferior sublimity, obscurity and terror, that 
 are their leading characteristics, often impart a 
 nameless sensation of some unknown and mys- 
 terious presence ; and darkness and silence, 
 the tempest and the whirlwind, have borne 
 testimony to the existence of God. 
 
 Would not an universal cloud settle upon 
 all the beauties of creation, if it were supposed 
 that they had not emanated from Almighty 
 energy ? In the works of art, we are not con- 
 tent with the accuracy of feature and the glow 
 of colouring, until we have traced the mind 
 that guided the chisel and gave the pencil its 
 delicacies and animation ; nor can we look with 
 delight upon the features of nature without 
 hailing the celestial Intelligence that gave 
 them birth : and there is something inexpres- 
 sibly mournful in beholding an object with pro- 
 portions and loveliness that seem immediately 
 from heaven, to think that fair form and that 
 exquisite and expressive harmony was a mass 
 flung together by the dull and unselecting 
 hand of chance, and that no mighty master 
 of the work rejoiced in its completion. 
 
 The Deity is too sublime for Poetry to doubt 
 
THE REV. C. WOLFE. 83 
 
 his existence. Creation has too much of the 
 Divinity insinuated into her beauties to allow 
 her to hesitate : she demands no proof, she 
 waits for no demonstration ; she looks, and 
 she believes ; she admires, and she adores. 
 Nor is it alone with natural religion that she 
 maintains this intimate connexion ; for what is 
 the Christian's hope, but Poetry in her purest 
 and most ethereal essence ? Mark the Christian 
 when the holy transport is upon him, when 
 the world sweeps by, and is disregarded, 
 when his whole frame seems to have precipi- 
 tated his soul into other regions is not Fancy 
 wandering among the heavenly host, or bending 
 beneath the throne of its Creator, is not his 
 soul teeming with all the imagery of heaven 
 is it not expanding with unutterable poetry ? 
 
 But let humbled Infidelity declare her 
 triumphs, and the homage of Voltaire to the 
 Muse's piety remain a bright memorial of her 
 allegiance to Christianity. When the powers of 
 hell seemed for a time to prevail, and his prin- 
 ciples had given a shock to the faith of Europe, 
 the daring blasphemer ventured to approach the 
 dramatic Muse ; but no inspiration would she 
 vouchsafe to dignify the sentiments of impiety 
 
 G 2 
 
84 REMAINS OF 
 
 and atheism. He found that no impassioned 
 emotion could be roused, no tragic interest 
 excited, no generous and lofty feeling called 
 into action, where those dark and chilling 
 feelings pervade : he complied with the only 
 terms upon which the Muse would impart her 
 fervours ; and the tragedies of Voltaire display 
 the loveliness of Christianity, below, indeed, 
 what a Christian would feel, but almost beyond 
 what unbelieving genius could conceive. Such 
 was the victory of Poetry when she arrested 
 the apostate while marching onward to the de- 
 solation of mankind, when the champion of 
 modern philosophy fell down before the altar 
 she had raised, and breathed forth the incense 
 of an infidel's adoration ! when he came, like 
 the disobedient prophet, that he might curse 
 the people of God, and behold " he blessed 
 " them altogether." 
 
 But why do I adduce mortal testimony ? 
 From the beginning she was one of the minis- 
 tering spirits that stand round the throne of 
 God, to issue forth at his word, and do his 
 errands upon the earth. Sometimes she has 
 been the herald of an offending nation's down- 
 fall ; and often has she been sent commissioned 
 to transgressing man, with prophecy and warn- 
 
THE REV. C. WOLFE. 85 
 
 ing upon her lips ; but (at other times) she has 
 been intrusted with "glad tidings of great joy;" 
 and Poetry was the anticipating Apostle, the 
 prophetic Evangelist, whose " feet were beau- 
 " tiful upon the mountains that published 
 " salvation that said unto Zion, Thy God 
 " reigneth !" Yet has she been accused of co- 
 operating with luxury and fostering the seeds 
 of private indolence and public supineness ; she 
 has been stigmatised as the origin of moral 
 deformity, because she often condescends to 
 attend upon guilty man ; and where virtue has 
 failed to withdraw him from his vices, has 
 softened their effects, and prevented him from 
 falling into brutality. The spoils of Persia 
 would have relaxed the energies of Greece 
 although poetry had never descended from her 
 throne on high to bless the visions of Grecian 
 enthusiasm ; and happy, polished, enchanting 
 Greece, the idol of our fondest imagination, 
 would have sunk into oblivion into stupid 
 luxury and mindless indolence. Thus, also, 
 when the genius of Roman independence was 
 abandoning the world to Octavius, and re- 
 tiring from his empire into everlasting exile, 
 the Muse collected all her energies to bestow 
 departing consolation ; she wrought a moral 
 
86 REMAINS OF 
 
 miracle to arrest the headlong degeneracy of 
 Rome, and raised up Augustus to counteract 
 
 the crimes that Octavius had committed. 
 
 ***** 
 
 But turn to Poetry and History united 
 for your instruction. Human nature is com- 
 mon to both ; but different are their modes of 
 tuition. They supply their respective delinea- 
 tions of character. Poetry, when at maturity, 
 observes it as well with a painter's eye as with 
 the scrutiny of a philosopher. She seizes the 
 moment of sketching it when in its most 
 picturesque attitude ; or, if there be many, she 
 groups them so as that they may produce the 
 best general effects ; and thus, without annihi- 
 lating their deformities, she makes them con- 
 duce to a pleasing and fascinating impres- 
 sion. But rigid History takes character as 
 she finds it; she displays it more exact and 
 impartial, but less attractive to our contempla- 
 tion. Poetry displays the moral character ; 
 History, the moral and political. Poetry 
 makes the character more palpable; History, 
 more complete. * 
 
 Behold History bending over the dying 
 Theban ! the warriors are weeping around 
 
THE REV. C. WOLFE. 87 
 
 him ; the javelin is still in his side. They 
 imagined his glory was terminating with his 
 life ; they fancied that because he had no 
 mortal representative who should bear the 
 merit of Epaminondas to future ages, pos- 
 terity would have been permitted to forget 
 him ; they thought they were sympathising 
 with the mighty man, when they mournfully 
 exclaimed, " You have no child !" At the 
 word, the hero half arose ; the splendour of 
 futurity irradiated his countenance ; the beams 
 of History's immortal smile played upon his 
 features, and his soul went forth, rejoicing, and 
 exclaiming " I have !" 
 
 While Hannibal was raging in the bowels 
 of Italy, and observing the moment when 
 Rome was vulnerable, she looked to her states- 
 men in her hour of peril ; but statesmen were 
 the pupils of their own experience ; she 
 thought the Fabii and Marcelli could form 
 a temporary check to his advance or his ra- 
 vages ; but Scipio looked into the ages that 
 were past, and saw the prefiguration of Rome's 
 deliverance. We are told that the Muse of 
 
88 REMAINS OF 
 
 history descended upon the meditating hero ; 
 that she shewed him the harbour of Syra- 
 cuse, and told him a tale of former days : 
 " That in the dead of night, when Syracuse 
 " was plunged in universal mourning and 
 " consternation, when the overwhelming navy 
 " of Carthage was riding in her harbour, and 
 " the next day's light threatened to conduct 
 " the enemy into her citadel, with a policy 
 " unique and sublime, she clandestinely dis- 
 " missed her garrison to the coast of Africa, 
 " and when the senate of Carthage expected 
 " the gates of Syracuse to open, they heard 
 " that the warriors of Syracuse were beneath 
 " her own walls." The hero applied the glo- 
 rious suggestion : he embarked his legions 
 he sailed to Africa ; he left the host of Carth- 
 age in Italy, and obeyed the instructions of 
 History. Arid did she instruct him aright ? 
 You will read your answer in the tears of 
 Hannibal when he threw his last look upon 
 the delightful plains of Italy. 
 
 Such was the benefit of historical retrospect 
 in ancient days ; but its value is now incalcu- 
 lably augmented ; for, of the sciences, history 
 is that which is always advancing. Mathe- 
 
THE REV. C. WOLFE. 89 
 
 matics and philosophical improvements may be 
 long at a stand ; poetry and the arts are often 
 stationary, often retrograde ; but every year, 
 every month, every day, is contributing its 
 knowledge to the grand magazine of historical 
 experience. Look at what the last years have 
 added, and behold how history gathers as she 
 rolls along what new attractions she holds 
 forth to mankind. But, with what an accession 
 of beauty she invites the Briton to the study of 
 her charms, while she recounts the acts and 
 heroism and glories of her country ! 
 
 ***** 
 Let the energies of England be extinct ; 
 let her armies be overwhelmed ; let her navy 
 become the spoil of the enemy and the ocean ; 
 let the national credit become a by-word ; 
 let the last dregs of an exhausted treasury be 
 wrung from her coffers; let the constitution 
 crumble; let the enemy ride in her capital, 
 and her frame fall asunder in political dissolu- 
 tion ; then stand with History on one hand, 
 and Oratory on the other, over the grave in 
 which her energies lie entombed, and cry 
 aloud ! Tell her that there was a time when the 
 soul of a Briton would not bend before the con- 
 
90 REMAINS OF 
 
 gregated world : tell her that she once called 
 her sons around her and wrung the charter of 
 her liberties from a reluctant despot's hand : 
 tell her that she was the parent of the band of 
 brothers that fought on Crispin's day : tell her 
 that Spain sent forth a nation upon the seas 
 against her, and that England and the elements 
 overwhelmed it: tell her that six centuries 
 were toiling to erect the edifice of her constitu- 
 tion, and that at length the temple arose : tell 
 her that there are plains in every quarter of the 
 globe where Victory has buried the bones of 
 her heroes, 
 
 " That the spirits of her fathers 
 
 " Shall start from every wave, 
 
 " For the deck it was their field of fame, 
 
 " And ocean was their grave :" 
 
 When the earth opened upon Lisbon and swal- 
 lowed her in the wornb, tell her that she 
 stretched her hand across the seas and raised 
 her from the bowels of the earth into the world 
 again : tell her that when the enemy of hu- 
 man liberty arose, the freedom of the whole 
 world took refuge with her ; that, with an arm 
 of victory, alone and unaided, she flung back 
 the usurper, till recreant Europe blushed with 
 
THE REV. C. WOLFE. 91 
 
 shame ; tell her all this ; and I say that the 
 power of lethargy must be omnipotent, if she 
 does not shake the dust from her neck, and 
 rise in flames of annihilating vengeance on her 
 destroyer. * 
 
 For him who peruses history, every hero 
 has fought, every philosopher has instructed, 
 every legislator has organised ; every bless- 
 ing was bestowed, every calamity was in- 
 flicted for his information. In public, he is in 
 the audit of his counsellors, and enters the se- 
 nate with Pericles, Solon, and Lycurgus about 
 him : in private, he walks among the tombs of 
 the mighty dead ; and every tomb is an oracle. 
 But who is he that should pronounce this 
 awakening caU ? who is he whose voice should 
 be the trumpet and war-cry to an enslaved and 
 degraded nation? It should be the voice of 
 such a one as he who stood over slumbering 
 Greece, and uttered a note at which Athens 
 started from her indolence, Thebes roused from 
 her lethargies, and Macedon trembled. * * 
 
 Soon after the delivery of this speech, Mr, 
 Wolfe began to turn his mind with more .than 
 
92 REMAINS OF 
 
 Ins usual diligence to the minor branches of 
 mathematics and natural philosophy prescribed 
 in the under-graduate course : and in the short 
 time he thus devoted his labours, he evinced so 
 great a capacity for scientific attainments, that 
 those friends who could best estimate his talents 
 for such abstruse subjects, earnestly urged him 
 to the arduous task of reading for a fellowship. 
 His diffidence in his own powers, however, pre- 
 vented him from entering upon it until some 
 time after he took the degree of Bachelor of 
 Arts, to which he was admitted in the year 
 1814. He was at length persuaded to deter- 
 mine upon this pursuit, and all his friends en- 
 tertained the most sanguine hopes of his suc- 
 cess, so far as they could depend upon the 
 steadiness of his application. 
 
 For a short period he prosecuted his studies 
 with such effect as to render it a matter of re- 
 gret to all who were interested for him, that 
 he did not persevere in his efforts, and that he 
 allowed any trifling interruptions to divert him 
 from his object. He evinced, indeed, a solidity 
 of understanding, and a clearness of concep- 
 tion, which, with ordinary diligence and proper 
 management, might have soon made him master 
 
THE REV. C. WOLFE. 93 
 
 of all those branches of learning required in the 
 fellowship course of the Dublin University; 
 but the habits of his mind, and the peculiarity 
 of his disposition, and the variety of his taste, 
 seemed adverse to any thing like continued and 
 laborious application to one definite object. It 
 was a singular characteristic of his mind, that 
 he seldom read any book throughout, not even 
 those works in which he appeared most to de- 
 light. Whatever he read, he thoroughly digest- 
 ed and accurately retained ; but his progress 
 through any book of an argumentative or spe- 
 culative nature was impeded by a disputative 
 habit of thought and a fertility of invention, 
 which suggested ingenious objections and start- 
 ed new theories at every step. Accordingly, this 
 constitution of mind led him rather to investi- 
 gate the grounds of an author's hypothesis, and 
 to satisfy his own mind upon the relative pro- 
 babilities of conflicting opinions, than to plod 
 on patiently through a long course, merely to 
 lay up in his memory the particular views and 
 arguments of each writer, without consideration 
 of their importance or their foundation. He 
 was not content to know what an author's 
 opinions were, but how far they were right or 
 
94 REMAINS OF 
 
 wrong. The examination of a single metaphy- 
 sical speculation of Locke, or a moral argument 
 of Butler, usually cost him more time and 
 thought than would carry ordinary minds 
 through a whole volume. It was also remark- 
 able that in the perusal of mere works of fancy 
 the most interesting poems and romances of 
 the day he lingered with such delight on the 
 first striking passages, or entered into such mi- 
 nute criticism upon every beauty and defect as 
 he went along, that it usually happened, either 
 that the volume was hurried from him, or some 
 other engagement interrupted him before he 
 had finished it. A great portion of what he 
 had thus read he could almost repeat from me- 
 mory ; and while the recollection afforded him 
 much ground of future enjoyment, it was suffi- 
 cient also to set his own mind at work in the 
 same direction. 
 
 The facility of his disposition also exposed 
 him to many interruptions in his studies. Even 
 in the midst of the most important engage- 
 ments, he had not resolution to deny himself to 
 any visiter. He used to watch anxiously for 
 every knock at his door, lest any one should be 
 disappointed or delayed who sought for him ; 
 
THE REV. C. WOLFE. 95 
 
 and such was the good-natured simplicity of his 
 heart, that, however sorely he sometimes felt 
 the intrusion, he still rendered himself so 
 agreeable even to his most common-place ac- 
 quaintances, as to encourage a repetition of 
 their importunities. He allowed himself to 
 become the usual deputy of every one who 
 applied to him to perform any of the routine 
 collegiate duties which he was qualified to dis- 
 charge; and thus his time was so much in- 
 vaded, that he seldom had any interval for 
 continued application to his own immediate 
 business. Besides, the social habit of his dis- 
 position, which delighted in the company of 
 select friends, and preferred the animated en- 
 counter of conversational debate to the less 
 inviting exercise of solitary study; and his 
 varied taste, which could take interest in every 
 object of rational and intellectual enjoyment, 
 served to scatter his mind and divert it from 
 that steadiness of application which is actually 
 necessary for the attainment of distinguished 
 eminence in any pursuit. 
 
 About the time he had entertained thoughts 
 of reading for a fellowship, he had become 
 acquainted with an interesting and highly 
 
96 REMAINS OF 
 
 respectable family, who resided in the most 
 picturesque part of the county of Dublin. 
 Previously to this he had been long immured 
 within the city, and had seldom made even a 
 day's excursion amidst the lovely scenery of 
 the surrounding country. The beauties of 
 nature seemed to break upon him with all the 
 charms of novelty, and were heightened by 
 being shared with friends of congenial feelings. 
 The sensations thus excited soon awakened his 
 slumbering Muse, and found their natural ex- 
 pression in all the fervours of poetic inspiration. 
 The reader shall be presented here with a 
 specimen of his powers in descriptive poetry. 
 The subject is " Lough Bray ;" a romantic and 
 magnificent scene, which lies about six miles 
 south of Rathfarnham, in the northern part of 
 the county Wicklow. It is a sequestered spot 
 in the midst of a region of wildest mountains 
 and hills. There are too lakes, called the 
 upper and lower, the latter of which is the 
 more beautiful and extensive. It is situated near 
 the top of an abrupt mountain, and is almost 
 circular in its shape, a circumstance which has 
 probably given rise to the conjecture that it 
 may be the crater of an extinct volcano. Its 
 
THE REV. C. WOLFE. 97 
 
 area is said to be thirty-seven Irish acres. 
 Close beside it stands a precipice of several 
 hundred feet, near the top of which is a dark 
 overhanging cliff, commonly called the "Eagle's 
 " ( Crag;" and the lake itself sometimes over- 
 flows and glides down the side of the mountain 
 in the opposite direction. This brief descrip- 
 tion of the principal features of the scene, may 
 serve to prepare the reader for what he is to 
 expect in the little poem which follows. 
 
 FAREWELL TO LOUGH BRAY. 
 
 Then fare the well ! I leave thy rocks and glens. 
 And all thy wild and random majesty, 
 To plunge amid the world's deformities, 
 And see how hideously mankind deface 
 What God hath given them good : while viewing thee, 
 I think how grand and beautiful is God, 
 When man has not intruded on his works, 
 But left his bright creation unimpaired. 
 'Twas therefore I approached thee with an awe 
 Delightful, therefore eyed, with joy grotesque 
 With joy I could not speak ; (for on this heart 
 Has beauteous Nature seldom smiled, and scarce 
 A casual wind has blown the veil aside, 
 And shewn me her immortal lineaments,) 
 'Twas therefore did my heart expand, to mark 
 
 H 
 
98 . REMAINS OF 
 
 Thy pensive uniformity of gloom. 
 
 The deep and holy darkness of thy wave, 
 
 And that stern rocky form, whose aspect stood 
 
 Athwart us, and confronted us at once, 
 
 Seeming to vindicate the worship due, 
 
 And yet reclined in proud recumbency, 
 
 As if secure the homage would be paid : 
 
 It look'd the genius of the place, and seem'd 
 
 To superstition's eye, to exercise 
 
 Some sacred, unknown function. Blessed scenes ! 
 
 Fraught with primeval grandeur ! or if aught 
 
 Is changed in thee, it is no mortal touch 
 
 That sharpen'd thy rough brow, or fringed thy skirts 
 
 With coarse luxuriance : 'twas the lightning's force 
 
 Dash'd its strong flash across thee, and did point 
 
 The crag ; or, with his stormy thunderbolt, 
 
 Th' Almighty architect himself disjoin'd 
 
 Yon rock ; then flung it down where now it hangs, 
 
 And said, " Do thou lie there ;" and genial rains, 
 
 (Which e'en without the good man's prayer came down) 
 
 Cali'd forth thy vegetation. Then I watch'd 
 
 The clouds that coursed along the sky, to which 
 
 A trembling splendour o'er the waters moved 
 
 Responsive ; while at times it stole to land, 
 
 And smiled among the mountain's dusky locks. 
 
 Surely there linger beings in this place 3 
 
 For whom all this is done : it cannot be, 
 
 That all this fair profusion is bestow'd 
 
 For such wild wayward pilgrims as ourselves. 
 
THE REV. l\ WOLFE. 99 
 
 Haply some glorious spirits here await 
 
 The opening of heaven's portals ; who disport 
 
 Along the bosom of the lucid lake ; , 
 
 Who cluster on that peak ; or playful peep 
 
 Into yon eagle's nest ; then sit them down 
 
 And talk of those they left on earth, and those 
 
 Whom they shall meet in heaven : and, haply tired, 
 
 (If blessed spirits tire in such employ,) 
 
 The slumbering phantoms lay them down to rest 
 
 Upon the bosom of the dewy breeze. 
 
 Ah ! whither do I roam I dare not think 
 
 Alas ! I must forget thee ; for I go 
 
 To mix with narrow minds and hollow hearts 
 
 I must forget thee fare thee, fare thee well ! 
 
 The following stanzas will convey some 
 idea of the sensations with which the poet 
 returned from such scenes as this to the sombre 
 walls of a college, and how painfully he felt 
 the transition from such enjoyments to the 
 grave occupation of academic studies. 
 
 SONG. 
 I. 
 
 Oh say not that my heart is cold 
 
 To aught that once would warm it 
 
 That Nature's form so dear of old 
 No more has power to charm it ; 
 
100 REMAINS OF 
 
 Or that th' ungenerous world can chill 
 
 One glow of fond emotion 
 For those who made it dearer still, 
 
 And shared my wild devotion. 
 
 II. 
 
 Still oft those solemn scenes I view 
 
 In rapt and dreamy sadness ; 
 Oft look on those who loved them too 
 
 With fancy's idle gladness ; 
 Again I longed to view the light 
 
 In Nature's features glowing ; 
 Again to tread the mountain's height, 
 
 And taste the soul's overflowing. 
 
 III. 
 
 Stern Duty rose, and frowning flung 
 
 His leaden chain around me ; 
 With iron look and sullen tongue 
 
 He mutter'd as he bound me 
 " The mountain breeze, the boundless heaven, 
 
 " Unfit for toil the creature ; 
 66 These for the free alone are given, 
 
 " But what have slaves with Nature ?" 
 
 A description of an enchanting scene in the 
 county Wicklow " the Dargle," or " Glen of 
 the Oak" cannot fail to interest any one who 
 
THE REV. C. WOLFE. 101 
 
 has had the happiness to visit it, and is gifted 
 with taste to enjoy it. This little sketch, 
 though written in prose, is animated by the 
 very spirit of poetry, and is so graphically ac- 
 curate in the delineation of every feature of 
 that lovely spot, that it seems capable of sum- 
 moning up before the imagination, as by magic, 
 the whole scene, in all its vivid colouring and 
 its distinctive forms of beauty. 
 
 THE DARGLE. 
 
 We found ourselves at Bray about ten in 
 the morning, with that disposition to be pleased 
 which seldom allows itself to be disappointed ; 
 and the sense of our escape from every thing 
 not only of routine, but of regularity, into the 
 country of mountains and glens and valleys and 
 waterfalls, inspired us with a sort of gay wild- 
 ness and independence, that disposed us to 
 find more of the romantic and picturesque than 
 perhaps Nature ever intended. If therefore, 
 gentle reader, thou shouldest here meet with 
 any extravagances at which thy sober feelings 
 may be inclined to revolt, bethink thee, that 
 the immortal Syntax himself, when just es- 
 caped from the everlasting dulness of a school, 
 
102 REMAINS OF 
 
 did descry a landscape even in a post, a 
 circumstance which probably no one had ever 
 discovered before. 
 
 We proceeded to the Dargle along the small 
 river whose waters were flowing gently towards 
 us after having passed through the beautiful 
 scenes we were to visit. It was here a tranquil 
 stream, and its banks but thinly clothed ; but 
 at the opening of the Dargle-gate, the scene 
 was instantly changed. At once we were im- 
 mersed in a sylvan wilderness, where the trees 
 were thronging and crowding around us ; and 
 the river had suddenly changed its tone, and 
 was sounding wildly up the wooded bank that 
 sloped down to its edge. We precipitated 
 ourselves towards the sound, and when we 
 stopped and looked around us, the mountains, 
 the champaign, and almost the sky had dis- 
 appeared. We were at the bottom of a deep 
 winding glen, whose steep sides had suddenly 
 shut out every appearance of the world that we 
 had left. At our feet a stream was struggling 
 with the multitude of rude rocks, which Nature, 
 in one of her primeval convulsions, had flung 
 here and there in masses into its current; 
 sometimes uniting into irregular ledges, over 
 
THE REV. C. WOLFE. 103 
 
 which the water swept with impetuosity ; - 
 sometimes standing insulated in the stream, 
 and increasing the energies of the river by their 
 resistance; sometimes breaking forward from 
 the bank, and giving a bolder effect to its ro- 
 mantic outline. The opposite side of the glen, 
 that rose steeply and almost perpendicularly 
 from the very brink of the river, was one preci- 
 pice of foliage from top to bottom, where the 
 trees rose directly above each other (their roots 
 and backs being in a great degree concealed 
 by the profusion of leaves in those below them), 
 and a broken sunbeam now and then struggled 
 through the boughs, and sometimes contrived 
 to reach the river. 
 
 The side along which we proceeded was 
 equally high, but more sloping and diversified ; 
 and the wooding, at one time retiring from the 
 stream, while at another a close cluster of trees 
 of the freshest verdure advanced into the river, 
 bending over it in attitudes at once graceful 
 and fantastic, and forming a picturesque and 
 luxuriant counterpart to the little naked pro- 
 montories of rock which we before observed. 
 Both sides of the glen completely enclosed 
 us from the view of every thing external, 
 
104 REMAINS OF 
 
 except a narrow tract of sky just over our 
 heads, which corresponded in some degree to 
 the course of the stream below ; so that in fact 
 the sun seemed a stranger, only occasionally 
 visiting us from another system. Sometimes 
 while we were engaged in contemplating the 
 strong darkness of the river as it rushed along, 
 and the pensive loveliness of the foliage over- 
 hanging it, a sudden gleam of sunshine quietly 
 yet instantaneously diffused itself over the 
 scene, as if it smiled almost from some internal 
 perception of pleasure, and felt a glow of 
 instinctive exhiliration. Thus did we wander 
 from charm to charm, and from beauty to 
 beauty, endlessly varying, though all breathing 
 the same wild and secluded luxury, the same 
 poetical voluptuousness. This new region, set 
 apart from the rest of creation, with its class of 
 fanciful joys attached to it, seemed allotted to 
 some creature of different elements from our 
 own, some airy being, whose only essence 
 was imagination. As the thought occupied us, 
 we opened upon a new object which seemed to 
 confirm it. The profuse wooding which formed 
 the steep and rich barrier of the opposite side 
 of the river, was suddenly interrupted by a 
 
THE HEV. C. WOLFE. 105 
 
 huge naked rock that stood out into the stream, 
 as if it had swelled forward indignantly from 
 the touch of cultivation, and, proud of its pri- 
 mitive barrenness, had flung aside the hand 
 that was dispensing beauty around it, and that 
 would have intruded upon its craggy and ori- 
 ginal majesty. It was here that our imagina- 
 tions fixed a residence for the Genius of the 
 river and the Spirit of the Dargle. A sort of 
 watery cell was formed by the protrusion of 
 this bold figure from the one side, and the 
 thick foliage that met it across from the other, 
 and threw a solemn darkness over the water. 
 In front, a fragment of rock stood in the middle 
 of the current, like a threshold, and a spreading 
 tree hung its branches directly over it, like a 
 spacious screen in face of the cell. From this 
 we began gradually to ascend, until our side 
 became nearly as steep as the opposite, while 
 the wooding was thickening on both at every 
 step ; so that the glen soon formed one steep 
 and magnificent gulf of foliage. The river at 
 a vast distance, almost directly below us ; the 
 glad sparkling and flashing of its waters, only 
 occasionally seen, and its wild voice mellowed 
 and refined as it reached us through thousands 
 
106 11EMAINS OF 
 
 of leaves and branches ; the variety of hues, 
 and the mazy irregularity of the trees that 
 descended from our feet to the river, were 
 finely contrasted with the heavier and more 
 monotonous mass that met it in the bottom, 
 down the other side. 
 
 In stepping back a few paces, we just de- 
 scried, over the opposite boundary, the top of 
 Sugar-loaf, in dim and distant perspective. 
 The sensations of a mariner, when, after a long 
 voyage without sight of shore, he suddenly per- 
 ceives symptoms of land where land was not 
 expected, could not be more novel and curious, 
 than those excited in us by this little silent 
 notice of regions which we had literally for- 
 gotten, so totally were we engrossed in our 
 present enchantment, and so much were our 
 minds, like our view, bounded by the sides of 
 the glen. This single object let in a whole 
 train of recollections and associations ; but 
 the charm could not be more gradually and 
 more pleasingly broken. The glen, still re- 
 taining all its characteristic luxuriance, began 
 gracefully to widen, the country to open 
 upon us, and the mountains to rise; and at 
 length, after a gentle descent, we passed the 
 
THE REV. C. WOLFE. 107 
 
 Dargle-gate, and found ourselves standing over 
 the delightful valley of Power scourt. It was 
 like a transition from the enjoyments of an 
 Ariel to those of human nature, from the bliss- 
 ful abode of some sylphic genius, to the happi- 
 est habitations of mortal men, from all the rest- 
 less and visionary delights of fancy, to the calm 
 glow of real and romantic happiness. Our 
 minds that were before confused by the throng 
 of beauties that enclosed and solicited them 
 on every side, now expanded and reposed upon 
 the scene before us. The sun himself seemed 
 liberated, and rejoicing in his emancipation. 
 The valley indeed " lay smiling before us ;" the 
 river no longer dashing over rocks and strug- 
 gling with impediments, was flowing brightly 
 and cheerfully along in the sun, bordered by 
 meadows of the liveliest green, and now and 
 then embowered in a cluster of trees. One 
 little field of the freshest verdure swelled for- 
 ward beyond the rest, round which the river 
 wound, so as to give it the appearance of an 
 island. In this we observed a mower whetting 
 his scythe, and the sound was just sufficient to 
 reach us faintly and at intervals. To the left 
 was the Dargle, where all the beauties that 
 
108 REMAINS OF 
 
 had so much enchanted us were now one un- 
 distinguishable mass of leaves. Confronting 
 us, stood Sugar-loaf, with his train of rough 
 and abrupt mountains, remaining dark in the 
 midst of sunshine, like the frowning guardians 
 of the valley. These were contrasted with the 
 grand flowing outline of the mountains to our 
 right, and the exquisite refinement and variety 
 of the light that spread itself over their gigantic 
 sides. Far to the left, the sea was again dis- 
 closed to our view, and behind us was the 
 Scalp, like the outlet from Paradise into the 
 wide world of thorns and briars. 
 
 A BIRTH-DAY POEM. 
 
 Oh have you not heard of the harp that lay 
 
 This morning across the pilgrim's way 
 
 The wayward youth that loved to wander 
 
 By twilight lone up the mountain yonder ? 
 
 How that wild harp came there not the wisest can know, 
 
 It lay silent and lone on the mountain's brow ; 
 
 The eagle's down on the strings that lay 
 
 Proved he there had awaited the dawning ray ; 
 
THE REV. C. WOLFE. 109 
 
 But no track could be seen, nor a footstep was near, 
 Save the course of the hare o'er the strings in fear, 
 And ah ! no minstrel is here to be seen 
 On our mountain's brow, or our valleys green ; 
 And if there were, he had miss'd full soon 
 His wild companion so sweet and boon. 
 While the youth stood gazing on aghast, 
 The wind it rose strong, and the wind it rose fast, 
 Quick on the harp it came swinging, swinging 
 Then away through the strings it went singing, singing, 
 Till a peal there arose so lofty and loud 
 That the eagle hung breathless upon his cloud, 
 And away through the strings the wind it went sweeping 
 Till the spirit awoke, that among them was sleeping 
 It awoke, it awoke ; 
 It spoke, it spoke 
 " I am the spirit of Erin's might, 
 
 " That brighten'd in peace, and that nerved her in fight 
 " The spirit that lives in the blast of the mountain, 
 " And tunes her voice to the roll of the fountain 
 " The spirit of giddy and frantic gladness 
 " The spirit of most heart-rending sadness 
 " The spirit of maidens weeping on 
 
 " Wildly, tenderly 
 " The spirit of heroes thundering on 
 
 " Gloriously, gloriously ; 
 " And though my voice is seldom heard, 
 " Now another's song 's preferred, 
 
110 REMAINS OF 
 
 " I tell thee, stranger, I have sung 
 
 " Where Tara's hundred harps have rung-- 
 
 " And I have rode by Brien's side, 
 
 " Rolling back the Danish tide 
 
 u And know each echo long and slow 
 
 " Of still romantic Glandulough ; 
 
 " Though now my song but seldom thrills, 
 
 " Lately a stranger awaken'd me ; 
 " And Genius came from Scotland's hills. 
 
 " A pilgrim for my minstrelsy. 
 " But come more faintly blows the gale, 
 " And my voice begins to fail 
 " Pilgrim, take this simple lyre 
 " And yet it holds a nation's fire 
 " Take it, while with me 'tis swelling, 
 " To your stately lowland dwelling 
 " There she dwells my Erin's maid 
 " In her charming native shade ; 
 46 I have placed my stamp upon her, 
 " Erin's radiant brow of honour ; 
 " Spirits lambent heart that 's glowing 
 " Mind that's rich, and soul o'erflowing ; 
 " She moves with her bounding mountain-grace, 
 " And the light of her heart is in her face : 
 " Tell the maid I claim her mine 
 " For Erin it is her's to shine ; 
 " And, that she still increase her store 
 " Of intellect and fancy's lore, 
 
THE REV. C. WOLFE. Ill 
 
 " That I demand from her a mind 
 " Solid, brilliant, strong, refined ; 
 " And that she prize a patriot's fire, 
 " Beyond what avarice can desire ; 
 " And she must pour a patriot's song 
 " Her romantic hills along." 
 Her name is * * * 
 
 Faintly died 
 
 The blast upon the mountain side, 
 Nor scarcely o'er the clouds it brush M ; 
 And now the murmuring sound is huslTd, 
 Yet sweetly, sweetly, * * rung 
 On the faltering spirit's tongue 
 Speak again, the youth lie cried, 
 But no faltering sprite replied ; 
 Wild harp, wild harp, 
 
 To * * I will take thee 
 Wild harp, wild harp, 
 
 She perhaps will wake thee. 
 
 SONG. 
 
 I. 
 
 Oh my love has an eye of the softest blue, 
 
 Yet it was not that that won me ; 
 But a little bright drop from her soul was there 
 
 "Tis that that has undone me. 
 
112 REMAINS OF 
 
 II. 
 
 I might have passed that lovely cheek, 
 Nor, perchance, my heart have left me ; 
 
 But the sensitive blush that came trembling there, 
 Of my heart it for ever bereft me. 
 
 in. 
 
 I might have forgotten that red, red lip 
 Yet how from the thought to sever ? 
 
 But there was a smile from the sunshine within. 
 And that smile I'll remember for ever. 
 
 IV. 
 
 Think not 'tis nothing but lifeless clay, 
 The elegant form that haunts me 
 
 'Tis the gracefully delicate mind that moves 
 In every step, that enchants me. 
 
 V 
 
 Let me not hear the nightingale sing, 
 Though I once in its notes delighted ; 
 
 The feeling and mind that comes whispering forth,, 
 Has left me no music beside it. 
 
 VI. 
 
 Who could blame had I loved that face, 
 Ere my eye could twice explore her ? 
 
 Yet it is for the fairy intelligence there, 
 And her warm warm heart I adore her. 
 
THE REV. C. WOLFE. 113 
 
 TO A FRIEND. 
 
 I. 
 
 My own friend my own friend ! 
 There's no one like my own friend ; 
 
 For all the gold 
 
 The world can hold, 
 I would not give my own friend. 
 
 IL 
 
 So bold and frank his bearing, boy, 
 Should you meet him onward faring, boy, 
 
 In Lapland's snow 
 
 Or Chili's glow, 
 You'd say what news from Erin, boy ? 
 
 III. 
 
 He has a curious mind, boy 
 'Tis jovial 'tis refined, boy^- 
 
 'Tis richly fraught 
 
 With random thought, 
 And feelings wildly kind, boy. 
 
 IV. 
 
 'Twas eaten up with care, boy, 
 For circle, line, and square, boy 
 
 And few believed 
 
 That genius thrived 
 Upon such drowsy fare, boy. 
 
114 REMAINS OF 
 
 V. 
 
 But his heart that beat so strong, boy, 
 Forbade her slumber long, boy 
 
 So she shook her wing, 
 
 And with a spring 
 Away she bore along, boy. 
 
 VI. 
 
 She wavers unconfined, boy, 
 All wayward on the wind, boy, 
 
 Yet her song 
 
 All along 
 Was of those she left behind, boy. 
 
 VII. 
 
 And we may let him roam, boy, 
 For years and years to come, boy ; 
 
 In storms and seas 
 
 In mirth and ease, 
 He'll ne'er forget his home, boy. 
 
 VIII. 
 
 O give him not to wear, boy, 
 Your rings of braided hair, boy 
 
 Without this fuss 
 
 He'll think of us 
 His heart he has us there, boy. 
 
THE REV. C. 'WOLFE. 115 
 
 IX. 
 
 For what can't be undone, boy, 
 He will not blubber on, boy 
 
 He "11 brightly smile, 
 
 Yet think the while 
 Upon the friend that 's gone, boy. 
 
 X. 
 
 O saw you his fire-side, boy, 
 And those that round it bide, boy, 
 
 You M glow to see 
 
 The thrilling glee 
 Around his fire-side, boy. 
 
 XI. 
 
 Their airy poignant mirth, boy, 
 From feeling has its birth, boy ; 
 
 'Tis worth the groans 
 
 And the moans 
 Of half the dolts on earth, boy. 
 
 XII. 
 
 Each soul that there has smiled, boy, 
 Is Erin's native child, boy 
 
 A woodbine flower 
 
 In Erin's bower, 
 So elegant, so wild, boy. 
 I 2 
 
116 REMAINS OF 
 
 XIII. 
 
 The surly clouds that roll, boy, 
 Will not for storms console, boy ; 
 
 'Tis the rainbow's light 
 
 So tenderly bright 
 That softens and cheers the soul, boy. 
 
 XIV. 
 
 I 'd ask no friends to mourn, boy, 
 When I to dust return, boy 
 
 No breath of sigh 
 
 Or brine of eye 
 Should gather round my urn, boy. 
 
 XV. 
 
 I just would ask a tear, boy, 
 From every eye that 's there, boy ; 
 
 Then a smile each day, 
 
 All sweetly gay, 
 My memory should repair, boy. 
 
 XVI. 
 
 The laugh that there endears, boy 
 The memory of your years, boy 
 
 Would more delight 
 
 Your hovering sprite 
 Than half the world's tears, boy. 
 
THE REV. C. WOLFE. 117 
 
 Something, perhaps, may be discovered in 
 the latter poems beyond the mere inspiration of 
 the Muse ; and it might therefore appear inex- 
 pedient to pass by, without some short notice, 
 a circumstance in the life of our author so 
 interesting as that which the reader may have 
 already suspected. With the family alluded to 
 in these poems, he had been for some time in 
 habits of the most friendly intercourse, and fre- 
 quently had the happiness of spending a few 
 days upon a visit at their country residence, 
 sharing in all the refined pleasures of their 
 domestic circle, and partaking with them in 
 the exhilarating enjoyment of the rural and 
 romantic scenery around them. With every 
 member of the family he soon became cordially 
 intimate ; but with one this intimacy gradually 
 and almost unconsciously grew into a decided 
 attachment. The attainment of a fellowship 
 would indeed have afforded him means suffi- 
 cient to realise his hopes ; but, unhappily, the 
 statute which rendered marriage incompatible 
 with that honourable station, had been lately 
 revived. His prospects of obtaining a compe- 
 tency in any other pursuit were so distant and 
 
118 REMAINS OF 
 
 uncertain, that the family of the young lady 
 deemed it prudent at once to break off all fur- 
 ther intercourse, before a mutual engagement 
 had actually taken place. 
 
 How severely this disappointment pressed 
 upon a heart like his, may easily be conceived. 
 It would be injustice to him to deny that he 
 long and deeply felt it : but he had been habi- 
 tually so far under the influence of religious 
 principles, as to feel assured that every event of 
 our lives is under the regulation of a wise Pro- 
 vidence, and that by a resigned acquiescence 
 in his arrangements, even our bitterest trials 
 may be overruled for our best interests our 
 truest happiness. This circumstance, perhaps, 
 weakened the stimulus to his exertions for the 
 attainment of a fellowship, but he had long 
 before relaxed them ; it does not, however, ap- 
 pear that it had any influence in determining 
 the choice of his profession, as the prevailing 
 tendency of his mind had always been towards 
 the sacred office of the ministry. 
 
 In a short time after this severe disap- 
 pointment, and a few days previous to his or- 
 dination (which took place in November 1817), 
 
THE REV. C. WOLFE. 119 
 
 his feelings received another shock by the 
 death of a dear fellow-student,* one of his 
 most valued and intimate friends. Under the 
 deep impression of two such afflictive trials, he 
 was obliged to prepare for a removal from society 
 which he loved, from the centre of science 
 and literature, to which he was so much de- 
 
 * The editor cannot forbear indulging his feelings by a 
 brief record of the lamented friend alluded to in the above 
 passage. The name of Hercules Henry Graves, with whom 
 we were both united in bonds of the closest intimacy, will 
 not be read, even by a common acquaintance, without 
 awakening sentiments of regret for the loss which society has 
 sustained in the early removal of so much intellectual and 
 moral worth. He was the second son of the learned and ex- 
 cellent Dean Graves, professor of divinity in the Dublin Uni- 
 versity. With talents at once solid and shining, he combined 
 an invincible perseverance, a masculine strength of under- 
 standing, and an energy of spirit which crowned his academic 
 labours with the most distinguished honours, and afforded the 
 surest pledge of rapid advancement to professional eminence. 
 These rare endowments of mind were accompanied by quali- 
 ties of greater value, a high moral taste, a purity of prin- 
 ciple, a generosity of spirit, and an affectionate temperament 
 of heart, which secured him the respect and regard of every 
 individual of his widely extended acquaintance. 
 
 This happy union of mental and moral qualities was set 
 
120 REMAINS OF 
 
 voted, to an obscure and remote country curacy 
 in the north - of Ireland, where he could not 
 hope to meet one individual to enter into his 
 feelings, or to hold communion with him upon 
 the accustomed subjects of his former pursuits. 
 He felt as if he had been transplanted into a 
 totally new world ; as a missionary abandoning 
 
 off by a constant How of good-humour, an equability of tem- 
 per, and a frankness and cordiality of manners, which diffused 
 an instantaneous glow of exhilaration through every circle in 
 which he appeared. He was on the point of being called to 
 the Irish bar, and was universally allowed to be the most 
 promising aspirant of his contemporaries to its honours and 
 emoluments, when, unhappily, his health began to break 
 down. He was ordered to the South of France, where he 
 died in November 1817, " in the fear of God, and the faith of 
 t( Jesus Christ," as he himself wished it to be recorded on his 
 tomb. His illness was made the happy occasion of directing 
 his mind more fully to the concerns of his immortal soul, 
 which he felt he had too much overlooked in the busy pursnit 
 of earthly objects. The study of religion had not, however, 
 been neglected by him : with our author and two other friends 
 he had been in the habit of reading and discussing some of 
 the ablest works upon the evidences of the Christian faith ; 
 and it is to be presumed, that the impressions thus made upon 
 his understanding were not lost upon his heart. They seemed 
 to have recurred to his mind with full force in his illness. 
 
THE REV. C. WOLFE. 121 
 
 home and friends, and cherished habits, for 
 the awful and important work to which he had 
 solemnly devoted himself. 
 
 At first he was engaged in a temporary 
 curacy, not far remote from the situation in 
 which he was soon afterwards permanently 
 fixed. An extract from a letter to one of 
 his college friends, will give some idea of the 
 state of his feelings upon his arrival at the 
 
 He took special comfort in the gracious assurance, " Him that 
 " cometh unto me, I will in no wise cast out ;" anxiously 
 considering the full import of the phrase, " to come unto 
 Christ." The view of our blessed Redeemer, as God and Man 
 as one " able and willing to save to the uttermost all that 
 " come unto the Father through him," was indeed " an an- 
 " chor of his soul, both sure and steadfast," at the near pros- 
 pect of eternity. It enabled him not merely to close his eyes 
 with resignation upon the brightest earthly prospects, but to 
 look forward with holy hope to an imperishable happiness. 
 May this, amongst many other similar examples, serve to shew 
 that vital religion is not unworthy of the greatest mental pow- 
 ers, or incompatible with the highest attainments of secular 
 learning ; and may it impress upon the conscience of every 
 reader, that a time will come when the strongest mind will 
 want all the sustaining consolations which a steadfast faith 
 in the Gospel is calculated to bestow. 
 
 U7TVOV 
 
 . EDITOR. 
 
122 REMAINS OF 
 
 place where he was now to enter upon his new 
 sphere of duties. 
 
 Bally clog, Tyrone, Dec. llth, 1817. 
 " MY DEAR 
 
 " I am now sitting by myself opposite my 
 " turf-fire, with my Bible beside me, in the 
 " only furnished room of the Glebe House, 
 " surrounded by mountains, frost and snow, 
 " and by a set of people with whom I am 
 " totally unacquainted, except a disbanded 
 " artilleryman, his wife and two children, who 
 *' attend me, the churchwarden and clerk of 
 " the parish. Do not however conceive that I 
 " repine ; I rather congratulate myself on my 
 " situation; however, I am beginning rather 
 " poetically than historically, and at once 
 " hurrying you, f in medias res.' Alas ! what 
 " could bring Horace into my head here! 
 " Well, I arrived at Auchnacloy, without an 
 " adventure, on Saturday, at half-past eleven ; 
 " posted from thence to the Glebe House of 
 
 " Mr. S , a fine large mansion, situated 
 
 " in a wild, bleak country, alternately moun- 
 " tain and bog. * * * On Sunday I 
 " arrived at this place, where I opened my 
 
THE REV. C. WOLFE. 123 
 
 " career by reading prayers. * * * Com- 
 " paratively happy should I be if I could con- 
 
 " tinue the hermit of B ; but I am not 
 
 " doomed to such seclusion. * * * My 
 
 dear I want you and my friends 
 
 " more than ever. Write immediately all of 
 
 " you to the hermit of B 
 
 " Ever yours, 
 
 " C. W." 
 
 4 MY DEAR 
 
 " I shall follow your example in not 
 " wasting my paper either in professions or 
 " apologies. Suffice it to say, that a day or 
 " two before I received your letter, I had 
 
 " written to C. D , which I conceived 
 
 " was writing to the gang; and was since 
 " obliged to leave my hermitage at Ballyclog, 
 " and officiate in my own parish for the first 
 " time on Christmas-day, not being qualified to 
 " consecrate the sacrament ; and since my re- 
 
 " turn have been for some time engaged at 
 
 " * * * Well, my dear fellow, though it may 
 " appear as selfish as paradoxical, I look upon 
 " you as more my companion since I have 
 " heard that you are more alone. You are 
 
REMAINS OF 
 
 " more like me, and have more leisure to think 
 " of me. ' * * * I am now in a country far 
 " superior, both in cultivation and society, to 
 " that which is my ultimate destination. I 
 " am surrounded by grandees, who count their 
 " incomes by thousands, and by clergymen 
 " innumerable ; however, I have kept out of 
 " their reach ; I have preferred my turf-fire, 
 " my books, and the memory of the friends I 
 " have left, to all the society that Tyrone can 
 " furnish with one bright exception. At 
 
 M 5 s I am indeed every way at home ; 
 
 " I am at home in friendship and hospitality, 
 ' in science and literature, in our common 
 " friends and acquaintance, and in topics of 
 " religion. * 
 
 " Ever yours, 
 " C. W." 
 
 Before we proceed further, it may be im- 
 portant as well as interesting to give some 
 view of the religious character of the author 
 previous to his ordination, and to trace the 
 progress of his mind towards that high state 
 of Christan principle to which he afterwards 
 attained. 
 
THE REV. C. WOLFE. 
 
 His family all represent him as being from 
 childhood impressed with religious feelings : 
 and during his college life the writer had full 
 opportunity of perceiving that they had not 
 been effaced. 
 
 The pure moral taste, which seemed almost 
 a natural element of his mind, may properly be 
 attributed to the gradual and insensible opera- 
 tion of that divine principle with which he had 
 been so early embued. 
 
 In many cases, " The kingdom of God (as 
 " our blessed Lord himself declares) is as if a 
 " man should cast seed in the ground; and 
 " should sleep, and rise night and day and 
 " the seed should spring and grow up, he 
 " knoweth not how first the blade then 
 " the ear after that, the full corn in the 
 " ear." 
 
 Such, in some measure, appears to have 
 been the advancement of his mind, in the forma- 
 tion of that high religious character which he 
 ultimately reached ; but in his case, there was 
 at least one marked stage of this progress. 
 Religion had evidently a restraining influence 
 on him at all times ; it kept him back from the 
 vulgar dissipation and usual vices of youth. 
 
126 REMAINS OF 
 
 He was exemplary, I might say blameless, in 
 his moral conduct, and scrupulous in the dis- 
 charge of duty : and though naturally impetu- 
 ous in his feelings, habitually lively and even 
 playful in his temper and manners, yet there 
 was manifestly an influence in his heart and a 
 guard upon his tongue, which never permitted 
 him to violate the rules of strictest chastity or 
 decorum. He was devout and regular in his 
 habits of private prayer and in attendance upon 
 public worship ; and I have often seen him 
 affected even to tears in reading the sacred 
 Word of inspiration. But when he came to 
 preach the doctrines and duties of Christianity 
 to others, they burst upon his mind in their 
 full magnitude, and in all their awful extent : 
 he felt that he himself had not given up his 
 whole heart to God, that the Gospel of Christ 
 had held but a divided empire in his soul ; and 
 he looked back upon his earlier years with self- 
 reproach and self-distrust, when he recalled 
 to mind the subordinate place which the love of 
 God had possessed in his heart. If such a man 
 could feel reason to contemplate the days of his 
 youth with emotions of this kind, what should 
 be the feelings of him who has lived altogether 
 
THE REV. C. WOLFE. 
 
 " without God in the world ?" who has scarce 
 ever known what it was to control a passion 
 or regulate a desire, or perform a single action, 
 with an exclusive reference to the divine will? 
 
 " Yet will there come an hour to him, 
 
 " When anguish in his breast shall wake, 
 
 " And that bright eye-ball, weak and dim, 
 
 " Gazing on former days, shall ache ; 
 
 " When solitude bids visions drear 
 
 " Of raptures, now no longer dear, 
 
 " In gloomy ghastliness appear 
 
 " When thoughts arise of errors past 
 
 " Of prospects foully overcast 
 
 " Of passion's unresisted rage 
 
 " Of youth that thought not upon age 
 
 " Of earthly hopes, too fondly nurst, 
 
 " That caught the giddy eye at first, 
 
 " But like the flowers of Syrian sands, 
 
 " That crumbled in the closing hands."* 
 
 I will venture to introduce here, merely as 
 indications of his youthful piety, some reli- 
 gious thoughts which are scattered amongst 
 his earliest papers. 
 
 Those miserable sceptics who boast of their 
 imaginary discernment, are only a sort of 
 
 * Anster's Poems (Edinburgh, 1819), p. 146. 
 
128 
 
 REMAINS OF 
 
 intellectual glow-worm : they borrow their 
 glimmer from darkness, and exult in its pitiful 
 and momentary spark: but the day "the 
 " day-spring from on high" will soon come, 
 and then they are but worms ! Dost thou 
 dispute the existence of a Providence ? From 
 thee, dust and reptile, I appeal to the Heavens ; 
 from thee, undistinguished link in the chain of 
 nature, I appeal to the Universe. 
 
 I have often considered, that if it were 
 proposed to man by his Maker, to select and 
 mention the most faultless transactions of his 
 life, and to offer up the catalogue at the 
 shrine of his Judge, he would either be totally 
 confounded and perplexed, or would make a 
 very erroneous and defective selection : he 
 would even offer up vices for virtues ; sins for 
 acts of goodness : he would perhaps present a 
 memorial of deeds which appeared meritorious 
 to the world and to himself, the motive of which 
 was perhaps not only unchristian, but criminal ; 
 the incentive to which was a lurking, smothered 
 pride, a deceitful and seductive ambition, or 
 some passion which screened and shrouded 
 itself in the garb of religion. I will suppose 
 
THE REV. C. WOLFE. 129 
 
 that at such an awful crisis, when he was to 
 make such an oblation to his Father and Re- 
 deemer, he perceives the futility of those splen- 
 did actions which dazzled his inconsiderate fel- 
 low-creatures, as the native offspring of virtue; I 
 will suppose that he perceives their insufficiency 
 and omits them ; yet, even of his silent retired 
 behaviour, of his noiseless and unseen conduct, 
 how many actions are there which may dazzle 
 himself! He will certainly make a statement 
 of some deed which appeared to him generous 
 and charitable ; and will think that because it 
 was done in secret and without ostentation, its 
 motive must" be pure ; (but, alas ! pride can 
 inhabit the lonely chamber and the solitary 
 bosom can mingle in the prayers of the an- 
 chorite, and can stretch the hand of bounty ; 
 for we can flatter ourselves yes, as destruc- 
 tively as the world can flatter us ;) while 
 perhaps some little thought which we had long 
 forgotten as insignificant, some truly devout 
 contemplation, some pious reflection drawn 
 from the very depth of the heart, may be that 
 offering which his God looked for, that for- 
 gotten contemplation that reflection, which 
 was the emanation of a soul which then felt 
 
 K 
 
130 REMAINS OF 
 
 the genuine influence of religion. How diffi- 
 cult is it then to be acquainted with ourselves, 
 and what a true confession do we make when 
 we say, " There is no health in us !" 
 
 These reflections will appear to the pious 
 reader to indicate something more than vague 
 and general notions of religion. They exhibit, 
 at least, the dawning of an enlightened con- 
 science, and an early sensibility to the im- 
 pressions of divine truth. It is natural to sup- 
 pose that such a mind would be fully alive to 
 the responsibility of the ministerial office ; and 
 accordingly, when the period approached when 
 Mr. W. had to determine upon the solemn 
 undertaking, he gave up his mind to the most 
 anxious consideration of the duties it imposed 
 upon him, and of the preparation of mind and 
 heart which it required. Some of those stand- 
 ard works on the evidences of Christianity, 
 which he had been in the habit of reading, he 
 now resumed for the purpose of a more serious 
 and practical investigation. He seems to have 
 dwelt with peculiar interest upon Bishop But- 
 ler's unanswerable work upon the Analogy of 
 Religion, &c. This treasure of deep and ori- 
 
THE REV. C. WOLFE. 131 
 
 ginal thought the leading object of which is 
 to expose the unreasonableness of the ordinary 
 arguments against the truth of religion 
 seems to have been peculiarly suited to the 
 character of his mind, which was easily 
 startled by difficulties, and was quick in the 
 discovery of objections. His copious notes 
 upon this book shew not only how accurately 
 he scrutinized every argument, but how practi- 
 cally he expanded and applied every important 
 reflection which it contains. Some of the ob- 
 servations thus suggested, and which seem to 
 have impressed his own mind most deeply, are 
 here selected, with the hope that they may 
 prove not unacceptable or uninstructive to the 
 general reader. They may serve to inculcate a 
 stronger sense of the vast importance of reli- 
 gion as a subject of anxious and candid in- 
 quiry, and may induce some who are unac- 
 quainted with the valuable work from which 
 they have been deduced, to give it a serious 
 and deliberate perusal. 
 
 There is strong evidence of the truth of 
 Christianity : but it is certain that no one can, 
 upon principles of reason, be satisfied of the 
 
 K 2 
 
132 REMAINS OF 
 
 contrary : now the practical consequence to 
 be drawn from this is not attended to by every 
 one concerned in it. This suggests an excel- 
 lent way of beginning with a Deist or Atheist: 
 Have you satisfactorily disproved Christian- 
 ity ? Is it possible that all the evidence 
 (collectively taken), though it may not have 
 satisfied you of its truth, has been satisfactorily 
 removed ? Are you at your ease upon the sub- 
 ject ? And if not, what a miserable man must 
 you be ! Surely it is not such a hollow case. 
 
 This may be the best way of proceeding, 
 whatever may be the truth denied ; the ex- 
 istence of a God, of a moral governor, of a 
 future life, the truth of Scripture, &c. : and it 
 is, in fact, the state in which we probably are 
 by nature not so much with convincing proof 
 that there is a future state, as with no con- 
 vincing proof to the contrary. If it be objected, 
 that it is rather slender ground upon which to 
 stand, merely that we cannot prove the contrary 9 
 or the falsehood of the thing ; we may answer, 
 that it is not intended to be ground to rest on ; 
 it is intended to set us in motion ; and the 
 evidence will grow in proportion to the earnest- 
 ness and sincerity to ascertain the point. Now, 
 
THE REV. C. WOLFE. 133 
 
 is there not a moral fitness in this, that evi- 
 dence should be progressive, and that in pro- 
 portion to the singleness of eye and the dili- 
 gence with which it is sought and investigated ? 
 And does it not appear particularly becoming 
 the Divine Majesty that this should be the 
 case in all inquiries respecting his works and 
 dispensations ? and that he who enters upon the 
 investigation in a presumptuous, careless, or 
 profane state of mind, should be confounded ? 
 In this point of view, also, may be regarded 
 the objections made by some to the insuffi- 
 ciency of the evidence in proof of a state of 
 future punishment: it may be answered, 
 Are you duly affected by the bare surmise 
 by the mere whisper that there is such a state ? 
 Does it excite that degree of concern and in- 
 quiry which it ought ? And if it does not, is it 
 not a proof that there is something more than 
 a mere want of evidence concerned in your 
 unbelief? Is there any thing improbable in 
 the supposition, that the Almighty may propor- 
 tion the evidence to the degree of sincere ear- 
 nestness manifested in the inquiry ? and that 
 when the earnestness is proportioned to the 
 
134 REMAINS OF 
 
 object, the evidence shall be proportioned to 
 the earnestness ? 
 
 In order to give an idea of the way in 
 which the truth may grow upon a man, we may 
 speak of the growing conviction arising from 
 the constant observation of the artlessness and 
 simplicity of the style of the divine writings, as 
 an evidence of their truth, and that arising from 
 the self-application of the truths and principles 
 of the Gospel, until at length a man shall ex- 
 perience what Scripture intimates, " The wit- 
 " ness in himself ;" which passage alone shews, 
 that the Scripture itself declares the witness 
 shall be greater after the attainment of the 
 Christian spirit, than at the beginning of a 
 cold investigation. Is there any thing unbe- 
 coming in this ? The conduct of the people of 
 Sychar may serve as an illustration, John, iv. 
 39, &c. It may also be observed, that it is a 
 grand test of truth, that the more it is exa- 
 mined, the clearer it appears. Thus, too, the 
 apparent contradictions of Scripture are reduced 
 to harmony by examination, as the apparent 
 irregularities of nature by the microscope. 
 
THE REV. C. WOLFE. 135 
 
 The analogy in favour of our future state, 
 founded on the various changes that we and 
 other animals undergo, is of considerable 
 weight. It might be, perhaps, a little weakened 
 by the consideration that these changes are 
 all attended with sensible proofs ; and that 
 therefore we could not draw as strong a con- 
 clusion, by analogy, in favour of one that should 
 not be attended with them. It might at the 
 same time be replied, that unless we draw the 
 conclusion that there are no changes but what 
 we have faculties to witness, the objection is 
 of no weight. It might also be answered, that 
 there may be very sufficient proof of our exist- 
 ence after death to beings capable of receiving 
 it, though not to those of the same species ; as 
 we have abundant proof of the changes of 
 worms into flies, while perhaps the worms of 
 the same species, until their change arrives 
 also, have no idea, and no proof of it, per- 
 haps have not senses to witness it. 
 
 The credibility of a future state of exist- 
 ence is fully sufficient to become a practical 
 principle, however low the evidence may ap- 
 
136 REMAINS OF 
 
 pear : for, at the very lowest, we cannot prove 
 the negative. 
 
 But further, that a being should be formed 
 of such a nature as man, and placed in such a 
 situation as to try this most momentous ques- 
 tion, and feel an interest in its determination, 
 and yet never be able to arrive at a satisfactory 
 negative, is not only a practical proof, but per- 
 haps a stronger evidence of the actual truth 
 of the thing, than would at first be imagined. 
 This state of doubt and perplexity upon the 
 most important and interesting of all subjects, 
 is a curious moral phenomenon : and where 
 are we to look for the solution ? It is solved 
 by revelation : for, taking the two principles, 
 the immortality and the fall of man, nothing 
 is so conceivable as that the fall, in destroying so 
 much of the moral excellence of man, carried 
 off many of the proofs of his immortality along 
 with it, proofs, many of which, it is natural 
 to suppose, were of a moral character, perhaps 
 the greatest of them, a moral fitness for it. 
 
 From Bishop Butler's observations on " Di- 
 " vine Punishments," there may be ready and 
 
THE REV. C. WOLFE. 137 
 
 experimental answers deduced to many of the 
 common-place and popular objections advanced 
 against the reality or severity of future punish- 
 ments. One favourite plea is the character of 
 the Divine Being : " He is too merciful and 
 " benevolent to visit human infirmity with 
 " such rigorous severity." But what is the 
 fact ? He only allows meii " to make them- 
 " selves as miserable as ever they please." 
 He gives them faculties to inquire and discover 
 consequences ; and if, by either not exerting 
 them, or not complying with their rational 
 dictates when exercised, they incur pain and 
 misery, it is their own doing, and he leaves 
 them to " eat the fruit of their own devices." 
 Thus if we consider the Deity as merely passive 
 in the business, and we observe men from want 
 of sufficient consideration (for they generally 
 bestow more or less upon their worldly con- 
 cerns) bringing on themselves disease, misery, 
 and ruin, what an awful state is his who has 
 never seriously and earnestly given himself to 
 the consideration of the things of another 
 world ! Nor is it very likely that, when want 
 of consideration (a fault of little magnitude in 
 the estimation of men, and even dignified by 
 
138 REMAINS OF 
 
 some with virtuous titles and epithets) can 
 produce such tremendous results here, the 
 consequences of sin, spiritual and external, 
 (although men overlook and despise them,) 
 will be so very light or so very inconsiderable, 
 as they would fondly persuade themselves they 
 are, in another world. And hence too we see 
 the folly, in general, of pleading ignorance or 
 sincerity as our excuse for carelessness or sin ; 
 for we find thoughtlessness and neglect often 
 produce as disastrous consequences as vice 
 itself: and the sin here is plain; for a crea- 
 ture not only gifted with, but distinguished, in 
 a great degree, from the rest of the creation, by 
 powers of deliberation and observation, is bound 
 to use them ; and if he shoves aside a subject, 
 the most important upon which those powers 
 can be employed, on which his happiness 
 chiefly depends, and one which is often forced 
 upon his attention by outward events and cir- 
 cumstances, without full, deliberate meditation, 
 and without arriving at any well-grounded con- 
 clusion upon the matter, what shall be said of 
 that man's sincerity ? There is an evident dis- 
 honesty and unfairness evinced in shutting his 
 eyes to* what he is absolutely bound to contem- 
 
THE REV. C. WOLFE. 139 
 
 plate, and he must take the consequences : 
 and such is the case of all those who have not 
 seriously, earnestly, and deliberately considered 
 the things that belong unto their peace. They 
 may not be guilty of hypocrisy towards their 
 fellow-creatures, but they act the hypocrite to 
 God and to themselves. 
 
 The inefficiency of repentance (in the com- 
 mon acceptation) may be enforced by consider- 
 ing a man on a bed of pain and sickness, to 
 which he has been brought by his own folly or 
 wickedness. Do we find that floods of tears, 
 and protestations of amendment, ever produce 
 any improvement in that man's bodily state ? 
 What reason have we to conclude, from prece- 
 dent or analogy, that they will relieve his soul ? 
 
 Repentance, in its fullest sense, a change 
 from a state of enmity to a state of love to 
 God, one would think is ever acceptable : but 
 this is always the work of the Spirit given 
 through Jesus Christ, and never appears to be 
 the meaning attached to it by the careless or 
 the ungodly, or even apprehended by them ; 
 and therefore it does not enter into the present 
 question. 
 
140 REMAINS OF 
 
 The profligate argument, that if God gave 
 us such and such passions, he gave them to be 
 enjoyed without restraint, is here immediately 
 answered: If God gave us such and such fa- 
 culties, he gave them to be used, and their use 
 is to control those passions ; and we daily see 
 the woful consequences of not exercising them, 
 by actual observation. If the offence, by which 
 the passion is gratified, is committed against 
 ourselves, perhaps we should come to a dif- 
 ferent conclusion. 
 
 Man is gifted with powers of looking to the 
 future, and evidently for the purpose of mainly 
 preferring it to the present: he is therefore a 
 creature made to look forward, and to what, 
 is the question. Some men madly fasten upon 
 the present moment, and shut their eyes to 
 what is naturally to follow ; and accordingly 
 they reap the fruit of their folly in due season : 
 others, who are either of a more calculating, or 
 a more enterprising, or a more ambitious dispo- 
 sition, look forward to various futurities at va- 
 rious distances ; but death comes equally upon 
 all, and their futurities are no more to them. 
 To what, then, is man made to look forward ? 
 
THE REV. C. WOLFE. 141 
 
 There are here also to be taken into account the 
 multiplied uncertainties attending the success 
 of the various projects, arising out of unnum- 
 bered events and circumstances which it is be- 
 yond the power of the natural faculties to fore- 
 see or avert. This may be urged in contrast to 
 revelation. * * * * 
 
 Such reflections as these may tend to shew 
 that his faith was not the offspring of mere 
 feeling, that the doctrines of Christianity 
 were not embraced by him simply from their 
 congeniality to his pure and fervid imagination ; 
 but that he applied himself with all the sober 
 calculation of common sense, and all the powers 
 of a clear and reasoning mind, to the examina- 
 tion of the important subject. His religion 
 was the conviction of the understanding, as 
 well as the persuasion of the heart. With a 
 firm assurance of the truth and importance of 
 the great principles of the Gospel as they are 
 interpreted and maintained by the Church of 
 England, he entered upon the arduous duties 
 of the ministry. The more he was engaged in 
 the work, the more deeply he felt the respon- 
 sibilitythe more he was in the habit of 
 
142 REMAINS OF 
 
 teaching others, the more he seemed to learn 
 himself. He thus came more in contact, as it 
 were, with the business of religion ; his views 
 became more vivid, his heart more engaged; 
 and every day's experience appears to have 
 strengthened his faith and heightened his de- 
 votion. The process by which his religious 
 character was formed seems to have been so 
 gradual, that it produced little' apparent change 
 in his external manners. His natural spirits 
 were not so much repressed as regulated, his 
 vivacity of temper was rather chastened than 
 abated, by the predominant influence of reli- 
 gion. There was nothing which appeared con- 
 strained, or harsh, or assumed in his deport- 
 ment; and thus his ministry was rendered 
 doubly useful, especially amongst the higher 
 classes, with whom the simplicity and cheer- 
 fulness of his disposition, and the easy and 
 undesigned disclosure of his fine talents and 
 genuine piety, usually secured him a favour- 
 able reception and a candid attention. 
 
 A few more extracts from his letters may 
 illustrate this part of his character better than 
 any mere description. It should be observed, 
 that when he sat down, after the fatigue of 
 
THE REV. C. WOLFE. 
 
 parochial cares, to converse with his absent 
 friends, he sought for a relaxation of mind, and 
 usually gave full scope to that buoyant liveli- 
 ness of temper for which he was remarkable : 
 and thus, perhaps, those who were not ac- 
 quainted with him can hardly estimate the 
 intense anxiety and interest he felt upon sub- 
 jects to which he sometimes appears to allude 
 in a playfulness of spirit : besides, his nature 
 so much recoiled from any thing like ostenta- 
 tion, that he seldom entered into any detail 
 of his laborious duties, or mentioned any such 
 particulars of his ministry (except in an inci- 
 dental manner) as might supply an adequate 
 idea of his usefulness as a clergyman. 
 
 The following letter was written upon his 
 return to his parish, after a short visit to 
 Dublin :- 
 
 C. Caulfidd, Jan. 28th, 1818. 
 " MY DEAR 
 
 " A man often derives a wonderful advan- 
 " tage from a cold and fatiguing journey, after 
 " taking leave of his friends ; viz. he under- 
 " stands the comfort of lolling quietly and 
 " alone by his fire-side, after his arrival at his 
 
144 REMAINS OF 
 
 " destination ; a pleasure which would have 
 " been totally lost if he had been transported 
 " there without difficulty, and at once, from 
 " the region of friendship and society. Every 
 " situation borrows much of its character from 
 " that by which it was immediately preceded. 
 " This would have been all melancholy and 
 " solitude, if it had immediately succeeded the 
 " glow of affectionate and literary conviviality ; 
 " but when it follows the rumbling of a coach, 
 " the rattling of a post-chaise, the shivering of 
 " a wintry night's journey, and the conversa- 
 " tion of people to whom you are almost totally 
 " indifferent, it then becomes a comfort and re- 
 " pose. So I found at my arrival at my own 
 " cottage on Saturday ; my fire-side, from con- 
 " trast, became a kind of lesser friend, or at 
 " least a consolation for the loss of friends. 
 
 " Nothing could be more fortunate than the 
 " state of things during my absence; there 
 " was no duty to be performed : and of this I 
 " am the more sensible, as I had scarcely ar- 
 " rived before I met a great supply of business, 
 " such as I should have been very much con- 
 " cerned if it had occurred in my absence. I 
 " have already seen enough of service to be 
 
THE REV. C. WOLFE. 145 
 
 " again fully naturalized. I am again the 
 " weather-beaten curate : I have trudged 
 " roads forded bogs braved snow and rain 
 " become umpire between the living have 
 " counselled the sick administered to the 
 " dying and to-morrow shall bury the dead. 
 " Here have I written three sides without 
 " coming to the matter in hand. * 
 
 " Yours affectionately, 
 
 C. W." 
 
 March 24th, 1818. 
 " MY DEAR 
 
 " Although I have not received an an- 
 " swer to a letter which I wrote to you, and 
 " the date of which I have had time to forget, 
 " I am induced to write again, and redouble 
 " my blow, partly in order to shame you into 
 " an answer, and partly to employ you to exe- 
 " cute a commission for me in turn. 
 
 " I attended Mr. my predecessor in 
 
 " the cure, through some of the parish busi- 
 " ness, and have not yet recovered from my 
 " consternation. Oh ! I must bid a long 
 
146 REMAINS OF 
 
 " farewell to literature, and all the pleasures 
 " and associations which it carries along with 
 " it ! Do not think that I repine, and least 
 " of all, at my duty as a Christian and a 
 " clergyman ; but here is a parish large be- 
 " yond all proportion, in which the curate, who 
 " here does every thing, will be unavoidably 
 " called on every moment to act indirectly as 
 " a magistrate ; and, as I must take a cottage 
 " and a few acres of meadow, I shall have to 
 " encounter all the horrors of house-keeping, 
 " and all the cares of an establishment. Con- 
 " sidering all this, and the length of time that 
 " even one visit, strictly professional, would 
 " take up, from the extent of the parish, what 
 " time shall I have for taking up even a 
 " book of divinity ? But ' my hand is to the 
 " plough, and I must not look back.' At 
 
 " B a small parish, where I have had 
 
 " little to do but what is connected imme- 
 " diately with my duty, I think I have got 
 " on pretty well. I told you that I had been 
 " preceded in that parish by an excellent 
 " man, and found them far better informed 
 " than perhaps any parish in our part of the 
 " world, and prepared to be disgusted with 
 
THE KEY. C. WOLFE. 147 
 
 '' any successor. We agree however very 
 " well: the parish and I are on visiting terms, 
 " and in the habit of conversing on Christian 
 " topics ; and they tell me that they wish for 
 " my continuance. I look upon it as a provi- 
 " dential circumstance, that I have been first 
 " caUed to the performance of duty more 
 " moderate and more purely apostolical, and 
 " was not at once plunged into the parish, 
 " where it is excessive, and of a more mixed 
 " nature. 
 
 ***** 
 
 " Yours ever, 
 
 C. W." 
 
 The next letter gives an account of his re- 
 moval from his temporary post, and his final 
 settlement in Castle Caulfield, the principal 
 village of the parish of Donoughmore. It was 
 written after a visit to Dublin upon some paro- 
 chial business. 
 
 July 7th, 1818. 
 " MY DEAR 
 
 " It is probable that you have accounted 
 ** for my silence in the right way by the 
 
 L 2 
 
148 REMAINS OF 
 
 " trouble and confusion of shifting my quar- 
 
 " ters. I have left B with sincere regret, 
 
 " and am now in the comfortable predicament 
 " of having left one habitation without having 
 " got into another, like Sheridan's Jew, who 
 " renounced his religion for the purpose of 
 " inheriting a legacy, but had too much con- 
 " science immediately to adopt any other, and 
 " is accordingly represented ( as a dead wall 
 " between the church and the synagogue.' 
 
 " I had but a melancholy sort of a journey 
 " to Dungannon, being, for the first half of the 
 " way, in perpetual danger of falling asleep, 
 " and consequently of falling off the top of the 
 " coach, from the fatigue of the college elec- 
 " tion, and the incessant patrolling through 
 " Dublin the day after ; and for the other half, 
 " trundling on so vile a vehicle, over so vile a 
 " road, that twenty doses of laudanum could 
 " not have then effected it. On leaving Dun- 
 " gannon for this (my rector's house) I was 
 " met by the family, who told me I was to do 
 
 " duty at B the next day, and so I changed 
 
 ". my direction and repaired there, nothing 
 " loth; and the next day mounted my old 
 " pulpit, where I had begun to feel myself at 
 
THE REV. C. WOLFE. 149 
 
 " home, and received a most kind welcome 
 " from my congregation. 
 
 " As I was apprised that I was to stay no 
 " longer than the next Saturday, I made the 
 " best of my time, in taking leave of my 
 " parishioners ; and I assure you, it was a 
 " painful and a gratifying task, although I 
 " had, a little before, gone through a rehearsal 
 " in Dublin, much more trying. I promised 
 " that I would go to see them again whenever 
 " I could escape from the parish I was going 
 " to ; and my rich parishioners declared that I 
 " must (as they term it) complete their conver- 
 " sion. I, of course, spent as much time as I 
 
 " could with Mr. M : I parted with him 
 
 " on Saturday morning; and the same day 
 " set out for this house, in rather a melancholy 
 " humour, but with a peculiarly ludicrous 
 " equipage and attendance. One waggon con- 
 " tained my whole fortune and family, (with 
 " the exception of a cow, which was driven 
 " along-side of the waggon,) and its contents 
 " were too large trunks, a bed and its appen- 
 " dages ; and on the top of these, which were 
 " piled up so as to make a very commanding 
 " appearance, sat a woman (my future house- 
 
150 REMAINS or 
 
 " keeper) and her three children, and by their 
 " side stood a calf of three weeks old, which 
 " has lately become an inmate in my family. 
 
 " I am at present living in this house, 
 " where I am treated with the kindest hospi- 
 " tality ; but expect in about a week to be esta- 
 " Wished in my new abode, and to enter upon 
 " all the awful cares of a family man. Indeed, 
 " I go down there every day, as it is, and give 
 " directions with as knowing an air as the best 
 " manager among them, lest any should detect 
 " my ignorance. I preached last Sunday in 
 " this church, and whatever intercourse has 
 " yet taken place between me and my pa- 
 " rishioners, seems to promise a good under- 
 " standing between us. But I want friends 
 " friends and give my most affectionate re-" 
 " membrance to all of them that you meet. 
 
 " Yours, &c. 
 
 " C. W." 
 
 Castle Cauljield, Oct. 20th, 1818. 
 " MY DEAR 
 
 " I should have complied with your request 
 " sooner, of writing to assure you that I was 
 
THE REV. C. WOLFE. 151 
 
 " not offended at your delay, if I did not con- 
 " ceive that you possessed a very comfortable 
 " degree of well-grounded assurance upon the 
 " point already. I had accounted for your 
 " delay by imagining some of its causes, be- 
 " fore I received your chapter of accidents. 
 " However, do not for the future conceal any 
 " disaster or misfortune from me while it is in 
 " progress, nor wait until it is brought to a 
 " close. It is a slovenly way of treating a 
 " friend only to invite him to rejoice in the 
 " victory, without giving him a share in the 
 " perils through which it is achieved. 
 
 " I have had no such signal adventures to 
 " communicate. Alas ! I have no disasters 
 " now to diversify my life, not having many 
 " of those enjoyments which render men ob- 
 " noxious to them, except when my foot sinks 
 " up to the ancle in a bog, as I am looking for 
 " a stray sheep. My life is now nearly made 
 (i up of visits to my parishioners, both sick and 
 " in health. Notwithstanding, the parish is so 
 " large that I have yet to form an acquaintance 
 " with a very formidable number of them. 
 " The parish and I have become very good 
 
152 REMAINS OF 
 
 " friends : the congregation has increased, and 
 " the Presbyterians sometimes pay me a visit. 
 " There is a great number of Methodists in the 
 " part of the parish surrounding the village, 
 " who are many of them very worthy people, 
 " and among the most regular attendants upon 
 " the church. With many of my flock I live 
 " upon affectionate terms. There is a fair 
 " proportion of religious men amongst them, 
 " with a due allowance of profligates. None 
 " of them rise so high as the class of gentle- 
 " men, but there is a good number of a very 
 " respectable description. I am particularly 
 " attentive to the school : there, in fact, I 
 " think most good can be done ; and, besides 
 " the obvious advantages, it is a means of con- 
 " ciliating all sects of Christians, by taking an 
 " interest in the welfare of their children. 
 
 " Our Sunday-school is very large, and is 
 " attended by the Roman Catholics and Pres- 
 " byterians : the day is never a Sabbath to 
 " me ; however, it is the kind of labour that is 
 " best repaid, for you always find that some 
 " progress is made, some fruit soon produced ; 
 " whereas your labours with the old and the 
 
THE REV. C. WOLFE. 153 
 
 " adult often fail of producing any effect, 
 " and, at the best, it is in general latent and 
 " gradual. 
 
 " Yours, &c. 
 
 " C. W." 
 
 Castle Caulfield, April 27th, 1819. 
 " MY DEAR 
 
 * * * My congregation is much 
 " increased, and does not seem inclined to 
 " diminish, and there is a degree of piety in 
 " some of the highest orders of people in this 
 " county and the county Armagh, and a de- 
 " gree of propriety in others, that makes them 
 " alive to the conduct of clergymen, and ac- 
 " tive in their inquiries respecting them. I 
 " never knew before, that a humble curate 
 " (a word that seems to imply the very essence 
 " of obscurity) was so much a public charac- 
 " ter as I find he is, or should be, in the North, 
 " where the number of Protestants of different 
 " classes seems to have kept religion more 
 " alive than in any other part. 
 
 " An event in my parish that should not be 
 " omitted, is the vestry. Some false and in- 
 
154 REMAINS OF 
 
 " dustrious reports had been spread respecting 
 
 " the object that and I had in view, in 
 
 " raising money for the foundation of the 
 " school we had in contemplation ; and a great 
 " number of people came for the purpose of 
 " voting against us. You, who know me, 
 " may judge of my anxiety at the prospect of 
 " having to fight, where I came to preach 
 " peace and charity, and my apprehension of 
 " falling out with Presbyterians, whom I feel 
 " desirous of conciliating, and with whom I 
 " have been on the most friendly footing. At 
 " length the day arrived, when I made a speech, 
 " clearing away all misrepresentations, and 
 " stating the exertions I had made. I was 
 
 " seconded very ably by ; and the con- 
 
 " sequence was a most cordial and unanimous 
 " grant of 140/., with ' long life to you, Mr. 
 " Wolfe, and long may you reign over us /' 
 " The good feeling that reigned throughout 
 " the whole, really made up one of the most 
 " gratifying scenes I have witnessed for a long 
 " time. 
 
 " Yours, &c. 
 
 " C. W." 
 
THE REV. C. WOLFE. 155 
 
 The following letter gives an affecting ac- 
 count of the death of a valued friend, to whom 
 he had lately become particularly attached, the 
 Rev. Dr. Meredith, formerly a fellow of Trinity 
 College, Dublin, and then rector of Ardtrea. 
 He was esteemed one of the most distinguished 
 scholars in the university to which he belonged. 
 His genius for mathematical acquirements espe- 
 cially, was universally allowed to be of the first 
 order; and his qualifications as a public exa- 
 miner and lecturer were so eminent, as to ren- 
 der his early retirement from the duties of a 
 fellowship a serious loss to the college. Of 
 our author's talents he entertained the highest 
 opinion ; and his congeniality of disposition 
 soon led him to appreciate fully the still higher 
 qualities of his heart. 
 
 Castle Caulfield, May 4th, 1819. 
 " MY DEAR 
 
 " I am just come from the house of mourn - 
 
 " ing ! Last night I helped to lay poor M 
 
 " in his coffin, and followed him this morning 
 " to his grave. The visitation was truly awful. 
 " Last Tuesday (this day week) he was struck 
 " to the ground by a fit of apoplexy, and from 
 
156 REMAINS OF 
 
 " that moment until the hour of his death, on 
 " Sunday evening, he never articulated. I 
 " did not hear of his danger until Sunday 
 " evening, and yesterday morning I ran ten 
 " miles, like a madman, and was only in time 
 " to see his dead body. It will be a cruel and 
 " bitter thought to me for many a day, that 
 " I had not one fareweU from him, while he 
 " was on the brink of the world. Oh ! - 
 " one of my heart-strings is broken ! the only 
 " way I have of describing my attachment to 
 " that man, is by telling you, that next to you 
 
 " and D , he was the person in whose 
 
 " society I took the greatest delight. A visit 
 " to Ardtrea was often in prospect, to sustain 
 " me in many of my cheerless labours. My 
 " gems are falling away ; but I do hope and 
 " trust, it is because c God is making up his 
 
 " jewels/ Dr. M was a man of a truly 
 
 " Christian temper of mind. We used natu- 
 " rally to fall upon religious subjects; and I 
 " now revert, with peculiar gratification, to 
 " the cordiality with which * we took sweet 
 " counsel together,' upon those topics. You 
 " know that he was possessed of the first 
 " and most distinguishing characteristics of a 
 
THE REV. C. WOLFE. 157 
 
 " Christian disposition, humility. He preached 
 
 " the Sunday before for , and the sermon 
 
 " was unusually solemn and impressive, and 
 " in the true spirit of the Gospel. Indeed, 
 " from several circumstances, he seems to have 
 " had some strange presentiments of what was 
 " to happen. His air and look some time 
 
 " before his dissolution had, as told me, 
 
 " an expression of the most awful and pro- 
 " found devotion. * 
 
 " Yours, &e. 
 
 C. W." 
 
 On his return after another visit to Dublin, 
 he thus writes. 
 
 Castle Caulfield, Jan. 19th, 1820. 
 " MY DEAR 
 
 " As it was the irksomeness of making a 
 " long apology at the beginning of my letter, 
 " that has for the last week deterred me from 
 " writing to you, I beg leave to remove the 
 " obstacle altogether, and proceed to business, 
 " although you will find an apology in the 
 " course of the entertainment. You may re- 
 " member the blunder that was said to have 
 
15H REMAINS OF 
 
 " been committed by a certain historian, who 
 " had related a shipwreck that had taken 
 " place on the coast of Bohemia : do not, how- 
 " ever, suspect me of the same ignorance of 
 (6 geography, when I inform you, that in my 
 " voyage from Dublin to Castle Caulfield, I 
 " was shipwrecked on the coast of Monaghan : 
 " until then I had always thought it an inland 
 " county ; but to my surprise, I found that half 
 " the country, between this place and Ardee, 
 " was under water. The fact is, a river had 
 " overflowed the road, so as to render the 
 * 6 bank undistinguishable, and the wheel went 
 " down; another step would have upset us 
 " altogether; and in a few days you might 
 " have seen me in the Newry paper. As it 
 " was, it cost me a raw hour between three 
 " and four in the morning, before we were 
 " able to weigh anchor again. 
 
 " Well, I was indeed highly pleased that 
 " the leaven had been working during my ab- 
 " sence ; for though I was too late to go through 
 " the parish, and give them a regular sum- 
 " mons, I found a greater number of commu- 
 " nicants on Christmas-day, than I think I 
 " had ever seen before in this church. Why, 
 
THE REV. C. WOLFE. 159 
 
 " if I had stayed away another month, no one 
 " can calculate the improvement that might 
 " have been effected by my absence. Another 
 " comfortable consideration is, that there never 
 " was less duty to be done in the parish than 
 " while I was away, and never more than since 
 " I returned. The very day after my return 
 " I was summoned to see a Presbyterian, and 
 " between them and my own people I have 
 " had scarcely any rest ; and I assure you 
 " this has been the cause of my taciturnity. I 
 " do not think I have ever been so free from 
 " even the affectation of a cough, as since I 
 " returned. Long life to flannels and comfort- 
 " ables ! and a long life to those who bestow 
 " them, (' a long life even for ever !') 
 
 " My school, as I anticipated, has declined 
 " during the severity of the winter, but I ex- 
 " pect it to revive with the spring, according 
 " to the course of nature. However, I have 
 " some fears that the Pope's letter will prove a 
 " frost a killing frost. I should not be very 
 " much surprised to find it a forgery. 
 
 " Yours, &c. 
 " C. W." 
 
160 REMAINS OF 
 
 The sphere of duty in which Mr. W. was 
 engaged, was extensive and laborious. A large 
 portion of the parish was situated in a wild 
 hilly country, abounding in bogs and trackless 
 wastes ; and the population was so scattered, 
 that it was a work of no ordinary difficulty to 
 keep up that intercourse with his flock, upon 
 which the success of a Christian minister so 
 much depends. When he entered upon his 
 work, he found the church rather thinly at- 
 tended ; but in a short time the effects of his 
 constant zeal, his impressive style of preaching, 
 and his daily and affectionate converse with 
 his parishioners, were visible in the crowded 
 and attentive congregations which began to 
 gather round him. 
 
 The number of those who soon became re- 
 gular attendants at the holy communion, was 
 so great, as to exceed the whole ordinary con- 
 gregation at the commencement of his ministry. 
 
 Amongst his constant hearers were many of 
 the Presbyterians, who seemed much attracted 
 by the earnestness of his devotion in reading 
 the Liturgy the energy of his appeals, and 
 the general simplicity of his life; and such 
 
THE REV. C. WOLFE. l6l 
 
 was the respect they began to feel towards 
 him, that they frequently sent for him to ad- 
 minister spiritual comfort and support to them 
 in the trying hour of sickness, and at the ap- 
 proach of death. 
 
 A large portion of the Protestants in his 
 parish were of that denomination ; and no 
 small number were of the class of Wesleyan 
 Methodists. Though differing on many points 
 from these two bodies of Christians, he however 
 maintained with them the most friendly inter- 
 course, and entered familiarly into discussion 
 on the subjects upon which they were at issue 
 with him. 
 
 There was nothing in the course of his 
 duties as a clergyman (as he himself declared) 
 which he found more difficult and trying at 
 first, than how to discover and pursue the best 
 mode of dealing with the numerous conscien- 
 tious Dissenters in his parish, and especially 
 with the Wesleyan Methodists, who claim con- 
 nexion with the Church of England. While he 
 lamented their errors, he revered their piety ; 
 and at length succeeded beyond his hopes in 
 softening their prejudices, and conciliating their 
 good will. This he effected by taking care, in 
 
 M 
 
162 REMAINS OF 
 
 his visits amongst them, to dwell particularly 
 upon the grand and vital truths in which he 
 mainly agreed with them, and, above all, by a 
 patience of contradiction (yet without a surrender 
 or compromise of opinion) on the points upon 
 which they differed. It is a curious fact, that 
 some of the Methodists, on a few occasions, 
 sought to put his Christian character to the test 
 by purposely using harsh and humiliating ex- 
 pressions towards him, in their conversations 
 upon the nature of religion. This strange mode 
 of inquisition he was enabled to bear with the 
 meekness of a child ; and some of them after- 
 wards assured him, that they considered the 
 temper with which such a trial is endured as a 
 leading criterion of true conversion, and were 
 happy to find in him so unequivocal proof of a 
 regenerate spirit. 
 
 They soon learned to value his instructions 
 as a Christian minister, though conveyed in a 
 manner different from what they usually heard, 
 and divested of peculiarities which they habi- 
 tually associated with the very essence of the 
 Gospel. He says himself " I am here be- 
 " tween Methodists and Calvinists (or Pres- 
 " byterians), and I have preached to both in 
 
THE REV. C. WOLFE. 163 
 
 " the church, and conversed with both in the 
 " cottage ; and I have been sometimes amused 
 " to observe the awkward surprise with which 
 " they have heard me insist upon the great 
 " doctrines, without bringing in their own 
 " peculiar tenets, or using their own technical 
 " cant the surprise with which they found 
 " that it was the Gospel, and yet that it was 
 " not Calvinism or Methodism." 
 
 From some hasty notes which he took down, 
 it appears that he sometimes entered into dis- 
 cussion with them on those views by which 
 they seemed, to him, to confine the process of 
 divine grace in the conversion of sinners within 
 limits unauthorised by Scripture. The follow- 
 ing brief remarks (amongst others) shew the 
 sobriety of thought with which he entered into 
 the consideration of such subjects. 
 
 All system-makers cramp and encumber re- 
 ligion, by telling you, that the mind of a sin- 
 ner always proceeds through certain stages ; of 
 conviction, repentance, faith, justification, &c. 
 The mind when converted will indeed have the 
 same sense of the nature of sin, of human cor- 
 ruption, of the want of a Redeemer, &c. The 
 
 M 2 
 
164 REMAINS OF 
 
 end arrived at is the same ; but the ways of ar- 
 riving at it are various, according to the variety 
 of dispositions upon which it has to act. Thus, 
 upon a profligate, a drunkard, an extortioner, 
 and upon a man of liberal, generous, independ- 
 ent principles, I am sure the ways of acting 
 are very different. Compare all the different 
 instances of conversion in Scripture, the jailor, 
 Lydia, Cornelius, the thief, &c. But the Me- 
 thodists adopt a class of converts, and deduce a 
 general rule for their particular case ; whereas, 
 there seems to be no general rule in Scripture. 
 This is prescribing laws to God's Holy Spirit. 
 He seems to have various ways of effecting a 
 sinner's conversion, and of adapting himself to 
 different dispositions: so that the method of 
 a Methodist appears unfounded, in assigning a 
 certain process. 
 
 It is no weak proof of the Christian spirit, 
 to be able to recognise the loveliness and sub- 
 limity of true piety in the lowliest or most 
 forbidding forms; to discern its excellence, 
 though dwarfed by intellectual littleness, or 
 degraded by the mean garb of ignorance; to 
 revere it, even when surrounded by the most 
 
THE REV. C. WOLFE. 165 
 
 ludicrous accompaniments. It is, on the con- 
 trary, an index of spiritual dulness, perhaps, 
 of mental incapacity, to undervalue or despise 
 any form of sound religion^ merely on account 
 of such disadvantageous associations. But our 
 author held the great truths of Christianity so 
 close to his heart, that nothing could intervene 
 to cloud their beauty : his spiritual taste and 
 perspicacity was such, that it quickly descried, 
 and (as by a magnetic attraction) embraced a 
 kindred spirit, in whatever guise it appeared. 
 It could separate the dross ; it could detach the 
 grosser elements ; and delighted to look for- 
 ward to that happy time when the spirit of 
 genuine religion, however depressed by the 
 meanness of the subject in which it happens to 
 dwell, or disfigured by the unhappy combina- 
 tions with which, here on earth, it may be 
 attended, will assuredly shine forth in all its 
 radiant purity and native grandeur. 
 
 The success of a Christian pastor depends 
 almost as much on the manner as the matter of 
 his instruction. In this respect Mr. W. was 
 peculiarly happy, especially with the lower 
 classes of the people, who were much engaged 
 by the affectionate cordiality and the simple 
 
166 REMAINS OF 
 
 earnestness of his deportment towards them. 
 In his conversations with the plain farmer or 
 humble labourer, he usually laid his hands 
 upon their shoulder, or caught them by the 
 arm ; and while he was insinuating his argu- 
 ments, or enforcing his appeals with all the 
 variety of simple illustrations which a prolific 
 fancy could supply, he fastened an anxious 
 eye upon the countenance of the person he 
 was addressing, as if eagerly awaiting some 
 gleam of intelligence, to shew that he was 
 understood and felt. 
 
 The solemnity, the tenderness, the energy 
 of his manner, could not fail to impress upon 
 their minds, at least, that his zeal for their 
 souls was disinterested and sincere. 
 
 The state of gross demoralisation in which 
 a large portion of the lower classes in his 
 parish was sunk, rendered it necessary for him 
 sometimes to adopt a style of preaching not the 
 most consonant to his own feelings. His na- 
 tural turn of mind would have led him to dwell 
 most upon the loftier motives, the more tender 
 appeals, the gentler topics of persuasion with 
 which the Gospel abounds ; but the dull and 
 stubborn natures which he had to encounter, 
 
THE REV. C. WOLFE. 167 
 
 frequently required " the terrors of the Lord" 
 to be placed before them ; the vices he had 
 to overthrow called for the strongest weapon 
 he could wield. He often, indeed, sought to 
 win such souls unto Christ by the attractive 
 beauties and the benign spirit of the Gospel ; 
 but, alas ! 
 
 " Leviathan is not so tamed." 
 
 Amongst the people whom he had to address 
 he found drunkenness and impurity, and their 
 base kindred vices, lamentably prevalent ; and 
 therefore he felt it necessary to stigmatise 
 such practices in the plainest terms : he could 
 not find approach to minds of so coarse an 
 order without frequently arraying against 
 them the most awful denunciations of Divine 
 Justice. 
 
 He seldom had his sermons fully written 
 out and prepared for delivery ; yet this arose 
 not from any dearth of mental resources, much 
 less from confidence or neglect. It arose from 
 an intense feeling of the awful responsibility of 
 the duty. His mind was not only impressed, 
 but agitated, by the sense that he was " as a 
 " dying man speaking to dying men :" and 
 
168 REMAINS OF 
 
 the solicitude he felt as to the choice of his 
 subject, the topics best suited to his purpose, 
 the most lively and practical manner in which 
 they might be presented, was the real cause 
 which usually delayed his full preparation. He 
 knew the vast importance of that brief space of 
 time during which a minister is permitted to 
 address his flock ; and he was fearful lest an 
 idle or unprofitable word should escape his lips, 
 or lest those moments which are so pregnant 
 with the concerns of eternity should be squan- 
 dered away in vague harangue or barren dis- 
 cussion. He was never satisfied with first 
 thoughts; he revolved them over and over, with 
 the hope that others more suitable, more strik- 
 ing, more perspicuous, might present themselves 
 to his mind; and thus he had seldom more than 
 half his sermon committed to paper when the 
 time arrived for its delivery. However, his 
 mind was so fully impregnated with his sub- 
 ject, and his command of language so prompt, 
 that he never was at a loss to complete in the 
 pulpit what he had left unfinished at his desk.* 
 
 * This appearance of extemporaneous preaching brought 
 him into much favour with the good Presbyterians and 
 Methodists, who flocked to hear him. Some of them were 
 
THE REV. C. WOLFE. 169 
 
 He had no temptation to a vain display of 
 argumentative skill, or rhetorical accomplish- 
 ments, or the mere graces of composition, in 
 presence of the congregation he had to address ; 
 and indeed he had attained such an elevation 
 of mind and purity of heart, as to stand above 
 the reach of such a snare in any situation. 
 He did not despise such things ; he could ap- 
 preciate their value, and make them tributary 
 to the single object of his ministry. He seemed 
 fully sensible of the advantage and necessity of 
 a chaste embellishment of style, such as is re- 
 commended by Augustine, who says, that a 
 sermon is perfect in this respect, when " nee 
 " inornata relinquitur, nee indecenter ornatur." 
 He availed himself also of the powers of a 
 poetic and vivid imagination, not so much to 
 adorn or beautify, as to illustrate and enforce 
 his subject; to gain entrance into the under- 
 standing, and take the passions by surprise. 
 
 During the year that the typus fever raged 
 most violently in the north of Ireland, his 
 neighbourhood was much afflicted with the dis- 
 
 indeed so pleased with his manner, as to say, " he would 
 " almost do for a meeting minister." 
 
170 - REMAINS OF 
 
 ease ; and thus the important duty of visiting 
 the sick (which to him was always a work of 
 most anxious solicitude) was vastly increased ; 
 and he accordingly applied himself with indefa- 
 tigable zeal in every quarter of his extended 
 parish, in administering temporal and spiritual 
 aid to his poor flock. In the discharge of such 
 duties he exposed himself to frequent colds ; 
 and his disregard of all precaution, and of the 
 ordinary comforts of life to which he had been 
 accustomed, soon, unhappily, confirmed a con- 
 sumptive tendency in his constitution, of which 
 some symptoms appeared when in college. His 
 frame was robust, and his general health usu- 
 ally strong ; but an habitual cough, of which 
 he himself seemed almost unconscious, often 
 excited the apprehensions of his friends ; and at 
 length, in the spring of 1821, the complaint, of 
 which it seemed the forerunner, began to make 
 manifest inroads upon his constitution. No 
 arguments, however, could for a long time dis- 
 suade him from his usual work. So little did 
 he himself regard the fatal symptoms, that he 
 could not be prevailed upon to relax his paro- 
 chial labours. At length, however, his altered 
 looks and other unfavourable symptoms ap- 
 
THE 11EV. C. WOLFE. 171 
 
 peared so alarming, that some of his most re- 
 spectable parishioners wrote to his friends in 
 Dublin to urge them to use their influence in 
 persuading him to retire for awhile from his 
 arduous duties, and to have the best medical 
 advice for him without further delay. But such 
 was the anxiety he felt for his parish, and so 
 little conscious did he seem of the declining state 
 of his health, that no entreaties could avail. 
 
 The repeated accounts of his sinking health 
 at last impelled the friend who now feebly 
 attempts this humble record of his worth, to 
 set off at once to visit him, and to use all his 
 influence to induce him to submit to what ap- 
 peared so plainly the will of Providence, and 
 to suspend his labours until his strength should 
 be sufficiently recruited to resume them with 
 renewed vigour. In the mean time (about the 
 middle of May 1821) he had been hurried off 
 to Scotland by the importunate entreaties of a 
 kind and respected brother-clergyman in his 
 neighbourhood, in order to consult a physician 
 celebrated for his skill in such cases. On his 
 way to Edinburgh he happened to fall in with 
 a deputation from the Irish tract-society, who 
 
172 REMAINS OF 
 
 were going to that city to hold a meeting for 
 the promotion of their important objects. Not- 
 withstanding the languor of his frame, and the 
 irritation of a harassing cough, he was pre- 
 vailed upon to exert his eloquence in this in- 
 teresting cause. In some of the speeches made 
 upon that occasion he thought that the dark 
 side of the character of his countrymen had 
 been strongly exhibited, while the brighter 
 part was almost entirely kept out of view. 
 With characteristic feeling, he stood up to pre- 
 sent the whole image, with all its beauties as 
 well as its defects. 
 
 His address was taken down in short-hand, 
 and submitted to him for a hurried correction 
 as he was stepping into his carriage. The 
 following outline which was preserved may 
 appear worth insertion. 
 
 SPEECH BEFORE A MEETING OF THE IRISH 
 TRACT-SOCIETY, EDINBURGH, MAY 1821. 
 
 SIR, 
 
 I have not the vanity to imagine that the 
 words of an obscure individual, who is a total 
 
THE REV. C. WOLFE. 173 
 
 stranger to almost all those whom he addresses, 
 and, except within a few days, a stranger to 
 the country which they inhabit, could produce 
 any considerable effect in exciting you to the 
 performance of your duty, or in recommending 
 the object which you are assembled to promote. 
 I only rise to express my thanks on the 
 part of that country which I should find it im- 
 possible to love and value as I ought, without 
 also regarding with affection that country which 
 has proved itself her benefactor. I confess that 
 I perform this office with shame and mortifica- 
 tion : I should have wished to have seen my 
 country standing forth in the proud character 
 of a benefactress, and taking her rank amongst 
 those whose privilege it is " to give gifts unto 
 " men," instead of appearing in the attitude of 
 a suppliant, with a petition in her hand. Per- 
 haps it is right that these proud feelings should 
 be humbled ; perhaps the two countries thus 
 occupy that relative situation which they are 
 best qualified to fill ; perhaps Scotland is 
 formed to yield assistance ; but assuredly there 
 is in Ireland all the heart to return it. The Irish 
 character seems to possess a greater capability 
 either of good or of evil than that of any other 
 
174 REMAINS OF 
 
 nation upon the face of the globe. There is a 
 quickness of intellect, a vivacity of fancy, a rest- 
 lessness of curiosity, and a warmth of heart, that 
 can be turned either to the very best or the 
 very worst of purposes, and form the elements 
 either of the most exalted or the most degraded 
 of rational beings. They in some degree re- 
 semble in their effects the power and versa- 
 tility of fire, that sometimes bursts from the 
 volcano, and overflows and desolates the whole 
 scene by which it is surrounded ; that is some- 
 times applied by the incendiary to the house 
 where the family are sleeping at midnight, and 
 consumes them in their beds ; or can be turned 
 by powerful and complicated machinery to the 
 service of man ; that can be made to rise in 
 incense before the throne of God in heaven. 
 And thus also these elements, when either left 
 to themselves, or perverted by designing and 
 wicked men, can form the most atrocious cha- 
 racter that ever moved upon the face of the 
 earth ; but if the light of the Gospel of Jesus 
 Christ shines in upon them, they compose the 
 most illustrious specimen of an exalted and 
 truly spiritual Christian that perhaps we shall 
 here be permitted to behold. This is not mere 
 
THE REV. C. WOLFE. 175 
 
 theory and fond speculation : we have proofs 
 of both. Alas ! for the first we have only to 
 appeal to the melancholy statements of depra- 
 vity which you have just heard ; and for the 
 second, we have only to appeal to the state of 
 religion in Ireland at this instant : for, sir, in 
 Ireland " the winter is past, and the spring is 
 " begun ;" and there is, in the religious aspect 
 of the country, an appearance of growth, a pro- 
 mise and anticipation almost more delightful 
 than the fulfilment. There is a spiritual glow 
 throughout the land ; and when the power of 
 religious truth acts upon a warm and generous 
 heart, and sends all its energy in one direction, 
 it produces a beautiful specimen of living and 
 devoted Christianity ; and we are spared in 
 Ireland, probably more than in any other coun- 
 try, that most tremendous of all moral specta- 
 cles, more tremendous than even the debauchee 
 plunging into sensuality the spectacle of a 
 man with the light of the Gospel in his head, 
 without its warmth in his heart. From this 
 view of the Irish character, it is obvious that 
 they require both unceasing attention, and the 
 greatest delicacy in the treatment. Such a peo- 
 ple must have constant food for the mind, food 
 
176 REMAINS OF 
 
 for the fancy, food for the affections : if it is 
 not given, they will find it for themselves ; and 
 therefore both great liberality and great judg- 
 ment are necessary in supplying it. I can tes- 
 tify, from actual observation, to the insatiable 
 avidity with which tracts are sought, and the 
 deep interest which is excited in those who 
 peruse them. We trust, then, the good work 
 will go on, and that Scotland will rejoice to see 
 the sun of Ireland arise; and, though it may 
 not be given to this generation to behold it, 
 yet our posterity will see the day, when 
 Ireland shall rise from the posture of a sup- 
 pliant, and take her station by the side of 
 Scotland. 
 
 On his return from Scotland, the writer met 
 him at a friend's house within a few miles of 
 his own residence ; and on the following Sun- 
 day, accompanied him through the principal 
 part of his parish to the church ; and never 
 can he forget the scene he witnessed as they 
 drove together along the road, and through the 
 village. It must give a more lively idea of his 
 character and conduct as a parish clergyman 
 than any laboured delineation, or than a mere 
 
THE REV. C. WOLFE. 177 
 
 detail of particular facts. As he quickly passed 
 by, all the poor people and children ran out to 
 their cabin-doors to welcome him, with looks 
 and expressions of the. most ardent affection, 
 and with all that wild devotion of gratitude so 
 characteristic of the Irish peasantry. Many 
 fell upon their knees invoking blessings upon 
 him ; and long after they were out of hearing, 
 they remained in the same attitude, shewing 
 by their gestures that they were still offering 
 up prayers for him ; and some even followed 
 the carriage a long distance, making the most 
 anxious inquiries about his health. He was 
 sensibly moved by this manifestation of feeling, 
 and met it with all that heartiness of expres- 
 sion, and that affectionate simplicity of manner, 
 which made him as much an object of love, as 
 his exalted virtues rendered him an object of 
 respect. The intimate knowledge he seemed 
 to have acquired of all their domestic histories, 
 appeared from the short but significant in- 
 quiries he made of each individual as he was 
 hurried alon^; while, at the same time, he 
 gave a rapid sketch of the particular characters 
 of several who presented themselves pointing 
 to one with a sigh, and to another with looks 
 
 N 
 
178 REMAINS OF 
 
 of fond congratulation. It was, indeed, im- 
 possible to behold a scene like this (which can 
 scarcely be described) without the deepest but 
 most pleasing emotions. It seemed to realise 
 the often-imagined picture of a primitive minis- 
 ter of the Gospel of Christ, living in the hearts 
 of his flock, " willing to spend, and to be spent 
 " upon them," and enjoying the happy inter- 
 change of mutual affection. It clearly shewed the 
 kind of intercourse that habitually existed be- 
 tween him and his parishioners ; and afforded a 
 pleasing proof, that a faithful and firm discharge 
 of duty, when accompanied by kindly sympa- 
 thies and gracious manners, can scarcely fail to 
 gain the hearts of the humbler ranks of the 
 people. 
 
 It can scarcely be a matter of surprise that 
 he should feel much reluctance in leaving a 
 station where his ministry appeared to be so 
 useful and acceptable ; and accordingly, though 
 peremptorily required by the physician he had 
 just consulted, to retire for some time from all 
 clerical duties, it was with difficulty he could 
 be dislodged from his post, and forced away to 
 Dublin, where most of his friends resided. 
 
 It was hoped that timely relaxation from 
 
THE REV. C. WOLFE. 179 
 
 duty, and a change in his mode of living to 
 what he had been originally accustomed, and 
 suitable to the present delicate state of his 
 health, might avert the fatal disease with which 
 he was threatened. The habits of his life, while 
 he resided on his cure, were in every respect 
 calculated to confirm his constitutional tendency 
 to consumption. He seldom thought of pro- 
 viding a regular meal ; and his humble cottage 
 exhibited every appearance of the neglect of 
 the ordinary comforts of life. A few straggling 
 rush-bottomed chairs, piled up with his books, 
 a small rickety table before the fire-place, 
 covered with parish memoranda, and two trunks 
 containing all his papers serving at the same 
 time to cover the broken parts of the floor, 
 constituted all the furniture of his sitting-room. 
 The mouldy walls of the closet in which he 
 slept were hanging with loose folds of damp 
 paper ; and between this wretched cell and his 
 parlour was the kitchen, which was occupied 
 by the disbanded soldier, his wife, and their 
 numerous brood of children, who had migrated 
 with him from his first quarters, and seemed 
 now in full possession of the whole concern, 
 entertaining him merely as a lodger, and usurp- 
 
 N 2 
 
180 REMAINS OF 
 
 ing the entire disposal of his small plot of 
 ground, as the absolute lords of the soil. 
 
 After he left this comfortless home, he re- 
 signed himself entirely to the disposal of his 
 family. Though his malady seemed to increase, 
 and his frame to become more emaciated, still 
 his natural spirits and mental elasticity conti- 
 nued unimpaired, so much so, that he conti- 
 nued to preach occasionally in Dublin with his 
 usual energy, until the friendly physician to 
 whom he had now submitted his case abso- 
 lutely forbade all present exercise of clerical 
 duties. 
 
 His anxiety about the provision for his 
 duties in his parish, seemed for a long time 
 materially to interrupt every enjoyment which 
 might tend to his recovery. Indeed, his feel- 
 ings were so alive to the subject, that he could 
 scarcely be satisfied with any arrangement 
 which his kind clerical friends could make for 
 him, under conviction that no occasional deputy 
 can fully fill the place of the regular minister 
 of the parish ; and unhappily the advanced age 
 and infirmities of his rector rendered any exer- 
 tions on his part impracticable. But he shall 
 speak for himself. 
 
THE REV. C. WOLFE. 181 
 
 Dublin, May 28th, 1821. 
 " MY DEAR MRS. 
 
 " I did not wish to write until something 
 " decisive had occurred ; and at length the 
 
 " die is cast : Doctor has, in fact, stripped 
 
 " me of my gown. You may conceive me ob- 
 " stinate. when I confess that even his opinion 
 " has not yet, in my mind, justified the alarm 
 " of my friends, or convinced me of my danger; 
 " but however, it has done what is more essen- 
 " tial and more satisfactory ; it has shewn me 
 " the course which Providence directs me to 
 " take, and this is the only question for me 
 " to decide ; the rest is in better hands. The 
 " dread I felt of choosing for myself, instead of 
 " running the race that is set before me, is 
 " removed ; and I now feel myself obliged to 
 " resign, at least for a season, the trust which 
 " was reposed in me. What the ultimate event 
 " may be, and whether I shall ever be again 
 " permitted to exercise my ministry in Castle 
 " Caulfield, I cannot foresee ; and although I 
 " am thus replaced amongst my oldest friends, 
 " and where natural inclination would lead me, 
 " I cannot but look with the liveliest regret 
 
182 REMAINS OF 
 
 " at the possibility of never returning to a 
 " parish to which I was bound, for three years, 
 " by the most solemn ties, and to a family in 
 " which I have experienced the most unwearied 
 " kindness and affection. I do not conceal 
 " from you the great anxiety I feel that my 
 " successor, whether he is to be temporary 
 " or permanent, may be an active, spiritual 
 " minister. I do not know indeed that any 
 " circumstance would give me more pain than 
 " that my poor flock should fall into the hands 
 " of a careless, worldly-minded pastor. * * 
 
 " Yours, &c. 
 " C. W." 
 
 Dublin, June 14th, 1821. 
 " MY DEAR 
 
 " Although I have nothing conclusive to 
 relate, I feel as if, in this state of uncertainty, 
 my silence would look like neglect. Having 
 failed in my attempts to procure a temporary 
 substitute, and being absolutely withheld by 
 my friends from returning, I at length came 
 to the resolution of resigning the trust re- 
 posed in me. However painful it might be 
 
THE REV. C. WOLFE. 183 
 
 " to my feelings, I could no longer reconcile it 
 " to myself to leave the parish in such a state 
 " of disorder and confusion. I know that 
 " wherever there is not a minister resident in 
 " the parish, every thing is at a stand ; the 
 " sick and the schools are not attended to, and 
 " those that are in health are ' left to walk in 
 " their own ways.' I could not divest myself 
 " of a sense of responsibility for all these con- 
 " sequences. 
 
 " Actuated by these motives, I waited upon 
 " the primate, and tendered my resignation. 
 " He hesitated to accept it, and urged me to 
 " continue my search for a substitute. * * * 
 " As soon as any thing is determined on, I 
 " shall let you know. 
 
 " Yours, &c. 
 C. W." 
 
 Blackhall, July 24th, 1821. 
 " MY DEAR 
 
 * * " If I had known, at the com- 
 
 mencement of this business, that matters 
 would have continued so long in a state of 
 uncertainty, I would have returned to my 
 
184 REMAINS OF 
 
 " post at all hazards. I felt so much dis- 
 " tress, not only at the deserted state of my 
 " parish, but also at the trouble and em- 
 " barrassment that I have occasioned to my 
 " friends, that I made three attempts to resign, 
 " in which I failed. A very little thing would 
 " make me Ireak jail, for I feel myself strong 
 " enough for such an undertaking ; but I am 
 " not allowed to have an opinion upon this 
 " subject : therefore it is that I generally say 
 " little about it in my letters. When any of 
 " my poor people inquire for me, you may tell 
 " them that nothing would injure my health 
 " more than to hear that my flock was scat- 
 " tered. I am very happy to hear so favour- 
 " able an account of the parish, and Sunday- 
 " school ; for the latter of which, I know to 
 " whom I am principally indebted. 
 
 " I do indeed lament that I am not at hand 
 " when you fancy I could minister consola- 
 " tion ; but I know, by experience, that God 
 " often removes from us every earthly support, 
 " in order to draw us nearer to himself, and 
 " to prevent us from trusting to the creature 
 " rather than the Creator ; and he sometimes 
 " puts ' lover and friend far from us, and 
 
THE REV. C. WOLFE. 185 
 
 " removes our acquaintance out of sight,' in 
 " order that he may break through all dis- 
 " guises, and reveal himself as our all-sufficient 
 " Friend. Give my blessing and my most 
 
 " affectionate regards to Mrs. ; remember 
 
 " me to each and all at Mr. . 
 
 " Yours, &c. 
 " C. W." 
 
 Black Rock, June 13th, 1821. 
 
 " DEAR SIR, 
 
 " I regret very much, that although you 
 
 " have been a considerable time in the neigh- 
 
 " bourhood of Castle Caulfield, I am able to 
 
 " address you only by letter. I assure you 
 
 " it was fully my intention to have returned 
 
 " your visit ; but the duties of an extensive 
 
 " parish, which I had not been able to reduce 
 
 " into any kind of system, and which were 
 
 " rendered more laborious by the want of a 
 
 " horse, repeatedly prevented me from fulfill- 
 
 " ing it. Indeed, the occasion of the present 
 
 " letter is in some degree a proof. The irre- 
 
 ** gularity of my movements in my parish pro- 
 
 " duced a degree of inattention to my health, 
 
186 REMAINS OF 
 
 " and gave rise to some symptoms of an at- 
 " tack upon my lungs, which have alarmed my 
 " friends, and induced them to take me alto- 
 " gether out of my own hands, and place me 
 " under the jurisdiction of a physician, who 
 " has actually stripped me of my gown, and 
 " interdicted me, under pain of a consumption, 
 " from the performance of any clerical duty for 
 " a very considerable time. I have made se- 
 " veral unavailing attempts to procure a tem- 
 " porary substitute; and being unwilling to 
 " leave my poor flock any longer without a 
 " shepherd, I waited upon the primate, and 
 " tendered my resignation, but he hesitated to 
 " accept it. 
 
 " My chief object is to provide an active 
 " and zealous minister for a parish in whose 
 " spiritual welfare I cannot cease to feel a 
 " lively interest. 
 
 " Yours, &c. 
 C.W." 
 
 " DEAR SIR, 
 
 * * * With respect to catechising the 
 " children, there is a lamentable deficiency, 
 
THE REV. C. WOLFE. 187 
 
 " arising from a difficulty that I found it more 
 " easy to discover than to remove. In a very 
 " large parish, particularly where they are not 
 " collected in any considerable numbers in a 
 " town, it is impossible that any one day or 
 " any one place will suffice. My desire of 
 " devising a method that would fully meet the 
 " want, and which I trusted would suggest 
 " itself upon a closer acquaintance with the 
 " parish, induced me to delay the adoption of 
 " some that might have been of partial service ; 
 " and the wish of effecting more than perhaps 
 " could be done, prevented me from doing all 
 " that might have been done ; so that even on 
 " Sundays I did not make the catechising as 
 " distinct from the business of the Sunday- 
 " school as I ought. I shall be very happy, 
 " if I am ever to succeed you, to follow 
 " any plan or improvement that you may 
 " introduce. * * * 
 
 " I have been occupied and agitated by pre- 
 " parations for my departure for the Continent, 
 " and inquiries as to the best destination for 
 " invalids, which have not yet been satisfac- 
 " torily answered ; these, and my removal to 
 " town, where I have become the victim of 
 
188 REMAINS OF 
 
 " leeches and blisters, have prevented me from 
 " undertaking an answer to your letter, which 
 " could not be done extempore, as I fear you 
 " will perceive by the length of this epistle. 
 
 Yours, &c. 
 
 " C. W." 
 
 For some months after his removal from his 
 parish, his health appeared to fluctuate, as is 
 sometimes the case at the commencement of 
 such complaints as his ; and it was considered 
 necessary, towards the approach of winter, that 
 he should go to the South of France, as the 
 most probable means of averting from him the 
 threatened malady. In his attempt to reach 
 Bourdeaux, he was twice driven back to Holy- 
 head by violent and adverse gales, and suffered 
 so much from the effects, that it was deemed 
 prudent to abandon the plan, and settle near 
 Exeter during the winter and ensuing spring. 
 From this place his next letters are written. 
 
THE REV. C. WOLFE. 189 
 
 Exeter, Feb. 18th, 1822. 
 " MY DEAR 
 
 " Welcome once more !* I feel as if we had 
 " a second parting when we last exchanged 
 " letters ; and now that we once more renew a 
 " correspondence, it looks like a meeting after 
 " a long separation. But you may be assured 
 " that neither you nor yours were forgotten by 
 " me at those times when I knew you would 
 " most wish to be remembered ; those seasons 
 " at which, I trust, I am remembered by you 
 " all. I will not trouble you with all the 
 " tedious reasons of my silence; the silence 
 " itself was tedious enough. Suffice it to say, 
 " that a man may be very idle, and have no 
 " leisure, especially no leisure of mind ; and 
 " that a man's time may be in a great measure 
 " unoccupied, and yet not his own. I will 
 " not tell you of the length of time it takes to 
 " wind me up and set me a-going for the day ; 
 
 * The remainder of the above was upon the subject of an 
 offer, which had just been made to him, of the curacy of 
 Armagh ; a post of great importance and responsibility, 
 with regard to which proposal he felt the most anxious em- 
 barrassment t EDITOR. 
 
190 REMAINS OF 
 
 " but I find that the toilette of an invalid is as 
 " long and as troublesome as that of a duchess, 
 " and perhaps the whole day often spent 
 " with little more profit. It will be sufficient 
 " to tell you, that I can scarcely make out an 
 " hour and a half a day for actual study. * * 
 
 " Yours, &c. 
 " C. W." 
 
 Exeter, April 2d, 1822. 
 " MY DEAR MRS. 
 
 " If I had written to you as often as I 
 " intended it, since I left Ireland, you would 
 " have been by this time weary of my cor- 
 " respondence. Often and often I have re- 
 " proached myself, for leaving some of my best 
 " and kindest friends the least room for sus- 
 " pecting me to be guilty of forgetfulness or 
 " indifference; but you have witnessed so 
 " much of those fatal habits of delay and 
 " procrastination, by which I am pre-emi- 
 " nently distinguished, that you are not at a 
 " loss to assign a cause for my silence, with- 
 " out being reduced to the necessity of ac- 
 :< cusing me of coldness and ingratitude. In- 
 
THE REV. C. WOLFE. 191 
 
 * deed, from having observed my sad defi- 
 " ciency in corresponding with the nearest 
 " members of my own family, you may well 
 " say, * Well ! after all, sure he has treated 
 " me as his sister.' * * 
 
 " You have heard of course from of our 
 
 " repeated attempts to reach Bourdeaux, and 
 " our repeated disappointments, having been 
 " twice driven back to Holyhead. There we 
 " lived for a month in a state of anxious uncer- 
 " tainty, not knowing each day what was to be 
 " our destination on the morrow ; and when at 
 " length we arrived at this pl#ce, I relaxed 
 " into a state of lassitude and debility, and 
 " my cough grew worse : however, with the 
 " blessing of God, I think my cough consider- 
 " ably reduced, and my strength, in some 
 " degree, returning. Whatever good effect has 
 " beeij produced, I may attribute, under the 
 " Fatner of all mercies, to the friends whom I 
 " trust I may say He has provided for me. 
 " Of the unwearied and devoted affection of 
 " my sisters, who accompanied me, I shall 
 " say nothing ; but the Christian friends that 
 " I have found, whtie I expected to meet 
 " none but strangers, I should feel myself 
 
192 REMAINS OF 
 
 " almost guilty of ingratitude, if I did not 
 " mention. 
 
 " I am now writing under the roof of a fel- 
 " low-countryman, a brother Christian and a 
 " brother in the ministry, who has become an 
 " excellent physician by sad and constant ex- 
 <6 perience in his own person, and who has 
 " taken me altogether under his own care, 
 (i and who does not allow me to move, speak, 
 " write, or think, except by special permission ; 
 " and this, by the by, is the reason that this 
 " letter comes limping so slowly after its prede- 
 " cessor, which I trust has long since reached 
 " you. Under the care of this kind physician 
 " and truly exalted Christian, in whose family 
 " I am almost domesticated, I think I find my 
 " strength returning. But I must pass to a 
 " subject far less agreeable than this, to the 
 " curacy of Armagh. I suppose you have 
 ** been already informed by - that it was 
 
 " offered me by Lord L , and that, after 
 
 " much hesitation and anxiety, I accepted it. 
 " It cannot be necessary to tell you that it was 
 " altogether unsolicited; indeed, so much so, 
 " that I was equally surprised and dismayed 
 " by the offer. I shrunk from it almost in- 
 
THE REV. C. WOLFE. 193 
 
 " stinctively, when I considered not only the 
 " awful responsibility of the office itself, but 
 "the numerous appendages attached to it, the 
 " chaplaincy of the garrison, the chaplaincy and 
 " inspectorship of the jail, and the superin- 
 " tendence of several charitable institutions. It 
 " is indeed one of the very last situations I 
 " should choose if I consulted either my own 
 " ease or emolument. * * 
 
 " * Who is sufficient for these things?' It 
 " was the very answer to this question that 
 " made me hesitate to refuse ; for no man is 
 " sufficient for these things, and yet some one 
 " must undertake them ; and I feared that I 
 " should be guilty of distrusting Him whose 
 " ' strength is made perfect in weakness,' and 
 " of consulting my own ease and convenience 
 " in preference to His service, if I declined it. 
 " 1 therefore conceived it best to reply that I 
 " was willing to undertake it ; but could not 
 " possibly name any period within which I 
 " could engage to enter upon it in person ; nor 
 " could I make any exertion to obtain a sub- 
 " stitute. I was informed in answer, that the 
 " primate had approved of my nomination, and 
 " that every exertion would be made to obtain a 
 
 o 
 
194 REMAINS OF 
 
 " substitute, which however is found to be more 
 " difficult than was imagined, both on account 
 " of the weight of duty, and the indefinite 
 " period for which he would be required. If 
 " permitted to decide for myself, I would have 
 " engaged to return before June ; but my 
 " friends, both old and new, who have taken 
 " me altogether out of my own hands, and 
 " who have me completely in their power, 
 " will not allow me to name any time for re- 
 
 " turning to my duties. My dear Mrs. , 
 
 " I feel it a great relief to think that I am 
 " writing to one who can fully enter into my 
 " feelings and motives ; and that, in relating 
 " my views and conduct in this business, I am 
 " in no danger of being misunderstood; and 
 " surely you cannot but enter into my feel- 
 
 " ings when I convey through you to Mr. 
 
 " the resignation of the curacy of Donough- 
 " more. Indeed, if you do not give me credit 
 " for them, I am afraid it would be hopeless 
 " to attempt to express them. Will you allow 
 " me to intrust you with my farewell to all my 
 
 " friends, both at M and in the parish ? 
 
 " Assure Mr. and Mrs. that I shall never 
 
 " forget the kindness and hospitality I have 
 
THE REV. C. WOLFE. 195 
 
 " enjoyed under their roof ; and give my kindest 
 
 " remembrance to , and my solemn bless- 
 
 " ing to all those of my flock to whom you 
 " think it, will be of any value : but how shall 
 
 " I say farewell to you and Mrs. , who have 
 
 " indeed treated me as a brother and a son ? I 
 " can only commend you to One who has said 
 " that ' whoso doeth the will of his Father, the 
 " same is his brother, and sister, and mother ;' 
 " the great Shepherd of the sheep, who, un- 
 " like other shepherds, will never leave or for- 
 " sake them. It is painful to hear that many 
 " have wandered from the fold ; but there are 
 " some who, I trust, have seen and felt the 
 " glory and love of Christ, and will hold fast 
 " their confidence unto the end. I hope, if I 
 " am indeed ever settled in Armagh, to see 
 " you face to face. * * * 
 
 " Yours, &c. 
 
 C. W." 
 
 Oswestry, May 22d, 1822. 
 " MY DEAR MRS. 
 
 " We are thus far on our way to poor 
 " Ireland, for better for worse ; and we propose 
 
 o 2 
 
196 REMAINS OF 
 
 d 
 
 " to rest here for a few days, with our friends 
 " who have accompanied us. My strength is, I 
 " trust, considerably improved ; but my cough 
 " not considerably abated. 
 
 " I hope soon to ascertain when I shall be 
 " able to return to active duty. So much 
 " for myself; but how tremendous was the 
 " primate's death ! what a thunderstroke ! the 
 " thing itself, and the circumstances attend- 
 " ing it were sufficiently appalling, but to 
 " us its probable consequences are most dis- 
 " tressing. Poor Castle Caulfield ! what will 
 " become of it now ? How the Lord seems 
 " to have disappointed my calculations ! but 
 " perhaps it is only to shew that he can do 
 " things much better his own way, as he often 
 " fulfils our best desires in the manner we least 
 " expected, in order that while he comforts he 
 " may humble us, and teach us to ascribe all 
 " the glory to him. And we should not forget, 
 " that we may promote the cause as much by 
 " our prayers as by our contrivances and exer- 
 " tions. What a privilege it is, and what a 
 " consolation, that we have One upon whom 
 " we may cast our cares ; and that in our 
 " closets, when no one hears or dreams of it, 
 
THE REV. C. WOLFE. 197 
 
 " we may ask of the ' great Shepherd and 
 " Bishop, 5 that he would appoint a faithful 
 " pastor over the sheep that are scattered 
 " and be heard ! At the same time we should 
 " use whatever legitimate means are in our 
 " reach to effect the object of our prayer. 
 
 " But this brings me to the chief subject 
 " of your last letter the wandering of your 
 " mind in prayer. Perhaps the evil of our 
 " nature never displays itself more fully than 
 " in our religious acts and exercises ; and the 
 " more enlightened and experienced a true 
 " Christian becomes, the more does he dis- 
 " cover of the sinfulness of his nature, and of 
 " the pollutions and mixed motives of even his 
 " best performances. But there is a gracious 
 " provision made for these. Towards the close 
 " of the 4th of Hebrews you will find, ' that 
 " we have not an high priest that cannot be 
 " touched with a feeling of our infirmities ; 
 " but was in all points tempted like as we 
 " are, yet without sin :' and, at the end of the 
 " same chapter, this is again urged as a 
 " motive for coming * boldly to the throne of 
 " grace :' and if you look to (I believe) the 
 " 4th chapter of Leviticus, you will see that the 
 
198 REMAINS OF 
 
 " great high priest was * to bear the iniquity 
 " of the holy things of the people of God.' 
 " This is our encouragement and consolation 
 " in approaching the throne of grace, that 
 " there is One who enters into all our feelings, 
 " and sympathises with us in our infirmities, 
 " and yet, at the same time, is almighty to 
 " save ! This is the glory of that truth that 
 " the divine and human nature are united in 
 " one person, and that he offers our feeble and 
 " imperfect petitions with irresistible energy 
 " and effect. This consideration, at the same 
 " time, so far from damping our fervour in 
 " prayer, or inducing us to give way to wan- 
 " dering thoughts or coldness of feeling while 
 " engaged in it, will be an additional incentive 
 " to earnestness and devotion. It will, by re- 
 " moving fear, increase our confidence ; it will 
 " kindle greater love to that gracious Inter- 
 " cessor ; and we shall look forward with 
 " greater hope to that period when all languor 
 " and corruption shall be done away. The 
 " Lord direct, and sanctify, and sustain you, 
 " and crown you and yours with every blessing. 
 " Yours with the sincerest affection, 
 
 " C. W." 
 
THE REV. C. WOLFE. 199 
 
 After his return from Exeter, he remained 
 during the summer with his friends in and near 
 Dublin. His general health appeared not to 
 have undergone any material change in the 
 mean time ; but his cough continued so violent 
 and distressing that he was ordered to go to 
 Bourdeaux, and back again, for the benefit of 
 the voyage. He thus writes to a near relative, 
 on his arrival there. 
 
 Bourdeaux, 29th August, 1822. 
 " MY DEAR 
 
 " This morning, after an anxious and bois- 
 " terous voyage, we cast anchor in front of 
 " Bourdeaux. From Saturday night till Thurs- 
 " day morning we were struggling through the 
 " channel, at one time in danger of being 
 " becalmed, and at others endeavouring to 
 " make the best of violent and unfavourable 
 " winds, until at length, early on Thursday, 
 " we were swept past the Land's End by a 
 " rapid gale. Late on the evening of the same 
 " day we came within view of the island of 
 " Ushant, and entered the formidable Bay of 
 " Biscay. It was, however, so smooth and 
 " beautiful, and the clear French sky over 
 
200 REMAINS OF 
 
 " our heads, and the warm elastic air about 
 " us, were so enlivening, that the terrible 
 " bay seemed to welcome and invite us ; and 
 " during the whole of Friday we sailed gently 
 " and quietly along ; and the deadly and inces- 
 " sant sickness under which I had laboured 
 " until then, and which I will not attempt to 
 " describe, began to give way, and I almost 
 " enjoyed the scene. But on Saturday it 
 " threw off its disguise, and began to appear 
 " in its real character, and we were tossed and 
 " lashed furiously along, till at length, on Sun- 
 " day morning, after a stormy night, to our 
 " great refreshment, we arrived at the mouth 
 " of the Garonne, about sixty miles from 
 " Bourdeaux. If it had not been the Lord's 
 " day, which I would gladly have spent in 
 " another way, I should have sincerely en- 
 " joyed the scene, in sailing up the noblest 
 " and grandest river I ever beheld. We an- 
 " chored that night at Pauillac, half way 
 " up the river between the mouth and the 
 " city. For the first time, I slept as it were 
 " upon dry land, and rose this morning 
 " refreshed. The sail from Pauillac to Bour- 
 " deaux was indeed delightful ; but the repose 
 
THE REV. C. WOLFE. 201 
 
 " I now enjoy infinitely more so ; for all the 
 " passengers are gone ashore but myself, and 
 " I spend the remainder of the day quietly on 
 " board the packet alone, where I shall sleep 
 " to-night, and will go to-morrow early to look 
 " for lodgings. My cough only appeared oc- 
 " casionally during the voyage, and was never 
 " violent or continued ; and I have been told 
 " by all the passengers that there was a very 
 " remarkable improvement visible towards the 
 " close of the voyage. The heat is very se- 
 " vere, but the sky very clear and beautiful. 
 " I will not say any thing of the passengers, 
 " &c. as I hope this letter will not reach you 
 " much sooner than myself. 
 
 " I feel indeed that I have been most 
 " graciously dealt with; and that the same 
 " good Providence that before forbade me to 
 " go, has now gone along with me. May He 
 " be with you ! 
 
 " Yours, &c. 
 " C. W." 
 
 In less than a month he returned from 
 Bourdeaux, and seemed to have derived some 
 benefit from the voyage ; but this was of short 
 
202 REMAINS OF 
 
 continuance. The fatal disease which had been 
 long apprehended proved to have taken full 
 hold of his constitution : his strength appeared 
 to sink fast, and his spirits to flag. The bound- 
 ing step, which expressed a constant buoyancy 
 of mind, now became slow and feeble ; his 
 robust and upright figure began to droop ; 
 his marked and prominent features acquired a 
 sharpness of form, and his complexion, natu- 
 rally fair, assumed the pallid cast of wasting 
 disease ; and all the other symptoms of con- 
 sumption soon discovered themselves ; and, 
 
 " Even when his serious eyes were lighted up 
 
 " With kindling mirth, and from his lips distill'd 
 
 " Words soft as dew and cheerful as the dawn, 
 
 " Then too I could have wept ; for on his face, 
 
 " Eye, voice, and smile, nor less his bending frame 
 
 " By other cause impaired than length of years 
 
 " Lay something that still turn'd the thoughtful heart 
 
 " To melancholy dreams dreams of decay, 
 
 " Of death, and burial, and the silent tomb." 
 
 It is indeed the privilege of the Christian 
 to look far above those dreary scenes, to 
 fasten his eye upon that light which burns 
 beyond the tomb ; but still, sometimes the sight 
 of a dying friend will naturally turn the thoughts 
 
THE REV. C. WOLFE. 203 
 
 to the more immediate circumstances of death ; 
 and this, perhaps, most of all, at the moment 
 when one suddenly discerns, with a startled 
 conviction, the first sure and ominous vestige 
 of death upon the countenance of a beloved 
 object. But faith will not dwell upon such 
 thoughts " such melancholy dreams :" it will 
 look up with serene and holy confidence to 
 " Him who is the resurrection and the life ;" 
 and thus comfort itself with an unfailing conso- 
 lation. 
 
 About the end of November it was thought 
 advisable, as the last remaining hope, that he 
 should guard against the severity of the winter, 
 by removing to the Cove of Cork, which, by 
 its peculiar situation, is sheltered on all sides 
 from the harsh and prevailing winds. Thither 
 he was accompanied by the writer and a near 
 relative to whom he was fondly attached. For 
 a short time he appeared to revive a little ; and 
 sometimes entered into conversation with al- 
 most his usual animation ; but the first un- 
 favourable change of weather shattered his re- 
 maining strength : his cough now became nearly 
 incessant, and a distressing languor weighed 
 down his frame. In this state he continued 
 
204 REMAINS OF 
 
 until the 21st of February, 1823, upon the 
 morning of which day he expired, in the 32d 
 year of his age. 
 
 During the whole course of his illness (though, 
 towards the close, apparently not unconscious 
 of his danger) he never expressed any appre- 
 hensions to his friends, but once, that he sud- 
 denly observed a new symptom, to which he 
 pointed with a look and expression of the gen- 
 tlest, calmest resignation. He seemed particu- 
 larly on his guard against uttering a word 
 which could excite the fears of the dear relative 
 who clung so devotedly to him until his last 
 moments. A short time before he died she 
 ventured to disclose to him her long-concealed 
 apprehensions, saying (with a humility like his 
 own), that she felt she needed correction ; and 
 that, at last, the Lord had sent " a worm into 
 " her gourd." " What !" replied he, " is it in 
 " afflicting me? indeed, I believe you love 
 " me sinfully : I may, however, bless this ill- 
 " ness if it leads me to more spiritual commu- 
 " nion with you than before." 
 
 One night that his animal spirits were par- 
 ticularly depressed, he said to her, " I want 
 " comfort to-night :" and upon her reminding 
 
THE REV. C. WOLFE. 205 
 
 him of the blessings he had been the instrument 
 of conveying to the souls of many of his nearest 
 relatives, he faintly exclaimed, " Stop, stop 
 " that is comfort enough for one night." 
 
 It is natural for a religious mind to feel a 
 lively interest in every record of the last illness 
 and death of any eminent servant of God to 
 expect some happy evidences of triumphant 
 faith and holy resignation in such a trying state 
 at the awful moment when all the vast reali- 
 ties of an eternal world are about to be disclosed 
 to the disembodied spirit. There are some 
 persons who perhaps look for such evidences 
 chiefly in ardent ejaculations, in affecting ex- 
 pressions of self-humiliation, in palpable im- 
 pressions of present comfort, or raptures of 
 joyful anticipation ; but these may not be, after 
 all, unequivocal or indispensable tests of the 
 presence and power of true faith. It should 
 not be forgotten how much depends upon the 
 state of the animal system at such times, upon 
 the nature of the complaint, or even on the 
 peculiar constitution of the mind itself. As in 
 the case of the steadfast and holy Christian 
 here recorded, the disease may be such as to 
 encumber the faculties of the soul by a peculiar 
 pressure upon the body : the corruptible part 
 
206 REMAINS OF 
 
 may " weigh down the mind which museth on 
 " many things," and thus incapacitate it for 
 any energetic manifestation of its feelings. It 
 was the nature of his particular malady to 
 bring on an oppressive lassitude of spirits ; and 
 he was also afflicted with a raking cough, 
 which for some time before his death disabled 
 him from speaking a single sentence without 
 incurring a violent paroxysm. 
 
 One interesting fact, however, may prove, 
 with more certainty than a thousand rapturous 
 expressions, the ascendancy of his faith in the 
 midst of these depressing circumstances. 
 
 On the day before his dissolution, the medi- 
 cal gentleman who attended him felt it his duty 
 to apprise him of his immediate danger, and 
 expressed himself thus : " Your mind, sir, 
 " seems to be so raised above this world that 
 " I need not fear to communicate to you my 
 " candid opinion of your state." " Yes, sir," 
 replied he, " I trust I have been learning to 
 " live above the world :" and he then made 
 some impressive observations on the ground of 
 his own hopes ; and having afterwards heard 
 that they had a favourable effect, he entered 
 more fully into the subject with him on his 
 next visit, and continued speaking for an hour, 
 
THE REV. C. WOLFE. 20? 
 
 in such a convincing, affecting, and solemn 
 strain, (and this at a time when he seemed in- 
 capable of uttering a single sentence,) that the 
 physician, on retiring to the adjoining room, 
 threw himself on the sofa, in tears, exclaiming, 
 " There is something superhuman about that 
 " man : it is astonishing to see such a mind in 
 " a body so wasted ; such mental vigour in a 
 " poor frame dropping into the grave !" 
 
 Let not then the cold sceptic (to maintain 
 a precarious theory on uncertain observations) 
 seek to degrade his own nature, in the face of 
 facts like this, by identifying the imperishable 
 soul with its frail tenement. There are mo- 
 ments, he may see, at which that divine and im- 
 material principle can throw off the pressure of 
 its earthly encumbrance, even when it appears 
 to slumber in a deadly torpor. When its own 
 appropriate excitements are presented to it, it 
 can " burst its cerements," and rise superior to 
 the ruins amidst which it seems to be buried. 
 
 This incident is abundantly sufficient to in- 
 dicate the strength of principle and the ardour 
 of feeling which may possess the soul at a time 
 when, perhaps, it finds no utterance. His 
 feelings indeed appeared too deep for super- 
 ficial expressions. The state of mind towards 
 
208 REMAINS OF 
 
 which he seemed to aspire, was what the excel- 
 lent Henry Martin preferred above all others, 
 " a sweet and holy seriousness ;" and indeed 
 he seemed to have attained it. His was a 
 calm serenity, a profound thoughtfulness, a 
 retired communion with his God, which could 
 not, probably, vent itself in verbal ebullitions ; 
 but when an opportunity of doing good to 
 the soul of a fellow-sinner presented itself, he 
 shewed how strongly he felt the Gospel to be 
 " the power of salvation to his own soul," by 
 his zeal to impart it to another. 
 
 It is important thus to see that true religion 
 consists not so much in the constant fervour of 
 the feelings, as in a fixedness of principle, in 
 the intelligent, determinate choice of the will ; 
 that the one may fluctuate while the other re- 
 mains steadfast and immovable. 
 
 From the time that Mr. W. came to Cove 
 he seemed scarcely to relish any subject of 
 conversation but that which bore upon what is, 
 in truth, at all times " the one thing needful." 
 
 His Bible was his chief companion ; he 
 seemed also deeply interested in Worthington's 
 treatise on " Self-resignation ;" and occasionally 
 read with satisfaction " Omicron's Letters, by 
 " the Rev. J. Newton." 
 
THE KEY. C. WOLFE. 209 
 
 Upon the subject of religion he was always 
 peculiarly indisposed to controversy. He de- 
 lighted to seize the great principles, to embrace 
 the vital truths ; and read with pleasure any 
 author in whose writings he could find them: he 
 valued as brethren all who maintained them, and 
 diligently sought to co-operate with them " in 
 " their works and labours of love." His own 
 views seemed not to have undergone any change 
 from the time of his ordination; but they became 
 more and more vivid, and, of course, more in- 
 fluential upon his principles and affections. 
 
 During the last few days of his life, when 
 his sufferings became more distressing, his 
 constant expression was, " This light affliction, 
 " this light affliction !" and when the awful 
 crisis drew near, he still maintained the same 
 sweet spirit of resignation. Even then he 
 shewed an instance of that thoughtful benevo- 
 lence, that amiable tenderness of feeling, which 
 formed a striking trait in his character : he 
 expressed much anxiety about the accommo- 
 dation of an attendant who was sleeping in the 
 adjoining room ; and gave even minute direc- 
 tions respecting it. 
 
 On going to bed he felt very drowsy ; and 
 p 
 
210 REMAINS OF 
 
 soon after the stupor of death began to creep 
 over him. He began to pray for all his dearest 
 friends individually ; but his voice faltering, 
 he could only say " God bless them all ! 
 " The peace of God and of Jesus Christ over- 
 " shadow them, dwell in them, reign in them!" 
 " My peace," said he, addressing his sister, 
 " (the peace I now feel) be with you!" " Thou, 
 " O God, wilt keep him in perfect peace whose 
 " mind is stayed on thee." His speech again 
 began to fail, and he fell into a slumber ; 
 but whenever his senses were recalled he 
 returned to prayer. He repeated part of the 
 Lord's prayer, but was unable to proceed ; and 
 at last, with a composure scarcely credible at 
 such a moment, he whispered to the dear rela- 
 tive who hung over his death-bed, " Close this 
 " eye, the other is closed already ; and now 
 " farewell !" Then, having again uttered part 
 of the Lord's prayer, he fell asleep. " He is 
 " not dead, but sleepeth." 
 
 To this imperfect record I cannot forbear 
 annexing the following discriminative sketch of 
 the mental and moral endowments of its in- 
 
THE REV. C. WOLFE. 
 
 teresting subject. It is from the eloquent pen 
 of the Rev. Dr. Miller, late fellow of Trinity 
 College, Dublin, author of " Lectures on the 
 " Philosophy of Modern History." It formed 
 the conclusion of a letter to the editor of a 
 London paper, in which he fully establishes 
 the claim of the true author to the disputed 
 Ode on Sir John Moore. 
 
 " The poetical talent (continues the learned 
 " writer) which could produce such an ode was, 
 " however, but a minor qualification in the cha- 
 " racter of this young man ; for he combined 
 " eloquence of the first order with the zeal of 
 " an apostle. During the short time in which 
 " he held a curacy in the diocese of Armagh, 
 66 he so wholly devoted himself to the dis- 
 " charge of his duties in a very populous 
 " parish, that he exhausted his strength by 
 " exertions disproportioned to his constitution, 
 " and was cut off by disease in what should 
 " have been the bloom of youth. This zeal, 
 " which was too powerful for his bodily frame, 
 " was yet controlled by a vigorous and manly 
 " intellect, which all the ardour of religion 
 " and poetry could never urge to enthusiasm. 
 
 p 2 
 
REMAINS, &C. 
 
 " His opinions were as sober as if they were 
 " merely speculative ; his fancy was as vivid 
 " as if he never reasoned ; his conduct a& 
 " zealous as if he thought only of his practical 
 " duties; every thing in him held its proper 
 " place except a due consideration of himself, 
 " and to his neglect of this he became an early 
 " victim," 
 
 
SERMONS. 
 
INTRODUCTION. 
 
 IT seems proper to introduce these Sermons with a 
 few prefatory observations. It should be borne in re- 
 collection, that none of them were designed by their 
 author for publication. They were all, with a single 
 exception, composed for a plain but intelligent country 
 congregation ; and some of them were afterwards preach- 
 ed, with slight alterations, in Dublin. 
 
 It appears, from the great variety of short hints 
 preserved with each sermon, that the writer's mind had 
 been teeming with thoughts which he had not time or 
 space to introduce. Some of the topics were probably 
 rejected as not suited to his flock ; but a few leading 
 words were briefly and confusedly thrown together : 
 some sparkles of thought were thus kept alive, which 
 might have been sufficient to rekindle whole trains of 
 reflections s and forms of address, adapted to future 
 occasions. 
 
 The reader will not, of course, expect to meet in 
 
216 INTRODUCTION. 
 
 these sermons any thing like trains of abstract or meta- 
 physical reasoning, or learned elucidations of Scripture. 
 Such would have been altogether misplaced, in dis- 
 courses addressed to the middle and lower classes of 
 society ; and, indeed, it may be said that there are few 
 congregations to which such a mode of preaching is 
 adapted ; none, perhaps, before whom it should not 
 be sparingly employed. The character of the author's 
 mind, and of his accomplishments as a scholar, was such 
 as, in other circumstances, might have led him to occa- 
 sional exercises of this kind, in which, doubtless, he 
 would have exhibited that acuteness and subtilty as a 
 reasoner, and that ingenuity as a commentator, which 
 distinguished him in conversational discussion. 
 
 Sermons which partake of such a character abound 
 in our language. We are in no want of learned and 
 argumentative discourses. There is a rich magazine of 
 sound theological erudition in the sermons of our best 
 divines ; enough, indeed, to form a complete body of 
 divinity. 
 
 There are also many useful volumes of a plain, in- 
 structive character, in which the great doctrines and 
 duties of Christianity are simply and faithfully ex- 
 pounded. But most of them are deficient in interest. 
 They present little to excite the curiosity, to seize upon 
 the imagination, or to penetrate the heart. They serve 
 well enough to direct, but are insufficient to impel. 
 
INTRODUCTION. 217 
 
 They are rather sound catechetical lectures than 
 awakening appeals; formal statements, than affecting, 
 heart-stirring exhortations. Such, I believe, are gene- 
 rally allowed to be the prevailing defects iii our modern 
 sermons. 
 
 Those which are here submitted to the public, it is 
 hoped, may appear at least as samples of that descrip- 
 tion most wanted, and best fitted for general usefulness. 
 They are, however, to be regarded merely as specimens 
 of the authors style of preaching. 
 
 Their principal merit appears to be, that though 
 originally composed for a plain congregation, they were 
 cast in such a shape as to be easily adapted, by slight 
 alterations, to the most cultivated minds. " This (says 
 " an able writer * on oratory) is a difficult task. Some 
 " dispositions indeed there are who fall into it natu- 
 " rally ; but usually it is the fruit of serious reflection 
 " and long experience. It costs a man of quick parts 
 " and extensive knowledge much pain and self-denial 
 " to reject every thing curious, and fine, and acute, 
 " which his faculties and erudition offer to him ; and to 
 " confine himself within the limits of common sense. 
 " But, after all, the principal difficulty herein is not from 
 
 * Lectures concerning Oratory, by J. Lawson, D. D. 
 Lecturer in Oratory and History, Trinity College, Dublin, 
 pp. 394, 395, (1795.) 
 
218 INTRODUCTION. 
 
 " nature, but our own fault, from wrong passions, 
 " ambition, interest, or self-praise. Preach not for pre- 
 " ferment or fame, but for God and virtue. If your 
 " genius admits of it, you will then be concise, nervous, 
 " and full." 
 
 It is this quality (thus justly commended) which 
 seems to have chiefly distinguished our author as a 
 preacher. This is no unsupported assertion. Many 
 persons, as well as the editor, can bear testimony to 
 the strong emotions which the same sermons, with little 
 alterations, excited amongst the extreme classes of 
 society in the minds of the literate and illiterate the 
 religious and the worldly. 
 
 A sermon read, is, indeed, different from a sermon 
 spoken ; and it is possible that the effect of these ser- 
 mons was much aided by a mode of delivery peculiarly 
 suitable to their style and matter. Sometimes it was 
 authoritative and abrupt ; sometimes slow and mea- 
 sured; and at other times rapid almost hurried. 
 Sometimes there was a blunt and homely plainness, and 
 often a soothing tenderness of manner ; but all was 
 natural and unlaboured ; more remarkable, perhaps, for 
 energy and expression than for gracefulness, for an 
 earnest simplicity, than a studied elegance. 
 
 It may be necessary for the editor to say a few words 
 as to the task he has had to perform. Many of the 
 
INTRODUCTION. 219 
 
 manuscripts were in such a state as to require much 
 labour to transcribe them for the press ; and a large por- 
 tion of some of the sermons towards the close of the 
 volume, was written out in such evident haste, as to 
 cause some inaccuracies which it was absolutely neces- 
 sary to correct. This, however, has been sparingly 
 done ; perhaps some may think too sparingly. 
 
 For such necessary corrections the editor hopes he 
 needs not apologise ; as the nature of all posthumous 
 works, not designed for publication, usually demands 
 them ; and as his intimate friendship with the author, 
 and his acquaintance with all his opinions and feelings, 
 must be a full security that the duty has been performed 
 with rigid caution and fidelity. 
 
 The present selection has been made chiefly with 
 a reference to the author's own probable estimate of his 
 sermons. All which he preached in Dublin are in- 
 cluded, as it may be naturally supposed they were 
 among the number which he had most thoroughly con- 
 sidered and prepared. A few others are added, which 
 some, probably, may think not inferior. 
 
 Under the circumstances in which they were com- 
 posed, and in which they now appear before the public, 
 it will be unnecessary, it is hoped, to deprecate the 
 scrutiny of literary or theological criticism. In hor- 
 tatory appeals like these, it is unreasonable to expect 
 
INTRODUCTION. 
 
 all the precision of a formal essay. There is a certain 
 boldness and latitude of phrase to be allowed in such 
 discourses : the form of expression cannot easily be 
 compressed within the narrow limits, or tamed down 
 into the meagre statements, of a scholastic system. In 
 these sermons, however, it will be found that all the 
 grand doctrines of the Gospel, which alone can give 
 vitality and energy to religious instruction, are promi- 
 nently, faithfully, and practically inculcated. Happy 
 will it be, if they are perused with a disposition of mind 
 in any degree correspondent with the feelings* by which 
 
 * These feelings may, in some degree, be illustrated by a 
 few extracts from his private reflections, which were never 
 meant to meet any eye but his own : they were roughly en- 
 tered upon a few scattered papers, merely as hints for his own 
 direction. They shew, in a strong light, the genuine work- 
 ings of his heart, the kind of mental and spiritual exercise 
 in which he engaged in the preparation of his sermons, 
 and the anxiety he felt about the style and topics most likely 
 to make practical impressions upon the consciences of his 
 hearers. 
 
 Take a case in which God acts or speaks affectionately, 
 almost always one on the spiritual nature of sin, on self- 
 deceit self-knowledge. 
 
 Let it keep me humble to think how I myself have sinned 
 in the face of light, and against the motives I have to withhold 
 me ; against the knowledge of God's wrath ; against it and 
 his redeeming love ; against my own preaching ; against the 
 
INTRODUCTION. 
 
 they were dictated, or proportioned to the momentous 
 object which their pious author held steadily in view- 
 If his glorified spirit be now permitted to share in the 
 joy which angels feel " over one sinner that repenteth," 
 there is riot one of all the heavenly host which encircles 
 the throne of God, that would enjoy a holier delight 
 
 especial need of a minister, upon whose spiritual state de- 
 pends, in a great degree, the state of his flock. 
 
 Preach a sermon in which every false sentiment is sup- 
 posed uttered on the death-bed ; a sermon in which we sup- 
 pose the sensations of a sinner looking back upon those whom 
 he may have misled, or neglected to instruct, a father upon 
 his children, &c. a pastor upon his flock : when each shall 
 say, " I pray thee send some one unto my father's house." 
 Give also the retrospect from Heaven upon those whom, 
 through the grace of God, we may have assisted. 
 
 Bring in familiar topics, Begin naturally and easily, but 
 so as to excite curiosity with an incident or anecdote. Be- 
 gin in an original and striking, but sedate manner. Before 
 writing, read poetry and oratory. " Look constantly to the 
 " Bible. Every thing you read, read with a view to this." 
 
 Give full weight to objections with dl fondness of hu- 
 man frailty. Seize late, almost present occurrences. Ima- 
 gine that you are arguing with the most profligate, ambitious, 
 and talented opponent. 
 
 Let my object be to improve myself first. Enter into the 
 feelings of your congregation, into their failings. Throw 
 them upon arguing against themselves : advise them affec- 
 tionately. 
 
222 INTRODUCTION. 
 
 than lie in witnessing the restoration of an immortal 
 soul to its Father and its God ; and surely it would, 
 if possible, enhance such joy, if he could be assured 
 that, even in a single instance, this humble record of 
 his words was conducive to effect that object which 
 was nearest to his heart when they passed through his 
 living lips ; and that thus, " though absent from us in 
 " the body," he was still instrumental in the blessed 
 work of " converting a sinner from the error of his way, 
 " and saving a soul alive." 
 
 That He who is the Author of every good and per- 
 fect gift, may accompany them with the healthful and 
 saving influence of his grace to the heart of every reader, 
 is the fervent prayer of 
 
 THE EDITOR. 
 
SERMON I. 
 
 ECCLESIASTES, xii. 1. 
 
 Remember now thy Creator in the days of thy youth. 
 
 WE all know that we shall have to remem- 
 ber our Creator at one time or another. We 
 cannot but know that he has many ways of in- 
 viting us to remember him " the sun that he 
 " makes to rise upon the evil and the good the 
 " rain that he sends down upon the just and 
 " the unjust the fruitful seasons, by which 
 " he fills our hearts with food and gladness" 
 the weekly returns of his holy Sabbath the 
 ministry of the Gospel of salvation and the 
 table which he spreads before us, which he has 
 instituted as a peculiar memorial of himself, 
 and at which he invites us to eat of the bread 
 of life, and to drink from the fountain of living 
 water. 
 
 And we cannot but know that he has also 
 the means of making himself remembered, and 
 that he will not always allow himself to be for- 
 
SERMON I. 
 
 gotten, but that he has certain agents at his 
 disposal, by which, when he pleases, he can 
 command our attention, the sword the fa- 
 mine the pestilence the death-bed the last 
 trumpet " the worm that dieth not, and the 
 " fire that is not quenched." 
 
 Such a Being cannot be remembered too 
 often, or too soon. There is no one here that 
 will venture to say, that there ever existed a man 
 from the foundation of the world who remem- 
 bered him too much, or began to fix his thoughts 
 upon him too early. We need scarcely go far- 
 ther, then, to discover what is to become of 
 those who habitually forget him ; who only 
 think of him when he is started into their minds 
 by something violent or accidental, and who 
 say, " It is yet time enough to remember my 
 *' Creator." Why they might as well say when 
 death comes, it is yet time enough to die. It is 
 hard to conceive the fate of these men, if they 
 are cut off in this state of forget fulness^ to be 
 any thing but evil and misery ; in fact, it would 
 put our invention to no easy trial, to imagine 
 what good thing they would be capable of en- 
 joying in the other world. Look into their own 
 breasts ; they hope for nothing, they promise 
 
SERMON I. 
 
 themselves nothing ; for they cannot think of 
 these things when they forget Him who is the 
 Author and Giver of these things. If then 
 there were no other reason for remembering 
 our Creator in the days of our youth, than that 
 we may never have an old age vouchsafed to 
 us, in which we may recall him to our thoughts ; 
 that between us and that old age there may 
 be a great gulf fixed that we shall never pass ; 
 if this were the only reason, should it not be 
 enough ? Nay, the sin of thus trifling with him 
 and our own immortal souls, by deferring their 
 consideration to a future opportunity, may be 
 the very means of provoking him to withhold 
 that opportunity for ever. 
 
 But there is another reason for remembering 
 our Creator in the days of our youth. The 
 days of our youth are the days of our blessings. 
 It would be hard to find throughout the whole 
 range of creation, a more glorious and interest- 
 ing object, than youth just entering into active 
 life, just rejoicing as a giant to run his course- 
 Set him alongside of the noblest animal of any 
 other species ; compare him with the old and 
 decaying members of his own and what a dif- 
 ference ! In those days we enter into life with 
 
 Q 
 
226 SERMON I. 
 
 a shower of God's blessings upon our heads : 
 we come adorned with all the choicest gifts of 
 the Almighty ; with strength of body, with ac- 
 tivity of limb, with health and vigour of consti- 
 tution, with every thing to fit us both for labour 
 and for enjoyment; if not endowed with a 
 sufficiency, endowed with what is better, the 
 power of obtaining it for ourselves by an honest 
 and manly industry ; with senses keen and ob- 
 serving ; with spirits high, lively, and untame- 
 able, that shake off care and sorrow whenever 
 they attempt to fasten upon our mind, and that 
 enable us to make pleasure for ourselves, where 
 we do notjfind it, and to draw enjoyment and 
 gratification from things in which we see no- 
 thing but pain, vexation, and disappointment. 
 
 But, above all, in the days of our youth, 
 the mind and the memory, with which we have 
 been endowed by the Almighty, are then all 
 fresh, alive, and vigorous. Alas ! we seldom 
 think what an astonishing gift is that understand- 
 ing which we enjoy the bright light that God 
 has kindled within us until our old age comes, 
 when we find that that understanding is wear- 
 ing away, and that light becoming dim. Then 
 shall we feel bitterly, most bitterly, what it is 
 
SKRMON I. 227 
 
 to have enjoyed, in the days of our youth, that 
 privilege which seems to be withheld from all 
 the animals by whom we are surrounded, even 
 the privilege of knowing that there is a God ; 
 the privilege even of barely thinking upon such 
 a Being ; but more than that, the privilege of 
 studying and understanding the astonishing 
 variety of his works, of observing the ways of 
 his providence, of admiring his power, his wis- 
 dom, and his goodness ; the power of acquiring 
 knowledge of a thousand different kinds, and 
 the power of laying it up in our memory, and 
 using it when we please : and this in the days 
 of our youth, when the mind is all on fire, 
 brisk, clear, and powerful, and when we actually 
 seem to take knowledge by force, and when the 
 memory is large and spacious, so as to admit 
 and contain the good things that we learn ; and 
 where the place that should be filled by know- 
 ledge has not yet been preoccupied by crimes, 
 by sorrows, and anxieties. 
 
 In the days of our youth, too, our hearts 
 are warmest, and our feelings and our attach- 
 ments are strongest and most disinterested ; 
 we have not yet learnt the bitter lessons that are 
 acquired by a mixture with the world, where we 
 
228 SERMON I. 
 
 often lose our best and kindest affections, and 
 are taught in return selfishness, avarice, suspi- 
 cion, and deceit. Our hopes and our friendships 
 have not yet been checked by disappointment, 
 nor our kindness and generosity by ingratitude. 
 Thus, dressed out in all the riches of his Cre- 
 ator's goodness, with the marks of God's hand 
 yet fresh upon him with health, with strength, 
 with mind, with memory, with warmth and 
 liberality of heart youth comes forward into 
 life, covered over and hung round with memo- 
 rials of his Creator. Is it necessary to ask, 
 whether this man should remember his Cre- 
 ator? Supposing that there was no stronger 
 motive than gratitude for all these blessings, 
 would it be a hard thing to ask, that the Lord 
 of health, and strength, and mind, and memory, 
 should have a place in the memory that he has 
 himself bestowed ? and yet if our recollection 
 of our Creator depended only upon our grati- 
 tude, is there one heart on the earth that would 
 rise, of its own accord, to the throne of good- 
 ness, to offer its voluntary incense of praise and 
 thanksgiving for all the unnumbered benefits 
 that have been showered upon our heads ? It 
 is well that our recollection of our Creator de- 
 
SERMON I. 229 
 
 pends upon a more severe and a more powerful 
 motive ; for we cannot imagine that God has 
 lavished upon us all this profusion of his trea- 
 sures, without intending that they should be 
 used in a particular way. Would you believe 
 any one that told you, that God, who gives the 
 meanest blessing to the meanest animal for 
 some certain use, can have glorified you with 
 such powers and riches of body and of mind, 
 and that he has yet left the management to your 
 own humour and caprice ? Really and truly, do 
 you believe that you have been supplied with 
 all these magnificent gifts for so many toys to 
 trifle with, and not so many weapons that you 
 are to wield in the service of the God who gave 
 them ? It is impossible. We cannot but know 
 and feel in our hearts, that they were given for 
 great purposes, and that they are not at our 
 disposal ; that God will require the fruits of his 
 own gifts ; that if we use them as " instruments 
 " of unrighteousness unto sin, and not as in- 
 " struments of righteousness unto God" " the 
 " wages of those things is death :" that if we 
 prostitute the health and the strength that he 
 has given us, to drunkenness and debauchery, 
 and the mind that he has given us, to pride, 
 
230 SERMON I. 
 
 revenge, covetousness, or impurity ; if we do 
 not use them for the purpose both of under- 
 standing his will and obeying it ; of worship- 
 ping him in spirit and in truth ; of " letting our 
 " light so shine before men, that they may see 
 " our good works, and glorify our Father which 
 " is in heaven ;" we shall have turned all these 
 blessings to our ruin. At our peril, then, are 
 we bound to remember our Creator, in order 
 that we may consult his will and obey his com- 
 mands, so as to be able to render an account 
 of the talents with which we have been intrust- 
 ed. And accordingly, about two verses before 
 this passage, as if to prepare us for the precept, 
 " Remember thy Creator in the days of thy 
 youth," there come these solemn and powerful 
 words " Rejoice, O 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." 
 
 We have now considered the days of our 
 youth as the days of our blessing's, but there re- 
 mains another consideration still more awaken- 
 ing; for the days of our youth are also the 
 
SERMON I. 281 
 
 days of our dangers. If a young man, at his 
 first outset into life, were to have all the temp- 
 tations that he was afterwards to undergo sud- 
 denly presented before his view ; if all the un- 
 seen enemies of his soul, his peace, and his in- 
 nocence, were all, at once, to become visible ; if 
 all his future scenes of blasphemy, riot, and in- 
 temperance, were, by one flash of lightning, 
 disclosed to his contemplation, I suppose that 
 nothing less than a look into the next world, if 
 it were possible, could produce a more terrible 
 shock upon his feelings ; perhaps it would be 
 too much for him to see at once the thousand 
 ways in which the world, the flesh, and the 
 devil would lay siege to his soul would solicit 
 his passions would undermine his resolutions 
 the thousand artifices by which they would 
 endeavour to render vice more and more fami- 
 liar to his taste, and insinuate its poison into 
 his very constitution. Now what safeguard can 
 he take, entering, as he does, among such a 
 host of enemies enemies, too, that go slowly 
 to work, so that a man scarcely perceives that 
 he is losing ground and giving way ? He must 
 take some fixed and unchangeable principle of 
 conduct, or he is ruined ; there must be some- 
 
232 SERMON I, 
 
 thing solid and immoveable, at which his mind 
 may ride at anchor, something that will not 
 change, or shift, or flatter, but will always tell 
 him the stern the pure the terrifying truth. 
 
 Now what is the principle from which we 
 naturally act in the days of our youth ? Either 
 from none at all, or we are governed by cus- 
 tom, by example, by fashion, and by the opinion 
 of those into whose company we are generally 
 thrown. Would it not be enough to observe, 
 without going a step farther, that this is nothing 
 less than making mankind our God than mak- 
 ing our company our God? For, recollect, 
 that whatever you take a*s your chief rule in 
 life, and the leading governor and director of 
 your conduct, that is your God ; it is to you 
 what God should be it is in God's place it 
 is this you remember when you should remem- 
 ber your Creator ; in this you live, and upon 
 this you must depend when you die. 
 
 But let us examine this rule this God that 
 we take unto ourselves, to direct us through the 
 dangers of our youth and what is it ? The 
 opinion of that very world, and of those very 
 companions who are the means of seducing us 
 from our duty ; the very world that supplies 
 
SERMON I. 233 
 
 all these temptations, that gives way to them, 
 that riots and indulges in them, is that from 
 which we take our laws and principles ; com- 
 posed of men just as willing to yield to tempta- 
 tion as ourselves, and just as anxious to disco- 
 ver the same excuses. And thus, those whose 
 principles, example, and applause, are to us 
 instead of God, are the companions of our ca- 
 rousals, of our revellings, of our debauches, and 
 of our impurities, and who give the name of 
 virtue and vice to whatever they please, with- 
 out consulting Him who is the fountain of all 
 virtue, and the burning enemy of all vice. 
 
 But this is not all, nor perhaps the worst. 
 The opinions of the world, as to virtue and vice, 
 are not only ruinously false, but they are as 
 changeable as they are false. What, in one 
 age of the world, would have branded a man 
 with infamy as long as he breathed, becomes 
 not only pardonable, but reputable in another. 
 The customs of the world, and the fashionable 
 crimes of society, are shifting from age to age. 
 For one instance out of a hundred : some 
 time ago there existed a nation where theft 
 was honoured, as a proof of skill and dexterity ; 
 while, in that very same nation, drunkenness 
 
234 SERMON I. 
 
 and immodesty intemperance of any kind 
 would have ruined a man's reputation for ever. 
 Now look at the change ! In our days, the 
 one is stigmatised with punishment and disho- 
 nour, while men often boast of their achieve- 
 ments in the other. How is a man to be guided 
 by this childish and despicable world, that has 
 not yet learnt, in six thousand years, to guide 
 and regulate itself? that calls a thing virtue 
 at one time, and vice at another ; that calls evil 
 good, and good evil ; that puts bitter for sweet, 
 and sweet for bitter ? Let him put it aside from 
 him with contempt, and let him " remember 
 " his Creator." He will not shift and change 
 with times and seasons. The fashions and 
 opinions of the world may turn round and round 
 with the world itself ; but the law of God stands 
 unchanged and unchangeable as the God that 
 endureth for ever and ever: they have perished, 
 and shall perish ; but he hath remained and 
 shall still remain : the fashions and opinions of 
 the world shall all " wax old as doth a garment, 
 " and he shall fold them up, and they shall be 
 " changed ; but he is the same, and his years 
 " shall not fail." Why, one thought upon God, 
 in the midst of dissipation and profligacy, of 
 
SERMON I. 235 
 
 oaths and drunkenness, of indecencies of lan- 
 guage and of conduct, of revenge, animosity, 
 and blood, (nay, in the midst of the less cla- 
 morous and more refined criminalities which 
 are sanctioned by society,) I say, one thought 
 upon God would produce little less than a kind 
 of revelation; it would carry along with it such 
 holiness, such purity, such love, that he must 
 distinguish virtue from vice through the flimsy 
 and miserable disguise in which they have been 
 enveloped by mankind; the path of duty would 
 be open before him, and guilt would come home 
 to his breast, though the laugh and the scorn of 
 society were echoing around. 
 
 But the law of God is not left to our own 
 capricious recollections ; it is entered upon 
 record it has been rained down upon us from 
 heaven it has been practised, fulfilled, and 
 embodied in the son of God, and sanctified by 
 the blood of the Legislator. Here must the 
 young man remember his Creator, while the 
 world, the flesh, and the devil, are crowding 
 around to devour him. With this law in his 
 hand, and the Son of God by his side, let him 
 go through the furnace, or he is lost. 
 
 But suppose that all this has been neglected, 
 
236 SERMON I. 
 
 and that you, notwithstanding, have been per- 
 mitted, by the mercies of the God you have 
 forgotten, to arrive at the borders of an unholy 
 old age ; how will you then set about remem- 
 bering your Creator reserving for the dregs 
 of sickness and infirmity, the work of youth 
 in all its vigour offering rude and cruel 
 violence to languid nature, as she is retiring 
 td her repose returning indeed to a second 
 childhood, and beginning life anew, just as you 
 are dropping into the grave obliged to undo 
 all that you have done to turn out the whole 
 tribe of loathsome ideas that have lain festering 
 in your mind, and to purify a diseased and cor- 
 rupted memory from all the sordid thoughts 
 and recollections that have filled the place 
 which should have been occupied by your 
 Creator ? And then, too, when you shall come 
 to teach this precept to your children, instead 
 of pronouncing it with all the dignity of a 
 father of one who is to them in the place of 
 God upon earth, you will hang your head and 
 drop your grey hairs in shame before the son 
 that should honour and respect you; you will 
 blush to look your child in the face, when you 
 read him a lesson that you never practised; and 
 
SEKMON T. 237 
 
 your lips will quiver, and your tongue will 
 falter, when you say to him, " Remember your 
 " Creator in the days of your youth," And yet, 
 are we to say that there is no hope for such a 
 man ? God forbid. If there were no hope for 
 those who have forgotten their Creator, which 
 of us could lift his eyes to heaven ? You, and 
 all the world, and he who warns you of its 
 consequences, every day and every hour, have 
 forgotten their Creator. We have used the 
 awful blessings that he has bestowed upon us, 
 for our sport and amusement, and forgotten 
 from whom they come; and we have rushed 
 into the dangers and temptations of life, with 
 nothing to guide us but the impulses of our 
 own guilty nature, or the opinion of a world 
 that has drawn its principles from its practice, in- 
 stead of forming its practice upon its principles. 
 Those who feel this in the depth of their hearts, 
 and the awful state to which it has brought 
 them, will know how to value the great and 
 glorious atonement that has been made for 
 them upon the cross. It will be music to their 
 ears to be told, that to those who have forgotten 
 their Creator, it is yet said, Remember your 
 Redeemer, and live. Open wide your memory 
 
238 SERMON I. 
 
 and your heart to this blessed Redeemer, and 
 let the King of Glory come in. Just think, 
 whom will you remember instead of him ? Who 
 is there that shall fill his place, and sit upon 
 the throne of your memory, that will return you 
 faithfully love for love thought for thought ? 
 Will the object that is dearest to you upon 
 earth ? The heart of that being may be now 
 cold and faithless ; that heart will certainly be 
 one day cold and mouldering in the grave, and 
 all the profusion of memory that you lavish 
 upon that barren spot, will never make one fresh 
 thought, or one genial recollection spring from 
 the ashes that you loved, to reward your fond 
 and hopeless prodigality. But there is not 
 one pure thought, one holy recollection that 
 struggles to rise to that gracious Being, that 
 shall be allowed to fall to the ground, but shall 
 be kindly received, and richly repaid ; and he 
 will return it from on high with a rain of bless- 
 ings upon your head. Go, and remember Him 
 who thought of you before you had the power 
 of thinking either of him or of yourself, 
 making you young and lusty as an eagle, and 
 only " a little lower than the angels, crown- 
 " ing you with majesty and honour;" who 
 
SERMON I. 239 
 
 remembered you when you had forgotten him 
 and yourself, and all that became a creature 
 whom his Creator had marked out for immor- 
 tality ; who remembered you when he bowed 
 his head upon the cross ; and who is ready to 
 recognise you before his Father and the holy 
 angels even before the Creator whom you 
 had forgotten. Go, and think of him for 
 at this instant he is thinking of every one of 
 vou ! 
 
SERMON II. 
 
 HEBREWS, xiL 1. 
 
 Faith is the substance of things hoped for, the evidence 
 of things not seen. 
 
 WE all profess a firm belief in the truths 
 which God has been pleased to declare. Now 
 the Scriptures contain certain threats and 
 certain promises ; threats of vengeance and 
 punishment to every soul that sinneth ; pro- 
 mises of mercy and immortality to all that fly 
 to the refuge appointed in a Redeemer; and 
 therefore, when we declare that we believe in 
 God's word, we at the same time profess a firm 
 faith in the reality of these threats and these 
 promises, and in the certainty that, sooner or 
 later, they will be carried into execution. 
 
 And perhaps nothing could shock or affront 
 us more, than that any man should venture to 
 hint a suspicion of the soundness of our faith, 
 or insinuate that we doubted the truth of these 
 things. However, there are so many men of 
 all kinds, of all characters, of all descriptions, 
 
SERMON II. 241 
 
 who declare that they have this faith ; men 
 who perhaps never spent one serious and so- 
 lemn hour, in the course of their lives, in the 
 consideration of these things, which they pro- 
 fess to believe; men who live just as they 
 would if they never believed them, that there 
 is some reason to fear that some fatal mistake 
 exists among mankind upon this point ; and we 
 shall do well to look to ourselves, and examine 
 whether all is as safe as we could wish, and 
 whether we do really and truly believe the 
 things that the word of God contains. 
 
 Now the word of God itself supplies us 
 with an excellent method of considering this 
 subject ; and it is the more satisfactory, because 
 it is one which our own common sense seems to 
 acknowledge at once ; " Faith is the substance 
 " of things hoped for, the evidence of things 
 " not seen." It is to us instead of sight, it is 
 as if we had seen the things that we believe, and 
 is therefore to produce the same effect. This 
 is a principle to which our common sense sub- 
 scribes ; for if we were to assure any man that 
 a certain fact existed, and require him to act as 
 he certainly would if he had seen it himself, 
 what reason could he give for refusing ? None, 
 
 R 
 
242 SERMON II. 
 
 but that he doubted it, that he was not sure of 
 its existence. 
 
 Thus, then, if we believe those things sin- 
 cerely, from our heart and soul if we are not 
 dissembling with God and deceiving ourselves, 
 our belief of these things must be as if we had 
 seen them ; our belief of the threats and the 
 promises of God must be as if we witnessed 
 them actually fulfilled. 
 
 Our inquiry, then, naturally is, what would 
 be the case if we really beheld them ? Suppose 
 that we were now suddenly conveyed into the 
 world of spirits, and it was given unto you to 
 see the strange doings of futurity ; suppose the 
 curtain withdrawn that conceals them from 
 view, when you should behold a " great white 
 " throne, and Him who sat upon it, from whose 
 " face the earth and the heaven fled away, 
 " and there was no place found for them ;" 
 thousand thousands ministering unto him ; the 
 judgment set, and the books opened ; when 
 you should hear the trumpet sound, and in a 
 moment, in the twinkling of an eye, the dead, 
 small and great, stand before God, to be judged 
 out of those things that are written in the book ; 
 (for all this is actually in the word of God ; of 
 
SERMON II. 243 
 
 all this, faith is the substance and the evi- 
 dence ;) and then, when you should find that 
 " without holiness no man could see the Lord," 
 that none but the " pure in heart should see 
 " God," and that it was the secrets of men's 
 hearts that God judged in that day, and that 
 for every idle word they must give account, and 
 that every mouth was stopped, and naturally 
 " all the world was guilty before God ;" and 
 that " by the deeds of the law no flesh was 
 " justified in his sight ;" (for all this is actually 
 in the word of God, and of all this, faith is the 
 substance and the evidence ;) and then, when 
 you should find, that " without shedding of 
 " blood there is no remission," and that there 
 was but one Mediator between God and man ; 
 when you should perceive that there was then 
 " one name," and but " one name under heaven 
 " by which men must be saved," and it was 
 inquired, whether " every one that named 
 " that name had departed from iniquity ;" and 
 that, in consequence, he " separated one from 
 " the other, as a shepherd divideth the sheep 
 " from the goats;" that on the left were 
 those who walked after the flesh, and those 
 who were guilty of " adultery, fornication, un- 
 
 R 2 
 
244 SERMON II. 
 
 " cleanness, lasciviousness, hatred, variance, 
 " emulation, wrath, strife, sedition, heresies, 
 " envyings, murder, drunkenness, revelling, and 
 " such like ;" and that on the right were those 
 " who walked after the Spirit," and who 
 " brought forth love, joy, peace, long-suffer- 
 " ing, gentleness, goodness, faith, meekness, 
 " temperance ;" and when you should hear 
 him say to those on his left, " Depart, ye cursed, 
 " into everlasting fire, prepared for the devil and 
 " his angels ;" and to those on his right, " Come, 
 " ye blessed children of my Father, inherit the 
 " kingdom prepared for you from the founda- 
 " tion of the world :" (for all these things are 
 actually in the word of God, and of all this 
 faith is the substance and the evidence ;) and 
 then, when this scene was closed, if you were 
 to follow those two different classes of men to 
 the abode that was to be theirs to all eternity, 
 what would be your sensations ? When first 
 you should visit the mansions of everlasting 
 misery, and should behold " indignation and 
 " wrath, tribulation and anguish, upon the souls 
 " of those who had done evil ;" when, through 
 the regions of outer darkness, you should 
 hear " weeping and gnashing of teeth," and 
 
SERMON II. 245 
 
 should discern through the gloom the writhings 
 of the worm that dieth not, and the waving of 
 the flame that shall never be quenched : and 
 when, in the second place you should enter the 
 heavenly Jerusalem, and should be saluted at 
 the first step with the sweet melody of angels 
 over " sinners that had repented," and should 
 see the Lord God wiping away all tears from 
 their eyes ; where there was no more death, 
 neither sorrow, nor crying, neither shall there 
 be any more pain for ever ; where they shall 
 hunger no more, neither thirst any more ; where 
 the city hath no need of sun or moon to shine 
 in it ; for the glory of God lightens it, and the 
 Lamb is the light thereof: when you should 
 see there the pure river of the water of life, 
 " and in the midst of the street of that city, 
 " the tree of life, and the Lamb that is in the 
 " midst of the throne feeding them, and lead- 
 " ing them unto fountains of water ;" and should 
 hear them sing a new song before the throne, 
 which no man could learn, save those that are 
 redeemed from the earth ; (for all this is ac- 
 tually in the word of God, and of all this, faith 
 is the substance and the evidence ;) now, after 
 having thus looked into futurity, and taken a 
 
SERMON II. 
 
 view of the objects of your faith, suppose yo~u 
 again alight upon earth, and return to the 
 company of human beings, and the pursuits of 
 your ordinary occupation, what a changed man 
 would you be ! what a new aspect would the 
 earth wear, and all the objects by which you 
 are surrounded ! what new conceptions would 
 you form of happiness and misery ! what new 
 desires, nay, what new passions would you 
 find, as it were, introduced into your heart I 
 what a stranger would you find yourself in the 
 midst of those things among which you were 
 perfectly at home ! " How is the gold become 
 " dim, how is the most fine gold changed I' 1 
 " How are the riches corrupted, and the gar- 
 " ments moth-eaten f How poor is wealth, 
 and how mean are honours! For when you 
 looked on them, then would occur to you the 
 riches you had gazed on in the heavenly Jerusa- 
 lem the glories by which it was illuminated. 
 
 With what horror would you then look on 
 the drunken revel and the wanton debauch ; for 
 the moment they presented themselves before 
 you, the groans would sound in your ears that 
 you had heard from the bottomless pit. When 
 you heard the laugh of wild intemperance and 
 
SERMON II. 247 
 
 frantic intoxication, it would be drowned in the 
 shrieks of the damned, that would be still echo- 
 ing about you ; and if you heard a fellow-crea- 
 ture sin, whether against yourself or not, no 
 matter, (you have just seen what will make you 
 think very lightly of all earthly pains and inju- 
 ries,) what would be uppermost in your minds? 
 Any little petty rancour, any little mean re- 
 venge, or any cold and unheeding indifference ? 
 No : but you would think of the terrible por- 
 tion which that man was earning for himself in 
 " the lake that burns with everlasting brim- 
 " stone," and you would fly to " snatch him 
 " as a brand from the burning ;" you would 
 look upon all around you with a most anxious 
 and affectionate interest, recollecting that they 
 were all heirs of the happinesss or misery which 
 you had just been witnessing in the other 
 world ; you would be to them a prophet, an 
 evangelist, an apostle, " the voice of one cry- 
 " ing in the wilderness ;" you would summon 
 all your powers to teach them the things that 
 belong unto their peace, to unlock to them hea- 
 ven and hell ; to describe the horrors you had 
 beheld in the one, and the glories you had seen 
 in the other. 
 
248 SERMON II. 
 
 And then with what new eyes would you 
 look upon sin ! How many things would then 
 appear awful sins, which you before over- 
 looked and undervalued, when you recollected 
 that " for every idle word that a man spoke, 
 " God brought him into judgment ;" when 
 you recollected that it was the secrets of men's 
 hearts that you saw God judging that you 
 saw him untwisting a man's very heart-strings, 
 and finding what was enclosed within ; " for 
 " the word of God is quick and powerful, and 
 " sharper than any two-edged sword, piercing 
 " even to the dividing asunder the joints and 
 " marrow, the soul and spirit, and is a dis- 
 " cerner of the thoughts and intents of the 
 " heart!" 
 
 Little would you then think of giving 
 gentle names to sins which may appear light 
 and pardonable in your own eyes, when you 
 recollected how they stained and corrupted the 
 soul in the eyes of Him " who is of purer eyes 
 " than to behold iniquity." 
 
 How then would your conversation become 
 purified, refined, and exalted : and if you found 
 any corrupt communication proceeding put of 
 your mouth, how would you check it like poi- 
 
SERMON II. 249 
 
 son, when you would recollect the songs of 
 blessed spirits that you had heard above ! and 
 you would think, Can I hope with such lips 
 as these to join the ranks of those whom I heard 
 crying, " Holy, holy, holy ?" And then how 
 would the very innocent pleasures of life sink in 
 your estimation, when you thought of those 
 pleasures you had seen at the right hand of 
 God. How would you fear lest they should 
 become uppermost in your heart, and engage 
 your best and choicest affections, and thus you 
 should be tempted to choose your portion upon 
 earth, and forfeit your treasure which is in 
 heaven : " for where your treasure is, there will 
 " your heart be also !" Not " the harp or the 
 " viol, tabret or the pipe, or the wine," would 
 make you " forget the work of the Lord, or the 
 " operation of his hands ;" " but your right 
 " hand would forget her cunning, yea, your 
 " tongue would cleave to the roof of your mouth, 
 " ere you preferred not Jerusalem in your 
 " mirth." You would feel yourself a stranger 
 and a pilgrim on the earth : a citizen of a far 
 distant country, an exile from your native land ; 
 and you would often steal from the company of 
 the foreigner, to think of the beauties of your 
 
250 SERMON II. 
 
 home, its loved and delightful inhabitants, to 
 cast a longing, lingering look towards its shores, 
 and meditate sweetly upon your return. Such 
 would you be, if you had actually seen those 
 things of which your faith is the substance and 
 the evidence ; and therefore such must you be, 
 if you really believe these truths. 
 
 And now let each man compare what he is 
 with what we have just found he would be if he 
 had seen what he professes to believe. And are 
 you like it ? Is there any striking resemblance ? 
 No doubt the impressions would be much more 
 lively and powerful if they had been actually 
 seen. It is scarcely to be expected that we 
 should attain so great a degree of spiritual ex- 
 cellence, as if we had seen them face to face ; 
 but the simple question that every man of 
 plain common sense has to ask himself, is this 
 Whether there is to be so very great a differ- 
 ence between a man who had seen these things, 
 and a man who from his heart and soul believed 
 these things to be true, and that one day or 
 other he shall see these things ? Is your life (I 
 will not say equal to, but is it) like that which 
 we have been just describing ? Does it fall short 
 
SERMON II. 251 
 
 of it in degree, not in kind ? or (what is the true 
 and most important question) is it continually 
 approaching it ? Is it more and more like it, 
 though you may not hope to attain it on this 
 side of the grave ? Remember, there were two 
 different men that applied to our Saviour for 
 relief; they were both fathers, and came to 
 .ask it for their children. As soon as Christ had 
 said to one of them, " Thy son liveth," he went 
 his way, believing the word that Jesus spake, 
 and accordingly he found his son fully restored ; 
 now this man's faith, in this instance, was the 
 substance of what he hoped for, the perfect evi- 
 dence of what he had not seen. But when 
 Christ asked the other father, " Believest thou 
 " that I am able to do this thing ?" the father 
 answered, with tears in his eyes, " Lord, I be- 
 " lieve, help thou mine unbelief !" He felt that 
 his faith was not as it should be, that it was 
 not the evidence of what he did not see ; but 
 he felt humbled under the sense of his weak- 
 ness, eager to have it remedied and removed, 
 and he prayed with all his heart that his 
 faith might be confirmed and invigorated. And 
 was he disappointed ? The good and benevo- 
 
SERMON II. 
 
 lent Being who never yet rejected the prayer 
 of humble earnestness, said unto him, even as 
 unto the other, " Thy son liveth." 
 
 But there is an actual difference between 
 the conimon faith of a man of the world and of 
 a real and genuine Christian. The one is the 
 business of a moment ; it begins and ends with 
 a repetition of his creed, it is despatched in 
 the service of the day. But with the other it 
 is a living principle, always growing and in- 
 creasing ; always approaching the state of one 
 who had actually seen what he believes, and of 
 controlling, directing, and animating his whole 
 conduct. He will always have those future 
 things, which God has assured him he shall one 
 day behold, so fully before him, as to have all 
 the effect of reality upon his life and conversa- 
 tion. Just conceive what would be your man- 
 ner of speaking and acting, if on every Sabbath, 
 instead of coming to hear of these truths, you 
 had them actually disclosed to your contempla- 
 tion : would you spend the ensuing week as you 
 now intend to spend it ? And yet be assured you 
 do not virtually believe these truths, unless your 
 faith in some degree performs the office of your 
 sight, and discloses heaven and hell before you. 
 
SERMON II. 253 
 
 But do not mistake; as your faith improves 
 and advances, it will lose more of the threats 
 and the terrors of religion, and draw closer and 
 closer to its hopes, its promises, its pleasures and 
 enjoyments; for observe, faith is not described 
 to be the substance of things feared, but the 
 " substance of things hoped for" For after the 
 soul of a sinner has been thoroughly awakened 
 both to its guilt and its danger, and has fled 
 from God's justice to the love of a Redeemer, 
 it soon forgets the punishment from which it is 
 escaping, in the glories to which it is approach- 
 ing; and though faith represents before us both 
 heaven and hell, yet as the spirit advances in 
 its path of duty, and rises upwards towards its 
 God, the mansions of misery are left farther 
 and farther beneath ; the flames grow fainter, 
 and the groans die away ; while, at the same 
 time, the gates of heaven are more clearly dis- 
 cerned, and the voices of the redeemed more 
 distinctly heard. 
 
 Thus fear gives way to hope; and the Chris- 
 tian who has taken up his cross, and followed 
 his Redeemer, has seldom to look behind a*, 
 the wrath that he is escaping, but onward and 
 upward, at the Saviour who is his hope and his 
 
254 SERMON II. 
 
 conductor. This is the grand practical prin- 
 ciple of the Gospel, the moving-spring of the 
 Christian's duty, and the rich fountain of his 
 obedience; that faith which displays his Re- 
 deemer as actually present, and the glorious 
 blessings which he has purchased, full in view. 
 This is no fable, no nice fanciful speculation ; 
 it is a principle that has been acted upon since 
 the foundation of the world. 
 
 The chapter before us contains a splendid 
 catalogue of those that were moved, inspired, 
 and invigorated by its mighty energies ; men 
 that " forsook their country," went out, not 
 knowing whither they went, and became stran- 
 gers and pilgrims upon the earth Abraham 
 and all the patriarchs ; men who, through the 
 distance of a thousand years, saw the Redeemer 
 afar off, before he had descended upon earth, 
 and followed the bare and distant promise of 
 God, as if it were the full and living substance: 
 they submitted to exile, suffering, and re- 
 proach ; and what is the reason that is as- 
 signed? " As seeing him who is invisible." 
 The Redeemer, to them, was a dim and twink- 
 ling star ; and yet cheerfully and gratefully 
 did they steer their lonely course by its mild 
 
SERMON II. 255 
 
 and sacred influence. But upon us the Sun of 
 Righteousness has risen. 
 
 The apostle (after closing his glorious list 
 of those who saw Him that was invisible, long 
 before he came,) turns round upon those who 
 believe that he has come, and summons them to 
 imitate their example : " Wherefore, seeing we 
 " are compassed with so great a cloud of wit- 
 " nesses, let us lay aside every weight, and 
 " the sin that doth so easily beset us : and let 
 " us run with patience the race that is set 
 " before us, looking unto Jesus, the author 
 " and the finisher of our faith ;" unto Jesus 
 who was invisible ! 
 
 And gloriously did he who tells you that 
 your " faith must be the substance of things 
 " hoped for," and who summons you to look 
 unto the invisible Redeemer gloriously did 
 he fulfil his own injunction ; for, looking unto 
 him, did he and the whole company of the 
 apostles, and the glorious army of martyrs, 
 precipitate themselves through peril, persecu- 
 tion, and death. The description of what they 
 suffered makes the blood run cold ; and yet 
 how do they speak of it ? " This light afflic- 
 " tion ! this light affliction, which endureth 
 
256 SERMON II. 
 
 " but for a moment, worketh for us a far 
 " more exceeding and eternal weight of glory ; 
 " while we look not at the things which are 
 " seen, but at the things which are not seen." 
 It was by looking at things invisible as if 
 actually present, that they proved more than 
 conquerors in all their struggles. 
 
 Another of that glorious company, exhort- 
 ing his converts to give trial of their faith, 
 points to Him that is invisible " whom having 
 " not seen, ye love ; in whom, though now ye 
 " see him not, yet believing, ye rejoice with 
 " joy unspeakable and full of glory." 
 
 May we, as we value the souls that he has 
 purchased as we value the blessings that he 
 offers, so keep him living in our view, that we 
 may run the race that is set before us ; and 
 whether it be our destiny to perish by the 
 slow and icy hand of disease, or by the angry 
 violence of man, may we be found looking 
 unto the " Author and Finisher of our faith, 
 " with our eye fixed on Him that is invisible /" 
 
SERMON III. 
 
 GENESIS, i. 26. 
 
 And God said, Let us make man in our i 
 after oar likeness. 
 
 IF a man were suddenly asked, To what cre- 
 ated being he would compare the Almighty; 
 what object, among all those that surrounded 
 him, he conceived to have been originally in- 
 tended by its Creator for his peculiar image and 
 representative ? he would probably point to the 
 sun, and would say, that there he saw God at 
 once most faithfully and most gloriously repre- 
 sented. He would say, that in it we seemed 
 " to live, and move, and have our being ;" that 
 every where, and at every moment, its influence 
 is felt ; that it appears to possess the power of 
 calling things into existence, and of consigning 
 them to nothing again ; that all creation seems 
 to depend upon it for sustenance, comfort, and 
 enjoyment ; that by its kind and gracious light 
 we become acquainted with each other, and 
 with the objects by which we are surrounded : 
 
 s 
 
258 SERMON III. 
 
 that it both gives us all that we enjoy, and 
 afterwards enables us to enjoy it ; and that, 
 like its Almighty Creator, it has no respect of 
 persons, but scatters its rich blessings abroad 
 with generous and impartial liberality. This 
 would be a very natural answer : and thus we 
 find that the first kind of idolatry of which 
 men were guilty, was the worship of the sun ; 
 and in some nations it is still continued, and he 
 is there regarded not so much the image of the 
 Divinity, as the Divinity himself. 
 
 But there was a time when there was a 
 more magnificent representative of the God- 
 head. There was a time when we were pre- 
 ferred before the sun, and the moon, and the 
 host of heaven. But a little before, God had 
 formed the sun, and the stars, and the firma- 
 ment, and he saw that they were good ; and 
 yet not one of these did he pronounce his image, 
 and as if he thought he was coming to a 
 greater work than all before, and one in which 
 he felt himself more particularly interested, he 
 seems to prepare Himself for our creation, 
 " Let us make man in our own image." For 
 the production of inferior animated beings, he 
 was contented to employ inferior agents : when 
 
SERMON III. 259 
 
 he would create other living things, he com- 
 mands the waters and the earth to produce 
 them. " Let the waters bring forth abundantly 
 " the moving creature that hath life, and fowl 
 " that may fly above the earth in the open fir- 
 " mament of heaven ; and let the earth bring 
 " forth the living creature after his kind, and 
 " cattle, and creeping thing, and beasts of the 
 " earth after their kind." But when he comes 
 to man, he seems to rise to the work Himself '; 
 " Let us make man in our own image." He 
 appears to have taken great and unbounded de- 
 light in the production of mankind. The bless- 
 ing which he pronounced upon him is repeated 
 a second time, as if he felt peculiar pleasure in 
 bestowing it ; and when his work was finished, 
 he looked with fondness upon the image of 
 himself that he had made, and pronounced it to 
 be very good ; it is as if he had said, * I give 
 ' you a portion of my glory and my character ; 
 
 * I consign it into your hands and your care. 
 
 * Behold, I gave the sun a portion of my light, 
 
 * and bade him go forth with it into the world 
 ' as my servant and my minister ; but I give you 
 ' a share of my attributes and my immortality, 
 ' and my everlasting blessing is upon you if you 
 
260 SERMON III. 
 
 ' fulfil the trust.' Which of us will now stand 
 forward and claim the fulfilment ? 
 
 This image this beautiful image has been 
 long since shivered and disfigured; but its 
 fragments remain to testify that it once existed. 
 There is in the hearts of men a testimony that 
 they shall live for ever ; a voice that echoes 
 through futurity ; a sense that they shall see 
 strange things in another world ; thoughts that 
 wander through eternity, and find no resting 
 place. This is a fragment of God's image, a 
 shattered remnant of his immortality, and it is 
 there to testify against us ; for if it had been 
 perfect, nothing would be more delightful than 
 to think that we should live for ever ; to look 
 forward into brighter scenes, and rejoice in the 
 glory that should be revealed. All the gold of 
 Arabia would not be worth one hour's excursion 
 of the mind of man into the regions of futurity. 
 For ever and for ever would his mind be reach- 
 ing forward, and dwelling with fondness upon 
 the thought, that never, from age to age, when 
 time should be no more, should he cease from 
 being. The pleasures of the spirits that walk 
 to and fro in the light of God's countenance, 
 and circle his throne rejoicing, would crowd his 
 
SERMON III. 261 
 
 fancy and delight his hopes. Visions of celes- 
 tial happiness would visit him in dreams of the 
 night, and, compared with the dim and distant 
 perspective of eternity, all earthly things would 
 seem " weary, stale, flat, and unprofitable." 
 And what is the fact ? Let every man judge 
 himself how his natural heart shrinks from the 
 contemplation of a future state of being ; how 
 he shudders to look into eternity, as into some 
 dreary and bottomless pit. What a cold and 
 dismal thing does immortality appear; and 
 what a refreshment it is to his spirits to with- 
 draw his thoughts from the consideration, and 
 return to his beloved earth ! And then, only 
 observe with what eagerness and desperation 
 he gives up soul and body to the pursuit of 
 things which he knows full well will soon be to 
 him as if they had never been. And yet, this 
 man, if you were to ask him the question, 
 would tell you, that he expected to live for 
 ever ; and that when his body was mouldering 
 in the dust from which it was taken, his soul 
 would plunge into an ocean of spirits without 
 bottom and without shore. This he would 
 tell you gravely, as a matter of course. And 
 then only observe him for one week or for one 
 
262 SERMON III. 
 
 day, or for this day, which has been sanctified to 
 immortal purposes, and you will find his cares, 
 his hopes, his fears, his wishes, his affections, 
 busied and bustling about this little span of 
 earth, and this little measure of time which he 
 occupies : and death finds this immortal being 
 making playthings of sand, and carries him away 
 from them all, into a land where they shall all 
 be forgotten. This is a strange and astonishing 
 contradiction, the only thing that looks like a 
 blunder through all the works of nature. Every 
 thing else seems to know its appointed time 
 and its appointed place : the sun knows his 
 place in the heavens, he does his duty in the 
 firmament, and brings round the seasons in their 
 order, and the ocean knows the boundaries be- 
 yond which it must not dare to pass ; every 
 animal knows the home that kind nature has 
 provided " the ox knoweth his owner, and 
 " the ass his master's crib : but Israel doth 
 " not know ; my people doth not consider." 
 Among all the creatures that surround us, we 
 are the only beings that look not to our native 
 home; the only beings that seem to have 
 broken the laws of nature ; to have forgotten 
 our owner, and the mansions of our Father's 
 
SERMON III. 263 
 
 house. This naked expectation of immortality, 
 while we see no beauty in it, that we should de- 
 sire it while we are feeding on ashes, and have 
 lost our relish for immortal food is one of the 
 fragments of God's image ; it shews that it 
 once existed, and that it now is broken. 
 
 But look again, and observe all the astonish- 
 ing faculties of man ; his reason, his memory, 
 his imagination. Observe only how he can, as 
 it were, take knowledge by violence, how he 
 can lock it up in his memory, and keep it in 
 store for his use ; with what quickness and in- 
 genuity he can invent and contrive ; with what 
 judgment he can weigh, and deliberate, and 
 decide ; how he can extort nature's secrets, how 
 'he can penetrate into the distant works of God, 
 and inform when the sun shall be darkened, 
 and when the moon shall refuse to give her 
 light. 
 
 Consider all these astonishing faculties, 
 worthy of the master-piece of God, and then 
 look at the brutal and abominable passions that 
 blacken and deface his soul ; look at this same 
 immortal creature, beautified with all the gifts 
 of the Almighty, blotting out the very under- 
 standing with which he has been glorified, by a 
 
264 SERMON III. 
 
 drunkenness of which brutes are incapable ; 
 nay, sometimes " glorying in his shame," and 
 boasting of having thus spoiled the good work 
 of God ! Observe him next, inflamed with lust, 
 and plunged into profligacy and debauchery, and 
 making the eternal soul, that has been armed 
 with such glorious faculties, the servant and 
 slave of his perishable body. Observe him riot- 
 ing in hatred, malignity, and revenge, and ad- 
 mitting the dark passions of an evil spirit into 
 the soul that the Almighty had made to be an 
 habitation for himself. 
 
 Measure now this creature with himself; 
 the wonderful powers of his mind, the grasp of 
 his memory, the lightning of his invention, 
 with the depravity of which the beast of the 
 field is incapable ; the impurity that brings his 
 soul into bondage to his body, the malice and 
 revenge that make him an abode of the spirit 
 of darkness. Truly " the wild beasts are in our 
 " ruins, and the dragons are in our pleasant 
 " places." These are fragments of an image 
 that was beautiful ; enough to shew that it once 
 existed, and that now it is broken. 
 
 And amongst these ruins there is a voice 
 sometimes heard, like the spirit of a departed 
 
SERMON III. 265 
 
 inhabitant, unwilling to leave even the ruins 
 of the palace which he once had occupied ; a 
 voice that " reasons of righteousness, temper- 
 " ance, and judgment to come ;" that some- 
 times catches the ear in the momentary stillness 
 of the day, and still more in the dead of the 
 night, before deep sleep falleth upon men ; but, 
 like the murmur of a ghost, men cannot bear 
 to listen to it, but hurry out of its reach. And 
 thus does conscience sometimes remind us of 
 former days, of hours of sin, of time squandered 
 away that can never be recovered, of an impure 
 heart, of a worldly and carnal mind, and proves 
 that it is a remnant of God; for it tells us, 
 " that for all these things, God will bring us 
 " into judgment." 
 
 But, alas ! it does no more than reproach and 
 condemn ; for, alas ! it cannot change an old 
 heart ; it cannot " create a new spirit within 
 " us ;" it cannot raise our affections from the 
 dust upon which we are treading ; it cannot fill 
 us with heavenly dispositions ; it cannot make 
 us look forward with delight to scenes of future 
 glory. Alas ! this is beyond the power of con- 
 science ; it serves to reproach, but cannot re- 
 store ; it is but a GHOST among the ruins, 
 
266 SERMON III. 
 
 but a voice among the tombs ; it is a poor rem- 
 nant of what once was a living image of the 
 Almighty ; enough to shew that it once existed, 
 and that now it is broken. 
 
 But again, observe him gifted with the 
 power of speech, the power of communicating 
 thought for thought, and circulating knowledge, 
 and truth, and love through all his fellow-crea- 
 tures. Just conceive for one moment what he 
 would be without it ; how black, how ignorant, 
 how dreary, how comfortless ! where would 
 then be mutual assistance, mutual advice, the 
 communication of knowledge, the interchange 
 of affection? Observe man, the only created 
 being endowed with this glorious faculty, and 
 then consider the use that he has made of it. 
 Listen to the curses and the blasphemy against 
 the very Being who bestowed it, who gave it, 
 that it might rise before the throne in halle- 
 lujahs. Then hear the falsehood, the deceit, the 
 prevarication issuing through the channel where 
 truth should for ever flow ; then hear the im- 
 pure and wanton jest, that circulates poison, 
 and nurses and assists the natural corruption of 
 the heart, when (God knows !) it has enough to 
 corrupt and brutalise it within ; then listen to 
 
SERMON III. 267 
 
 the scandal, the malice, the invective, and the 
 recrimination, upon the tongue to which God 
 gave the eloquence of affection and benevolence, 
 and the music of pity and consolation ; then 
 attend to the lips that can be eloquent and vo- 
 luble on every subject but one, that can des- 
 cant on the market and its prices, on the world 
 and its fashions and its politics, nay, on every 
 little impulse of the feelings, and every fine-spun 
 sentiment of the mind ; but if the great God 
 intrudes into conversation, his ways or his 
 dispensations, his mercies and his loving-kind- 
 nesses, the tide begins to ebb, the glow of 
 society dies away, and the cold and heartless 
 silence betrays that an unwelcome stranger has 
 made his appearance. Truly this is a magnifi- 
 cent fragment of that illustrious image ; enough 
 to shew that it once existed, and that now it is 
 shivered and broken. 
 
 Alas ! it is no wonder that when God looked 
 again upon the earth, and saw the wickedness 
 of man, that he said, *' I will destroy man from 
 " off the face of the earth." Nor was he de- 
 terred from doing so by the multitude that it 
 overwhelmed in ruin. In those days, no doubt, 
 they compared themselves with one another ; 
 
268 SERMON III. 
 
 no doubt they said, We are all tolerably alike ; 
 ' none of us is singularly wicked ; if God pu- 
 ' nishes me, he must punish the rest of man- 
 * kind along with me.' But did God therefore 
 withhold his hand ? No ; but it is stated as the 
 very reason of his vengeance, that all the earth 
 was sunk in wickedness ; and their guilt was 
 aggravated by the very circumstance that they 
 countenanced each other in their sin, and thus 
 joined in a kind of deliberate rebellion against 
 his authority. 
 
 But, even leaving punishment out of the ac- 
 count, conceive what must be the natural con- 
 sequence of having, as it were, disappointed the 
 object of our creation, and of having run counter 
 to God's original intention. Must not the na- 
 tural end of those things be ruin ? But, " Thou 
 " turnest man to destruction : again thou sayest, 
 " Come again, ye children of men." The 
 Creator said once more, " Let us make man in 
 " our own image ;" and he came down him- 
 self from heaven to create him a second time. 
 He left his bright and glorious abode on high, 
 for us poor and wretched wanderers, who had 
 not only forsaken his good and pleasant paths, 
 but had actually forgotten that we needed one 
 
SERMON III, 269 
 
 to bring us back again ; who were so degene- 
 rated as to have forgotten our degeneracy ; and 
 he came to create us anew, and he came as " a 
 " man of sorrows, and acquainted with grief:" 
 that we might once more become the image of 
 God, he was contented to come himself in the 
 image of man ; and by that stupendous atone- 
 ment upon the cross, by that sacrifice, which 
 will be regarded with astonishment by men and 
 angels to all eternity, he has accomplished his 
 new work of creation. We are told that " our 
 " old man was crucified with him ;" so that we 
 are to " put off, according to the former con- 
 " versation, the old man which is corrupt ac- 
 " cording to the deceitful lusts, and put on the 
 " new man, which after God is created in right- 
 " eousness and true holiness." We are de- 
 clared expressly to be " God's workmanship, 
 " created anew in Christ Jesus, unto good works" 
 But how is it, you will say, that the death 
 of Christ becomes second life to us ? How is 
 it that his sufferings can create us anew ? By 
 this one sacrifice he bore in his own person 
 the punishment due to our sins. " He was 
 " wounded for our transgressions, he was bruised 
 " for our iniquities: the chastisement of our 
 
270 SERMON III. 
 
 " peace was upon him ; and by his stripes we 
 " are healed. All we, like sheep, had gone 
 " astray, we turned every one to his own way; 
 " and the Lord hath laid on him the iniquity 
 " of us all." By this satisfaction to his justice, 
 the communication was once more opened be- 
 tween God and man ; for we are told, " That 
 " God was in Christ, reconciling the world 
 " unto himself, not imputing their trespasses ;" 
 and through his merits, his atonement, and his 
 intercession, the gift of the Holy Spirit was pro- 
 cured, by which the image of God may be again 
 stamped upon our hearts, and our souls moulded 
 into a resemblance to Him " who is of purer 
 *' eyes than to behold iniquity." Thus does 
 God again " breathe into his nostrils the breath 
 " of life, and man again becomes a living soul." 
 Him that cometh to this good Creator, he 
 " will in no wise cast out;" "for as God liveth, 
 " he willeth not the death of a sinner." 
 
 But we must come deeply sensible of our 
 want of a renewing spirit and of a purifying in- 
 fluence. God will not cast his pearls before 
 swine, " lest they trample them under foot." 
 We must learn our lost and ruined state. We 
 must feel that our natural hearts have wandered 
 
SERMON III. 271 
 
 far from him who is the only fountain of all 
 that is good ; that we have followed our own 
 ways and our own imaginations, and that we 
 are unable to recover ourselves from the broad 
 way that leadeth to destruction ; for it is not a 
 few partial changes, a few sins now and then 
 forsaken, that can restore us to our former glo- 
 rious state. Alas ! the poison has sunk deeper ; 
 it has mixed with our heart's blood, and pene- 
 trated into our vitals. If we do not feel thus 
 naturally corrupt and helpless, and that we need 
 a higher power than our own to change, to 
 strengthen, and to purify let us save ourselves; 
 let us not call ourselves by the name of Christ ; 
 let us act a bold, manly, and a consistent part ; 
 renounce him, and declare honestly that by our 
 own strength will we stand or fall ; that by our- 
 selves we are willing to encounter the burning 
 eye of God ; that we are able to deliver our-, 
 selves from that justice which demands blood 
 for sin ; and that we can change and purify 
 our own hearts, and of ourselves mould them 
 into the image of the Almighty, 
 
 But if we feel ourselves truly unable either 
 to escape from punishment or to qualify our- 
 selves for heaven, let us come with an humble 
 
272 SERMON III. 
 
 and contrite spirit to Him who died that he 
 might give gifts unto men, and submit ourselves 
 to his creative influence, " A bruised reed 
 " will he not break." " He will gather the 
 " lambs with his arms." As we look to him 
 with prayer, and converse with him through 
 his Gospel, we shall find new and better dis- 
 positions growing within us, holier habits of 
 thought collecting and increasing, a new in- 
 terest excited within us about things regarded 
 before with indifference, a power over sin 
 that is an earnest of future triumphs, a plea- 
 sure in studying the divine dispensations, and 
 discovering fresh traces of wisdom and goodness 
 where others see nothing but what is gloomy 
 and unintelligible, and an activity in the ful- 
 filment of every duty to God and man. And 
 then " to him that hath shall be given ;" our 
 progress in grace and obedience will every day 
 become easier and more delightful, our per- 
 ceptions of future and invisible things will 
 become more lively, and our affections will be 
 set upon things eternal in the heavens, where 
 Christ sitteth at the right hand of God. Those 
 subjects of thought which we before con- 
 sidered cheerless and tiresome, will wear a 
 
SERMON III. 273 
 
 beauty that was before unperceived : and the 
 obedience that before appeared irksome and 
 insupportable, will become our light yoke and 
 our easy burden. We shall be able to measure 
 our advance, by keeping our eyes steadfastly 
 fixed upon him, who came to new-create us by 
 his Spirit into the image of God ; who was 
 himself the express image of the Father, soft- 
 ened down to human comprehension and hu- 
 man imitation. By keeping our eye upon that 
 holy and divine Redeemer as our pattern, and 
 as the source of our means of conforming to it ; 
 by constantly asking ourselves the solemn and 
 humiliating question " Is it thus that Christ 
 " would have thought, or said, or acted? or 
 " is this the temper by which he would have 
 " been actuated ?" can we alone attain even 
 the faintest resemblance. However short we 
 may be of our divine original, we must not 
 dare to take any human pattern. Even the de- 
 voted Paul said, " Be ye followers of me as I 
 " am of Christ." Divine and delightful Re- 
 deemer! who didst turn from thy bright course 
 among the stars unto the valley of the shadow 
 of death for our sake, suffer us not suffer us 
 not to think it too much to turn from the broad 
 
274 SERMON III. 
 
 way that leadeth to destruction, to meet thee 
 in this career of mercy ! Suffer us not to look 
 at thee only to hate thy beams, that bring to 
 our remembrance what we were from what 
 height fallen ! but change us by thy light and 
 thy Spirit to thine own glorious image ; " and 
 " when we awake up after thy likeness, we 
 " shall be satisfied with it." 
 
SERMON IV. 
 
 MATTHEW, xiii. 44. 
 
 The kingdom of Heaven is like unto treasure hid in a 
 field, the, which when a man hath found, he hideth, 
 and for joy thereof goeth, and selleth all that he hath 9 
 and buyeth thatjield. 
 
 THIS is our Saviour's account of the kingdom 
 of Heaven. The great body of mankind ap- 
 pear to differ with him in opinion. They do 
 not seem to agree with him in either of the two 
 points that he has here stated ; neither ac- 
 knowledging, that the kingdom of Heaven is a 
 hidden treasure ; nor admitting that, even when 
 discovered, it may cost a man all that he has 
 to attain it. That they are of a different opi- 
 nion from our Saviour upon these subjects 
 scarcely requires a proof. The case between 
 them may be briefly stated thus : According 
 to him, the kingdom of Heaven is a hidden 
 treasure. Salvation is a treasure which is 
 naturally none of ours. Among all the riches 
 that nature has scattered over the surface of 
 
 T 2 
 
SERMON IV. 
 
 the world, it is not to be found. If we would 
 find it, we must turn our back upon them all ; 
 and seek for it as if we were diving into the 
 bowels of the earth. But what says the world ? 
 So far from regarding everlasting life as a hid- 
 den treasure which they must use all their 
 power and diligence to explore, they consider 
 it to be something that they may stoop for in 
 their hurry through life, without either checking 
 their speed, or turning aside either to the right 
 hand or to the left. If they really and soberly 
 believed that eternal life was something that 
 was naturally hidden from them, and which 
 they must turn out of their way to look for, or 
 perish for ever, it seems impossible that they 
 could go wandering up and down the face of 
 the earth in search of other objects, with the 
 weight of such a conviction as this hanging 
 heavy upon their souls. With such a thought 
 as this following them, like a spectre, through 
 life, gliding by them during the business of 
 the day, glaring upon them in the repose of 
 the night, what strength or what spirits 
 would these wretched men have to go on 
 snatching those things, the end of which they 
 knew to be death ? 
 
SERMON IV. 
 
 And yet, look back at the world from which 
 you have now for a few moments escaped, and 
 to which you will soon, in a few moments, re- 
 turn ; and recollect, how many do you ima- 
 gine have ever stopped short in the middle of 
 their career, and for even one day have looked 
 round for salvation ; who have stepped aside 
 out of the world as it was sweeping along, and 
 have returned to seek for the solitary spot 
 where the treasures of mercy and immortality 
 were concealed ? Nay, rather, how many do 
 you recollect, who were following every object 
 of human pursuit except this one that is worth 
 them all ? Recollect how many of them would 
 look at you as a strange man, who had taken 
 up wild and fanciful notions, if you were to ask 
 them a plain question, that shall be put to them 
 at the day of judgment, " Did you seek first 
 " the kingdom of God, and his righteousness?" 
 Truly, if they seek a kingdom of Heaven, it 
 cannot be that of which our Saviour speaks, 
 for " that is a hidden treasure ;" truly, if they 
 find a kingdom of Heaven, it must be a new 
 one of their own discovery > they must stum- 
 ble upon it in the highway, and meet it in the 
 markets : but let them not look for that which 
 
278 SERMON IV. 
 
 he has promised, for, alas ! it lies not in 
 the wide gate, and the broad way ; for, if we 
 believe him, they lead to destruction. And if 
 you will trust for salvation to your generous 
 Redeemer, who paid himself, body and blood, 
 for you, rather than to the hollow-hearted 
 world, that would wring the last pittance from 
 your dying grasp before it was cold, you must 
 retire from the broad and beaten track where 
 the world is driving along in pursuit of all its 
 vanities, and seek for the treasure that God has 
 buried ; and, as you approach the spot, be sure 
 to put your shoes from off your feet, for " the 
 " place where you stand is holy ground :" you 
 must leave earth and earthly things behind 
 you, for, remember, you are looking for the 
 kingdom of Heaven. 
 
 Observe the reason why the treasure is 
 hidden. Is it that your Almighty Father is 
 unwilling that you should attain it ? Is it that 
 he takes pleasure in your destruction ? Or is it 
 that he apprehends his riches may be expended, 
 his beneficence impoverished, his store of mercies 
 exhausted ? Is he too unmindful of you to save 
 you ? " Behold, he makes his sun to rise on the 
 " just and the unjust." No: but if we observe 
 
SERMON IV. 279 
 
 the circumstances under which this very para- 
 ble was delivered, we shall learn why salvation 
 is hidden from us : it was related, amongst 
 many other parables, to a vast multitude that 
 covered the sea-shore. The subjects of which 
 these parables treated were the most awful 
 upon which the human mind and the human 
 heart can be exercised : the laws, the judg- 
 ments, the dispensations of God : the duty of 
 man in this state ; his lot in that which is to 
 come. Yet from this multitude the kingdom of 
 God was hid; they understood not what he 
 spake ; though " they had eyes they saw not ; 
 " though they had ears, they heard not ; and 
 " then- hearts were hardened." The great 
 truths of religion were sounding around them 
 on every side and they attended not ; for they 
 looked for an earthly prince, who should bring 
 them riches, power, and dominion ; they looked 
 for the kingdom of this world they looked not 
 for the kingdom of heaven ; and therefore was 
 that treasure hid from them, because they un- 
 derstood not its value ; they did not feel it to 
 be a treasure. No : God will not " cast his 
 " pearls before swine." But come to him 
 with a profound sense of the value of an 
 
280 SERMON IV. 
 
 immortal soul ; come to him with humble 
 anxiety to learn where your treasure is buried, 
 and he will not be wanting to you. If you 
 lack wisdom, ask him ; for " he giveth to all 
 men liberally, and upbraideth not." Take your 
 Bible on the one side, and your heart on the 
 other, and weigh them well together. Look in 
 the one at the holiness of God ; look in the 
 other at the corruption and insignificance of 
 man ; then prostrate yourself before your Fa- 
 ther, and beseech him to shew you the way of 
 salvation, and he will not be wanting. There 
 will be angels with you at midnight, who will 
 descend upon you while you are studying his 
 will, and tell you that " for you is born a 
 " Saviour." He will command his star to rise 
 for you in the East, and it shall stand over the 
 place where your treasure lies. There go, and 
 ye shall find that " which cannot be gotten for 
 " gold, neither shall silver be weighed for the 
 " price thereof. It cannot be valued with the 
 " gold of Ophir, with the onyx, or the sap- 
 " phire ; no mention shall be made of corals or 
 " of pearls ; and the topaz of Ethiopia cannot 
 " equal it." Take care how you undervalue 
 this salvation; for remember, and remember again, 
 
SERMON IV. 281 
 
 that the reason why this treasure is hidden 
 from any man is, because he does not feel its 
 value. If the kingdom of Heaven be hid from 
 you ; if Christ's atonement be not yours ; if he 
 be still buried, and be not risen for you ; the 
 reason is because you do not know its value ; 
 for, to them that believe, " Christ crucified is 
 " the power of God, and the wisdom of God." 
 
 How then are we to know and feel its va- 
 lue ? The first thing is evidently this ; to know 
 and feel what sin is, in all its awful enormity : 
 for is it not evident, that we cannot estimate 
 and embrace salvation unless we are profoundly 
 sensible of the danger from which we are saved? 
 Consult your own common-sense. Is it not 
 folly to say, that you believe in Jesus Christ, 
 and hope to be saved by his blood from your 
 sins, when you are not fully sensible of the 
 guilt of those sins, and the punishment they 
 would draw down upon your head ? Be assured 
 God will not save those who do not deeply feel, 
 from the very bottom of their hearts, their want 
 of a Saviour. If you do not feel it, save your- 
 self : but if you think that too bold an under- 
 taking, then away to your own heart, and 
 know what it is to have offended Almighty 
 
282 SERMON IV. 
 
 God, and to have called for nothing less than 
 the blood of Christ to purify it ! Consider only 
 the things you have done; consider all your 
 direct and deliberate transgressions of the Law 
 of God, against which your own conscience ex- 
 claimed loudly, but in vain : consider all these 
 things that you have left undone which you 
 ought to have done, all your silent omissions ; 
 sins, many of which stole by you softly, with- 
 out noise, or alarm to your conscience, be- 
 cause you did not keep it alive and vigilant to 
 your immortal concerns ; awful and treache- 
 rous sins ! because they gather as you count 
 them, so that you know not how many are 
 behind : but, above all, consider that sin, which 
 is the fountain of all other sin, the disposition 
 of mind from which they flow, the habitual 
 forgetfulness of God ; the everlasting and un- 
 interrupted transgression of the great Law of 
 God to man, " Thou shalt love the Lord thy 
 u God with all thy heart, with all thy soul, and 
 " with all thy strength." Then, when you have 
 weighed those sins and fallen down prostrate 
 under the weight of them before your gracious 
 Redeemer, smiting your breast and saying, 
 
SERMON IV. 283 
 
 " God be merciful to me a sinner !" then will 
 you be able to understand the value of that 
 treasure which God has bestowed, and then in- 
 deed will you feel the reason why it is buried and 
 hidden from the rabble who are running head- 
 long after riches, and pleasures, and honours, 
 because they do not feel their want of it. 
 
 But though a sense of sin, a broken and con- 
 trite heart, is the first and indispensable requi- 
 site to forming a just estimate of our redemption, 
 and, therefore, to our taking the full advantage 
 of it ; blessed be God ! it is not the only one. 
 
 There is a second requisite behind: and 
 what is it ? The words before us will disclose : 
 " Which treasure when a man hath found, for 
 " joy thereof he goeth, and selleth all that he 
 " hath, and buyeth that field." The first, the 
 necessary, the bitter requisite, is grief; grief 
 for those sins that nailed the Son of God to the 
 cross, and pierced his side. But the second is 
 joy ; joy that man cannot give, and man can- 
 not take away. Now observe that this joy de-> 
 pends for its very existence upon the sorrow 
 that precedes it, and is in proportion to its 
 extent : for to say that we shall rejoice at a 
 
284 SERMON IV. 
 
 salvation from those sins which caused us no 
 sorrow or no alarm, would be truly absurd : and 
 here can we see how a Christian's sorrow and 
 a Christian's joy go hand in hand; and as 
 " there is more joy in Heaven over one sinner 
 " that repenteth, than over ninety and nine 
 " who need no repentance ;" so is there more 
 joy in the breast of that sinner over his own 
 repentance, than will ever exist in the breast 
 of those who fancy they need none. Let this 
 convince us how poor, how cold, how hardened 
 are our hearts ! for how few of us can really 
 remember to have rejoiced over the salvation 
 which Christ has wrought for him, with half 
 the delight which he has felt at some earthly 
 success, some temporal advantage. Recollect, 
 there will be an hour of your life the last 
 when the sweetest music that ever reached 
 your ear would be the voice that would whisper 
 with an authority from God, that " yours was 
 " the kingdom of Heaven." It would make the 
 blood thrill freely again through the frame from 
 which it was just ebbing and subsiding: it 
 would make the faint lips colour, and utter a 
 gasp of thankfulness, that appeared to have 
 been locked in everlasting silence : it would 
 
SERMON IV. 285 
 
 make the eyes open with a gleam of joy, that 
 appeared to have been closed for ever. Have 
 you felt any thing like this ? 
 
 But beware how you mistake that joy which 
 may indicate that you have found that treasure. 
 Behold ! you will know it by its fruits ; for he 
 who felt that joy " went and sold all that he 
 " had, and bought that field." He made no 
 bargain : he did not say, this much of the world 
 will I keep, and thus much will I resign ; he did 
 not say, I will keep my covetousness, but I will 
 resign my sensuality : he did not say, I will 
 retain my drunkenness, but will surrender my 
 malice and revenge : but he comes humbly and 
 devotedly, and flings down his vices, his pas- 
 sions, and his prejudices, before the throne of 
 Almighty God, and says, " Take all, take 
 " every thing, take what thou wilt, and give 
 " me that which contains my salvation !" 
 
 It is true, men will laugh at his impro- 
 vidence and simplicity ; and when they see him 
 cheerfully relinquishing the riches they so des- 
 perately pursue, and the pleasures of which they 
 are so fondly enamoured, they will exclaim, 
 What a foolish bargain has this man made in 
 giving such a fine price for that barren field ! 
 
286 SERMON IV. 
 
 but what will he care when he knows what it 
 contains ? Morning and evening will he retire 
 to the solitary spot, and beseech his good Father 
 to put a holy guard over the place, that no evil 
 may come near, to rob him of his hope and his 
 happiness : and in the day will he watch, lest 
 he should be plundered by that enemy, who 
 knows its value well, for he once enjoyed it, 
 and has lost it for ever. 
 
 Yet do not conceive that he will remain in 
 listless retirement and indolent meditation ; for 
 in that treasure he will find the armour of 
 righteousness, in which he will array himself 
 on the right hand, and on the left ; from that 
 treasure will he take the helmet of salvation 
 and place it firmly upon his head ; from that 
 will he gird himself with the sword of the 
 Spirit, and his feet shall be shod with the pre- 
 paration of the gospel of peace : and at the 
 time when men are fretting themselves about 
 their hollow pleasures, forgetting perhaps 
 that such a being ever existed, or remember- 
 ing him only in order to ridicule the silly sacri- 
 fice that the poor man had made, he will 
 come out suddenly amongst them, all richly 
 and gorgeously apparelled, to run his race of 
 
SERMON IV. 287 
 
 faith, and hope, and charity, in the eyes of all 
 mankind ; so that men shall look at each other 
 aghast, and shall say, as they did of him who is 
 the author and giver of all these gifts, " Is 
 " not this the son of a man like ourselves?" 
 Whence hath this man all these things ? But 
 they cannot long mistake whence it proceeds : 
 when such a light shines before men, they 
 cannot but say, " Truly this is God's work !" 
 and many may be led to look for that trea- 
 sure, which they see can produce such glorious 
 riches. 
 
SERMON V. 
 
 MATTHEW, x. 28. 
 
 Come unto me all ye that labour and are heavy laden, 
 and I will give you rest. 
 
 IF an inhabitant of some distant part of the 
 universe, some angel that had never visited 
 the earth, had been told that there was a world 
 in which such an invitation had been neglected 
 and despised, he would surely say : " The in- 
 " habitants of that world must be a very happy 
 166 people ; there can be but few among them 
 ** that labour and are heavy laden ; no doubt 
 146 they must be strangers to poverty, sorrow, 
 " and misfortune; the pestilence cannot come 
 " nigh their dwellings, neither does death ever 
 " knock at their doors ; and, of course, they 
 " must be unacquainted with sin, and all the 
 " miseries that are its everlasting companions." 
 
 If such were our case, we might let our 
 Bibles moulder into dust, and " refuse to hear 
 " the voice of the charmer, charm he never so 
 " wisely ;" even of him who says, " Come 
 
SERMON V. 
 
 " unto me, and I will give you rest." So that 
 the first thing we are naturally led to consider 
 in this, as in every other invitation, is the kind 
 of persons to whom it is addressed : for if we 
 do not find that we correspond to the descrip- 
 tion, it would be a waste of time to expend any 
 further consideration upon the subject. 
 
 It is addressed to those that labour and are 
 heavy laden : so are all the promises of the 
 Gospel. They are all made in language of the 
 fondest, the kindest, the most affectionate con- 
 solation. It is language that could not be un- 
 derstood, that would be utterly unmeaning, if 
 addressed to those who were perfectly at ease 
 in their feelings, and had no weight upon their 
 minds. To him that is at ease in his posses- 
 sions, the Gospel speaks in a solemn and hollow 
 voice : " Thou fool, this night thy soul may be 
 " required of thee, and then, whose shall all 
 " those things be ?" But to those whose hearts 
 are disquieted within them, it speaks in a tone 
 of the softest tenderness, and the most enchant- 
 ing compassion. 
 
 How is the office of our Redeemer described, 
 first by the prophet, and afterwards by him- 
 self? " The Spirit of the Lord God is upon me, 
 
 u 
 
290 SERMON V. 
 
 " because the Lord hath anointed me to preach 
 " good tidings to the meek ; he hath sent me 
 " to bind up the broken-hearted, to proclaim 
 " liberty to the captives, and the opening of 
 " the prison to them that are bound ; to com- 
 " fort all that mourn ; to give unto them 
 " beauty for ashes, the oil of joy, for mourn- 
 " ing, the garment of praise, for the spirit 
 " of heaviness." 
 
 Now this is what our Saviour came to per- 
 form ; it is the formal description of his office ; 
 and you perceive he is sent to the broken- 
 hearted, to the captives, to them that are 
 bound, to them that mourn, to them that 
 are in the spirit of heaviness. At one time, he 
 is beautifully represented as speaking " a word 
 " in season to him that is weary ;" at another, 
 he is described as " the Sun of Righteousness, 
 " rising with healing on his wings." He opened 
 his ministry with blessings " on the poor in 
 " Spirit;" with blessings " on them that 
 " mourn." He answered the accusations of the 
 proud men who were at ease in their possessions, 
 and who felt not heavy laden, that he " came 
 " not to those that were whole, but to those 
 
SERMON V. 291 
 
 " that were sick ;" and then he points to the 
 humble publican who came heavy-laden to the 
 house of God, so that he could not lift up his 
 eyes unto heaven, under his burden, and that 
 man found rest unto his soul. And when 
 that Redeemer was about to depart, that 
 Redeemer, whose office it was to bind up the 
 broken-hearted, to comfort them that mourn, 
 to give rest to the heavy-laden, what did 
 he promise ? " Another Comforter, that should 
 " abide with us for ever." Such is the strain 
 of the Gospel from beginning to end. It is the 
 ministry of consolation, that therefore, from its 
 very nature, speaks only to them that need to 
 be consoled. 
 
 The Gospel is " a word in season to him 
 " that is weary ;" therefore it speaks only to 
 him that is weary, to him that is seeking rest 
 and finding none ; and to him it brings relief, 
 refreshment, and repose. It finds you a bruised 
 reed, it props and supports you. It finds 
 you weeping, and it wipes away all tears 
 from your eyes. It finds you fearful, cheerless, 
 disquieted, and it gives you courage, hope, and 
 tranquillity. There is a wilderness before her, 
 
 u 2 
 
292 SERMON V. 
 
 and the garden of Kden behind ; before her is 
 lamentation, and mourning, and woe ; behind 
 her, come thanksgiving and the voice of melody. 
 
 Thus is the Gospel an invitation to those 
 that are heavy-laden ; and it is the business of 
 every man to ask himself solemnly the ques- 
 tion " Is he one of those who are invited?" 
 If you be one of those who labour and are 
 heavy-laden, come now, come freely, and you 
 shall find rest unto your souls ! (We shall pre- 
 sently consider how you are to come, so as to 
 accept this invitation.) 
 
 But if you are not heavy-laden, ask your- 
 self the cause. Is it because you have already 
 accepted this invitation, and have already found 
 rest unto your soul? If this be the case, 
 " good luck have thou with thine honour ! ride 
 " on, because of the word of truth, of meek- 
 " ness, and of righteousness !" 
 
 But is your mind at ease ? is there no weight 
 upon your spirits ? You are, perhaps, at rest ; 
 but it may not be the rest that Christ has pro- 
 mised. Then this invitation is not to you ; 
 it is to the heavy-laden: the Gospel has no 
 promises for you ; for its promises are those of 
 comfort and consolation. If you are contented 
 
SERMON V. 293 
 
 with this fearful ease, " sleep on, and take 
 " your rest !" perhaps you will not awake 
 until the sound of the last trumpet. But if this 
 is too terrible a resolution, then rouse yourself 
 this instant. But you may say, " How am 1 
 " to become one of those who are here invited? 
 " Am I to go wandering over the world in 
 " search of some burden that may qualify me 
 " to accept this invitation ? Am I to invent 
 " some new kind of grief for myself, to 
 " strike out some unnatural kind of uneasiness? 
 " Where is this heavy burden ? where is this 
 4< sorrow, without which I cannot come to him ?" 
 " --Behold it is nigh thee, even in thy mouth 
 " and m thy heart." It is in thy mouth : 
 there is scarcely a day of our lives that we do 
 not utter or hear some complaint against man- 
 kind, and the world, and the inconstancy of 
 human affairs. Where will you turn yourself 
 without meeting a man to salute you with a 
 murmur ? to tell you that something has gone 
 wrong with him that something is not as it 
 should be ? Where will you find a man that has 
 not some thorn in his side? The world is fuU of 
 these cowardly and despicable complaints; 
 and no one dreams of a neglected Saviour, that 
 
294 SERMON V. 
 
 stands ready to give you rest from them all. 
 Really and truly, do you mean to say that, 
 when you are asked at the day of judgment 
 why you did not come to him who offered rest 
 to the heavy-laden, you will be able to answer 
 with sincerity " I was too happy to come to 
 " him ; I felt no burden." But it would not 
 be in thy mouth, if it were not also in thy 
 heart. 
 
 Consider the words : they are set in oppo- 
 sition to the words " yoke and burden," a few 
 verses below ; where Christ offers his yoke to 
 those that labour, and his burden to those that 
 are heavy-laden: so that the words imply bondage 
 and toil. It means : Come to me, all ye 
 that labour under any galling yoke, and all 
 ye that are laden with any heavy burdens, 
 and I will give you rest. 
 
 First : are you one who are in the service 
 of any sin against which you know that the 
 wrath of God is registered? Are you in bondage 
 to any of your lusts or appetites, and labouring 
 under its yoke, so that it turns and drives you, 
 like one of your own cattle, wherever it pleases, 
 so that it does what it likes with you, and says, 
 " Go, and you go ; do this, and you do it ?" 
 
SERMON V. 295 
 
 and do you afterwards feel the heavy burden 
 of your own contempt, and of a guilty conscience, 
 a burden that makes you feel you have de- 
 graded yourself to the rank of a brute, that can 
 be turned with a bit and a bridle, a burden 
 that weighs you down and prevents you from 
 looking up to Heaven like a man, lest you see 
 wrath written against you, and fiery indigna- 
 tion ? Or are you one who are in the service of 
 the world, fretting yourself under a yoke of 
 toils, and cares, and watchings, and long calcu- 
 lations ; and have you felt the burden of many 
 a bitter disappointment ; and, at all events,, the 
 weight upon your mind, that an hour will come 
 when you will be called away from all the 
 things upon which you have set your affec- 
 tions ; when you will find that you have made 
 your treasure upon earth, and will have to leave 
 your heart with it behind you ? Or are you 
 one who has been trying to earn your own way 
 to Heaven toiling to make up with Heaven a 
 long account of debtor and creditor ; and have 
 you discovered that you have all this time been 
 heaping an insupportable burden upon your 
 back ; that the law is spiritual, but that you 
 are carnal, sold under sin ? 
 
296 SEUMON V. 
 
 Just consider how the apostle discovered 
 this burden in himself. " I know that in me, 
 " that is, in my flesh, dwelleth no good thing ; 
 " for, to will, is present with me ; but how to 
 " perform that which is good, I find not. I 
 " find a law, that when I would do good, evil 
 *' is present with me." " I delight in the law of 
 " God after the inward man, but I see another 
 " law in my members, warring against the law 
 " of my mind, and bringing me into captivity 
 " to the law of sin which is in my members." 
 Then he exclaims, " O wretched man that 
 < f I am ! who shall deliver me from the body 
 " of this death ?" He felt the burden hanging 
 heavy upon his soul : during all this time he 
 had been engaged, as it were, in putting it into 
 the balances, and weighing it ; and he found 
 it so awfully oppressive, that he cries out 
 " O wretched man that I am ! who shall 
 " deliver me from this burden of sin ?" 
 
 And do you feel nothing like this in your 
 own heart ? Do you find no law of God, and 
 no law of sin ? A law of God, setting before 
 you what he loves ; and a law of sin, leading 
 you to say and do what he hates ? Nay, how 
 often have you yourself admitted that your 
 
SE11MON V. 297 
 
 conscience is an awful burden, by your attempts 
 to shake it off; to get rid of its load, to invent 
 some contrivance for lessening its weight ; lean- 
 ing your burden against a shattered wall, which 
 one day or other will give way, and your bur- 
 den bear you down to the ground. How often 
 are you fond of throwing in false weights, for 
 the purpose of deceiving yourself as to the real 
 state of your conscience. 
 
 But there is one remarkable consideration 
 that is fully sufficient of itself to convince us 
 that we have a load, and a very heavy one, hang- 
 ing upon our hearts and our consciences : it is 
 simply this, our unwillingness to examine 
 them. There is not one of us who does not 
 feel it to be a loathsome, a disgusting, a most 
 painful, and a most humiliating task. Only 
 observe with what eagerness we avoid it ; how 
 many excuses we make in order that we may 
 escape an acquaintance with our own hearts 
 and an inquiry into our own consciences. Now 
 this is a positive proof that we know full well 
 the inquiry would turn against us. It is the 
 testimony of our hearts against themselves at 
 the very outset. Why should you be afraid 
 of examining yourself, if you did not know 
 
298 SERMON V. 
 
 well that you would find a heavy burden 
 within ? Just consider what a delightful occu- 
 pation would self-examination become if we 
 had any reason to suppose that our hearts 
 would make a favourable report ? Every man 
 loves to hear his own praises, if he believes 
 them to be true. O if we had any idea that 
 our own heart would praise us, there would not 
 be a more delightful task upon earth than that 
 of examining ourselves. How eagerly should we 
 steal away to our closets and our Bibles if we 
 thought that we should come away satisfied 
 with ourselves, approving ourselves, assured 
 that all was safe within ! How happy should 
 you be in weighing your heart if you thought 
 you should find it really a light and an easy one ! 
 How happy should you feel in looking at it over 
 and over, and again and again, if you thought 
 you should find it good, and pure, and holy ! 
 What a luxury would it be to start a new virtue 
 at every step of our inquiry, to indulge in the 
 contemplation of our own goodness, and the 
 applause of our own consciences ; and what a 
 beautiful thing would the Bible appear to us 
 if we thought that at every page we turned we 
 read our own salvation ! O then, what must be 
 
SERMON V. 299 
 
 the real state of the case, when we would study 
 any thing rather than the book of God, and 
 would plunge into any society rather than the 
 company of our own hearts ! Is it not a proof 
 that, in the one, we know we should find the 
 evidence of our guilt ; and, in the other, the 
 registry of our condemnation ? This plain and 
 simple fact, that we would do any thing rather 
 than examine our own hearts, is a sufficient 
 evidence of the corruption of our nature; 
 we are afraid to look at it : a sufficient proof 
 of the heavy burden within ; we are afraid 
 to weigh it. 
 
 So that you perceive, that when God invites 
 only those that labour and are heavy-laden, he 
 does not call upon you to invent any new kind 
 of burden or sorrow for yourself, but merely to 
 know and feel your real state. Nothing can 
 be fairer: he just requires that you should be 
 fully sensible of the state in which you are, 
 before he condescends to save you from it ; that 
 you should feel your burden, before he con- 
 descends to remove it. Just conceive what a 
 mockery it would be to talk to a man of com- 
 forting him for sorrows that he never felt, and 
 of relieving him from a burden that he never 
 
300 SERMON V. 
 
 endured! This is plain common-sense: may 
 our common-sense never rise to testify against 
 us at the day of judgment ! 
 
 Nay more, our very pleasures are a burden 
 to us for how many of them are the causes of 
 pain, of sorrow, of remorse ! Upon how many 
 of them do we look back with disgust, after the 
 enjoyment of them has ceased ! And then, last 
 of all, are they not bounded by death ? This is 
 the gulf in which they are all swallowed up. 
 So that the more of these pleasures we shall 
 have enjoyed, the more we shall have set our 
 affections upon them ; the greater will be our 
 unwillingness to part with them ; the greater 
 will be the burden we have been heaping upon 
 death-beds. 
 
 We have now considered to whom this in- 
 vitation is made : it is to those that labour and 
 are heavy-laden. Who is there that does not 
 feel he is included in the invitation ? The next 
 thing to be considered is, how it is to be ac- 
 cepted ? " Come unto me." Though all these 
 promises are made to those who are heavy- 
 laden, it is that they may come : if they come 
 not, all is lost ! 
 
 It is plain, then, that the first step in coming 
 
SERMON V. 
 
 to him must be a full and perfect reliance upon 
 his power and his willingness to give you rest : 
 and who can doubt his poiver his power, who 
 is the Son of God ? who first gained the victory 
 over the grave himself, to shew that death 
 should have no dominion over those whom he 
 protected ! 
 
 And who can doubt his willingness to save ? 
 Who, that looks for one moment at the cross, 
 can dare to doubt it ? O ! if we were but half 
 as willing to be saved as he is to save us, which 
 of us would not depart this day redeemed? 
 Only observe how he who makes the promises, 
 beseeches, entreats, implores you to corne to him. 
 O ! if we were half as earnest in our prayers 
 to him as he is in his prayers to us, which of us 
 would not this day find rest unto his soul ? 
 
 But though perfect is the first step that 
 leads to this rest, recollect, it is but the first ; 
 it must be immediately followed up by others. 
 For the next verse immediately proceeds : 
 " Take my yoke upon you, and learn of me ; 
 " for I am meek and lowly of heart." Now, 
 to take a person's yoke upon you is to become 
 his servant : so that the meaning is, you must 
 take me for your master, and learn of me. You 
 
SERMON V. 
 
 must be willing to take off that heavy burden, 
 the yoke of sin, the yoke of the world, and 
 allow him to put his in its place. You must 
 fling down at his feet your pride, your drunken- 
 ness, your impurity, your avarice, your worldly 
 mindedness. You will make no bargains with 
 him for keeping one sin, and letting another 
 go : this would be mere traffic ; not taking him 
 for your master : it would be endeavouring to 
 serve two masters. 
 
 The only way of being sure that you are 
 coming to Christ is, are you coming all to 
 him? Are you keeping any sin to yourself? 
 Are you keeping your favourite sin ? This is the 
 shortest and the only sure trial. If you are not 
 surrendering that, be assured you are attempt- 
 ing to serve two masters, Christ and that fa- 
 vourite sin, whatever it may be. The only way 
 of trying yourself is this : Do you allow Christ 
 to obtain a mastery over all your vices ? Do 
 you make him the fountain of all your virtues ? 
 Do you avoid alLevil for his sake? And, above 
 all, is he the bright example that you follow ? 
 Do you take some poor human standard of ex- 
 cellence, and put that in the place of Christ ? 
 Or do you look to him, not only for salvation, 
 
SERMON V. 303 
 
 but for example ? Is his lowly and meek hu- 
 mility, his pure and holy conversation, his 
 active and benevolent charity, his mild and 
 gentle patience, his fervent and constant piety, 
 his spirit of mercy and forgiveness, are these 
 your pattern of perfection to which you seek to 
 be conformed? 
 
 Now the last thing to be considered is, the 
 rest which he bestows ; in what does it con- 
 sist, and how does he bestow it? The two 
 following verses contain a full explanation : 
 " Take my yoke upon you, and learn of me." 
 You perceive it is in the exchange of yokes and 
 burdens that this rest consists ; in taking off 
 the uneasy yoke and the heavy burden, and 
 taking in its place Christ's easy yoke and light 
 burden : " Take my yoke." 
 
 Now, what is Christ's yoke? " He that 
 " loveth me keepeth my commandments :" and 
 we are told by the same apostle, " His com- 
 " mandment is not grievous;" and the reason is, 
 because we keep his commandments from a 
 principle of love. It is not that we wear his 
 yoke and take his burden in order, like a hire- 
 ling or a slave, to earn our own rest and sal- 
 vation, but it is the free service of warm, and 
 
304 SERMON V. 
 
 earnest, and humble gratitude ; a service of 
 love that, after doing all, makes us willing to 
 exclaim, " We are unprofitable servants !" It 
 is because we serve one who is meek and 
 lowly of heart, anxious to teach us by the in- 
 fluence of his Spirit how to find his yoke easy 
 and his burden light ; how to find it delightful 
 to do the will of his Father which is in Heaven, 
 and thus to resemble our divine Master; so 
 that, instead of being servants and slaves, we be- 
 come \hefriends and the brethren of our Master, 
 and find his service perfect freedom : our obe- 
 dience is not the means of our procuring our 
 rest, but is the rest itself. 
 
 The blessed Saviour always administers to 
 those who come to him, w r ith heart and soul, 
 both the means of fulfilling his will and of 
 finding it sweet, easy, and delightful. He 
 teaches us and enables us to do it from humble 
 love and earnest gratitude ; to look to him for 
 fresh supplies of spiritual strength ; and, when- 
 ever we are weary and faint by the way, to 
 turn aside to him, where he stands by the foun- 
 tain of living waters and gives freely to all 
 that are athirst ; and then with fresh strength 
 we raise our light burden, and go on our way 
 
SERMON V. 305 
 
 rejoicing. It is true, men choose to consider 
 Christ as a hard task-master, and his blessed 
 service as gloomy and severe : but to these 
 men there are two very short answers : first, 
 that it is only to those that labour and are 
 heavy-laden that this is addressed, to those 
 who feel an insupportable load upon their souls 
 and their consciences ; and to them the ex- 
 change is indeed delightful : but if these men 
 feel themselves perfectly at their ease, if they 
 are happy in their present state, they are very 
 welcome to take their own ease. Secondly, 
 that the service of Christ always proceeds from 
 a motive of earnest and humble gratitude, or it 
 is no service at all. It is not so many separate 
 and detached acts of service; but it comes warm 
 and entire from a holy and sacred affection that 
 makes it a service of perfect freedom. 
 
 x 
 
SERMON VI. 
 
 MATTHEW, xi. 12. 
 
 They that be whole need not a physician, but they that 
 are sick. 
 
 WE may remember that this was the an- 
 swer of Christ to the Pharisees when they re- 
 proached him with admitting sinners into his 
 society ; and it would, therefore, at first appear 
 that they did not conceive they were sinners 
 themselves when they ventured to bring such 
 an accusation against him. And yet this seems 
 hardly possible: blind and self-righteous as they 
 were, we can scarcely imagine that any man 
 could obtain such a victory over his conscience, 
 or bring the art of self-deception to such per- 
 fection, as to fancy that he had never sinned ! 
 
 Now, to us, it must appear one of the 
 strangest things in the world how any man 
 could entertain the least doubt upon the sub- 
 ject. If a man were to tell us that he was not 
 a sinner, we would consider it a sign not of 
 
SERMON VI. 307 
 
 innocence, but of derangement. God knows ! 
 many a man seems to pass through life as if 
 he were walking in his sleep ; and sin and 
 righteousness appear nearly alike to him : he 
 seldom opens his eyes to see things as they 
 really are ; but still it is impossible to suppose 
 that he does not often encounter a shock that 
 bewilders and alarms him, and stumble upon 
 some sin that rouses him to a sense of guilt. 
 ReaUy it seems inconceivable that any man 
 possesses the art of self-deception to so ruinous 
 a degree. Our Saviour's answer may lead to 
 the true state of the case: " They that be whole 
 " need not a physician, but they that are sick." 
 They did not perceive that sin was a disease. 
 They knew, indeed, that they had been guilty 
 of several gentle offences, a sin now and then ; 
 but they had not learnt that it was a disorder 
 seated in their very constitution. This seems 
 to have been the fatal error of the Pharisees ; 
 the tremendous mistake that blinded their eyes, 
 so that they saw not, and stopped their ears, 
 that they heard not. The fact is, if they had 
 regarded the soul as they did the body, if they 
 had but reasoned in the one case as in the 
 other, it is astonishing what new and alarming 
 
 x 2 
 
308 SERMON VI. 
 
 views would have arisen upon the minds of 
 these men, and how many of them we should 
 have found taking the lowest seat with him 
 who ate and drank with publicans and sinners, 
 and gathering up the crums that fell from the 
 table ! 
 
 If any one of us were now suddenly in- 
 formed by a physician that a deadly malady 
 was at this instant preying upon his vitals, that 
 his blood was poisoned, and his health under- 
 mined, and his constitution falling asunder, 
 he would, doubtless, return to his house in no 
 very comfortable state of mind ; he would 
 throw himself upon his bed, and feed upon the 
 gloomy thoughts of approaching dissolution ; 
 would begin, perhaps, to make his will, and 
 call his friends about him to apprise them that 
 he was soon to bid them farewell; and if he 
 felt a joint ache, and his pulse begin to beat 
 faster or slower, or if he looked in the glass 
 and saw his cheek turning pale, and his lip 
 becoming livid, and his eye growing dim, he 
 would say; Alas! he told me nothing but the 
 truth ! and this is that fearful disease that is 
 to bring me to my grave ! And then how would 
 all the little symptoms be noted and remem- 
 
SERMON VI. 309 
 
 bqred ; how would the nature and the seat of 
 the disease be studied and examined ; and if 
 a physician were to drop a hint that the dis- 
 order was within the reach of his skill, or if 
 there was a whisper through the family that 
 something could be done, and that hope was 
 not yet to be renounced the very news would 
 be a kind of health to you, and your faded and 
 pallid countenance would brighten with anti- 
 cipated freshness and renovation ! Now, if a 
 man were really convinced that such a disease 
 as this had taken possession of his eternal soul, 
 what can we suppose would be his sensations ! 
 If a distant hint, if an indistinct murmur were 
 breathed that there was something wrong 
 about it ; an eternal thing with something 
 w r rong about it ! to think that that living spirit 
 within us, by which we can hold communion 
 with the unseen world and the Father of Spi- 
 rits, and which is destined to wander through 
 eternity, is indisposed and out of order ! what 
 alarm, what jealousy of inquiry should it ex- 
 cite ? what earnest investigation of symptoms ; 
 what anxious search into the nature of the 
 complaint and the possibility of a cure ? And 
 yet it is astonishing with what perfect com" 
 
310 SERMON VI, 
 
 posure a man not only can hear the voice of 
 Almighty God warning him, but can acknow- 
 ledge that there is no health in him, and yet 
 scarcely think it a subject worth his inquiry ! 
 
 Really it is pitiable and melancholy to 
 hear with what accuracy a sick man will de- 
 scribe all the marks and featuress of his disorder; 
 how every passing pain, every change, every 
 symptom, and every fluctuation of health and 
 strength is treasured up, and amplified, and 
 discussed. What a physician does the sick 
 man become in his own case ! nay, with what 
 seeming pleasure does he dwell upon every 
 circumstance ! with what fond and longing 
 eloquence he can expatiate upon his pangs and 
 his sufferings, as if he loved them because they 
 are his own ! But if you inquire into the health 
 of hivS eternal soul, its sicknesses, its symptoms, 
 its peculiar constitution, its signs of life and 
 death ; all dumb, all languid, all flat and un- 
 profitable ! Before we go farther ; is not this a 
 sufficient proof that all is wrong, that the spirit 
 within him has been left to take care of itself, 
 while the heap of dust to which it is attached 
 has excited such an interest that every grain 
 of it seems to have been weighed and counted? 
 
SERMON VI. 311 
 
 O that it would force itself upon our senses, 
 and burst itself upon our notice! O that 
 this mysterious stranger within us could ap- 
 pear to us in some palpable shape, that we 
 might inspect, and handle, and examine it ; 
 that we might be able to feel the beating of its 
 pulse, and watch the changes of its complexion ; 
 that we might know when it looked pale, 
 and sickly, and death-like, and when it wore 
 the fresh and rosy hue of health ! But it hides 
 itself from my view, it muffles itself from my 
 observation; and though I can amuse myself 
 with looking at the perishable body in which it 
 is contained through a microscope, and study- 
 ing its very infirmities with a fond and melan- 
 choly delight, I do not feel a sufficient interest 
 in the immortal and unseen spirit within to 
 follow it into its hiding-places, and pursue it 
 into its recesses. If we went no farther, this 
 is enough to prove that there is some fatal dis- 
 ease within that we do not seem to care for 
 the inquiry. 
 
 But, in the next place, when the body is 
 concerned we seldom find that we mistake a 
 symptom for the disease. Only observe with 
 what scrutinising ingenuity a man will pene- 
 
SERMON VJ. 
 
 trate into the hiding-places in his constitution 
 to discover the root and ground of some dis- 
 order that has shewn itself in some external 
 sign ! And should not the blind Pharisees 
 have known, even of themselves, that it is from 
 within, " out of the hearts of men proceed evil 
 " thoughts, adulteries, fornications, murders, 
 " thefts, covetousness, deceit, lasciviousness ;" 
 that all these evil things come from within, and 
 " it is out of the abundance of the heart the 
 " mouth speaketh." These, sins as they are, 
 these, against which the great God has regis- 
 tered his wrath, and for all which we shall be 
 brought into judgment, these are, after all, 
 signs and symptoms of something worse within. 
 Our evil words and our evil deeds are only 
 overflowings of the soul, and do not shew the 
 depth of the fountain from which they proceed. 
 It has, indeed, its ebbs and its flows, like 
 those diseases that shew themselves at some 
 periods more than at others ; but we should 
 make a sad error, if we mistook the signs of a 
 complaint for the complaint itself. It is often 
 by a slight variation of the pulse, a pain, 
 trifling in itself, a change in the habit or aspect, 
 that would hardly be observed unless narrowly 
 
SERMON VI. 313 
 
 examined and inspected, that a physician de- 
 tects a malady which is making serious and 
 frightful inroads upon the constitution. 
 
 We may at once convince ourselves of this 
 by imagining ourselves thrown into a thousand 
 situations in which we have seen others in- 
 volved, and from which we have been pre- 
 served we know not how ; and in which sins, 
 that have only shewn themselves by faint and 
 transient flashes, would have burst into a blaze, 
 and have raged with the fury of a conflagra- 
 tion. Awful and tremendous truth ! that our 
 sins, while they are the signs, are not the mea- 
 sures of the sin within ; and while they are 
 terrible proofs that it exists, still leave us to 
 discover its height and its depth, its length and 
 breadth ; they may graduate its tides &&& fluc- 
 tuations, but they leave its depths unfathomed, 
 and its shores unexplored. But if some power- 
 ful conjuncture of attractions should operate, 
 we know not what tempests are lurking in its 
 bosom, and ready to burst forth. Then, as 
 there are different kinds of bodily, so there are 
 of spiritual disorders. You will see some of an 
 ardent and fiery constitution, whose complaint 
 will shew itself by violent signs that cannot be 
 
314 SERMON VI. 
 
 mistaken ; and they prove that sin and death 
 are rioting within them, and withering their 
 eternal health, by an ostentation of their de- 
 pravity, by drunkenness or debauchery, or by 
 blasphemy, riot, or revenge. These men have 
 the signs of a raging fever, and they often pro- 
 ceed to that degree of derangement and deli- 
 rium that they actually forget the difference 
 between health and sickness, and fancy that all 
 is safe at the moment they have attained the 
 height of their disorder ! 
 
 But there are others of a milder tempera- 
 ment, where the signs are more silent and more 
 treacherous; where the eye is bright and the 
 countenance is florid, and the frame receives 
 no shock, and the nerves remain composed, 
 and the spirits tranquil ; and yet death is 
 feeding upon the vitals ! These are the men 
 whose walk in life is generally decent and re- 
 spectable ; but the heart and the affections 
 are fixed on perishable objects ; whose care, 
 whose hopes, and whose dear delight, are things 
 visible, that shall pass away ; souls that feed 
 on ashes, and declare their kindred with the 
 worm that perisheth by feeding upon perish- 
 able food ; whose minds represent the tombs 
 
SERMON VI. 315 
 
 to which they are approaching, -whited se- 
 pulchres, that indeed are beautiful outward, but 
 if you look within, you find nothing but death ! 
 These persons seem to descend into the grave 
 with a fatal gentleness that causes no shock 
 to awake them ; they waste away by a linger- 
 ing consumption, and feel not that they are 
 dwindling, and dwindling, into ruin ; and they 
 know not that " where thy treasure is, there 
 " will thy heart be also ;" and that therefore, 
 if it be not set upon God and Heaven, and im- 
 mortal things, thy eternal soul is wasting into 
 destruction, and the worms are underneath 
 thee, and cover thee ! 
 
 There are numberless varieties of spiritual 
 complaints ; perhaps equal in number to those 
 of the body, which are most emphatically called 
 in Scripture, " the plagues of men's hearts." 
 
 But now observe the various excuses we 
 attempt to make, the thousand ways in which 
 we endeavour to deceive ourselves with respect 
 to the disease of the eternal soul within us ; 
 and then observe how vain how silly would 
 these appear if they were applied to the body. 
 How often will a man make the excuse that 
 he was born with the seeds of this corruption, 
 
316 SERMON VI. 
 
 and plead this as a reason for cherishing and 
 encouraging it, or at least for neglecting it and 
 allowing it to work its own way ! Now what 
 should we think of a man who attempted to 
 quiet our fears, when we were labouring under 
 a cruel bodily complaint, by telling us that it 
 is in the family, and we inherit it from our an- 
 cestors ? Did it ever save any man's life yet ? 
 
 But again : there are men who will mix in 
 that society, and advance with the utmost se- 
 curity into those situations where impurity, 
 sensuality, and a worldly and carnal frame of 
 mind are encouraged, and where affections are 
 more and more set upon earthly pleasures and 
 earthly enjoyments, and yet they will declare 
 that no evil consequences can arise, and that 
 they felt no spiritual disadvantage from the 
 indulgence. 
 
 Now, what should we think of a man who 
 should tell us, if an infectious complaint were 
 raging around us, that we might venture 
 securely into the midst of the contagion, and 
 frequent those houses where it prevailed ? and 
 who should tell us, that if we did not actually 
 feel the infection, or the poison, while it was 
 mixing with our blood and entering into our 
 
SEKMON VI. 317 
 
 veins, we might consider ourselves safe, and 
 conclude that the effect might not afterwards 
 break forth and carry us into our graves ? 
 
 And yet it is thus that we often attempt 
 to deceive ourselves both with respect to the 
 existence, the nature, the danger, and the effects 
 of our spiritual diseases ; although any man 
 that reasoned, thought, and acted in the same 
 way with respect to the body, would be consi- 
 dered to have forfeited his claim to the attribute 
 of reason, and to have renounced his common 
 sense. And then, when one thinks what may 
 be the death of an eternal spirit, what new, 
 what fearful, what unknown miseries it has to 
 undergo ! what it must be to moulder and 
 waste through all eternity ! we cannot dwell 
 upon it it is too much ! 
 
 But there is a gracious Physician, who 
 comes to bind up the broken-hearted; the 
 good Samaritan, that stands by the way-side to 
 pour wine and oil into our wounds, to minister 
 to our sicknesses, and to heal our infirmities. 
 All those who feel the cruel breach that sin has 
 made in their health, and who are sensible that 
 they cannot recover themselves, may come to 
 him and he will assuredly relieve them. 
 
318 SERMON VI. 
 
 Now, when an earthly physician is called in, 
 what is the first thing required of the patient ? 
 A perfect reliance upon the skill and the good- 
 will of the physician. What should we think 
 of that patient who felt a disease rioting in his 
 vitals, and should begin to analyse the medi- 
 cines that were administered, and to demand 
 an account of the particular mode in which they 
 were to effect his cure ? Would not the phy- 
 sician be obliged to give him all the information 
 he himself possessed before he could explain 
 it ? And is it much that the Lord Jesus Christ 
 shpuld demand from us that faith which we 
 must necessarily place in a human being, or be 
 content to lie down and perish ? 
 
 Just consider how many silly expedients a 
 sick man will try w r here there is the most distant 
 hope of recovery ; and then say, whether you 
 will not trust the all-powerful, the all-wise, 
 the all-gracious Being, who bore all the sick- 
 nesses and infirmities of your bodily nature- 
 all for your sake, and submitted to the agonies 
 of death to deliver you from hopeless ruin ? 
 
 Be assured that, if you really feel the bur- 
 den of your disease, you will not hesitate a 
 moment. Come to him with earnest, humble 
 
SERMON VI. 319 
 
 prayer with a heart at once penetrated with a 
 sense of its corruptions, and a love of the Di- 
 vine Being who offers to pardon and to purify 
 and assuredly he will not refuse ; for he tells 
 us specially that he came not for those that 
 are whole, but those that are sick ; and this he 
 himself explains in the following verse : " I 
 " came not to call the righteous, but sinners, 
 " to repentance." But here he also shews us 
 the nature of the cure ; he came to call them to 
 repentance, to a change of mind. 
 
 It must be, of course, by some change in 
 the inner man that a radical disease must be 
 exterminated from the constitution. It seems 
 as if it were actually out of the nature of things 
 that it should be otherwise. When the good 
 and benevolent Being vouchsafed to entreat his 
 wayward and rebellious people to deliver their 
 own soul, he says, " Make you a new heart ; 
 " for why will you die, O house of Israel ?" 
 as if death were the sure and inevitable con- 
 sequence of their old state, from which it was 
 inconsistent with the natural course of things 
 that they could be saved except by making a 
 new heart and a right spirit within them. But 
 
320 SERMON VI. 
 
 this he is willing to do if we come earnestly 
 and humbly to look for it ; for he declares, " I 
 " will give my Holy Spirit to them that ask 
 " it ;" and, " he that spared not his own Son, 
 " how shall he not also, with him, freely give 
 " us all things !" 
 
 But we must allow him to choose his own 
 way. It is generally by producing new habits 
 and tempers of mind new desires and affec- 
 tions, which gain strength by degrees, that he 
 effects our cure. We have seen but few bodily 
 cures effected by any sudden or instantaneous 
 power ; and they were generally most subject 
 to relapse. 
 
 The good and benign Physician consults our 
 weakness and our nature at the very time that 
 he undertakes to overcome them. How is the 
 cure to be conducted, from its weak beginning, 
 to health and maturity ? Now, how would an 
 earthly physician answer this question, pro- 
 posed with respect to a bodily complaint ? He 
 would say, " by exercise." Just so the new 
 principle implanted within us, the heavenly 
 tempers and exalted affections, the delight in 
 God and things invisible, that is the dawn of 
 
SERMON VI. 
 
 health to the sick man, is to be cherished and 
 invigorated by a constant converse with holy 
 things, and a constant energy in the perform- 
 ance of every duty. Consider how the great 
 Physician was employed, when he was up- 
 braided by the haughty Pharisee, and when he 
 declared that he was engaged in the very work 
 of healing those who are spiritually sick, and 
 calling sinners to repentance : he was eating 
 and drinking with the sinners ; he was engaged 
 in familiar, yet holy conversation with them ; 
 and what though he is now far above, out of 
 the range of mortal sight ; though he is not now 
 employed in working those bodily cures which 
 were faint representations of the renovation of 
 a ruined soul ; although he now no longer walks 
 in our streets, letting his blessed shadow fall 
 upon our infirmities as he passes along, yet his 
 Word and his Spirit are still with us the Spirit 
 which he sent as his substitute, which is to aid 
 and invigorate our prayers ; and the Word that 
 is a substitute for that divine conversation, by 
 which he spoke health to the sinner's soul, 
 while he sat at meat with them. And that 
 Word is wonderfully adapted to all varieties of 
 constitutions, and the 'several degrees of spi- 
 
 Y 
 
SERMON VI. 
 
 ritual health they may have attained ; for " all 
 " Scripture is given by inspiration of God, and 
 " is profitable for doctrine, for reproof, for cor- 
 " rection, for instruction in righteousness, that 
 " the man of God may be perfect, thoroughly 
 " furnished unto all good works." 
 
SERMON VII. 
 
 1 CORINTHIANS, vi. 20. 
 Ye are bought with a price. 
 
 THE use that St. Paul makes of these words 
 is as remarkable as the words themselves. Some 
 time after he had left the Corinthians, he was 
 informed that many of them, while they still 
 professed to be Christians, had fallen away 
 from the purity of the Gospel which he had 
 preached. They no longer trembled, when the 
 man was gone who used to reason among them 
 " of righteousness, temperance, and judgment 
 " to come." They relapsed into former ha- 
 bits with an appetite that seemed to have been 
 sharpened and increased by the self-denial to 
 which they had for a time submitted ; and the 
 evil spirit, which had gone out for a season, 
 said, " I will return to my house whence I 
 " came out; and he took other spirits more 
 " wicked than himself, and went in, and dwelt 
 " there; and the last state of many of those 
 
 Y 2 
 
324 , SERMON VII. 
 
 " men was worse than the first." St. Paul 
 remarks, that many vices, such as extortions, 
 strife, envy, and revenge, were gaining fearful 
 ground upon them : many of them indulged in 
 gluttony, in drunkenness, in debauchery, in 
 adultery, to an extent that had been before un- 
 known. They prostituted their bodies to in- 
 temperance, and their immortal souls to covet- 
 ousness, malignity, and corruption. 
 
 This was cruel and bitter intelligence to 
 such a man as Paul, one, whose heart and 
 soul were wrapped up in the success of his 
 ministry, .who seemed to rejoice with the joy 
 of ten thousand angels over one sinner that re- 
 pented,, and mourned like one heart-broken if 
 one soul, that appeared to have been won from 
 sin, had fallen away from its immortality. He 
 accordingly writes to them a letter, the most 
 solemn and the most tender that can well be 
 conceived, in language at once the most dig- 
 nified and affectionate; and he here brings 
 down the great argument of the Gospel upon 
 them with all its weight. 
 
 Perhaps we shall understand it better if we 
 first consider those which are generally used in 
 such cases. 
 
SERMON VII. 325 
 
 If a prudent man of the world, who had 
 little respect for religion, but a high sense of 
 what is called morality, had been sent to 
 preach to these men, what arguments do we 
 conceive he would have employed ? He would 
 probably have said : * The excesses in which 
 
 * you indulge will ruin your health, will shorten 
 
 * your days, will rack your body with pain 
 ' and disease, will enfeeble your understanding, 
 ' rendering it poor, unsteady, and effeminate, 
 
 * unable to follow any regular, manly, and ho- 
 ' nourable occupation in life; you will lose 
 ' both your own respect, and the respect of 
 ' the world ; and if you cherish ill-will, malice, 
 ' and envy, it will destroy your peace of mind, 
 ' and keep you at variance with your fellow- 
 ' creatures, with whom you should live in 
 ' friendship and tranquillity. 5 And he would 
 say very right : these arguments are in general 
 very true ; but, alas ! they are seldom found to 
 avail; and when they do, suppose the object 
 gained, their hearts relieved, their lives length- 
 ened, their success in the pursuit of affluence 
 secured, their reputation standing fair in the 
 eye of all the world ; there is yet something 
 behind ; there is a death, and there is a judg- 
 
SERMON VII. 
 
 ment; and have they looked to them? have 
 they prepared for them ? Verily they have had 
 their reward, the reward they looked for, 
 health, wealth, long life, and reputation. What 
 claim have they to any thing farther ? 
 
 But suppose a man who possesses a higher 
 sense of religion, but who forgets to look for it 
 in his Bible, who recollects that there is to be 
 a state of rewards and punishments, but who 
 forgets that it is only through a blessed Me- 
 diator that we can hope for escape from the 
 one, and for the attainment of the other, sup- 
 pose such a one sent to reform these profligates, 
 what might he say ? He would probably say, 
 ' The course in which you are proceeding is 
 6 offensive to Almighty God, and will draw 
 
 * down his everlasting vengeance and indigna- 
 6 tion upon your heads ; but, change your 
 ' course, and reform, and you will then deserve 
 
 * his forgiveness, his favour, and his blessing.' 
 Alas ! this argument would, it is to be feared, 
 have less chance of succeeding than the former ; 
 for while it places the objects to be attained 
 at a greater distance, it leaves their attainment 
 much more uncertain ; for, in the first place, 
 how could they know whether the God of holi- 
 
SERMON VII. 327 
 
 ness would pardon past enormities for the sake 
 of future obedience ? Suppose they had lived 
 a life of righteousness to the very moment of 
 which we are speaking, would they not be 
 obliged to continue it to the end ? How then 
 can they know whether future obedience may 
 atone for past transgressions ? 
 
 But, in the next place, suppose all past sins 
 cancelled, to what are they to look forward ? 
 One might say, * I know not what kind of 
 ' righteousness or what degree of righteousness 
 ' God requires. If he requires a life of unsin- 
 6 ning obedience, I am lost for ever ; if not, I 
 ' know not what vices I must give up, or what 
 ' I may still keep without forfeiting his favour. 
 * I have no reason to say where he will draw 
 ' the line : if he can endure sin at all, without 
 ' punishing it, he may pardon me in my pre- 
 6 sent state, without any change whatever.' 
 
 But what was the argument of Paul, the 
 Christian apostle, the minister of the Gospel ? 
 " Ye are not your own : ye are bought with 
 " a price." You are bought and sold, body 
 and soul : you are no longer your own property. 
 Now the conclusion that he immediately draws, 
 is, " Therefore glorify God in your body, and 
 
328 SEHMON VII. 
 
 " in your spirit, which are God's." I do not 
 call upon you to renounce your evil ways, be- 
 cause you think it may conduce to your own 
 health and convenience to your own satis- 
 faction and gratification here to your success 
 in life, and to the establishment of a fair repu- 
 tation ; I should then acknowledge you to be 
 your own property, to belong to yourselves : 
 nor do I summon you to repentance because you 
 are able to atone for your past transgressions, 
 and to make your own peace with God ; this 
 would look as if I still acknowledged you to 
 belong to yourselves, and to be your own pro- 
 perty, and that you could make a bargain with 
 Heaven, that you could buy off a vice with a 
 virtue, and a sin by some fit of obedience : but 
 I challenge you as the property of Jesus Christ, 
 which he has purchased to himself for ever and 
 ever, that you surrender yourself into his ser- 
 vice, and glorify him as your Master, your 
 Saviour, and your Redeemer. 
 
 This is the argument of God himself to 
 every one amongst us, to turn from the sins of 
 his own heart and his own life ; and it should 
 be as omnipotent as the God from whom it 
 proceeds : " Ye are bought with a price." 
 
SERMON VII. 329 
 
 From what are we bought ? From these very 
 sins, and the punishment they would draw 
 down upon our souls. Here is every motive 
 that can actuate a rational being : here there 
 is no doubt of the dreadful aspect which our 
 sins wear in the sight of the Supreme Being ; 
 for they required a terrible price to release us 
 from them nothing less than the blood of God; 
 and here is no doubt of love and mercy and 
 forgiveness for the price is paid. O then, 
 as you would not disappoint the good and gra- 
 cious Being in all that he has done for you ; as 
 you would not wish that that price were paid 
 for you in vain, acknowledge yourself his pur- 
 chased servant, and glorify him in the body 
 and in the spirit that he has bought ! You must 
 become his property. But you will say, ' Be- 
 
 * hold, are not all things his? Are not heaven 
 
 * and earth, the sea, and all their inhabitants, 
 ' the firmament, the vast expanse of the uni- 
 ' verse, and all that it contains, his property?' 
 Yes : they are indeed all his : but there 
 was one loved and favoured being among them 
 all, whom he called peculiarly his own. In 
 our Father's house there were indeed -many 
 hired servants; but among all his creatures 
 
330 SERMON VII. 
 
 there was one Son ; for he said, " Let us make 
 " man in our own image :" and he formed him 
 for a representative of himself. He was the 
 property of God, as a child is the property of 
 his father. His thoughts belonged to God; for 
 there was not one which he wished to conceal 
 from him : they loved to dwell upon the glo- 
 rious attributes of his Father, and admire the 
 wonders of his power and of his goodness. No 
 foul and corrupt desires, no sordid wishes inter- 
 rupted the purity and brightness of his soul ; 
 no angry, envious, or revengeful passion dis- 
 turbed its deep and beautiful tranquillity. The 
 spirit of man was then clearness and sunshine ; 
 not a storm to ruffle, not a cloud to obscure it ; 
 and it was transparent to the eye of Him in 
 whose sight the sins that seem but specks and 
 atoms to our view appear enlarged to a fearful 
 size. The language of his lips belonged to 
 God ; for " out of the abundance of the heart 
 " the mouth speaketh :" and then the heart 
 abounded with all good and holy thoughts, and 
 therefore no foul or bitter language issued 
 from such a fountain, but it overflowed at his 
 lips in praise or thanksgiving. The deeds of his 
 hands and the course of his life belonged to 
 
SERMON VII. 331 
 
 God; for his body was the servant of his soul, 
 and was the glorious instrument by which he 
 carried the wishes of a good and benevolent 
 heart into execution. " In his law did he exer- 
 " cise himself day and night," and he " glori- 
 " fled God in his body and his spirit." If he 
 was in subjection to God, he was yet in bond- 
 age to no other being in the universe ; and His 
 yoke was easy, and His burden light. 
 
 What need is there to dwell upon the miser- 
 able change ? Which of us sees any thing like 
 his own character in that which we have been 
 considering ? Or which of us, after reflecting 
 for a moment upon what man was, and ought 
 to be, can look upon himself, without smiting 
 upon his breast, and saying, " God be merci- 
 " ful to me a sinner !" 
 
 Who is the Lord and Master of our body 
 and our spirit, and whom do we glorify with 
 them? Whom do we follow and obey, and 
 whose will have we most frequently and gene- 
 rally consulted in our conduct through life? To 
 whom do our thoughts belong? Upon what 
 objects do they delight to repose, and how 
 many of them would you wish to conceal from 
 the pure and everlasting gaze of your Creator ? 
 
SERMON VII. 
 
 How often would you wish that his eye had 
 been closed upon you, and that he could not 
 read the secret movements of your heart? Are 
 they not often such as you would be ashamed 
 to disclose even to a poor mortal like yourself ? 
 And yet there will be a day when they will be 
 made known, when the secrets of all hearts 
 will be revealed. 
 
 To whom does your conversation belong? 
 Upon what subjects do you most delight to 
 speak ? Does the name of God occur only to 
 
 be blasphemed ; or, if it ever rudely intrudes 
 i 
 
 into your conversation, is it not banished like 
 an unwelcome visitor that interrupts your en- 
 joyments ? How often would you wish Heaven 
 deaf to your voice, and that the ears of the 
 Almighty were closed to the words of your 
 mouth? And yet there will be a day when 
 every wanton, blasphemous, and unholy and 
 uncharitable expression will be read aloud : 
 " For every idle word that men shall speak, 
 " they shall give an account thereof in the day 
 " of judgment." 
 
 To whom do your actions belong ? Of all 
 that you have done, and of all your pursuits in 
 life, how many have you done or undertaken 
 
SERMON VII, 333 
 
 for the purpose of glorifying Almighty God ; 
 and how many to glorify yourself, your own 
 pride, your own covetousness, your own vanity, 
 your own malice, your own sensuality, and the 
 opinion of the world ? And yet, " for all these 
 " things God will bring thee into judgment." 
 Ask yourselves solemnly the question, whom 
 have you served ? Have we not sought to do 
 our own will, and not the will of him who made 
 us ? The consequence is, that instead of being 
 free, we have fallen into bondage to our own 
 passions and lusts, and have been the sport of 
 every temptation of the world, and the victim 
 of that dreadful being who is the author and 
 promoter of all sin and all misery. When we 
 broke the bonds that united us to our Cre- 
 ator, every gust of passion, every whisper of the 
 world, and every suggestion of the devil, ob- 
 tained dominion over us ; and what is the con- 
 sequence? " Know ye not, that to whom ye 
 " render yourselves servants to obey, his ser- 
 " vants ye are to whom ye obey? Whether 
 " of sin, unto death ; or of obedience, unto 
 " righteousness ?" If the Lord of your soul, and 
 the Master whom you serve, whom you have 
 chiefly and most frequently consulted, be not 
 
334 SERMON VII. 
 
 God, recollect the wages of such obedience is 
 death ; and which of us has not been in such 
 bondage to corruption, and has not earned and 
 purchased to himself the awful reward ? But, 
 blessed for ever be that God who still looked 
 for the sons that he had lost, for the flock that 
 had wandered, and who paid the ransom that 
 once more set us free to our salvation, we 
 have been bought with agony and bloody sweat; 
 with tears and groans ; with writhings of the 
 body, and woundings of the spirit; with the 
 torture of the cross, and the life of God; 
 amidst darkness and fearful signs, and the rend- 
 ing of the rocks, and the bursting of the tombs. 
 All that the frame and the spirit of man could 
 endure, was suffered for us ; and all that the 
 love and mercy of God could give, was la- 
 vished upon our salvation. 
 
 Such is the value that God has set upon 
 our heads ; such is the price by which he pur- 
 chases us back, and makes us his own sons and 
 his family for ever : and it is therefore that he 
 calls upon us to glorify him in that body and that 
 spirit, which he has thus made his own by all 
 the claims both of creation and redemption. 
 For, as St. Paul in another place explains it, 
 
SERMON VII. 335 
 
 " If Christ died for us, then were we all dead ; 
 " and he died for all, that they which live 
 " should not henceforth live unto themselves, 
 " but unto him who died for them, and rose 
 *' again." 
 
 If you reject this sacrifice, then no price has 
 been paid for you, or it has been paid in vain ; 
 you do not acknowledge it ; you must save 
 yourself, without hoping that one single drop of 
 your Redeemer's blood shall fall upon your 
 soul, to render it fit to stand before the holiness 
 of God. If your heart sinks, and your soul 
 shudders at such a thought, then recollect, that 
 if Christ died for you, then were you dead, 
 dead in trespasses and sins, in bondage to 
 corruption, and the servant of those masters 
 whose wages is death ; and recollect that the 
 very purpose for which he died, and without 
 which you disappoint the glorious salvation that 
 he has wrought for you, is, " that henceforth 
 " you should not live unto yourselves, but 
 " unto him who died for you and rose again." 
 We must die with him if we hope to live with 
 him : we must enter into his service, and be- 
 come his disciples by glorifying him in the 
 body and the spirit, which he has redeemed; 
 
336 SERMON VII. 
 
 and then can we look with pure and lowly 
 hope for the forgiveness of our past wanderings, 
 and of the numberless transgressions of which 
 we are guilty, even after we have surrendered 
 ourselves to his good guidance : then can we 
 look for support in the thousand falterings 
 which we shall make in our journey, when we 
 faintly attempt to tread in his gracious and 
 sainted footsteps. 
 
 1 He has purchased your thoughts ; for he has 
 offered to make you the temple of his Holy 
 Spirit, who will purify you from sin, and fill 
 you with righteousness and true holiness, and 
 who will give you strength in all your trials, and 
 consolation under all the cares of the world, 
 the infirmities of your nature, and the sinkings 
 of your hearts. 
 
 He has purchased the words of your mouth ; 
 for he has given you an example that ye should 
 follow him, " who when he was reviled, reviled 
 " not again, and in whose mouth was found no 
 " guile ;" and who out of the good treasure of 
 his heart, brought forth good things. 
 
 He has purchased your bodies ; those sinful 
 bodies, which were once the masters of our 
 souls, by whose means we often become the 
 
SERMON VII. 337 
 
 servants of corruption and sensuality : those 
 members, which were before the instruments of 
 unrighteousness unto sin, are now made the 
 instruments of righteousness unto God ; and, 
 by the help and power of that spirit which he 
 always gives to those that humbly ask him, we 
 shall be able to wield these stubborn and rebel- 
 lious members, the former instruments of sin 
 and corruption, in the living service of our 
 Redeemer. It is as if we had stormed the 
 camp of the enemy, had seized his weapons 
 and his armour, and had turned them against 
 himself. 
 
 Choose, then, which master you will serve 
 Mammon or God. Choose, then, which wages 
 you will receive Death or Immortality : and 
 recollect that you can no more serve both these, 
 than you can receive the wages of both ; and 
 that the service of God and of Mammon are as 
 inconsistent as the death and immortality that 
 are their natural consequences. Think, before 
 you decide, which master loves you most ; 
 think which would sacrifice most for you. 
 Think what price the cold and ungenerous 
 world would give to redeem you from a single 
 pang of body or mind ; and think with what 
 
338 SERMON VII. 
 
 kind and devoted prodigality your blessed 
 Redeemer paid down himselfhis body, and 
 his meek and holy spirit, for your everlasting 
 welfare. 
 
 Finally : it may be useful to reflect that 
 the happiness of the next world will consist in 
 glorifying God in our body, and in our spirit, 
 and in enjoying the delights of his everlasting 
 presence. We can conceive no other : so that 
 it might be well, even on this account alone, to 
 cultivate a disposition that is to constitute our 
 happiness to all eternity : for even if our wild 
 hopes of attaining heaven without glorifying 
 him upon earth were fulfilled, after all, what 
 would it come to? The last trumpet would 
 summon us to glorify him in our body and in 
 pur spirit for ever and ever ! 
 
SERMON VIII. 
 
 COLOSSIANS, in. 3. 
 
 Set your affections on things above ; not on things on 
 the earth. 
 
 To go to heaven when we die seems to be 
 the grand wish that we form to ourselves when- 
 ever we happen to fall into a serious mood of 
 thinking, or begin to grow melancholy at the 
 prospect of death. To go to heaven, and then 
 it would appear that nothing more was wanting 
 to complete our happiness. 
 
 And yet there is one very simple question, 
 that is quite surprising we so seldom think of 
 asking ; and that is, " What kind of place we 
 " should find it if we went there?" That 
 heaven is a scene of unbounded happiness and 
 everlasting delight there is no doubt whatever ; 
 but should we find it so, is quite another ques- 
 tion. We know that a deaf man might be 
 surrounded with the sweetest music and the 
 most enchanting harmony, and to him it would 
 be all dead silence ; and a beautiful portrait or 
 
 z 2 
 
340 SERMON VIII. 
 
 a lovely landscape would be nothing but dark- 
 ness to a blind man's eye. 
 
 But to come still nearer to the point; we 
 know that the same company that would be 
 enjoyed by a man of one description would be 
 actually insupportable to another ; and that 
 there are many situations in which one man 
 would find himself perfectly happy, that would 
 make another utterly miserable. Now, to de- 
 cide the question at once, only conceive for a 
 moment that every man was allowed to choose 
 for himself in this particular, and that heaven 
 was to be just what every man pleases ; and 
 what would be the result ? Only look back 
 upon your life, and observe the scenes in which 
 you felt yourself most at home the things in 
 which your soul has most delighted where 
 your heart was most interested and engaged ; 
 and that would be your heaven. Fix your eye 
 upon those scenes of your keenest enjoyment- 
 mark them well, dwell upon the circumstances 
 by which they were characterised, and you 
 have the kind of heaven that you would choose. 
 " Where your treasure is, there would your 
 " heart be also." 
 
 With some men heaven would be what 
 
SERMON VIII.. 341 
 
 we will not dare to name : we must draw a 
 curtain over it ; we might mistake it for a 
 scene that bears another name. With others, 
 it would be the sumptuous board and the 
 splendid establishment. With others, it would 
 be the reward of ambition, and the shout of 
 popular applause. With others, a round of 
 the amusements that fill up the vacancies of 
 human life. And, in general, it would proba- 
 bly be just such a place as this earth, only 
 with a certain number of comforts and advan- 
 tages superadded, and a certain number of 
 dangers and inconveniences removed. 
 
 Now, is it not probable that to such men as 
 these heaven would be a state either of languor 
 or of misery ? Heaven is not a theatre, that 
 shifts the scene to suit itself to every foolish 
 fancy and every silly humour of the spectators. 
 It has, indeed, its fulness of joy and its pleasures 
 for evermore : but the question is, have we the 
 power and the relish to enjoy them ? We will 
 suppose, for a moment, that our hope of going 
 to heaven is, some way or other, fulfilled, and 
 that (God knows how) we have passed the fear- 
 ful account that we shall have to render, of 
 sins committed, of duties neglected, of bless- 
 
342 SERMON VIII. 
 
 ings abused, of time squandered away. We 
 will suppose that we have found our way into 
 that heaven that is the object of our hopes : 
 what have we to promise ourselves ? We know 
 at least what we shall not find there ; we know 
 that " naked as we came into this world, naked 
 " shall we go out of it ;" that the body which 
 held us and the earth together is laid in the dust 
 from which it was taken ; the bond that united 
 us to this lower world is snapped, and the chan- 
 nel through which we communicated with it 
 withdrawn; and this busy stage, upon which 
 our affections have been running to and fro, 
 seeking rest and finding none, is at once con- 
 cealed from our view, and becomes to us a dead 
 blank. Alas ! alas! what object shall we fasten 
 upon to fill up the dreary vacancy which was 
 once occupied by our busy pursuits and our dear 
 pleasures upon earth? For the gold and the silver 
 are gone, and the pipe, and the viol, and the 
 tabret, have died away in silence. What shall we 
 seize upon to employ our minds, or to interest 
 our hearts, or to excite our desires, or to fill up 
 our conversation ? Alas ! where is the buying 
 and the selling, the bustle of business, or the 
 enthusiasm of enterprise, that supplied us at 
 
SERMON VIII. 343 
 
 once with our cares and our hopes ? Where is 
 the flowing goblet, and the wild and wanton 
 merriment that used to set the table in a roar ? 
 Alas ! alas ! what shall we do for the delightful 
 trifles by which we contrived, while we were 
 upon the earth, to get rid of time, and forget 
 that it was rolling over our heads ? What shall 
 we do for those wild pursuits by which we 
 made ourselves mad for a time, and hunted 
 eternity out of our minds ? What shall we do 
 for conversation ; upon what subjects shall we 
 converse ? And then to go on in this way for 
 ever ! and for ever ! and for ever ! We cannot sit 
 thus dreaming through eternity. If this be 
 Heaven, would to God he had left us still upon 
 our beloved earth ! Wherefore have ye brought 
 us out of Egypt, where we ate and drank and 
 were merry, and have left us here to perish in 
 the wilderness ? Eetter would it have been for 
 us to have still our interchanges of hope and 
 fear, of pleasure and pain, of repose and fatigue, 
 of joy and sorrow, than to endure this dismal 
 serenity, than to say in the morning, " would 
 " to God it were evening;" and in the evening, 
 " would to God it were morning." 
 
 Such is what we shall not find in heaven. 
 But what is it that is there ? What vast fund 
 
344 SERMON VIII. 
 
 of unexampled enjoyments, what crowd of fresh 
 delights ? What is there to interest our affec- 
 tions and to fill our thoughts ? " Even He that 
 " filleth all things ;" the only Being that can 
 satisfy our immortal spirit ; " whom to know is 
 " life eternal," for " this is life eternal, to know 
 " thee, the only true God, and Jesus Christ whom 
 " thou hast sent. 5 ' All the blessings and delights 
 of heaven are described as flowing from him. 
 " In thy presence is fulness of joy, and at thy 
 " right hand are pleasures for evermore." To see 
 his face ; to rejoice in the light of his counte- 
 nance; to awake and behold his glory, are the 
 strongest and loveliest ideas of happiness that 
 even the language of inspiration, and " lips 
 " touched with fire," have been able to convey. 
 " I beseech thee," said the prophet of old, 
 " shew me thy glory." If thy presence go 
 " not up with me, carry me not up out of this 
 " wilderness. I will stay here in the desert 
 " with thee ; for what is the land flowing with 
 " milk and honey without thee?" But the 
 everlasting employment of the blessed spirits 
 is praise, and adorations, and hallelujahs : they 
 are for ever before the throne of God, and serve 
 him day and night in his temple, and they rest 
 not day and night, saying, "Holy! holy! holy!" 
 
SERMON VIII. 345 
 
 Now it may be well to ask ourselves soberly 
 the question how much of our present hap- 
 piness consists in this which we find is to be the 
 happiness of heaven to all eternity ? Really, 
 does it suit our ideas of happiness ? Is it the 
 happiness that we have been enjoying for our 
 past life ? As God liveth ! have we been most 
 happy when he was nearest to us, or farthest 
 from us? Have we most enjoyed ourselves 
 when he was most in our thoughts, or least in 
 our thoughts ? Really, are our greatest plea- 
 sures those with which God has least to do ? 
 and does it appear strange to us that there 
 should be such a luxury in knowing God f Per- 
 haps there are some to whom it conveys a very 
 dead and very cheerless idea. To know God ! 
 to be engaged in celebrating his praises to all 
 eternity ! How long could we endure such a 
 labour upon earth ? Alas ! alas ! how heavy and 
 monotonous would it appear ! and what a release 
 would it be to our spirits to launch again from 
 the austerity of his society into the gay varieties 
 of life ! Then what becomes of your hopes of 
 Heaven? Must it not miserably disappoint 
 you ? What would become of you, a forlorn 
 and bewildered stranger, among the saints that 
 
346 SERMON VIII. 
 
 rest not day and night, saying, Holy ! holy ! holy | 
 What would you do? how would you dispose 
 of yourself after the first glow of adoration had 
 subsided, and the first swell of the anthem had 
 died away upon your ears ? Their joys would 
 be lost to you : for it is no stupid and sense- 
 less worship in which they are engaged ; no 
 idle clamour, or servile adulation. But they 
 " sing with the Spirit, and they sing with the 
 " understanding:" they know wherefore they 
 praise him ; it is because they are becoming 
 more and more acquainted with him who only is 
 inexhaustible. Every other subject of thought 
 would be drained by eternity : but him, bound- 
 less and unfathomable, they learn, and study, 
 and adore for ever and ever ! 
 
 It is no heartless inquiry into abstract 
 science ; no cold and merely intellectual dis- 
 quisition ; but the pure and glorious delight 
 of a celestial spirit observing Infinite Wisdom 
 carrying into effect the designs of Infinite Be- 
 nevolence ; the thrill of admiration that arises 
 from being allowed to contemplate the source 
 from which love and goodness are for ever issu- 
 ing in all directions. 
 
 They see and pursue him in the works of 
 
SERMON VIII. 347 
 
 nature, and are permitted to discover his glory 
 in the heavens, and his handy-work in the fir- 
 mament. They are finding out, by his permis- 
 sion, secret after secret in the vast scheme of 
 the universe ; and are taught how he guides 
 the sun in his course, and ordains her journey 
 for the moon ; for what purpose he made the 
 stars, and how he upholds them aloft, and 
 makes them his servants ; and thousands of 
 mysteries, of which we never dream, are they 
 discovering in his works ; and at every disco- 
 very they fall down and cry " Holy ! holy ! 
 " holy !" 
 
 But more especially do they study him in 
 his work of Grace and Redemption ; (" for 
 " these are things which angels desire to look 
 " into;") they remember that he forsook his 
 throne and left his glory to look for a guilty 
 and outcast world, that had wilfully plunged 
 into darkness; they remember that he took upon 
 him our vile and loathsome nature, bearing our 
 sins and carrying our infirmities ; they re- 
 member that " he was despised and rejected of 
 " men, a man of sorrows, and acquainted with 
 " grief; that he was wounded for our sins, 
 " and bruised for our iniquities," and tasted 
 
348 SERMON VIII. 
 
 the bitterness of death for our sakes : they see 
 him afterwards ascending up on high, and 
 leading captivity captive, and bestowing gifts 
 on man ; and behold him seated at the right 
 hand of the Father, and making intercession 
 for the transgressors ; and all this for beings 
 who had deserted his pleasant pastures who 
 had flung away his rod and his staff, and leaned 
 upon broken reeds ; and (what is most astonish- 
 ing) had actually lost their taste and relish 
 for immortal things ; and yet talk of hoping 
 to go to heaven, without waiting to inquire 
 what heaven is, or what it means. This work 
 of mercy do the blessed inhabitants of heaven 
 study for ever and ever : for it is inexhaustible 
 as the works of creation itself. New beauties 
 and fresh glories are discovered at every view. 
 Effects, which perhaps never occurred to the 
 human imagination, may be developed from 
 time to time; and at every new discovery of 
 love the whole heavenly host brighten with 
 immortal gratitude, and lay down their golden 
 crowns before the throne, saying; " Holy! 
 " holy ! holy !" 
 
 But this devotion to the one great source of 
 happiness only serves to bind them to each 
 
SERMON VIII. 349 
 
 other in ties that are delightful and everlasting : 
 stronger than all the confederacies of sin ; 
 stronger than the affections of parent and child, 
 brother and sister, husband and wife, are the 
 affections of these immortal spirits to each 
 other. 
 
 It is true they all turn their faces towards 
 the throne; but their love and their regards 
 all meet in him who sitteth upon it. Jealousy 
 and envy, malice and revenge, are far away, 
 chained down in the lake that burns for ever. 
 Truth, clear truth, that needs no concealment, 
 shews them each other's hearts ; and there they 
 find Eternal Love written in living characters 
 by the finger of God. 
 
 Delightful beyond all the pleasures of the 
 earth is the sweet counsel that these blessed 
 beings take with each other, and the converse 
 in which they indulge : it always binds them 
 closer than before ; for the subject is still the 
 one good God, the good and great Redeemer, 
 who brought them together and still holds 
 them in eternal union. Is this the heaven you 
 hoped for ? Do you find yourself capable of 
 that happiness in which it consists ? 
 
SERMON IX. 
 
 LUKE, ix. 3. 
 
 And he said to them all: If any man will come after me, 
 let him deny himself, and take up his cross daily, and 
 follow me. 
 
 THESE are fearful words ! It is true, they 
 contain an invitation : it is true, they are writ- 
 ten by the mildest, the gentlest, and the most 
 gracious being that ever moved upon the earth ; 
 who loved us more than we have ever loved 
 each other, or ourselves ; and they invite us to 
 follow him, who leads the way to all that is 
 good, and pure, and holy, and delightful : but 
 they speak of self-denial, and suffering, and 
 mortification. There is not a single human 
 passion to which they condescend to appeal ; 
 not one of our vices, our frailties, or prejudices, 
 or our infirmities, not one even of the kind 
 and generous affections of our nature, which 
 they deign to conciliate or solicit for their 
 support ; for in the same breath it is declared 
 
SERMON IX. 351 
 
 " Whosoever loveth father, or mother, or sister, 
 " or wife, or his own life, more than me or the 
 " gospel, is not worthy of me." 
 
 These are fearful words : they need only be 
 uttered in order to prove how we disobey 
 them. If, instead of reading them in this place 
 and on this day, when our minds have attained 
 something of a serious and a solemn cast from 
 the service in which we have just been engaged, 
 we were to meet them in the course of our 
 daily occupation ; if they were to cross us in 
 the midst of active life, while we were pursuing 
 some of the dearest objects of our desires, 
 they would sound something like the toll of a 
 death-bell in our ears, and lead us to ask our- 
 selves this simple question, Am I now follow- 
 ing my Redeemer, or am I following my own 
 imaginations ? 
 
 And yet there was a time when it was 
 obeyed by thousands and ten thousands : there 
 were men who rejoiced to bear their cross ; to 
 many he had only to say, " Come, follow me," 
 and they followed him : many of them rejoiced 
 that they were counted worthy to suffer shame 
 for his name ; " they were troubled on every 
 " side, yet not distressed ; perplexed, but not 
 
352 SERMON IX. 
 
 " in despair; persecuted, but not destroyed; 
 " always bearing about in the body the dying 
 " of the Lord Jesus " they " gloriied in the 
 " cross of Christ, by which the world was 
 " crucified to them and they to the world." 
 For three hundred years they sustained their 
 faith, and followed the steps of their Redeemer 
 through oppressions, torments, and persecu- 
 tions that exhausted the malice and ingenuity 
 of man ; in which the fury with which their 
 enemies pursued them, and the miseries to 
 which they were exposed for their faith, could 
 only be equalled by the devotion and fortitude 
 with which they were sustained. Patiently 
 and cheerfully did they bear their cross : it 
 was not long since their Redeemer himself had 
 suffered; his footsteps from Jerusalem to 
 Calvary were yet fresh upon the earth ; and it 
 was not forgotten how he said, " The servant 
 " is not greater than his Lord." Those were 
 days of affliction : but when milder times suc- 
 ceeded, and when the violence of persecution 
 had subsided, Christians began to forget that 
 they had still to bear their cross : they began 
 to fancy that there was a different gospel for 
 the persecuted follower of Christ, and him who 
 
SERMON IX. 
 
 is left at ease in his possessions. We must 
 have persuaded ourselves that there is some- 
 thing very different between the gospel of 
 those days of glorious and devoted suffering 
 and the gospel of these later times, when 
 scarce one holy thought or one pure affection 
 of the heart rises to our Redeemer ; when the 
 weight of the cross is hardly felt, and scarcely 
 one guilty passion is overcome, one sinful de- 
 sire repressed for the sake of him who said, 
 " Whoever will come after me, let him deny 
 "himself, and take up his cross daily, and 
 " follow me." 
 
 And yet let us be assured that, however 
 times and seasons may change, the everlasting 
 gospel is still the same. God is always to be 
 worshipped in spirit ; for f( God is a spirit; 
 " and they that worship him must worship 
 " him in spirit and in truth." All the laws of 
 the gospel are therefore spiritual, and are con- 
 sequently unchangeable; for however customs, 
 and manners, and circumstances may alter, 
 however the way in which we are to carry our 
 obedience into effect may be influenced by 
 difference of situation, the fountain in the 
 heart, from which all our actioniare to proceed, 
 
 2 A 
 
354 SERMON IX. 
 
 must be the same, the obedience of the soul 
 of man to his God must be the same. The 
 disposition of the Christian is the same through 
 all eternity: and the same spirit that led the 
 martyrs to the stake is to conduct us through 
 the struggles of sinful nature and the tempta- 
 tions of a guilty world. 
 
 Our Saviour foresaw that in prosperity we 
 should be tempted to forget this, and for that 
 very reason he seems to have added the word 
 " daily" in the passage before us, to remind 
 us that it is not so much by separate acts, and 
 mere outward sufferings, that he expected us 
 to bear our cross, as by the constant disposition 
 of our hearts and the common tenor of our 
 lives : and for the same reason he takes care 
 to explain the expression, " bearing the cross" 
 not so much by enduring persecution, or being 
 willing to give up our lives in his service, as by 
 denying ourselves daily. 
 
 Can we be at a loss to understand this? 
 We have only to compare ourselves with him 
 whom we are to follow, in order to perceive 
 how much we must deny ourselves, and that, 
 every hour of our lives, we have to cast down 
 imaginations and high things that exalt them- 
 
SERMON IX. 355 
 
 selves against the knowledge of Christ: I do 
 not even say, look at your wilful and deliberate 
 sins: stop in the midst of any earthly pur- 
 suit in which you are engaged, look into 
 your heart, see what passions, what dis- 
 positions are there. Then look at the blessed 
 Jesus, look at his purity, look at his devo- 
 tion, whose meat and drink it was to do the 
 will of his Father which is in heaven, his 
 exalted love to God, his universal love for 
 every human being, for friend and for enemy, 
 a love which nailed him to the cross, from 
 which he dropped the prayer, " Father, forgive 
 " them, for they know not what they do ;" and 
 then shall we understand what it is to deny 
 ourselves daily, daily to bear our cross, though 
 we had never any other enemy to persecute us 
 but the sin within our own hearts. One mo- 
 ment's comparison between ourselves and him 
 whom we are here commanded to follow, 
 will shew us that we must crucify the guilty 
 nature within us, that we must bring every 
 guilty passion into subjection to a higher prin- 
 ciple, that we must teach our earthly affec- 
 tions, even the most innocent, to move like 
 
 2 A 2 
 
356 SERMON IX. 
 
 slaves only at the permission of the spirit of 
 holiness residing within us. 
 
 Therefore let us beware of the fatal excuses 
 which we hear every day of our lives : " If we 
 " act up to the nature that God has given us, 
 " shall we not do well? God cannot have given 
 " us these passions without intending that they 
 " should be gratified. Why do you therefore 
 " tell us that they are to be daily mortified 
 " and overcome, and only indulged under the 
 " government of such a holy feeling, that, even 
 " then they are only half enjoyed ?" The plain 
 and decisive answer is this, it is not the nature 
 which God has given you. Alas ! supposing, for 
 an instant, that this corrupt and sinful nature 
 is that which God originally gave, what will 
 it teach us? Ask the labourer, who denies him- 
 self the repose which famished and exhausted 
 nature seems eagerly and almost irresistibly to 
 demand, and who struggles through the burn- 
 ing day of unremitting fatigue, why he defrauds 
 nature of every moment of rest and recreation 
 which he can wring from her ; and he will tell 
 you, that self-denial is the common lot of man; 
 that when the earth was given for sustenance 
 
SERMON IX. 357 
 
 to man, God said, " In the sweat of thy face 
 " shalt thou eat bread all the days of thy life." 
 Now what human nature can do, shall it not 
 do for its God? If we find ourselves in the 
 company of another, even of our dearest and 
 most confidential friend, there is a degree of 
 self-denial and restraint under which we lay 
 our behaviour a restraint which we shew in 
 his presence: now the respect which we feel, 
 and the restraint to which we subject ourselves 
 in the presence of a human being, shall we not 
 shew in the presence of " the God who is of 
 " purer eyes than to behold iniquity," who 
 watches every thought of our souls, and who 
 counts the beatings of our hearts ? 
 
 At different periods of our lives we break 
 the kindest and dearest ties by which nature 
 can bind us to a fellow -creature : we leave 
 friends, and home, and all the associations of 
 infancy and youth, for the purpose of bettering 
 our fortunes ; and enter into new society as if 
 into a new world, and undergo as it were a 
 second birth into new scenes : sometimes tra- 
 verse the globe in search of gain, or in the hope 
 of a brief establishment in life before we die ; 
 and what we can do for these miserable objects, 
 
358 SEKMON IX. 
 
 shall we not do for God and for salvation ? 
 Shall we be surprised when we hear him say, 
 " Whoso loveth father or mother, or sister or 
 " wife, yea, or his own life, more than me, is 
 " not worthy of me." 
 
 Our exertions for immortal happiness, and 
 the self-denial necessary to accomplish it, should 
 in fact be as much greater than that we now are 
 willing to exercise, as immortality exceeds the 
 objects which we now pursue. Alas ! we shall 
 have to deny ourselves daily as long as our 
 nature is such as it is. This is not the nature 
 which God gave us. The nature which God 
 gave us was holy, pure, and an image of him- 
 self ; the nature under which we now labour is 
 sensual, corrupt, and so far from meriting the 
 blessings of another world, that it has lost even 
 a relish for its enjoyments. Our affections are 
 all earthly : we have no love to spare to our 
 God ; for to love the God of holiness we must 
 become holy, as he is holy. It is therefore that 
 we are commanded to deny our nature daily. It 
 would sound strange if an angel were com- 
 manded to deny himself daily. Deny what? 
 His .pleasure consists in the everlasting con- 
 sciousness that he is in the presence of God, 
 
SERMON IX. 359 
 
 at whose right hand there are pleasures for 
 " evermore." His pleasure consists in explor- 
 ing and admiring the perfections of God his 
 power, his wisdom, his unfathomable goodness ; 
 in holding humble communion with his Creator, 
 and paying him devoted and everlasting adora- 
 tion. Would it not sound strange if he was 
 commanded to deny himself these ? But look 
 to man ! Alas ! the difference between his 
 pleasures and those we have been describing 
 will make us feel in our hearts the necessity of 
 " denying ourselves," and will shew us the full 
 meaning of the precept. With which of all 
 among us exists that feeling of love to God, and 
 of delight in his presence, which is all in all 
 with the angel ? With which of us is it the 
 natural feeling of the heart ? And yet it should 
 be the predominant principle, or it is nothing. 
 It would seem absurd to state that God should 
 be any thing but the first and ruling object of 
 our affections, that he should be subordinate 
 to any other. Accordingly we find that the 
 most tremendous denunciations are registered 
 against those " who forget God :" and as that 
 love of God, that delight in his presence, 
 that worship of his perfections, which the angel 
 
360 SERMON IX. 
 
 enjoys, is not the natural or governing feeling 
 and sentiment of our souls, how fatally would 
 this difference shew us (even if Scripture were 
 Silent upon the subject in every other passage 
 but that before us) the justice and necessity of 
 that precept, that " we must deny ourselves ;" 
 that we must contradict our nature, and make 
 it move in daily and perpetual subordination to 
 a grander principle 1 . 
 
 fiut, alas ! when we look behind, when we 1 
 look before, what consolation is there from the 
 past, what hope is there from the future ? From 
 the past it is that we have now ascertained our 
 dahger ; and a moment's communion with our 
 hearts will shew us how helpless of themselves, 
 how ineffectual and insufficient they are, with- 
 out some new vital energy to assist their weak 
 endeavours, to work out the great spiritual 
 change, without which heaven and its happi- 
 ness cannot be comprehended, much less at- 
 tained. But the Redeemer says, " Take up 
 " your cross and follow me." Here is indeed 
 consolation and pardon for the past \ hope and 
 immortality for the future. As the ruins of that 
 pure nature which God had endowed us with, 
 and the express declaration and entire tenor of 
 
SERMON IX. 361 
 
 Scripture, prove that a great change has taken 
 place in the human race a moral corruption, that 
 has broken the image which God has made for 
 himself, and has given a shock to a part of his 
 creation which he once pronounced to be " very 
 " good ;" it appears absolutely necessary that 
 some great change, some moral convulsion, 
 some shock equal to the first, should take place 
 in order to restore the derangement that was 
 thus produced. God himself descended to 
 bring his own work back to its purity. By the 
 suffering on that cross he did what we could 
 never have done for ourselves : he made atone- 
 ment for our guilty desertion of God ; he be- 
 came a full, perfect^ and sufficient sacrifice for 
 the sins of our degenerate species ; and, through 
 that suffering and the merits of his blood, he 
 procured for us an assisting Spirit, that is to 
 keep pace with the weak exertions of our hearts, 
 and help to overcome within us the dominion 
 of sins, from the punishment of which we shall 
 thus be acquitted through his mediation. 
 
 Of this great salvation the leading condition 
 is, Faith in that Redeemer, a full reliance 
 upon him and his merits, which only can pro- 
 cure us pardon and immortality : and nothing 
 
362 SERMON IX. 
 
 can teach us to understand the nature of that 
 faith, by which only we are saved, better than 
 the very passage before us : " Take up your 
 " cross and follow me." It makes Christ, and 
 Christ alone, the object that we are to keep 
 constantly, unremittingly in view, as all we 
 can depend upon for hope, and blessing, and 
 salvation ; but it shews that in order to this we 
 must follow him, we must tread in his steps, 
 we must imitate his example. In fact, faith 
 (that word upon which so many stumble) in- 
 cludes in its signification what we all perfectly 
 well understand by a word very like it, fidelity ; 
 the fidelity of a servant to his master, of a 
 disciple to his teacher. We look to him for 
 every thing ; for hope, for example, and for 
 strength. For hope to his atonement, through 
 which only we must look for every spiritual 
 blessing which our Heavenly Father bestows ; 
 for example to his life of purity, and holiness, 
 and charity ; for strength to his Holy Spirit, 
 without which our feeble struggles against the 
 guilty nature within us would be all useless 
 and unavailing. 
 
 Thus the text before us shews us, as it were, 
 in a beautiful picture, the connexion between 
 
SERMON IX. 363 
 
 faith and its practical effects upon our lives 
 and our feelings. It represents us following 
 Christ humbly, yet indefatigably, under the 
 burden of the cross ; keeping him in view as the 
 only ground of our hope and our reliance ; and, 
 in order to keep in sight, we must toil on in our 
 journey, bearing the cross, treading the path he 
 has gone before us. The moment we cease to 
 tread in his footsteps, the moment we halt in 
 the way in which he has preceded, he has got 
 out of sight, and our faith and practice fail at 
 the same instant. 
 
SERMON X. 
 
 MATTHEW, xi. 30. 
 My yoke is easy, and my burden is light. 
 
 IT is almost always by comparison that we 
 judge of the ease or the hardship of our situa- 
 tiorh You will generally find, that any man 
 who complains of the severity of his lot, com- 
 pares it either with some happier state that he 
 had himself formerly enjoyed, or with the more 
 prosperous circumstances of those by whom he 
 is surrounded ; at least you would think him 
 entitled to very little pity, if he continued to 
 murmur arid repine when his situation was nei- 
 ther worse than what it was before, nor worse 
 than that of most of his neighbours* 
 
 If you should attempt to reconcile him to 
 his situation, what would be the most natural 
 method of proceeding ? By comparison : by 
 showing him how much worse it might have 
 been. Now this is the best way of estimating 
 the ease of the Christian yoke, and of weighing 
 
SERMON X. 365 
 
 the burden that our Redeemer lays upon our 
 shoulders ; and thus shall we soon discover how 
 gracious are those commandments which we 
 think it hard to fulfil ; how indulgent are those 
 laws which we often neglect and despise : then, 
 when we have compared them with other yokes 
 and other burdens, shall we learn how easy is 
 that yoke to which we often refuse to submit ; 
 how light that burden which we often fling 
 with impatience to the ground. 
 
 Let us first look abroad for matter of com- 
 parison. The greater part of the world have 
 never yet been visited by the Gospel of Christ; 
 have never yet heard the message of love and 
 salvation. Now it may be curious to observe 
 what are the religious yokes and burdens which 
 these people have imposed upon themselves ; 
 that is, in other words, what are the religious 
 duties by which they hope to become objects 
 of the Divine favour, and partakers of the bless- 
 ings he bestows, to turn away his anger, to 
 purchase his favour, to escape his vengeance, 
 and conciliate his mercy. Perhaps it would 
 be impossible to invent a new kind of bodily 
 torture which many among these wretched 
 people have not willingly undergone for these 
 
366 SERMON X. 
 
 objects. All those who are anxious to render 
 themselves acceptable in the sight of God 
 actually devote themselves to misery, and go 
 in search of some new kind of suffering, by 
 which they think they can become more worthy 
 of his approbation. It would be a kind of 
 punishment to us even to hear some of them 
 described. Death, in its ordinary shape, ap- 
 pears much too easy, and would be a relief to 
 their sufferings ; but they contrive to lengthen 
 out its agonies, so that many of them are dying 
 for half their lives in lingering torments, in 
 which they conceive the Supreme Being takes 
 peculiar delight. Sometimes these miserable 
 men offer their children, their relations, or their 
 friends, as a sacrifice to appease his fury ; and 
 at other times they fly from the company of 
 men, and all the comforts of society, to devote 
 themselves to the service of the Almighty in 
 caverns and wildernesses. Now observe, this 
 arises from no command of God, no revelation 
 from Heaven ; it is the sentence of man upon 
 himself the yoke and the burden that he has 
 laid upon his own shoulders. 
 
 Suppose God had said to us " Wear the 
 " yoke which you find your fellow-creatures 
 
SERMON X. 367 
 
 " have voluntarily chosen. I will allow you to 
 " attain eternal life through these sufferings. 
 " Go, be your own torturer, bring your 
 " children to my altar, and honour me with 
 " their blood; and banish yourself from the 
 " company of your fellow-creatures for ever, 
 " and you shall be an inheritor of my kingdom ;" 
 which of us could complain ? Measure these 
 sufferings and miseries, great as they are, with 
 life everlasting with the glories of God's pre- 
 sence, and the unseen riches of a future world, 
 and you would say, Lord, here I give thee my 
 body, which thou requirest to be burnt 
 here it is, ready for the agony ; and here are 
 the children whose blood thou requirest of my 
 hands, and here am I, prepared to fly from the 
 fellowship of my brothers, and hide my head 
 in the woods and the wilds from the sight of 
 human kind, yet still I feel it is only through 
 the voluntary bounty of thy goodness and thy 
 mercy, that even all this can be made to avail, 
 and it will still be the effect of thy loving kind- 
 ness if even thus I become an inheritor of thy 
 kingdom. 
 
 Such then is the yoke and the burden of 
 
368 SERMON X. 
 
 our neighbours, and such is what our yoke and 
 our burden might have been. 
 
 It is now time to look to what it is. Where 
 now are our stripes, our agonies, the writh- 
 ings of our body, and the woun dings of our 
 flesh? where is the lingering death which we 
 are to endure, and the visitation of the wrath 
 of God upon our souls ? " He was wounded 
 " for our transgressions : the chastisement of 
 " our peace was laid on him." There was a 
 beloved Son, whose blood was shed for our 
 sakes ; but the lamb was not taken from our 
 flock, nor the child from our bosom : there 
 was one who left his home on high for this 
 wilderness beneath, and has left us in our 
 cheerful homes, and our peaceful habitations : 
 his yoke was indeed severe, and his burden 
 was heavy, for it was our toil that he endured, 
 and our burden that he bore. " Surely, he 
 " hath borne our griefs, and carried our sor- 
 " rows !" and he has borne and carried them 
 away. 
 
 There is not a single pain of body or mind 
 that we are called upon to endure because it is 
 pain, or for the sake of the suffering itself. 
 
SERMON X. 369 
 
 There is indeed self-denial and mortification. 
 But it seems to be a law that cannot be broken 
 that where there is sin there must be pain ; 
 as long as there is sin alive within, there will 
 still be the struggle and the battle. But, even 
 here, he is still with us ; for, " I am with you, 
 u even to the end of the world ;" and his holy 
 and powerful Spirit is ever ready to sustain us. 
 Now look at the imaginary god of the In- 
 dians, watching with a kind of savage delight 
 the agonies of his votaries ; and then look at 
 your Redeemer, bearing away all the sufferings 
 to which you were devoted, and assisting you 
 in the conflict that you have yet to undergo ! 
 He was verily and indeed crucified for our 
 sakes, and his body nailed to the tree ; but 
 when he turns to us, he lays the cross gently 
 upon our shoulders, and when he commands us 
 to be crucified with him, he asks for no tor- 
 ments, no blood, but that we should " Render 
 " our bodies a living sacrifice, holy and accept- 
 " able, which is our reasonable service ;" that 
 we should offer them as temples for his Holy 
 Spirit, that we may glorify him in our body 
 and in our spirit. He left the bosom of his 
 Father to become your atonement ; but when 
 
370 SERMON X. 
 
 he speaks to you, he tells you to live still in the 
 midst of your family, to tell them how good 
 the Lord is, to teach them his judgments and 
 his statutes, to shew them the path of life, and 
 to lead the way, to educate a family for heaven, 
 that your " Sons may be as the young plants 
 " about the house of your God, and your 
 " daughters as the polished corners of the 
 " temple." The earth was to him a desert 
 and a wilderness ; he was a stranger and a pil- 
 grim, " that had not where to lay his head :" 
 but when he speaks to you, so far from com- 
 manding you to desert your common brethren 
 and fellow-creatures, he has united you to them 
 by a bond as strong as that which holds the 
 world together ; for he has said, " As I have 
 " loved you, so love one another ; and, by this 
 " shall all men know that ye are my disciples." 
 To perpetuate this divine benevolence, he has 
 ordained that the day which he has chosen for 
 himself should be a day of common assembling 
 among those that love him, that they may shew 
 how they love one another. He has pronounced 
 a blessing upon Christian fellowship, " Where 
 " two or three are gathered together, I am in 
 4< the midst of them ;" and the sacrament 
 
SERMON X. 371 
 
 that he left as a memorial of himself, he left, at 
 the same time, as a memorial of Christian bro- 
 therhood and affection. 
 
 Such is our yoke and our burden ! Let him, 
 who has thought it too hard and too heavy to 
 bear, be prepared to state it boldly when he 
 shall appear side by side with the poor and 
 mistaken Indian before the throne of God at 
 the day of judgment. The poor heathen may 
 come forward with his wounded limbs and 
 weltering body, saying, * I thought thee an 
 ' austere master, delighting in the miseries of 
 ' thy creatures, and I have accordingly brought 
 6 thee the torn remnants of a body which I 
 6 have tortured in thy service.' And the 
 Christian will come forward and say, *. I 
 ' knew that thou didst die to save me from 
 ' such sufferings and torments, and that thou 
 ' only commandedst me to keep my body in 
 ' temperance, soberness, and chastity, and I 
 
 * thought it too hard for me ; and I have ac- 
 ' cordingly brought thee the refuse and sweep- 
 6 ings of a body that has been corrupted and 
 ' brutalised in the service of profligacy and 
 ' drunkenness, even the body which thou 
 
 * didst declare should be the temple of thy 
 ' Holy Spirit/ The poor Indian will, per- 
 
 2 B 2 
 
372 SERMON X. 
 
 haps, shew his hands, reeking with the blood of 
 his children, saying, ' I thought this was the 
 ' sacrifice with which God was well pleased :' 
 and you, the Christian, will come forward with 
 blood upon thy hands also, ' I knew that thou 
 ' gavest thy Son for my sacrifice, and com- 
 ' mandedst me to lead my offspring in the way 
 
 * of everlasting life ;' but the command ' was 
 
 * too hard for me, to teach them thy statutes 
 ' and to set them my humble example : I have 
 ' let them go the broad way to destruction, 
 ' and their blood is upon my hand and my 
 
 * heart and my head.' The Indian will come 
 forward, and say, * Behold, I am come from 
 
 * the wood, the desert, and the wilderness, 
 
 * where I fled from the cheerful society of my 
 ' fellow-mortals because I thought it was 
 ' pleasing in thy sight.' And the Christian 
 will come forward, and say, * Behold, I come 
 ( from my comfortable home and the commu- 
 
 * nion of my brethren, which thou hast gra- 
 ' ciously permitted me to enjoy ; but I thought 
 
 * it too hard to give them a share of those bless- 
 ' ings which thou hast bestowed upon me ; I 
 6 thought it too hard to give them a portion of 
 ' my time, my trouble, my fortune, or my in- 
 6 terest; I thought it too hard to keep my tongue 
 
SERMON X. 373 
 
 ( from cursing and reviling, my heart from ha- 
 ' tred, and my hand from violence and revenge.' 
 What will be the answer of the Judge to the 
 poor Indian none can presume to say. That 
 he was sadly mistaken in the means of salva- 
 tion, and that what he had done could never 
 purchase him everlasting life, is beyond a 
 doubt; but yet, the Judge may say, " Come 
 " unto me, thou heavy-laden, and I will give 
 " thee the rest which thou couldst not pur- 
 " chase for thyself." But, to the Christian, 
 " Thou, who hadst my easy yoke, and my 
 " light burden ; thou, for whom all was already 
 
 " purchased." Thank God ! it is not yet 
 
 pronounced : begone ! and fly for thy life ! 
 
 We have now compared the Christian yoke 
 with that of others, we have looked abroad 
 for comparison. We have next to look at 
 home, and compare it with those yokes which 
 the Christian yoke displaces, those yokes 
 which are flung off when this is assumed. 
 
 There is the yoke .of pride : and who has 
 not felt its weight ? There is scarcely a day of 
 our lives in which our pride is not hurt. Some- 
 times we meet with direct affront ; at other 
 times, we do not think we are treated with the 
 
374 SERMON X. 
 
 respect we deserve ; at other times, we find 
 that people do not entertain the opinion of us 
 which we would wish them to hold ; but, 
 above all, how often do we find ourselves 
 lowered in our own opinion ; and then the 
 yoke of pride becomes more uneasy by our 
 endeavours to regain our own good opinion, 
 and to hide the real state of the case from our 
 conscience. 
 
 But the Christian's yoke is humility; its 
 very nature depends upon humility : for no one 
 has submitted to the service of Christ, or be- 
 come his disciple, until fully sensible of his own 
 unworthiness, and, consequently, of his want 
 of the merits of a Redeemer. Thus has the 
 Christian become acquainted with the plague 
 of his own heart, his sin has been often be- 
 fore him ; and, however deeply he may lament 
 its guilt, he has lost that blind and haughty 
 self-sufficiency that makes him uneasy at the 
 neglect of others, or afraid to stand the scru- 
 tiny of self-examination. 
 
 There is the yoke of debauchery and sensu- 
 ality : that galling yoke, which even those who 
 wear it cannot bear to think upon ; and, there- 
 fore, they still continue to plunge into drunken- 
 ness and profligacy lest they should have time 
 
SERMON X. 375 
 
 to think on their lost and disgraceful situation. 
 Those miserable men, when the carousal and 
 the debauch are over, then begin to feel the 
 weight and the wretchedness of the yoke that 
 they are bearing. They then feel what it is 
 to load their bodies with pain and disease, and 
 their everlasting souls with every foul and sin- 
 ful thought ; to have brutalised their nature, 
 or to have sunk it, by intoxication, into a state 
 of which brutes seem incapable ; and they then 
 feel the weight of their yoke, when this in- 
 dulgence has put them into such a state of 
 madness and insensibility that they may com- 
 mit a crime which will be the yoke and the 
 burden of their consciences for the rest of their 
 lives. Is it necessary to compare the Christian 
 yoke with this ? We will not disgrace it by 
 naming it in the same breath. 
 
 Then there is the yoke of covetousness : 
 and who does not know all the cares, all the 
 watchings, all the restless days and sleepless 
 nights, and, after all, the endless disappoint- 
 ments that the most prosperous and successful 
 will have to encounter through life ? And then 
 the fearful anticipation of that day, when a 
 man shall find that all these things are as if 
 they had never been ! 
 
376 SERMON X. 
 
 The Christian, indeed, has his fears and his 
 
 tremblings, his watchings and his prayers; 
 
 and he has to bear his burden through the 
 
 strait gate along a narrow way. But richer 
 
 than all that misers ever dreamed of, or fancied, 
 
 is the treasure over which he watches ; and 
 
 its attainment is as much more certain, as 
 
 its value is more lasting and more glorious : 
 
 " Seek, and ye shall find," sounds sweetly in 
 
 his memory, and hope already represents the 
 
 heaven to which he is approaching ; and the 
 
 love of Christ, and the power of his Spirit, and 
 
 the conviction that the Lord is on his side, and 
 
 that " He is able to keep that which is com- 
 
 " mitted to him," will make his cares and his 
 
 watchings more delightful than the rich man's 
 
 repose. 
 
 O ye sinners ! who have set your hearts 
 upon the world and its vanities, and who say 
 that the Lord is a hard task-master ; and who 
 think that the spiritual delights of his service, 
 even upon this miserable earth, are all vain 
 imaginations, if you do not believe that the 
 Lord will fulfil his promise upon earth, do you 
 mean to say that you believe he will fulfil his 
 promises in heaven ? Do you pretend that you 
 
SERMON X. 377 
 
 trust in Christ for acceptance in another world 
 when you doubt his good promise in this ? Do 
 you mean to say, that you believe that he is 
 able and willing to raise your vile body at the 
 last day, and that he is not able and willing to 
 support you under any spiritual sacrifice that 
 you may make for his sake that he is not able 
 to change and purify your old heart ? Do you 
 really believe the one without the other ? 
 
 But the grand difference between the Chris- 
 tian and the man of the world is, that the bur- 
 den of the one is gathering as he proceeds, 
 while that of the other is becoming lighter and 
 more easy : the man of carnal mind and worldly 
 affections clings more and more to his beloved 
 earth, and new cares thicken around his death- 
 bed ; his burden is collecting as he advances, 
 and when he comes to the edge of the grave it 
 bears him down to the bottom like a mill-stone. 
 But the Blessed Spirit, by gradually elevating 
 the Christian's tempers and desires, makes obe- 
 dience become more easy and delightful, until 
 he mounts into the presence of God, where he 
 finds it " a service of perfect freedom." 
 
SERMON XL* 
 
 Preached at St. WerburgKs Church, for the Parochial 
 School of St. Audeon, %lth June, 1818. 
 
 ROMANS, v. (part of the 12th Verse.) 
 By one man sin entered into the world. 
 
 IT is a gloomy thought, that we were once 
 better than we are : many a generous spirit has 
 had life embittered by such a recollection ; and 
 a similar feeling is naturally excited when we 
 consider that we are degraded beings in the 
 scale of creation, and that we have lost the 
 attitude which we were intended to maintain 
 among the works of God. 
 
 It is indeed easily said, with a sigh, that 
 we are fallen beings, and it is easily forgotten 
 
 * This was one of the author's earliest sermons : it has been 
 transcribed for the press from several detached fragments of 
 paper, and it is supposed that parts of it have been lost, which 
 accounts for some apparent incoherency in the plan. How- 
 ever, imperfect as it is, it may not appear unworthy of a place 
 in this Collection, as a specimen of the author's first addresses 
 from the pulpit. EDITOR. 
 
SERMON XI. 379 
 
 again. But when this humiliating truth has 
 once taken possession of the mind ; when it 
 ceases to be a mere verbal admission, and be- 
 comes a living and habitual principle, it is sur- 
 prising what a powerful ascendancy, and what 
 a purifying influence it exercises over the heart 
 and the faculties ; how it quenches the fiery 
 and restless spirit within us ; how it subdues 
 much of what is bold and daring in the dispo- 
 sition ; how it hangs like a dead weight upon 
 many a haughty and aspiring thought; how 
 it crushes many a proud and ambitious pur- 
 pose in the dust! and it is well that it should 
 be so. It is no great proof of courage to carry 
 a higher spirit in the sight of God while we 
 are moving through life, than we expect to 
 sustain when we are stretched faint and pow- 
 erless upon our death-beds ; or to tread with a 
 firmer step and a loftier port upon the face of 
 the earth, than when we are advancing to the 
 throne of God at the day of judgment. 
 
 But if a sense of our degeneracy represses 
 all the proud and rebellious principles of our 
 nature, it is calculated to draw forth in a pecu- 
 liar manner all that is humble, and kind, and 
 amiable, and affectionate ; it teaches us to 
 look upon others with a pity inspired by our 
 
380 SERMON XI. 
 
 own experience ; it calls upon us loudly to 
 make common cause against the misfortunes of 
 our common situation ; for it is a grand prin- 
 ciple insinuated into our nature by the Deity, 
 that we are more intimately linked together by 
 a sense of common danger than by a state of 
 common security. Humility is the true source 
 of Christian benevolence ; humility, that reads 
 its own lot in that of a fellow-creature, that 
 reminds us " that all have sinned," and that 
 therefore we are all strangers and pilgrims on 
 the earth. It does not, like the benevolence of 
 the world, seat you upon an eminence, from 
 which, like some superior being, you may fling 
 a scanty and occasional pittance to the wretches 
 whom you see struggling beneath ; but it places 
 you with them, side by side, toiling onward the 
 same way, only better furnished for the jour- 
 ney, and called on by the voice of God and all 
 the charities of the human heart to reach forth 
 your hand to your weaker and more helpless 
 fellow-travellers. 
 
 The fall of man, and the consequent deterio- 
 ration of our nature, has been ridiculed by many 
 of the enemies of Christianity as fabulous and 
 unphilosophical ; but it should be recollected, 
 that we cannot indulge a single hope of ever 
 
SERMON XI. 
 
 rising to a higher state of being, without ad- 
 mitting an equal probability, in the nature of 
 things, that we have fallen from it : we must 
 give up our hopes of a more spiritualised and 
 glorious existence, and condemn the human 
 race to utter annihilation, upon the same prin- 
 ciple on which we deny the possibility of our 
 corruption and degeneracy : and if we atten- 
 tively observe the features of the nature to 
 which we belong, we shall perceive a struggle 
 between different principles, and a discordance 
 of feeling in the same person at different pe- 
 riods, that we often unconsciously regard as the 
 conflict of two contending natures. 
 
 We have, indeed, but a slight account of 
 the state from which we fell : perhaps it would 
 have been useless to have described it more 
 circumstantially we might not be capable of 
 understanding it. The prophet seems to have 
 exhausted description when he tells us, that 
 we were " made in the image of God ; so that, 
 if we wish to ascertain what we were, it would 
 seem we must look to the Deity himself. This 
 would be a bold task, even though we under- 
 took it for the purpose of humbling ourselves 
 to the dust. But there is one circumstance re- 
 
382 SKRMON XI. 
 
 lated which helps us to understand in what 
 consists our humiliation : when Adam had 
 sinned, he shrunk from the voice of God. The 
 presence of that gracious Being, who was iden- 
 tified with every blessing that he enjoyed, was 
 before gratefully and gladly encountered : the 
 thought of God was above him, and enveloped 
 him, and he could throw his heart open, fear- 
 lessly, before him, and shew him his own 
 image. But now, how many of the thoughts 
 of our heart would be put to flight by one 
 glance of God into our souls ! how many of our 
 pleasures would vanish before the idea of his 
 presence ! We know too well what an enemy 
 to many of our favourable pursuits is the God 
 " who is of purer eyes than to behold iniquity ;" 
 and when we hear his voice, we attempt to 
 shut ourselves from his view by excluding him 
 from our thoughts, as if, under the shelter of 
 such a subterfuge as this, we could elude either 
 his scrutiny or his vengeance ; and if nothing 
 occurred to seize our attention by surprise, o ; 
 force our minds upon the consideration, per- 
 haps the first thing that would awaken us to a 
 just sense of our situation would be the sound 
 of the last trumpet ! 
 
SERMON XI. 383 
 
 But sometimes we have strange misgivings. 
 In the depth of the night, when we are left to 
 darkness, to silence, and ourselves, the utter 
 stillness, and the blank void that surround us 
 sometimes bring a powerful sense of God's 
 presence along with them, and the more we 
 attempt to escape it, the more palpably it seems 
 to gather around us in the obscurity. Some 
 way or other, man can never be totally alone ; 
 the very absence of every other being, and of 
 every other object of sense or thought, appears 
 almost necessarily and irresistibly to suggest 
 the presence of God. Then, when we seem to 
 feel ourselves, as it were, under the immediate 
 pressure of the Almighty, the thought will oc- 
 cur, ' Was he not equally present this day and 
 ' every moment of my life ? and yet how little 
 ' have I been influenced in my heart, conver- 
 * sation, and conduct, by the sense that his eye 
 ' was everlastingly open upon me, as it is at 
 ' this instant !' 
 
 In the fire and vigour of active life, man 
 devotes all his energies, faculties, and exertions 
 to the attainment of some favourite object, and 
 pursues it, as if it were immortality itself, with 
 a fond and desperate idolatry. The fatal remark, 
 
384 SERMON XI. 
 
 that all he seeks is " vanity," intrudes into his 
 conversation, or suggests itself in his schemes. 
 He gives it the usual tribute that is paid to 
 most moral truths a sign of acknowledgment, 
 then hurries on, snatching his joys, and strug- 
 gling through his difficulties, until a blow is 
 struck ! His hope, upon which he built his 
 happiness, is shivered; he stands aghast, like 
 one startled from a dream, and the common and 
 monotonous truth, that all he seeks is " vanity," 
 comes upon him, like something strange and 
 oracular, with a painful and bewildering no- 
 velty, arising from the consciousness that it 
 had long been sounding in his mind and 
 echoing in his fancy, but had never before 
 reverberated to his heart. Then, at length, 
 when he has no other object to which he can 
 turn either for pursuit or relief, for activity or 
 repose, he thinks of turning himself to his God ; 
 and the thought will occur, * If I had served 
 ' my God as I have pursued this earthly object, 
 ' he would not have deserted me :' the thought 
 will occur, ' If God had offered me immortal 
 ' happiness, such as eye hath not seen, nor ear 
 ' heard, neither hath it entered into the heart 
 ' of man to conceive, merely if it were then the 
 
SERMON XI. 385 
 
 6 first object of my desires, to me it had been 
 ' lost ! My affections never ascended into hea- 
 6 ven, they went wandering to and fro upon 
 * the earth, seeking rest and finding none.' 
 We then learn the nature of sin, we learn that 
 we have forsaken God, and that we have not 
 only lost immortality, but even a relish for its 
 enjoyments. 
 
 The very pleasures we are capable of enjoy- 
 ing exhibit something ruinous in their nature. 
 In the course of our lives we find that evil is not 
 only perpetually interchanging with good, but 
 that it is actually necessary to its very exist- 
 ence. If we attentively observe our pleasures, 
 we shall find that many of them partake of its 
 nature ; and if it is often an interruption to our 
 enjoyments, it is still oftener, perhaps always, 
 either their chief cause, or one of their necessary 
 ingredients. Our passion for variety is an evi- 
 dent proof of this : we are so far from having a 
 lively idea of smooth and uninterrupted happi- 
 ness, that the most luxuriant description soon 
 becomes languid and uninteresting : while the 
 mournful, the terrible, the abrupt, possess a 
 strange and mysterious attraction, which seldom 
 loses its influence over our minds. Our greatest 
 
386 SERMON XI. 
 
 pleasures are often only escapes from pain ; 
 often grow in proportion to it, are often height- 
 ened by contrast ; and many can reflect with 
 pleasure upon the bitterest grief, in recollecting 
 the sweetness of the consolation by which it 
 was followed. Such is the incomprehensible 
 nature to which we belong ! We are perpetu- 
 ally flying from evil, and meeting it at every 
 turn in the shape of good ; pursuing good, and 
 finding it evil in disguise ; talking of happi- 
 ness, without well knowing what it means. 
 
 In such a state as this, when we knew not 
 whither we were tending, and while no light 
 was thrown across the grave into another world, 
 it is natural to suppose that we felt compara- 
 tively little in each other's fate. Yet even in a 
 more hopeless state than this, does our great 
 poet represent the fallen angels consoling each 
 other in their melancholy destiny, for whom no 
 gospel ever sounded, and no Saviour ever bled, 
 to cheer them into exertion, and to consecrate 
 their communion. But to us has he come : 
 and if he had never said, " As I have loved you, 
 " so love one another ;" if he had never said, 
 " What you give unto these little ones is given 
 " unto me ;" would not the sense of your com- 
 
SERMON XI. 387 
 
 mon fall animate you to assist them to a com- 
 mon renovation ? 
 
 And let it not be forgotten, that the charity 
 of a Christian and of a man of the world are far 
 asunder. The charity of the man of the world 
 is bestowed as the gift of some superior being 
 to a creature of a lower order ; the charity of 
 the Christian is the self-devotion of Paul for 
 
 his brethren of the same great family. 
 
 # # * * 
 
 Perhaps we were destined to have risen into 
 the rank of angels ; perhaps we were destined 
 to have become ministering spirits to such 
 being as ourselves. 
 
 And if there were then any guilty world which 
 had rebelled against its Creator, and which he 
 had flung from him, in his wrath, among the 
 refuse of creation ; and if it contained sin, and 
 misery, and death, robberies, murders, adulte- 
 ries ; if its inhabitants had forgotten their God, 
 as if he had never existed, and ri vetted their af- 
 fections upon the few perishable blessings that 
 were not yet taken away ; if, at the same time, 
 there still remained some fragments of a grander 
 nature, some scanty gleams of a brighter in- 
 tellect, some faint and transitory glo wings of 
 2 c 2 
 
388 SERMON XI. 
 
 purer and holier affections, some few traits of 
 resemblance to that happy nature which we 
 enjoyed ; it might have been one of our permit- 
 ted occupations to visit, at certain intervals, this 
 ruined people. Then might we have enjoyed 
 that light and easy charity which we must not 
 now dare to arrogate to ourselves, the con- 
 descending benevolence of superior beings to 
 their fallen and degraded inferiors. If, while we 
 were wandering through the universe and ex- 
 ploring the infinity of God, the sound of sor- 
 row and despair were to reach us from some dis- 
 tant and passing world, we might turn aside, for 
 a moment, out of our course, and drop the con- 
 solation, without looking into the misery that 
 we relieved. We might make our visits as we 
 pleased, and ease a grief or share a joy, as either 
 wa^s presented to our view ; and if their Creator 
 again looked graciously upon that abandoned 
 race, and sent a Saviour to bring them back 
 within reach of his goodness, we might come 
 down softly upon the shepherds of that people, 
 as they were keeping watch over their flocks by 
 night, with good tidings of great joy, or bear 
 the spirits of the redeemed from a world of 
 restlessness into their everlasting repose. But 
 
SERMON XI. 389 
 
 this is not the charity for such beings as we 
 are, either to receive or give. Our salvation 
 was not effected by such happy beings as these : 
 it was by one who was " a man of sorrow, 
 " and acquainted with grief." 
 
 It is a cruel mockery of our nature to repre- 
 sent Christian charity with all the decorations 
 of a heathen goddess, and arrayed in the fond 
 and romantic ornaments that charm and invite 
 the imagination. Alas ! Christian charity has 
 no wings to bear her through a purer and loftier 
 atmosphere, while she showers down blessings 
 upon the multitude beneath : she does not drop 
 the sheaf into the poor man's bosom, or the 
 garland upon his cottage, while she passes in 
 her car of triumph over his head. But some- 
 times she is found in the most loathsome of hu- 
 man habitations, and in contact with wretches, 
 from whose guilt or whose misery the moral 
 sense recoils, and at which the refinement of 
 education shudders in disgust : sometimes her 
 figure is scarcely discernible while she struggles 
 her lonely and weary way through the crowd 
 of poverty, impurity, and sin : she may be seen 
 turning into the dark and comfortless hovel, and 
 speaking the blessed gospel of God, over the 
 
390 SERMON XI. 
 
 dying embers of a winter's fire, to the shivering, 
 perhaps hardened beings that surround it : at 
 other times, she stands over the damp and squalid 
 bed, where the frame is racked with suffering 
 and disease, where perhaps conscience is doing 
 her angry work, or is lying, still more fearfully, 
 asleep. It is folly to attempt to reconcile this 
 to the Christian's mind by painting her with 
 the graces and the virtues in her train. Alas ! 
 even the blessed beings that are then perhaps 
 actually around him, the constituted autho- 
 rities of heaven, that minister to a Christian's 
 imagination, and upon which his fancy is per- 
 mitted to repose, even these often appear to 
 forsake him ; the guardian -angel seems to stand 
 far aloof above the cabin that is the scene of 
 pollution and depravity ; the waving of golden 
 pinions is but dimly seen through the soiled and 
 shattered lattice ; the song of cherubim and 
 seraphim is only heard faintly, aloft and at a 
 distance, through broken intervals, between the 
 shrieks of bodily pains, or the groans of mental 
 agony ! But the Christian recollects that there 
 was one gracious Being who went before him, 
 and who left an invigorating spirit behind him, 
 
SERMON XI. 391 
 
 whose office was to support those whom all the 
 
 world had forsaken. 
 
 # # # * 
 
 Suppose it were suddenly revealed to any 
 one among you, that he, and he alone of all 
 that walk upon the face of this earth, was des- 
 tined to receive the benefit of his Redeemer's 
 atonement, and that all the rest of mankind was 
 lost and lost to all eternity ; it is hard to say 
 what would be the first sensation excited in 
 that man's mind by the intelligence. It is in- 
 deed probable it would be joy to think that 
 all his fears respecting his eternal destiny were 
 now no more ; that all the forebodings of the 
 mind and misgivings of the heart all the 
 solemn stir which we feel rising within us 
 whenever we look forward to a dark futurity, 
 to feel that all these had now subsided for ever, 
 to know that he shall stand in the everlast- 
 ing sunshine of the love of God ! It is perhaps 
 impossible that all this should not call forth an 
 immediate feeling of delight : but if you wish 
 the sensation to continue, you must go to the 
 wilderness ; you must beware how you come 
 within sight of a human being, or within sound 
 
SERMON XI. 
 
 of a human voice ; you must recollect that 
 you are now alone upon the earth ; or, if you 
 want society, you had better look for it 
 among the^beasts of the field than among the 
 ruined species to which you belong ; unless 
 indeed the Almighty, in pity to your desolation, 
 should send his angels before the appointed 
 time, that you might learn to forget in their 
 society the outcast objects of your former 
 sympathies. But to go abroad into human 
 society, to walk amongst beings who are now 
 no longer your fellow-creatures, to feel the 
 charity of your common nature rising in your 
 heart, and to have to crush it within you like a 
 sin, to reach forth your hand to perform one 
 of the common kindnesses of humanity, and to 
 find it withered by the recollection, that how- 
 ever you may mitigate a present pang, the 
 everlasting pang is irreversible; to turn away 
 in despair from these children whom you have 
 now come to bless and to save (we hope and 
 trust both here and for ever)! perhaps it would 
 be too much for you ; at all events, it would be 
 hard to state a degree of exertion within the 
 utmost range of human energy, or a degree of 
 pain within the farthest limit of human endur- 
 
SERMON XL 393 
 
 ance, to which you would not submit, that 
 you might have one companion on your lonely 
 way from this world to the mansions of hap- 
 piness. But suppose, at that mon$nt, that the 
 angel who brought the first intelligence returns 
 to teU you that there are beings upon this 
 earth who may yet be saved, that he was 
 before mistaken, no matter how, perhaps he 
 was your guardian angel, and darted from the 
 throne of grace with the intelligence of your 
 salvation without waiting to hear the fate of 
 the rest of mankind, no matter how, but he 
 comes to tell you that there are beings upon 
 the earth who are within the reach of your 
 Redeemer's love, and of your own, that some 
 of them are now before you, and their ever- 
 lasting destiny is placed in your hands ; then, 
 what would first occur to your mind ? priva- 
 tions, dangers, difficulties ? No : but you 
 would say, Lord, what shall I do ? shall I tra- 
 verse earth and sea, through misery and tor- 
 ment, that of those whom thou hast given me 
 
 I may not lose one ? 
 
 # # # # 
 
 We are not indeed called to perform duties 
 to such an awful extent, but we are called 
 
394 SERMON XI. 
 
 upon to perform several duties of the same 
 description. It may be yours to move amongst 
 your fellow-citizens, diffusing a Christian's cha- 
 rity and a Christian's example through many a 
 circle of society ; to heal many a broken heart ; 
 to cheer many a wounded spirit ; at least you 
 will not forsake these children : that indeed 
 should be your light and delightful duty. On 
 the mature and the aged, many a gift falls 
 dead and unvalued many a seed is sown that 
 never springs into harvest. But here, where 
 youth is flexible and genial (and the decency 
 in which they now stand before you proves 
 how the seed is cultivated), every grain that 
 you sow may bring forth an hundred-fold, 
 bearing fruit to everlasting life. 
 
SERMON XII. 
 
 1 CORINTHIANS, xiii. 12 and 13. 
 
 Noiv we see through a glass darkly ; but then, face to 
 
 face: now I know in party but then shall I know, 
 
 even as also I am known. And now abideth Faith, 
 
 Hope, Charity, thtse three; but the greatest of 
 
 these is Charity. 
 
 IT must sometimes appear very extraordi- 
 nary, that God has not thought fit to give us 
 more information respecting the pains and 
 pleasures of the world to which we are fast 
 approaching. We know, indeed, that there 
 are the torments of hell and the delights of 
 heaven ; that there are sufferings, compared 
 with which, all the misery that we can undergo 
 upon the earth would appear rest and tran- 
 quillity ; and that there is a fulness of joy 
 that would make all earthly happiness seem 
 " vanity and vexation of spirit." 
 
 This " we see in a glass darkly :" but 
 when we attempt to explore those glorious 
 
396 SERMON XII. 
 
 mansions of unextinguishable happiness, or 
 those awful regions of hopeless misery, or to 
 discover of what particular kind are those suf- 
 ferings and those enjoyments, our search is 
 stopped. We find that, in a great measure, 
 " clouds and darkness rest upon them," and 
 that we shall not well comprehend their na- 
 ture, until the day when we shall be wrapped 
 in the flames that shall never be quenched, or 
 mantled in the glories that shall shine as the 
 firmament, for ever and ever. 
 
 It is very natural that our curiosity should 
 feel mortified at the disappointment ; but, be- 
 sides, we cannot help conceiving that if we 
 were better acquainted with these punishments 
 and these enjoyments, we should be more 
 powerfully restrained from sin and more vigor- 
 ously excited to obedience. We cannot help 
 thinking, that if the miserable man who is 
 storing up " wrath for himself against the 
 " day of vengeance," in drunkenness and de- 
 bauchery, in an unholy conversation, in an 
 old heart, unchanged and un sanctified, only 
 knew what were the particular agonies that 
 awaited him in the world to come, he could not 
 proceed in his course of misery and perdition ; 
 
SERMON XII. 397 
 
 and if the Bible contained a history of the 
 dismal abode to which he is approaching, with 
 a minute and circumstantial account of all its 
 chambers of horrors, and this wretched man 
 were to study beforehand the sufferings into 
 which he was plunged, it seems to our frail 
 conceptions impossible, that he would not cast 
 himself upon his knees, and smite upon his 
 breast, saying, " God be merciful to me a sin- 
 " ner !" And, on the other hand, we cannot 
 help fancying that if the glories of everlasting 
 felicity were more distinctly revealed to the 
 humble and contrite, who are bearing their 
 cross and following their Redeemer, they 
 would encounter temptation with greater vi- 
 gour and resolution, when the crown that was 
 purchased for them was hanging distinctly in 
 view, and they had a clearer and more lively 
 representation of the immortality to which they 
 were advancing. 
 
 But the fact seems to be, that in our pre- 
 sent state we are not capable of more than is 
 already revealed. The great probability is, that 
 these pains and these pleasures can never be 
 understood except by actual experience, 
 except by being actually suffered, or actually 
 
398 SERMON XII. 
 
 enjoyed. This seems to be intimated by the 
 apostle in the verse immediately preceding 
 those before us : " When I was a child I spake 
 "as a child, I thought as a child ; but when I 
 " became a man, I put away childish things." 
 He describes our state in this life as one of 
 infancy or childhood, in which our language, 
 and our notions of things, must be suited to our 
 childish capacities. Now we know, or we 
 ought to know, what a privilege it is to receive 
 an education that cultivates and informs our 
 minds, that enables us to read the word of 
 God, and to understand as much of his will as 
 has been revealed. In fact, what would we 
 take in exchange? And yet we know how 
 fruitless it would be, when we were first com- 
 mencing to instruct a child in spelling, if we 
 should endeavour to excite it to diligence, by 
 descanting on the miseries of ignorance, or en- 
 larging on the advantages of education, and all 
 the pleasures that it afforded, or by attempt- 
 ing to disclose the treasures that the word of 
 God contains. We should see clearly that such 
 things were beyond its capacity ; and that, 
 before it could comprehend all these pleasures 
 
SERMON XII. 399 
 
 and advantages, it must understand them nearly 
 as well as we ourselves. 
 
 So it is with us, in some degree, in this 
 mortal state. We are mere children, and in- 
 capable of adequately comprehending the things 
 that belong to a more advanced condition of 
 existence. But all of which we are capable 
 our blessed Father has given. Let us return 
 to the example with which the apostle has sup- 
 plied us. 
 
 When you found yourself unable to make 
 your child comprehend, before it could read, 
 the advantages and peculiar blessings of a good 
 and religious education, by what means would 
 you induce it to submit to your commands ? 
 You would first endeavour to supply it with an 
 implicit confidence both in your wisdom and 
 your good- will : you would endeavour to make 
 it feel, that though it could not perceive the 
 use of what you were teaching, you were cer- 
 tainly working for its good : you would shew 
 it by your kindness and your love, by all the 
 sacrifices you were willing to make for its com- 
 fort and welfare, that you could have nothing 
 but its happiness in view ; and thus its confi- 
 
400 SERMON XII. 
 
 dence in your wisdom, your good-will, and 
 affection, would stand instead of an actual 
 knowledge of the advantages to be derived from 
 the instructions you were conveying, advan- 
 tages which, we have already seen, it could 
 not yet comprehend. 
 
 And thus does our Father deal with us. 
 We are poor, ignorant, and helpless children, 
 who do not understand either all the miseries 
 of sin, or all the glories of a noble and more 
 exalted state. Such knowledge is too wonder- 
 ful for us ; we cannot attain unto it. But the 
 gracious Lord, in place of this knowledge, has 
 given us Faith, a ground of trust and con- 
 fidence in him, that may induce us to learn his 
 law, and to submit ourselves, our souls and 
 bodies, to his good government. What proofs 
 has he not given us of his wisdom, his good- 
 will, and his affection ? We need mention but 
 one. We need not even speak of all the noble 
 faculties with which he has endowed us, all 
 the gifts that he has showered upon our un 
 worthy heads health, strength, home, and 
 friends, comforts and blessings that cannot be 
 counted, We need mention but one, " He 
 *' that spared not his own Son, but gave him 
 
SERMON XII. 401 
 
 " for us, how shall he not, with him, freely 
 " give us all things ?" This is the great ground 
 of a Christian's faith, that for us blind, 
 childish, corrupt, and guilty sinners (so far 
 from deserving incapable even of understand- 
 ing the enjoyments of a future and holy state) 
 he gave his own Son! What earthly parent 
 is entitled to this confidence? O if we had 
 waited for such a proof of the kindness of an 
 earthly father before we had submitted our- 
 selves to his guidance, we should have been 
 now naked, dark, and wandering savages. 
 One would have thought that we might have 
 given our gracious Father credit for his good 
 intentions; but, though we knew God, we glo- 
 rified him not as God. It was not enough ; 
 for though the " ox knoweth his owner, and 
 " the ass his master's crib," we went after our 
 own lusts and imaginations, we would not 
 believe what we did not understand, the mise- 
 ries of the guilty, and the joys of the righteous. 
 We would not believe them, so as to purify our 
 hearts and change our lives and conversations. 
 Yet he would win our confidence, he would 
 engage our affections, he would make us 
 regard him as a Father, and obey him as a 
 
 2 D 
 
40 SERMON XII. 
 
 Father, and " he spared not his own Son." 
 And thus as the earthly father, instead of 
 vainly attempting to describe, to his child all 
 the blessings and pleasures of good habits and 
 a religious education, would inspire him with a 
 trust in his good intentions, so God, when 
 nothing else could save us, delivered up his own 
 Son; and thus convinces us what good things 
 he has in store for them that love him, that 
 we might be willing to forsake our own ways 
 the ways of ruin and misery, and submit to 
 be taught, to be educated, to be directed by 
 him ; and therefore does he declare, " Except 
 " ye be converted, and become as little children, 
 " ye cannot enter the kingdom of heaven." 
 
 Thus faith abideth instead of knowledge, 
 and is to produce the same effect. It is instead 
 of the knowledge of the miseries of hell and the 
 glories of heaven : for what must we believe 
 them to be, if it cost the blood of the Son of 
 God to deliver us from the one, and to purchase 
 for us the other ? 
 
 But this is not all. When your child had 
 been led to repose his confidence in your good 
 intentions, and had accordingly submitted his 
 will to yours, and consented to be taught, con- 
 
SERMON XII. 403 
 
 trolled, and directed by your instructions and 
 commands, as he advanced and improved you 
 would attempt to give him some distant idea of 
 the good and glorious effects of the discipline 
 to which he was submitting : as his mind 
 became more enlarged, you would find him 
 better able to comprehend the happy conse- 
 quences. You would soon release him from 
 the bare necessity of taking your word that you 
 were working for his good. He would soon 
 learn to guess, from the progress he had al- 
 ready made, the noble advantages that were to 
 follow : he would see them, but still, through 
 a glass, darkly : and thus hope would be added 
 to faith. 
 
 Thus does our Father educate those who 
 have first submitted themselves, soul and body, 
 to his government, with implicit and unbound- 
 ed faith that he will work all for their good. 
 To those who thus with humble faith renounce 
 their own ways, and say, " Not my will, but 
 " thine be done," he soon causes a light to 
 spring; he gives them a hope, a hope of the 
 particular kind of good things which he has in 
 reserve for them. Thus saith St. John : " Be- 
 " loved, now are we the sons of God ; and it 
 
 2 D 2 
 
404 SERMON XII. 
 
 " doth not yet appear what we shall be; but we 
 " know, that when he shall appear we shall 
 " be like him, for we shall see him as he is." 
 Here is the hope of the Christian, that he shall 
 be made like the Saviour; that he shall see him 
 and shall always enjoy his presence: and St. Paul 
 tells us, that " we are come to the heavenly 
 " Jerusalem, to an innumerable company of 
 " angels, to the general assembly and church 
 " of the first-born whose names are written in 
 " heaven, and to the spirits of just men made 
 " perfect." This is the Christian's hope that 
 he shall be like the Saviour, that he shall 
 enjoy the everlasting presence of God, and the 
 society of angels, and of just men made perfect. 
 He has his eye raised above the earth, and 
 fixed upon objects far above mortal vision, but 
 not out of the sight that God has quickened 
 and enlightened : and, in comparison with the 
 glories that shall be revealed, earthly pleasures 
 dwindle and melt down into nothing. 
 
 Thus abideth hope instead of knowledge. 
 Like the patriarch in days of old, who said, 
 " I beseech thee, shew me thy glory;" who 
 was told, " thou canst not see my face, and 
 " live: but thou shalt stand upon a rock (and 
 
SERMON XII. 405 
 
 " that rock was Christ), and it shall come to 
 " pass, when my glory passeth by, that I will 
 " put thee in a cleft of the rock, and I will 
 " cover thee with mine hand while I pass by, 
 " and will take away mine hand, and thou 
 " shalt see my skirts, but my face shall not be 
 " seen :" thus are we in a cleft of a rock, and 
 his hand covers us, and we see the dim light of 
 his skirts as he passes by ; but our flesh rests 
 in hope that we shall one day see his face. 
 
 But this is not all. When your child has 
 made some considerable progress, and, resting 
 on faith and animated by hope, has acquired 
 larger faculties and greater knowledge, and has 
 actually employed that knowledge in an active 
 life, and used it for its proper purposes, then 
 you can say to him, ' Now you need not merely 
 * rely upon my word;' now you need not even 
 feed upon hope; but now feel and know of 
 your own experience the beauty and delight of 
 the discipline to which you have submitted. 
 
 An'd thus does our Father deal with us in a 
 future world. Faith and hope will be no more : 
 they will both have done their duty, and we 
 shall bid them farewell for ever i we shall then 
 see the things that we believed, and enjoy the 
 
406 SERMON XII. 
 
 things that are hoped. But charity or love never 
 faileth, for love will live and increase to all 
 eternity. In love, we have actual and present 
 experience of the future joys of the presence of 
 God. Now we believe, not because of thy 
 saying, -but we have known and tasted it our- 
 selves. We are expressly told that God is 
 love: he is not only boundless in love, but it 
 seems to be almost his very essence. It does 
 not say, love to this one, or to that one, but 
 love. 
 
 It is love that delights in God, in com- 
 munion with him, in meditation upon his at- 
 tributes and his dispensations, in the imitation 
 of his perfections ; " that suffereth long and is 
 " kind ; that envieth not, vaunteth not itself, 
 " and is not puffed up, doth not behave itself 
 " unseemly, seeketh not her own, is not easily 
 " provoked, thinketh no evil, rejoiceth not in 
 " iniquity, but rejoiceth in the truth'" Thus, 
 through love, shall we indeed bear the living 
 stamp of Almighty God upon our hearts ; and 
 heaven will be already begun in our souls. 
 Thus shall we learn something of the glories 
 that are to come, something that shall be at 
 once both a pledge and foretaste. And thus 
 
SERMON XII. 407 
 
 also shall the wicked, and the worldly, and the 
 carnal man, obtain a foretaste of the horror of 
 hell, and of the cup that he is to drain. If, 
 instead of a faith, that throws him upon the 
 Lord Jesus Christ, he has a trust in himself, 
 and in his worldly possessions, for happiness ; 
 if, instead of a hope that raises his eye to 
 heaven, his thoughts go downward to the dust 
 upon which he treads, and his heart is the 
 abode of carnal, and worldly, and malignant 
 passions and desires, this man can form some 
 conception of the fearful region of misery. He 
 can conceive the opposite of that love which 
 constitutes the happiness of the blessed spirits 
 above : he can conceive a scene of everlasting 
 selfishness and suspicion ; of multitudes of evil 
 beings, without one link of affection to unite 
 them ; but the everlasting scowl of hatred is 
 upon their brows, and the curse upon their 
 lips. This may be a faint anticipation of those 
 terrible scenes. 
 
 We are here, then, in a state of education 
 for heaven ; and we may now form some con- 
 ception of the desperate infatuation of those 
 men who leave this mighty work for the list- 
 lessness of old age, or the agonies of a dying 
 
408 SERMON XII. 
 
 bed ! It should be nothing less than the busi- 
 ness of an education, an education that begins 
 with a faith, that can only rise from a deep 
 sense of our own un worthiness and danger, and 
 that our sins need the blood of the Son of 
 God ; that proceeds to a hope, which raises 
 the eye and the heart from earth to heaven, 
 and changes all our views ; and then proceeds 
 to charity, which stamps upon us the image of 
 the pure and holy God. 
 
SERMON XIII. 
 
 ECCLESIASTES, viil. 11. 
 
 Because sentence against an evil work is not executed 
 speedily, therefore the heart of the sons of men is fully 
 set in them to do evil. 
 
 IF we had seen one of our neighbours struck 
 dead by a flash of lightning, just after he had 
 been committing one of our favourite sins, it is 
 to be supposed it would make a serious impres- 
 sion upon our minds. If we afterwards beheld 
 two or three more of our acquaintances blotted 
 out of life in the same way, and for the same 
 reason, we should probably begin to bring the 
 case a little more home to ourselves. If there 
 were afterwards another, and another, and 
 another ; and we were in the habit of seeing 
 God's wrath executed every day, the moment 
 it was provoked, it is surprising what a change 
 we should presently observe among all the 
 careless and bold-faced sinners of society : 
 drunkards shrinking from the flowing bowl, as 
 
410 SERMON XIII. 
 
 if it were filled with poison ; fornicators and 
 adulterers rushing from the threshold of the 
 house of sin and debauchery, as they would 
 from the flames of hell ; liars, swearers, and 
 blasphemers setting their finger upon their lips, 
 lest they should perish before the evil word 
 was fully pronounced ; thieves, misers, and ex- 
 tortioners, flinging away their darling profits, 
 lest they should be struck dead as they touched 
 them. 
 
 Then too, when men should see sentence 
 executed speedily against evil works, they 
 could not think of the sin without thinking of 
 the punishment along with it. How cautious 
 should we find them of venturing too near sin, 
 even in their tempers and conversation : we 
 should see a man turn pale whenever an evil 
 thought or an evil wish came into his mind, for 
 how could he tell but that the thunderbolt 
 would fall at that moment, if he ventured to 
 indulge it ? Then should we see men watching 
 and praying, that they might not fall into temp- 
 tation, who never knew what it was to pray 
 before ; and, it is probable, that those who were 
 witnessing the wrath of God coming down every 
 day upon the heads of sinners, in fire and brim- 
 
SERMON XIII. 411 
 
 stone, would be so sensible of their danger and 
 their weakness, that they would renounce all 
 trust in their own powers and their own right- 
 eousness, and seek for his glorious strength, 
 who is able to shelter us from the storm and the 
 tempest, and to give us the victory over sin, 
 through our Lord Jesus Christ, and to make us 
 " more than conquerors, through him who 
 " loved us, and gave himself for us." 
 
 It seems to be very plain, that something 
 like this would be the case if God were to in- 
 terfere every day to execute sentence upon evil 
 works. Now mark the difference: only observe 
 with what perfect ease men can bring them- 
 selves to indulge in sin, as a matter of common 
 and ordinary occurrence, as naturally as they 
 partake of their sleep or their meals : and they 
 go into the way of temptation, and approach 
 the brink and the borders of sin, and say, there 
 is no danger ! 
 
 Now what can be the reason of this astonish- 
 ing difference ? For every man seems to think 
 that he would refrain from sin if he knew that at 
 that instant he should stand the consequences. 
 What can be the reason of this difference ? Is 
 it that men have calmly made up their minds, 
 
412 JSEllMON XIII. 
 
 after enjoying the pleasures of sin for a season, 
 to resign themselves quietly and contentedly to 
 the " Worm that never dieth, and the flame 
 " that is never quenched?" This can hardly 
 be the reason : it must be something else and 
 what is it ? The Psalmist has. informed us in 
 few words : " The wicked hath said in his 
 " heart, Thou wilt not require it." He does 
 not believe that God will fulfil what he has 
 declared ; he does not say so with his outward 
 lips, but he says it in his heart. With his out- 
 ward lips he says, It is all very true, the 
 sentence is gone forth : he is a God that will 
 by no means clear the guilty : the soul that 
 sinneth, it shall die : " and cursed is every one 
 " that continueth not in the law." It is also true, 
 that " God is not a man, that he should lie, nor 
 " the son of man, that he should repent : hath 
 " he said, and shall he not do it ?" It would be 
 rather a bold thing for a man to say, in the face 
 of all this, that God would not require it. One 
 would think we might take God's word for more 
 than this ; and yet so it is, that a man, because 
 he does not see sentence executed against an 
 evil work, either in the case of others or in his 
 own, because he does not hear and see God's 
 
SERMON XIII. 413 
 
 justice every day in thunder and lightning, 
 begins to think that God only wants to frighten 
 him by such sentences. There is a chance that 
 God may not be in earnest : and upon this 
 chance, he plunges in, body and soul. 
 
 It may be well to spend a little time in 
 considering this case. Now, before we go a 
 step further, one simple question might decide 
 the business. What do you think does that 
 man deserve, who ventures his eternal soul 
 upon any chance ? Make the chance as great 
 and as plausible as you please : suppose, if you 
 like, that God had never passed regular sen- 
 tence upon sin ; had never published and 
 registered his wrath, and that there was only 
 a confused murmur through mankind, a light 
 whisper now and then stirring in the world, 
 that there was sentence to be executed against 
 the soul of every man that doeth evil, that 
 there was a hell of torment for the unrighteous 
 and ungodly : suppose a man had only a night's 
 dream to such an effect : let us be ourselves 
 the judges, what would that man deserve 
 who ventured his eternal soul upon such a 
 chance ? Would not any man, who held it so 
 cheap as to let it take its chance (be that chance 
 
414 SERMON XIII. 
 
 great or small), have already sold and forfeited 
 it ? The mere fact, that he allows any thing 
 like chance in such a concern, is enough to 
 turn the chance into certainty certainty of 
 punishment. 
 
 But, in the next place, let us consider for a 
 little what is the chance that any sinner now sets 
 up against the sentence pronounced by the God 
 of Truth. It is, that sentence is not executed 
 speedily ; that he has sinned, and no thunder- 
 bolt has fallen, no blow was struck ; that he 
 has seen his neighbours sin, and that then too 
 no thunderbolt has fallen, and no blow was 
 struck. Now let us examine this chance for a 
 moment, and we shall be surprised to find, 
 that, even leaving all the threats and denun- 
 ciations of Scripture out of the account, and 
 taking the world as we see it and as we have 
 read its history, there is new proof that sentence 
 will be executed in the end. Now, to perceive 
 this, observe that in many cases sentence has 
 been executed against " evil works/' 
 
 Look to the flood : " When God saw that 
 " the wickedness of man was great upon the 
 " earth, and that every imagination of the 
 " thoughts of his heart was only evil con- 
 
SERMON XIII. 415 
 
 " tinually, he said, I will destroy man, whom 
 " I have created, from the face of the earth, 
 " both man and beast, and the creeping thing, 
 " and the fowls of the air ; for it repenteth me 
 " that I have made "them;" and accordingly 
 the flood came down upon the world of the 
 ungodly. 
 
 Then look to Sodom and Gomorrah : " Be- 
 " cause the cry of Sodom and Gomorrah was 
 " great, and their sin very grievous, therefore 
 " the Lord rained down brimstone and fire out 
 " of Heaven." Look next to Korah, Dathan, 
 and Abiram : " Behold, they rebelled against 
 " the Lord, and against Moses and Aaron his 
 " servants, and the earth opened her mouth, 
 " and swallowed them up, and all that apper- 
 " tained to them." 
 
 Look next to the sentence upon the blas- 
 phemer : " The son of an Israelitish woman, 
 " in a quarrel with one of the men of Israel, 
 " blasphemed the Lord, and cursed ; and they 
 " put him in ward, that the mind of the Lord 
 " might be shewed them ; and the Lord spake 
 " unto Moses, saying, Bring forth him that hath 
 " cursed, without the camp, and let all that 
 " heard him lay their hands upon his head, 
 
416 SERMON XIII. 
 
 " and let all the congregation stone him ; and 
 "- they brought forth him that had cursed, and 
 " stoned him with stones." 
 
 Look next to the man who broke the Sab- 
 bath : " And the Lord said unto Moses, the 
 " man shall surely be put to death; all the 
 " congregation shall stone him with stones 
 " without the camp ; and they stoned him, that 
 " he died." 
 
 Look next to the fornicators, " of which 
 " there fell in one day three and twenty 
 " thousand ;" cut off in their iniquities ; their 
 numbers could not save them. Look, in fact, 
 at the whole Jewish dispensation, where the 
 Almighty often made bare his arm, and exe- 
 cuted sentence speedily. 
 
 But look next to the Christian dispensation, 
 and behold the guilty pair standing before the 
 Apostles : " And though they came with their 
 " right hands full of gifts, yet they came with 
 " a lie upon their lips ; and the moment it was 
 " uttered, they fell down and gave up the 
 " ghost." And turn your eyes next to Herod, 
 arrayed in royal apparel, sitting upon his throne, 
 and making an oration to the people : and hark ! 
 
SERMON XIII. 417 
 
 the people are shouting, and saying, " It is 
 " the voice of a God !" and while they are 
 shouting, the angel of the Lord had smote him. 
 
 Look next to your own observation and 
 experience ; and there alone you will find suf- 
 ficient proof that, in many cases, sentence upon 
 evil works has been executed speedily. The 
 course of nature, and the constitution of society, 
 have been so ordained by the wisdom and the 
 justice of the Almighty, that the crime often 
 brings the punishment along with it. The 
 strong arm of the law often seizes the malefac- 
 tor while his crime is still fresh upon him, and 
 consigns him at once to death and infamy. 
 
 Then, in the next place, God often makes 
 drunkards and profligates their own execu- 
 tioners ; murdering their own bodies, wasting 
 and withering them with surfeit and disease, 
 and making their days few and evil ; sick of 
 life, and afraid of death, and crawling into their 
 graves before their time. Others execute sen- 
 tence upon themselves, by wasting their sub- 
 stance in riotous living, until they become the 
 guests and companions of the swine, and men 
 begin to pity and despise them. And sometimes 
 
 2 E 
 
418 SEKMON XIII. 
 
 the sons become the executioners of their fathers, 
 and men propagate sin from generation to 
 generation, and see their own vices improved 
 and multiplied in their own children, who re- 
 turn them back their own iniquities, with 
 interest, into their bosom, and " bring down 
 " their grey hairs with sorrow to the grave." 
 
 And in every man's breast there is an exe- 
 cutioner that he generally contrives to set 
 asleep ; but sometimes there comes a shock 
 that rouses it from its slumber, and then it 
 begins to lash him and sting him, and smite 
 him upon the heart ; so that we may perceive 
 that in many instances (more perhaps than 
 we at first supposed) sentence is executed 
 speedily. 
 
 Now we are prepared to consider the chance 
 upon which the sinner relies when he sins, and 
 says in his heart, " Thou wilt not require it." 
 The chance is this : I know that sentence is 
 gone forth against every evil work, and that it is 
 pronounced by the God of the Truth ; but I have 
 sinned often sinned, and so have my neigh- 
 bours, and the earth did not open her jaws, 
 neither did fire and brimstone come down from 
 
SERMON XIII. 419 
 
 heaven, nor did I feel any bad effect arising 
 from it, and therefore I have a chance that God 
 will not execute the sentence at all. 
 
 Now look at this chance. We have just 
 seen that sentence in many cases executed, yet, 
 strange as it may appear, this very imperfection 
 seems to be the strongest possible proof that, 
 in the next world, vengeance will be fulfilled 
 to the utmost. For observe, if we found that 
 every man in this life received just what he 
 deserved, and every evil work always brought 
 swift punishment along with it, what should 
 we naturally conclude ? There is no future 
 punishment in store : I see nothing wanting, 
 every man has already received the due reward 
 of his works ; every thing is already complete, 
 and, therefore, there is nothing to be done in 
 the next world. 
 
 Or if, on the other hand, there were no 
 punishment visited upon sin at all in this world, 
 we might be inclined to say, * Tush ! God hath 
 ' forgotten :' he never interferes amongst us ; 
 we have no proof of his hatred of sin, or of his 
 determination to punish it ; he is gone away far 
 from us, and has left us to follow our own wills 
 and imaginations. So that if sentence were 
 
 2 E 21 
 
420 SERMON XIII. 
 
 either perfectly executed upon the earth, or not 
 executed at all, we might have some reason for 
 saying, that there was a chance of none in a 
 future world. But now it is imperfectly exe- 
 cuted ; just so much done, as to say, ' You are 
 4 watched, my eye is upon you : I neither 
 ' slumber nor sleep ; and my vengeance slum- 
 ' bereth not.' And yet, at the same time, there 
 is so little done, that a man has to look into 
 eternity for the accomplishment. 
 
 These occasional visitations of God's wrath, 
 these sentences that sinners are often obliged 
 to execute upon themselves, these judgments 
 that sometimes fall and burst among us, come 
 often enough to tell us, that there is punishment ; 
 but so seldom, as to prove that it is yet to come. 
 They seem to be rather given as evidences, than 
 as fulfilments of the wrath of God ; rather as a 
 sign than a part; just as earthquakes and vol- 
 canic eruptions only serve to shew us what 
 fires are burning and labouring in the bowels of 
 the earth. The flames of hell seem to break 
 out sometimes before their time among men in 
 earthly judgments, to warn them of judg- 
 ments to come. 
 
 This is the sinner's chance, that, even if 
 
SERMON XIII. 421 
 
 that Bible which speaks to him terrible things 
 were a falsehood, the very course of nature 
 and the current of human affairs furnish the 
 strongest possible proof of judgment to come. 
 " Out of thine own mouth wilt thou be con- 
 demned ;" thine own excuse will be thy con- 
 demnation. And which of us has not made this 
 excuse ? Which of us has not often said, in his 
 heart, " Thou wilt not require it ;" and sinned 
 in the face of the sentence registered against all 
 iniquity, in the face of the sentence registered 
 against fornication, uncleanness, inordinate af- 
 fection, evil concupiscence, and covetousness, 
 which is idolatry, against anger, wrath, ma- 
 lice, blasphemy, filthy communication, in the 
 face of the sentence registered against all those 
 that forget God? But you will say, Surely, 
 God is a merciful God ! Are we not told that 
 he is full of mercies and loving kindnesses, 
 that his mercy rejoiceth against judgment, that 
 he has sworn as he liveth, " that he hath no 
 " pleasure in the death of the sinner?" True: 
 his mercy is indeed boundless and astonish- 
 ing ; amazing, beyond what " eye hath seen, 
 " or ear heard, or hath entered into the heart 
 " of man to conceive." But how has that 
 
SERMON XIII. 
 
 mercy been shown? By visiting sentence to the 
 very uttermost. He did not fling us his mercy 
 indolently from his throne; but he executed 
 sentence to the very uttermost upon his only 
 begotten Son. His mercy does not consist in 
 extinguishing his justice, but in executing it 
 upon the head of the Son in whom he was 
 well pleased. Awful mercy ! terrible forgive- 
 ness! mercy that we must not dare to trifle 
 with. 
 
 Let us be ourselves the judges: if any man 
 makes this mercy an argument for sin, what 
 new punishment, what fresh torments, how 
 many times must the furnace be heated for that 
 man, for him who dares to say, Because the 
 Lord Jesus has died for me, I will follow my 
 iniquities ! for him, who would thus make 
 Christ the minister of sin ! That blessed mercy 
 that glorious manifestation of infinite love, 
 was always used in Scripture as an argument 
 for repentance, for holiness, and for all good ; 
 but any man that curses God's blessing, by 
 turning it into an argument for continuing in 
 sin, how is he described in Scripture ? He is 
 " The enemy of the Cross of Christ;" and 
 " He crucifies the Son of God afresh, and puts 
 
SERMON XIII. 423 
 
 " him to an open shame !" It had been " good 
 " for that man that he had never been born." 
 Every hour of sin that you add to your life, 
 under this dispensation, is gathering over your 
 head in judgment. The goodness of God, in 
 not cutting you off with your sins still green 
 and fresh, is turning every day into wrath. For 
 what says the apostle? " Despisest thou the 
 " riches of his goodness, and forbearance, and 
 " long-suffering, not knowing that foe goodness 
 " of God leadeth thee to repentance ;" but, after 
 thy hardness and impenitent heart, " Treasures! 
 " up wrath against the day of wrath, and reve- 
 " lation of the righteous judgment of God ?" 
 Here you see two things : first, that the good- 
 ness of God, in bearing with you thus long, 
 in not blotting you out from the face of the 
 earth while you were engaged in the last sin 
 that you committed, was leading you to re- 
 pentance : it cannot lead to mercy but through 
 repentance : secondly, you see that every time 
 you neglected and refused, " you have been 
 " treasuring up wrath against the day of 
 " wrath. There is a treasury of vengeance 
 in Heaven : and day by day, and hour by hour, 
 you have been casting in your mite. When 
 
424 SERMON XIII. 
 
 will your cup be full ? Perhaps at this mo- 
 ment it may be overflowing; perhaps the plain, 
 simple warning that you hear this day may 
 be the last that the Lord God will ever vouch- 
 safe to your soul. This at least is certain, 
 that the next time you return to your sin it 
 will be in deliberate defiance of the wrath of 
 the Almighty. Who shall say, whether you 
 will be allowed to make the trial a second 
 time ? Probably your cup may then be full 
 and he may strike you dead upon the spot. 
 Or if not, he may let you live as a monument 
 of his vengeance ; and as Pharaoh was allowed 
 to live, after he had resisted all the means of 
 grace, that the Lord might openly manifest his 
 power and his justice upon him, God may pro- 
 long your life only that men may see a sinner 
 gasping without hope upon his death-bed, and, 
 as they look upon the horrors of your dying 
 countenance, they may smite their breasts and 
 say, "God be merciful to me a sinner!" 
 
SERMON XIV. 
 
 1 JOHN, iv. 10. 
 
 Herein is love, not that we loved God, but that he loved 
 us, and sent his Son to be the propitiation for our 
 sins. 
 
 IF God had waited until we loved him be- 
 fore he loved us, we should not have been as- 
 sembled here this day to read the history of his 
 mercies, and to humble ourselves before him, 
 in astonishment at the multitude of his loving 
 kindnesses. If God had waited until we loved 
 him, before he loved us, we should never have 
 known what it was to come together on a Sab- 
 bath morning, to talk of mercy and salvation, 
 and the holy charity that binds us to God and 
 to each other : we should be now bowing our 
 heads before the works of our hands, and the 
 inventions of our own imaginations : perhaps, 
 at this instant, we should be met together to 
 perform our impure and bloody ceremonies to 
 the powers of darkness ; the house which is 
 now the Lord's tabernacle, and the place 
 
426 SERMON XIV. 
 
 where his honour dwelleth, might be the temple 
 in which we adored the God of intemperance 
 and sensuality, or made our offerings to the 
 wicked spirit that delighteth in war, violence, 
 and revenge ; or we might be flocking to the 
 table of our evil god not to eat the bread of 
 life, or to drink from the fountains of the living 
 water, but to sound his praises in festivals of 
 drunkenness, riot, and indecency ; or we should 
 be kneeling at his altar not to offer the sacrifice 
 of a broken and a contrite heart, but to worship 
 him with the knife, and with the blood of our 
 fellow-creatures ; and, perhaps, we should now 
 be preparing the children that we loved as our 
 own souls, to pass through the fire of sacrifice 
 that was kindled in his honour, that we might 
 satisfy his fury and avert his indignation. 
 
 It is true, the very mention of these things 
 may now shock our feelings, and we may fancy, 
 if we please, that no possible conjuncture of 
 circumstances could have reduced us to such 
 crimes and enormities : but such was the state 
 of the world at the time that the Son of God 
 came down upon the earth, and we shall not 
 find it very easy to prove, either that we are a 
 superior race of beings to the men of those 
 
SERMON XIV. 427 
 
 days, or that the natural progress of society has 
 caused the difference between them and our- 
 selves. 
 
 The men of those days were our superiors 
 in many of the arts of civilised life, and it was 
 then four thousand years since the creation of 
 the world. The world had time enough to have 
 learned how to love God, if it could have loved 
 him : but " When they knew God, they glori- 
 " fied him not as God ; and their foolish heart 
 " was darkened." They had suffered the know- 
 ledge of God to be blotted out of their minds, 
 and of course the love of God had disappeared 
 from their hearts. Their religion only had 
 showed itself in their festivals, in drunken- 
 ness, impurity, and blood : in the common 
 course of their lives he was forgotten ; and, by 
 the terrible ceremonies by which they attempted 
 to appease his wrath, or conciliate his good- 
 will, they proved that they regarded him as 
 their enemy. So that if God had only allowed 
 men to go on in the way which they had chosen 
 for themselves, if he had not turned to them 
 before they turned to him, we should have been 
 now sitting in darkness and the shadow of death, 
 
428 SERMON XIV. 
 
 sinning on to our ruin, without a thought upon 
 the God whom we were offending. 
 
 But, indeed, it is not necessary to look back 
 to past ages in order to make this gloomy dis- 
 covery. If a man looks into his own heart but 
 for one moment, he may soon perceive that if 
 God had loved us it cannot be because we have 
 first loved him. 
 
 Among all the natural passions and affections 
 of the human heart, where is the love of God 
 to be found ? We love parent and child, we 
 love friends and country, we love riches and 
 honour, we love sin in all its shapes, and we 
 embrace it with all our souls ; these affections 
 take their root in our nature, they grow wild in 
 our hearts, and scarcely require cultivation. But, 
 instead of finding religion growing naturally 
 within, only observe with what care and watch- 
 ing and anxiety it must be cherished, and re- 
 freshed, and preserved ; and if once neglected, 
 yea, but for a little, how soon it begins to 
 wither and decay ! Any of the other affections 
 of our heart it would be almost impossible to 
 get rid of ; but to acquire and cultivate a spirit 
 of religion, is the slow and patient work of 
 
SERMON XIV. 429 
 
 earnest watchfulness and persevering humility. 
 Where is the man amongst us who would ven- 
 ture to put up to God such a prayer as this, 
 Regard me as I have regarded you; treat me 
 as I have treated you ? For how have we re- 
 garded him ? how have we treated him ? Really, 
 do we look upon him more as a friend or as an 
 enemy? How often do we wish that he was 
 far away, and that his eye was not open upon 
 our hearts, and that he did not hear the words 
 of our lips, or witness the deeds of our lives ? 
 How often would it have been a relief to us to 
 think that he was not everlastingly present 
 amongst us ? Does not our conscience often 
 bear testimony that we love the things he hates, 
 by the effort we make to forget and to banish 
 him whenever we wish to give way to our 
 sinful propensities, or to indulge in pride, covet- 
 ousness, drunkenness, sensuality, or revenge? 
 Is it not a confession that he is at war with 
 those things that we love, and that he who loves 
 sin cannot love God ? So true is the word of 
 God, which says, " He that loveth me keepeth 
 " my commandments." 
 
 It is too plain, that if God had cared as little 
 for us as we cared for God we should have been 
 
430 SERMON XIV. 
 
 long since outcast, forsaken, and forgotten : but 
 " herein is love, not that we loved him, but 
 " that he loved us, and sent his Son to be the 
 " propitiation for our sins." And thus it is 
 stated by St. Paul; " God commended his 
 " love to us, in that while we were yet sinners 
 " Christ died for us :" and again, " When we 
 " were enemies, we were reconciled to God 
 " by the death of his Son." In these passages 
 we perceive that it means the same thing to be 
 a sinner to be the enemy of God and not to 
 /echini; and yet for these sinners, for these his 
 enemies, he sent his own Son to be the pro- 
 pitiation for their sins. 
 
 Herein is love! The apostle seems to 
 pronounce upon this as if there was no other 
 love in all the world besides, as if every thing 
 like love was swallowed up in this boundless 
 profusion of mercies. It is extraordinary with 
 what cold and composed feelings we can read 
 and think of this extraordinary sacrifice. It is 
 no doubt impossible to comprehend its full 
 extent; perhaps it is the employment of blessed 
 spirits, forages and ages to come ay, or for 
 all eternity, to make new discoveries in the love 
 of God and the death of the Iledeemer. Grander 
 
SERMON XIV. 431 
 
 knowledge, new blessings, fresh features, 
 from this wonderful sacrifice, may be shewing 
 themselves to the spirits of just men made 
 perfect at every moment, world without end. 
 They are " things which the angels desire to 
 " look into." 
 
 But God has given us, perhaps, the fullest 
 idea of it that we are capable of conceiving, 
 when he tells us that he was Ms Son his only 
 Son. It is as if he desired every one of us to go 
 to his own heart, and find out who is the being 
 upon the earth that is dearest to its affections, 
 husband, wife, or only child ; the person 
 whom we regarded with the fondest love and the 
 most unbounded delight ; the person in whom 
 your whole soul seems to be wrapped up, in 
 whom you almost live, and move, and have your 
 being; and to imagine this object of your hopes 
 and affections dashed from a state of happiness, 
 and flung helpless into the midst of enemies and 
 persecutors ; become " despised and rejected 
 " of men, a man of sorrows, and acquainted 
 with grief;" and at length brought as a lamb 
 to the slaughter, and then descending into the 
 grave with torture, insult, and infamy. God 
 
SERMON XIV. 
 
 himself seems to teach us to regard it in this 
 point of view, for he said unto Abraham, " Take 
 " now thy son, thine only son, Isaac, whom 
 " thou lovest." He repeats it, as if for the pur- 
 pose of cutting the father's heart, and giving it 
 a new stab at every word of fondness. " Take 
 " now thy son thine only son, Isaac, whom thou 
 " lovest, and offer him for a burnt-offering upon 
 " one of the mountains that I will tell thee of.'* 
 Abraham rose up, and took. Isaac his son, and 
 went into the place of which God had told him. 
 Then, on the way, a conversation occurs, in 
 which every word that the son speaks is calcu- 
 lated to make the father's heart bleed freshly. 
 It would be an insult to tell a father what were 
 Abraham's feelings when he bound his son, and 
 took the knife in his hand. At that moment, 
 however, the angel of the Lord called out of 
 heaven, and bade him stay his hand. But 
 when the Son of God bore his cross to the spot 
 of agony and shame, and was laid bleeding 
 upon the altar, no guardian angel descended 
 to relieve his sufferings ; and when he cried, 
 " My God, my God, why hast thou forsaken 
 " me ?" the whole host of heaven stood still : 
 
SERMON XIV. 433 
 
 no voice of consolation was heard, and no mi- 
 nister of mercy descended to save his Son, 
 his only Son, whom he loved. 
 
 Such is the idea that God has given us of 
 his love ; but still it is imperfect, for it seems 
 as if every thing relating to God was infinite. 
 His power is infinite ; and we should judge but 
 poorly of its greatness if we measured it by 
 human power. In like manner his wisdom is in- 
 finite ; and we should never be able to conceive 
 its extent by comparing it with the greatest 
 wisdom of man. So also may we conclude of 
 his love. The sufferings of Christ appear to 
 contain something in them indescribable to the 
 human imagination, and unfathomable to human 
 discovery. His mysterious agony in the garden, 
 the weight of our sins upon his soul, and the 
 fearful exclamation, " My God ! my God ! why 
 " hast thou forsaken me !" convey an idea of 
 suffering, that we neither do nor can compre- 
 hend. Such is the love of God manifested upon 
 the cross, the love of God manifest in the flesh ! 
 
 But, we may say, where was the necessity 
 of all this vast profusion of suffering, this 
 expenditure of means, this astonishing ma- 
 chinery of redemption ? Could not God have 
 
434 SEKMON XIV. 
 
 forgiven us at a word? Now, only consider what 
 idea it is we form of God, when we imagine 
 that forgiveness is so very easy a matter. We 
 conceive him to be an arbitrary and capricious 
 Being, who can make laws and break them at 
 random, and fling his pardon to his creatures 
 carelessly from his throne. Is this a worthy 
 idea of him " who cannot lie, and who cannot 
 " repent ?" Recollect that mercy, with us, 
 means the reversing of a law, the changing of 
 an established order of things : our t very idea 
 of mercy implies an imperfection in the law, in 
 the decision upon the law, or in the execution of 
 the law. If human laws were perfect, or human 
 judges infallible, where would be the room for 
 mercy ? It was a question reserved for the 
 wisdom of Almighty God alone, to prove how 
 justice and mercy could be reconciled; to 
 hold forth forgiveness to the offender without 
 violating, relaxing, or suspending that law, 
 which is " holy, and just, and good." Accord- 
 ingly, we find that, upon the cross, the viola- 
 tion of that law was visited to the uttermost ; 
 that " he bore our sins, and carried our 
 " iniquities," that " the chastisement of our 
 " peace was upon him :" and thus we are told, 
 
SERMON XIV. 435 
 
 in the passage before us, that " the love of God 
 " was manifested in sending his Son to be the 
 " propitiation for our sins :" and again, " God 
 " was in Christ, reconciling the world unto 
 " himself." 
 
 It is a terrible truth, which men would do 
 well to recollect more than they do, that the 
 same cross shews God's hatred for sin as well as 
 his love for the sinner ; the same cross shews that 
 he cannot forgive iniquity, and yet that he was 
 willing to visit it upon his own Son for our sakes: 
 it shews us his wrath and his love, and the one 
 appears to be the measure of the other. We 
 have been this day endeavouring to fathom his 
 love, and have found it impossible : and yet 
 the very immensity of that love seems to consist 
 in averting wrath, that is equally boundless and 
 inconceivable. Alas ! alas ! we deceive our- 
 selves strangely by fancying that it is an easy 
 thing for God to forgive sin. Consider well 
 what it is that makes it such an easy thing for 
 you to commit sin ; and you will find that it is 
 because you fancy it an easy thing for God to 
 forgive it. 
 
 The great and fearful question with every 
 man amongst us is, ' Has the blood of Jesus 
 2 F 2 
 
436 SERMON XIV. 
 
 ' Christ cleansed him from all sin ?' or, shall 
 he himself abide the awful consequences in the 
 eternal world ? For, as surely as God is true, 
 one or other of these must be the case. The 
 word of God supplies us with the means of 
 judgment, " If any man be in Christ, he is a 
 " new creature." It seems to be founded upon 
 a principle plain and obvious to any man's com- 
 mon sense, if we need no change, we need 
 no mercy. 
 
 He now stands at the door and knocks, and 
 invites you to acknowledge yourselves his at 
 his table ; and if we come with but half the 
 good- will with which he invites, and waits to 
 receive us, we are blessed and happy beings ! 
 Let us beware how we turn our back upon it ; 
 or how we take it unworthily. We must come 
 to that table, forsaking our sins, which were so 
 hateful in the sight of heaven that they cruci- 
 fied the Son of God, and forsaking all claims 
 upon the ground of our own imperfect righte- 
 ousness. Let us " make mention of his name 
 " only ;" and may we so share the fellowship of 
 his sufferings that we may know the power of 
 his resurrection ! Amen. 
 
SERMON XV. 
 
 1 CORINTHIANS, x. 13. 
 
 There hath no temptation taken you but such as is com- 
 mon to man : but God is faithful^ who will not suffer 
 you to be tempted above that ye are able : but will 
 with the temptation also make a way to escape, that 
 ye may be able to bear it. 
 
 PERHAPS nothing can exceed the efforts of 
 God to enable us to overcome temptation, ex- 
 cept our own endeavours to disappoint them. 
 There would be something amusing, if it were 
 not too terrible to amuse us, in observing the 
 riches of our resources, and the curious variety 
 of expedients which we have invented for tri- 
 fling with temptation ; forgetting, that to trifle 
 with temptation is to trifle with God. 
 
 Some of us plunge into it headlong, with a 
 sort of heedless and frantic desperation, never 
 stopping to look to the right hand or to the left, 
 even for the shadow of an excuse; shutting 
 our eyes as we hurry on, and imagining there is 
 
438 SERMON XV. 
 
 no danger, because we do not see it ; flying 
 so rapidly from one temptation to another, that 
 there is no time for thought or reflection be- 
 tween ; until at last we arrive, full speed, at the 
 brink of the grave ! There is no stopping then ; 
 the force with which we arrived hurries us on- 
 ward of its own accord ; and we are hurled to 
 the bottom, with the weight of all the sins we 
 have committed bearing us down with greater 
 fury. 
 
 There are others amongst us, who first, 
 without any consideration, comply with the 
 temptation, and then stop to look about them 
 for the excuse : they first commit the sin, not 
 weU knowing at the time what defence they 
 can make, but trusting to chance, or to their 
 own ingenuity, for finding one afterwards. 
 
 There are others, more cautious and circum- 
 spect, who first look round for an excuse ; but 
 the moment they see any thing that bears any 
 resemblance to one, they are perfectly satisfied. 
 They dare not look that way again, lest a second 
 thought should undeceive them : it is an excuse 
 as it stands, but another glance, or one mo- 
 ment's closer inspection, might shew them that 
 all was false and hollow ; and rather than be 
 
SERMON XV. 439 
 
 thus undeceived, they take it at the first view, 
 and surrender to the temptation, hoping that, 
 because they had deceived their own hearts, 
 they have deceived One " that is greater than 
 " their hearts." However, it may be well to 
 study them a little more attentively, as one 
 day or other we shall have to look them in 
 the face. 
 
 All the excuses which we are in the habit of 
 making, appear to be reducible to two classes ; 
 and, what is very remarkable, they contradict 
 each other. One of these dangerous apologies 
 is, that many of our particular temptations are, 
 in their very nature, different from those of other 
 men. We often persuade ourselves that we are 
 placed in circumstances totally different from 
 those in which other human beings are involved; 
 and often fancy that nature has given us pas- 
 sions and propensities from which the genera- 
 lity of mankind are entirely free, or by which 
 they are much less powerfully actuated. Hence 
 we flatter ourselves that our situation is so 
 original, and the temptations to which we are 
 exposed so unlike those which human nature 
 is generally called upon to encounter, that the 
 transgression into which it leads us is something 
 
440 SERMON XV. 
 
 new that it stands distinct and alone ; and we 
 can scarcely bring ourselves to think that God 
 will class it with the ordinary violations of his 
 law, or sentence it to the same condemnation. 
 Thus we often go on, imagining that many of 
 our transgressions are exceptions ,to those of the 
 generality of men, and that we have made out 
 a new case for ourselves in the annals of sin, to 
 plead before the throne of God. 
 
 This is one of our excuses : but what is the 
 other ? The common frailty of our nature ; the 
 plea that all men do the same ; that our sins are 
 such as the bulk of mankind commit ; and that 
 we only gratify the passions of human nature, 
 or its common weaknesses, in complying with 
 such temptations. Now, would it not be 
 enough to shew the emptiness and silliness of 
 these apologies, to consider, that there is not 
 a single sin that we could not justify by such 
 means ? If the temptation seems to be peculiar 
 to us not such as human nature is in general 
 subject to, the first will serve. If it be one to 
 which the generality of mankind are exposed, 
 the second comes to our relief: so that we are 
 certain that, if the one fails, the other will suc- 
 ceed. One would imagine that this would be 
 
SERMON XV. 441 
 
 enough. But the passage before us meets them 
 both. As to the^r^ excuse, that there are cer- 
 tain temptations peculiar to ourselves, and which 
 we do not share in common with our fellow- 
 creatures, it says, " There hath no temptation 
 " taken you, but such as is common to man." 
 But, even leaving Scripture out of the question, 
 what reason have we to suppose that we are an 
 exception to the general laws of human nature ? 
 Should we not rather conclude, that men who 
 partake of the same nature as ourselves may be 
 subject to the very same temptations ? We are 
 all inclined to conceal " the sins which most 
 " easily beset us :" therefore, without our ob- 
 servation, others may be exposed to those very 
 trials which we conceive exclusively our own, 
 and may, at that instant, be making the very 
 same excuse. There is no doubt that men 
 differ very much in their character and consti- 
 tution, and the ingredients of human nature are 
 variously mixed in different beings. The ruling 
 propensity in one man may be avarice; in 
 another, " evil concupiscence" and debauchery ; 
 in another, gluttony and drunkenness ; in 
 another, ambition ; in another, the predominant 
 passion may be, a fondness for mischief, for 
 
442 SERMON XV. 
 
 riot, and blood ; while another may be governed 
 by a sottish indolence, or a wild inconstancy. 
 But, as the apostle declares (after enumerating 
 the gifts of the Holy Spirit to different men) 
 that " all these worketh one and the self -same 
 spirit" the spirit of righteousness, so may it 
 be said of these passions, all these worketh the 
 one and the self-same spirit the spirit of sin- 
 ful human nature. They are the common ele- 
 ments of our nature, only differently mixed ; 
 but it is generally in defence of the chief and 
 ruling passion that we urge the first excuse, 
 which we mentioned above : and thus every 
 man would yield to the passion to which he was 
 most attached, and would embrace the sin he 
 most loved. Every man would thus have chosen 
 one part of the law which he might break- 
 that part which he was always most inclined to 
 break ; and, therefore, the very part which he 
 was bound to be most watchful in observing. 
 There chiefly, and because it is our ruling pas- 
 sion, and that which exalts itself most against 
 the love of God, lies our perilous and fiery trial, 
 where our greatest resistance should be exerted. 
 There remains now only the second excuse 
 the frailty of human nature ; the common 
 
SERMON XV. 443 
 
 tendency to sin which we all feel. Alas ! this 
 indeed is true : but it is equally true that there 
 is " a God of purer eyes than to behold ini- 
 " quity ;" a God who has said, " The soul 
 " that sinneth, it shall die ;" a God whom, 
 without holiness, no man shall behold. Yet, 
 even with the sense of this present to our minds 
 and our hearts, how totally unable do we feel 
 ourselves to make that great and continued 
 exertion to effect that complete revolution in 
 heart, in conversation, and in practice, which 
 shall qualify us to stand before the holiness of 
 God ! How totally unable do we feel ourselves 
 to make any advance, even under the conscious- 
 ness that we are bound by his command; 
 bound by our own consciences, our own hopes 
 and fears ; bound by the thoughts of death and 
 life ; bound by the prospect of misery or im- 
 mortality, to lay all our earthly affections at his 
 feet, and consecrate our very beings to his ser- 
 vice ! How feebly do we attempt to struggle 
 through the throng and crowd of temptations 
 that beset and besiege us on every side, and 
 that stand between us and our God ! The pas- 
 sage before us, in reply to our first excuse, de- 
 clared that there hath no temptation taken us 
 
444 SEllMON XV. 
 
 that is not common to man ; but what says it 
 to our second, the frailty of our unfortunate 
 nature? " God is faithful, who will not suffer 
 " you to be tempted above that ye are able." 
 Here, with our warning is our great consolation. 
 It is not merely that God will assist us, but that 
 he will not suffer us to be tempted above that 
 we are able. It is uttered in all the majesty of 
 conscious omnipotence. " I will not suffer you 
 " to be tempted above that ye are able." It is 
 as if he had promised to work a miracle rather 
 than allow us to be overpowered; it is as if he 
 would shake the powers of heaven and earth 
 rather than that his promise should not be per- 
 formed; that he would check the course of 
 nature, that he would stop the sun in his ca- 
 reer, if he were found to bring us into dangers 
 out of which there was no escape ; that he 
 would arrest the profligate current of human 
 affairs; that he would say to the tide of temp- 
 tations, if it were pouring in too boldly upon us, 
 " Thus far shalt thou come, and no further." 
 
 But let us fully understand the meaning 
 and the nature of this glorious promise. We 
 may observe then, in the first place, it is not a 
 promise of grace which excuses us from resist- 
 
SERMON XV. 445 
 
 ing temptation, but of grace, by which we are 
 enabled to overcome it. So that while, by the 
 blood of Christ, and by that alone, we are 
 saved, and while no human being shall be able 
 to say, he has earned salvation unto himself, 
 we are ten times, and ten times, more bound 
 to wage war with the world, the flesh, and the 
 devil, as the unworthy sinners whom Christ 
 has redeemed, than as the presumptuous Phari- 
 see, who proudly counts over his works and his 
 alms as the price of his salvation. For we are 
 endowed with new motives and new strength 
 to resist it, which he, " trusting in himself,'' 
 never could experience. In fact, God does 
 every thing for us, short of what is inconsistent 
 with his own nature, which revolts at all im- 
 purity and sin. For our sakes, he sends his 
 Son on earth, to a life of sorrow and perse- 
 cution, and to a death of agony and shame, in 
 order to redeem us from the punishment of sin: 
 he sends his Holy Spirit, to purify us from its 
 corruption: he utters prophecy to warn us: he 
 works miracles to convince us: every thing, in 
 fact, that is not incompatible with the fixed 
 principle of his nature ; " Without holiness, no 
 " man shall see the Lord." 
 
446 SERMON XV. 
 
 The second thing to be observed in this 
 promise, is the inseparable connexion of divine 
 grace with human exertion. He does not say 
 that he will not suffer us to be overcome, but 
 that " He will not suffer us to be tempted above 
 " that we are able." Here we see the genuine 
 operation of the grace of God. Human exer- 
 tion without it is hopeless, powerless, ineffec- 
 tual. Dependent upon our own exertion alone, 
 we should be tempted above that we are able. 
 On the other hand, the grace of God is given in 
 vain, unless we embrace it humbly, unless 
 we hold it fast in our hearts, unless we wield 
 it in our hands. It does not actually vanquish 
 the temptation ; but it clothes us for the battle 
 in the armour of righteousness. Therefore, 
 with watching and praying, and with fear and 
 trembling, let us await the approach of every 
 temptation that we see bearing down upon our 
 souls. Inspired by the animating assurance, 
 " That God is faithful, and will not suffer us to 
 " be tempted above that we are able;" and 
 with the awful sense that God is on our side, 
 and that we must not dare to desert his standard 
 when he promises us victory, let us advance to 
 fight the good fight of faith. But let us march 
 
SERMON XV. 447 
 
 with slow and thoughtful steps, and an humble 
 and resigned confidence, to meet the attack of 
 sin and death, under the shadow of his holiness, 
 who would often have gathered us under his 
 protecting wing, and we would not. Thus will 
 this poor worm, who once crawled along the 
 earth, yielding, with a faint heart and trem- 
 bling conscience, to every sin that assailed him, 
 " become more than conqueror through him 
 " that loved him." 
 
APPENDIX. 
 
 IT may be a matter of surprise to some readers that 
 
 Mr. W had not exercised his poetical talents upon 
 
 religious subjects : but the fact was, that he seemed to 
 shrink from such themes as too lofty for his genius 
 too pure and too awful for what he humbly thought his 
 insufficient powers. The standard of excellence which 
 his imagination had raised was so high, that no effort of 
 his own could give him satisfaction. 
 
 He had sometimes entertained the idea that reli- 
 gious subjects might be profitably introduced in songs 
 adapted to national music, which might thus be made 
 a vehicle of popular instruction : how much he felt the 
 delicacy and difficulty of such a task, will appear from 
 the judicious observations contained in a letter to a pious 
 friend who had sent him some verses written with that 
 view. 
 
 " MY DEAR , 
 
 * " The poems upon which you desire 
 " my opinion seem to be the production of a truly spi- 
 " ritual mind a mind deeply exercised in experimental 
 " religion, which sees every object through a pure and 
 " holy medium, and turns every thing it contemplates 
 
 2 G 
 
450 APPENDIX. 
 
 " into devotion. But their very excellence in this re- 
 " spect seems, in the present instance, to constitute 
 " their leading defect. Their object, if I understand it 
 (( aright, is to make popular music a channel by which 
 " religious feeling may be diffused through society ; 
 " and thus, at the same time, to redeem the national 
 " music from the profaneness and licentiousness to 
 " which it has been prostituted. As to the first ob- 
 " ject : the natural language of a spiritual man, which 
 " would remind one of the like spirit of much of his 
 " internal experience, would be not only uninteresting, 
 " but absolutely unintelligible to the generality of man- 
 " kind. He speaks of hopes and fears, of pleasures 
 " and pains, which they could only comprehend by 
 " having previously felt them. 
 
 " You remember that it is said of the ( new song 
 " that was sung before the throne,' that no man could 
 " learn that song, save those that were redeemed from 
 " the earth : and therefore it often happens, that those 
 " who best understand that music, are more intelligible 
 " to heavenly than earthly beings : they are often bet- 
 " ter understood by angels than by men. The high 
 " degree of spirituality which they have attained often 
 " renders it not only painful, but impossible, to accom- 
 " modate themselves to the ordinary feelings of man- 
 " kind. They cannot stoop, even though it be to 
 " conquer. To the world, their effusions are in an 
 " unknown language. In fact, they often take for 
 " granted the very work to be done ; they presuppose 
 
APPENDIX. 451 
 
 " that communion of feeling and unity of spirit be- 
 " tween themselves and the world which it is their 
 " primary object to produce ; and when they do not 
 " produce this effect, they may even do mischief; for 
 " the spontaneous language of a religious mind is, 
 ts generally speaking, revolting to the great mass of 
 " society : they shrink from it as they do from the 
 " Bible. 
 
 u Just consider all the caution, the judgment, and the 
 " skill, requisite in order to introduce religion profitably 
 " into general conversation, and then you may conceive 
 " what will be the fate of a song to which a man has 
 " recourse for amusement, and which he expects will 
 " appeal to his feelings when he finds it employed on 
 " a subject to which he has not learnt to attach any 
 " idea of pleasure, and which speaks to feelings he 
 " never experienced. It is on this account I conceive 
 " that a song intended to make religion popular should 
 " not be entirely of a religious cast ; that it should take 
 " in as wide a range as any other song, should appeal 
 " to every passion and feeling of our nature not in 
 " itself sinful, should employ all the scenery, the 
 " imagery, and circumstance of the songs of this world, 
 " while religion should be indirectly introduced, or 
 " delicately insinuated. I think we shall come to the 
 " same conclusion if we consider the reformation of 
 " the national music as the primary object. The pre- 
 " dominant feelings excited and expressed by our 
 " national airs, however exquisitely delightful, are 
 2 G 2 
 
452 APPENDIX. 
 
 *' manifestly human ; and it is evident that in order to 
 " do them justice we must follow the prevailing tone. 
 " The strain and ground-work of the words can hardly 
 " be spiritual ; but a gleam of religion might be every 
 " now and then tastefully admitted, with the happiest 
 " effect. But indeed it appears so difficult, that in the 
 " whole range of poetry there does not occur to me, at 
 " present, an instance in which it has been successfully 
 " executed. The only piece* which I now recollect as 
 " at all exemplifying my meaning is Cowper's ' Alex- 
 " ander Selkirk,' beginning, ' I am monarch of all I 
 " survey, 1 which I believe has neve r been set to music: 
 " It is not professedly religious ; nay, the situation, the 
 " sentiments, and the feelings, are such as the com- 
 " monest reader can at once conceive to be his own. It 
 " needs neither a spiritual man, nor a poet, nor a man 
 " of taste or of education, to enter into immediate sym- 
 " pathy with him: it is not until the fourth stanza (after 
 " he has taken possession of his reader) that he intro- 
 " duces a religious sentiment ; to which, however, he 
 (( had been gradually ascending; and even then ac- 
 " companies and recommends it with what may, per- 
 " haps, be called the romantic and picturesque of reli- 
 " gion, ' the sound of the church-going bell,' &c. He 
 " then appears to desert the subject altogether, and 
 
 * The author probably would have also instanced the 
 beautiful Scotch ballad " I 'm wearing awa', Jean," if it had 
 occurred to his memory. EDITOR. 
 
APPENDIX. 453 
 
 " only returns to it (as it were) accidentally but with 
 " what beauty and effect ! in the last four lines. 
 
 " I am really struck with consternation at finding 
 " that I have been writing a review rather than giving 
 " an opinion, and must not dare to add another word, 
 * c but to beg you will believe me 
 
 " Yours, &c. 
 
 C. W." 
 
 It may not be uninteresting to give the following 
 specimens of his early poetical powers upon scriptural 
 subjects, which he displayed when a school-boy. 
 
 JESUS RAISING LAZARUS. 
 
 Silent and sad, deep gazing on the clay, 
 
 Where Lazarus breathless, cold, and lifeless lay, 
 
 The Saviour stood : he dropp'd a heavenly tear, 
 
 The dew of pity from a soul sincere : 
 
 He heaved a groan ! though large his cup of woe, 
 
 Yet still for others' grief his sorrows flow ; 
 
 He knew what pains must pierce a sister's heart, 
 
 When death had sped his sharpest, deadliest dart, 
 
 And seized a brother's life. Around they stand, 
 
 Sisters and friends, a weeping, mournful band: 
 
 His prayer he raises to the blest abode, 
 
 And mercy bears it to the throne of God : 
 
 " Lord ! thou hast always made thy Son thy care, 
 
 " Ne'er has my soul in vain preferr'd its prayer ; 
 
454 APPENDIX. 
 
 " Hear now, O Father ! this thy flock relieve, 
 
 " Dry thou their tears, and teach them to believe 
 
 " Thy power the sinking wretch from death can save, 
 
 " And burst the iron fetters of the grave : 
 
 " Awake ! arise !" the healing words he spoke, 
 
 And death's deep slumbers in a moment broke : 
 
 Fate hears astonish 'd, trembles at the word, 
 
 And nature yields, overcome by nature's Lord. 
 
 Light peeps with glimmering rays into his eyes ; 
 
 With lingering paces misty darkness flies ; 
 
 The pulse slow vibrates through the languid frame, 
 
 The frozen blood renews the vital flame ; 
 
 His body soon its wonted strength regains, 
 
 And life returning rushes to his veins. 
 
 They look ! they start ! they look ! 'tis he, 'tis he ! 
 
 They see him, and yet scarce believe they see ! 
 
 On Him on Him they turn their thankful eyes, 
 
 From whom such wondrous benefits arise : 
 
 On him they look, who, God and Man combined, 
 
 Joined mortal feelings with a heavenly mind : 
 
 On Him their warm collected blessings pour'd ; 
 
 As Man, they loved him and as God, adored. 
 
 PRIZE POEM. 
 
 ON THE DEATH OF ABEL. 
 
 In youthful dignity and lovely grace, 
 With heaven itself reflected on his face, 
 
APPENDIX. 455 
 
 In purity and innocence array'd, 
 The perfect work of God was Abel made. 
 To him the fleecy charge his sire consigned : 
 An angel's figure with an angel's mind, 
 In him his father every blessing view'd, 
 And thought the joys of Paradise renewed. 
 But stern and gloomy was the soul of Cain ; 
 A brother's virtue was the source of pain ; 
 Malice and hate their secret wounds impart, 
 And envy's vulture gnaws upon his heart : 
 With discontented hand he turn'd the soil, 
 And inly grieving, murmur'd o'er his toil. 
 Each with his offering to the Almighty came, 
 Their altars raised, and fed the sacred flame. 
 Scarce could the pitying Abel bear to bind 
 A lamb, the picture of his Master's mind ; 
 Which to the pile with tender hand he drew, 
 And wept, as he the bleating victim slew. 
 Around, with fond regard the zephyr play'd, 
 Nor dared disturb th' oblation Abel made. 
 The gracious flames accepted, upward flew, 
 The Lord received them, for his heart was true. 
 His first-reap'd fruits indignant Cain prepares, 
 But vain his sacrifice and vain his prayers, 
 For all were hollow : God and nature frown'd, 
 The wind dispersed them, and the Lord disown'd. 
 He looks behind what flames around him rise ? 
 " O hell ! 'tis Abel's, Abel's sacrifice ! 
 
456 APPENDIX. 
 
 " Curst, hated sight ! another look would tear 
 
 " My soul with rage, would plunge me in despair ! 
 
 " Still must each wish that Abel breathes be heard ; 
 
 " Still must I see his suit to mine preferred ! 
 
 " Still must this darling of creation share 
 
 " His parents' dearest love, his Maker's care ; 
 
 " But Cain is doom'd his sullen hate to vent 
 
 " Is doomed his woes in silence to lament : 
 
 " Why should the sound of Abel sound more dear, 
 
 " More sweet than Cain's unto my father's ear ? 
 
 " Each look, that once on me with pleasure glow'd, 
 
 " Each kiss, each smile, on Abel is bestow'd. 
 
 " He loves me, views me with sincere delight ; 
 
 " Yet, yet I hate him, yet I loathe his sight ! 
 
 66 But why detest him ? why do I return 
 
 " Hate for his love, his warm affection spurn ? 
 
 " Ah ! vain each effort, vain persuasion's art, 
 
 " While rancour's sting is festering in my heart !" 
 
 At this ill-fated moment, when his rage 
 
 Nor love could bind, nor reason could assuage, 
 
 Young Abel came ; he mark'd his sullen woe, 
 
 Nor in the brother could discern the foe. 
 
 As down his cheeks the generous sorrow ran, 
 
 He gazed with fondness, and at length began : 
 
 " Why lowers that storm beneath thy clouded eye ? 
 
 " Why wouldst thou thus thy Abel's presence fly ? 
 
 " Turn thee, my brother ! view me laid thus low, 
 
 " And smooth the threatening terrors of thy brow. 
 
APPENDIX. 457 
 
 " Have I offended ? is my fault so great, 
 
 " That truth and friendship cannot change thy hate? 
 
 " Then tell me, Cain, O tell me all thy care ; 
 
 " O cease thy grief, or let thy Abel share !" 
 
 No tears prevail : his passions stronger rise ; 
 
 Increasing fury flashes from his eyes ; 
 
 At once, each fiend around his heartstrings twines, 
 
 At once, all hell within his soul combines, 
 
 " Ah serpent !" At the word he fiercely sprung, 
 
 Caught th' accursed weapon, brandish 'd, swung, 
 
 And smote ! the stroke descended on his brow ; 
 
 The suppliant victim sunk beneath the blow : 
 
 The streaming blood distainM his locks with gore 
 
 Those beauteous tresses, that were gold before : 
 
 Nor could his lips a deep-drawn sigh restrain, 
 
 Not for himself he sigh'd he sigh'd for Cain : 
 
 His dying eyes a look of pity cast, 
 
 And beamed forgiveness, ere they closed their last. 
 
 The murderer view'd him with a vacant stare, 
 
 Each thought was anguish, and each look despair. 
 
 " Abel, awake ; arise !" he trembling cried ; 
 
 " Abel, my brother !" but no voice replied. 
 
 At every call more madly wild he grew, 
 
 Paler than he, whom late in rage he slew. 
 
 In frightful silence o'er the corse he stood, 
 
 And chain'd in terror, wonder'd at the blood. 
 
 " Awake ! yet oh ! no voice, no smile, no breath I 
 
 " O God, support me ! O, should this be death ! 
 
458 APPENDIX. 
 
 " O thought most dreadful ! how my blood congeals ! 
 " How every vein increasing horror feels ! 
 " How faint his visage, and how droops his head ! 
 " O God, he 's gone ! and I have done the deed !" 
 Pierced with the thought, the fatal spot he flies, 
 And, plunged in darkness, seeks a vain disguise. 
 Eve, hapless Eve ! 'twas thine these woes to see, 
 To weep thy own, thy children's misery ! 
 She, all unconscious, with her husband stray 'd 
 To meet her sons beneath their favourite shade : 
 To them the choicest fruits of all her store, 
 Delightful task ! a pleasing load she bore. 
 While with maternal love she look'd around 
 Lo ! Abel, breathless, weltering on the ground ! 
 She shriek'd his name 'twas all that she could say, 
 Then sunk, and lifeless as her Abel lay. 
 Not long the trance could all her senses seal, 
 She woke too soon returning woe to feel. 
 Those lips, that once gave rapture to her breast, 
 Now cold in death, the afflicted mother press'd. 
 Fix'd in the silent agony of woe, 
 The father stood, nor comfort could bestow. 
 Weep, wretched father ! hopeless mother, weep ! 
 A long, long slumber Abel 's doom'd to sleep ! 
 Wrapt in the tangling horrors of the wood, 
 The murderer sought to fly himself and God. 
 Night closed her welcome shades around his head, 
 But angry conscience lash'd him as he fled. 
 
APPENDIX. 459 
 
 " Here stretch thy limbs, thou wretch ! O may this blast 
 
 " Bear death, and may this moment be thy last ! 
 
 " May blackest night eternal hold her reign ; 
 
 " And may the sun forget to light the plain ! 
 
 " Ye shades, surround me ! darkness hide my sin ! 
 
 " 'Tis dark without, but darker still within. 
 
 " O Abel ! O my brother ! could not all 
 
 " Thy love for me preserve thee from thy fall ! 
 
 " Why did not Heaven avert that deadly blow, 
 
 " That dreadful, hated wound, that laid thee low ! 
 
 66 O I'm in hell ! each breath, each blast alarms, 
 
 " And every maddening demon is in arms : 
 
 " The voice of God, the curse of Heaven I hear ; 
 
 " The name of murder'd Abel strikes my ear, 
 
 " Rolls in the thunder, rustles in the trees, 
 
 " And Abel ! Abel ! murmurs in the breeze. 
 
 " Still fancy scares me with his dying groan, 
 
 " And clothes each scene in horrors not its own. 
 
 " Curst be that day, the harbinger of woes, 
 
 " When first my mother felt a mother's throes ; 
 
 " When sweetly smiling on my infant face, 
 
 " She blest the firstling of a future race. 
 
 " O Death ! thou hidden, thou mysterious bane ! 
 
 " Can all thy terrors equal living pain ? 
 
 " Yet still there lies a world beyond the grave, 
 
 " From whence no death, no subterfuge can save. 
 
 " Thou, God of Vengeance ! these my sufferings see, 
 
 " To all the God of Mercy, but to me ! 
 
460. APPENDIX. 
 
 u O soothe the tortures of my guilty state, 
 
 " Great is thy vengeance, but thy mercy great. 
 
 " My brother ! thou canst see how deep I grieve ; 
 
 " Look down, thou injured angel, and forgive ! 
 
 " Far hence, a wretched fugitive, I roam, 
 
 " The earth my bed, the wilderness my home. 
 
 " Far hence I stray from these delightful seats, 
 
 " To solitary tracts, and drear retreats. 
 
 " Yet ah ! the very beasts will shun my sight, 
 
 " Will fly my bloody footsteps with affright. 
 
 " No brother they, no faithful friend have slain, 
 
 " Detested only for that crime is Cain. 
 
 " Had I but lulFd each fury of my soul, 
 
 " Had held each rebel passion in control, 
 
 " To nature and to God had faithful proved, 
 
 " And loved a brother as a brother loved, 
 
 " Then had I sunk into a grave of rest, 
 
 " And Cain had breathed his last on Abel's breast !" 
 
 The following juvenile exercises (composed amidst 
 the hurry of public examinations, and within the short 
 time allowed on such occasions) were thought to give 
 fair promise of future excellence in Latin versification. 
 Some of the best verses which he wrote have been lost ; 
 and he never applied himself afterwards to the cultiva- 
 tion of his talents in that way. 
 
APPENDIX. 461 
 
 GILECIA CAPTA FERUM VICTOREM CEPIT. 
 
 Intenta bellis, et rudis artium, 
 Victrix juventus ingruit Atticae, 
 Sedesque doctrinae dicatas, 
 Imperio subigit superbo : 
 Sed non Camoenas ; hae placido domant, 
 Hae saeva cultu pectora molliunt, 
 Gratasque Romanum vaganti 
 Ingenio injiciunt habenas : 
 Victas Athenas en juvenum cohors, 
 Victas Athenas Ausonium petit 
 Examen ; in campos Pelasgos 
 
 Roma ferox Latiumque fluxit. 
 Hinc mutuatur gymnasio forum 
 Ton-ends aestus eloquii, et gravis 
 Demosthenis gustavit acer 
 
 Rhetoricum Cicero fluentum. 
 Rapta sonori Maeonidis tuba, 
 Dignos magistro dat numeros Maro ; 
 Audaxque clangorem strepentem 
 Increpat, attonitusque cantat. 
 Chordam in Latinas ^Eolicam lyras 
 Modumque Flaccus transtulit aureum, et 
 Mel dulce b'bavit, Poetae 
 Aonii labiiscaducum. 
 
462 APPENDIX. 
 
 PRINCIPIIS OBSTA. 
 
 Surge! nee turpis teneat Voluptas; 
 Arma, quse Virtus dedit, atque Numen, 
 Indue, ad pugnam citus ; ecce praesens 
 
 Advenit hostis. 
 
 Advenit dirum Vitium, ille primo 
 Praelio tantiim superandus hostis ; 
 Conseras pugnam, cadat atque summo 
 
 Limine victus. 
 
 Viperae ssevam genitura prolem 
 Ova conculca ; nisi sic latentes 
 Comprimas pestes, breviter tremenda 
 
 Pullulat Hydra. 
 
 Ergo vincendum Vitium juventa est : 
 Herculis vivas memor, et tenella 
 Strangulet, cunis etiam, ingruentes 
 
 Dextra dracones. 
 
 IRA FUROR BREVIS EST. 
 
 Quare supremum dat gemitum Clytus? 
 Senexque cara miles obit manu ? 
 Quis pectus invadit fidele 
 
 Ni Furiis agitatus ipsis ? 
 
APPENDIX. 463 
 
 Furore felix ! cui scelus et nefas 
 Postquam patrasset non Ratio redit ! 
 Non mentis ultoris flagella 
 
 Sentiet, et rabie fruetur. 
 Ast Ira praeceps perfidior Furor, 
 Mentes ut aegras impulit in scelus, 
 Relinquit, accedunt querelae, 
 
 Conscia mens, lachrymaeque inanes. 
 
 MISCELLANEOUS THOUGHTS. 
 
 It is curious to observe what sources superstition 
 used to furnish to imagination, and what civilisation 
 has supplied for them. This may be aptly illustrated 
 by the circumstance of eclipses. These formerly excited 
 a real and present terror in barbarous minds, and gave 
 a wild and violent impulse to their imaginations. Civili- 
 sation has dried up this fountain for the fancy, but has 
 supplied the knowledge of that glorious system of the 
 universe, which, though it does not so imperiously 
 demand consideration, yet, when considered, displays 
 a much more magnificent and extensive field for ima- 
 gination, which thus seems to have even gained by its 
 alliance with truth. 
 
 Imagination seems almost necessary to truth and 
 reason, and often first suggests what reason afterwards 
 
464 APPENDIX. 
 
 proves ; and afterwards seems necessary (at least with 
 such limited beings as we are) to admire its results. 
 
 Truth and reason, when rightly considered, by de- 
 veloping the works of the Deity, are, in other words, 
 developing the sublime and beautiful, which are also 
 the objects of imagination. 
 
 There is a degree of alliance between truth and 
 imagery. We look for a degree of probability in the 
 wildest fits of fancy ; and require, at least, apparent 
 harmony and coherence, and a consistency with human 
 nature. 
 
 Imagination it is which sustains hope, joy, &c. 
 Shall we then part with it in heaven ? It appears to 
 be a partial exertion of a more general faculty a love 
 of the sublime and beautiful ; so that this our lovely 
 earthly companion, with whom we have wandered over 
 mountain and wild, and by whose side we have reposed 
 in glen and valley, this our wayward and romantic 
 guardian may rise when we rise, and become glorified 
 with us in heaven. 
 
 Men who accustom themselves to take compre- 
 hensive views of practical subjects, often forget the 
 application to themselves as individuals, in considering 
 the effect upon the aggregate of mankind, or upon col- 
 lective bodies. Thus men, who with a view to raise the 
 
APPENDIX. 465 
 
 character, and justly appreciate the good effects of 
 Christianity, employ themselves much in considering 
 its influence upon society, are sometimes ignorant of 
 its doctrines, and uninfluenced by its precepts. One 
 reason is, that in considering the aggregate of man- 
 kind the individual is kept out of view ; another, that 
 many of the effects upon society are merely temporal, 
 and all come short of those which it produces upon any 
 one individual upon whom it is practically influential ; 
 another, is the pride that naturally accompanies the mind 
 which is possessed of those comprehensive powers. 
 
 It might be at once one of the most certain and the 
 most agreeable methods of decomposing and developing 
 the ingredients of human nature, to take some of those 
 passages of undoubted and transcendent excellence 
 which are supplied oy poetry, oratory, and polite litera- 
 ture in general, and by altering one or two of the less 
 prominent words or expressions, perhaps a mere particle, 
 into one apparently synonymous, to observe the change of 
 feeling produced by change of phrase, and pursue it to its 
 source. This would be a species of metaphysical ana- 
 lysis, in which, from real though delicate and unobtru- 
 sive data, we might, by cautious reasoning, arrive at 
 abstract principles. For if a change of feeling is pro- 
 duced, if we feel a disappointment at any alteration, 
 however slight, the pleasure or pain is as real, though 
 not as intense, as the most extravagant joy or the most 
 violent agony. Thus we should detect many a pleasure 
 
 2H 
 
466 APPENDIX. 
 
 (as we often do) only by its loss ; and, what is still 
 more important, would be guided, in the progress of 
 reasoning, to its principles, and prevented from indul- 
 ging in fanciful and extravagant speculation, by having 
 two feelings to compare or contrast the pleasure with 
 its disappointment. This might lead to a knowledge 
 of the principles of our nature ; to an acquaintance 
 with the delicacy of language and style; to a radical 
 improvement of taste, and to a perception of the more 
 retiring, but, perhaps, the more exalted beauties of 
 literature. 
 
 It was the greatest compliment ever passed upon 
 one of the greatest statesmen the world ever saw, " that 
 " he ruled the wilderness of free minds." Shall we 
 then deny to the Creator an excellence that we admire 
 in one of his creatures ? 
 
 The question between (I believe) Voltaire and 
 Rousseau, " Whether the savage or the civilised state 
 48 were preferable ?" is one of the greatest arguments 
 for the utter depravation of our species. The mere 
 naked fact, that such a question had arisen among 
 rational beings Whether they should continue in a 
 state allied to the brute, or exert the very faculties 
 which constituted them a species ? is enough ; we need 
 go no farther. 
 
APPENDIX. 46? 
 
 THE FOLLOWING WERE FOUND AMONGST SOME 
 OF HIS JUVENILE PAPERS. 
 
 Successful ambition is like the rainbow which spans 
 the sky, and is gazed at by all who behold it, with 
 admiration : it is composed of the rays of the sun, 
 together with the approaching rain and the advancing 
 cloud. Alas ! and does not ambition span the earth 
 with a momentary grasp, and is it not composed of the 
 beams of glory, which are transient, and the deluge of 
 rain and devastation, and the cloud of misfortunes, 
 which are permanent ? For the rainbow fades and 
 dies away in an instant, and the rays of its glory depart 
 with it ; but the rain and cloud existed while it existed, 
 and survived when the rainbow and its beams had 
 vanished. Thus does the man of ambition derive his 
 glory from causing ruin : the ruin is contemporary with 
 the glory, and outlives it. His dear beam fades as he 
 sinks into the grave, but he bequeaths the storm to his 
 fellow-creatures. 
 
 Irish music often gives us, the idea of a mournful 
 retrospect upon past gaiety, which cannot help catch- 
 ing a little of the spirit of that very gaiety which it is 
 lamenting. 
 
 There appear to be two species of eloquence ; one 
 arising from a clear and intense perception of truth, the 
 other from a rich and powerful imagination. 
 2 H 2 
 
468 APPENDIX. 
 
 The sentiment comes at once from the lips of the 
 orator, with language at the moment of its birth, like 
 Minerva in panoply from the brow of Jove. 
 
 The milk of human nature appears under as many 
 different modifications in the dispositions of men, as 
 the substance, to which it is compared, undergoes in 
 the dairy. In some men of a perpetual and impreg- 
 nable good humour it has all the oiliness and- consistency 
 of butter ; in those of a liberal and generous disposition, 
 it has all the richness of cream ; in men of a sickly 
 habit of mind, it has all the mawkish insipidity of whey ; 
 and in a large portion of the community, it possesses 
 all the sourness of buttermilk. 
 
 Solitude and Society may be illustrated by a lake 
 and river. In the one, indeed, we can view the heavens 
 more calmly and distinctly ; but we can also see our own 
 image more clearly, and are in danger of the sin of 
 Narcissus : while, in the river, the view both of the 
 heavens and of ourselves is more broken and disturbed ; 
 but health and fertility are scattered around. 
 
 The imperfect progress of Christianity is only ana- 
 logous to that first state of which it is the restitution 
 the state of Adam in Eden. There Adam was liable to 
 fall ; and the blessings of Christianity which is declared 
 to be the restoration of that state are of course as 
 much subject to rejection as the blessings of paradise : 
 
 " Flowers of Eden that we may cast away." 
 
APPENDIX. 469 
 
 Those who cavil at the apparent clashing of the 
 attributes of the Deity, and at the control which they 
 appear to exercise mutually upon each other, involun- 
 tarily fall into a species of paganism. They distribute 
 the Deity into so many different essences : they, in 
 fact, deify his attributes, and make so many inde- 
 pendent gods. Whereas, the division of the Deity into 
 attributes is only an accommodation to the weakness of 
 human faculties. He is the simple, perfect Deity ; of 
 single and uncompounded energy ; like the solar ray, 
 appearing more pure and simple than its ingredients. 
 
 One difficulty of a preacher is, to balance the terrors 
 and comforts of religion ; a difficulty in style rather 
 than in matter. Those who speak upon other subjects 
 have generally to give the mind a strong impulse in 
 one direction, because their object is generally to pro- 
 duce one certain specific act, t. e. a vote on a certain 
 side ; but the preacher has to induce a habit of acting, 
 to regulate a man's hopes and fears. This perhaps is 
 one argument against extemporaneous preaching. 
 
 Shall the word of a physician alter our regimen ? 
 Shall a few hundreds added to, or subtracted from our 
 fortune, alter our style of living ? And yet shall a visit 
 from God produce no change ? Shall heaven have de- 
 scended upon earth, and earth remain what it was ? 
 Shall the Spirit of God have communed with me, and 
 shall my soul return unpurified from the conversation ? 
 
470 APPENDIX. 
 
 Christ is " God manifest :" He is the Word God 
 heard : the Light God seen : the Life God felt. 
 
 The difference between our Lord's style of prophecy 
 and that of all other prophets, is this : He seems to 
 speak with a clear steady perception of futurity, as if 
 his eye was just as calmly fixed upon future events as 
 if the whole were a present occurrence : the prophets 
 appear only to have a picture, or a strong delineation of 
 their prominent features, and their imaginations became 
 heated and turbid, and agitated and confused. 
 
 The story of St. Paul's conversion is told in three 
 different ways by the same author; and when com- 
 pared, the differences appear so natural, from the dif- 
 ferent situations and circumstances in which they are 
 related, that, first, they bear invincible testimony to the 
 authenticity and genuineness of the book itself; and, 
 secondly, are a standing instance how natural are the 
 variations between the different Gospels; and prove 
 that, instead of furnishing an objection, they are an 
 additional evidence of their truth. The account of the 
 baptism of Cornelius is told twice, and is another 
 instance of the same kind. 
 
 One of the uses of obscurity in the Bible is to excite 
 curiosity, and to make an exercise for the faculties as 
 well as for the affections and dispositions, in order that 
 the whole man may be employed in religion ; that there 
 
APPENDIX. 471 
 
 may be a mode of religious exercise which may serve 
 both to relieve the exercise of mere feeling, and serve as 
 a kind of substratum and arena, on which those feelings 
 may find matter, range, and variety. 
 
 However the world may affect to despise the ge- 
 nuine Christian, it is beyond their power ; they feel too 
 sensibly the difficulty of attaining that very state of feel- 
 ing and disposition which is displayed in such a cha- 
 racter, to entertain in their heart any mean or degrad- 
 ing opinion of the character which they apparently 
 undervalue. Every thought which is wrung from their 
 conscience by its unwelcome obtrusion upon their con- 
 templation, rises in judgment against their indifference. 
 God has not permitted them to despise a true Chris- 
 tian : they may pass him by with a haughty and su- 
 percilious coldness : they may deride him with a taunt* 
 ing and sarcastic irony ; but the spirit of the proudest 
 man that ever lived will bend before the grandeur of 
 a Christian's humility. You are at once awed, and 
 you recoil upon your own conscience when you meet 
 with one whose feelings are purified by the Gospel. 
 The light of a Christian's soul, when it shines into 
 the dark den of a worldly heart, startles and alarms 
 the gloomy passions that are brooding within. Is this 
 contempt ? No : but all the virulence which is excited 
 by the Christian graces can be resolved into envy the 
 feelings of devils when they think on the pure happiness 
 of angels : and to complete their confusion, what is at 
 
472 APPENDIX. 
 
 that moment the feeling in the Christian's heart ? Pity, 
 most unfeigned pity. 
 
 The ancients either let their passions run wild, or 
 confined them like wild beasts in their cages, where 
 they were kept muttering in their cells : but Christ has 
 taught them their legitimate exercise. 
 
 The question, Whether the passions are to be ad- 
 mitted into religion? divides itself into two: First, 
 Whether the passions are unreasonable in themselves ? 
 Secondly, Whether they are misplaced in religion ? The 
 first is a piece of stoicism, that is too absurd and ridi- 
 culous to be maintained. 
 
 The second divides itself also into two : First, 
 Whether the affections are misplaced in religion, gene- 
 rally ? Secondly, Whether our Saviour is the proper 
 object of them ? 
 
 First, generally : it is a great presumption against 
 it, that it proposes at once to exclude from religion so 
 grand a part of the composition of man. It is to be 
 supposed, that as the organs of the body, so the original 
 passions of the mind, were given for some valuable pur- 
 poses by the Creator. They are now in perpetual rebel- 
 lion ; and reason alone would presume that it would be 
 the effect of revelation completely to repair the conse- 
 quences of this corruption. This indeed had been tried 
 by human systems in vain. Epicurus confirmed the 
 usurpation of the passions ; the Stoics attempted to 
 
APPENDIX. 473 
 
 extinguish them ; but it is the peculiar office of Chris- 
 tianity to bring all the faculties of our nature into their 
 due subordination ; ( that so the whole man, complete 
 ' in all his functions, may be restored to the true end 
 6 of his being, and devoted, entire and harmonious, to 
 ' the service and glory of God.' 
 
 THE END. 
 
 LONDON 
 PRINTED B\ S. ANP R. BENTLEY, DORSET STREET, 
 


 
 
 
 

 
 
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