affection towards spiritual things; so that solitude, which to a common nature is so intolerable, and to a corrupt nature so terrible, yields to a Christian inconceivable benefit, inexpressible comfort.

Now then, if all that I have said, or even the half of what I have said, be the truth, let any sincere Christian, in the retrospect of his past life, strike off all the advantages which he can fairly attribute to his religion, and determine what the value is of those dregs and that residue which remain. When he perceives how often the mild wisdom of the Gospel has guarded him from imperious passion, how often its consolations have soothed him in poignant griefs, how often its benignity has reared up to him the ministration of charity-the fear it has dissipated, the darkness it has illumined, the doubt it has unravelled, the despair it has menaced away -he will then feel as this most zealous servant of Jesus felt, and with him exclaim, that he counts all things but loss for the excellency of the knowledge of Christ Jesus his Saviour.

SERMON IX.

JOB, vii. 16.

I would not live always.

As the thought of death is a bitter ingredient in all human speculations, and a constant disturber of all human schemes, I propose to consider what consolation we can accumulate against it, what aid we can gain from reflection; how we may lessen the evil in imagination, and how we may meet it with more firmness in reality.

I am not speaking, be it observed, of untimely death, but of death coming in due season after old age.

To simplify the question, death must not only be separated from untimeliness, but it must be separated from pain, which is not only not necessary to death, but an accident which our vices and indiscretions often connect with it; whatever be the evils of death, they have no need of exasperation and addition; nor must we suppose the death of which I am speaking to be the death of those who die with a load of guilt, and in the deepest perturbation; but the death of one who has little more to reproach himself with, than those errors and infirmities which are inseparable from our fallen nature; the death of one who dreads, as man always must dread, to meet his God, but who mingles that dread with hope in Christ. Under these limitations, and with these explanations, I propose to explain why

that feeling of the text is rational-why a man who has properly reflected on life would not live always; and in reflecting upon this, you will find that, unless the world were changed in a great variety of particulars, the mere gift of increased life, would be an enormous evil rather than a signal blessing.

I would not live always, because I would not wish to live in a state of bodily decay; a weariness to myself and a burthen to others; broken in mind, and falling into the weakness of a second infancy. By life is meant a body capable of acting, and a mind capable of judging; senses unimpaired, understanding in its ancient vigour, the extension of knowledge, and the exercise of kindness. When life is bereft of all these things, when mind and body are both falling into decay, the time is then surely come; it cannot then be very terrible to die. Under such circumstances we wish for death; we speak of death as a release, we pray to God for death. But, let never-failing health be added to increased existence, would that increased existence be well and wisely employed? If any man were to express before us a wish for greater wealth than he possessed, we should naturally begin to consider what use this wisher made of the property he already possessed; whether he spent it judiciously, and in a manner which increased his happiness. If we found that all he had was well applied, it would establish a fair inference that he would be really more happy if his wishes were fulfilled; but if on the contrary he tossed away what he possessed with needless profusion, if he appeared utterly ignorant what to do with it, if it was a burthen and a misfortune to him, if it produced weariness and discontent instead of cheerfulness, we should naturally feel astonishment, that any one who managed so badly what he possessed, and who frequently seemed so tired of it, should still wish to have it increased; and we should regard the completion of his desires as the augmentation of his miseries. I need not

make the application of this to human life. Almost all, abuse it and waste it; pass a great part of it in absolute indolence and sloth. Many quit it voluntarily; many risk it for the slightest cause; many complain of the miseries and indignities it inflicts; many, ignorant what to do with it, are driven to the miserable expedients of vice or dissipation, and lead a life of folly or of guilt. There is no appearance, from the method in which life is employed, that our duration in it is for too short a period; and that the readiest method of increasing the happiness of man would be by increasing the period of his existence. Whatever be the protestations of men, at least they do not live, as if they wished to live always; there is not that practical sense of the value of life, which the importance given to it in words, would seem to imply. The same discontented being who complains of the shortness of life, abridges life, wastes life, disgraces life, throws away life in all its parts, though the possession of it, as a whole, is in his estimation the greatest good, and the loss of it the greatest curse of humanity.

I beg to observe, that I am not idly depreciating the lot assigned to us on this globe, but I am bringing forward to your notice, and pressing on your conviction, the evils of life, that death may appear less terrible; that you may meet what you cannot avoid, firmly; that you may see this earth as it really is, and dwell not only on the good you leave, but the evils which you escape. Death is terrible to the man who lives at ease among his possessions; death is terrible to the young, terrible to him who has lived beyond hope: but what is it to the captive? What is it to the sick? What is it to wounded pride, to sullied fame, to hearts mourning over lost affections, to the deceived, to the injured, to the forsaken and helpless? What has life been to them but a tissue of evils? What have they derived from it but vexation? What have they found in it but despair?

They surely cannot mourn over the short duration of their being; they surely when they bow their dying heads must say, with afflicted Job, "I would not live always!" An important consideration, in reflecting on the duration of life, is, that the enjoyments granted to us in this world, seem to be adapted to man's duration in it, and to be fit for no longer period; so that if his duration were much extended, it would be far less interesting than it is at present.

Observe, as we advance in life, and exactly in proportion as we have been active and inquiring, how our interest ceases in all the objects before us; not because the senses decay, but because we have so often witnessed the same scenes before those exertions of talent, those beauties of nature, those revolutions in human opinion, which to the young and the inexperienced are so replete with wonder. This is the world now, it was the world ages past, it will be the world for ages to come; it is all well for the little time we remain in it, hastening, as we know, to something greater and better: but it is a circle, it is not a line; if you were to live on, you must go round-you could not advance; and the truth and certainty of this may fairly be said to lessen the terror of death, and reconcile us to quitting life-that the term of years conceded to us is exactly proportioned to the real interest and satisfaction the world can afford; that the world is only planned for a short-lived perishable being; that we are so far from giving up any new system and scheme of pleasure which this world can supply, that we feel conscious it has required all our skill to keep off weariness for the threescore and ten years we are permitted to live.

The difficulties of life are one reason why I should suppose a wise man would not wish to live always. Human life, upon further acquaintance with it, is found to be attended with struggles, of the magnitude of which we could not, previous to experience, have formed any