laughter, the heart is sorrowful. Often is the smile of gaiety assumed while the heart aches within: And though folly may laugh, guilt will sting. Correcting this pernicious phrenzy of pleasure, and reducing it to a more sober and regulated state, religion is, in truth, no other than wisdom, introducing peace and order into the life of man.

While religion condemns such pleasures as are immoral, it is chargeable with no improper austerity in respect to those which are of an innocent kind. Think not, that by the cautious discipline which it describes, it excludes you from all gay enjoyment of life, within the compass of that sedate spirit, to which it forms you, all that is innocently pleasing will be found to lie. It is a mistake to imagine, that in constant effusions of giddy mirth or in that flutter of spirits which is excited by a round of diversions, the chief enjoyment of our state consists. Were this the case, the vain and the frivolous would be on better terms for happiness, than the wise, the great, and the good. To arrange the plans of amusement, or to preside in the haunts of jollity, would be more desirable, than to exert the highest effort of mental powers for the benefit of nations. A consequence so absurd, is sufficient to explode the principle from which it flows. To the amusements and lesser joys of the world, religion assigns their proper place. It admits of them, as relaxations from care, as instruments of promoting the union of men, and of enlivening their social intercourse. But though as long as they are kept within due bounds, it does not censure nor condemn them; neither does it propose them as rewards to the virtuous, or as the principal objects of their pursuit. To such it points out nobler ends of action. Their felicity engages them to seek in the discharge of an useful, an upright, and honourable part in life; and, as the habitual tenor of their mind, it promotes cheerfulness, and discourages levity.

Between these two there is a wide distinction; and the mind which is most open to levity, is frequently a stranger to cheerfulness. It has been remarked, that transports of intemperate mirth, are often no more than flashes from the dark cloud; and that in proportion to the violence of the effulgence is the succeeding gloom. Levity may be the forced production of folly or vice; cheerfulness is the natural offspring of wisdom and virtue only. The one is an occasional agitation; the other a permanent habit. The one degrades the character; the other is perfectly consistent with the dignity of reason, and the steady and manly spirit of religion. To aim at a constant succession of high and vivid sensations of pleasure, is an idea of happiness altogether chimerical. Calm and temperate enjoyment is the utmost that is allotted to man. Beyond this, we struggle in vain

to raise our state; and, in fact, depress our joys by endeavouring to heighten them. Instead of those fallacious hopes of perpetual festivity, with which the world would allure us, religion confers upon us a cheerful tranquillity. Instead of dazzling us with meteors of joy which sparkle and expire, it sheds around us a calm and steady light. By mixing trembling with our joy, it renders that joy more solid, more equal, and more lasting.

In this spirit, then, let us serve God, and hold our course through life. Let us approach to the Divine Being, as to a sovereign of whom we stand in awe, and to a father in whom we trust. In our conduct, let us be cautious and humble, as those who have ground to fear; well pleased and cheerful, as those who have cause to rejoice. Let us show the world that a religious temper, is a temper sedate, not sad; that a religious behaviour, is a behaviour regulated, not stiff and formal. Thus we shall use the world as not abusing it; we shall pass through its various changes, with the least discomposure; and we shall vindicate religion from the reproaches of those who would attribute to it either enthusiastic joys, or slavish terrors. We shall show, that it is a rational rule of life, worthy of the perfection of God, and suited to the nature and state of man.

SERMON XV.

ON THE MOTIVES TO CONSTANCY IN VIRTUE.

And let us not be weary in well-doing; for in due season we shall reap, if we faint not.-GALAT. vi. 9.

DISCONTENT is the most general of all the evils which trouble the life of man. It is a disease which every where finds materials to feed itself; for, if real distresses be wanting, it substitutes such as are imaginary in their place. It converts even the good things of the world, when they have been long enjoyed, into occasions of disgust. In the midst of prosperity, it disposes us to complain; and renders tranquillity tiresome, only because it is uniform. There is no wonder that this spirit of restlessness and dissatisfaction, which corrupts every terrestrial enjoyment, should have sometimes penetrated into the region of virtue. Good men are not without their frailties; and the perverseness incident to human nature too readily leads us, who become weary of all other things, to be weary, also, in welldoing.

Let me put a case, which, perhaps, will be found not unfrequent in ordinary life. Suppose a person, after much commerce with the world, to be convinced of its vanity. He has seen its most flattering hopes to be fallacious. He has felt its most

boasted pleasures to be unsatisfactory. He resolves, therefore, to place his happiness in virtue; and, disregarding all temptations from interest, to adhere to what is right and honourable in conduct. He cultivates acquaintance with religion. He performs, with seriousness, the offices of devotion. He lays down to himself, a rational and useful plan of life; and, with satisfaction, holds on for a while in this reformed course. But, by degrees, discouragements arise. The peace which he hoped to enjoy, is interrupted, either by his own frailties, or by the vices of others. Passions, which had not been thoroughly subdued, struggle for their accustomed gratification. The pleasure which he expected to find in devotion, sometimes fails him; and the injustice of the world often sours and frets him. Friends prove ungrateful; enemies misrepresent, rivals supplant him: And part, at least,

of the mortifications which he suffers, he begins to ascribe to virtue. Is this all the reward of my serving God, and renouncing the pleasures of sin? Verily, in vain I have cleansed my heart and washed my hands in innocency. Behold, the ungodly prosper in the world, and have more than heart can wish; while all the day long I am plagued, and chastened every morning.- -To such persons as these, and all who are in hazard of being infected with their spirit, I now address myself. In reply to their complaints, I purpose to show, That in no state can they choose on earth, by no plan of conduct they can form, is it possible for them to escape uneasiness and disappointment; that in a life of virtue, they will suffer less uneasiness, and fewer disappointments, than in a course of vice; they will possess much higher resources and advantages; and they will be assured of complete reward at the end. From these considerations, I hope to make it appear, that there is no sufficient reason for our being weary in well-doing; and that, taking human life upon the whole, Virtue is far the most eligible portion of man.

I. UNEASINESSs and disappointment are inseparable, in some degree, from every state on earth. Were it in the power of the world, to render those who attach themselves to it, satisfied and happy, you might then, I admit, have some title to complain if you found yourselves placed upon worse terms in the service of God. But this is so far from being the case, that among the multitude who devote themselves to earthly pleasure, you will not find a single person who has completely attained his aim. Enquire into the condition of the high and the low, of the gay and the serious, of the men of business and the men of pleasure, and you shall behold them all occupied in supplying some want, or in removing some distress. No man is pleased with being precisely what he is. Every where there is a void; generally, even in the most prosperous life, there is some corner possessed by sorrow. He who is engaged in business pines for leisure. He who enjoys leisure, languishes for want of employment. In a single state, we envy the comforts of a family. In conjugal life, we are chagrined with domestic cares. In a safe station, we regret the want of objects for enterprise. In an enterprising life, we lament the want of safety. It is the doom of man that his sky should never be free from all clouds. He is, at present, in an exiled and fallen state. The objects which surround him, are beneath his native dignity. God has tinged them all with vanity, on purpose to make him feel, that this is not his rest; that here he is not in his proper place, nor arrived at his true home.

If, therefore, you aim at a condition which shall be exempted from every disquiet, you pursue a phantom; you increase the

vanity and vexation of life, by engaging in a chase so fruitless. If you complain of virtue, because there is incident to it a portion of that uneasiness which is found in every other state, your complaint is most unreasonable. You claim an immunity from evil, which belongs not to the lot of man. Reconcile yourselves, then, to your condition; and, instead of looking for perfect happiness any where on earth, gladly embrace that state which contains the fewest sorrows.

II. THOUGH no condition of human life is free from uneasiness, I contend, That the uneasiness belonging to a sinful course, is far greater than what attends a course of well-doing. If you be weary of the labours of virtue, be assured, that the world, whenever you try the exchange, will lay upon you a much heavier load. It is the outside only of a licentious life, which is gay and smiling. Within, it conceals toil, and trouble, and deadly sorrow. For vice poisons human happiness in the spring, by introducing disorder into the heart. Those passions which it seems to indulge, it only feeds with imperfect gratifications; and thereby strengthens them for preying, in the end, or their unhappy victims.

It is a great mistake to imagine that the pain of self-denial is confined to virtue. He who follows the world as much as he who follows Christ, must take up his cross; and to him, assuredly, it will prove a more oppressive burden. Vice allows all our passions to range uncontrolled; and where each claims to be superior, it is impossible to gratify all. The predominant desire can only be indulged at the expense of its rival. No mortifications which virtue exacts, are more severe than those which ambition imposes upon the love of ease, pride upon interest, and covetousness upon vanity. Self-denial, therefore, belongs in common, to vice and virtue; but with this remarkable difference, that the passions which virtue requires us to mortify, it tends to weaken; whereas, those which vice obliges us to deny, it, at the same time, strengthens. The one diminishes the pain of self-denial, by moderating the demand of passion; the other increases it, by rendering those demands imperious and violent. What distresses, that occur in the calm life of virtue, can be compared to those tortures which remorse of conscience inflicts on the wicked; to those severe humiliations, arising from guilt combined with misfortunes, which sink them to the dust; to those violent agitations of shame and disappointment, which sometimes drive them to the most fatal extremities, and make them abhor their existence? How often, in the midst of those disastrous situations, into which their crimes have brought them, have they cursed the seductions of vice; and with bitter regret, looked back to the day on which they first forsook the path of innocence?