if the transitory joys and sorrows of this present world are nothing to us, in comparison with the eternal things to which we look—then we may trust that, while others are asleep, God's grace has kept us waking. If, on the other hand, we are indifferent to heavenly things-if we take no pleasure in thinking of the love of Christ-if our plan of life is framed on no other principle than that of getting for ourselves the greatest portion of the good things of this world—if we make no efforts of self-denial for the good of others- then it is but too certain that we are spiritually asleep.

And well were it for those who refuse to rouse themselves from this fatal slumber, if indeed it could last for ever. For though it robs them even here of all the highest enjoyments whereof our nature is capable, yet still they can go on in it without any acute suffering. Now and then, indeed, the voice of conscience or the visitations of God disturb their drowsiness, and produce for a moment a painful interruption in their dream; but they refuse to wake thoroughly, and turn themselves again calmly to their repose. But there will, there must come at last a fearful waking. Then every dream will have fled, every delusion vanished; then will they be fully roused to the intensest consciousness of their true existence; but what will it avail them, when existence is only another name for agony? Once they might have listened to the warning voice, which told

them it was high time to awake out of sleep; but then it will be too late; then time will be no longer, eternity will have begun. May God in his mercy grant us grace, that our waking may not be put off till that hour of judgment!

SERMON XIII.

SYMPATHY, HUMAN AND DIVINE.*

PROV. XIV. 10.

THE HEART KNOWETH HIS OWN BITTERNESS, AND A STRANGER DOTH NOT INTERMEDDLE WITH HIS JOY.

THIS assertion is true in different degrees of different persons, yet in a great degree is true of all. Doubtless the extent to which man will impart to his fellows the secret causes of his joy and sorrow, the inward feelings and hidden affections of his soul, varies very much in the variety of individual character. Thus we contrast the artless confidence of childhood, with the caution of old age; we speak of one man's disposition as close and reserved, another's as open and communicative. We see some who seem to bar the chamber of their heart against intrusion, and hide whatever inward agitations may disturb their thoughts, by an outward shew of impassive calmness, as if unwilling to come into more than superficial contact

Those who are familiar with the "Christian Year," need not be informed whence much of the latter part of this sermon is taken.

with any of their fellow-creatures; others, again, who appear incapable of confining within their own breasts any strong feeling that exists there, who cannot be satisfied without bestowing on others a knowledge of whatever interests themselves, and who eagerly court the sympathy of friends and neighbours to share every emotion which the events of their private lives have caused them. To the former class alone we might perhaps be inclined to apply the statement of the text, while to the latter it might seem inapplicable, since their heart's bitterness is known not to itself only, and strangers do intermeddle both with its joys and sorrows. Yet, on farther consideration, we shall acknowledge that, with regard to the last kind of dispositions, as well as the first, the words of the text contain an indisputable truth; for, after all, who is there, what most communicative, most unreserved of mankind, who really does tell to others all that is passing in his own mind? Some may talk much, and others little, of their private affairs and individual feelings; but in truth all this shew of confidence goes not far below the surface. The distinction is in fact shewn rather in the greater number of persons to whom confidence is given, than in the nature of the feelings confided. The experience of the most unreserved might confidently be questioned, to say whether he does not feel that his heart contains a great deal more than that which he shews so readily. On looking inwards, he must acknowledge that there are deeper springs than those whence the joys and the

sorrows he confides to the world, so profusely flow. That, in truth, his heart's real bitterness is its own witness, and that he has joys with which no stranger can intermeddle.

Perhaps it may at first appear that this truth, however interesting as a fact relating to human character, has yet little counexion with religion. But on farther consideration it will be found that this, like other laws of our inward nature, has a very important bearing on our practical duties as Christians. The recollection of its truth is calculated to exercise a most useful influence on our conduct and feelings, both with regard to others and to ourselves; producing greater charity towards our neighbour, and greater love to God in our own hearts.

First, then, let us consider its effect on the Christian's judgment of his neighbour. It too often happens that we are accustomed to form an estimate of others, based on our knowledge of ourselves, without weighing the difference between our own natural temper and theirs; and we are especially liable to pass an uncharitable verdict on the manner or degree in which we hear them speak on the most important subject which can form the matter of thoughts or words. It would greatly tend to prevent this, if we were more constantly to bear in mind the true laws which regulate the communication of man's deepest thoughts by his speech; one of which is contained in the text, and another in those words of our

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