vation of them. Snares and temptations every where! Who is sufficient for these things?— But what! must a man then bury his talents lest he should abuse them? No. This is not to choose the way by which it is the pleasure of God to save us. It does not belong to us to choose what kind of virtue he shall think fit to exercise. The duty of a Christian is, not to omit the acquisition of knowledge, but to endeavour not to be puffed up with it. It is not to avoid conspicuous places, but to guard against being infatuated with them. It is not to flee from the notice of the great, but to watch against servility and meanly cringing in their presence.

out a presumptuous tempting of God. Again, | and not take sufficient pains to procure the salyou know, by sad experience, that the company you keep, is fatal to you; that always, when you are in it, you violate the laws of piety, charity, and modesty. Quit this company, then. What good is done to the state and the church by your frequenting this company?Were it probable that in future you should receive no damage, the bare probability that you might, ought to induce you to avoid it. In like manner, you are convinced, that your opponent, who is, as well as yourself, a candidate for a certain office, will execute it as well as you would. The office is dangerous, and you fear you have not virtue enough to execute it with safety to your salvation. Renounce your pretensions, then. Choose a way of life less dangerous.

Let us go a step farther. It is rash, it is tempting God to expose ourselves to difficulties which cannot possibly be surmounted. A pretence of doing good to the state and the church will not alter the case. A court is pestiferous. A king, who ought to maintain order, lives only to subvert it; he consults no law but his passions, and his will is his only reason. You may, perhaps, moderate his passions, if not wholly regulate them; you may, perhaps, if not wholly terminate the misfortunes of his reign, yet diminish them. But how must you procure this advantage? You must rise into an opportunity to do good, by becoming yourself an instrument of his extortions, by passing encomiums on his guilty pleasures, by disgracing yourself to become the panegyrist of his tyranny. In such a case, it would be better to quit the court, to give up the favour of such a prince, to obey the divine laws, and to leave the government of the world to God. It must be granted that, when crimes are necessary to public good, it is not you who are appointed to commit them, this is not your calling. "Omy soul, come not thou into their secret, unto their assembly mine honour be not thou united," Gen. xlix. 6.

In like manner, you are sure you may be very useful to religion and society by filling a high office. You are aware of the intrigues of a court. You are certain that, if the small number of virtuous men, who fill high offices, were to retire from public business, the state would be abandoned to injustice and oppression, and become the prey of tyrants. You are one of these virtuous characters. You ought then to fill this post, and the difficulties you meet with cannot dispense with your obligation. I repeat it again, it does not belong to us to choose the way in which it shall be the pleasure of God to save us. It is not our business to single out a particular virtue, and insist on such a course of life as shall exercise it: whether it be a noisy or a silent path, whether it be a frequented or a solitary way, whether it be the practice of public or private virtue. But, say you, I cannot help, while I execute this office, my impatience; I am obliged to give audience to a man who torments me with tedious and confused harangues in a course of business; I wish to eradicate this evil, and to get rid of this trial of my patience, by quitting my place. No, do not get rid of this man; do not quit your place: but take pains with yourself to correct your impatience; try to cool your blood, and regulate your spirits. It is by the But, when temptations are surmountable, way of patience that God will save you. But when God offers to assist us to surmount them, I shall not have courage to plead all alone for when nothing but our own idleness can prevent rectitude; shall have the weakness to sacriour conquering, and when we are able, by ex- fice it, if it should happen at any time not to posing ourselves to danger, to serve society and be supported by others. I will eradicate this the church; I affirm, that we are then called evil, and avoid the temptation by quitting my to expose ourselves, and to meet, resist, and employment. No. Do not quit an employsurmount all difficulties. I affirm, in such a ment in which your influence may be servicecase, it is our duty not to avoid, but to ap- able to the interests of virtue; but take pains proach difficulties, and to take pains to sur- with your own heart, and subdue it to the sermount them. A minister of the gospel has vice of rectitude, that you may be able to plead more difficulty in his way of salvation than a for virtue without a second. But I shall cerprivate person. A private Christian, in gene- tainly sink under temptation, unless God afford ral, is responsible only for his own soul; but a me extraordinary support. Well, ask for exminister of the gospel is accountable for the traordinary support then; you have a right souls of all whom God has committed to his to expect it, because the place you fill renders care. Every part of his office is a source of it necessary for the glory of God. Let us findifficulties and trials. If he have great abili-ish this article, and let us form a clear notion ties, I fear he will become vain; if he have not, I fear he will envy his superiors. If he be set in some conspicuous place, I fear his feeble eyes will be dazzled with his situation; if he live in obscurity, I fear he will sink into indifference. If he be appointed to speak to the great, I fear he will become pliant and mean; if he be confined to people of ordinary rank, I fear he will become indifferent to their souls, VOL. I.-51

of what we mean by a calling. That place, in which it is probable, all things considered, we can do most goed, is the place to which Providence calls us. To fill that is our calling. This establishes our fourth maxim, that the evils which imbitter the lives of courtiers, and of all who are elevated to eminent posts, the danger of perishing by the ills which accompany human grandeurs, ought not to deter

which we are obliged to say, we have no pleasure," Eccles. xii. 1, &c. Then, according to the description of the same author, "the sun, the moon, the stars, are darkened, and the clouds return not after the rain. The keepers of his house," that is, the hands, "tremble; his strong men," that is, his legs and feet "bow themselves; his grinders," that is, his teeth, cease to perform their functions, because they are few; those that look out of the windows," that is, the eyes, 'are darkened; the doors," that is, the ears, "shall be shut in the streets; the daughters of music," that is, the organs of speech," shall be brought low; the almond tree shall flourish," that is, the head shall become white with age; "the silver cord," that is, the spinal marrow, "shall be broken; the grasshopper," that is, the stomach, "shall be a burden; the golden bowl," the brain, "shall be broken; the pitcher," that is, the lungs, "broken at the fountain; and the wheel," the heart, "shall be broken at the cistern." A sad, but natural description, my brethren, of the infirmities of old age. A condition very unfit for the world and pleasure, for business and a court. "How long have I to live, that I should go up with the king unto Jerusalem? I am this day fourscore years old, and can I discern between good and evil? can thy servant taste what I eat or what I drink? can I hear any more the voice of singing men and singing women?"

part of themselves, as they cannot do so with the whole. We have seen some, who, not being able to go themselves to a play, have caused themselves to be carried thither, exposing their extravagance on a theatre, intended for the exhibition of other scenes, and so acting a real tragedy along with a fictitious one. We have seen some, who having bodies decaying with diseases contracted by youthful passions, or, to use an emphatical expression of an apostle, having "received within themselves that recompense of their error which was meet," covered with wounds brought upon themselves by their debaucheries; we have seen them trying to divert the pain of reflecting on the cause of their decline by the absurd method of gazing still on the very objects which were first fatal to their innocence, and by glutting their imaginations, now their senses can relish no more. We have seen men dedicate the last moments of life to the god of pleasure, just as they sacrificed their youth and manhood to the same deity. We have seen old men, who, too dim-sighted themselves to see the glitter of diamonds and jewels, have taken a pleasure in exposing the brilliancy of them to the eyes of others; who, not having a body to adorn, have ornamented a skeleton, and who, lest they should be taken for dead corpses, have decked themselves with trinkets fit only for people in the vigour of life. However, these shameful phenomena do not destroy our reflection. It is always true, that pleasure loses its point at a certain age. If the old men, of whom we have been speaking, yet love pleasure, it is not taste that tempts them. Like the inhabitants of the most abominable city that ever disgraced the world, they weary themselves, though they were some time ago struck blind to find the door, the door of Lot, towards which their brutal passions had given a direction to their bodies, before they lost their sight. They act thus, because, though musical entertainments no more delight their ears, yet they keep them from hearing the cries of conscience, which would rend them asunder. They act thus, because, though they have only a confused sight of the charms of worldly objects, yet these objects serve, like a wall, to keep out of sight a future world, a glimmering of which would confound and distract them. However, the irregularity of the heart of an old man does not alter the infirmities of his body. It is always true, that at a certain time of life, we acquire a constitutional, organical insensibility. Isaac, that good old man, arrives at a very advanced age, but his eyes are become dim, he cannot distinguish one of his children from another, he mistakes the hands of Jacob for those of Esau, "the voice is the voice of Jacob, but the hands are the hands of Esau." He cannot distinguish venison from goats' flesh. He confers that benediction on the youngest which he intended for the eldest. If nature grants to a few of mankind the privilege of a Whatever idea Barzillai formed of the equity very long life, the privilege is sold, and a part and benevolence of David, he did justice to of the pleasure of living must be given for the himself. He well knew that a man of eighty purchase; objects of pleasure must retire, and would be a burden to this good king. "Why senses to be pleased with these objects not un- should thy servant be a burden to my lord the frequently retire first. Before this earthly king?" A man at this time of life too strikhouse falls by its own frailty, to use an expres-ingly exhibits human infirmities to give pleasion of the Wise Man, "the years arrive in sure in circles of company, where such morti

2. The infirmities of old age are a second reason of the refusal of Barzillai. Why should thy servant be a burden to my lord the king?" Certainly an old man ought to be treated with the greatest respect and veneration. The Scripture gives us a precept, which humanity, to say nothing of religion, should induce us to obey: "Thou shalt rise up before the hoary head, and honour the face of the old man," Lev. xix. 32. What can claim our patient attention so much as a man stooping under the weight of age and infirmities? What duty can be more indispensable than that of rendering to the infirmities of old age such assistance as these old people once rendered to the helplessness of our infancy? Particularly, what can be more venerable than an old man, who has spent his youth in procuring those benefits to society which his old age now hardly suffers him to enjoy? What more just than to respect a soldier grown gray in his arms, whose venerable silver head has been preserved by miracle? Who more worthy of esteem than an ancient magistrate, whose life has been devoted to the felicity of the state? What more respectable than an old minister of the gospel, whose spirits have been exhausted in studying and preaching the truth? To people of this character the words of the Wise Man belong, "the hoary head is a crown of glory, being found in the way of righteousness," Prov. xvi. 31.

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fying ideas are either quite forgotten, or slightly remembered. The tokens of death, which an old man carries about with him, excite reflections too dismal to contribute to the pleasure of a company, which endeavour to sweeten life by innocent recreations, or by others which concupiscence adds to those of religion Involuntary complaints and sighs but ill accord with musical instruments and the vocal melody of gay assemblies. Pressing infirmities, continual fears and cares, the anticipated dying of a man of fourscore, ill assort with sumptuous tables. The last years of my life, all heavy, dull, and frozen, disconcert a festival celebrated by people full of fire, vivacity, and vigour. Barzillai felt his frailty, and, though he was fully convinced that David had a fund of goodness sufficient to bear with him, yet he would not abuse his politeness. "How long have I to live, that I should go up with the king to Jerusalem? Why should the king recompense me with such a reward? Why should thy servant be yet a burden to my lord the king?"

forsake me not when my strength faileth,” Ps. lxxix. 9.

3. In fine, my brethren, Barzillai revolved in his mind the nearness of old age to death. This was the principal cause of his refusal. How long have I to live? These words imply a retrospect, how long have I lived? and a prospect, how long have I yet to live? "I am this day fourscore years old. Let thy servant, I pray thee, turn back again, that I may die in mine own city, and be buried by the grave of my father and my mother." This was a very reasonable request, my brethren, both in regard to the principle laid down, and the consequence derived from it. The principle is, that there is very little distance between old age and death. So little, that the good old man thought that there was but just time enough for him to pass over Jordan with the king, to return back, and to prepare for his funeral. "How long have I to live? I am this day fourscore years old. Let thy servant I pray thee, turn back again, that I may die in mine own city, and be buried by the grave of my father and my mother."

Was ever principle better founded? How little is necessary to overset and break the frame of a man of this age? What is necessary? A vapour! A puff of wind!

Let us pause here a moment, my brethren, and let us not behold this spectacle without reflecting on the vanity of this life. A life of fourscore years appears to me a most abundant source of reflections on human frailty. True it is, that diseases which consume us, sudden "children of men, redeaths, which cry to us, turn," and which cut off numbers before they have lived half their days, fires, shipwrecks, assassinations, epidemical diseases, all these are very proper to teach us what a little account we ought to make of the present life. But, how frequently soever these sad accidents happen, we generally take care to harden ourselves against any apprehensions of danger from them, by considering them as extraordinary events, by hoping we shall escape them, and by flattering ourselves that we shall arrive at a good old age.

Wo be to him who has rendered worldly pleasures necessary to himself in old age. He will not find a David every where to offer them to him. Here, my brethren, I fear sinning against my own principles; I fear being accused of wanting such veneration for the aged as I just now said was their due; I fear I shall be taxed with despising the ancients, so worthy of our attention and regard. However, I must mention a few reflections tending to justify the conduct of Barzillai, and to unfold the spirit and sense of the text. I must make these reflections, too, for other reasons; in general for the benefit of this whole assembly; for your sakes, in particular, our aged hearers, that you may be induced, by the idea of a world that avoids you, to return to God, who opens his arms to receive you; for your sakes, also, young people, that you may be prevailed on to amass pleasures in your youth which will remain with you in old age. Wo be to him, I say, who renders worldly pleasures necessary to his old age! Happy, on the contrary, he who has laid up treasures for time to come! Happy the man who has prepared for himself pleasures for a time when the pleasures of the world are insipid, and when he himself is intolerable to those who enjoy them! Happy he who, instead of pining after the circles of the gay, and the great, has no other desire than that of making his court to the King of kings! Happy he who, instead of attempting to please himself with "the voices of singing men and singing women," delights himself with pious books and holy meditations! Happy the man who, when he becomes a burden to society, knows, like Barzillai, how to relish the pleasure of retire-arrive at the utmost limits prescribed to manment and solitude! Happy he who, instead of pursuing a fleeting phantom of felicity and glory, knows how to direct his sighs to the bosom of that God in whom substantial glory and true felicity dwell, objects which never elude his search! Happy he whose eyes, however weakened by age, are not become too dim-sighted to see the gate of heaven! Happy the man whose faultering voice and feeble hands can yet address this prayer to God, and say with a prophet, "Cast me not off in the time of old age,

Well! you are to arrive at this good old age! But how many years will elapse before you do arrive at it? No, no, I repeat it again, nothing is more proper to discover our frailty. Should a thousand uncommon circumstances concur, should a vigorous constitution, a wise and cautious course of action, and a proper choice of diet, unite to preserve you to this age; should you escape water and fire, and thieves, and earthquakes, the frailty of infancy, the impetuosity of youth, and the infirmities of advanced age; should you by a kind of miracle

kind, what then? Must you not presently die? The longest life seldom extends to a century. When a man has lived a hundred years in the world, he is the wonder of the universe, and his age alone renders him famous. The most obscure life becomes conspicuous, when it is drawn out to this length. It is spoken of as a prodigy, it is published in foreign countries; history records the man who had the extraordinary happiness to live to such an age, it writes his name with precision, and transmits his me