THE wiſe KING SOLOMON, who, at one ſeaſon of his life, had flattered himſelf with great enjoyments from the world; and who, better than moſt men, could compute their amount, gives us the reſult of his experience in theſe memorable lines: I ſaid in my heart, I will prove thee with mirth, therefore enjoy pleaſure: and behold, this alſo is vanity. I ſaid of laughter, it is mad; and of mirth, what doth it? I made me great works, builded houſes, planted vineyards, made gardens and orchards, planted trees in them of all kind of fruit; I got me ſervants and maidens, alſo great poſſeſſions: I gathered me ſilver and gold, and the peculiar treaſures of kings and provinces; alſo men and women ſingers, and the delights of the ſons of men, as muſical inſtruments, and that of all ſorts. So I was great, and increaſed more than all that were before me in Jeruſalem, and whatſoever mine eyes deſired, I kept not from them: I withheld not mine heart from any joy. Then I looked on the works which my hands had wrought, and behold, all was vanity and vexation of ſpirit. After this repreſentation, he concludes all with, Fear God, and keep his commandments, for this is the whole duty of man: for God ſhall bring every work into judgment, whether it be good, or whether it be evil.

IGNATIUS, who lived within the firſt hundred years after Chriſt (and who was torn in pieces by wild beaſts at Rome, for his religion) left this ſaying, amongſt others worthy of attention, behind him: There is nothing better than the peace of a good conſcience: intimating, there might be a peace to wicked conſciences, that are paſt feeling any thing to be evil, being hardened in the wickedneſs of the world. And in his epiſtle to the churches at Epheſus, Magneſia, Trallis, and Rome, upon his martyrdom, he triumphantly ſays, Now I begin to be a diſciple, I weigh neither viſible nor inviſible things, ſo that I may gain Chriſt.

JUSTIN MARTYR, a philoſopher, who received Chriſtianity five and twenty years after the death of Ignatius, declares in the relation of his converſion to the Chriſtian faith, That the power of godlineſs in a plain, ſimple Chriſtian, had that influence and operation on his ſoul, that he could not but betake himſelf to a ſerious and ſtrict life: and yet, before, he was a Cynic, a rigid ſect: and it gave him joy at his martyrdom, that he had ſpent his days as a ſerious teacher, and a good example. Euſebius relates of him, That though he was alſo a follower of Plato's doctrine, yet when he ſaw the Chriſtians' piety and courage, he concluded, No people ſo temperate, leſs voluptuous, and more ſet on divine things; which firſt induced him to become a Chriſtian.

CHARLES V. Emperor of Germany, King of Spain, and Lord of the Netherlands, after three and twenty pitched battles, ſix triumphs, four kingdoms conquered, and eight principalities added to his dominions (a greater inſtance than whom can ſcarce be given) reſigned up all his pomp to other hands, and betook himſelf to a retirement; leaving this teſtimony behind him reſpecting the life he ſpent in the honors and pleaſures of the world, and that little time of his retreat from them all; That the ſincere ſtudy, profeſſion, and practice, of the Chriſtian religion, had in it ſuch joys and ſweetneſs, as courts were ſtrangers to.

CARDINAL WOLSEY, the moſt abſolute and wealthy Miniſter of State England ever had, and who in his time ſeemed to govern Europe as well as England, when come to the period of his life, left the world with this cloſe reflection upon himſelf: Had I been as diligent to ſerve my God, as I have been to pleaſe my king, he would not have left me now in my gray hairs. A diſmal reflection for all wordly-minded men; but for thoſe more eſpecially, who have the power and means of doing more than ordinary good in the world, and do it not, which ſeems to have been the melancholy caſe and reflection of this great man.

Sir PHILIP SIDNEY, a ſubject indeed of England, but who, it is ſaid, was choſen king of Poland; whom Queen Elizabeth called her Philip; the Prince of Orange, his maſter; whoſe friendſhip the Lord Brooks was ſo proud of, that he would have it part of his epitaph, Here lies Sir Philip Sidney's friend; whoſe death was lamented in verſe by the then kings of France and Scotland, and the two univerſities of England; repented ſo much at his death, of that witty vanity of his life, his Arcadia, that, to prevent the unlawful kindling of heats in others, he would have committed it to the flames himſelf. He left this farewel amongſt his friends: Love my memory, cheriſh my friends; their faith to me may aſſure you that they are honeſt; but above all, govern your wills and affections by the will and word of your Creator. In me behold the end of this world, and all its vanities. And indeed, he was not much miſtaken in ſaying ſo, ſince in him was to be ſeen the inſufficiency of all natural parts, acquired learning, and civil accompliſhments. His farewel ſeems ſpoken without terror, with a clear ſenſe, and ſound judgment.

SECRETARY WALSINGHAM, an extraordinary man in Queen Elizabeth's time, towards the concluſion of his days, in a letter to his fellow-Secretary Burleigh, then Lord Treaſurer of England, writes thus: We have lived enough to our country, our fortunes, our ſovereign: it is high time we begin to live to ourſelves, and to our God. Which giving occaſion for ſome eourt-droll to viſit, and try to divert him, 'Ah!' ſaid he, while we laugh, all things are ſerious round about us; God is ſerious when he preſerveth us, and hath patience towards us; Chriſt is ſerious when he dieth for us; the Holy Ghoſt is ſerious when he ſtriveth with us; the whole creation is ſerious in ſerving God and us: they are ſerious in hell and in heaven; and ſhall a man that hath one foot in his grave jeſt and laugh?

A ſtrong teſtimony to the ſuperior excellency of religion, and to the vanity and emptineſs of worldly enjoyments, is given by Sir JOHN MASON, who, though but 63 years old at his death, yet had flouriſhed in the reigns of four princes (Henry VIII. Edward VI. Queens Mary and Elizabeth) had been Privy Councillor to them all, and an eye-witneſs of the various revolutions and viciſſitudes of thoſe times. Towards his latter end, being on his death-bed, he ſpoke thus to thoſe about him, I have lived to ſee five Princes, and have been privy councillor to four of them. I have ſeen the moſt remarkable things in foreign parts, and have been preſent at moſt ſtate tranſactions for thirty years together; and I have learned this after ſo many years' experience; that ſeriouſneſs is the greateſt wiſdom, temperance the beſt phyſic, and a good conſcience the beſt eſtate; and were I to live again, I would change the court for a cloiſter, my Privy Councillor's buſtle for an Hermit's retirement, and the whole life I have lived in the palace for an hour's enjoyment of God in the chapel.

All things elſe forſake me, beſides my God, my duty, and my prayers.

Sir WALTER RALEIGH is an eminent inſtance, being as extraordinary a man as this nation hath produced: in his perſon, well deſcended; of health, ſtrength, and maſculine beauty; in underſtanding, quick; in judgment, ſound; learned and wiſe, valiant and ſkilful; an hiſtorian, a philoſopher, a general, a ſtateſman. After a long life, full of experience, he drops theſe excellent ſayings a little before his death, to his ſon, to his wife, and to the world, viz. Exceed not in the humour of rags and bravery; for theſe will ſoon wear out of faſhion, and no man is eſteemed for gay garments, but by fools. On the other ſide, ſeek not riches baſely, nor attain them by evil means: deſtroy no man for his wealth, nor take any thing from the poor; for the cry thereof will pierce the heavens; and it is moſt deteſtable before God, and moſt diſhonorable before worthy men, to wreſt any thing from the needy and laboring ſoul: God will never proſper thee, if thou offendeſt therein; but uſe thy poor neighbours and tenants well. A moſt worthy ſaying. But he adds, Have compaſſion on the poor and afflicted, and God will bleſs thee for it: make not the hungry ſoul ſorrowful; for if he curſe thee in the bitterneſs of his ſoul, his prayer ſhall be heard of him that made him. Now, for the world, dear child, I know it too well to perſuade thee to dive into the practices of it: rather ſtand upon thy own guard againſt all thoſe that tempt thee to it, or may practiſe upon thee, whether in thy conſcience, thy reputation, or thy eſtate. Reſolve that no man is wiſe or ſafe, but he that is honeſt. Serve God; let him be the author of all thy actions; commend all thy endeavours to him that muſt either wither or proſper them: pleaſe him with prayer; leſt if he frown, he confound all thy fortune and labor, like the drops of rain upon the ſandy ground. Let my experienced advice and fatherly inſtructions ſink deep into thy heart: ſo God direct thee in all thy ways, and fill thy heart with his grace.

Sir WALTER RALEIGH'S Letter to his Wife after his Condemnation.

You ſhall receive, my dear wife, my laſt words in theſe my laſt lines. My love I ſend you; that you may keep when I am dead; and my counſel, that you may remember it when I am no more. I would not, with my will, preſent you ſorrows, dear wife; let them go to the grave with me, and be buried in the duſt: and, ſeeing that it is not the will of God that I ſhall ſee you any more, bear my deſtruction patiently, and with an heart like yourſelf. Firſt, I ſend you all the thanks which my heart can conceive, or my words expreſs, for your many travails and cares for me; which, though they have not taken effect, as you wiſhed, yet my debt to you is not the leſs; but pay it I never ſhall in this world. Secondly, I beſeech you, for the love you bear me living, that you do not hide yourſelf many days; but by your travails ſeek to help my miſerable fortunes, and the right of your poor child: your mourning cannot avail me who am but duſt. Thirdly, you ſhall underſtand, that my lands were conveyed, bona fide, to my child; the writings were drawn at Midſummer was a twelvemonth, as divers can witneſs; and I truſt my blood will quench their malice who deſired my ſlaughter, that they will not ſeek to kill you and your's with extreme poverty. To what friend to direct you, I know not, for all mine have left me in the true time of trial: moſt ſorry am I, that, being ſurpriſed by death, I can leave you no better eſtate; God hath prevented all my determinations; that great God, which worketh all in all. If you can live free from want, care for no more, for the reſt is but vanity. Love God, and 〈…〉 times; in him ſhall you find 〈…〉 , and endleſs comfort: when you have travailed and wearied yourſelf with all ſorts of worldly cogigitations, you ſhall ſit down by ſorrow in the end. Teach your ſon alſo to fear and ſerve God, whilſt he is young, that the fear of God may grow up in in him; then will God be an huſband to you, and a father to him; an huſband and a father that can never be taken from you. Dear wife, I beſeech you, for my ſoul's ſake, pay all poor men. When I am dead, no doubt but you will be much ſought unto; for the world thinks I was very rich: have a care of the fair pretences of men; for no greater miſery can befal you in this life, than to become a prey unto the world, and after to be deſpiſed. As for me, I am no more your's, nor you mine: death has cut us aſunder, and God hath divided me from the world, and you from me. Remember your poor child, for his father's ſake, who loved you in his happieſt ſtate. I ſued for my life, but God knows, it was for you and your's that I deſired it: for know it, my dear wife, your child is the child of a true man, who in his own reſpect deſpiſeth death, and his miſhapen and ugly forms. I cannot write much; God knows how hardly I ſteal this time, when all are aſleep: and it is alſo time for me to ſeparate my thoughts from the world. Beg my dead body, which living was denied you; and either lay it in Sherborne, or in Exeter church, by my father and mother.

I can ſay no more; time and death call me away. The everlaſting God, powerful, infinite, and inſcrutable; God Almighty, who is goodneſs itſelf, the true light and life, keep you and your's, and have mercy upon me, and forgive my perſecutors and falſe accuſers, and ſend us to meet in his glorious kingdom. My dear wife, farewel! bleſs my boy, pray for me, and let my true God hold you both in his arms.

Your's that was, but not now mine own, WALTER RALEIGH.

Behold wiſdom, reſolution, nature, and grace! how ſtrong in argument, wiſe in counſel, firm, affectionate, and devout. O that heroes and politicians would make him their example in his death, as well as magnify the great actions of his life! Doubtleſs, had he been to live over his days again, with his experience, he had made leſs noiſe, and yet done more good to the world and himſelf. It is a ſorrowful reflection, that men hardly come to know themſelves, or the world, till they are ready to leave it.

LOUIS, Duke of Orleans, thus expreſſed the delight he found in piety and devotion. I know by experience, that ſublunary grandeur and ſublunary pleaſure, are deluſive and vain, and are always infinitely below the conceptions we form of them: but on the contrary, ſuch happineſs, and ſuch complacency may be found in devotion and piety, as the ſenſual mind has no idea of.

Sir HENRY WOTTON thought it the greateſt happineſs of his life, To be at leiſure to be, and to do, good. Toward his end, when he reflected on paſt times, he was uſed to ſay, though a man eſteemed ſober and learned, How much time have I to repent of, and how little to do it in!

Sir CHRISTOPHER HATTON, a little before his death, adviſed his relations to be ſerious in the ſearch after The will of God in the holy word: for,' ſaid he, 'it is deſervedly accounted a piece of excellent knowledge to underſtand the law of the land, and the cuſtoms of a man's country: how much more ſo to know the ſtatutes of heaven, and the laws of eternity, thoſe immutable and eternal laws of juſtice and righteouſneſs; to know the will and pleaſure of the great Monarch and univerſal King of the world: I have ſeen an end of all perfection, but thy commandments, O God, are exceeding broad.

Whatever other knowledge a man may be endued with, could he by a vaſt and penetrating mind, comprehend all the knowledge of art and nature, of words and things; could he attain a maſtery in all languages, and ſound the depth of all arts and ſciences; could he diſcourſe of the intereſt of all ſtates, the intrigues of all courts, the reaſon of all civil laws and conſtitutions, and give an account of all hiſtories; and yet not know the author of his being, and the preſerver of his life, his ſovereign, and his judge; his ſureſt refuge in trouble; his beſt friend, or worſt enemy; the ſupport of his life, and the hope of his death, his future happineſs, and his portion for ever; he doth but, with a great deal of knowledge, go down to deſtruction.

PHILIP the THIRD, King of Spain, ſeriouſly reflecting upon the life he had lived, cried out upon his death-bed; Ah! how happy were I, had I ſpent theſe twenty-three years, that I have held my kingdom, in a retirement. Declaring to his confeſſor, My concern is for my ſoul, not for my body. I lay all that God has given me, my dominion, power, and my life, at the feet of Jeſus Chriſt my Saviour.

GONDAMOR, Ambaſſador in England from that King, and held the ableſt man of his time, took great freedom as to his religion, in his politics, ſerving his ends by thoſe ways that would beſt accompliſh them. Towards his latter end, he grew very thoughtful of his paſt life, and after all his negotiations and ſucceſſes in buſineſs, ſaid to one of his friends, I fear nothing in the world more than ſin; often declaring, He had rather endure hell than ſin; ſo clear and ſtrong were his convictions, and ſo exceeding ſinful did ſin appear to him, upon a ſerious conſideration of his ways.

CARDINAL RICHLIEU, after he had given law to all Europe for many years, confeſſed to old Peter de Moulin, the famous French Proteſtant, That, being forced upon many irregularities, by that which they call reaſon of ſtate, he could not tell how to ſatisfy his conſcience for ſeveral things, and therefore had many temptations to doubt and diſbelieve a God, another world, and the immortality of the ſoul, thereby to relieve his mind from any diſquiet, but in vain; ſo ſtrong,' he ſaid, 'was the notion of God on his ſoul, ſo clear the impreſſion of him upon the frame of the world, ſo unanimous the conſent of mankind, ſo powerful the convictions of his own conſcience, that he could not but taſte the power of the world to come, and ſo live as one that muſt die, and ſo die, as one that muſt live for ever. And being aſked one day, 'Why he was ſo ſad?' he anſwered, The ſoul is a ſerious thing, it muſt be either ſad here for a moment, or be ſad for ever.

CARDINAL MAZARINE, was reputed the moſt cunning ſtateſman of his time, and gave great proofs of it in the ſucceſſes of the French crown under his miniſtry. His aim was the grandeur of the world, to which he made all other conſiderations ſubmit: but, poor man! he was of another mind a little before his death: for, being awakened by the ſmart laſhes of conſcience, which repreſented his ſoul's condition to be very diſmal, with aſtoniſhment and tears he cried out, O my poor ſoul, what will become of thee? Whither wilt thou go? And ſpake one day thus to the Queen Mother of France; Madam, your favors have undone me: were I to live again, I would be a capuchin, rather than a courtier.

Sir THOMAS SMITH, Secretary of State to Queen Elizabeth, a quarter of a year before his death, ſent to his friends, the Biſhops of Wincheſter and Worceſter, and intreated them to draw him, out of the word of God, the plaineſt and exacteſt way of making his peace with him; adding, That it was great pity, men conſidered not for what end they were born into the world, till they were ready to go out of it.

OXENSTIERN, Chancellor of Sweden, was a perſon of the firſt quality, ſtation, and ability in his own country; and his ſhare and ſucceſs, not only in the chief miniſtry of affairs in that kingdom, but in the greateſt negotiations of Europe, during his time, made him no leſs conſiderable abroad. Being viſited in his retreat from public buſineſs, by Commiſſioner Whitlock, Ambaſſador from England to Queen Chriſtina, in the concluſion of their diſcourſe, he ſaid to the Ambaſſador, I have ſeen much and enjoyed much of this world, but I never knew how to live till now. I thank my good God, who has given me time to know him, and to know myſelf. All the comfort I have, and which is more than the whole world can give, is—feeling the good Spirit of God in my heart, and reading in this good book (holding up the bible) that came from it. And further addreſſed himſelf thus to the Ambaſſador: You are now in the prime of your age and vigor, and in great favor and buſineſs; but all this will leave you, and you will one day better underſtand and reliſh what I ſay to you; and then you will find that there is more wiſdom, truth, comfort, and pleaſure, in retiring and turning our heart from the world, to the good Spirit of God, and in reading the bible, than in all the courts and favors of princes. This I had, ſays W. Penn, as near as I am able to remember, from the Ambaſſador's own mouth, more than once. A very edifying account, when we conſider from whom it came; one of the greateſt and wiſeſt men of his age, while his underſtanding was as ſound and vigorous, as his experience and knowledge were great.

DOCTOR DONNE, a perſon of great parts and learning, being upon his death-bed, and taking his ſolemn farewel of his friends, made this weighty declaration to them: I repent of all my life, but that part of it which I ſpent in communion with God, and in doing good.

SELDEN, one of the greateſt ſcholars and antiquaries of his time, and one who had taken a diligent ſurvey of what knowledge was poſſeſſed by the Jews, Heathens, and Chriſtians; at laſt, toward the end of his days, in a conference with Biſhop Uſher, declared, That notwithſtanding he had been ſo laborious in his inquiries, and curious in his collections, and had poſſeſt himſelf of a treaſure of books and manuſcripts upon all ancient ſubjects; yet he could reſt his ſoul on none, ſave the ſcriptures: and above all, that paſſage lay moſt remarkably upon his ſpirit, Titus ii. 11, 12, 13, 14, 15. For the grace of God that bringeth ſalvation, hath appeared unto all men; teaching us, that denying ungodlineſs and worldly luſts, we ſhould live ſoberly, righteouſly, and godly in this preſent world; looking for that bleſſed hope and glorious appearing of the great God, and our Saviour Jeſus Chriſt; who gave himſelf for us, that he might redeem us from all iniquity, and purify unto himſelf a peculiar people, zealous of good works. And, indeed, it is one of the moſt comprehenſive paſſages in the ſcriptures; for it compriſes the end, means, and recompenſe of Chriſtianity.

HUGO GROTIUS is much celebrated for his great learning and univerſal knowledge: 'a light,' ſay the ſtateſmen; 'a light,' ſay the churchmen too; witneſs his Annals, and his book, De Jure Belli et Pacis; alſo his Chriſtian Religion, and elaborate Commentaries. After all, he winds up his life and choice in this remarkable ſaying; I would give all my learning and honor for the plain integrity of John Urick: who was a religious poor man, that ſpent eight hours of his time in prayer, eight in labor, and but eight in meals, ſleep, and other neceſſaries. And to one that admired his great induſtry, he returned this by way of complaint: Ah! I have conſumed my life in laboriouſly doing nothing. And to another, that inquired of his wiſdom and learning, what courſe to take—he ſolemnly anſwered, 'Be ſerious.'

SALMASIUS, a famous French ſcholar, after his many volumes of learning, by which he had acquired great veneration among men of books, confeſſed that he had miſtaken true learning, and that in which ſolid happineſs conſiſted, and exclaimed thus againſt himſelf: Oh! I have loſt a world of time; time, that moſt precious thing in the world! whereof, had I but one year more, it ſhould be ſpent in David's pſalms, and Paul's epiſtles. Oh! Sirs, ſaid he to thoſe about him, mind the world leſs, and God more: The fear of the Lord, that is wiſdom; and to depart from evil, that is underſtanding.

A. RIVETUS was a man of great underſtanding, and much reverenced in the Dutch nation. After a long life of ſtudy in ſearch of divine knowledge, being on his death-bed, and converſing upon heavenly things, he brake forth in this manner: God has taught me more of himſelf in ten days ſickneſs, than I could obtain by all my labor and ſtudies. Plain and ſimple are the means to the knowledge of God and his holy will, when we come to be in earneſt, and our hearts are ſincerely concerned to know and obey it; The wayfaring man, tho' a fool (in the world's wiſdom) ſhall not err therein.

FRANCIS JUNIUS, an ingenious perſon, who hath written his own life, as he was reading Tully de Legibus, fell into a perſuaſion, Nihil curare Deum, nec ſui, nec alieni; till in a tumult at Lyons, the Lord wonderfully delivered him from imminent death; ſo that he was forced to acknowledge a divine Providence therein: and his father hearing of the dangerous ways that his ſon was miſled into, ſent for him home, where he carefully and piouſly inſtructed him, and cauſed him to read over the New Teſtament, of which himſelf writes thus: When I opened the New Teſtament, I firſt lighted upon John's firſt chapter, In the beginning was the word, &c. I read part of the chapter, and was ſuddenly convinced, that the divinity of the argument; and the majeſty and authority of the writing did very much excel all the eloquence of human writings: my body trembled, my mind was aſtoniſhed, and was ſo affected all that day, that I knew not where and what I was. Thou waſt mindful of me, O my God, according to the multitude of thy mercies, and calledſt home thy loſt ſheep into the fold. And, as Juſtin Martyr of old, ſo he of late declared, That the power of godlineſs in a plain, ſimple Chriſtian, wrought ſo upon him, that he could not but take up a ſtrict and a ſerious life.

Sir HENRY VANE poſſeſſed abilities of the firſt rate, and an extenſive knowledge of mankind. In his youth, he was much addicted to company, and promiſed little to buſineſs; but reading a book called The Signs of a Godly Man, and being convicted in himſelf that they were juſt, but that he had no ſhare in any one of them, he fell into ſuch extreme anguiſh and horror, that for ſome days and nights he took little food or reſt. This at once diſſolved his old friendſhips, and made thoſe religious impreſſions and reſolutions, which neither univerſity, courts, princes, nor parents, nor any loſſes nor diſappointments that threatened his new courſe of life, could weaken or alter. And tho' this laid him under ſome diſadvantages for a time, yet his great integrity and abilities broke thro' that obſcurity; ſo that thoſe of very different ſentiments did not only admire him, but very often deſired him to accept the moſt eminent negotiations of his country; which he ſerved, according to his own principles, with great ſucceſs, and a remarkable ſelf-denial. This great man's maxim was, Religion is the beſt maſter, and the beſt friend; for it makes men wiſe, and will never leave them, that never leave it; which he found true in himſelf: for as it made him wiſer than thoſe that had been his teachers, ſo it made him firmer than any hero, having ſomething more than nature to ſupport him; which was the judgment, as well of foreigners, as of others, who had the curioſity to ſee him die: Making good ſome meditations of his own, viz. The day of death is the judge of all our other days; the very trial and touchſtone of the actions of our lives. It is the end that crowns the work, and a good death honoreth a man's whole life. The fading corruption and loſs of this life is the paſſage into a better. Death is no leſs eſſential to us, than to live, or to be born. In flying death, thou flieſt thyſelf; thy eſſence is equally parted into theſe two, life and death. It is no ſmall reproach to a Chriſtian, whoſe faith is in immortality, and the bleſſedneſs of another life, to fear death much, which is the neceſſary paſſage thereunto.

ADMIRAL PENN, after thirty years employment in ſeveral places of eminent truſt and honor, upon ſerious reflection, not long before his death, ſpoke to one of his ſons in this manner: Son William, I am weary of the world; I would not live over my days again, if I could command them with a wiſh; for the ſnares of life are greater than the fears of death. This troubles me, that I have offended a gracious God, who has followed me to this day. O, have a care of ſin! That is the ſting both of life and death. Three things I commend to you: Firſt, let nothing in this world tempt you to wrong your conſcience; I charge you, do nothing againſt your conſcience: ſo will you keep peace at home, which will be a feaſt to you in the day of trouble. Secondly, whatever you deſign to do, lay it juſtly, and time it ſeaſonably; for that gives ſecurity and deſpatch. Laſtly, be not troubled at diſappointments; for if they may be recovered, do it; if they cannot, trouble is vain. If you could not have helped it, be content: there is often peace and profit in ſubmitting to Providence; for afflictions make wiſe. If you could have helped it, let not your trouble exceed inſtruction for another time. Theſe rules will carry you with firmneſs and comfort thro' this inconſtant world.

A noble young man of the family of HOWARD, having in health too much yielded to the temptations of youth, when laid upon a ſick-bed, which proved his dying-bed, fell under the power and agony of great convictions. He mightily bewailed himſelf in the remembrance of his former extravagancies; and cried ſtrongly to God to forgive him, abhorring his former courſe, and promiſing amendment, if God renewed life to him. However, he was willing to die, having taſted of the love and forgiveneſs of God; and warned his acquaintance and kindred that came to ſee him, To fear God, and forſake the pleaſures and vanity of this world; and ſo willingly yielded his ſoul from the troubles of time, and frailties of mortality.

PRINCESS ELIZABETH of the Rhine, claims a memorial in this collection; her virtue giving greater luſtre to her name, than her quality, which yet was of the greateſt in the German empire. She choſe a ſingle life, as freeſt of care, and beſt ſuited to the ſtudy and meditation ſhe was always inclined to: and the chief diverſion ſhe took, next to the air, was in ſome ſuch plain and houſewifely entertainments, as knitting, &c. She had a ſmall territory, which ſhe governed ſo well, that ſhe ſhewed herſelf fit for a greater. She would conſtantly, every laſt day in the week, ſit in judgment, and hear and determine cauſes herſelf; where her patience, juſtice, and mercy, were admirable: frequently remitting her forfeitures, where the party was poor, or otherwiſe meritorious. And, which was excellent, tho' unuſual, ſhe would temper her diſcourſes with religion, and ſtrangely draw concerned parties to ſubmiſſion and agreement; exerciſing not ſo much the rigor of her power, as the power of her perſuaſion. Her meekneſs and humility appeared to me extraordinary; ſhe did not conſider the quality, but the merit, of the people ſhe entertained. Did ſhe hear of a retired man, hid from the world, and ſeeking after the knowledge of a better, ſhe was ſure to ſet him down in the catalogue of her charity, if he wanted it. I have caſually ſeen, ſays W. Penn, I believe, fifty tokens ſealed and ſuperſcribed to the ſeveral poor ſubjects of her bounty, whoſe diſtances would not ſuffer them to know one another, tho' they knew her, whom yet ſome of them had never ſeen. Thus, tho' ſhe kept no ſumptuous table in her own court, ſhe ſpread the tables of the poor in their ſolitary cells; breaking bread to virtuous pilgrims, according to their want, and her ability. Abſtemious in herſelf, and in apparel void of all vain ornaments. I muſt needs ſay, that her mind had a noble proſpect: her eye was to a better and more laſting inheritance than can be found below; which made her often deſpiſe the greatneſs of courts, and learning of the ſchools, of which ſhe was an extraordinary judge. Being once at Hamburgh, a religious perſon, whom ſhe went to ſee for religion's ſake, telling her, It was too great an honor for him to have a viſitant of her quality come under his roof, that was allied to ſo many great kings and princes of this world: ſhe humbly anſwered, If they were godly, as well as great, it would be an honor indeed; but if you knew what that greatneſs was, as well as I, you would value leſs that honor. Being in ſome agony of ſpirit, after a religious meeting we had in her chamber, ſhe ſaid, It is a hard thing to be faithful to what one knows: O, the way is ſtrait! I am afraid I am not weighty enough in my ſpirit to walk in it. She once withdrew, on purpoſe to give her ſervants the liberty of diſcourſing us, that they might the more freely put what queſtions of conſcience they deſired to be ſatisfied in; for they were religious: ſuffering both them and the pooreſt of her town, to ſit by her in her own bed-chamber, where we had two meetings. I cannot forget her laſt words, when I took my leave of her: Let me deſire you to remember me, tho' I live at this diſtance, and that you ſhould never ſee me more: I thank you for this good time; and know and be aſſured, tho' my condition ſubjects me to divers temptations, yet my ſoul hath ſtrong deſires after the beſt things. She lived a ſingle life till about ſixty years of age, and then departed at her own houſe in Herwerden, in the year 1680, as much lamented, as ſhe had lived beloved, by the people: to whoſe real worth, I do, with a religious gratitude, for her kind reception, dedicate this memorial.

W. PENN.

BULSTRODE WHITLOCK was a man in high office, and of very great abilities; a ſcholar, a lawyer, a ſtateſman; in ſhort, he was one of the moſt accompliſhed men of the age. In his retirement from the world, being viſited by a friend, he, among other ſerious obſervations, expreſſed himſelf thus: I have ever thought there has been but one true religion in the world, and that is the work of the Spirit of God in the hearts and ſouls of men. There have been, indeed, divers forms and ſhapes of things, thro' the many diſpenſations of God to men, anſwerable to his own wiſe ends, in reference to the low and uncertain ſtate of man in the world. The old world had the Spirit of God, and the new world has the ſame Spirit, both Jew and Gentile, and it ſtrives with all: and they, who have been led by it, have been the good people in every diſpenſation of God to the world. And I myſelf muſt ſay, that I have felt it from a child to convince me of my evil and vanity; and it has often given me a true meaſure of this poor world, and ſome taſte of divine things; and it is my grief that I did not more early apply my ſoul to it: for I can ſay, that ſince my retirement from the greatneſs and hurries of the world, I have felt ſomething of the work and comfort of it, and that it is both ready and able to inſtruct, and lead, and preſerve thoſe who will humbly and ſincerely hearken to it. So that my religion is, the good Spirit of God in my heart; I mean what that has wrought in me and for me.

ANTHONY LOWTHER, of Maſk, was a perſon of good ſenſe, of a ſweet temper, a juſt mind, and of a ſober education. When of age to be under his own government, he was drawn, by the men of pleaſure of the town, into the uſual freedoms of it, and was as much a judge as any body, of the ſatisfaction which that way of life could yield; but ſome time before his laſt ſickneſs, with a free and ſtrong judgment, he would frequently upbraid himſelf, and contemn the world for thoſe unſeaſonable, as well as unchriſtian, liberties that ſo much abound in it. Theſe ſentiments increaſed, by the inſtruction of a long and ſharp ſickneſs: and cauſed him earneſtly to breathe after the knowledge of the beſt things, and the beſt company, loſing as little time as he could, that he might redeem the time he had loſt. He teſtified often, with a lively reliſh, to the truth of religion, from the ſenſe he had of it in his own breaſt: frequently declaring, He knew no joy comparable to that of being aſſured of the love and mercy of God. And as he often implored it with ſtrong convictions, and deep humility and reverence, ſo he had frequently taſtes thereof before his laſt period; preſſing his relations and friends, in a moſt ſerious and affectionate manner, To love God, and one another more, and this vile world leſs. And of this he was ſo full, that it was almoſt ever the concluſion of his religious diſcourſes with his family. He ſometimes ſaid, That tho' he could have been willing to have lived, if God had pleaſed, to ſee his younger children nearer a ſettlement in the world; yet he felt no deſire to live longer in the world, but on the terms of living better in it. For that he did not only think virtue the ſafeſt, but the happieſt way of living: commending and commanding it to his children upon his laſt bleſſing.

Extract of a Letter, written by the EARL of ESSEX, to his particular friend, the EARL of SOUTHAMPTON, ſome time before his death.

WITH reſpect to your natural gifts and abilities, remember, Firſt, that you have nothing which you have not received. Secondly, that you poſſeſs them, not as a lord over them, but as one who muſt give an account for them. Thirdly, if you employ them to ſerve this world, or your own worldly delight, which the prince of this world will ſeek to entertain you with; it is ingratitude, it is injuſtice, yea, it is perſidious treachery. For what would you think of ſuch a ſervant of yours, who ſhould convert your goods, committed to his charge, to the advantage or ſervice of your greateſt enemy? And what do you leſs than this with God; ſince you have all from him, and know that the world, and the princes thereof, are at continual enmity with him? Therefore, if ever the admonition of your trueſt friend ſhall be heard by you; or if your country, which you may ſerve in ſo great and many things, be dear unto you; if your God, whom you muſt (if you deal truly with yourſelf) acknowledge to be powerful over all, and juſt in all, be feared by you; yea, if you be dear unto yourſelf, and prefer an everlaſting happineſs before a pleaſant dream, out of which you muſt ſhortly awake, and then repent in the bitterneſs of your ſoul: if any of theſe things be regarded by you, then, I ſay, call yourſelf to account for what is paſt; cancel all the leagues you have made without the warrant of a religious conſcience; make a regular covenant with your God, to ſerve him with all your natural and ſpiritual, inward and outward gifts and abilities: and then he, who is faithful and cannot lie, and hath promiſed to honor thoſe who honor him, will give you that inward peace of ſoul, and true joy of heart, which, till you have, you will never reſt; and which, when you have, you ſhall never be ſhaken; and which you can never attain to any other way.

ESSEX.

The Hon. ROBERT BOYLE, that moſt exact ſearcher into the works of nature, and who ſaw atheiſm and infidelity beginning to ſhow themſelves in the looſe and voluptuous reign of King Charles the Second, purſued his philoſophical inquiries with religious views, to eſtabliſh the minds of men in a firm belief, and thorough ſenſe, of the infinite power and wiſdom of the great Creator.

This account we have from Dr. Burnet, who was intimately acquainted with him, and who ſays, It appeared from thoſe who converſed with him on his inquiries into nature, that his main deſign in that (on which as he had his own eye conſtantly, ſo he took care to put others often in mind of it) was to raiſe in himſelf and others, vaſter thoughts of the greatneſs and glory, and of the wiſdom and goodneſs of God. This was ſo deep in his thoughts, that he concludes the article of his will, which relates to the Royal Society, in theſe words, Wiſhing them a happy ſucceſs in their attempts to diſcover the true nature of the works of God; and praying that they, and all other ſearchers into phyſical truths, may cordially refer their attainments, to the glory of the great Author of Nature, and to the comfort of mankind.

In another place the ſame perſon ſpeaks of him thus: He had the profoundeſt veneration for the great God of heaven and earth, that I ever obſerved in any man. The very name of God was never mentioned by him, without a pauſe and viſible ſtop in his diſcourſe.

Of the ſtrictneſs and exemplarineſs of the whole courſe of his life, he ſays: I might here challenge the whole tribe of libertines, to come and view the uſefulneſs, as well as the excellence of the Chriſtian religion, in a life that was entirely dedicated to it.

The veneration he had for the holy ſcriptures appears, not from his ſtudying them with great attention, and exhorting others to do the ſame; but more particularly, from a diſtinct treatiſe which he wrote on purpoſe to defend the ſcripture ſtyle, and to anſwer all the objections which profane and irreligious perſons have made againſt it. And his zeal in propagating Chriſtianity in the world, appears by many and large benefactions to that end.

The great NEWTON is univerſally acknowledged to be the moſt profound philoſopher that this, or perhaps any other, nation has produced: the vaſtneſs of his mental powers has excited the admiration of the greateſt geniuſes in Europe. This excellent perſon is well known to have been a firm believer, and a ſerious Chriſtian. His diſcoveries concerning the frame and ſyſtem of the univerſe were applied by him to demonſtrate the being of a God, and to illuſtrate his power and wiſdom in the creation. He applied himſelf alſo, with the utmoſt attention, to the ſtudy of the holy ſcriptures, and conſidered the ſeveral parts of them with uncommon exactneſs; particularly, as to the order of time, and the ſeries of prophecies and events relating to the Meſſiah. Upon which head, he has left behind him an excellent diſcourſe, to prove that the famous prophecy of Daniel's weeks, which has been ſo induſtriouſly perverted by the deiſts of our times, was an expreſs prophecy of the coming of the Meſſiah, and fulfilled in Jeſus Chriſt.

The celebrated JOHN LOCKE, whoſe ſound judgment and accurate talent in reaſoning, are ſo much commended, even by the ſceptics and infidels of our times, ſhowed his zeal for the Chriſtian religion, firſt, in his middle age, by publiſhing a diſcourſe on purpoſe to demonſtrate the reaſonableneſs of believing Jeſus to be the promiſed Meſſiah; and after that, in the latter years of his life, by a very judicious commentary upon ſeveral of the epiſtles of the apoſtle Paul. The ſcriptures are every where mentioned by him with the greateſt reverence; and he exhorts Chriſtians, to betake themſelves in earneſt to the ſtudy of the way to ſalvation, in thoſe holy writings, wherein God has revealed it from heaven, and propoſed it to the world; ſeeking our religion where we are ſure it is in truth to be found, comparing ſpiritual things with ſpiritual. And, in a letter written the year before his death, to one who aſked this queſtion, What is the ſhorteſt and ſureſt way for a young man to attain to the true knowledge of the Chriſtian religion? his anſwer is, Let him ſtudy the holy ſcriptures, eſpecially the New Teſtament. Therein are contained the words of eternal life. It has God for its author; ſalvation for its end; and truth, without any mixture of error, for its matter. A direction that was copied from his own practice, in the latter part of his life, and after his retirement from buſineſs; when, for fourteen or fifteen years, he applied himſelf eſpecially, to the ſtudy of the ſcriptures, and employed the laſt years of his life hardly in any thing elſe. He was never weary of admiring the great views of that ſacred book, and the juſt relation of all its parts. He every day made diſcoveries in it that gave him freſh cauſe of admiration.

The death of this great man was agreeable to his life. For we are aſſured by one that was with him when he died, and had lived in the ſame family for ſeven years before, that, the day before his death, he particularly exhorted all about him to read the ſcriptures; that he deſired to be remembered by them at evening prayers; and being told that, if he choſe it, the whole family ſhould be with him in his chamber, he anſwered, he ſhould be very glad to have it ſo, if it would not give too much trouble: that an occaſion offering to ſpeak of the goodneſs of God, he eſpecially exalted the care which God ſhowed to man in juſtifying him by faith in Jeſus Chriſt; and returned God thanks in particular for having bleſſed him with the knowledge of that divine Saviour.

About two months before his death, he drew up a letter to his friend ANTHONY COLLINS, and left this direction upon it, To be delivered to him after my deceaſe.

The following is a copy of it.

I KNOW you loved me living, and will preſerve my memory when I am dead. All the uſe to be made of it is, that this life is a ſcene of vanity which ſoon paſſes away, and affords no ſolid ſatisfaction but in the conſciouſneſs of doing well, and in the hopes of another life. This is what I can ſay upon experience, and what you will find to be true, when you come to make up the account.

Adieu, I leave my beſt wiſhes with you.

JOHN LOCKE.

The admired ADDISON has alſo given abundant proof of his belief of Chriſtianity, and his zeal againſt unbelievers, in his evidences of the Chriſtian religion. His writings on religious ſubjects diſcover a pious and ſolid frame of mind; and his general conduct in life gives us a convincing proof, that what he wrote were the genuine feelings of his heart. But his virtue ſhone out brighteſt at the point of death; for, after a long and manly, but vain, ſtruggle with his diſtempers, he diſmiſſed his phyſicians, and with them all hopes of life; but with his hopes of life he diſmiſſed not his concern for the living, but ſent for a youth nearly related, and finely accompliſhed, yet not above being the better for good impreſſions from a dying friend. He came; but life now glimmering in the ſocket, the dying friend was ſilent. After a decent and proper pauſe, the youth ſaid, Dear Sir! you ſent for me: I believe, and hope you have ſome commands; I ſhall hold them moſt dear. May diſtant ages not only hear, but feel, the reply! Forcibly graſping the youth's hand, he ſoftly ſaid, See in what peace a Chriſtian can die. He ſpoke with difficulty, and ſoon expired. Thro' divine grace, how great is man! thro' divine mercy, how ſtingleſs death!

HENRY, Prince of Wales, eldeſt ſon to King JAMES the Firſt, of whom others ſay many excellent things, had but little to ſay for himſelf at laſt. A perſon whom he loved, and who had been the companion of his diverſions, being with him in his ſickneſs, and aſking him, 'How he did,' was, amongſt many other ſober expreſſions, anſwered thus: Ah, Tom! I in vain wiſh for that time I loſt with thee, and others, in vain recreations. So vain were recreations, and ſo precious was time to a prince, and no ordinary one neither, upon a dying-bed. But why wiſhed he, with others, for more time, but that it might be better employed? Thus hath the holy Spirit of God in men, throughout all generations, convinced them of their vanity and folly upon their dying-beds, who before were too much occupied with temporal purſuits to mind the great concerns of a vaſt eternity: but when their days were almoſt numbered; when mortality haſtened on them; when the revelation of the righteous judgment was at the door, and all their worldly recreations and enjoyments muſt be parted with, O then! the holy witneſs had room to plead with conſcience: then nothing but an holy, ſtrict, and ſevere life, was valuable; then all the world for a little time, tho' before they had given all their time for a little of a vain world. But if ſo ſhort a repreſentation of the inconſiſtency of the vanities of the world, with the Chriſtian life, could make ſo deep an impreſſion, as it has upon numbers at that awakening period; to what a noble ſtature had they been grown in pious and heavenly knowledge; and how much greater had their rewards been, if they contentedly had foregone thoſe periſhing entertainments of the world betimes, and given their minds to the tuition and guidance of that univerſal grace and holy Spirit of God, which had ſo long ſhined in darkneſs, uncomprehended of it, and which was at laſt but juſt perceived to give a ſight of what they had been doing all their days!

JOHN, Earl of ROCHESTER.

An illuſtrious and inſtructive inſtance of the power of religion upon the mind, in the time of ſickneſs and death, is JOHN, Earl of Rocheſter; deſcendant of a great family, of a liberal education, and great perſonal accompliſhments; who, by his ſincere repentance, and happy death, appeared to be (as it is judiciouſly expreſſed of him) a very great man every way; a great wit, a great ſcholar, a great poet, a great ſinner, and a great penitent.

Such he is deſcribed to be by two eminent men, who perſonally knew him, and attended him in his laſt ſickneſs. And herein God has ſhown the freeneſs of his mercy, to ſave one who ſeemed to have made a covenant with death, and to be at an agreement with hell. Somewhat ſimilar to the apoſtle Paul, tho' before a blaſphemer, a perſecutor, and injurious; yet obtained mercy, that in him Chriſt Jeſus might ſhow forth all long-ſuffering, for a pattern to them that ſhould hereafter believe on him to everlaſting life, 1 Tim. 1. ver. 13.16. ſo he was, as it were, ſtruck to the ground, by a light from heaven, and a voice of thunder round about him; inſomuch, that now the ſcales fell from his eyes, as they did from Paul's; his ſtony heart was opened, and ſtreams of tears guſhed out, the bitter, but wholeſome, tears of true repentance.

He had advanced to an uncommon height of impiety, having been an advocate in the black cauſe of Atheiſm. He had raked too in the very bottom of the jakes of debauchery, and had been a ſatyriſt againſt virtue. But when, like the prodigal in the goſpel, he came to himſelf, great horror filled his mind, and forced ſharp and bitter invectives from him, againſt himſelf; terming himſelf the vileſt wretch that ever the ſun ſhined upon; wiſhing he had been a beggar, a link-boy, or a crawling leper in a ditch, or had lived in a dungeon, rather than have offended the Lord as he had done.

Being at one time under great trouble of mind, and his conſcience full of terror, he told the perſon who attended him, that, When, on his journey, he had been arguing with greater vigor againſt God and religion, than he had ever done in his lifetime before, and that he reſolved to run them down, with all the arguments and ſpite in the world; but, like the great convert, Paul, he found it hard to kick againſt God: for his heart was at that time ſtruck ſo powerfully, that he argued as much for God and virtue, as ever he had done againſt them.

He had ſuch tremendous apprehenſions of the Divine Majeſty, mingled with ſuch delightful contemplations of his nature and perfections, and of the amiableneſs of religion, that he ſaid, I never was advanced thus far towards happineſs, in my life before, tho', upon the commiſſion of ſome ſins extraordinary, I have had ſome checks and warnings conſiderable from within; but ſtill ſtruggled with them, and ſo wore them off again. One day at an Atheiſtical meeting at the houſe of a perſon of quality, I undertook to manage the cauſe, and was the principal diſputant againſt God and piety; and, for my performances, received the applauſe of the whole company. Upon which my mind was terribly ſtruck, and I immediately replied thus to myſelf, Good God! that a man who walks upright, who ſees the wonderful works of God, and has the uſe of his ſenſes and reaſon, ſhould uſe them to the defying of his Creator! But tho' this was a good beginning towards my converſion, to find my conſcience touched for my ſins, yet it went off again; nay, all my life long, I had a ſecret value and reverence for an honeſt man, and loved morality in others. But I had formed to myſelf an odd ſcheme of religion, which would ſolve all that God, or conſcience, might force upon me; yet I was not ever well reconciled to the buſineſs of Chriſtianity, nor had that reverence for the goſpel of Chriſt, which I ought to have had.

This ſtate of mind continued till the 53d chapter of Iſaiah was read to him, together with ſome other parts of the ſacred ſcriptures; when it pleaſed God to fill his mind with ſuch peace and joy, in believing, that it was remarkable to all about him.

And he frequently deſired thoſe who were with him, to read the 53d of Iſaiah to him, upon which he uſed to deſcant in a very affectionate paraphraſe, applying the weighty ſentences thereof to his own humiliation and comfort.

Oh! bleſſed God! can ſuch an horrid creature as I am, be accepted by thee, who have denied thy being, and contemned thy power? Can there be mercy and pardon for me? will God own ſuch a wretch as I?

And in the middle of his ſickneſs he ſaid, Shall the unſpeakable joys of heaven be conferred on me? Oh! mighty Saviour! never, but thro' thine infinite love and ſatisfaction! O, never, but by the purchaſe of thy blood! adding, That with all abhorrence he did reflect upon his former life; that ſincerely, and from his heart, he repented of all that folly and madneſs which he had committed.

His faith was very remarkable in embracing the Chriſtian religion; and he juſtly condemned That fooliſh and abſurd philoſophy, which the world ſo much admired, propagated by the late Hobbes, and others, which had undone him, and many more of the beſt parts of the nation.

His faith reſted alone on Chriſt for ſalvation, and therefore appeared to be of the right kind. He would often intreat 'God to ſtrengthen his faith,' crying out, Lord, I believe; help mine unbelief.

He had a growing eſteem for the holy ſcriptures, and evidently ſaw their divine uſefulneſs and excellency: For, having ſpoken to his heart, he acknowledged, that all the ſeeming abſurdities and contradictions, fancied by men of corrupt and reprobate judgments, were vaniſhed; and the excellency and beauty appeared, being come to receive the truth in the love of it.

Satan, the grand adverſary of ſouls, uſed to aſſault him with many temptations and evil ſuggeſtions, and many things prejudicial to that religious temper of mind, with which God had now endued him. One night eſpecially, the Tempter did make no little uſe of his fiery darts, by caſting upon him lewd and wicked imaginations: but, I thank God,' ſaid he, 'I abhor them all, and by the power of his grace, which I am ſure is ſufficient for me, I have overcome them. 'Tis the malice of the Devil, becauſe I am reſcued from him, and it is the goodneſs of God that frees me from all my ſpiritual enemies.

There are many proofs of the ſincerity of his faith, and the ſoundneſs of his repentance; among others, I ſhall ſingle out thoſe that follow.

His hearty concern for the pious education of his children; wiſhing his ſon might never be a wit, as he explained it, one of thoſe wretched creatures, who pride themſelves in ridiculing God and religion, denying his being or his providence: but that he might become an honeſt man, and of a truly religious character, which only could be the ſupport and bleſſing of his family.

He left a ſtrict charge to the perſons in whoſe cuſtody his papers were, to burn all his profane and lewd writings (as being only ſit to promote vice and immorality, by which he had ſo highly offended, and ſhamed, and blaſphemed that holy religion into which he had been baptized) and all his obſcene and filthy pictures, which were ſo notoriouſly ſcandalous.

He proteſted, he would not commit a known ſin to gain a kingdom: and ſent awful meſſages to his companions in iniquity.

He adviſed a gentleman of character, who came to ſee him on his death-bed, O! remember that you contemn God no more. He is an avenging God, and will viſit you for your ſins; and will, I hope, in mercy touch your conſcience, ſooner or later, as he has done mine. You and I have been friends and ſinners together a great while, therefore I am the more free with you. We have been all miſtaken in our conceits and opinions; our perſuaſions have been falſe and groundleſs; therefore God grant you repentance.

And ſeeing the gentleman the next day, he ſaid, Perhaps you were diſobliged by my plainneſs with you yeſterday; I ſpake the words of truth and ſoberneſs. And ſtriking his hand upon his breaſt, ſaid, I hope God will touch your heart.

He laid his commands on the perſons who attended him, To ſpread abroad, and let all men know, if they knew it not already, how God had diſciplined him for his ſins, by his afflicting hand; that his ſufferings were moſt juſt, tho' he had laid ten thouſand times more upon him. That he had laid one ſtripe upon another, becauſe of his grievous provocations, until he had brought him home to himſelf. That his former viſitations had not had that bleſſed effect he was now ſenſible of. That he had formerly ſome looſe thoughts and ſlight reſolutions of reforming, and deſigned to be better; becauſe even the preſent conſequences of ſin were ſtill peſtering him, and were ſo troublebleſome and inconvenient to him. But now he had other ſentiments of things, and acted upon other principles.

That none, whom he had been the inſtrument of drawing into ſin, might loſe the benefit of his ſincere, tho' late repentance, he ſubſcribed the following recantation, and ordered it to be publiſhed to the world.

For the benefit of all thoſe whom I may have drawn into ſin, by my example and encouragement, I leave to the world this my laſt declaration, which I deliver in the preſence of the great God who knows the ſecrets of all hearts, and before whom I am preparing to be judged; that from the bottom of my ſoul I deteſt and abhor the whole courſe of my former wicked life: that I think I can never ſufficiently admire the goodneſs of God, who has given me a true ſenſe of my pernicious opinions, and vile practices; by which I have hitherto lived without hope, and without God in the world; have been an open enemy to Jeſus Chriſt, doing the utmoſt deſpite to the holy Spirit of grace; and that the greateſt teſtimony of my charity to ſuch is, to warn them in the name of God, and as they regard the welfare of their immortal ſouls, no more to deny his being or his providence, or deſpiſe his goodneſs; no more to make a mock of ſin, or contemn the pure and excellent religion of my ever bleſſed Redeemer, thro' whoſe merits alone, I, one of the greateſt of ſinners, do yet hope for mercy and forgiveneſs. Amen.

J. ROCHESTER. Delivered and ſigned in the preſence of ANN ROCHESTER. ROBERT PARSONS.

We ſhall now attend him to his bed of languiſhing and death, and view the power of religion upon his mind, in that important ſeaſon. He ſeemed to have no deſire to live but to teſtify the truth of his repentance, and to bring glory to God. If God,' ſays he, ſhould ſpare me yet a little longer time here, I hope to bring glory to his name, proportionably to the diſhonor I have done him, in my whole life paſt; and particularly by endeavours to convince others, and to aſſure them of the danger of their condition, if they continued impenitent; and to tell them how graciouſly God hath dealt with me.

And when he came within the nearer views of death, about three or four days before it, he ſaid, I ſhall now die. But, O, what unſpeakable glories do I feel! what joys, beyond thought or expreſſion, am I ſenſible of! I am aſſured of God's mercy to me, thro' Jeſus Chriſt. O! how I long to die, and to be with my Saviour.

HERVEY, when on a ſick-bed, to a FRIEND.

MY health is continually upon the decline, and the ſprings of life are all relaxing. My age is removing, and departing from me as a ſhepherd's tent. Medicine is baffled; and my phyſician, Dr. Stonehouſe, who is a dear friend to his patient, and a lover of the Lord Jeſus, pities, but cannot ſuccour me.

Now I apprehend myſelf near the cloſe of life, and ſtand, as it were, on the brink of the grave, with eternity full in my view; perhaps my dear friend would be willing to know my ſentiments in this awful ſituation. At ſuch a juncture the mind is moſt unprejudiced, and the judgment not ſo liable to be dazzled by the glitter of worldly objects.

I have been too fond of reading every thing valuable and elegant that has been penned in our language, and been peculiarly charmed with the hiſtorians, orators, and poets of antiquity: but was I to renew my ſtudies, I would take leave of thoſe accompliſhed trifles; I would reſign the delights of modern wits, amuſement and eloquence, and devote my attention to the ſcriptures of truth. I would ſit with much greater aſſiduity at my Divine Maſter's feet, and deſire to know nothing but Jeſus Chriſt, and him crucified.

JOHN, LORD HARRINGTON, was the eldeſt ſon of that Lord Harrington to whom King James the Firſt committed the education of his eldeſt daughter, the Princeſs Elizabeth.

He had excellent natural endowments, and had acquired a conſiderable ſtock of uſeful learning; but was moſtly eminent for his knowledge in the work of his ſalvation.

He manifeſted a principle of true life in his heart, by his love to all who were truly godly. And ſuch were his bowels of compaſſion, that he gave the tenth part of his yearly income to charitable uſes.

At the beginning of his laſt ſickneſs, he ſtrongly apprehended that death would be the end of it, and accordingly prepared for the grave.

He declared his faith in, and undoubted hope of, ſalvation by Chriſt; and ſaid, with much cheerfulneſs, That he feared not death, in what ſhape ſoever it might aſſail him. In the midſt of many heavenly things, which dropped from time to time from his mouth, he deſired to be diſſolved, and to be at home with the Lord, declaring, not above two hours before his death, That he ſtill felt the comfort and joys of aſſured ſalvation, by Chriſt Jeſus. And when the hour of his departure was come, he ſaid, O, that joy! O, my God! when ſhall I be with thee? And with the like words, expreſſive of a tender, heavenly frame of mind, he peacefully expired.

From the younger VILLIERS, DUKE of BUCKINGHAM, on his death-bed, to Dr. W—. DEAR DOCTOR,

I ALWAYS looked upon you to be a perſon of true virtue, and know you to have a ſound underſtanding; for, however I may have acted in oppoſition to the principles of religion, or the dictates of reaſon, I can honeſtly aſſure you, I have always had the higheſt veneration for both. The world and I ſhake hands; for I dare affirm, we are heartily weary of each other. O, what a prodigal have I been of that moſt valuable of all poſſeſſions, Time! I have ſquandered it away with a profuſion unparalleled; and now, when the enjoyment of a few days would be worth the world, I cannot flatter myſelf with the proſpect of half a dozen of hours. How deſpicable, my dear friend, is that man who never prays to his God, but in the time of diſtreſs? In what manner can he ſupplicate that omnipotent Being, in his afflictions, whom, in the time of his proſperity, he never remembered with reverence?

Don't brand me with infidelity, when I tell you, that I am almoſt aſhamed to offer up my petitions at the throne of Grace, or to implore that divine mercy in the next world, which I have ſcandalouſly abuſed in this.

Shall ingratitude to man be looked upon as the blackeſt of crimes, and not ingratitude to God?

Shall an inſult offered to the king be looked upon in the moſt offenſive light, and yet no notice taken when the King of kings is treated with indignity and diſreſpect?

The companions of my former libertiniſm would ſcarcely believe their eyes, were you to ſhow them this epiſtle. They would laugh at me as a dreaming enthuſiaſt, or pity me as a timorous wretch, who was ſhocked at the appearance of futurity; but whoever laughs at me for being right, or pities me for being ſenſible of my errors, is more entitled to my compaſſion, than reſentment. A future ſtate may well enough ſtrike terror into any man, who has not acted well in this life; and he muſt have an uncommon ſhare of courage indeed, who does not ſhrink at the preſence of God. The apprehenſions of death will ſoon bring the moſt profligate to a proper uſe of his underſtanding. To what a ſituation am I now reduced? Is this odious little hut a ſuitable lodging for a prince? Is this anxiety of mind becoming the character of a Chriſtian? From my rank, I might have expected affluence to wait upon my life; from religion and underſtanding, peace to ſmile upon my end: inſtead of which I am afflicted with poverty, and haunted with remorſe; deſpiſed by my country, and, I fear, forſaken by my God.

There is nothing ſo dangerous as extraordinary abilities: I cannot be accuſed of vanity now, by being ſenſible that I was once poſſeſſed of uncommon qualifications, eſpecially as I ſincerely regret that I ever had them. My rank in life made theſe accompliſhments ſtill more conſpicuous; and, faſcinated by the general applauſe which they procured, I never conſidered the proper means by which they ſhould be diſplayed. Hence, to procure a ſmile from a blockhead whom I deſpiſed, I have frequently treated the virtuous with diſreſpect; and ſported with the holy name of heaven, to obtain a laugh from a parcel of fools, who were entitled to nothing but contempt.

Your men of wit generally look upon themſelves as diſcharged from the duties of religion, and confine the doctrines of the goſpel to people of meaner underſtandings. It is a ſort of derogation, in their opinion, to comply with the rules of Chriſtianity: and they reckon that man poſſeſſed of a narrow genius, who ſtudies to be good.

What a pity that the holy writings are not made the criterion of true judgment; or that any perſon ſhould paſs for a fine gentleman in this world, but he that appears ſolicitous about his happineſs in the next.

I am forſaken by all my acquaintance, utterly neglected by the friends of my boſom, and the dependants on my bounty: but no matter! I am not fit to converſe with the former, and have no ability to ſerve the latter. Let me not however be wholly caſt off by the good. Favor me with a viſit as ſoon as poſſible. Writing to you gives me ſome eaſe, eſpecially on a ſubject I could talk of for ever.

I am of opinion this is the laſt viſit I ſhall ever ſolicit from you; my diſtemper is powerful; come and pray for the departing ſpirit of the poor, unhappy

BUCKINGHAM.

Col. JAMES GARDINER, a perſon of diſtinguiſhed character, was for many years of his life greatly addicted to ſenſual pleaſures. With a ſtrong conſtitution of body, great flow of animal ſpirits, fine perſonal accompliſhments, and a large circle of polite connexions, he ſeemed as amply qualified as moſt men, to range in the field of animal enjoyments, and to extract from them all they were capable of yielding. Yet this complete ſenſualiſt, in the meridian of his joys, bitterly experienced That even in laughter their hearts are ſorrowful, and the end of their mirth is heavineſs.

Being at one time congratulated, by ſome of his diſſolute companions, on his diſtinguiſhed felicity, and a dog happening at that time to come into the room, he could not forbear groaning inwardly, and ſaying to himſelf, 'Oh! that I were that dog!' Such was then his happineſs; and ſuch perhaps is that of hundreds more, who bear themſelves higheſt in the contempt of religion, and glory in that infamous ſervitude which they affect to call liberty.

His continual neglect of the great Author of his being, of whoſe perfections he could not doubt, and to whom he knew himſelf to be under daily and perpetual obligations, gave him, in ſome moments of involuntary reflection, inexpreſſible remorſe; and this, at times, wrought upon him to ſuch a degree, that he reſolved he would attempt to pay him ſome acknowledgments. Accordingly, for a time, he did it; repeating, in retirement, ſome paſſages out of the Pſalms, and perhaps other ſcriptures, which he ſtill retained in his memory; and owning, in a few words, the many mercies and deliverances he had received, and the ill returns he had made for them. But theſe ſtrains were too devout to continue long in a heart as yet quite unſanctified: for how readily ſoever he could repeat acknowledgments of the divine power, preſence, and goodneſs, and own his follies and faults; he was ſtopt ſhort by the remonſtrances of his conſcience, as to the flagrant abſurdity of confeſſing ſins he did not deſire to forſake, and of pretending to praiſe God for his mercies, when he did not endeavour to live in his ſervice, and to behave in ſuch a manner as gratitude, if ſincere, would plainly dictate.

At length it pleaſed the Author of all good, ſo to viſit his ſoul, that heartily joining therewith, he became a ſincere penitent, and continued the remainder of his days, a bright and ſteady example of virtue and goodneſs. His gratitude to God for his ſingular deliverance, his continued ſenſe of the friendſhip of ſo gracious a Being, and his unſhaken hope of eternal happineſs, filled his heart with unutterable peace and joy; and cauſed abundant compaſſion for thoſe unhappy perſons who prefer the tranſient amuſements of a day, to the higheſt of all enjoyments, the perpetual love and favor of an Almighty friend. Many of his letters, and particularly the following ones to his wife and to an intimate acquaintance, teſtify his favored ſtate of mind, and how great was his enjoyment in communion with the Father of Spirits.

I bleſs God, I was never better in my life; and I wiſh I could be ſo happy as to hear the ſame of you; or rather (in other words) to hear that you had obtained an entire truſt in God. That would infallibly keep you in perfect peace; for the God of truth hath promiſed it. Oh! how ought we to be longing to be with Chriſt, which is infinitely better than any thing we can propoſe here! To be there, where all complaints ſhall be for ever baniſhed: where no mountain ſhall ſeparate between God and our ſouls. And I hope it will be ſome addition to our happineſs, that you and I ſhall be ſeparated no more; but that, as we have joined in ſinging the praiſes of our glorious Redeemer here, we ſhall ſing them in a much higher ſtrain thro' an endleſs eternity.—Speaking of one of his children, who, he had heard, made a commendable progreſs in learning, he expreſſed his ſatisfaction in it, and adds, But how much greater joy would it give me, to hear that he was greatly advanced in the ſchool of Chriſt! Oh! that our children may be but wiſe to ſalvation; and may grow in grace, as they do in ſtature!

What would I have given this day, upon the road, for paper, pen, and ink, when the Spirit of the Moſt High reſted upon me! Oh! for the pen of a ready writer, and the tongue of an angel, to declare what God hath done this day for my ſoul! But, in ſhort, it is in vain to attempt it: all that I am able to ſay, is only this, that my ſoul has been for ſome hours joining with the bleſſed ſpirits above, in giving glory, and honor, and praiſe, unto him that ſitteth upon the throne, and to the Lamb for ever and ever. My praiſes began from a renewed view of him, whom I ſaw pierced for my tranſgreſſions. I ſummoned the whole hierarchy of heaven to join with me; and I am perſuaded, they all echoed back praiſe to the Moſt High.

Such were the elevations of his mind; yet, there are many who will be inclined to cenſure them as the flights of enthuſiaſm.

But when we conſider the ſcriptural phraſes of walking with God; of having communion with the Father and his Son Jeſus Chriſt; of Chriſt's coming to them that open the door of their hearts to him, and ſupping with them; of God's ſhedding abroad his love in the heart by his Spirit; of his coming with Jeſus Chriſt, and making his abode with any one that loves him; of making us glad by the light of his countenance; and a variety of other equivalent expreſſions, we ſhall ſee reaſon to judge very favorably of the declarations contained in theſe letters.

If habitual love to God; firm faith in the Lord Jeſus Chriſt; a ſteady dependance on the divine promiſes; a full perſuaſion of the wiſdom and goodneſs of all the diſpenſations of Providence; a high eſteem for the bleſſings of the heavenly world; and a ſincere contempt for the vanities of this, can properly be called enthuſiaſm, then was Colonel Gardiner indeed one of the greateſt enthuſiaſts our age has produced; and in proportion to the degree in which he was ſo, he muſt be eſteemed one of the happieſt of mankind!

How often (ſays the ingenious and pious Grove) are good thoughts ſuggeſted, heavenly affections kindled and inflamed! How often is the Chriſtian prompted to holy actions, drawn to his duty, reſtored, quickened, perſuaded, in ſuch a manner, that he would be unjuſt to the Spirit of God, to queſtion his agency in the whole! Yes, O my ſoul, there is a Supreme Being, who governs the world, and is preſent with it; who takes up his more ſpecial habitation in good men, and is nigh to all who call upon him, to ſanctify and aſſiſt them! Haſt thou not felt him! O! my ſoul! like another ſoul, actuating thy faculties, exalting thy views, purifying thy paſſions, exciting thy graces, and begetting in thee an abhorrence of ſin, and a love of holineſs? And is not all this an argument of his preſence, as truly as if thou didſt ſee him?

The dying Advice of DUNCAN FORBES, late LORD PRESIDENT of SCOTLAND.

I WILL conclude with that which is the moſt important of all things, and which alone will carry every thing elſe along with it; which is to recommend, in the moſt ſolemn and ſerious manner, the ſtudy and practice of religion to all ſorts of men, as that which is both the light of the world, and ſalt of the earth. Nothing does ſo open our faculties, and compoſe and direct the whole man, as an inward ſenſe of God; of his authority over us; of the laws he hath ſet us; of his eye over us; of his hearing our prayers; aſſiſting our endeavours; watching over our concerns; of his being to judge, and reward or puniſh us in another ſtate, according to what we do in this. Nothing will give a man ſuch a deteſtation of ſin, and ſuch a ſenſe of the goodneſs of God, and of our obligations to holineſs, as a right underſtanding and firm belief of the Chriſtian religion. Nothing can give a man ſo calm a peace within, and ſuch a firm ſecurity againſt all fears and dangers without, as the belief of a kind, wiſe Providence, and of a future ſtate. Integrity of heart gives a man courage and confidence that cannot be ſhaken. A man is ſure that by living according to the rules of religion, he becomes the wiſeſt, the beſt, and the happieſt creature that he is capable of being. Honeſt induſtry, the employing of time well, a conſtant ſobriety, an undefiled purity and chaſtity, with a quiet ſerenity, are the beſt preſervatives of life and health; ſo that take a man as an individual, religion is his guard, his perfection, his beauty, and his glory. This will make him a light in the world, ſhining brightly, and enlightening many round about him.

Thus religion, if truly received and ſincerely adhered to, would prove the greateſt of all bleſſings to a nation. But, by religion, I underſtand ſomething more than the receiving of ſome doctrines, tho' ever ſo true, or the profeſſing of them, and engaging to ſupport them, not without zeal and eagerneſs. What ſignify the beſt doctrines, if men do not live ſuitably to them; if they have not a due influence upon their thoughts and their lives? Men of bad lives, with ſound opinions, are ſelf-condemned, and lie under a highly aggravated guilt.

By religion, I do not mean an outward compliance with forms and cuſtoms, in going to church, to prayers, to ſermons, and to ſacraments, with an external ſhow of devotion; or, which is more, with ſome inward forced good thoughts, in which many ſatisfy themſelves, while theſe have no viſible effect on their lives, nor any inward force to ſubdue and rectify their appetites, paſſions, and ſecret deſigns. Thoſe cuſtomary performances, how good and uſeful ſoever, when underſtood and rightly directed, are of little value when men reſt on them, and think becauſe they do them, they have acquitted themſelves of their duty; tho' they continue ſtill proud, covetous, full of deceit, envy, and malice. Even ſecret prayers, the moſt effectual means, are deſigned for a higher end; which is to poſſeſs our minds with ſuch a conſtant and preſent ſenſe of divine truths, as may make theſe live in us, and govern us, and draw down ſuch aſſiſtance, as to exalt and ſanctify our natures.

So that, by religion, I mean ſuch a ſenſe of divine truth as enters into a man, and becomes a ſpring of a new nature within him; reforming his thoughts and deſigns; purifying his heart; ſanctifying and governing his whole deportment, his words as well as his actions; convincing him that it is not enough, not to be ſcandalouſly vicious, or to be innocent in his converſation, but that he muſt be intirely, uniformly, and conſtantly, pure and virtuous, animated with zeal to be ſtill better and better, more eminently good and exemplary.

This is true religion, which is the perfection of human nature, and the joy and delight of every one that feels it active and ſtrong within him. It is true, this is not arrived at all at once, and it will have an unhappy alloy, hanging long even about a good man; but, as thoſe ill mixtures are the perpetual grief of his ſoul, ſo that it is his chief care to watch over, and to mortify them, he will be in a continual progreſs, ſtill gaining ground upon himſelf; and as he attains to a degree of purity, he will find a flame of life and joy growing up in him. Of this I write with a greater concern and emotion, becauſe I have felt this the true, and indeed, the only joy which runs thro' a man's heart and life. It is that which hath been for many years my greateſt ſupport. I rejoice daily in it. I feel from it, the earneſt of that ſupreme joy which I want and long for; and I am ſure there is nothing elſe which can afford any true and complete happineſs.

CHIEF JUSTICE HALE, a man of great piety, wiſdom, and learning, has given in his life and writings, an encouraging teſtimony to the power and excellency of religion.

True religion (ſaith he) teaches the ſoul a high veneration of Almighty God, a ſincere and upright walking as in the preſence of the inviſible, all-ſeeing God; it makes a man truly love, honor, and obey him, and therefore careful to know what his will is; it renders the heart highly thankful to him, as his Creator, Redeemer, and Benefactor; it makes a man entirely depend on him, ſeek him for guidance, direction, and protection, and ſubmit to his will with all patience and reſignation of ſoul; it gives the law, not only to his words and actions, but to his very thoughts and purpoſes, that he dares not entertain thoughts unbecoming the ſight and preſence of that God, to whom all our thoughts are legible. It cruſheth all pride and haughtineſs, both in a man's heart and carriage, and gives him an humble frame of ſoul and life, both in the ſight of God and men; it regulates and governs the paſſions of the mind, and brings them into due moderation and frame; it gives a man a right eſtimate of this preſent world, and ſets the heart and hopes above it, ſo that he never loves it more than it deſerves; it makes the wealth, and the glory of this world, high places, and great preferments, but of low and little value to him; ſo that he is neither covetous nor ambitious, nor over ſolicitous concerning the advantages of them. It makes him value the love of God, and peace of conſcience, above all the wealth and honor in the world, and to be very diligent to keep it inviolably; he performs all his duties to God in ſincerity and integrity; and, whilſt he lives on earth, his converſation, his hopes, his treaſures, are in heaven, and he endeavours to walk ſuitably to ſuch a hope.

Of the inward direction and aſſiſtance of the Spirit of God, to the ſoul, he declares as follows:

Thoſe who truly fear God have a ſecret guidance from a higher wiſdom than what is barely human, namely, the Spirit of Truth and Wiſdom, that doth really and truly, but ſecretly, prevent and direct them. Any man that ſincerely and truly fears Almighty God, and relies, and calls upon him for his guidance and direction, hath it as really as a ſon hath the counſel and direction of his father; and tho' the voice be not audible, nor the direction always perceptible, or diſcernible, to ſenſe, yet it is equally as real as if a man heard the voice ſaying, This is the way, walk in it.

And this ſecret direction of Almighty God is principally ſeen in matters relating to the good of the ſoul; yet it may alſo be found in the concerns of this life, which a good man, that fears God, and begs his direction, ſhall very often, if not at all times, find.

I can call my own experience to witneſs that, even in the external actions of my whole life, I was never diſappointed of the beſt guidance and direction, when I have, in humility and ſincerity, implored the ſecret direction and guidance of the Divine Wiſdom.

The obſervation of the ſecret admonition of the Spirit of God in the heart, is an effectual means to cleanſe and ſanctify thy heart, and the more it is attended to, the more it will be converſant with thy ſoul, for thy inſtruction.—In the midſt of thy difficulties it will be thy counſellor; in the midſt of thy temptations it will be thy ſtrength, and grace ſufficient for thee; in the midſt of thy troubles it will be thy light and thy comforter: only beware thou neglect not the voice of this Spirit; it may be, thy neglect may quench it, and thou mayeſt never hear that voice more.

It is impoſſible for thee to enjoy that which muſt make thee happy, till thou art deeply ſenſible of thy own emptineſs and nothingneſs, and thy ſpirit thereby brought down and laid in the duſt.—The Spirit of Chriſt is an humbling ſpirit, the more thou haſt of it, the more it will humble thee; and it is a ſign that either thou haſt it not, or that it is yet over-maſtered by thy corruptions, if thy heart be ſtill haughty.

Watch, therefore, the ſecret perſuaſions, and diſſuaſions of the Spirit of God, and beware thou quench it not, nor grieve it; be ſure thou obſerve this voice—this wind that blows where it liſts, if ſhut out, reſiſted, or grieved, may haply never breathe upon thee again, but leave thee to be hardened in thy ſins; but if obſerved and obeyed, thou ſhalt be ſure to have it thy monitor and director, upon all occaſions; when thou goeſt out, it will lead thee, when thou ſleepeſt, it will keep thee, and when thou awakeſt, it will talk with thee.

Of the viciſſitude of temporal enjoyments, and of his own experience thereof, he gives a ſtriking teſtimony in the following lines.

I HAVE, in the courſe of my life, had as many ſtations and places as moſt men. I have been in almoſt continual motion; and altho', of all earthly things, I have the moſt deſired reſt, and retiredneſs, and fixed, private ſtation, yet the various changes that I have ſeen and found, the public employments, that, without my ſeeking, and againſt my inclination, have been put upon me, and many other interventions, as well private as public, have made a literally my experience, that I have had no continuing city, or place of habitation. When I had deſigned unto myſelf a ſettled manſion in one place, and had fitted it to my convenience and repoſe, I have been preſently conſtrained by my neceſſary employments, to leave it, and repair to another: and when again I had thoughts to find repoſe there, and had again fitted it to my convenience; yet ſome other neceſſary occurrences have diverted me from it; and thus, by ſeveral viciſſitudes, my dwellings have been like ſo many inns to a traveller, tho' of ſome longer continuance, yet almoſt of equal inſtability and viciſſitude. This unſettledneſs of ſtation, tho' troubleſome, yet hath given me a good and practical moral; namely, that I muſt not expect my reſt in this lower world, but muſt make it as the place of my journey and pilgrimage, not of my repoſe and reſt, but muſt look further for that happineſs. And truly, when I conſider, that it hath been the wiſdom of God Almighty to exerciſe thoſe worthies, which he left us patterns to the reſt of mankind, with this kind of diſcipline in the world, I have reaſon not to complain of it, as a difficulty or an inconvenience, but to be thankful to him for it as an inſtruction and document, to put me in remembrance of a better home, and to incite me to make a due proviſion for it; even that everlaſting reſt which he hath provided for them that love him; and by pouring me thus from veſſel to veſſel, to keep me from fixing myſelf too much upon this world below. But the truth is, did we conſider this world as becomes us, even as wiſe men, we may eaſily find, without the help of any ſuch particular diſcipline of this nature, that this world below neither was intended for, nor indeed can be, a place of reſt, but only a laboratory to fit and prepare the ſouls of the children of men, for a better and more abiding ſtate; a ſchool, to exerciſe and train us up in habits of patience and obedience, till we are fitted for another ſtation; a little narrow nurſery, wherein we may be dreſſed and pruned, till tranſplanted into a better paradiſe. The continual troubles and diſcompoſures, ſickneſſes, and calamities, that attend our lives; the ſhortneſs and continued vexations occurring in them; and finally, the common examples of death and mortality of all ages, ſexes, and conditions of mankind, are a ſufficient inſtruction to convince reaſonable men, who have the ſeriouſneſs and patience to conſider and obſerve, that we have no abiding city here. And on the other ſide, if we will give ourſelves but the leiſure to conſider the great wiſdom of Almighty God, who orders every thing in the world to ends ſuitable and proportionable; the excellence of the ſoul and mind of man; the great advances and improvements his nature is capable of; the admirable means, which the merciful and wiſe God hath afforded mankind, by his works of nature and providence, by his word and inſtruments, to qualify him for a nobler life than this world below can yield, we ſhall readily confeſs, that there is another ſtate, another city to come, which it becomes every good, and wiſe, and conſiderate man, to look after, and fit himſelf for. And yet, if man look upon the generality of mankind, with a due conſideration, they will appear to be like a company of diſtempered people. The greateſt part of them make it their whole buſineſs, to provide for a reſt and happineſs in this world, they make theſe vain acqueſts of wealth and honor, and the preferments and pleaſures of this world, their great, if not their only, buſineſs and happineſs; and, which is yet a higher degree of frenzy, they eſteem this the only wiſdom, and judge the careful proviſion for eternity, the folly of a few weak, melancholy, fanciful men: whereas it is truth, and in due time it will evidently appear, that thoſe men, who are moſt ſolicitous for their attaining of their everlaſting reſt, are the only true wiſe men, and ſo ſhall be acknowledged by thoſe that now deſpiſe them. Wiſ. 5.4. We fools accounted his life madneſs, and his end to be without honor. How is he numbered among the children of God, and his lot is among the ſaints!

A Letter from JAMES, EARL of MARLBOROUGH, a little before his death, in the battle at ſea on the coaſt of Holland, &c.

I BELIEVE the goodneſs of your nature, and the friendſhip you have always borne me, will receive with kindneſs the laſt office of your friend. I am in health enough of body, and, thro' the mercy of God in Jeſus Chriſt, well diſpoſed in mind. This I premiſe, that you may be ſatisfied, that what I write proceeds not from any fantaſtic terror of mind, but from a ſober reſolution of what concerns myſelf, and an earneſt deſire to do you more good after my death, than my example (God of his mercy pardon the badneſs of it!) in my life-time may do you harm. I will not ſpeak aught of the vanity of this world: your own age and experience will ſave that labor; but there is a certain thing that goeth up and down the world, called religion, dreſſed, and pretended fantaſtically, and to purpoſes bad enough, which yet, by ſuch evil dealing, loſeth not its being. The great good God hath not left it without a witneſs, more or leſs, ſooner or later, in every man's boſom, to direct us in the purſuit of it, and for the avoiding of thoſe inextricable diſquiſitions and entanglements with which our own frail reaſon would perplex us. God, in his infinite mercy, hath given us his holy word, in which, as there are many things hard to be underſtood, ſo there is enough plain and eaſy, to quiet our minds, and to direct us concerning our future being. I confeſs to God and you, I have been a great neglecter, and, I fear, deſpiſer of it; God, of his infinite mercy, pardon me the dreadful fault! But, when I retired myſelf from the noiſe and deceitful vanity of the world, I found no true comfort in any other reſolution, than what I had from thence; I commend, from the bottom of my heart, the ſame to your, I hope, happy uſe. Dear Hugh, let us be more generous than to believe we die as the beaſts that periſh; but with a Chriſtian, manly, brave reſolution, look to what is eternal. The only great and holy God, Father, Son, and Holy Ghoſt, direct you to an happy end of your life, and ſend us a joyful reſurrection. So prays your true friend,

MARLBOROUGH.

The following Account of an affecting, mournful exit, is related by Dr. YOUNG, who was preſent at the melancholy ſcene.

THE ſad evening before the death of that noble youth, whoſe laſt hours ſuggeſted theſe thoughts, I was with him. No one was there but his phyſician, and an intimate whom he loved, and whom he had ruined. At my coming in, he ſaid, You and the phyſician are come too late.—I have neither life nor hope. You both aim at miracles. You would raiſe the dead.

Heaven, I ſaid, was merciful, or I could not have been thus guilty. What has it not done to bleſs, and to ſave me? I have been too ſtrong for Omnipotence! I have plucked down ruin. I ſaid, the bleſſed Redeemer—Hold! hold! you wound me!—That is the rock on which I ſplit—I denied his name.

Refuſing to hear any thing from me, or take any thing from the phyſician, he lay ſilent, as far as ſudden darts of pain would permit, till the clock ſtruck. Then with vehemence; Oh, time! time! It is fit thou ſhouldſt thus ſtrike thy murderer to the heart.— How art thou fled for ever!—A month!—Oh, for a ſingle week! I aſk not for years. Tho' an age were too little for the much I have to do.

On my ſaying, We could not do too much: that heaven was a bleſſed place —So much the worſe. 'Tis loſt! 'tis loſt!—Heaven is to me the ſevereſt part of hell!

Soon after I propoſed prayer. Pray you that can. I never prayed. I cannot pray—Nor need I. Is not heaven on my ſide already? It cloſes with my conſcience. Its ſevereſt ſtrokes but ſecond my own.

His friend being much touched, even to tears, at this (who could forbear? I could not) with a moſt affectionate look, he ſaid;

Keep thoſe tears for thyſelf. I have undone thee.—Doſt weep for me? that's cruel. What can pain me more?

Here his friend, too much affected, would have left him.

No, ſtay, thou ſtill may'ſt hope; —therefore hear me. How madly have I talk'd! How madly haſt thou liſtened, and believed! but look on my preſent ſtate, as a full anſwer to thee, and to myſelf. This body is all weakneſs and pain; but my ſoul, as if ſtung up by torment to greater ſtrength and ſpirit, is full powerful to reaſon; full mighty to ſuffer. And that, which thus triumphs within the jaws of immortality, is, doubtleſs, immortal.—And, as for a Deity, nothing leſs than an Almighty could inflict what I feel.

I was about to congratulate this paſſive, involuntary confeſſor, on his aſſerting the two prime articles of his creed, extorted by the rack of nature; when he thus, very paſſionately:

No, no! let me ſpeak on. I have not long to ſpeak.—My much injured friend! my ſoul, as my body, lies in ruins; in ſcattered fragments of broken thought. Remorſe for the paſt throws my thought on the future. Worſe dread of the future ſtrikes it back on the paſt. I turn, and turn, and find no ray. Didſt thou feel half the mountain that is on me, thou wouldſt ſtruggle with the martyr for his ſtake; and bleſs heaven for the flames;—that is not an everlaſting flame; that is not an unquenchable fire.

How were we ſtruck! yet, ſoon after, ſtill more. With what an eye of diſtraction, what a face of deſpair! he cried out:

My principles have poiſoned my friend; my extravagance has beggared my boy; my unkindneſs has murdered my wife!—And is there another hell?—Oh! Thou blaſphemed, yet indulgent, LORD GOD! Hell itſelf is a refuge, if it hides me from thy frown.

Soon after, his underſtanding failed. His terrified imagination uttered horrors not to be repeated, or ever forgot. And ere the Sun (which I hope has ſeen few like him) aroſe, the gay, young, noble, ingenious, accompliſhed, and moſt wretched Altamont expired.

If this is a man of pleaſure, what is a man of pain? How quick, how total is the tranſit of theſe Phaetontiades! in what a diſmal gloom they ſet for ever! how ſhort, alas! the day of their rejoicing! For a moment they glitter, they dazzle. In a moment, where are they? Oblivion covers their memories. Ah! would it did! Infamy ſnatches them from oblivion. In the long-living annals of infamy their triumphs are recorded. Thy ſufferings ſtill bleed in the boſom (poor Altamont!) of the heart-ſtricken friend: for Altamont had a friend. He might have had many. His tranſient morning might have been the dawn of an immortal day. His name might have been gloriouſly enrolled in the records of eternity. His memory might have left a ſweet fragrance behind it, grateful to the ſurviving friend, ſalutary to the ſucceeding generation. With what capacities was he endowed, with what advantages, for being greatly good. But with the talents of an angel, a man may be a fool. If he judges amiſs in the ſupreme point, judging right in all elſe, but aggravates his folly; as it ſhows him wrong, tho' bleſſed with the beſt capacity of being right.

Such, ſo fatal, when abuſed, are the greateſt bleſſings of heaven. Heaven grant his agonies were an expiation of the paſt; not a preſage and ſad ſpecimen of the future. That his ſurviving companions and admirers may never ſuffer the ſame, give me leave to ſpeak to them, while this affecting object is (or might be) in their ſight.

Ye ſtaunch purſuers of pleaſure, opening in full cry on its burning ſcent! who run yourſelves out of breath, health, credit, eſtate, and often life, after that you cannot catch! for a moment ſlacken your ſpeed, and cool the fervor of your chaſe. It is a friend that calls, and he is his own, that hears.

If there is a ſcene on earth, in which you can find greater advantage, than in that to which you have been invited, do not come; if there is not, indulge me in a few words, which may not be ſoon forgot: at leaſt, they will recur to your thoughts, they will recur to your feeling hearts, when your preſent jovial chaſe is over; when pleaſure is no more.

It will be grateful to your friend deceaſed, whom you were always willing to oblige, if, with his accompliſhments, you remember his faults; for then you will not forget your own; but read, in his deep diſtreſs, a ſtrong caution againſt them. Affords not the rock on which he ſplit, a ſolid baſis for your ſafety? Has he not well remarked where miſchief lies? See you not the wreck of that gallant firſt-rate? or rather, is he not a beacon, lighted up by kind Providence, to guide you ſafe thro' the dangerous voyage of human life?

He once, as you now, imagined himſelf, in this life, immortal. Was he not miſtaken? He has taken his final flight; whither, who can tell? If you continue yours in the ſame fatal track, who is he that cannot tell where the folly muſt end? Smitten, transfixed, when moſt ſecure, from the moſt towering heights, he dropped at once into depths of diſtreſs, not to be fathomed by man. In gaiety of heart defy not the danger. Are there not more arrows in the ſame quiver? and are not you as fair and tempting a mark? more tempting, if unadmoniſhed, and mounting ſtill over his forgotten tomb. And whom dare you tempt? an Archer that never miſſed his mark.

But you, from your gay pavilion, embowered in roſes, ſee no threatening proſpects; no dangers of death.—Oh, Sirs! Death delights to lie hid in thickets of roſes! How often the gayeſt fall firſt in his ſnare! yet even this is too gentle, too mild, to anſwer the good will of Heaven; it cannot keep the world in awe.

What uncommon fortitude is needful to bear proſperities unhurt? It is now ſunſhine with you; and you think all is well. It is the ſeaſon of indulgence—but ſeaſons will change. You that are now all ſocial comfort, gathered cloſe in glad cluſters, and (like embodied birds of paſſage, bound for new climes) on your impatient wing for new delights! what will you do, when each of you, ſevered from the reſt, an unexperienced, unexpected recluſe, lies ſorely pained; dreading worſe; none to converſe with, but the two greateſt ſtrangers, his own heart, and Him who made it; and neither at peace with him? Say, ye ſtrangers to care, and abounders in mirth! what will he do, when he finds himſelf ſtill ſubſiſting in a ſtate, where none of thoſe pleaſures, for which alone he wiſhed to ſubſiſt, can poſſibly any longer ſubſiſt with him? when the dark matter at the centre will not be more foreign to him, than that which now beats high in his pulſe, and fluſhes in his cheek; and ſtings him on to ſchemes, that laugh at ſuch lectures as theſe? when he finds himſelf led by the ſoft hand of pleaſure, to thoſe diſmal gates, which ſhe herſelf will never, never, never enter?

From the PRINCE of CONTI.

'IT is impoſſible to conſider the buſineſs of a player, and to compare it with the Chriſtian profeſſion, without being ſenſible that there is nothing more unworthy of a child of God, and of a member of Jeſus Chriſt than this employment. I do not ſpeak of the groſs irregularities only, and the diſſolute manner in which the women appear on the ſtage, becauſe thoſe who juſtify plays, always ſeparate thoſe diſorders from them in their imagination, tho' they are never ſeparated in effect. I ſpeak only of that which is abſolutely inſeparable from them. 'Tis an employment, the end of which is the diverſion of others; where men and women appear on a theatre, to repreſent the paſſions of hatred, anger, ambition, revenge, and chiefly that of love. They muſt expreſs them as lively, and as naturally, as is poſſible for them; and they cannot do ſo, if they do not, in ſome manner, excite them in themſelves, and if their ſouls do not take all the changes which we ſee in their faces. Thoſe then who repreſent a paſſion, muſt be, in ſome meaſure, touched with it whilſt they repreſent it; and it is not to be imagined, that they can preſently efface from their minds that impreſſion, which they have voluntarily excited in it, and that it does not leave a great diſpoſition to that ſame paſſion which they have been ſo willingly ſenſible of. Thus, plays are, even in their nature, a ſchool, and an exerciſe of vice, ſince it is an art in which one muſt neceſſarily excite in himſelf vicious paſſions. And if we conſider that the lives of players are employed in this exerciſe, that they paſs it entirely, either in learning by themſelves, or rehearſing among one another, or in repreſenting to ſpectators the image of ſome vice; and that they have ſcarce any thing in their minds but theſe follies; we ſhall eaſily ſee, that it is impoſſible to join this employment with the purity of our religion. And thus, it muſt be owned, it is a profane employment, and unworthy of a Chriſtian; and that, by conſequence, it is not allowable for others to contribute to maintain them in a profeſſion contrary to Chriſtianity, or to authorize it by their preſence.'

—'Thoſe deceive themſelves extremely, who think that plays make no ill impreſſion on them, becauſe they do not find them excite any formed evil deſire.—There are many degrees before one comes to an entire corruption of mind, and it is always extremely hurtful to the ſoul, to deſtroy the ramparts which ſecured it from temptation.

One does not begin to fall when the fall becomes ſenſible; the failings of the ſoul are ſlow, they have progreſſions and preparations; and it often happens, that we are overcome by temptations only by our having weakened ourſelves in occaſions, which ſeemed of no importance; it being certain that he who deſpiſes little things, ſhall fall by little and little.'

—'It muſt not be imagined that theſe wicked maxims, of which plays are full, are not hurtful, becauſe people do not go there to form their ſentiments, but to divert themſelves; for they do not fail of making impreſſions, notwithſtanding, without being perceived.—The opinion that the chimera of honor is ſo great a good, that it muſt be preſerved, even at the expenſe of life, is what produces the brutal rage of the gentlemen of France. If thoſe who fight a duel were never ſpoken of but as fools and madmen, as indeed they are; if that phantom of honor, which is their idol, was never repreſented but as a chimera and a folly; if care was taken never to form any image of revenge, but as of a mean and cowardly action; the reſentment which men feel upon an affront would be infinitely weaker; but that which exaſperates and renders it the more lively, is the falſe impreſſion, that there is cowardice in bearing an affront. Now, it cannot be denied, that plays, which are full of theſe evil maxims, do greatly contribute to fortify that impreſſion, becauſe the mind being by them tranſported, and entirely out of itſelf, inſtead of correcting thoſe ſentiments, abandons itſelf to them without reſiſtance, and delights to feel the motions they inſpire, which diſpoſe it to produce the like upon occaſion.'

—'Plays and romances not only indiſpoſe the ſoul for all acts of religion and piety; but they give it a diſguſt, in ſome meaſure, to all ſerious and ordinary actions. As nothing is repreſented in them but gallantries, or extraordinary adventures, and the diſcourſes are far diſtant from ſuch as are uſed in ſerious affairs, one inſenſibly takes from them a romantic diſpoſition of mind: the head is filled with heroes and heroines, and women ſeeing the adorations which in them are given to their ſex (of which they find the image and practice in companies of diverſion, where young men talk to them what they have learned in romances, treating them as nymphs and goddeſſes) have that ſort of life ſo much impreſſed on their minds, that the little affairs of their family and houſewifery become inſupportable to them; and when they return to their houſes, with minds thus evaporated and filled with theſe follies, they find every thing there diſagreeable, and eſpecially their huſbands, who, being taken up with their affairs, are not always in the humor of paying them thoſe ridiculous complaiſances which are given to women in plays, in romances, and in the romantic life.'

—'The need which men have of diverſion, is not by far ſo great as is thought, and it conſiſts more in imagination, or in cuſtom, than in a real neceſſity. Thoſe who are employed in bodily labor, have only need of a bare ceſſation from it. Thoſe who are employed in affairs toilſome to the mind, and but little laborious to the body, have need to recollect themſelves from that diſpoſition which thoſe ſort of employments naturally cauſe, and not to diſſipate themſelves yet more, by diverſions which extremely engage the mind. It is a jeſt to fancy that one has need to paſs three hours in filling the mind with follies at a play. Thoſe who find in themſelves this need, ought to look on it, not as a natural weakneſs, but as a vice of cuſtom, which they muſt cure by ſerious employployments.'

—'If the ſoul abandons itſelf to theſe falſe pleaſures, it loſes the reliſh of ſpiritual ones, and finds nothing but diſguſt for the word of God. Theſe are thoſe ſour grapes, of which the prophet ſays, They benumb, and ſet on edge, the teeth of whoſe who eat them.—That is to ſay, when one feeds himſelf with the vain pleaſures of the world, the ſpiritual ſenſes become ſtupified, and incapable of reliſhing, or underſtanding, the things of God. Now, among the pleaſures of the world, which extinguiſh the love 〈◊〉 the word of God, it may be ſaid, that plays and romances hold the firſt rank; becauſe there is nothing more oppoſed to truth, and that the Spirit of God, being a ſpirit of truth, can have no part with the vanities of the world.'

—'There will be many perſons ready to aſſert, that they have never received any ill impreſſion from comedy; but I maintain, either that they are very few in number, or that they are not ſincere, or that they have not reflected enough on themſelves to perceive it, or elſe, that the only reaſon why comedy has not corrupted their manners, is, becauſe it found them already corrupted, and that they had left it nothing to do in this matter.'

—'God does not impute to us the coldneſs which proceeds from the withdrawing of his light, or merely from the heavineſs of this body; but, no doubt, he imputes to us that, to which we have contributed, by our negligence and our vain diverſions. It is his will that we ſhould eſteem nothing ſo much as the gracious gift, which he has made us of his love, and that we ſhould be careful to preſerve it by giving it nouriſhment. This command he has intimated to us in the perſons of the prieſts in the ancient law, whom he ordains always to maintain the fire on the altar, and to take care to put wood upon it, every day in the morning. This altar is the heart of man, and every Chriſtian is the prieſt, who ought to be careful to nouriſh the fire of charity on the altar of his heart, by putting wood every day upon it; that is to ſay, maintaining it by the meditation of divine things, and by exerciſes of piety. Now, if thoſe who go to plays have yet any ſenſe of piety, they cannot diſown that plays deaden, and entirely extinguiſh devotion; ſo that, they ſhould not doubt, God judges them extremely guilty, for having made ſo little account of his love, that inſtead of nouriſhing and endeavouring to augment it, they have not feared to extinguiſh it by their vain diverſions; and that he will impute to them as a great ſin, the abatement or the loſs of their love to him. For if a diſſipation of the goods of the world, and of earthly riches, by luxury and gaming, is no little ſin, what muſt be judged of a diſſipation of the goods of grace, and of that precious treaſure the ſcripture ſpeaks of, which we ought to purchaſe, by the loſs of all the goods, and all the pleaſures of this life?

From CHIEF JUSTICE HALE.

'Beware of too much recreation. Some bodily exerciſe is neceſſary, for ſedentary men eſpecially; but let it not be too frequent, nor too long. Gaming, taverns, and plays, as they are pernicious, and corrupt youth, ſo, if they had no other fault, they are juſtly to be declined, in reſpect of their exceſſive expenſe of time, and habituating men to idleneſs and vain thoughts, and diſturbing paſſions and ſymptoms, when they are paſt, as well as while they are uſed.

CLARKE, in his eſſay on ſtudy, ſpeaking of plays and romances, ſays, 'By what I have ſeen of them, I believe, they are generally very indiſcreetly and fooliſhly written in a way proper to recommend vanity and wickedneſs, rather than diſcredit them; they have a ſtrong tendency to corrupt and debauch the mind with ſilly, miſchievous, notions of love and honor, and other things relating to the conduct of life.'

The following are taken from the Works of WILLIAM LAW.

CAN any one think that he has a true Chriſtian ſpirit, that his heart is changed as it ought to be, whilſt he is diverting himſelf with the poliſhed lewdneſs, profaneneſs, and impure diſcourſes of the ſtage? Can he think that he is endeavouring to be holy, as Chriſt is holy, to live by his wiſdom, and be full of his ſpirit, ſo long as he allows himſelf in ſuch entertainments? For there is nothing in the nature of Chriſtian holineſs, but what is contrary to the ſpirit and temper of theſe diverſions.'

—'You own that God has called you to great purity of converſation; that you are forbid all fooliſh talking and filthy jeſtings, as expreſſly as you are forbid ſwearing; and that you are told to let no corrupt communication proceed out of your mouth; and yet you go to a houſe of corrupt communication; you hire perſons to entertain you with ribaldry, profaneneſs, rant, and impurity of diſcourſe, who are to preſent you with poiſonous ſentiments, and lewd imaginations, dreſſed up in elegant language, and to make wicked, vain, and impure diſcourſe more lively and delightful, than you could poſſibly have it in any ill company. Is not this ſinning with a high hand, and groſsly offending againſt the plaineſt doctrines of ſcripture?'

—'As prejudices, the force of education, the authority of numbers, the way of the world, the example of great names, may make people believe, ſo the ſame cauſes may make people act, againſt all ſenſe and reaſon, and be guilty of practices which are utterly inconſiſtent with the purity of their religion.'

—'The pleaſures and diverſions of people are certain means for judging of the ſtate of their minds: nothing can pleaſe or affect us, but what is according to our nature, and which finds ſomething within us that is ſuitable to itſelf. Had we not inward diſpoſitions of tenderneſs and compaſſion, we ſhould not find ourſelves ſoftened with miſerable objects. In like manner, had we not in our nature lively ſeeds of thoſe diſorders which are acted upon the ſtage; were there not ſome inward corruption, that finds itſelf gratified by the irregular paſſions that are there repreſented, we ſhould find no more pleaſure in the ſtage than blind men find in pictures. If impure ſpeeches, if wanton amours, if wild paſſions, and immoral rant, can give us any delight, is it not paſt all doubt, that we have ſomething of all theſe diſorders in our nature?'

—'There is no doctrine of our bleſſed Saviour that more concerns all Chriſtians, or is more eſſential to their ſalvation, than this:' Bleſſed are the pure in heart, for they ſhall ſee God. 'Now take the ſtage in its beſt ſtate, when ſome admired tragedy is upon it; are the extravagant paſſions of diſtracted lovers, the impure ravings of inflamed heroes, the joys and torments of love, and refined deſcriptions of luſts; are the indecent actions, the amorous tranſports, the wanton addreſs of the actors, which make ſo great a part of the moſt ſober and modeſt tragedies; are theſe things conſiſtent with this Chriſtian doctrine of purity of heart?'

—'All people who enter into theſe houſes of entertainment, or contribute the ſmalleſt mite towards them, muſt look on themſelves, as having been, ſo far, friends to the moſt powerful inſtruments of ſenſuality, and to be guilty of contributing to an open and public exerciſe of ſplendid impurity and profaneneſs. When we encourage any good deſign, either with our conſent, our money, or preſence, we are apt to take a great deal of merit to ourſelves; we preſently conclude that we are partakers of all that is good and praiſe-worthy in it, of all the benefit that ariſes from it, becauſe we are contributors towards it. A man does not think that he has no ſhare in ſome public charity, becauſe he is but one in ten thouſand that contributes towards it; but if it be a religious charity, and attended with great and happy effects, his conſcience tells him that he is a ſharer of all that great good to which he contributed. Now, let this teach us, how we ought to judge of the guilt of encouraging any thing that is bad, either with our conſent, our money, or our preſence. We muſt not conſider how much our ſingle part contributes towards it, how much leſs we contribute than ſeveral thouſands of other people; but we muſt look at the whole thing in itſelf; and whatever there is of evil in it, or whatever evil ariſes from it, we muſt charge ourſelves with a ſhare of the whole guilt of ſo great an evil.

—'People of faſhion and quality have great advantage above the vulgar; their condition and education give them a livelineſs and brightneſs of parts, from whence one might juſtly expect a more exalted virtue. How comes it then, that we ſee as ill morals, as little religious wiſdom, and as great diſorders among them, as among the moſt rude, uneducated part of the world? It is becauſe the politeneſs of their lives, their courſe of diverſions and amuſements, and their ways of ſpending their time as much extinguiſh the wiſdom and light of religion, as the groſſneſs and ignorance of the dulleſt part of the world.—Any way of life that darkens our minds, that miſemploys our underſtanding, that fills us with a trifling ſpirit, that diſorders our paſſions, that ſeparates us from the ſpirit of God, is the ſame certain road to deſtruction, whether it ariſes from ſtupid ſenſuality, rude ignorance, or polite pleaſures. Had any one, therefore, the power of an apoſtle, or the tongue of an angel, it would be well employed, in expoſing, and diſſuading from, thoſe ways of life, which wealth, corruption, and politeneſs, have brought among us. We indeed only call them diverſions; but they do the whole work of idolatry and infidelity, and fill people with ſo much blindneſs and hardneſs of heart, that they neither live by wiſdom, nor feel the want of it, but are content to play away their lives with ſcarce any attention to the approaching ſcenes of death, judgment, and eternity.'

IT muſt appear evident to every ſober and unprejudiced mind, that the ſentiments of theſe virtuous and enlightened men, againſt ſuch dangerous ways of ſpending our time, are, indeed, ſolid and awakening truths. Let us, therefore, as rational beings, Chriſtians, who are travelling towards a better country, and are called to renounce the vanities of this periſhing world, aſſert the dignity of our nature, and act conformably to the excellence of our deſtination. A few fleeting years will bring us all to the verge of an awful ſcene, where the vain diverſions and paſtimes of this world will appear in their true light, a moſt lamentable abuſe of that precious time and talent, with which we have been entruſted, for the great purpoſe of working out our ſoul's ſalvation. At that ſolemn period, the great buſineſs of religion, a pious and virtuous life, dedicated to the love and ſervice of God, will appear of ineſtimable value, and the only thing worthy the purſuit of reaſonable beings. Happy, therefore, will it be for us, if we become wiſe in time, take up the croſs to all enſnaring pleaſures, for the few remaining days of our lives, and ſteadily perſevere, under the Divine aid, in fulfilling the various duties aſſigned us, and in making ſuitable returns to the Author of all good, for the unmerited bleſſings which he has abundantly poured forth upon us. In theſe exalted employments, we ſhall experience the nobleſt pleaſure, and feel no want of empty and injurious entertainments, to occupy our minds, or to fill up our time. We ſhall abhor the pretence of acquiring moral and refined ſentiments, from ſuch polluted mixtures, and feel ourſelves deeply concerned to diſcountenance, by our example and influence, thoſe ſplendid engines of impiety, and diſſipation.