CHAP. I.

A FEW evenings ago, I was called to perform the last sad office to the sacred [Page 2] remains of a departed friend and neigh­bour.^*

It is too commonly found, that a fami­liarity with death, and a frequent recur­rence of funerals, graves, and church-yards, serve to harden rather than humanize the mind; and to deaden rather than excite those becoming reflections, which such objects seem excellently calculated to produce. Hence the physician enters, without the least emotion, the gloomy chambers of expiring life: the undertaker handles without concern the clay-cold limbs: and the sexton whistles unappalled, while his spade casts forth from the earth the mingled bones and dust of his fel­low-creatures.^† And, alas! how often [Page 3] have I felt with indignant reluctance my wandering heart engaged in other specu­lations, when called to minister at the grave, and to consign to the tomb the ashes of my fellow-creatures!

Yet nothing teacheth like death:^* and though perhaps the business of life would grow torpid, and the strings of activity be loosed, were men continually hanging over the meditation—yet, assuredly, no man should fail to keep the great object in view; and seasonably to reflect that the important moment is coming, when he too must mingle with his kindred clay; when he too must appear before God's awful judgment-feat; when he too must be adjudged by a fixed, irrevocable, and eternal decree.^†

As I entered the church-yard, ‘[Page 4]Where heaves the [...]urf in many a mould'ring heap: where—Each in his narrow cell forgotten laid,’ so many of my friends, my neighbours, and my fellow-creatures, lie mouldering in dust:—struck with the slow and solemn sound of the deep-toned bell, and parti­cularly impressed with the afflicting cir­cumstances of his death, whose obsequies I was going to perform, I found the invo­luntary tear rush from mine eyes, and the unbidden sigh heave in my labouring bo­som.^*

And, "Oh Death, mighty conqueror, I could not forbear saying, in the silence of unaffected meditation—Oh Death, how terrible, how wonderful thou art! Here I stand, full of life; health smiling on my cheek, and sparkling in my eye; my active feet ready to bear me briskly along, and my hands prompt to execute their appointed office: scenes of pleasing feli­city are before me; the comforts of do­mestic [...] serenity dwell seemingly secure [Page 5] around me; and my busy soul is planning future improvements of happiness and peace.—But the moment is coming, per­haps is near, when life's feeble pulse shall play no longer; these eyes no more spar­kle, nor this cheek glow with health; that, pale as the shroud that invest me, and those closed to unclose and awaken no more on earth; the feet shall decline their function, and the useless hands fall heavily down by my side.^* Farewell then all the engaging and endearing scenes around me; farewell the comforts of do­mestic peace: my much loved friend shall weep tenderly over me; and my think­ing, restless, busy soul at length find sweet repose, and be anxious no more.

It is fixed: and all the powers of earth [Page 6] can neither arrest nor divert the sure, un­erring dart! but with consummate wisdom the great Lord of the world, hath wrap­ped up the important moment in impene­trable darkness from human view; that from the cradle we might have the solemn object before us, and act as men, because as men we must die!

Let me then not labour to divert the improving speculation, but advance still nearer, and see, if I can learn, what it is to die!

To die! Oh you, my friends, amidst whose graves I now am wandering—you, who not long since, like me, trod this re­gion of mortality, and drank the golden day^*—with you the bitterness of death is past; you have tasted what that is, which so much perplexes the human thought, of which we all know so little, and yet of which we all must know so much! Oh! could you inform me what it is to di [...], could you tell me what it is to breathe the last gasp;—what are the sensations of the last convulsion, of the last pang of dissol­ving [Page 7] nature! Oh could you tell me how the soul issues from the lifeless dwelling which it has so long inhabited! what un­known worlds are discovered to its view; how it is affected with the amazing pros­pect; how it is affected with the remem­brance and regard of things left here below—Oh could ye tell me—but alas! how vain the wish!^*—clouds and darkness rest upon it; and nothing but experience must be allowed to satisfy these anxious researches of dying rationals.

Yet let us not forbear these researches: or at least not relinquish the interesting meditation. For what can be of equal importance to a man, destined inevitably to tread the path of death—what of equal importance to examine, as whither that path leads, and how it may be trod suc­cessfully?^†—what of equal importance for [Page 8] a pilgrim of a day to contemplate, as that great event which must open to him a state unalterable and without end?

All men must tread that gloomy path— It is appointed for all men once to die.— Adam's curse is upon all his posterity.^† Dust they are, and to dust they must re­turn.—But whither leads that gloomy path! —Alas, in the heathen world, with a be­wildered mind they sought the resolution of that question—Death was dreadful in­deed in such circumstances: for if we want the glad hope of immortality to chear our departing souls, what affliction can even be conceived more affecting than death and dissolution, a separation from all we hold dear upon earth, and a perfect anni­hilation of all future expectations?^*

Life and immortallity are brought to light by the Gospel: and the question is answered clearly from that book whence [Page 9] alone we can gain information on this point—Once to die, and after that be judg­ed. ^*—We must all stand before the judgment seat of Christ. Oh my soul, how awful a reflection! can any thing more be want­ing to inspire thee with the most serious purposes, and most devout resolves, than the certainty of death, the assurance of judgment, the knowledge of mortallity!

And after death be judged! ^† Tell me no more of the pangs of death, and the torment of corporeal sufferings;—What, what is this, and all the evils of life's contracted span to the things that follow after?^‡ This it is which makes death tru­ly formidable, which should awaken eve­ry solemn reflection, and stimulate every rational endeavour!

[Page 10] To be judged! to be sentenced by an ir­reversible decree, to an allotment eternal and unchangable; an allotment of consum­mate felicity, or consummate distress.^*

Oh immortality, how much doth the thought of thee debase in their value every earthly enjoyment, every earthly pursuit and possession^†—and shew man to himself in a point of view, which amply discovers his true business on earth, which amply discovers the true dignity of his nature, and forcibly reproves his wretched attach­ment to all sublunary things.

And methinks, as if a voice were speak­ing from yonder grave—I hear a solemn whisper to my soul!

"Every grave proclaims thy own mor­tality! child of the dust, be humble and grow wise! a few days since, like thee I flourished in the fair field of the earthly world! a few days since, I was cut down [Page 11] down like a flower, and my body lies wi­thering in this comfortless bed; regardless of God, and inattentive to duty, I passed gaily along, and thought no storm would ever overcloud my head—In a moment the unexpected tempest arose. I sunk and was lost. Go thy way, and forget not thyself: remember that to-day thou hast life in thy power; to-morrow, perhaps, thou may'st lie a breathless corpse.^* Esti­mate from thence the value, poor and small as it is, of all things beneath the sun,—and forget not that death▪ and eter­nity are by an indissoluble band united.

If thou darest to die without repent­ance, and unprepared to meet thy God and Judge, who can enough deplore thy misery, most wretched, of all human be­ings! everlasting anguish, remorse, and punishment assuredly await thee.—But if bearing futurity in mind, thou art so blest as to be enabled to live in conformity to the Gospel of thy God and Saviour, he will, according to his gracious promise, [Page 12] open the golden doors of perennial bliss for thee, whilst eternal delight, from the full river of God's inexhausted love, re­mains to crown thy faithful services.

Immortal! be wise, remember judg­ment, and prepare to die."—

Lost in the deep reflection, I was awa­kened from it by the intelligence of the approach of the funeral of my departed friend.

CHAP. II.

THE horses nodding their sable plumes, advanced with solemn pace;^* whilst the [Page 13] slow-moving wheels of the melancholy hearse, seemed to keep time with the deep-toned bell, expressive of the silent sorrow, (now and then interrupted with a groan of distress) which reigned in the mournful coaches that followed.

They stop:—and ah, my friend, what all this labour, and all this difficulty to drag thy body in its last narrow dwelling from the confinement of the hearse, and to bear it along the church-yard to its gloomy mansion in the church! Ah, where is thy former activity—thy wonted spright­liness and vigour! Thou who didst tread over the threshold with such lively strength, and brushed away the dew of the morning with stout and nimble vivacity; have thy feet too forgotten to do their office? And must thy fellow-mortals toil beneath the load of thy clayed corpse, to bear thee from the sight and sense of the survivors?

O death, thou sovereign cure of human pride!^* to what a state, impartial in thine attack, dost thou reduce as well the no­blest [Page 14] and the fairest, the greatest and the best, as the meanest and most worthless of mankind! Though our friends be dear to us as a right eye; lovely as the bloom of the morning; powerful as the scepter­ed monarch of the East; thou not only degradest them from the elevated height, but renderest obnoxious to the view; and inaccessible to the tender embrace of the last lingering, faithful, unshaken adhe­rent; let corruption cease to be vain; let rottenness, and dust, no longer swell in brief and borrowed arrogance.^*

But see the afflicting sight! Five tender children, each in an almost infant state, are led by weeping friends, in mournful procession, after the body of their depart­ed father.

[Page 15]In a coach behind, waiting to complete the melancholy view, is an infant, three days old, brought into the world by its half-distracted mother, before its appoint­ed time! Big sorrow, and insupportable grief, hath hastened the throws and dire anguish of child-birth; and behold the little orphan, insensible of its misery, is offered to the baptismal font, while its father is consigned to the dreary tomb.^*

Crowds of spectators from every part are attentive to the moving scene: on every face sits sympathetic sorrow; in every eye swells the generous tear of com­passion and concern.

But a few days are past since a trem­bling messenger with breathless speed, ur­ged my attendance at the sick bed of NEGOTIO, on whose life, it was to be [Page 16] feared, the remorseless fever had made fatal inroads. I hastened without delay; and I found—but who can describe the afflicting misery? Confusion, anguish, and distress; weeping, lamentation, and woe; dismay and unutterable agony took up their residence in the dwelling of NEGO­TIO! Surprised in the midst of youth, and in the ardour of earthly pursuits by the awful and irresistible summons of death, the husband, the father, the man, lay racked with such thoughts as his con­dition might well be supposed to awaken.^*

Unable to bear the shock, his wife, who long sleepless had watched by his couch, was thrown on the ground in an adjacent chamber, and her little infants were weep­ing around her, the more to be pitied, as unconscious of their misery, and wonder­ing, with artless plaints, why their belo­ved mamma was thus sad and in tears! Near relations were tender in their best [Page 17] offices, while every heart was anticipating the wretched widow's distress.

When I sat down by his bed, and gen­tly undrew the curtain, he looked—and shall I ever forget the earnest, anxious, speaking look? A tear dropt from his eye, he caught my hand, he strove to speak, but his full heart forbad; and the organs of speech, deeply affected by his malady, were unfaithful to the trust of words which he gave them: we sat silent for some time, and with difficulty at length I perceived that he said; or wished to say, "I fear it is too late.—Pray for me; for Christ's sake, pray."

I endeavoured, as well as the affliction of my mind would permit me, to suggest every ground of hope, every motive of consolati­on: he squeezed my hand, and sighed.^*

[Page 18]"Little is to be done, he strove to say, amidst all the distractions of a sick bed like mine: oh consider my wife, consi­der my poor little babes!" We said all which could be said; had scarce finish­ed the usual prayers, and were preparing to mention the sacrament, when the visit was interrupted by the necessary attend­ance of the physician, whose departure the lawyer awaited, to settle his temporal affairs. Two more blisters were ordered to six he already had upon him; a drow­sy sleepiness, dire prognostic of death, siezed him; which hourly encreasing, at length terminated in strong convulsions, and the busy, active, sprightly NEGOTIO died in his thirty-third year.^*

Died! utterly unprepared and unprovi­ded to leave this world; far less provided to enter into the next. His worldly con­cerns totally unsettled; his eternal con­cerns scarce ever thought of!

How much to be deplored is the fate [Page 19] of NEGOTIO! and yet, alas, how much is it to be feared that many thousands are hourly splitting on the same rock with him.

He lived only for this world. Full of hope, and buoyant with life; death was not in all his thoughts; and a future state, when suggested to him, was considered as unworthy his present concern, because it was judged so distant. He thought not of the present span of existence, as of a short state of trial, an hour of weary pilgrim­age; nor considered himself as an immor­tal being, speedily to give an account to the dread judge of mankind.^* But delu­ded by the specious pretence of making necessary provision for his family, a duty he well knew incumbent upon him, a du­ty he universally approved and applaud­ed; he had no other view than to amass wealth, and provide a large fortune for his children; the comforts of which he [Page 20] promised himself to partake, and had formed many chimerical schemes of cha­riots and country retirements, of brilliant gaiety and envied splendour.^*

Amidst these designs and pursuits, it might with too much truth be said of NE­GOTIO, that God was not in all his thoughts. Indeed he regularly attended his church in the morning of the Sabbath-day, and as regularly gave the afternoon to indulgence and dissipation. But while at the church, how listless was he to the prayers, now and then yawning out an unmeaning Amen! for his heart was there where his treasure was placed.^† The ser­mons had seldom much weight with him; he sometimes observed they were good; and when they touched on the subjects most pertaining to himself, he failed not to remark that the preacher was rather too severe. ^‡ Thus he went on; and in the eagerness of temporal pursuits, and [Page 21] the over-earnest desire to grow rich, had too far engaged his fortune, and not been successful according to his hopes; the re­flection on which harrassed his mind; while his industrious desires to obtain his ends and bless his family, as much har­rassed his body, and brought on that fever, the sad issue of which we have just been describing.

Many and excellent were the qualifica­tions of NEGOTIO; his mind was tender and humane; tender affection dwelt on his heart towards the partner of his bed; and few parents knew a more sensible concern^* for the fruit of their loins. No man would have been more ready or more active in the kind offices of friendship, if the multiplicity of his own avocation, had not rendered him incapable of being ser­vicable to others. He had no objection to the great truths of revelation;^† and [Page 22] once in a sickness, from whence he was wonderfully raised, determined strictly to comply with them; but the world reco­vered its dominion as health again man­tled on his cheek, and he returned to the pursuit which engaged his heart, with vi­gour redoubled, and activity augmented, in proportion to the time and opportuni­ties he had lost.

How often, in the freedom of friend­ship, have I remonstrated, but remonstra­ted in vain; till he saw me with shyness, and heard me with reluctance. Striving to justify himself, he usually concluded, when every argument failed, that he was young, and not likely soon to die;^* and would some time hence in retirement per­form all those duties, and prepare for that futurity which he could not but acknow­ledge it was wise to foresee, and necessary to prepare for.^†

[Page 23]Alas, my friend, how are thy vain hopes frustrated! Cut off in the full blos­som of all thy expectations, in the flower of life, thy earthly designs all abortive; thy beloved wife and dear children left to struggle with loneliness, sorrow, and diffi­culties; and thy soul, thy deathless soul, gone to meet the great God and Saviour! that God whom it never desired to serve or love; that Saviour whose mercies it never implored, except, perhaps, at the last sad moment; and whose wonderful loving kindness had no charms to engage it to obedience, duty, and esteem.

And is the fate of NEGOTIO peculiar? Is he the only dreamer among the many thousands who walk the road of mortali­ty? Would to Heaven he were; or would to Heaven his hapless example might be hung out as a beacon to warn others,^* and prove effectual to awaken the chil­dren of this world from their sleep of death, thundering in their ears this solemn admonition:

[Page 24]"What art thou seeking, child of eter­nity, what art thou seeking with such rest­less assiduity! Look up and behold the heavens, where dwells the judge of the world! Formed by his hand, thou art placed awhile, short-liv'd probationer on this earth, and when he shall give the tre­mendous summons, thou must drop thy earthly body, and appear an immortal soul before his judgment seat! Eternity then awaits thee; as thou hast done good or evil, an eternity of blessedness or mise­ry! Wilt thou then, in the folly of thy heart, neglect thy God; set up thy stand­ard on earth; and think to fix thy dwell­ing here? when perhaps the breath of death may, the next moment, puff down all the phantastic castles raised by thy airy hopes! Wilt thou forfeit eternal joys for the transient things of earth? Wilt thou not be a man? act wisely; choose soberly; keep immortality in view; and live eve­ry day as one who knoweth that the next day, perchance, he may be obliged to lay aside his pilgrim's weeds;^* [...]leave the inn of this uncertain life; and enter on a state [Page 25] that can never be changed, and which shall never never have an end?"

Whatsoever effect these Reflections may have on others, may they, oh my God! at least, be imprinted on my own heart; never may I so live here, as to forget that I am to live for ever hereafter.

CHAP. III.

SUCH was NEGOTIO; whose sad funer­al obsequies performed, and whose little infant baptized, I was soon left alone to my solitary walk in the church-yard; and being not much disposed to leave the so­lemn scene, I determined to continue a while longer; and indulge the pleasing so­briety of melancholy meditation.

How various, how innumerable are the shafts of Death! They fly unerring from the quiver around us; and on so thin a [Page 26] thread hangs human life, to so many ac­cidents and disasters is human life subject, that one would rather marvel that we con­tinue to live, than that we should forget one moment that we are to die!^* Nothing can be more beautiful, nervous, and ex­pressive, than the following Prayer used in our Burial Service:

"Man that is born of a woman hath but a short time to live, and is full of mi­sery! He cometh up, and is cut down like a flower; he fleeth as it were a sha­dow; and never continueth in one stay.

In the midst of life we are in death; of whom may we seek for succour, but of thee, O Lord, who for our sins art justly displeased?

Yet, O Lord God most holy, O Lord most mighty, O holy and most merciful Saviour, deliver us not into the bitter pains of eternal death.

[Page 27]Thou knowest, Lord, the secrets of our hearts: shut not thy merciful ears to our prayers: but spare us, Lord most ho­ly, O God most mighty, O holy and merciful Saviour, thou most worthy Judge eternal, suffer us not at our last hour, for any pains of death to fall from thee."

Were we truly influenced by the doc­trine and piety of this incomparable pray­er, there is no doubt but we should make a better estimate of Life and Death than is usually done; we should set a less va­lue on the one, and meet the other with more courage and resignation.

For what is man, and what is his life —Man that is born of a woman hath but a short time to live,—short, indeed, suppose it to extend to the utmost length of human existence, even to fourscore years. But alas! too commonly, extent of life is but extent of sorrow; the time, though short, is yet full of misery. ^* The natural and acquired evils, the evils unavoidable, and the evils brought on ourselves by our own folly, vice, and imprudence are many, and great.

[Page 28]Our best happiness on earth is short, precarious, and uncertain; he cometh up, and is cut down like a flower; to-day we flourish in all the external accommodati­ons of life, to-morrow the taste can no more relish its delicacies, nor the ear be delighted with the melody of the viol; no more the tongue can chaunt with pleasing harmony; the eyes open no more on sub­lunary scenes, while the useless lids are (it may be) closed by the trembling hand of our weeping friends.

As the shadow that departeth, that fleeth away, and its place is known no more, so we vanish from the earth, and our memory is soon buried in total oblivi­on. To us little regard is paid any lon­ger: still our associates, with their usual gaiety and ardour, pursue their several designs; still, as before, the business of life goes briskly on; the sun shines as brightly; the earth blooms as gaily;^* the [Page 29] forests echo as sweetly with the music of the winged choristers; and all things wear their accustomed form: while our neg­lected clay is mouldering in dust, and trodden over by many a thoughtless, per­haps many a friendly foot.^*

Many a friendly foot!—yes, even now while I wander in the silence of the night, amidst these lonely receptacles of the dead, how many graves are around me, which contain the precious relicts of neighbours and fellow-creatures, by my­self consigned to their last earthly home!^† —wretched, wretched home! were not the soul secure of immortality; were not the body lodged in the grave, as a faith­ful deposit, hereafter to be raised to life and glory,^‡ by the Almighty Redeemer's [Page 30] trump.^* That reflection sooths all the sor­row, and extracts all the poison from the dart of death!—What is that I read on yonder tomb—on which the passing moon reflects her full light, as she walks majestic through the skies, and makes her silver way through the dark and mantling clouds —"Oh Death, where is thy sting? Oh grave, where is thy victory? The sting of Death is sin, and the strength of sin is the Law—But, thanks be to God, who giveth us the victory, through our Lord Jesus Christ.^†"—These were the words, which last hung on the lips, and at his desire are engraven on the tomb of OSI­ANDER, who died full of faith; a man whose death might well inspire the wish— Let me die the death of the righteous, and let my latter end be like his! ^‡

O NEGOTIO! how unlike to thee was OSIANDER: how unlike in life, how un­like in death—though the same temporal concern, the same worldly occupations were common to either.

[Page 31]Happy in parents, who well knew the influence and importance of religious prin­ciples, OSIANDER was early initiated and perfectly instructed in the school of pi­ety: abundantly did he verify the truth of the wise man's observation; for con­ducted, when young, into the happy path of truth, he never departed from it.^* His youth was amiably distinguished by the most conscientious and tender regard to his parents; a presage of his future felici­ty; and his whole demeanor was temper­ed with the most winning modesty and engaging respect.

Rare felicity in OSIANDER; he obtain­ed a partner, formed with every qualifi­cation suitable to his own: it might well be said of them, so similar were their tem­pers, their desires, their pursuits, so much, ‘Like objects pleas'd them, and like objects pain'd,’ that ‘'Twas but one soul that in two bodies reign'd.’ No wonder then OSIANDER was a pat­tern, as of filial, so of conjugal affection. Peace and serenity ever welcomed him to [Page 32] his house, and true satisfaction departed not from his happy dwelling. Hence he found no cause to search abroad for the felicity which multitudes cannot find at home; nor dreamed of the tavern and the club, the places of merriment and di­version, to drown the cares he never knew, or to give the bliss he continually enjoy­ed.^*

Happy in so choice a companion, he was diligent to discharge, in the exactest degree, the parental duty towards the dear pledges of his love, wherewith their faith­ful embraces were blest. And hence, from their earliest youth, he took care to inspire them with every sentiment of true religion, and to bring them up in the faith and fear of that Almighty Father, a re­gard to whom, deeply rooted in the minds of children, is the most undoubted se­curity of their regard to earthly parents.^†

[Page 33]As the connections of OSIANDER ne­cessarily rendered his family large, he was conscientiously exact in the discharge of his duty to his domestics and servants. "Every man, he was wont to say, should esteem himself as a priest in his own fa­mily; and be therefore careful to instruct his dependants, as those of whom he must one day give a solemn account." And, "One reason, he would often say, why men are generally so negligent of this im­portant duty, is the sad example they set themselves,—an example which renders all precept ineffectual."^* Hence he was diligent to maintain that prime pillar of domestic authority: he spoke by his life as well as his words; and never proposed a duty to his family which they did not see him practise himself.^†

Family prayer was never omitted in his house. The Sabbath-day was never mis­pent in trifling, visiting, and folly; much less in drunkenness and debauchery. At­tended by as many of his family as was [Page 34] convenient, he himself led the way to his church, both morning and afternoon; while the evening of that blessed day was ever spent in catechising and instructing the younger, and in reading some useful discourse to the more advanced part of his houshold.^*—Never abstaining from the hallowed table of the Lord, he was ear­nest always in pressing that important du­ty: and few who lived with him were long strangers to that heavenly banquet.

Thus exemplary at home, he was no less esteemed abroad: his punctuality, ho­nesty, and worth, were universally com­mended; and though some of freer prin­ciples would sometimes be apt to sneer at his preciseness (as they termed it) yet no man maintained a more universal cre­dit, pursued his temporal business with more becoming alacrity, or, by the bless­ing of God, flourished more in all desira­ble success.^†

[Page 35]It pleased the Sovereign Disposer of all things to give him a long foresight of his approaching dissolution, by means of a lingering and consumptive illness.

Shall I ever forget with what delight I heard him declare his high hopes, when, coming in by accident, I found him, with his beloved wife by his side;▪ pale and emaciated, he sat in the chair of sickness, his hand tenderly clasping hers, and his eyes tenderly fixed upon her:—while she, with soft affection, strove to conceal her heart-felt distress, and the tear, un­permitted to come forth, stood trembling in her eye. "I was endeavouring, dear sir, said he, to reconcile my life's loved com­panion to the stroke which shortly must separate us—separate for a while—sepa­rate, blessed be the Lord of life, only to meet that we may never more part.—But, alas! so frail is human nature, so weak is human faith, so attached are we to this poor crazy prison, that we cannot, we [Page 36] cannot be triumphant, we sink and grovel upon the earth even to the last."^*

Affection like yours, said I, so long tri­ed, and so tender, cannot be supposed to part without pangs; nor should we think ourselves the worse Christians, because we feel the most sensibly as Men.

"Oh no, said he, I have never thought the finest feelings of humanity inconsistent with the most elevated degree of Christian virtue—but, methinks, when a pair have lived, (as thanks be to God) my dearest wife and myself have constantly endea­voured to do—with a perpetual prospect to a future scene, and an earnest, though very imperfect labour, to walk worthy our high calling and hope—it should be mat­ter of the noblest joy when the consum­mation of all our labours is at hand, when [Page 37] we are about to drop the veil of flesh, and to enter on the fruition of everlasting peace: surely this should dry up all our tears, and cause us to rejoice on behalf of the friend who is about—not to die but to live; not to lose life but to enjoy it.^*—For myself, I have no more doubt of immorta­lity, nor (let me speak with due humiliati­on) of my own felicity with God, through Jesus Christ, than I have of my present existence. All nature, and the universal voice of the wise in every age proclaim the animating doctrine: but the Christian Religion hath displayed it in such full light, so dispelled every cloud, so remo­ved every scruple, that it would be the greatest indignity to the blessed Author of it, either to doubt a future or eternal ex­istence, or to doubt an eternal and happy one through faith in Jesus Christ.^† Infi­delity appears to me of all sins the most [Page 38] monstrous, after those various declarations which God hath made to support and con­firm our faith." ^*

We were charmed at the divine warmth with which he uttered these words: his wife burst into a flood of tears; tears of mingled joy and sadness, who could re­frain? We sat silent:—He at length went on.

"Yet let me not be thought presump­tuous: I know the utter abhorrence of God to the least spark of self-dependance; I know the absolute contrariety of pride to the true interest of a fallen creature: I am nothing; I have nothing; I can do no­thing: to the glory of his free grace be all I have ever done, be all I ever hope for!^† But there is such an exhaustless fund of unexampled mercy and love in the great Saviour of mankind, so wonderful are his [Page 39] doings, so passing all comprehension his tender regards for the children of men, that I dare not dispute his rich offers; that I dare not hesitate in the embracing his full promises.

Oh, Sir, I can say, with the utmost sin­cerity, that the reflection on his past mer­cies is my sole and unspeakable comfort; and in his love I already taste something of the bliss I expect. Influenced by that love, and by a sincere (though almost weak) faith in him, I have laboured dili­gently to act in conformity to his will: and though conscious of a thousand and ten thousand infirmities, though in my best services utterly unprofitable, though in all, less than the least of his mercies, yet I have an unshaken confidence in his all-sufficient merits, and fully relying up­on them, I commit my soul to him, with all the satisfaction and serenity of calm and well-grounded hope.^*—He is a rock that can never fail us: the cross of Christ [Page 40] promiseth the sinner every thing which re­pentance can presume to ask."^*

Much more passed between us, some things far too tender to be committed to paper; and it will not be any wonder to the serious reader to be told, that a sick­ness of some weeks was borne by a man of such faith, with all the chearful resig­nation and consummate patience which are peculiar to the true Christian.^† No­thing would be more instructive, perhaps, than many of the discourses which he held with his friends, during the scene of trial. A few hours before he died, he took a so­lemn leave of his wife and children, to [Page 41] whom he had delivered at large his dying advice—and perfectly sensible of his ap­proaching dissolution; some minutes be­fore he expired he was heard to say, "O Death, where is thy sting! O grave, where is thy victory! the sting of Death is sin, and the strength of sin is the Law,—but thanks be to God who giveth us the victo­ry, through our Lord Jesus Christ." And having said this, he fell asleep, with a composure perfectly lovely, with a peace infinitely desirable.

CHAP. IV.

FEW passions are more strongly im­planted in the human mind, tha [...] the love of our offspring; to be devoid of which, degrades the human far beneath the irrati­onal creature; through every species of [Page 42] which, the wonderful influence of paren­tal affection is discernible. The wisdom of the great Creator is immediately obvi­ous in this gracious provision for the help­less young; and it is certain that this powerful regard in the human species, may be rendered productive of the most excel­lent effects.

Too commonly, indeed, it is grossly abused; and the honourable claim of pa­rental regard is made the pretence for an unworthy and mean attachment to the pursuits of the world, and the love of this life. Many men cheat themselves under this specious delusion; and while they conceive that the spring of their actions, and the cause of their singular attention to earthly desires, is the laudable purpose of providing for their families;^* they are, the mean while, but following the bent of their inclinations, and treading in a track which they would continue to tread, were they not influenced at all by the motive which they fancy engages them in it. Fre­quent [Page 43] experience hath manifested this; but it was never seen more evidently, per­haps, than in the case of AVARO; who lived only for his children, as he con­stantly avowed, and on that account deni­ed himself every reasonable gratification; when, as if it were to falsify those preten­ces, as well as to awaken him, if possi­ble, to a more rational conduct, the So­vereign of heaven deprived him of his children in a short compass of time; and lo, he remains the same grovelling earth­worm, though he hath none to share that inheritance, which he purchases at the price of his soul!

If any truth be fully revealed in the sa­cred oracles, if any hath the sanction of the soundest reason, it is the belief of a wise, good, and superintending Provid­ence, of an universal Father, who tender­ly watcheth over, and graciously careth for the concerns of those beings whom himself hath created, and placed in their several stations upon earth;^* a truth of an aspect the most benign, and of an influ­ence the most important to all the affairs of men: to forget and disregard which, [Page 44] leads to all the folly of self-seeking, all the madness of self-dependance, all the bitter anxiety of self-corroding care: to remember, and live under the constant persuasion of which, induces all the sweet­ness of a serene conscience, all the forti­tude of a resigned soul, all the comfort of an unshaken hope.^*

And to this, were we to judge by the rules of right reason, or religion, that pa­rental affection which is so universal and amiable, must naturally bend every pa­rent: whom, if no other consideration were sufficient to persuade to the practice of religion, and to a dependance upon the Deity, the reflection of its infinite mo­ment to their offspring, and of the un­speakable value of the divine favour, should powerfully incline thereto. For there is no patrimony like the divine pro­tection, and no friendship so stable as the friendship of heaven. The former can ne­ver be exhausted, the latter will never fail or [Page 45] forsake us: no change of circumstances will change its fidelity: nay, much unlike the friendship of the world,^* in the black day of adversity it will smile with the most sweetness and affection.

Our earthly scenes in behalf of our children, may prove unsuccessful, and be quickly blasted by the finger of disap­pointment; our labours may end in vex­ation, and all our attempts be insufficient to secure the fortune we may wish: or should we secure it, the patrimony we have gained, at the expence of so much care and anxiety (nay, perhaps at the high price even of felicity eternal) may be embezzled by the faithless guardian; de­voured by the litigious lawyer; or foolish­ly squandered away by the spendthrift heir; whom our industry has capaciated to sink into the foul sewers of idleness, vice, and sloth;^† and deprived at once [Page 46] of the comforts of this life, and the hopes of a better, by supplying him with the means and opportunity to be iniquitous; when perhaps without them he had been led to careful industry, to sobriety, and all the blessed fruits of a rational and pru­dent demeanour.

Let it not be concluded from hence that we would condemn that proper care, for the subsistence of a family, which all nations have judged necessary and beco­ming. We mean only to decry that ab­surd, but too common practice, of living merely to lay up wealth for those who shall survive us; without taking care to secure the favour of Providence, without looking at all to the great superintendant of human affairs, who laughs, with just contempt, at the spider-webs which men of this character so industriously weave. Without God in their lives, without hope in their death, they are unable calmly to [Page 47] lay their dying heads on their pillows,^* or to commend, with humble, but confident faith, their weeping widows and orphans to the heavenly Husband, and the ever­lasting Father.

Of these, poor NEGOTIO never thought, and therefore could derive no comfort to himself, could administer no comfort to his wife or his children, from the solid expectation of the fatherly care of Omni­potence.^† This rendered his death dread­ful: as the contrary view soothed every sorrow, and cheared every gloom before the face of the departing OSIANDER. He beheld his wife and his children with an eye of gladness, as the peculiar care of the Father of the fatherless, and the Hus­band of the widow: and to that care he consigned them with a chearful hope and [Page 48] a peaceful acquiescence.^* NEGOTIO saw his family with an eye of distraction, as the prey of poverty, and the sport of an injurious world.

Unaccustomed to estimate worth by any other standard than that of earthly acqui­sitions, he considered them as unavoida­bly miserable: and leaving them unprovi­ded with what the world calls good, he left them, as it seemed to him, destitute; and doomed to all the contempt of penu­ry, and all the painful pity of distress.— Such was the issue of his anxious solici­tude for temporal things. Oh, happy had it been for thee, NEGOTIO, happy for thy family, if some portion of thy anxiety had been allotted to eternal concerns! then hadst thou died in the pleasing reflection, that, not void of attention to thy great bu­siness on earth, thou wast going thyself to [Page 49] the kingdom of a Father, who watcheth with peculiar attention over the orphan and the widow, especially when consigned by the faithful parent to his secure protecti­on: and who is equally able to save by many as by few; to bless where there is little, as where there is much: to bless with the most substantial blessings—compe­tency, content, and a good conscience: which bestow those consolations, solid, secure, and immovable, that are denied frequent­ly, or sought for in vain, by the distin­guished favourites of exorbitant wealth or exalted power.

Conscious hereof, OSIANDER, during his last sickness, was never deficient in pouring this healing balm into the bleed­ing heart of his life's loved companion, and softer friend.

"Widowhood, ^* he was often wont to say to her, is doubtless a state of the deep­est distress: left to weather out all the storms and tempests of a calamitous world, a poor dejected woman then most wants [Page 50] the tender support of the husband, whose loss those very wants more feelingly teach her. Not only every source of usual sa­tisfaction is dried up; not only every allowable and life-chearing comfort is cut off; but the flood-gates are open to a tide of new troubles, unknown, unthought of before: which the memory of past felici­ties mournfully enhanceth; the retrospect of happiness once enjoyed, but now lost, adding double weight to the woe which springs up unwelcome in its place.

Even when the affection hath not been of the most tender sort, the loss of a hus­band is severely felt; but where it hath been just and sincere, where long-tried fidelity hath much approved one to the other, there, as the parting becomes more afflictive, so the loss is more sensibly felt. Widowhood is then an iron furnace in­deed.—But to catch the allusion, as the Son of God was seen in the furnace with the three faithful Israelites, preserving them unhurt from the rage of the flames;^* so will he be present, with peculiar pro­tection, and shield with his fatherly pro­vidence, the widow and her orphans.— [Page 51] "Leave thy fatherless children, saith this kind God, I will preserve them alive, and let thy widows trust in me."^*

This passage, I will freely confess to you, hath at all times given the greatest comfort to my mind, and at the same time encouraged me to a chearful discharge of my duty, and to perfect dependance on God; conscious, that if I could by any means secure the fatherly care of Omni­potence for you, and my dear children, I need not be anxious for aught besides: I have endeavoured to keep this point in view; and I can now commend you to that care, with the most joyful and heart­felt delight. For the Lord will never leave you nor forsake you:—he is em­phatically styled, "the Father of the fa­therless, and the Husband of the widow."^† A reflection which surely must make every tender parent, every affectionate husband solicitously careful to obtain God's bless­ing, if they really love their children; if they have a real regard for their wives and offspring; for the Lord God hath shewn, [Page 52] all through his blessed word, how near and dear to him are the interests of the widow and the orphan: he hath given pe­culiar laws, with much tenderness, res­pecting them: he hath made it one of the characteristic parts of true and undefiled religion, to visit the fatherless and widows in their affliction;^* and as an emblem of his ever full and flowing mercy towards them, he sent his Prophet to one of them in the day of her distress, and enriched her with a continual supply, while want and famine were reigning around: giving at once a proof and a significant token of his fatherly providence, and encreasing mercies to the widow who trusteth in him.^†

For, my dear love, permit me to say, though I have scarce any need to say it to you, that these rich promises to widows are not given indiscriminately and under no conditions: it may be very possible to languish in all the wretchedness of a wi­dowed state, and yet to enjoy none of the distinguished care of heaven. St. Paul [Page 53] speaks of those who are widows indeed; which plainly implies that some in a state of widowhood may be far from the Divine notice. A widow indeed, according to him, "is one who trusteth in God, and continueth in supplications and prayer night and day;" one who is truly sensible of the afflictive hand of Providence upon her; who endeavours to receive with meek­ness, and to improve in resignation by the chastising stroke; who fixeth her soul's dependance upon the high and gracious providence of her god, and laboureth, with all the sincerity of faith, and fervour of prayer, to cast herself and all her con­cerns upon him, as knowing he careth for her.

And as thus trusting in God and conti­nuing in prayer, the widow should be particularly grave, serious, and sober in all her behaviour, dress, and deportment: she should not forget that God hath been pleased to cut off, if I may so say, the or­nament of her head, and the pride of her life; and therefore requireth a decent so­lemnity in all her carriage. If the loss happens to a woman in earlier life, she hath need of more peculiar watchfulness against all the attacks of carnal enemies; and should be very cautious not to give [Page 54] the least room for that reproach, either of wantonness or calumny, which some are so apt to impute to widowhood in general.^*

And should she, my dear, be left in your case, with a family around her, oh how much anxiety attends that necessary, that important charge; that most tender duty which she oweth to them—I cannot, indeed, I cannot speak of this heavy bur­den: my heart is too full; and I have perfect satisfaction in your motherly love to my dear children.—But do not sink un­der the burden, for God is with you: he will bless your endeavours; he will sup­port you in every difficulty.—"Leave thy fatherless children to me, I will preserve them alive,"^† said he: alive,—that is, through Grace, alive to the only valuable, the divine life; alive to himself! Oh! sweet and comfortable promise, let it al­ways be your support, and rest perfectly confident, that while you exert your best, though feeble efforts, for your dear chil­dren, the father of the fatherless will more [Page 55] than second you: trust in him: continue in prayer to him for them and for your­self: and you will have a husband infinite­ly preferable to this poor perishing mortal who is about to leave you—and they, my beloved pretty orphans—have a father. ^*—

"Oh! thou gracious father, preserve, protect, defend, both her and them—and when my weeping eyes shall be closed in death; when my supplicating tongue shall be silent in dust; when my solicitous heart shall cease to throb for them! Oh! be thou their never-failing, their heavenly husband, father, friend!—their God and portion in this life and in that which is to come—Oh may we meet to part no more—meet to praise and adore thy exceeding loving kindness, through endless ages in glory."^†

Thus spoke OSIANDER: and happy that husband who thus, like him, can in the views of death, pour the balm of di­vine consolation into the heart of his af­flicted and lamenting partner.

CHAP. V.

WERE it possible to avoid the stroke▪ or to escape the victorious arms of death, they would have something to plead for their conduct, who shun with all their power, and solemn reflection; who make it the whole business of their lives to dissi­pate the important thought of that, which they must sooner or later meet with, and to which they are inevitably doom­ed!^* But as no human power can arrest even for one moment, the fatal dart;^† as every individual must pass through this [Page 57] black and lamentable flood; surely wis­dom dictates a serious and frequent atten­tion to so interesting a concern, and rea­son advises the most diligent survey of this dreadful evil; that we may learn to en­counter it with holy courage, or at least to submit to it without reluctance. Death, viewed with an hasty and trembling eye, appears in formidable terror, as the cruel blaster of all human hopes and joys; but death viewed with the eye of faith, and contemplated with the coolness of ration­al deliberation, loses much of its terror, and is approached with no small degree of complacency and peace.^*

You tremble at the fear of death; come draw near, and let us see what that is, which thus alarms your quickest appre­hensions. See in the most fearful garb, Death is only the ransomer of frail mor­tals from the prison of a sinful, painful, and corrupted frame; their deliverer from [Page 58] a transitory, and vexatious world;^* their introducer to an eternal and—oh that we could always add—a blessed state!—but there, there alas, is the dread. 'Tis this which clothes Death in his terrors, and gives all its sharpness to his sting. Could we be assured, had we a sciptural and well grounded presumption, that the de­parting soul should enter into a state of felicity, and be received into the bosom of its Saviour and its God; we should then universally lay down the load of mortality, not only without regret, but even with triumph.^†

When then comes it to pass?—let us no longer lay the blame on Death, for it is fairly exculpated—whence comes it to pass? that we dare to live, without treasu­ring up "this rational and well grounded presumption," which the Christian religi­on so copiously supplies and which we [Page 59] are called upon to treasure up by every motive of interest, of common sense, and of duty? if we neglect this, let us not pretend to quarrel with our fate, and to repine at the fearfulness of death; we ourselves give all his fearfulness to him, and from ourselves alone proceeds the cause of our bitterest disquietude. For God hath plainly declared to us the irre­versible condition of our nature. Our death is no less certain than our exist­ence.^* He hath graciously provided a sovereign and infallible antidote against the fear of death, in the victorious resur­rection of his dear Son.^† He hath in­formed us, that our bodies must return to dust; that all our possessions must be left behind; and that a state everlasting and unalterable awaits us—a state of endless bliss with him, or of misery with con­demned spirits.^‡

[Page 60]If then, my soul, deaf to his inform­ations, and regardless of his mercies, thou shalt forget the condition of thy nature; pride thyself in the beauties of thy pre­sent body; boast thyself in the possessions of thy present state; neglect to secure an interest in the Saviour, by faith unfeign­ed, and obedience unreserved—thine, and thine eternally will be the just condem­nation: nor canst thou wonder that the stroke of death, in this view, is horrible to thy apprehension; for it will separate thee from all thou holdest dear, and con­vey thee to a region, dolorous and un­welcome, where thou hast not treasure, and canst not have either hope or love. But remember, in this case, death de­serves no blame; for it is not death which is terrible in itself; it is man, foolish man, who renders it so, by his inexcusable neglect.^*

It is from hence arises the fear of death; from estimating too highly the things of this life, and from forgetting the mutable [Page 61] condition annexed to every mortal blessing. Hence sprung all the mistakes, and all the miseries of the young, the lovely MI­SELLA; and all the piercing pangs, which tore her wretched parents' hearts.

MISELLA was blest, by the great giver of all good gifts, with a frame peculiarly elegant and pleasing. Softness and sweet­ness dwelt in her countenance; the down of the swan was rivalled by her skin; her shape was faultless, her limbs were finish­ed with the most beautiful symmetry, and her voice was musical as the harmony of the lute. She was taught from the cradle to value this fine person; and her fond and overweening parents fed the soothing vanity with every food which their dotage could supply.^*

Her education was perfectly polite, adapted to set off the graces of her frame, little calculated to expand or improve the more valuable beauties of her mind. Her taste for dress was remarkably elegant, her [Page 62] manner of dancing particularly genteel: she excelled much at cards, and few were happier in devising schemes, and enga­ging parties of pleasure. As her voice was charming in itself, so was it impro­ved by art, and aided by the soft touches of the guittar, which she handled with in­imitable grace; preferring it to all other instruments, as the attitude of playing up­on it, is most advantageous for the display of a fair lady's gentility.

She very early gave her parents con­vincing proof of the mistake they had made in her education, and of their un­happiness in neglecting to inculcate the principles of religious duty and conscien­tious virtue. For in her seventeeth year, she married a young officer, of inferior rank, and no fortune, with the entire dis­approbation of her parents; nay, and in direct contradiction to their commands. The gaiety of his dress, and the charms of his person, captivated her heart; and unaccustomed to reason and think, she broke through every obligation to gratify her romantic passion.^*

[Page 63]The blind and excessive fondness of her parents soon induced them to pass over this breach of duty, and to welcome their darling daughter and her husband to their affectionate arms. Accustomed from her cradle to a life of dissipation and plea­sure, now that she was free from all pa­rental restraint, she indulged the mad pro­pensity with still greater ardour.^* From one public place to another, during the sum­mer, she led her passive husband; during the winter they lived in all the fatiguing gaie­ty of town diversions.

A child was the issue of their marriage; but as the daughter had been before, so now the mother was swallowed up in the woman of pleasure: she sent the little in­fant to her parents, regardless of its wel­fare, if she could but pursue her beloved [Page 64] gratifications.—The case was the same with a second produce of their conjugal endear­ments. She looked upon child-bearing as a severe tax paid by the fair sex, and as an obstacle in their way to the possession of those delights, which alone have worth and relish in the esteem of a woman of fashion.^*

My reader will not be amazed if a life of this kind produced no small difficul­ties in their circumstances. Her parents, though not very affluent, readily contri­buted all they could: and ah! too fond —fed scantily and drest meanly, that their daughter might be clad in scarlet, and seast in delicacy.^† It happened that her husband in the third year of their marri­age, was called abroad to attend his regi­ment. Pleasure was her passion; she felt therefore little regret at parting with him. Nor did she live, during his absence, like [Page 65] the widowed wife, and separated friend. She followed her diversions with redou­bled assiduity; was the life of the ball, the delight of the men, the queen of joy.

But her constitution, tender and deli­cate, was unequal to the toil; her noctur­nal reveries extinguished the rose in her cheek; her laborious life of pleasure brought on a consumption. Besides this, with declining health, her character be­came equivocal; (though it is agreed by all, she was never really criminal, in the sense that word is commonly used:) but the want of appearances is often as fatal to reputation, as even the want of virtue itself.^* To exhilirate her spirits, she had frequent recourse to improper means; to renovate her beauty, she had constant re­course to destructive arts.

Her parents, who seldom saw her,— saw her only for a few passing moments, which she could sometimes, though very [Page 66] rarely, steal from her engagements, to de­dicate to the children of her bowels, and to the parents, whose only joy, she knew, was in her company.—Her parents hear­ing of her declining state intreated, ear­nestly and with tears intreated her to come to them, and to use all proper means for the recovery of her health. She sent them no reply; but using what appeared to her the necessary methods, yet prosecu­ting at the same time, her usual course of pleasure, she appeared a dead body, al­most in the bright scenes of revelry and joy,—and at length was siezed with an acute disorder, which in two days carried her off, in a strange place; at a distance from her friends! and without a relation to close her eyes!^*

A messenger was instantly dispatched to her parents; a tender parent only can [Page 67] guess their anguish. The afflicted father flew down to the place of her death with all possible speed; and when he entered the house, where lay the dead body of his child, his only child, the child of his soul, —"Oh give me my daughter, he cried out, let me but see her dear face, though she is dead; lead me, lead me to my child, shew a poor old man the sad re­mains of all his hopes and wishes."— Dumb grief prevailed:—the mistress of the house conducted him to the door of the room, where lay the pale and lifeless corpse.

He threw himself with unutterable dis­tress, on the bed beside his daughter, and bedewing her clay-cold face with tears, lay for some time in all the agony of silent sorrow! "Are we thus to meet? —at length he burst out thus:—Oh my KITTY, my child, my daughter, are those dear lips ever sealed in silence?— Ah, all pale and wan!—and will those eyes, which used to look upon me with such joy, never, never open more?—One word, my child, oh if it were but one word!—Ah, cruel and unkind—that I might not be allowed to watch thee in thy sickness! hadst thou permitted me to at­tend, thy dear life had been saved.

[Page 68]Alas, why do I rave? she hears me not —pale, indeed; but lovely as ever: Ah, soft and precious hand, marble in cold­ness.—I will never let thee go.—Oh my KITTY, my child, my only beloved!— I am undone, for thou art no more; oh that I had died with thee;^* would to God I might die this moment!—My KITTY, my child, my daughter, my all!"—Here again he burst into an agony of tears, and betrayed all the signs of the most excruci­ating grief.

But it is unnecessary to dwell longer on this part of our tale; it will be more pro­per to make some remarks upon it: these, however, together with the very different character of PULCHERIA, must engage the next chapter.

CHAP. VI.

HOW great a blessing is early instruc­tion!—MISELLA never heard the sweetly persuasive lectures of wisdom; she was ne­ver called to attend to the winning voice of religion and truth; and therefore, left to the blind conduct of impetuous passi­ons, she was driven along, "to every wave a scorn;" she foundered and was lost!—We do not pretend to say, that early instruction and virtue are so insepa­rably connected as never to be divided: we do not say, that all who enjoy this ad­vantage must go right; that all who enjoy it not, must infallibly go wrong. This would be to contradict palpable experi­ence. But we are bold to advance, that there is the chance of ten thousand to one, in favour of the former; so is there the same chance, it is feared, against the [Page 70] latter.^* How alarming a reflection to parents!

Had MISELLA, from her early infan­cy been trained up in the knowledge of herself, her God, and her duty; had she been carefully led to a true estimate of her corruptible frame; not deceived into a wrong opinion of it, from poisonous flattery, and delusive adulation: had she been taught, that every good gift comes from God, and consequently can be no proper subject of human vanity; had she been taught, that God expects a proper return, and reasonable service for the bounty he shews; that our present state is a state of trial, that we are pilgrims and probationers of a day; and must necessa­rily in a short time remove our tent from this world, and live—live everlastingly in another, happy or wretched, as we have performed our duty in this:^†—Had these lessons of useful import been early and stedfastly imprinted on her mind; most probably the miserable parent had [Page 71] not wept in such anguish, over his more miserable daughter: most probably her hands might have closed▪ with filial piety and tenderness, his aged eyes.

But—ah me!—how constantly do we behold these important lessons neglected! while fond and over-weaning parents, like those of MISELLA, cheat their little ones, even from infancy, into false opinions of themselves! The mistakes so frequent and so fatal, in the education of children, would almost lead one to approve the La­cedemonian policy, which allowed not to parents the liberty of educating their own children, but committed this most neces­sary business to the care of the state. And, from an accurate observation of the con­duct of parents, how few have yet fallen within the observation of the writer of these lines, who were tolerably capaciated for the task!—who had prudence and forti­tude enough to conquer parental prejudi­ces; and to stand superior to the soft foi­bles of melting affection.

With respect to the gentler sex, it is an evil too notorious to be denied, that 'ere the pretty innocents can lisp their pleasing tales, they are initiated into the school of pride and shew; taught to reverence dress [Page 72] even to superstition, as the glare of allu­ring finery!—The mind thus early vitia­ted, strongly retains the taste;^* vanity and modish folly engross the whole atten­tion, and ruin half, or render trifling and insipid, unwary thousands in the female world. For it is a fact, I apprehend, scarcely to be controverted, that in the lower orders of life, more women are sedu­ced into prostitution, through their love of dress, than through their love of vice: and in the higher, we know, to what lengths an attachment to this deep-rooted foible is carried.

With such principles, strongly impress­ed, how can we expect to find in the fair one, the endearing and sensible compani­on, replete, as Milton phrases it,—with all good, wherein consists ‘Woman's domestic honour, and chief praise.’ How can we expect it—while, as he goes on they are—

Let it not be said, that the writer is se­vere: he would only wish to hold out a friendly warning, against an evil destruc­tive to the tender and affectionate parent: upon whom it principally lies to give to female elegance its greatest merit: while he intreats the inconsiderate and the fond, attentively to contemplate the half-dis­tracted father weeping over the clay-cold corpse of his darling MISELLA.

And wouldst thou, oh reader, wish thy beloved offspring a better fate; wouldst thou wish never to share in the horrors of so sad a distress?—then let it be thy chief study early and diligently to inform with true wisdom, the young, the waxen mind; attentive to the poet's remark:

Sensible of this capital truth, the pa­rents of the amiable PULCHERIA omitted no opportunity to cultivate her mind, and early to lead her into the pure and peace­ful [Page 74] paths of sacred wisdom. She was not inferior in person to MISELLA; but in conduct how superior!—in death how dif­ferent!^* As I have not had the happi­ness to converse with many, from whom I have reaped greater improvement, or re­ceived more delight; as I have never At­tended a death-bed, with more profit and edefication, than that of the ever-valued PULCHERIA; it hath frequently made me curious to learn from her parents the me­thod they pursued in her education—And one day sitting with her excellent father, I took the liberty to hint my desire.

"I know, sir, (said I) you are above the vulgar prejudices; and have so just a sense of the divine wisdom and goodness, in removing your daughter from this state of probation to a realm of glory, that the subject is rather pleasing than painful to you. You know my high opinion of her virtues; tell me what particular steps you took, in her early days, to lay the foun­dation of that noble structure, which she reared?" "You judge rightly, sir, said the good old man; it is pleasing to me to [Page 75] think as well as to talk of my valuable daughter, whom I reflect upon with the most heart-felt complacence, as having soon ran her compleat circle of virtues here;^* as having speedily finished her course, and entered so early on her ever­lasting reward.

"Praised be God for giving me such a child; praised be God, for placing before me such an example.—Forgive the invo­luntary tear—I cannot on this occasion withhold it; the remembrance of my dear angel so affects and ravishes me: oh when will the hour come, that I shall once more see her—once more meet her, for ever to enjoy her lovely converse—meet her— Dear sir, excuse me, the pleasing hope overpowers me; excuse the parent; ex­cuse the man."—We sat silent a few mi­nutes; some natural tears we mutually dropt—but wiped them soon; when my worthy friend proceeded. "I will satis­fy [Page 76] your desire: I did indeed lay down some few rules, respecting the education of my child, and they were invariably re­garded: I will tell you the most material of them. Attribute it to the weakness of an old man's memory, if I am not altoge­ther so perfect in them as I wish.

"In care, reproof, correction, and en­couragement, my wife and myself (as all parents should) resolved to act, and ever acted, in perfect concert.^*—We early taught our child implicit submission to our­selves; assured, that otherwise we should be able to teach her nothing. It was our care to remove all bad examples, as far as possible from her sight; and in conse­quence to be cautious in our choice of domestics.^†—We endeavoured always, to understand ourselves, what we wished our child to understand; to be ourselves, what we would have her be; to do ourselves, what we would have her practise; as know­ing [Page 77] that parents are the original models, upon which children form their tempers and behaviour.^*

"We laboured gradually and pleasing­ly, to infuse into her mind the clearest and most affecting notions of God; his universal presence; almighty power; his goodness, truth, and over-ruling provi­dence; his regard to pious men, and at­tention to their prayers.^† These things we imprinted upon her tender spirit, and fixed them by those striking examples,^‡ wherewith the sacred writings abound.— We took care, that she should frequently hear conversations upon serious and spirit­ual subjects, to which she used to attend as matters of curiosity; and from which she caught much of a religious and proper [Page 78] spirit. Few people are sensible of the ad­vantage derived to children from suitable and serious conversation.^*

"It was our most earnest study, early to shew her the vanity of the world: the frailty of the body; the corruption of our fallen nature, the dignity and infinite worth of the immortal soul;^† and to make her acquainted, as she was capable, with what God hath done for that soul; and to set before her all the riches and mercy of redemption.—We constantly inculcated upon her, this important truth, that she was not created merely to live here below, but in the glorious and eternal world above; and that she was placed here only to have her virtue tried and exercised,^‡ that she might be made fit to live for ever [Page 79] in heaven.—"And therefore, my dear; you see, (I used to observe) that there can be no room for pride in your person, or vanity in any external endowments, for your body is the workmanship of the great God; you cannot make one hair of your head white or black: and your body is but the prison, if I may so say, of your nobler part, which is immortal, and must share in the rewards or punishments of futurity, while your body will moulder in corruption, and become so odious, that your nearest and dearest friends cannot approach it.^*

"Remember, you have received all you are and all you have from God; therefore never presume to assign any me­rit to yourself; nor estimate any thing here below, at too high a rate: for this life you perceive is only a state of trial, and of consequence unworthy our too fond attachment. Heaven is your home; God is your father; and eternity is your [Page 80] life." But pardon me, dear Sir, I digress from my rules, and like an old man in­deed, fall into down-right prating—Sa­tisfied that all Religion stands or falls with the breach of the Sabbath, we habit­uated our dear child from her infancy, to sanctify that sacred day: to esteem highly the word of God; to reverence his ordi­nances, and to respect his ministers. And we were especially careful, that with all religious instruction (you know my own sentiments) she should imbibe a spirit of universal candour, goodness, and charity; as far from the wildness of enthusiasm, as from the narrowness of superstition and bi­gotry.

"We always addressed her understand­ing, and treated her as a rational ^* crea­ture: we encouraged her enquiries, and used her betimes to think and to reason. We represented vice in its true colours,^† [Page 81] which are the most odious, and virtue in her proper form of beauty and loveliness. —We were especially diligent to give her a deep sense of truth and integrity; and an abhorrence of all manner of falshood, fraud, craft, subterfuge, and dissimulati­on, as base, dishonourable, and highly displeasing to the Almighty. Assured that we could not cherish veracity too much, we never were severe for any fault she ingeniously acknowledged; but always while we strove to convince her of the wrong she had done, we honoured and commended her for the truth she had spoken.^*

"Convinced of the countless evils which attend the female sex from their passion for dress and shew, we endeavoured all in our power to give her a low, that is, a true opinion of these things; and though she always wore such apparel in her younger days as became her rank and station, yet we never deceived her into a wrong opinion of herself by gaudy, ex­ternal ornaments—If we had, how could [Page 82] we have excused ourselves?^*—Whenever we observed any thing tending to a bold, pert, or forward behaviour, (though bless­ed be God, there was even from her in­fancy little appearance of this) it was checked immediately: for we knew it might grow up into a flippant pertness, or a dissolute insolence.

"From many examples before us, we saw the misfortune of suffering children to be men and women too soon; for children are by no means, fit to govern them­selves, or to direct others:—we avoided this dangerous rock. Soon as she was able to apply to the business of instructi­on, we inured her to diligence and close application, yet not so close as to deprive her of such amusements and exercises as were proper to preserve chearfulness, vi­vacity, and health.^† And you, who knew her, (good Sir) and her many accom­plishments, [Page 83] will do me the justice to be­lieve, that we permitted her not to want any advantages of increasing in wisdom and knowledge, and that she did not abuse those advantages.

"I had forgot to observe, that we taught her most assiduously the duty of humani­ty; for we taught her to reverence the feelings of nature even in the lowest or­ders of creatures; we suffered her not to treat any with contempt, but to shew all possible acts of tenderness and charity, cherishing with all our might a spirit of modesty and gentleness, of benevolence and compassion, even to insects and ani­mals, always discountenancing that wan­ton cruelty which some children shew as an early proof of a barbarous, wicked, and inhuman disposition.^*

"And the fruits were equal to our la­bours—the lovely plant well repaid all our care and tendance."

To shew that this was not merely the remark of parental partiality, let us pro­ceed to take a view, in our next chapter [Page 84] of the amiable PULCHERIA in her life and death.

CHAP. VII.

OUR obligations are truly great to those parents who carefully train up their chil­dren in the paths of wisdom, piety, and virtue; that they may be enabled to dis­charge every social duty with propriety.^* And as so much of the comfort and peace of human life depend upon the fair sex, we are doubly indebted to those who ear­ly inform their tender minds, and deliver into the hands of the husband, not only the lovely mistress, but the endearing companion, and heart-approved friend. This was the constant and successful en­deavour [Page 85] of the parents of PULCHERIA; some of whose rules in the education of their child, were delivered in the forego­ing chapter.

An education so wise and rational, could scarce be supposed to have failed of the desired effect. The modesty, un­derstanding, and elegance of PULCHERIA were generally observed, and the charms of her person, though of the first rate, were always eclipsed by the superior beauties of her mind. She was sensible, but not assuming; humble, but not mean; familiar, but not loquacious; religious, but not gloomy.^* The tenderness and delicacy of her sentiments peculiarly re­commended her, and that sweet temper which never suffered her to indulge the malevolence of censure, rendered her the object of universal esteem. I speak not of her accidental acquirements, her skill in music, her taste for painting, &c. nor [Page 86] of her domestic knowledge: suffice it to say, she was well accomplished in these, and in every improvement which her pa­rents could supply, or she herself could make.

The happy BENVOLIO, with the per­fect approbation of her parents, received this rich treasure to his embraces, and called the lovely PULCHERIA his, in her twenty-first year. He was the object of her choice, and his acknowledged worth well justified her heart's attachment to him. The fruits of her parents' care were now abundantly manifested; BEN­VOLIO▪ thought—and justly thought—his lot peculiarly blessed, in a wise of so re­fined and happy a disposition. The feli­city was consummate, as the strongest and most undissembled affection can pro­duce. Their pleasures were mutual; and of separate satisfactions,—happy pair!— they had not the least idea!^*

[Page 87]Her servants could never be lavish enough in her praises; for she treated them always with the most amiable hu­manity: "she considered them, she used to say, as fellow-creatures, placed indeed in an inferior station; but not on that account the less acceptable in the sight of God. Nay, if we remembered, (she would observe) who it was that for our sakes took upon him the form of a ser­vant, we should certainly treat our domes­tics with becoming gentleness. Besides, she would go on, it appears to me an office of common humanity, to render a state of servitude and dependance as light and pleasing as possible: for while we by the bounty of Heaven, enjoy such superi­or blessings, shall we not, in gratitude, do all in our power to bless others who are less favoured by Providence?^*—I esteem my servants as a kind of meaner, hum­bler friends; and though I would on no account make myself too familiar with them, or listen either to their flattery or [Page 88] their tales; yet I never would be defici­ent in alleviating their inconveniences, and promoting their real happiness."^*

Acting upon these principles, she was the darling of her domestics; they beheld her with a degree of veneration. She was so happy as seldom to find cause to change; and she never entertained her friends with tedious tales of the ill behavi­our and errors of her servants.^† I should observe, that she was careful to see them well instructed in their duty, and for that purpose she not only supplied them with proper books, but saw that they read them, while her beloved partner omitted no opportunity to assist in this necessary service.

Conscious of the high obligation upon all to observe the Sabbath, she strictly de­voted that day to religion. She took care that such of her family as could possibly [Page 89] be spared, should always attend with her at the morning and evening service of the parish church. This she esteemed an in­dispensable duty;^* and never allowed herself to ramble from church to church, as was the case with some ladies of her acquaintance, in the neighbourhood, whose practice she constantly disapproved. "I owe this duty, she used to say, to my fa­mily, to my neighbours, to my minister: and I cannot tell what evil may arise from a different example."

The evening of the Sabbath was always spent in religious exercises; and she ne­ver would think of seeing company on that day. Routs on Sundays were mon­sters in her apprehension. "I can ex­cuse, she would often observe, those in the lower stations of life, who have no other day of leisure but the Sabbath, and who perhaps are pent up in narrow shops all the rest of the week, if they dedicate [Page 90] some part of the day to recreation:^* but for us, who have the enjoyment of all the week, surely it is inexcusable to devote this sacred day to our pleasures. Shall not the great giver of all, receive a tri­bute of some small portion of our time?"

But were I to dwell upon all the excell­ences of her life and conduct, the limits prescribed me in this paper would soon be exceeded. I shall omit, therefore, any account of the benevolent charity which she exercised so largely, (insomuch that never a child of distress went with a hea­vy heart and unrelieved from her pre­sence)—while I hasten to give some ac­count of her death. Her constitution was delicate; after the birth of the second be­loved infant which she brought her BEN­VOLIO, (her first died early, and gave an opportunity for the display of the most exemplary resignation,) she caught a cold, which was accompanied with unhappy circumstances; and though she recovered in some measure, yet the consequence was an hasty decay.

[Page 91]It is not easy to conceive the anguish of her parents and her husband upon so me­lancholy an occasion; upon a discovery that all the efforts of art, and all the pow­ers of medicine were in vain; while her patience and resignation obliged them to refrain from every word of repining,^* though it tended to increase their sorrow, by enhancing their esteem for her. Hap­py as I was in her friendship, it was my custom often to visit her during her long and trying illness; but I shall not easily forget an interview at the close of it, which I must confess, wholly unmanned me, while it taught me the deepest humi­lity.

I found her seated in the chair of sick­ness, in her bed-chamber, with her little infant lying in her lap, over which she hung with such a look of maternal fond­ness and anxiety, as I yet never saw, and which no painting could express! Soon as I advanced, she lifted up her eyes, in which stood the big and affectionate drops; [Page 92] while death seemed to sit upon her coun­tenance, wan, yet not void of that placid sweetness, which ever dwelt upon it.

"I was indulging, sir, said she, and I hope not improperly, some natural affec­tion, and taking, perhaps,—my last leave of my poor little babe, who holds my heart too fast—(false and weak heart as it is) rather too fast bound to this transitory scene! Pretty innocent! see how it smiles on its weeping mother; unconscious yet of the bitterness of grief, and the sadness of tears.—Sweet babe! I must leave thee; the Father of heaven thinks fit, and his will be done. But oh, the parent, dear sir, the parent will feel:—surely this will not be deemed a deficiency in humble re­signation."^* I observed that Christianity by no means opposes humanity; and that grace doth not destroy, it only regulates and refines our affections.

"My soul, she went on, thankfully ac­quiesces in all the divine disposals, and I am satisfied, that whatever a God of [Page 93] love and wisdom ordains, must be best for his creatures. But when I look upon this dear innocent; when I consider the vari­ous evils of the world, and the prevalence of our corrupt passions: when I consider the peculiar inconveniences of our sex, if deprived of maternal care and instruction my heart throbs with sensible anxiety— and I wish—O father of love, pity and pardon me! Must I, ah, must I leave this sweet harmless creature to all the trials and difficulties of life?—Oh my pretty babe, I must leave thee; but I shall in­trust thee (and in that let me take com­fort) intrust thee to a tender father, and to the protection of a Saviour and a God, who careth for his little ones. Blessed Saviour"—She was here overpowered by the strength of her affection: and fall­ing into a fainting fit, from which we al­most apprehended she would never reco­ver, her husband and her parents were instantly called up; every effort was used to restore her; though grief suffered▪ no one present to utter a syllable. The scene was the most profoundly awful I ever be­held.

At length she came to herself; and the first object she saw was her trembling mother bathed in tears, and holding her [Page 94] clay-cold hand; on the other side stood her father; at her feet knelt her anxious and distressed husband—around her seve­ral of us were placed, whose tears suffici­ently witnessed our concern. She raised her languid eyes; gazed earnestly at us— then fixed them upon her mother, "Best and most beloved of parents, said she, farewell, farewell; God of his mercy re­ward your tender care of me, and give us a meeting in the future world.—Oh my fa­ther, and are you too there?—do not let me see your tears: support my poor mo­ther, and remember you have a daughter gone before you, to that place, where all sorrow ceases:—But my husband"—She said no more; then threw her arms round his neck, and both mingled their tears to­gether for some time. She sighed forth, "Best and most dear of men, let me thank you, sincerely thank you, for all the marks of your tender esteem. Be kind to my pretty babe; oh! why should I say be kind? I know your goodness; but my sweet innocent; let her—"—She stopt short—but soon went on, "I little ex­pected all this pain at parting; this is dy­ing; this is truly the bitterness of death.^*

[Page 95]"My dear friends, she continued, ad­dressing herself to all of us around her, "accept my best acknowledgments for all your kind offices to me; if you ever re­member me when I am gone, remember, that my soul perfectly rejoiced in God's dealing with me; and that however the weaker passions of nature may prevail; yet I am wholly resigned to his will, thankful to him for all; nay desirous to quit this world, that, I may see my dear Saviour, the Lord of life and love, who gave his life for me, and in whose merits alone I joyfully trust for salvation.

"I am on the brink of eternity, and now see clearly the importance of it— Remember, oh remember, that every thing in time is insignificant to the awful con­cern of—" Eternity, ^*—she would have said, but her breath failed:—she fainted a [Page 96] second time; and when all our labours to recover her seemed just effectual, and she appeared returning to life, a deep sob alarmed us—and the lovely body was left untena [...]ted by its immortal inhabitant.

Well may it be said, "Blessed are the dead, who die in the Lord, for they rest from their labours and their works do fol­low them."

CHAP. VIII.

AMONGST the various arguments of consolation on the loss of our friends, that which is drawn from the pleasing hope of a future meeting, and perfect felicity, doubtless is the most persuasive. Grief subsides, and sorrow softens into a tenderly pleasing remembrance; when the soul is comforted with the happy ex­pectation of one day seeing again—seeing never more to separate, those whom death [Page 98] hath torn from our affectionate embraces, and removed a little before us, to our fa­ther's house.

The transporting thought suffers us no longer to lament our loss; the flame of our friendship is still kept alive, and the anxious fear of disappointment on our part, becomes an active principle of obedience and duty.—See in this view what we owe to our friends, and how careful we should be religiously to pass the short time of our pilgrimage here, that when we de­part they may have scriptural grounds to believe, that our souls are with God; and that at his right hand they shall meet us, in the fulness of bliss.

What a comfort was this to the parents and friends of the amiable PULCHERIA: who, sensible of her constant attention to spiritual concerns, were well convinced, that her change was from mortality to glo­ry, and therefore resigned her with chear­ful thanksgiving to God; weeping over her, it is true, but weeping only the tears of gentle affection; and living always with a comfortable respect to that happy hour when again they should meet, after a me­lancholy absence, to part no more for ever.

[Page 99]And shall it be?—Oh thou God of infi­nite grace! ever studious of thy creature's felicity, various in thy bounties, [...]nd infi­nite in loving kindness:—it must be so. For whatever conduces most to our bliss, we have abundant evidence to conclude, will be always thy decree.—It must be so! —oh pleasing, balmy hope!^* And once again, ye best-loved parents, ye tender solicitous guardians of my youth, once again shall I behold you—but ah! not as once; not as wasted with sickness, and wearied with pain! I shall see you made like unto God; and saved from sorrow, from sin, and from death. Thou too, my LANCASTER, loved friend of my youth, with whom so often I have roved along the banks of favoured Cam, and enjoyed all the sweets of virtuous, unpolluted friendship; thou too shalt rejoice my long­ing sight! for never hast thou been wiped from the tablets of my memory; still have I borne thee, as a seal upon my heart; my first, my dearest, my disinterested friend!

[Page 100]Happy, thrice happy thou! far remo­ved from this bad world, ignorant of its ensnaring arts and fatal deceits. Happy, thrice happy thou! offered, in virtuous innocence, and unhackneyed in the ways of evil men, an unpolluted flower, an early and sweet sacrifice to heaven.^*— And shall we meet? Alas, too well I know where rests the only doubt. But the blest hope shall animate my soul: still, still will I maintain the painful conflict. Aid me, oh mighty Redeemer, in the fight; and through thy merits give me victory,^† give a happy, speedy union with thyself, and with my deceased friends.

But have we not living friends? And shall we in our regard for the dead forget our duty to the living?—Forbid it, hea­ven! Nor let it be feared, where virtuous friendship reigns in the generous heart, that the love which awakens every tender sentiment for the departed, will make us less anxious to communicate felicity to [Page 101] the surviving; less anxious so to live, that we may leave behind us the sweet odour of our memory, and the anxious desire to enjoy us again. Without this reciproca­tion of mutual endearments, what is life, and what is man? Was he formed for himself, or can he be blest in unsocial ex­istence? Can he be contented (nay then let him relinquish his claim to immortali­ty) can he be contented to live without the love, to die without the tribute of friendly remembrance!—Can he be con­tented to live the despiser of his God, and to die the affliction of his friends, who can never think without horror of his future existence! How then can they dry up their tears? Oh wretched parents of the more wretched MISELLA! my heart bleeds for you: I wonder not that ye refuse to be comforted.

Have we then any value for our friends, are they really dear to us, do we wish to remove every cause of anguish from their souls, and to wipe off every tear of dis­tress from their eyes?—Let this be a mo­tive to influence our conduct, and to ren­der us active in the discharge of every duty to God and to them; that so when we are summoned to that future and important [Page 102] world, they may close our eyes with peace, and say with heart-felt satisfaction, "Fare­well, oh farewell, thou dearest, best-lov­ed friend! Thy life, thy love, thy faith, leave us no room to doubt of thy felicity. Thou art happy—we mourn only for our­selves. Yet soon, very soon, we hope to meet thee again.—Then farewell only for a little while: we will ever bear thee in most faithful remembrance; and treading in the paths of thy virtues, will hope speedily to receive thy reward."

How desirable to leave this world, thus lamented and beloved! How much better than to drag out a contemptible existence through threescore and ten worthless years, and at length to drop into the grave, and there to rot, without one longing wish from one lamenting friend?^*

The contrast, perhaps, may strike us; let us view it in BUBULA; whose funeral obsequies I saw lately performed, with all the pomp and vain parade of ostenta­tious pride; yet though carried to the silent tomb, with all this farce of shew, [Page 103] no eye dropt a tear, and no heart heaved a sigh when BUBULO ceased to breathe.

Full threescore years and ten had BU­BULO encumbered with his heavy load, this sublunary world; and it would be difficult to point out any works of benevo­lence or religion, any works of real worth or humanity, which distinguished these se­venty years. Fond of vile pelf, the earth­worm continually toiled to add to his heap; and though rich, and daily encrea­sing in wealth, could never prevail upon himself to communicate of his riches to others, or to serve his nearest relations. Yet smooth were his words, and fair were his promises; and who that knew him not, would have thought him any other than an universal friend to mankind?

The hours which were not devoted to gain, were consecrated to the service of his nice and enormous appetite, to de­vouring of flesh, and drinking of wine. He was, in this respect, a perfect animal: and who that saw him at a city feast ever thought him of a superior order? His fa­culties were almost entirely absorbed by this life of indulgence and gluttony: yet stupid as he appeared to be, he could pre­tend to scoff at Religion, to deny even [Page 104] the being, and to despise the revelation of God.—What a dreadful character! from such slaves of the devil and heirs of hell good Lord deliver us.

He found a female willing to submit to the slavery of his dominion: she brought him three children, and happily was soon freed from her captivity. The eldest son continued a kind of superior servant to him, till his death, which he had long impatiently wished for, and at length heard of with joy. The younger, of a more sprightly disposition, unbiassed by princi­ples, rushed headlong into the practice of all fashionable vices, and being unassisted by his father, committed some actions which obliged him to secure himself, by a voluntary banishment to the West-Indies. His daughter, though frequently asked in marriage, could never prevail upon him to forward her happy settlement in life:— he could not spare a fortune for her; she continued with him, therefore, in a state of discontent, and added but little to his felicity by her filial duty, as he was so averse to make any addition to her's by his parental regard. He saw his widowed sister, with many little orphans, surround­ed with a variety of difficulties; and per­suaded at length to undertake her affairs, [Page 105] embroiled them more and more; and in conclusion gave them up, because his own business and concerns would not allow him sufficient time to attend to them.

A long and wasting illness warned him of eternity:—he would not receive the warning. He dreaded death, yet would not prepare to die. The jovial associates at the tavern and the club, forsook and forgot him:—his servants attended on, but cursed him:—his children thought every day of his existence too long:—the few dependants, which his money occasi­oned, ceased to regard him, and paid their respects chiefly to his son. BUBULO observed it, and it grieved him to his very soul. He sent for more and more physi­cians; they wrote, shook their heads, and took their fees: all hope was gone. The minister of the parish was sent for.—He found the almost lifeless wretch weeping, and lying along the ground; for he would be removed from his bed; but not having strength to support himself, he fell down, and in a few moments died.—Nobody wept, for nobody had cause to weep: the pride of the family gave him a pompous funeral,—and now he is forgotten!

Think not, oh reader, the character of [Page 106] BUBULO exaggerated. He lived!—and alas, too much it is to be feared, there are many such BUBULO'S living, whose example should inspire us with detestation of a life, which must certainly end in a death not less dreadful.

CHAP. IX.

IN the Liturgy of the church of England, we pray to God to deliver us from sudden death; that is, as her best divines have always explained it, and as reason. clearly understands it from a death sudden and un­looked for, from a death instantaneous and unexpected;^* for which no provision has been made which finds the soul▪ utterly unprepared, and sends the unhappy crea­ture into eternity, with all his imperfecti­ons on his head. A death like this is doubtless to be deprecated, more than the [Page 108] wide-wasting pestilence, or the devouring sword.^*

On the other side, to the good man, to the soul conscious of its frail dependance here, and properly careful to secure its eternal interests in the world beyond the grave, a sudden death is so far from an evil, that it appears rather a blessing, and in this view has been earnestly wished for, even by men of exemplary piety.^†

Indeed, strictly speaking, there is no such thing as sudden death to us, who as soon as we are born, begin to draw to our end; who breathe this sublunary air as temporary strangers, existing only a while upon the bounty of Providence; and assu­red that the moment will come shortly, may come instantly, when the Lord of [Page 109] life shall summon us into his tremendous presence.^* And as such is the condition of our being, we cannot properly call that stroke sudden; to live in constant expecta­tion of which, is our highest wisdom and duty. Submission to the will of him who is as good as he is wise, is doubtless the best service which such imperfect creatures can pay in every particular; and there­fore we act most wisely, when we submit the determination of this point to the fa­ther of mercies, and wait with resignation either from the momentary stroke, or the long and lingering trial, which dismisseth us from the stage of life.—This care only should be ours; well to act our parts, that the dismission may be with a plaudit, with the approbation of our judge.^†

"Yet, yet, oh father of unutterable love, thou source of everlasting goodness, [Page 110] yet if the meanest of thy creatures might be allowed to make his request—if thou wouldest deign to give him liberty of choice—suffer him not, oh do not suffer him long to languish on the bed of feeble disease, or excruciating pain; nor yet snatch him hence, by an instantaneous stroke, before he has looked his last fare­well, and given the final affectionate adieu to all his heart approved, his dearest, ten­derest, and most valued friends!^* He will not call their kind attendance round his bed, "the afflicting parade of death: he will rejoice in their sympathetic ten­derness; he will struggle to pour forth the voice of consolation and love; he will point to the hope which upholds his soul, the shining pole star by which he steers, and by which he trusts his dearest friends shall steer into the joyful harbour of eter­nal rest! The hope, the star, the sun, Christ Jesus, the conqueror of death, and destruction of the grave.^†

[Page 111]Such was the petition of the beloved URANIUS; heaven heard and granted his prayer. This day he sickened; the next summoned and took leave of his friends; perfect in his senses, he saw death ap­proaching, and saw him unappalled! for he had led his life in continual preparati­on for the awful event.—On the evening of the third day, he closed his eyes, and commended his spirit to God, who gave it; and almost without a groan, exchang­ed this mortal for an immortal state!— Happy URANIUS—so let me die! or ra­ther, let me say, "so let me live," and death cannot fail to be blessed.^*

How different was the death, and ah! how different was the life of my neighbour AGRICOLA; who often, though in vain, I have endeavoured to wean from the world, and to shew the deceit and delusi­on of all earthly attachments. But alas, he would not believe? AGRICOLA was a wealthy and laborious farmer; it might, strictly speaking, be said of him, that "he rose up early, and late took rest, and eat [Page 112] the bread of carefulness."^* He prevent­ed the morning's dawn, and called the hinds to the field, ere the rosy sun peeped over the misty mountains. The flail, ear­ly heard resounding in his barn, awakened the rest of the village, and was industry's summons to arise. His shepherds first drove their flocks a-field; and as the bleating multitude poured from their eotes, AGRICOLA stood by, and beheld with rapture the whiteness of their fleeces, and the strength of his sportive lambs. The neighbouring markets saw him always first to enter, and last to leave the scene of commerce and advantage; his samples were always ready, and were always best.

Thus he pursued temporal things with unwearied application, and unremitted di­ligence; but for eternal things, AGRICO­LA never once heeded, never once thought of them! What then? Did not AGRICOLA believe in God, in providence, in eternity? Oh yes, he believed all this;^† but he had no time to think of such things! "Hereafter," [Page 113] was his word; it will be soon enough "here­after." What then?—Did AGRICOLA for­sake the weekly service of the church, and wholly relinquish the worship of God?— Oh, by no means. AGRICOLA never or very rarely was absent from the divine service: he generally invited the curate of his little village—(a poor laborious man, like himself, who rode with all haste from parish to parish, and served three distant churches!) He generally invited him to a regale at his house on the sabbath; when the time would allow, the good man em­braced it with thankfulness; they drank together in friendly sort; and behold, their conversation was of "the oxen in the field." AGRICOLA had sagacity enough to discern this impropriety in the conduct of the man of God. His Rector's rare ap­pearance in this village, and ready ac­ceptance of his tythes, gave him also no very favourable idea of religion.^* He [Page 114] He judged these men servants of the Lord for the wages of the world; and appre­hended all religion to be merely lucrative and earthly. ^* He was desirous to believe it such; hence in the ale-house, at the markets, and in the little club of his vil­lage-neighbours, he frequently delivered his sentiments with freedom, when God and his priests were sure to be treated with little or no respect.

AGRICOLA continued his course of life for some years; only as his money encrea­sed, so encreased his heart's attachment to it;^† and (as the world was fond to say) his regard to probity diminished as his pos­sessions were multiplied. The widows and the poor complained of his rapacity and extortion; the fields spoke his covetous­ness; for he encroached upon his neigh­bours' lands, and the ancient boundaries were rendered disputable. The markets were said to be forestalled, and his abun­dance became the source of oppression to [Page 115] the poorer farmer: he wished to stand a­lone; and beheld with a malevolent eye, the flocks, the herds, and the crops of others —He grew surly, proud, and insolent: vainly imagining that his wealth gave him an importance, and a right to tyrannize over his inferior neighbours.^* My con­nections with him afforded me an oppor­tunity often to remonstrate: he sometimes heard and promised fair, but he heard more frequently with impatience, and would have spoken his dislike, if worldly motives had not compelled him to silence.

Happy had it been for him if he had heard, regarded, and been wise. Happy for him if he had trusted less to that "hereafter," which never came! For as last summer he attended his reapers in the field, suddenly the heavens grew black with clouds; the sun withdrew his light; the air seemed to stagnate with intolerable fervor; the lightning flashed with unre­mitting fury; vast peals of thunder burst [Page 116] fearfully around; there was no place to fly unto; they were exposed to all the ter­rors of the storm. AGRICOLA stood aghast —when behold, the thunder-bolt of Om­nipotence, (a sheet of living flame disclo­sing itself over his head,) in a moment struck him a blackened corpse to the ground!

Oh horrible! most horrible! thus to be sent to our final account!—And shall not the death of AGRICOLA instruct us? Wilt thou, O Man, after such an admonition, persevere in forgetfulness of duty and at­tachment to the world!—canst thou secure thyself from so deplorable an end?—No! thou canst not; thou canst not promise to thyself one future moment!—Death lies concealed in every path we tread, and his stroke will ever be sudden and dreadful, in proportion to the degree of our forgetful­ness of that stroke, and our attachment to the vain delights, or possessions of the world.

CHAP. X.

IT gives the Author of these Reflections singular pleasure to have the approbation of a lady, so justly admired for her taste as Lady —. He esteems it a particular favour that she condescends to make a re­quest to him, which he most readily grants, as assured, that the letter which she desires him to admit, will not only be pleasing, but highly instructive to his serious read­ers. The death of Mr. NASH drew her thoughts to it, and therefore she is pleased to inform me, she copied it out for the be­nefit of the public: it was sent by a person of known worth and piety, some years since, to that son of pleasure.—What effect it had, his future life, alas! did but too plainly shew!

CHAP. XI.

IN our two foregoing chapters, we have two very different and alarming charac­ters before us; each sufficient to shew us the vanity of this life, and to awaken in our souls an earnest attention to future concerns. The one, cut off by a sudden blast from heaven in the full bloom of days, and the vigour of health; the other, dragging through a length of wearisome years a feeble existence,^* to the last scene of all.

Old age is honourable, and hath its ad­vantages.—But might I presume, Oh! thou Almighty and All-wise! short-sighted as I am, and incapable at the best to dis­tinguish my real good from evil, might I presume to judge, or to ask any thing of thee respecting my future state in this poor and perishing world, I would humbly say, "Suffer me not to bear the load of life when every faculty is benumb'd, when every power of enjoyment is past; when oblivion darkens the memory, and all the senses seem wearied and sealed up; when the power of being useful to mankind is totally removed; nay, when the power of pleasing is no more, and we become a burden even to our nearest friends."

See the trembling, palsied HASSAN! unable to move; scarce able to utter in­telligible sounds; weak in his sight, im­perfect [Page 130] in hearing; oppressed with pains; forgotten by the world; forsaken by all; and attended only by a distant relation, whom interest alone keeps with him, im­patient for his departure, and anxious to possess his wealth. Yet though thus mi­serable, despised, forsaken, and forgotten; HASSAN loves the world; clings faster to it, the more it shrinks from his embraces; detests the thoughts of death; and thinks and talks of nothing with satisfaction, but the delusive mammon of unrighteousness.^* Oh, what an old age is this! How wretch­ed an issue of a long and useless life!— Fourscore years have been passed to no end, but the procuring of wealth. Four­score years are over; the wealth is procu­red; the man is about to die, and he hath neither child nor friend to inherit it! He hath no power to enjoy it himself; he is dead while he liveth: yet his affections are placed—not on things above,—but ah, sad reverse!—on things below. Can the world produce any object more pitiable or more contemptible than HASSAN?

Vigorous old age, the winter of an use­ful, virtuous life, is as much to be desi­red, [Page 131] as the contrary is to be deprecated. Crowned with victory over the inferior passions, girt round with useful and expe­rimental knowledge, leaning on the staff of prudence, courage,^* and resolution, the old man becomes a blessing to society; we rise up to him with reverence, and re­joice to do him honour.

Such is the hoary SOPHRON; we be­hold him with a degree of awe and vene­ration; we consult him with confidence; and to follow his advice is to act wisely and consistently. SOPHRON filled a very busy sphere of life, and maintained a high reputation for integrity, prudence, and piety. He retreated in proper season from the stage, and now dedicates his time to [Page 132] the great business of self-recollection. Yet is he no absolute hermit nor recluse; nor does he so live to himself as to forget the concerns of others; mild and affable, he delights in the conversation of his friends, and pleasingly instructs, while scarce seem­ing to instruct; benevolent and humane, he listens to the voice of affliction, and is always the ready friend of the poor and the oppressed. Happy SOPHRON! he has not lived in vain; his youth was active; his old age is healthful, placid, and se­rene. Resigned to the Sovereign Dispo­ser's will, he waits contentedly for his approaching change; and looks with joy to his journey's end; looks with joy to that welcome harbour, wherein his weather-beaten vessel must shortly cast anchor!^* when his youth shall be renewed like un­to the eagle's, and he shall live with God in perfect felicity for ever.^†

[Page 133]If men will not look forward, nor pre­pare for eternity, we cannot expect they should prepare for old age; but surely, if we wish or desire to live long,—and it is to be feared this is too much the wish of human hearts,—we should endeavour to provide for the winter of life, by laying up such a store of true wisdom and expe­rience, as may render the close of it com­fortable; or at least soften the many una­voidable difficulties of age.

Intemperance will in the general pre­vent our long continuance here below;^* as it certainly is the source of many pains and evils.^† Vice and immorality will ren­der our old age despicable to others and afflicting to ourselves;^‡ and make us the [Page 134] more uneasy to quit the stage of life, as we draw nearer the solemn change. So that the grand rule to attain a happy old age, as well as a happy death, is to "live well:"—to live, as becometh those who bear the name of Christians, and profess to be the disciples and followers of Christ.^*

Uncertain as is the tenure of human life, this rule, one would conceive, should be universally regarded. For how few, how very few of the myriads of mortals, who tread this earth, arrive at old age, or see the present boundary of human life, the "seventieth year!"^† What numbers before that, are consigned to a state eter­nal and unalterable! alarming thought!— And canst thou, oh reader, promise thy­self this length of days! Knowest thou how long thy line shall run: knowest thou when the tremendous Judge shall call, and thou must appear before his impartial tribunal? Alas, human fate is mantled in thick darkness! But eternity—who like AGRICOLA, would be utterly unprepared [Page 135] for it, since the call may come instantly? and then how terrible will be the conse­quences?

But AGRICOLA'S fate was peculiar.— So thought his neighbour HAUSTULUS. He saw the singed corpse of AGRICOLA borne from the field; shook his head, de­clared the stroke a judgment from heaven, and enlarged greatly on the demerits of the deceased:^*—yet he forgot himself. HAUSTULUS was the pride of the village where he lived: young, healthful, robust: the maidens beheld him with pleasure; the young men heard of his perfections with envy. A lively good-nature recommend­ed him universally; and relying on the strength of his constitution, he was the first and last at every merriment, at every wake, at every scene of rural pleasantry and joy.

Drinking too much at one of these meetings, and staying too late from home, he caught a cold; a violent fever ensued; he became delirious, all hopes in a few [Page 136] days were lost; and he, who had never employed one serious hour about his soul; thus plunged,—ah hapless improvident— into an everlasting state!—Was his fate peculiar? was his death sudden?—'Tis a death—'tis a fate every day exemplified— And would you choose to share such a fate; to die such a death? Surely no: then be careful not to lead such a life. For there are innumerable outlets from this present scene: lightnings and fevers are not the only instruments in the hand of God: the meanest and most inconsider­able agent is all-sufficient with him to stop the throbbing heart,^* and to draw the veil of death over the closing eyes.

CHAP. XII.

THOUGH death levels all distinctions, and pays no more deference to the crown, than to the unnoticed head of the meanest peasant; yet the great seem willing to pre­serve, even in death, that distinction which they have shared in life; and therefore refuse to mix their mortal dust with com­mon and inferior clay! There may be a propriety in this; subordination is absolute­ly necessary, and it may be decent, that they who have been elevated in life, should at the close of it, still keep up their due dignity and distinction. But this will not prevent us from meditating in the vault of the Nobles, where surely we shall find am­ple matter for contemplation.

By the side of the church, where first I was led into these reflections such a vault [Page 138] is found. Let me descend into the solemn and sacred recess!—How awful!—As I tread slowly down the stone steps, which lead into it, a melancholy murmur seems to echo through the silent mansion; the moon just throws in a faint light, suffici­ent for me to discern the contents, (though indeed no stranger to them) and all my soul thrills with an anxious dread and horror.^*—Whence this strange, this un­common fear upon us, when conversing with the deceased? Helpless dust and ash­es as they are, we know they cannot harm or injure us. Nay, and were it possible for any of them to appear to us, surely it would be most delightful as well as most acceptable to hear from them some of the wonders of that unknown world, which is at once so interesting and so important.

Oh, come hither ye sons of ambition, [Page 139] ye children of pride; descend a while from the lofty summit whereon you stand, and look disdain on all beneath you; oh come, and pass a few silent minutes with me in this lonely vault which boasts the most noble inhabitants; and pride will no more dwell in your eyes, or vanity rise in your hearts.^*

Here are the great and the gay; the young and the brilliant; the honourable and the lovely, placed in no mean order or elegance together. Their coffins are decorated with velvet and with silver; but ah, their contents are only like vulgar dust —There lies the noble ALTAMOUNT; no wonder the remembrance of him first strikes every soul which descends into this vault, and was no stranger to his character. An able writer^† hath given us a striking account of his last moments: let us first recollect this, and then make our reflecti­ons upon it.

[Page 140]"I am about to represent unto you, says he, the last hours of a person of high birth; and high spirit; of great parts, and strong passions, every way accomplished, not least in iniquity. His unkind treat­ment was the death of a most amiable wife, and his great extravagance, in effect, dis­inherited his only child.

"The sad evening before the death of that noble youth, I was with him. No one was there, but his physician and an intimate friend 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 [Page 141] me?—I have been too strong for Omnipo­tence!—I have pluck'd 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 to 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 he exclaimed—

Oh time!—time!—It is fit thou should'st 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. ^† Though an age were too little for the much I have to do."

[Page 142]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 mayest hope; therefore hear me: how madly have I talked? how madly hast thou listened and believed? But look on my present state, [Page 143] as a full answer to thee, and to myself. This body is all weakness and pain; but my soul, as if strung 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 mortality, 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 exclaimed—

"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 thoughts 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 upon me, thou wouldst struggle with the martyr for his stake, and bless heaven for the flame; this is not an [Page 148] everlasting flame, nor that an unquencha­ble fire."

How were we struck?—yet soon after, still more. With what an eye of distrac­tion, with 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 most 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 even 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.^*

CHAP. XIII.

HOW doubly dreadful is Death, when it hurries away an affrighted and unprepa­red soul from all the splendour and pomp of earthly greatness; from noble mansi­ons; elegant gardens; beautiful and ex­tensive parks; numerous attendants; large possessions; and all the bright circle of sublunary grandeur!

"And must I leave these? Curse upon my fate; must I leave all these? said the noble PUBLIO, as, stretched upon the bed of disease, he lay struggling with uncon­querable pain, like a wild bull in the net; impatient and restless under the hand of Omnipotence; as the untamed lion, in the toils of the Lybian hunter.

Yes, PUBLIO, thou must leave all these; and, proud and vain as thou hast been of thy titles and honours; as much elevated [Page 146] as thou hast thought thyself above thy fel­low mortals, thou must now at length ex­perience that death [...]ovels all distinctions, and strikes at thee with as cruel unconcern as he strikes at the meanest peasant who toils in the neighbouring fields.^* Why will men forget this obvious truth? Sure­ly if the rich and noble would bear it in mind, it would be a powerful check against every motion of pride, and would instant­ly crush the least appearance of elation.

If we look to this world only, how su­perior are the advantages which the great and wealthy enjoy, how infinitely superi­or to those which the poor and mean pos­sess? But if we look beyond the present scene, nay, if we look only on the part­ing moment, how great advantages have the serious poor over the thoughtless rich? Poverty denies to men the enjoyment of almost every thing which the wealthy call convenient and comfortable; much more of what they call elegant and pleasurable. But poverty disengages the affections from this transitory scene, and depriving men of the enjoyment, renders them more in­different [Page 147] to their continuance in the world. He who has nothing to leave behind him, must be supposed to quit the stage with in­finite less regret, than he who is surround­ed with every thing that can elevate the desires, or delight the heart of man.^* Now if we were steady to our Christian principles, and fixed in our pursuits of the blessings of eternity, doubtless, in this view, poverty would be very far from be­ing esteemed an evil.

But let us not conceal the truth; there is often more of envy and chagrin in our strictures on wealth and greatness, than a real contempt of these idols, or a true Christian renunciation of them. And it is to be feared, that our remarks respect­ing their possessors, are frequently stretch­ed beyond the line of truth. It is a point, of which long experience and close obser­vation have left me no room to doubt, that the great are not the happy: I mean, that true felicity, and an exalted state, [Page 148] have no natural and necessary connection.^* Yet am I equally satisfied that the poor are not happy. If the disturbing, anxious, and higher passions, molest the repose of the former, the chagrining and vexatious passions sufficiently ruffle the quiet of the latter. In great goodness and condescen­sion to his creatures, the all-wise disposer of all things hath made happiness peculiar to no state, and attainable in all; it is a plant which will thrive in every soil, though some may be more kindly to it than others. I have seen it blooming in all the verdure of the most flourishing palm tree, in the splendid palace of the noble: I have seen it fresh, beautiful, and fra­grant, in the lowly dwelling of the peace­ful and contented cottager. For the true Christian is the happy man; and he who is indeed a Christian, will find peace and joy, whether in a cottage or a palace.

What could have deprived the gay, the young, the noble, the ingenious, and most accomplished ALTAMONT, of happiness [Page 149] superlatively pleasing? Had he but known and practised the precepts of that divine religion, whose excellence is sufficiently marked by the name of him who revealed it,—Jesus Christ, the eternal Son of God. Every earthly bliss crouded around the noble young man, sedulous to present themselves, and anxious to offer their sweets to his acceptance. Elegant mansi­ons, highly furnished with all that art could bestow, were ready provided for him; parks, beautified with the finest lawns and most extensive prospects, s [...]etch­ed themselves around him; ample estates were in his possession, sufficient to supply every necessity, and sufficient for calls of magnificence, liberality, and charity; and heaven had blessed him with a mind ca­pacious of the largest enjoyments, and with sense equal to the most elegant refine­ments. Happy peculiarity—heaven had blessed him also with an amiable consort, whose virtuous endearments were them­selves sufficient to have constituted solid bliss; and in whose love, scarce a man ex­ists, who would not have thought himself crowned with his heart's full content.

Ah! wretched ALTAMONT,—the want of that Christian virtue which alone will [Page 150] felicitate, robbed thee of the enjoyment of all these blessings, and brought thee in early youth to an untimely death; thy soul undone, thy fortune ruined, thy wife broken-hearted, and thy orphans beggar­ed!—ah vain and worthless nobility! what availed to thy miserable remains, the nod­ding plumes and the escutchioned hearse, with all the pomp of funeral solemnity! Here thou liest mouldering in the velvet-clad coffin; and I, so much beneath thee in station, can weep thy sad fate, and com­miserate thee, thou fallen son of greatness!

Oh ye nobles of the earth, consider and be wise. Nobility, without virtue, is but a polished shaft, more quick and keen to destroy; adorned with Christian faith, 'tis a coronet of gold, graceful and ho­nourable to the brow;^* it will dignify you in time, and add honour to your greatest honours in eternity.

So thought the incomparable Lady, whose sad relicts I view with joy; and am transported to find in this doleful vault an inscription like the following, over her [Page 151] honoured remains. Let us peruse it, and leave it to our reader's reflections.

"Here rests the body of MARY, Count­ess of —, &c.—who departed this life, &c. whom it were unpardonable to lay down in silence, and of whom 'tis dif­ficult to speak with justice. For her just character will look like flattery, and the least abatement of it is an injury to her memory."^*

In every condition of life she was a pat­tern to her sex; appeared mistress of those peculiar qualities, which were requisite to conduct her through it with honour, and never failed to exert them in their proper seasons, to the utmost advantage.

She was modest without affectation, ea­sy without levity, and reserved without pride. She knew how to stop without sinking, and to gain people's affections without lessening their regard.

She was careful without anxiety, frugal without parsimony; not at all fond of the [Page 152] superfluous trappings of greatness, yet a­bridged herself of nothing which her qua­lity required.

Her piety was exemplary, her charity universal.

She found herself a widow in the begin­ning of her life, when the temptations of honour, beauty, youth, and pleasure, were in their full strength; yet she made them all give way to the interest of her family, and betook herself entirely to the matron's part.^*

The education of her children engrossed all her care; no charge was spared in the cultivation of their minds, nor any pains in the improvement of their fortunes.

In a word, she was truly wise,—truly honourable,—and truly good.

More can scarce be said; and yet he who said this, knew her well, and is well assured, that he has said nothing which ei­ther [Page 153] veracity or modesty should oblige him to suppress."^*

CHAP. XIV.

FROM the vault, where rests the preci­ous remains of the great and noble, I ascended into the Church, and was imme­diately led to that part of the sacred edi­fice, which is dedicated to the memory of these illustrious personages. What superb monuments! what elaborate decorations! what pompous inscriptions! what high sounding epitaphs! one would imagine from a perusal of these, that all the sons and daughters of this noble house, like those mentioned in another sacred place, [Page 154] were valiant and virtuous! but alas, even tombs are taught to flatter and to lye.

How strong is the desire of pre emi­nence in the human breast? we wish to preserve it even in death. In some res­pects it may be well so to do:—but what vanity can be so truly contemptible, as that which assigns a large sum of money to the erecting a splendid monument, serving to perpetuate only the erector's folly and pride! let the truly virtuous and truly good, the friends to society, and the or­naments of religion, be distinguished in death: for the rest, whatever titles they bear, or honours they boast, they are but empty names—let them be consigned to oblivion and to dust!^*

What a foppery and false taste discovers itself in some of these fantastic monuments before me, the emblems of which it is more difficult to decypher, than the dark­est shades of an allegoric poem! what ab­surdity and profane [...]ess glare in others! [Page 155] Methinks I am transported, by some invi­sible power, while I gaze from a Christian church, into one of the heathen temples; for their deities crowd around me, sculp­tured with all the pride of art, while I can discern a medallion only of him to whose memory the monument is consecrated!— It looks as if the noble dead had renoun­ced their dependance upon Christ and his Gospel; and returned to the worship of those heathen divinities, into whose hands they seem to commend their fame.

But while I turn away with disgust from these fine, but misapplied efforts of art; that elegantly-simple monument strikes and delights me. It is the statue of the late Duke of —: it is finished in the highest taste; it affords the most exact re­semblance of his person; the posture is the most natural and easy; proper for the place, serious and contemplative:—it is raised on a plain but beautiful pedestal; there are no fantastic decorations; the in­scription contains nothing more than the name of this worthy nobleman, the date of his birth and death, and the detail of his illustrious issue. There needs no more, his virtues live in the faithful memory of his friends and of his country▪ and time itself cannot obliterate the impression, [Page 156] which his beneficence hath made on the hearts of the distrest. But could time ef­face these, should they be universally for­gotten; yet will they be had in everlasting remembrance before God, the eternal re­warder of those who live to do good; who make the blessings vouchsafed to them by a kind Providence, the exalted means of felicity to others.^* Such actions in life will smooth the rough brow of death, and render the departure from honours and opulence not only easy, but joyful!

Methinks, as I stand contemplating this animated statue, I can fancy its noble ori­ginal before me, as I often seen him, and imagine I hear him thus addressing me:— "See the end of all human grandeur, and learn to think nothing great in mortality; nothing can be truly great which is uncer­tain; nothing can be truly good which must shortly have an end. Ere while I flourished in all the verdure which human existence can boast. High in birth, high in honours; dignified with the royal fa­vour; abounding in wealth, and of conse­quence [Page 157] courted and flattered by the ob­sequious crowd.

In this elevated state I forgot not my­self: I remembered that I was a man; that I was to give an account to a superi­or tribunal, and that my punishment or reward would be pronounced according to the improvement or abuse of the trust re­posed in me. When therefore the solemn summons came, when I heard the alarm­ing voice, "Thou must die," I was not confounded, though impressed with awe: commending myself to the Father of mer­cies, I resigned his earthly favours with complacency and thankfulness, in the joy­ful and animating hopes of a future and better state.^*

Had my conduct been the reverse of this, what should I have gained, or rather what should I not have lost? for my pomp and power could not have arrested the [Page 158] stroke of death, which would have pier­ced my heart with agony inexpressible, as separating me from all things desirable here below, and removing me to a world where I can neither have hope or desire. —Mine was a better choice: the remem­brance of death taught me wisdom;^* for they who remember death, will assuredly be wise."^†

This is an important truth: The abuse of life proceeds from the forgetfulness of death;^‡ when men fix their standards up­on earth, and vainly propose this transito­ry scene as the end of their being, and the [Page 159] object of their love, what errors and evils are the consequences; what fearful disap­pointments here, and what horrid punish­ment awaits them hereafter!

This was the cause with the famous Cardinal of the noble house of Beaufort who, much unlike that amiable nobleman, whose character we have been just consi­dering, remembered not that wealth and greatness were insignificant and unavailing to stop the hand of death; and, that, gained by indirect methods they prove, in the conclusion, a never-dying worm to the distracted conscience. When there­fore, as history informs us, he was arrest­ed in his mad career, and all the terrors of death were marshalled in horrid array before him, thus he complained, and thus vented his afflicted soul to his weeping friends around:^* "And must I then die? will not all my riches save me? I could purchase the kingdom if that would pro­long my life. What! is there no bribing of death? when my nephew the Duke of Bedford died, I thought my happiness and my authority greatly increased; but the [Page 160] Duke of Gloucester's death raised me in imagination to a level even with kings; and I thought of nothing but accumulating still greater wealth to purchase at length the triple crown! Alas! how are my hopes disappointed!—Wherefore, O my friends, let me earnestly beseech you to pray for me, and recommend my depart­ing soul to God."^*

[Page 161]Oh, what an end was this! what avail­ed this unhappy great man, that sacrific­ing to his ambition some of the most sacred duties of humanity, he died possess­ed of a sum, superior to what, perhaps, any subject before him had possessed?— What availed it, that amidst the terrors of death he consigned large sums to charita­ble offices! and least of all, what could avail the ten thousand masses which he ordered to be said for his departed soul? Heaven is not to be purchased with gold, nor the favour of God to be bought with [Page 162] money. Our redemption was not perfect­ed by such corruptible things, but by the precious blood of Jesus Christ, as of a lamb without blemish and without spot! and he who after an evil life, thinks to conciliate the regard of the Most High, by donations and masses, dies in a mistake as gross and fatal as that wherein he lived.

Indeed, to the honour of the Protestant church, we must observe, that this most destructive of all errors is seldom found within her pale; at least, in comparison with its frequency in the Romish church; where the religious orders are led to de­ceive even the souls of dying men, for the [Page 163] fake of accumulating wealth for their own societies. Shocking and dreadful!—now contrary to the tenor of that Gospel, by which we are assured, that the truly hum­bled heart, and penitent desire, a lively faith, and undissembled sorrow, can alone recommend us to the Father of heaven, through the merits and intercession of his only begotten Son!

Before I conclude this chapter, let me point out to my reader a noble penitent of the Protestant communion, as a contrast to this Cardinal of the church of Rome: the late earl of Rochester, I mean, whose life was defiled with every vice, but whose death was distinguished by the most exem­plary repentance—a repentance, not shewn by external gifts, and the appointment of repeated masses fo [...] his soul; but by in­ward contrition, and a real sorrow for his past sins, by a desire to undo all the evil he had done, and to stop the current of all the mischief which unhappily owed its source to him;—by an unfeigned applica­tion to the only Redeemer of lost sinners, and a fixed resolution to amend his life (if that life should be spared,) and to be as exemplary in holiness, as he had been in­famous in the practice of every vice.— [Page 164] This is true repentance:^* and such a pe­nitent, Christ will assuredly redeem, as well from the guilt, as from the defilement of all his accumulated iniquities.

CHAP. XII.

HIGH in health, and recumbent on the downy breast of prosperity and indulgence, SECURUS rejects our Reflections with dis­dain, and will not, cannot bear to hear of death, the cruel spoiler, of all our earthly comforts. "Away with the melancholy strain, he cries; I cannot endure the voice of this gloomy contemplative. Let him not approach to disturb my repose, nor like the hoarse and ill boding raven, croak his fatal admonitions in my ears." Ah, [Page 165] mistaken mortal, what troubles art thou treasuring up for a future moment!—pity him, heaven, who has no pity for him­self!—We will leave him then, though with sorrow and compassionate regret, and intreat thy attendance. Oh serious and Christian reader, (who art not afraid to view these mournful but instructive scenes) to the sick, the dying-bed of the poor man,^* now that we have visited together, the superb vault of the affluent and noble. If thou art rich, perhaps thou hast never been called to so sad a scene, and the sight of it may teach thee gratitude and content:^† if thou art poor, it will affect thy heart, and lead thee to a serious con­cern for futurity; that both temporal and eternal evils may not be thy deplorable lot!

Come then, and let me lead thee up [Page 166] these narrow and miserable stairs, to the wretched apartment, whither I myself was ere while led, and where the poor man lies languishing on the bed of emaciating disease! Seest thou this dismal dwelling, foul, wretched, and offensive!

Hear, the wind whistles through the shattered casement, ill defended by vile rags and darkened paper, sure mark of penury and distress.^*

Seest thou that wretched object, pale and meagre, with haggard, staring eyes, and beard unshaven, stretched upon those flocks, with not a curtain round him, and with scarce a cover to conceal his wasted body?

Turn round and view upon the floor another miserable heap of tatters. It is the bed of two poor children of this af­flicted sufferer! and this, this place of woe, is the only habitation which receives and hides the heads of these poor and [Page 167] helpless children, with their wretched mo­ther and himself! That woman, bathed in tears, and clothed in the ragged gar­ments of poverty, is the wife, the mother of these unfortunate children—hapless wife, and still more hapless mother!

But though narrow this apartment, though offensive and soul, it would well suffice, and be but little complained of, did not want, cruel want, here too fix her dreary abode; could the mother supply the importunate demands of her hungry children, or alleviate the pains and suffer­ings of her oppressed husband. But alas! the parish withholds relief from aliens to its rights, and how shall the charity of the beneficent, find out in their obscure re­treats, the stranger and unknown!

Nay but even poverty itself, with all its dire necessities, might patiently be borne, —well, very well, if fiducial dependance upon God, was but found in the sufferer's heart; if heavenly hope dwelt in the af­flicted breast; if there was any prospect of an happy issue, when all these mournful trials are overpast, and the soul safely landed on a future blessed and eternal shore! but for this we enquire in vain! from the want of it proceeds far the great­er [Page 168] part of these evils. When I came to talk with EGENO, (so call we this poor man) concerning his soul, his faith, his hope, and future expectations; he fixed his eyes upon me with the most unuttera­ble anguish, and elevating his emaciated hand, sighed out, "Alas! alas! Sir, sure I shall recover." "But if you should not, said I, as God knows there appears but little probability—what then? what says your conscience?" "I cannot tell, he replied, I know I have not been so good as I ought; but if I live, I will endeavour to be better."^*

I turned to his wife, to ask somewhat of his past life; and to know whether du­ring his long illness (for he had been long declining) he had ever shewn any con­cern for his soul, or whether she had ever read to him for his instruction?—Weak and wretched as he was, he could reply, with abundant acrimony, "She instruct me?—No, she had better first instruct her­self, she wants it most." What greater [Page 169] shock could an humane heart feel, than to perceive a fierce altercation likely to ensue, between two persons so mutually and so deeply distressed? I interposed with some authority; and endeavoured with all my power, to set forth the dreadful ter­rors of futurity, before the eyes of this unawakened sinner, just, just about to launch—oh horrible—into its awful gulph! from whence there is no return.

He heard me with attention, and I per­ceived at length a tear stealing down his pallid cheeks. "I have been miserable, said the poor unhappy object, all the days of my life; and now I perceive that I must be miserable through all eternity too." Upon hearing this, we could none of us refrain from tears. Oh who could refrain? to see a fellow-creature lying in exquisite distress, soul and body equally estranged from comfort, health, and ease! —Oh who could refrain? to see a fellow-creature thus about to perish, ignorant and hopeless, in a land where the glad ti­dings of the gospel are so constantly and universally preached!

Moved with compassion, I endeavoured to offer some consolation—the utmost [Page 170] which I dared to offer. For alas! how can the ministers of Christ exceed their commission; how can they speak peace to those, to whom there is no peace?^*—But my offers were unavailing; he told me, "he had led a wicked and a careless life, and now he found that the end of it was sorrow and despair." After every argu­ment to rouse and to console, I joined in prayer with him and his wretched hous­hold; and exhorting him to earnest pray­er, and fervent supplication for himself to the father of our Lord Jesus Christ, I left them, designing on the morrow to renew my visit.

But from this melancholy office I was prevented by his wife, who came in the morning to inform me that he expired in the night; expired regardless, as it seem­ed, of every thing; utterly stupid, sense­less, and unheeding.

And thus too often it happens, that the minister is sent for when the soul is at the [...]st gasp,^† when all hope is given up, and [Page 171] when all our endeavours, alas! are as in­efficacious, as pouring water into a sieve. During almost a twelve-month's illness, EGENO thought not of God, of repent­ance, or of death. Just when the lamp of life was going out, just when the trem­bling soul fluttered on the verge of eterni­ty, the alarm was given, and all was con­fusion, disorder, and dismay. His whole life was a scene of care, of toil, of dis­content, and sin. Neglectful, wholly neg­lectful of religion, his sabbaths were passed in tr [...]ling and drunkenness; the scanty pittance he gained by his labour, was too commonly condemned before it was earn­ed; and his wife and children bewailed in hunger and want, the frequent disap­pointment of his wages. Hence arose brawls and contentions at home; which rendered the little wretched lodging still more wretched. As no surplus was saved, [Page 172] his own, and the clothing of his family, was seldom superior to rags; and he lived without a friend to serve, as he died with­out a friend to succour him.^* Miserable end of a miserable existence! Fearful po­verty and introduction to sufferings, far more fearful!—

Good God! what is man! how terrible is it thus to pass a few years in this vale of sorrow, comfortless, despicable, and abandoned—To know none of the re­freshments and delights of this life, and yet wilfully to forfeit all delights of the future! But let me forbear making any reflections, till I have shewn you the con­trast of EGENO, in a man of the same oc­cupation and the same rank of life, whom also I lately attended upon his death-bed —and would to heaven my latter end may be like his!

CHAP. XVI.

IT is common, to hear circumstances and station in life, urged as an excuse for neglect of religion; to obviate which, we have examples proposed to us of sincere and regular piety, in every station of life.^* Thus we are shewn, that religion is in­compatible with no worldly circumstan­ces; and of consequence, no worldly circumstances can offer a sufficient excuse [Page 174] for a disregard to it.^* The wretched EGENO could urge his labour and pover­ty,—but how ineffectually? Look at his fellow-labourer MENTOR, and learn how weak and frivolous such an apology.

MENTOR was of the same occupation with EGENO; worked in the same shop, and earned the same wages. MENTOR too was a married man, and had children. Thus far there was a similitude; but in other respects, where can that similitude be found?—Diligent and punctual, MEN­TOR was never absent a day from his bu­siness, unless detained by sickness or some necessary avocation; ever found in his duty▪ while EGENO kept holliday, and wasted his important time in drunkenness and riot.

Fearing God, and anxious to please him, MENTOR never refrained his feet from the church, and was a regular at­tendant at the blessed supper of the Lord; strictly observing the sabbath, and spend­ing it as became a Christian, a husband, and a father; while EGENO'S temple was [Page 175] the ale-house, and his devotion only oaths and impiety^*

Go to the places of their abode, and mark the contrast there also; you have viewed that of EGENO—miserable scene of poverty!—At MENTOR'S little dwelling all was neat, clean, and wholesome. He has procured a small house, with a good piece of ground, which he carefully cul­tivated with his own hands, when he re­turned from his work in the evening; often rising an hour or two before the time of labour in the morning, to do the busi­ness of his garden, and to take care of his crop, which paid him well for his toil. His wife, industrious and careful, contri­buted her part with gladness;^† her chil­dren were brought up with every notion suitable to their station; and she omitted no opportunity to aid her husband's honest efforts by her frugality and pains. An [Page 176] aged mother dwelt under the same roof with them, and owed a comfortable sub­sistence to the pious affection of her labo­rious son.

It pleased God to extend the life of this useful and worthy, though mean and un­noticed man, to a happy length; for he lived to close his aged mother's eyes, and to pay the last duties of filial regard to her.^* He lived to see two of his sons capable of maintaining themselves in the world with decency and comfort; and treading—distinguished felicity of a pa­rent!—in the steps of their father's sobri­ety and virtue:^† sons, to whose care he could with confidence leave his wife, as their religion had taught them, that a pe­culiar blessing ever attends those who de­light to honour their parents,^‡ and "to rock the cradle of declining age."

[Page 177]How pleasing, how instructive to attend the death-bed of such a Christian!—Oh, ye great and vain, ye children of volup­tuousness and pomp, how doth the death-bed of such a Christian reproach your fol­lies, and condemn your visionary views? —on that bed I saw him!—true, no con­sultation of physicians was held on his account; no damask furniture decorated his apartments; no carpets were spread over his floors; vessels of silver and gold were not found to convey the little nou­rishment he took:—but ah! what poor and wretched comforters are these, when the languishing body declares the fatal moment of eternal separation from this present world, near at hand! How much more excellent the consolation arising from the testimony of an approving conscience! The more a man leaves behind him, the more reluctantly he dies:^* to die is an easy matter to the poor; and to a good man, what matter is it whether he dies on a throne or a dung-hill? The only misfortune at the hour of death, is to find [Page 178] one's self destitute of the supports of true Religion.^*

MENTOR was not destitute of these:— ("I am arrived, Sir, said he, at that peri­od for which I was born, and for which I have been long preparing; and blessed be God, I do not find any terrors in the ap­proach of death. Thanks be to God, who giveth us the Victory, through our Lord Je­sus Christ. I am thankful to the good providence of my heavenly Father for all things;—but how shall I express my thank­fulness for his exceeding love in the pre­cious gift of his dear son! Oh what a support is he to sinful creatures, like us, in this hour especially! Blessed, for ever blessed be God, for his inestimable gift or redemption through the blood of the Lamb, offered up for the sins of a rebel world."

Rejoiced to see him thus triumphant over death, I congratulated his felicity, and remarked the vanity of worldly stati­ons, when God distributes his spiritual [Page 179] favours thus freely to the low as well as the rich. "True, Sir, said he, this is a sweet reflection to the poorer and meaner sort of Christians: it hath often refreshed my soul, and stopped every tendency of murmuring and complaints, which are too apt to arise in our haughty hearts, at the sight of the rich, and their plentiful en­ [...]oyments.^* And it was a pleasing thought often to me in the midst of my labour, that my divine and glorious Saviour stoop­ed to a mean and toilsome employment, and condescended to work with his own hands; setting us an example, and thus alleviating, to the true Christian, all the weariness of fatigue and daily pains.

The recollection of this, has frequently given me new life and spirits when I have been almost worn out, and ready to sink down with labour. And when I have con­sidered all his loving kindness towards me, which he has shewn in so many instances, I have always with joy persevered in my duty, and thought myself happy that I [Page 180] had a being to praise and adore him. And now my race is run, and I am about to appear before the judge of all the earth!" "I doubt not, replied I, you will appear with joy, and be for ever blessed in his kingdom."—"Through Christ, I trust I shall, said he: my only hope and reliance is on the precious Redeemer; for oh, Sir, what am I, what have I, but from him?— and alas! what I have done is so imper­fect and unworthy, that it cries for pardon only, not for reward; can it be possible that any human being can talk of merit before God!^* Lord Jesus, pardon the sinfulness even of my best and most holy services, and wash them in thy most pre­cious blood, which cleanseth from all sin."

"But, observed I, though you depend not upon any thing you have done, nor apprehend the least merit or deserving in any of your own works, doth it not give your soul peace and comfort, when you look back, and remember that you have done such works, or rather, that you have in any measure sincerely endeavoured to [Page 181] obey the laws of Christ?" Oh yes, repli­ed he, great, very great peace! without this I could have no peace at all: for without this what test could I have of my sincerity in any respect? or how would I dare to expect any mercy from the Re­deemer? No, I bless him for enabling me, by his sovereign grace, to do any thing: would to God I had been more diligent, and had done more: without holiness no man shall see him: I have laboured after it with all my might, and to the best of my knowledge:^* but am thoroughly sen­sible of the imperfections of my best en­deavours. May the gracious Saviour pity my weakness, and perfect what is wanting in me!"

He added much more: but from this the reader may easily collect, how happy an end a man of such just sentiments must make. [Page 182] He received the blessed Sacrament from my hands, and never did I administer that sacred ordinance to a more elevated Christian. I remember one passage in our conversation struck me. "Sir, said he, though I had never no great learning, I have always been pleased witn reading; and from some book,^* early in my youth, I was taught to consider myself as a pil­grim, appointed to travel through this world to the other, where I was to remain for ever. This notion made [...] great im­pression upon me; and I ever afterwards used to consider myself as a traveller, and therefore entertained no great hopes or fears respecting any thing below; but looked continually to the end of my jour­ney, the happiness of which, I was per­suaded, depended on my right manage­ment of myself during my stay here.^† And this thought was the occasion, not only of much content to my soul, and of much peace and resignation under every affliction and cross accident: but of my [Page 183] continued attention to duty, and of the exactest caution in my daily walking."

Such was MENTOR; whose life and death were equally amiable and exempla­ry. What a contrast to the wretched EGENO! What man but could wish to die the death of the former?—then let him take heed not to lead the life of the latter.^* Ye sons of men, in the humbler stations of life, read the important lesson before you. Look at the examples, and revolve their ends:—avoid the vices of EGENO, and copy the virtues of MENTOR. —So will you live in credit, and die in peace.^†

CHAP. XVI.

AFTER having attended the death-beds of the busy and the gay, the noble and the poor; after having surveyed the issue of life spent in those pursuits, which are common to mankind in general, and con­trasted every character, to make each more striking; I intended to have stopped here, and considered death in a general view,—to have offered arguments and con­solations against the fear of it; and as a conclusion, to have contemplated the great things which follow after,—Judgment, Heaven, and Hell. ^*

[Page 185]But a funeral, at which I was called lately to officiate, leads me to postpone these reflections to a following chapter; that I may pay some tribute to the memo­ry of an humble man, whose virtues de­serve to be had in honour, though his low station denies him the loud applause of public celebrity. But why should fame be the prerogative of greatness; of world­ly greatness and external splendor?—To do well, and to deserve in every station, is to be great, and ought to obtain praise —and will obtain praise!—Yes, ye sons of obscurity, whom no titles dignify,— whom no pedigrees ennoble,—but whose virtuous actions are more illustrious than either—yes, ye shall inherit praise, as much superior to that which men, the world, and time can give,—as God, as heaven, and eternity are superior to all these.

This bright and blessed honour is not conferred according to rank, birth, or ti­tle; [Page 186] but to high and low, rich and poor, the glorious price is held forth alike, and to him who doeth best, shall the best re­compence be given.^*—Yet one sure me­thod to obtain this blessing in that king­dom, where all distinctions eternally cease, is to act and live agreeably to those dis­tinctions and subordinations, which God hath wisely appointed upon earth: I mean the sure method to obtain God's favour, is to acquiesce thankfully in that station of life, wherein he hath placed us; and with entire submission, to discharge faith­fully and uniformly all the duties of it.^†

So thought the worthy man, whose de­cent funeral was lately solemnized. He had been servant in a neighbouring family above twenty years; and during that time had abundantly approved himself by the strictest fidelity. A rare example, when the depravity of this order amongst us, is the subject of universal complaint, and the severest tax upon the domestic felicity of numbers! Though perhaps the cause and the remedy of the evil are both to be drawn [Page 187] from other sources, than those which are generally proposed: to be drawn rather from the heads of families, than from those who act in menial capacities.^† A prudent and conscientious master, for the most part makes prudent and regular ser­vants; and it is from the increase of such examples, that we must expect improve­ment in our attendants.

PETRUCIO, (so call we the subject of our present chapter) was happy in this respect; happy in a master, whose own life was regular, and whose great care was to discharge every duty, which he owed, particularly to his servants. He was well recompensed by the love and fidelity of his servants in general, but of PETRUCIO in particular. This faithful domestic had right notions of God, himself, and his duty. He murmured not at the inferiori­ty and servility of his own condition: he knew it was the will of God; as such he received it with thankfulness, and lived in it with chearful content: considering him­self as the servant of Christ, he acted con­scientiously, [Page 188] as desirous to please him, and not man only.

Reflecting that the eye of God, if not of his master, was always upon him,^* he feared to neglect his duty,^† and thought it a poor excuse for himself, if he could escape the notice of an earthly observer, while all his actions were minutely scan­ned by him, who searches the inmost se­crets of the heart. Hence he served not "as a man-pleaser, but as the servant of God, in singleness of heart as unto Christ; not with eye-service, but as the servant of Christ, doing the will of God from the heart;" all his service was done with a good will, not with a morose restraint or sourness,—as to the Lord and not to man on­ly—for he knew, and ever bore in mind that comfortable truth, "That whatsoever good thing any man doeth, the same shall he receive of the Lord, whether he be bond or free."^§

[Page 189]In consequence of these right principles, PETRUCIO ever esteemed his master's in­terest, as essentially connected with his own: and would as soon have suffered the extremest punishment, as to have joined in any collusion to defraud, much more to have himself defrauded his master. It was his constant endeavour to preserve the strictest oeconomy in every part of his trust, and he would express the highest wonder and deepest abhorrence at many of those infamous arts, which modern po­lite servants would frequently advise him to practise, and to which tradesmen, for the basest ends, would often attempt to allure him.

"Though I am in a state of servitude upon earth, he would often say, I hope to be in a state of freedom with God here­after: but how can I hope for this, if I am deficient in those easy duties, which are required in my present station? For surely, when all the necessaries of life are found me, it is easy to be just and faith­ful, honest and industrious—nay, gratitude itself alone should lead to this, for his sake, who provides so well for me; and who requires certainly that I should repay all his expence, with every worthy and [Page 190] chearful endeavour possible on my part.^*

We may well believe that a servant with such notions, must be uniform and excel­lent in his whole conduct. And such in­deed was PETRUCIO. He received every order with silence and humility: he exe­cuted every order with diligence and punctuality. He pretended not to be wi­ser than his directors; and he was a stran­ger to the odious malapertness, which is one of the distinguishing qualifications of contemptible modern valets. His long continuance in the family, had wrought in his breast a tender affection, not only for his master and mistress, but also for their children and relations: and at length their interest was become so peculiarly his own, that he shared in all their joys, and partook of all their sorrows.

The fruits of his fidelity were the con­fidence and esteem of his master and mis­tress; the affection of the family; the reverence of his fellow-servants; and a comfortable saving, on which he proposed [Page 191] to live, if ever he should have cause to quit the service; and which, dying in it, he had the pleasure to bequeath to a wi­dow-sister and, her children, whom it res­cued from many difficulties, and placed in a happy situation, above dependence and necessity.

During the time of his last sickness, he frequently declared that the tenderness and regard of his master and mistress to him, more than overbalanced the merit of all his former services, and were an abund­ant recompence to him. For PETRUCIO had a generous mind, and was sensible of affectionate treatment.^* His master every day visited his sick room, and read and prayed by his bed-side: his mistress with her own hands administered his medi­cines, and took care to supply him with the most proper nourishment. His humi­lity alone could equal his gratitude and thankfulness on such occasions; and when upon his expressing his great obligations [Page 192] his mistress once said, that "this, and much more than this, was due for his faithful services." "And that word, ma­dam, said the honest fellow, with tears in his eyes, that word is a reward sufficient for more than twenty times such services as mine."

Thus died this useful worthy man: and to do all honour to him, his master buried him at his own expence, with all the de­cency and propriety conceivable:—six neighbouring farmers, tenants to his mas­ter, bore his pall; his master and mistress walked as chief mourners; the rest of the family attended in procession, and had mourning given them on the occasion; and so great was the esteem in which this faithful servant was held, (who I should have observed was the willing and joyful hand by which his master and mistress distributed their liberal charities)—that scarce a dry eye was seen at his funeral: and his death and funeral, I persuade my­self, have done more to reform the ser­vants in that part of the world, than twenty lectures to them could have at­chieved. "See how PETRUCHIO, though a servant, is honoured and respected!"— was the general cry: and the general rea­son given on all hands was, "Because he was faithful, honest, and industrious."

[Page 193]And let servants, in conclusion, be told, that if they would obtain such favour here, and such recompence as PETRUCIO doubtless hath obtained, their only method is to go and do likewise; is to imitate his example; is to make their master's inter­est their own. The best motive upon which they can do this, is to consider, that in so doing they serve the Lord Christ, and may be assured, that, according to their fidelity, so shall they reap hereafter. For God is no respecter of persons.^*

⁂ I subjoin to this chapter the follow­ing excellent rules, which were sent by an unknown hand, entirely agreeing with the gentleman who sent them,—"That if they were hung up in all kitchens and servant's halls, (printed on a large sheet) they would be extremely useful."

CHAP. XVIII.

WHILE wrapt in the silence of the night, I take my solitary and contemplat­ive walk in the church-yard, with what a feeling concern do I reflect on the living world around me!—How striking the con­trast! Here rest in peace the well-nigh forgotten remains of those who once, it may be, filled up busy spheres on the earth.^* All those distinctions which they so anxiously courted, are now forever done away: all those animosities which they so warmly agitated, are now forever [Page 199] hushed and forgotten; and all those com­plainings and sighs which they so mourn­fully uttered, are silenced, are silenced for ever, and heard no more.—Yet on the great theatre of the world the same parts are still acting, the same ardour for place and pre-eminence; the same pro­pensity to malice and envy; the same re­pinings and lamentations are found:—as if generations preceding, read no lessons of instruction; as if men utterly forgot that their hour appointed was hastily ad­vancing.

"Oh that they were wise, that they un­derstood these things, that they would consider their latter end!"^* Benevolent wish! for nothing so powerfully, so strong­ly teaches, as a consideration of that latter end ^†— which is of general concern, for every son of ADAM is equally interested therein. Can we reflect upon the day of dissolution approaching, when every sub­lunary hope shall cease, and every world­ly project vanish as the shadow? Can we survey the solemn mansions of the dead, [Page 200] where the mingling dust bespeaks the folly of earthly pre-eminence and honour,—and yet pursue, with unremitted chace, the fleeting vanities of life? and yet indulge, with unrelenting hearts, the burning pas­sions, which torture human peace, and murder man's best felicity?—Nay, can it be possible that we should look beyond the grave, and recollect that an existence ever­lasting awaits us, and not use every wise, every scriptural method to secure to our souls the comforts of that existence, when time hath closed upon us, and we have bidden an eternal adieu to all things here below.^*

Thrice awful meditation! May its pow­erful instructions deeply impress my soul! Nothing teaches like death. 'Tis indeed the wages of sin, and a fearful evil, we must needs allow it! But then it is a per­suasive [Page 201] monitor, and superior to all things, convinces us of, and leads us to combat and conquer sin.

The sting of death is sin. From thence we may plainly discover, what is the grand remedy against its fear and its power to do harm. Destroy sin, and death becomes no longer formidable; he cannot hurt or annoy, for his sting is taken away. But how shall we atchieve this desirable enter­prize, how destroy the sting of death? Tis done, already done for us! Thanks be to God who giveth us the victory, through our Lord Jesus Christ. ^*

Here then, thou trembling mortal, who art every day distressing thy feeble soul with the fear of approaching death,—here behold the first and greatest consolation un­der it: "Faith in Jesus Christ," who through death destroyed him who had the power of death; and will deliver thee from that fear of death, which all thy life time hath kept thee in bondage! Look to that triumphant conqueror, who died on the cross, and lay in the grave, to sanc­tify it for us: see in his precious redemp­tion [Page 202] a full pardon for all thy offences; and with the eye of faith steadily fixed upon him, thou also shalt triumph over an enemy, already vanquished.^*

This is the grand remedy against, and chief consolation under the fear of death, "the knowledge and love of Jesus Christ:"^† which properly understood, comprehends every other consolation. But that we may not be misunderstood, let us as a second consolation and remedy, recommend to the soul, desirous of victory over this fear­ful foe, "an earnest care to live a life of gospel obedience through that faith in Christ,"^‡ which indeed without such obe­dience, will be found too weak to support the firm structure of a joyful hope. Live as you would wish to have lived when your anxious head is laid upon the dying pil­low:^* [Page 203] live as the Gospel of that Saviour directs, through whom alone you expect salvation; live as you are assured he will approve. The prospect of death will then animate your soul with fortitude and de­light: and you will have a desire to be dissolved and to be with Christ, which is best of all.^†

There again we enjoy another consola­tion, exquisite and unspeakable, under the apprehensions of death! "We shall be with Christ!" We shall live with him, and be like him! Like in purity and holi­ness, and like him in happiness too!— Transporting thought! Can death be es­teemed an evil—nay rather, must we not welcome that as our greatest good, which conveys us from a dying world, like the present, to a kingdom, where joy, and rest, and peace, shall eternally surround us?—But of this we shall speak more hereafter.

Another reflection which ought to abate [Page 204] our fears, and reconcile us to death, is "the absolute certainty, and unavoidable necessity of it. Could ou [...] fears at all avail to prevent the stroke, or even to res­pite it, they might well be allowed, and we should have some plausible reason to urge in their support. But alas, the stroke is inevitable.^* Surely then it is our wis­dom to familiarize ourselves to an event, which must come shortly, and which, to render us still more watchful, may come instantly. Claim ye then no more the character of rational, ye simple ones of the earth, who start at the thoughts of death^† and use every method which inge­nious thought can devise, to dissipate and drive it from you.—Lo, the moment comes, and utterly unprepared, ye must stand before your God.—Conquer your­selves: and remembering that death will come when it will come, review it in all its circumstances, and learn through Christ, to gain a happy victory over this dreadful leveller of all human distinctions.

[Page 205]Reflect of what will death deprive you: not of being—which to us must certainly be of all things most dear. No; the soul cannot cease to be; it only changes i [...] circumstances and state.

"But it separates those old and famili­ar friends, the body and the soul."—And let us bless God for the separation. For can we regret a separation from that flesh, which is the seat of sin and of diseases, and which from both, hath so frequently afflicted us with the most piercing distress? No; farewel then to the body (we will say with joy) since thereby we bid an eternal farewel to sickness, pain and sin.^*

"But death separates us from this world!" True; and it introduces us to one, utterly unlike the present, where sor­rows and losses, disappointments and tri­als, shall never more be known.—"But it separates us from our friends!"—Afflict­ing separation! The tender heart must bleed, and the affectionate eye cannot fail to drop a tear! Yet look forward, and be­hold [Page 206] —see in the blissful realms to which thy spirit is soaring—friends, immortal and unalterable friends, awaiting thy glad arrival!—and perhaps many already, ma­ny near to thy heart, have gone before thee, and will give thee a joyful and bless­ed welcome. Nay, yet a little while, and thou shalt receive to thy rejoicing embra­ces, those whom thou hast left weeping in this vale of sorrow.^*

Armed with these consolations, who shall fear the stroke of death? Who but must rejoice to relinquish this scene of tri­al and trouble, and to commit their souls into the arms of an ever-living Redeemer,^† who died to save his people from their sins: of a Father, whose unwearied care is over all his works, and whose watchful providence extendeth to the minutest con­cerns of all his creatures? In that revi­ving truth the soul must find comfort, as under every trial and affliction, so especi­ally when the moment of death approach­es; [Page 207] which a child submissive to the better will of such a father, will receive with thankfulness and Christian resignation!

As therefore death must come, and after death, judgment, and a state of bliss or misery unalterable, let us, like the wise virgins, keep our lamps always ready trim­med and burning, that we may never be found unprepared.^* And that we may still be excited to a stricter watchfulness— let us contemplate those great things that are to come hereafter; let us now suppose ourselves, as summoned to appear before the judgment-seat of God;^† and as about to receive the eternal reward of our deeds,^‡ —heaven or hell;—affecting thought! Holy Father—we tremble and adore! Blessed Jesus, be our advocate and inter­cessor!

CHAP. XIX.

DID our existence end with this life, how little to be dreaded, yea, in many cases, how much to be desired were death! But our existence doth not end with this life; eternity is before us; and it is eter­nity which makes death of so much con­sequence.^* How awful, how alarming is that representation which the sacred scrip­tures give us of the solemn day approach­ing, which is to determine our fate for [Page 209] this eternity! Let us contemplate the stu­pendous scene; for who can dwell upon such interesting reflections, without serious thoughts, and heaven-directed resolutions? The steady belief of a future judgment is sufficient to make all men zealous in du­ty.^*

The doctrine of a future judgment is peculiar to the Christian Revelation. Hu­man reason could never discover it; for human reason could not discover how the God of the whole earth would be pleased to deal with his creatures, and with that world which he has formed for them.— But in much mercy, to animate and awa­ken our best desires, the eternal Lord of all hath declared, that an endless and unalterable state is reserved for us, happy or miserable, as we comply with, or refuse the terms of his covenant: and that upon a day appointed, he will pass the righteous sentence upon all; when those who have done good, shall go into [Page 210] eternal life, and those who have done evil, into everlasting fire.^*

Alarming, important truth!—What thinking creature can be indifferent to it! Picture the awful scene to your view; im­agine yourself now called to the bar of inviolable justice! there enthroned in glo­ry unutterable, sits the sovereign Judge, the gracious Redeemer! Thousand thou­sands ministering unto him, and ten thou­sand times ten thousand standing before him! See that earth, once the seat of all your cares and fears, now wrapped in universal flame: hark, the heavens are passing away with insufferable noise; the sun is extinguishing; the stars are started from their spheres, and all this system of created things is hastening into utter dis­truction! The trump, the awakening trump hath sounded, and all the dead, rising from their sepulchres, are summon­ed to appear before the impartial Judge!^†

[Page 211]Oh, terrible distress!—Where, where shall we fly, if conscience condemns us, and we dare not approach that impartial Judge? In vain shall we call upon the rocks to hide, or mountains to cover us; rocks and mountains are themselves dissol­ving; they can give neither shelter for our heads nor support for our feet.^* In vain shall we solicit our friends to inter­cede;—our friends shall be then too deep­ly concerned for themselves to regard the cause of others; and what, ah—what could patrons or friends avail, when "the clem­ent, the mediatorial hour" is now abso­lutely passed and gone;—and we have not made him our intercessor, who would have been as mighty to save and reward, as he now is to punish and avenge? What too will dissembling profit us; or how can we expect to deceive him whose eyes are as a flame of fire, who pierceth into the heart's inmost recess? Who will lay open before us the whole volume of our lives, and place in the universal view of all, those thoughts, and words, and deeds of dark­ness, which in vain we secreted from the [Page 212] eyes of our fellow creatures upon earth— For who can escape the eyes of Omnisci­ence?

Can tongue express, can heart conceive the anguish which will rend our souls, when the dire sentence of condemnation shall pass—a sentence from his lips, which breathe only mercy and love to the just; —and which we despise, while calling to us upon earth with the most pathetic invi­tations,—"Come unto me, and I will give you rest.^* Aggravating circumstance! We have abused his love! We might have been blessed, eternally blessed.—But now the fatal moment is arrived, "De­part from me ye cursed, into everlasting fire, prepared for the devil and his an­gels,"^† is the dreadful malediction.

No, my soul, through this Redeemer's never-changing love, we will hope, confi­dently hope to avoid the horrors of this extreme distress. And oh, that every soul of man would, with such composed and solemn thought meditate upon it, that joy­ful songs of thankfulness only might on [Page 213] that day be heard: that with humble trust we might approach the Judge's throne, and find in him,—not the Almighty aven­ger,—but the Father, the Saviour and eternal friend!

What can equal the goodness of our God? or what could we desire more gra­cious at his hands, than that he should seat upon the tribunal of justice, that son, that only begotten and beloved son,^* who once came to our earth, not to judge, but to be judged; who died for those sinners, on whom he is now willing to confer an eter­nity of bliss.^†

Happy he, who, convinced of this so­vereign grace, looks continually and sted­fastly, with the eye of Faith, to that great day when the Saviour shall come in the clouds!—Then shall his fear be for ever removed, and all his anxious doubts shall [Page 214] vanish as the smoke; then with an accent of melodious sweetness, with a look diffu­sing love and joy ineffable, the great Re­deemer shall welcome him, together with all those who have been faithful unto death, shall welcome them and say, "Come ye blessed of my Father, receive the king­dom prepared for you from the beginning of the world!"—Nay, he shall vouchsafe to enumerate those general deeds of Chris­tian benevolence, which such souls have performed through their faith in him: and not only enumerate, but acknowledge them, as if they had been conferred upon himself,—"Inasmuch as ye did it unto the least of these my brethren, ye did it unto me."^*

How forcible, how affectionate a motive to us, now in the day of our pilgrimage, to be diligent, continually and unweari­edly diligent in all such acts and offices of love! Christ will accept them, our Redeemer, our Judge, our hope and our all, will accept our tender charities to his members, and our fellow-creatures; will accept our works of faith and labours of love,^† as if we had been happy enough to [Page 215] have had an opportunity of performing them, even to his own person. And pub­lishing the grateful tidings to all around, he will allow us to partake of his triumph, and to enter, amidst his returning saints and angels, those regions of glory and peace, where we shall live with him, and enjoy everlasting happiness.

But we will refer to our next chapter what we have to add respecting the peculi­ar blessedness of that state, and the exqui­site misery reserved for those "who know not God, and who obey not the Gospel of our Lord Jesus Christ, who will be pun­ished with everlasting destruction, from the presence of the Lord, and from the glory of his power,^* when he shall be revealed from heaven with his mighty angels, in flaming fire, taking vengeance; and when he shall come to be glorified in his saints, and to be admired in all them who believe in that day."^† A passage of scripture which cannot fail greatly to influence those who give it that attention which it [...] impor­tance [Page 216] deserves: for who can think of ever­lasting destruction, from the presence of the Lord, and the glory of his power, without an anxious desire to avoid that destruction, the very terror of which chills the heart.

CHAP. XX.

ETERNAL punishment! Eternal life! What awful words! What solemn events! Who can read them and be unconcerned? Who can think of them, and be indifferent to the momentous truths they impart?— Were our existence to terminate with the present passing scene, indulgence might be laudable, and every self-gratification right.^* [Page 217] "Let us eat and drink, for to-morrow we die: let us crown ourselves with rose-buds; let none of us go without his part of our vo­luptuousness;" would then be the language of reason and truth.—But eternity before us —consummately blessed, or consummately wretched—and death every moment shak­ing his dart triumphantly over us, preparing to strike once and strike no more;—can it be possible that any rational being should remain unsolicitous, and neglect to pre­pare for the important realities of eternity, while chasing, with unremitted ardor, the fugitive vanities of time and sense?

Yet, alas! many beings, proud of their faculties, and boasting their superior rea­son—are found, are daily found, immers­ed in sin, and rivetted to the world;— heedless of God, of themselves, and im­mortality! uninfluenced by every motive of gratitude, unmoved by every argument of interest to obey the voice of Religion and Truth, and to secure the eternal sal­vation of their souls! Oh, that they would indulge one serious reflection; that they would condescend a while to meditate with us, on the miserable woe reserved for those who forget their God:—on the inexpress­ible comforts which they shall reap in joy, who love and serve him.

[Page 218]Think then, my fellow-creatures, oh! think of that awful day of which we spoke before,^* and imagine, if you can, the hor­ror which must seize the souls of those who hear the dreadful sentence. "Depart, ye cursed, into everlasting fire!"—Driven from the presence of God, which is itself complete and perfect joy; driven from the society of those best-beloved friends, whose kind remonstrances they would not hear on earth, and now—ah! fatal separation—now must never, never more hear or behold! And driven thence—aggravating circum­stance! even by the condemnation of that Lord of love, who, desirous to bless and to save, freely shed even his own most precious blood, and as freely would have given them life, had they but humbly asked it.^†

And were not this, only this expulsion from God, from Christ, from Heaven—of itself a hell sufficient, yet what horrors re­main behind? They shall be driven into the lake which burneth with fire and brim­stone, whose actual and insufferable tor­tures shall aggravate the mind's inward hor­ror. [Page 219] —Oh! "who can dwell with everlasting burnings!"^* yet where, where shall one drop of water be found to cool the parched tongues? who can dwell where devils and condemned souls shall mix their mutual and insulting taunts and upbraidings? where there shall be no society, but a so­ciety in common accusations, and where, every gentle passion expelled, the tumult­uous workings of despairing minds shall miserably confuse and distract each other.

There too the passions, which were in­dulged and gratified on earth, shall become severe tormentors, ever craving, yet ne­ver finding gratification; ever consuming the anxious heart, themselves never con­sumed.—There the worm of an accusing conscience never dieth; there the flame of self-condemnation and burning guilt shall never, never be quenched.^†

Where shall the soul find comfort? shall it be in the companions of its earthly crimes condemned to the same place of [Page 220] woe? Alas, those companions will then be sound the sharpest thorns to goad the guilty mind. Fierce hate will seize the place of former love, and they will curse each other in the bitterness of their souls, as the mutual causes of each other's undo­ing. But, little consolation being found in accusing others, their upbraidings will speedily recoil upon themselves.^* Then only will be heard—(ah me! the very thought is anguish) for ever heard, dire gnashings of teeth, weeping and wailing, execrations and sorrow.—Yet neither is this all: for though peace and rest enter not there; though one gleam of joy shall never pierce through the darkness of their distress; yet all this, and more, might be borne well, very well—did hope, fair com­forter! who comes to all, did she but ever come, and cheer the wretched sufferers with the sweet alleviation, that, years on years passed by; that ages upon ages gone; a period will be put to this consummate [Page 221] misery, and the prisoner of hell be set free. But this hope is withdrawn.^*—

Oh eternity, eternity!—how fearful is the thought! And wilt thou, oh man, for the momentary delusions of sin, plunge into this gulph of punishment unutterable, unending!

At least, my soul, let the prospect be profitable to thyself; and struck abundant­ly with its horrors—infinitely more alarm­ing than thou canst imagine or paint— turn thy view, and let us contemplate the more pleasing scene, the life eternal, and endless pleasures which the dear Redeem­er hath in store for those who, by patient [Page 222] continuance in well doing, seek for glory, honour, and immortality.^*

But if an inspired Apostle, who was fa­voured with the rapturous prospect, de­clares, that it hath not even entered into the heart of man, to conceive the greatness and excellency of the good things reserved for the righteous; how shall we attempt to spell them out, dark habitants in cotta­ges of clay! May it not suffice to know, that the happiness we expect, will be in every view complete? happiness, without the least mixture or alloy of discontent or dissatisfaction.^†—Pleasing truth! yet not entirely sufficient to gratify our thirsty and inquisitive souls.

In condescension to our weakness,—or perhaps I might say—our strength—(for earnest desires after the knowledge of im­mortality, doubtless bespeak the soul im­mortal)—however in great goodness cer­tainly, the Lord of life has vouchsafed to us some glimpses of that future felicity,^§ [Page 223] which may render us desirous to know more, and animate every endeavour to­wards the possession of so exalted a good.

We feel evil so sensibly, that perhaps we can form a better idea of heaven from its negative, than its positive blessings. Who among us is a stranger to sickness, to sorrow and pain? Who among us is a stranger to the comfort which would fol­low an entire exemption from these corpo­ral evils?—Now in heaven, our bodies spiritualized, and our souls made perfect, we shall never know pain of body, or pain of mind: sorrow and tears shall never have admission into those realms of joy.^*

But happy as our state should be, freed from those cruel spoilers of our peace, yet of death and dissolution we are certain, the eminence of our bliss would only ren­der the stroke more dreadful. In heaven [Page 224] to secure the perpetuity of our delight, there shall be no more death:^* this mor­tal shall put on immortality—and eternal­ly free from pain and sorrow, we shall fear no end of the transporting scene.

Positive blessings, numberless and unut­terable, shall attend these negative ones. God will not only wipe away all tears from our eyes!—will not only invest us with eternal security in bliss; will not only remove every thing defiling and noxious from those regions of joy; but he himself will dwell amongst us, and be our God.^† —He the adorable Father, with the Lamb of Love, and the Spirit of Holiness, shall be the object of our divine contemplation. —He, the blessed and all-glorious Deity, whose presence is joy, and bliss, and hea­ven, shall be the life, the light, the praise of the new Jerusalem, and all its divine inhabitants!^‡ Love shall reign triumphant in every heart, every pure and celestial desire shall be gratified in full: every ho­ly and devout affection shall find its ade­quate supply; and one uninterrupted scene [Page 225] of thankfulness, serenity, and comfort, shall smile eternally, and eternally be found; where the harps of ten thousand times ten thousand shall unceasingly be tuned to the praises of the Father of mer­cies, and the Lamb who sitteth on the throne, for ever, and ever.^*

Come then, Lord Jesus! come and put a speedy period to this miserable world of confusion and sin! Hasten, blessed Lord, hasten thy kingdom; whence every evil shall be wholly removed, and where all good shall be found which can perfect the bliss of men and angels! Faint and dark, indeed, are our earth-bound conceptions of this consummate glory, and of that which thou hast purchased for thy servants —purchased at a price which may justify our most elevated hopes, even at the price of thine own life, and ever precious blood! Yet through the riches of thy wondrous grace, the humble Christian, who by faith now enters into rest, hath some sweet fore-taste, some pleasing anticipation of the joys to come.

Love, grateful love, looking to thee, [Page 226] seels a transport which enraptures the soul, fills it with sweet complacence towards all its fellow-creatures; and makes the afflic­tions of this transitory world light and easy to be borne—nay, which makes death itself no longer formidable, but devoutly to be wished, as the happy conveyance of an imprisoned spirit to its God and its hope: to its freedom and perfection: to its dear departed friends, and all the joys of a blissful immortality.

Give me, oh! give me divine love, the bountiful bestower of every good gift! shall I experience the beginning of heaven in my heart, and die with full persuasion that the fair bud will burst into a perfect blossom—that my joys, begun in grace, will be ere long consummated in glory everlasting.^*

For thee, too, my Reader, let me offer up this fervent prayer: "Oh! mayest thou feel and be made perfect in the love of Christ!" so will thy life be blessed be­low; [Page 227] so will thy death be comfortable;^* so wilt thou be made partaker of thy Sa­viour's kingdom.

Serious and important have been the subjects which have employed our mutual meditations: may they be impressed no less strongly on thy heart than on my own: may they awaken thee, if careless, to a life of devout meditation; may they con­firm thee in that life, if happily thou art already devoted to it. This, this you may be certain is the only road to peace; this, this you may rest assured of is the only true wisdom of human nature.

Earnestly wishing thee much success in thy Christian course, I bid thee farewel; and exhort thee to keep thine eye stedfast on the author and finisher of thy salvation. All besides, will fail and forsake thee.^† [Page 228] But a little while, and as well the hand which hath written, as the eye which reads these lines, shall become cold and inac­tive, and moulder in the dust: speedily, oh my friend, our days will be complet­ed, and we must bid an eternal adieu to all things here below! Then let us live like men conscious of this solemn truth— let us live like those who know they must ere long die; who know that they must live for ever.—So shall we make sure our own sal­vation;^* and, however, strangers to each other here, shall meet and rejoice toge­ther in that blissful kingdom above, where sorrow and affliction shall be known no more.