of a human voice; you must recollect that you are now alone upon the earth; or, if you want society, you had better look for it among the beasts of the field than among the ruined species to which you belong; unless indeed the Almighty, in pity to your desolation, should send his angels before the appointed time, that you might learn to forget in their society the outcast objects of your former sympathies. But to go abroad into human society, to walk amongst beings who are now no longer your fellow-creatures,-to feel the charity of your common nature rising in your heart, and to have to crush it within you like a sin, to reach forth your hand to perform one of the common kindnesses of humanity, and to find it withered by the recollection, that however you may mitigate a present pang, the everlasting pang is irreversible; to turn away in despair from these children whom you have now come to bless and to save (we hope and trust both here and for ever)!-perhaps it would be too much for you; at all events, it would be hard to state a degree of exertion within the utmost range of human energy, or a degree of pain within the farthest limit of human endur

ance, to which you would not submit, that you might have one companion on your lonely way from this world to the mansions of happiness. But suppose, at that moment, that the angel who brought the first intelligence returns to tell you that there are beings upon this earth who may yet be saved, that he was before mistaken, no matter how,-perhaps he was your guardian angel, and darted from the throne of grace with the intelligence of your salvation without waiting to hear the fate of the rest of mankind,—no matter how,-but he comes to tell you that there are beings upon the earth who are within the reach of your Redeemer's love, and of your own,—that some of them are now before you, and their everlasting destiny is placed in your hands; then, what would first occur to your mind?—privations, dangers, difficulties? No: but you

would say, Lord, what shall I do? shall I traverse earth and sea, through misery and torment, that of those whom thou hast given me I may not lose one?

We are not indeed called to perform duties to such an awful extent, but we are called

upon to perform several duties of the same description. It may be yours to move amongst your fellow-citizens, diffusing a Christian's charity and a Christian's example through many a circle of society; to heal many a broken heart; to cheer many a wounded spirit; at least you will not forsake these children :-that indeed should be your light and delightful duty. On the mature and the aged, many a gift falls dead and unvalued-many a seed is sown that never springs into harvest. But here, where youth is flexible and genial (and the decency in which they now stand before you proves how the seed is cultivated), every grain that you sow may bring forth an hundred-fold, bearing fruit to everlasting life.

SERMON XII.

1 CORINTHIANS, xiii. 12 and 13.

Now we see through a glass darkly; but then, face to face: now I know in part, but then shall I know, even as also I am known. And now abideth Faith, Hope, Charity, these three; but the greatest of these is Charity.

IT must sometimes appear very extraordinary, that God has not thought fit to give us more information respecting the pains and pleasures of the world to which we are fast approaching. We know, indeed, that there are the torments of hell and the delights of heaven;-that there are sufferings, compared with which, all the misery that we can undergo upon the earth would appear rest and tranquillity; and that there is a fulness of joy that would make all earthly happiness seem vanity and vexation of spirit."

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This "we see in a glass darkly:" but when we attempt to explore those glorious

mansions of unextinguishable happiness, or those awful regions of hopeless misery, or to discover of what particular kind are those sufferings and those enjoyments, our search is stopped. We find that, in a great measure, "clouds and darkness rest upon them," and that we shall not well comprehend their nature, until the day when we shall be wrapped in the flames that shall never be quenched, or mantled in the glories that shall shine as the firmament, for ever and ever.

It is very natural that our curiosity should feel mortified at the disappointment; but, besides, we cannot help conceiving that if we were better acquainted with these punishments and these enjoyments, we should be more powerfully restrained from sin and more vigorously excited to obedience. We cannot help thinking, that if the miserable man who is storing up "wrath for himself against the

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day of vengeance,"-in drunkenness and debauchery, in an unholy conversation, in an old heart, unchanged and unsanctified,-only knew what were the particular agonies that awaited him in the world to come, he could not proceed in his course of misery and perdition;