as soon relinquish those gratifications for equal to its importance every other virtue which he lives, as the devout Christian will spring up, as it were spontaneously, in would give up his daily intercourse with his the mind, and a high degree of excellence, Maker. But it is not in stated acts merely both public and private, be instinctively purthat such devotion lives,-it is an habitual sued. In such a case, how happy would be sentiment which diffuses itself through the the distinguished individual, and how inconwhole of life, purifying, exalting, and tran-ceivably benefited and blessed would be the quilizing every part of it, smoothing the community!

most rugged paths,-making the yoke of Pious sovereigns are at all times, the richduty easy, and the burden of care light. It est boon which heaven can bestow on a is a perennial spring in the very centre of country. The present period makes us more the heart, to which the wearied spirit be- than ever sensible of their importance. A takes itself for refreshment and repose. period in which law has lost its force, rank In this language there is no enthusiasm. its distinction, and order its existence; in It is in spite of the cold raillery of the scep- which ancient institutions are dissolving, tic, the language of truth and soberness.- and new powers, of undescribed character, The Scriptures ascribe to Christian piety this and unheard of pretension, are involving very efficacy; and every age and nation fur-Europe in contests and convulsions of which nish countless instances of its power to raise no human foresight can anticipate the end. the human mind to a holy heroism, superior In what manner we may be affected by this to every trial! Were there not,' says the unprecedented state of things, what perils sober and dispassionate Tillotson, some- we may have to face, what difficulties to thing real in the principles of religion, it is struggle with, or what means of final extriimpossible that they should have so remark-cation may be afforded us, it is not in man to able and so regular an effect, to support the determine. But certain it is, that even in mind in every condition, upon so great a number of persons, of different degrees of understanding, of all ranks and conditions, young and old, learned and unlearned, in so many distant places, and in all ages of the world, the records whereof have come down to us. I say so real, and so frequent, and so regular an effect as this, cannot with any colour of reason, be ascribed either to blind chance or mere imagination, but must have a real and regular, and uniform cause, proportionable to so great and general an effect.'*

We are persuaded that if the subject of this chapter be considered with an attention

• Sermon, XI,

the most threatening circumstances, the obvious, unaffected, consistent piety of the sovereign will do more to animate and unite a British public, than the eloquence of a Demosthenes, or the songs of a Tyrteus; and it will be as sure a pledge of eventful success, as either the best disciplined armies or the most powerful navies. Who can say how much we are indebted for our safety hitherto to the blessing of a king and queen who have distinguished themselves above all the sovereigns of their day, by strictness of moral conduct and by reverence for religion? May their successors, to the latest posterity, improve npon, instead of swerving from their illustrious example!

CHRISTIAN MORALS.

In moral actions, Divine law holdeth exceedingly the law of Reason to guide a man's life; but in supernatural it alone guideth.-Hooker.

As a slight memorial of sincere esteem and cordial friendship, this little sketch of
CHRISTIAN MORALS

is, with strict propriety, Inscribed

TO THE REV. THOMAS GISBORNE,

Of Yoxall Lodge;

IN HIS WRITINGS AND IN HIS LIFE, A CONSISTENT CHRISTIAN MORALIST.

PREFACE.

MR. POPE, in his Essay on Criticism, has asserted, that the 'last and greatest art' of literary composition is the art to blot.' With a full conviction of the difficulty and the duty of this art, the Author of the following pages ventures to insist, even in contradiction to this high authority, that there is, in writing, an art still more rare, still more slowly learned, still more reluctantly adopted-the art to stop.

But when shall this difficult, but valuable, art, be resorted to? At what precise moment shall we begin to reduce so wholesome a theory to practice? It may be answered-at the period when time may reasonably be suspected to have extinguished the small particle of fire which the fond conceit of the author might tempt him to fancy he once possessed.

But how is he to ascertain this critical moment of extinction? His own eyes, always dim in the discernment of his own faults, may have become quite blind. His friends are too timid,

or too tender, to hazard the perilous intimation. If his enemies, always kindly ready to perform this neglected office of friendship, proclaim the unwelcome truth, they are probably not believed. The public, then, who are neither governed by the misleadings of affection, nor influenced by the hostility of hatred, would seem to be the proper arbiters, the court from whose decision there should lie no appeal.

But if, through generous partiality to good intentions, or habitual kindness to long acquaintance, that the public, instead of checking, continue to cherish, the efforts which they have been accustomed to indulge, and the author be tempted still to persist in writing, may he not be in imminent danger of wearing out the good humour of his protectors, by a successive reproduction of himself-of abusing their kindness, by the vapid exhibition of an exhausted intellect?

May the writer of the following pages, without incurring too heavily the imputation of vanity, be permitted to observe, that there is a sense in which the favour she has uniformly experienced is honourable to that public who have conferred it? Their indulgence has never been purchased by flattery; their support has never been in payment for softening errors that require, not be qualified, but combated; has never been a reward for incense offered to the passions, for sentiments accommodated to whatever appeared to be defective in any reigning opinion, in any prevailing practice. They have received with approbation unvarnished truth, and even borne with patience bold remonstrance. In return, she is willing to hope, that she has paid them a more substantial respect, by this hazardous sincerity, than if she had endeavoured to conciliate their regard by indirect arts and unworthy adulation.

Next to injuring any reader, her deepest regret would be to offend him ; but when the questions agitated are of momentous concern, would not disguising truth, or palliating error, be, as to the intention, the worst of injuries, however powerless the writer might be in making a bad intention effectively mischievous? Sincere, therefore, as would be her concern, if any stroke of her pen

Should tend to make one worthy man her foe,

yet the feeling of having contributed to mislead a single youthful mind, by the suppression of a right, or the establishment of a false principle, would be more painful than any censures which an imprudent honesty might draw down upon her.

If the humble work now presented to the world, be of little use to the reader, the writer is willing to hope it may not be altogether unprofitable to herself. If it induce her more strenuously to cultivate the habit of rendering speculation practical, if it should dispose her to adopt more cordially what she is so prompt to recommend, she will then have turned to some little account the hours of pain and suffering under which it has been composed.

She does not, however, absurdly presume to plead pain and suffering as an apology for defects in a work which she was at liberty not to have undertaken; for, with whatever other evils sickness may be chargeable, it imposes on no one the necessity of adding one more to the countless catalogue of indifferent books.

Barley Wood, December 10th, 1812.

CHAP. I.

CHRISTIAN MORALS.

vey? If he is convinced by the more essential truths it imparts, is not some trivial disOn the writers of pious books. agreement of opinion, in a matter on which ALL the things in this world carry in them persons may differ without any charge such evident marks of imperfection, are so against the piety of either, made to defeat all liable to be infected with error, good is sepa- the ends of improvement! Is not an insigrated from evil by such slight partitions, and nificant, perhaps an ill founded objection, the deflection from what is right is so easy, suffered to invalidate the merit of the whole that even undertakings which should seem work? Is not this eagerly detected fault most exempt from danger are yet insecure triumphantly kept in the fore-ground, while in their conduct, and uncertain in their issue.all that is valuable is overlooked and its effiWriting a soundly-religious book might cacy defeated; the criticism being at once seem to put in the claim of an exempt case; intended to give prominence to the error of but does experience prove that the ex- the writer and the sagacity of the critic? emption is infallible? The employment is Another reader is probably searching for good, the motive is likely to be pure; the brilliancy when he should be looking for work may be unexceptionable in its tenden-truth, or he is only seeking a confirmation cy, and useful in its consequences. But is of his own opinions, when he should have it always beneficial to the writer in the pro- been looking for their correction. portion in which he intends it to be profitable to the reader? Even of the reader, is his own improvement always the leading aim? Does a critical spirit never diminish the benefit which the book was calculated to con

As to the writer, is he not in danger of being absorbed in the mechanical part of his work, till religious composition dwindles into a mere secular operation? May he not be diverted from his main object by an over-at

tention to elegance, to correctness, to ornament;-all which indeed are necessary; for if he would benefit he must be read, if he would be read he must please, if he would please he must endeavour to excel;-but may he not, in taking some, take too much pains to please, and so become less solicitous to benefit, to the injury both of his reader and himself? May not the very lopping and pruning his work, the flowers which he is anxiously sticking into it, the little decorations with which he is setting off those parts which he fears may be thought dry and dull, raise a sensation in his mind not unlike that which a vain beauty feels in tricking out her person? May he not, by too much confidence in his own powers, be blind to errors obvious to all but himself; or else may he not use the file too assiduously, and by overlabour in smoothing the asperities of his style, diminish the force of his meaning, and polish honest vigour into unprofitable elegance ?

tion, to allow them to work without hope. If hope flatters, she at least supports; thus something is achieved which else would not have been done at all. Again, the timid writer foresees that many objections may be raised to his work. This would amount to a disqualifying dejection, did he not take comfort in the chance that his censors may possibly disagree among themselves as to the points deserving criticism, and that one may even commend what another condemns. Thus his mind is kept in a just equilibrium ; without the expectation of censure, he would be vain; without some hope of approbation, even the purity of his intention might not always secure him from despondency.

But though no mixed motives or human feelings in the author ought to interfere with those of the reader, who has only to do with the book, and not with the man, it is of no small moment to himself, that both feelings and motives be pure. It is of the last importance that he do not impose on himself the Some indeed have been so indulgent to au- belief, that he has only the honour of relithors under their many difficulties, as to al-gion at heart, when literary renown, or viclow them a certain mixture of inferior ex-tory over an adversary, may be the predo citement, as an under help to assist such minating principle. He will also be careful motives as are more pure. If they did not that his best endowments be not converted feel a little too full of their work, when it was under their hand, it has been said, they would not devote to it the full force of their mind. This anxiety, or rather this absorption, it is presumed, lasts no longer than till the immediate object is accomplished. It retreats indeed, but waits for the author, seizes him again with undiminished force on his next undertaking. If he fancied that his former subject was all in all while his mind was intent upon it, that preference, like the fondness of an animal for its young, which is lost when they no longer need its fostering care, is transferred to the next.

As this ardour in a rightly-turned mind will not be sufficiently durable to ripen into vanity, but will cool as soon as the end for which it was exerted is answered; it will not materially injure the conscientious writer; for he will probably, when the impetus is taken off, as much undervalue his work, as he had before over-rated it. But woefully deficient in humility is that author, whose enthusiasm does not subside, when it is no longer necessary to keep alive the spirit of his undertaking! Convicted indeed will he be of vanity, who persists in thinking his work as glowing, as when, with a judgment dazzled by his ardour, he viewed it hot, and fresh-drawn from the furnace!

into implements of injury; he will be cautious that his learning, which is so useful to arm his zeal, do not help to encumber it; that his prudence, which is so necessary to moderate, do not extinguish it.

But if he comes off clear from these temptations, other and greater lurk behind. He should bear in mind, that in composing a religious work for the public, he is producing the best part of himself: that he is probably exhibiting himself to others as much better than he is; for whatever be the faults of his own character, it is his bounden duty to conduct his reader to the highest approach to excellence. Independent of his general defects, he is at least carefully keeping out of sight every vain thought which may have stolen upon him while writing, every evil temper which may have assailed him, every temptation to indulge too ardent a wish that his book may procure praise for himself, as well as benefit to his readers. To flatter himself inordinately on this head, as well as in over-anticipating the great effects it will produce, is not, perhaps, the smallest of his dangers. That very self knowledge which he has perhaps been inculcating on others, would preserve him from an undue estimation both of himself and his book.

It was the sneer of a witty, but discouraBut perhaps when a man engages in any ging satyrist, that, To mend the world's a little service, if he did not in some degree vast design.' It is, indeed, a design from exaggerate its value, in his hope of its utility, which the purity of his motive may not alhe would want one motive for attempting it. ways secure the humility of the author. Is it not therefore a smaller evil that he Yet modestly to aim at ameliorating that should a little magnify its importance to his little portion of it which lies within his imimagination, than that complete hopeless-mediate sphere, is a duty out of which he ness should totally deter him from all enter- should not be laughed by wits and epigramprise? Natural índolence is in many, too matists. Instead of indulging unfounded powerful a subduer even of religious exer- hopes of improbable effects, the Christian

feeling of disdain, any sentiment of indignation, against any individual whom he may bear in mind; nor will he indulge the unwor thy wonder how such or such a person will be mortified at the exposure of a fault to which he is addicted. Nor will he harbour in his bosom an uncharitable vehemence against those whom the reproof may suit, nor a secret self-complacent certainty, that if any thing can do them good, this must do it; that though they hear not Moses and the Prophets, they cannot but listen to his pointed admonitions-that they can never stand out against such persuasions as he has to offer-never resist such arguments as he has prepared for their conviction.

writer will be humbled at the mortifying cautious not to mix with his just censure, any reflection, what great and extensive evil the most insignificant bad men may effect, while so little comparative good can be accomplished by the best. But it is to be regretted, that even religion is no sure protection against the intrusion of vanity, that it does not always secure its possessor from overrating his own agency, from fondly calculating on the unknown benefits which, by his projected work, he is preparing for mankind. A pious Welch minister, many years ago, being about to publish a sermon, previously consulted the writer of these pages how many thousand copies he ought to print. He felt not a little shocked at her advising him to reduce his thousands to hundreds, scores she did not dare advise. As she had foreseen, not half a dozen were sold, except a few, charitably taken off his hands by his friends. At her return soon after, from the metropolis, he hastened to her with all the ardour of impatience, and seriously inquired, whether she had observed any material reformation at the court end of the town, since the publication of his discourse,

But what is still a more serious danger, has he never been tempted to overlook his own faults while he has been exposed to those of others; and this, though the failing he is condemning, may be peculiarly his own? With just indignation against the of fences he is reproving, has he never once forgotten to mingle tender compassion for the offender, remembering, that he himself is sinful dust and ashes; that he also stands in need of infinite mercy, and has been only rescued by that mercy from being on a level with the worst objects of his just disapprobation.

Among the many unsuspected but salutary checks to the vanity of a pious writer, it will not be the least, that his very popularity may make the intrinsic value of his work questionable; that he may be indebted for its favourable reception, not to its excellen- It would, notwithstanding, be the highest cies, but its defects, not to the deep, but to degree of unfairness, to prefer a charge of the superficial views he has taken of reli- injustice, hypocrisy, or even inconsistency, gion; that it may be more acceptable only against an author, because his life in some because it is less searching; that if he has respects, falls short of the strictness of his pleased, it may be owing to his having been writings. It is a disparity almost inseparamore cautious than faithful. If there is rea- ble from this state of frail mortality. He may son to suspect that success arises from his have fallen into errors, and yet deserve to having skimmed the surface of truth, when have no heavier charge brought against him he ought to have penetrated its depths, that than he has brought against others. Infir he has reconciled the reader to Christianity mity of temper, inequality of mind, a heart and to himself by a disengenious discretion, though fearing to offend God, yet not sufby trimming between God and the world, ficiently dead to the world ;-these are the by concealing truths he ought to have lingering effects of sin imperfectly subdued, brought forward, or by palliating those he in a heart which yet longs, prays, and ladurst not disavow: popularity thus obtained bours for a complete deliverance from all its will afford ground of humiliation rather than corruptions. of triumph. In avoiding these, and all similar errors, he will also not fail to bear in mind, that He who gave the talents, gave also the right bent to the use of them, and that, therefore, he has no more ground for boasting of the application than of the possession.

When a pious writer treats on any awful topic, he writes under a solemn conviction of its vast importance; he trembles at the idea of not being entirely faithful, of not being valiant for the truth, of not being honestly explicit, of not declaring the whole counsel of God. His own heart is deeply imWhen he is called upon by the nature of pressed with the dignity of his subject, and his subject to expatiate strongly on this he deprecates the thought of shrinking from vice, or to point out the danger of that error, the boldest avowal of every truth, or of withdoes he never feel a sort of conscious supe- holding the most powerful enforcement to riority to certain individuals of his acquaint- the practice of every virtue. He is appre ance, who may be infected with either, and, hensive lest, on the one hand, when he asfor a moment, be tempted to sit rather in sails vice or error, he should appear to inthe seat of the scorner, than in that of the dulge a violent or vindictive spirit, and be counsellor? On such occasions, there is no-magisterially lifting his fallible self into the thing which he will more carefully watch, chair of authority; lest his attack on the than the temper of his own mind. When duty compels him to be severe against any false opinion, or wrong practice, he will be

vice might be construed into uncharitableness to the man. On the other hand, he is fearful lest by being more forbearing he

should be less upright; lest if he tried to which could ever justify his holding out an soften he should deceive; lest, by indulging inferior standard. If there is any point in too much a spirit of conciliation, he should which he eminently excels, he has the best compromise truth for human favour.-Ho- of all possible reasons for pressing it upon nest though imperfect, sincere though falli-others-his own experience of its excelble, he endeavours to bring his principles, lence. If there be any in which he unhappihis faith, and his convictions, into full opera-ly fails, he is clearly justified in recommendtion; he warmly declares what he cordiallying it from the humbling sense of his own defeels, and faithfully testifies what he firmly ficiency in it. Thus he will in either case believes. inforce truth with equal energy, from causes But when he comes to act, he is sometimes diametrically opposite. Is it not then obvibrought to be too keenly sensible of the very ous that as there is no vanity in insisting on a fault in himself, against which he has been virtue because the writer possesses it, so cautioning others; deeply does he lament there is no hypocrisy in recommending a that he feels strong remains in himself of quality because he himself is destitute of it? that corruption of which it was not the less But if, through the so frequently alleged his duty to direct his attacks. Some temp-imperfection attached to humanity, christation presses him, some infirmity cleaves to tian writers do not always attain to the exhim. These unsubdued frailties prove that cellence they suggest, let us not therefore he is a man, but they do not prove that he is infer that their principles are defective, their a hypocrite. The truth is, the religious wri-aims low, or their practical attainments ter is sometimes thought worse than other mean. Let us not suspest that it is not the men, because his book was considered as a endeavour of their life, as much as the depledge that he should be better. It was ex- sire of their heart, to maintain a conduct pected that the faults he described he would which shall not discredit their profession, avoid; the passions he had blamed he would Above all, let us be cautious of concluding suppress; the tempers he had exposed he that they do not believe what they teach, bewould have subdued. Perhaps it will com- cause they have passions like other men; monly be found that the reader had expected provided we observe them struggling with too much and the writer had done too little. those passions, and making a progress in The writer on religious topics is however their conquest over them, though that prothe person who of all others ought to watch gress be impeded by natural infirmity, himself most narrowly. He has given a pub- though it be obstructed by occasional irritalic pledge of his principles. He has held out tion. The triumphant detector of the disa rule, to which, as others will be looking cordance between the author and his book with a critical eye to discover how far his knows not the secret regrets, hears not the conduct falls short of it, so he should him- fervent prayers, witnesses not the penitenself constantly bear in mind the elevation of tial sorrows, which a deep sense of this dishis own standard; and he will be more cir- agreement produces in the self-abasing cumspect from the persuasion, that not only heart. To instance in a familiar case-In his own character but that of religion itself the heat of conversation with the author, he will suffer by his departure from it. The has probably marked an impatient word, a consciousness of the inferiority of his prac- hasty expression, a rash judgment; these he tice to his principles, if those principles are treasures up, and produces against him; but truly scriptural, will furnish him with new he does not hear, in the writer's nightly remotives to humility. The solemn dread lest view of the errors of that day, his self rethis inconsistency should be produced against buke for this unsubdued impetuosity, his rehim at the last day, is a fresh incentive to solutions against it, the earnest prayer which higher exertions, stirs him up to augmented perhaps at this moment is carrying forward vigilance, quickens him to more intense the gradual subjugation of his temper. prayer. He experiences at once the con- Yet his reputation might suffer in another tradictory feeling of dreading to appear bet-way; for if the critic could hear these humter than he really is, by the high tone of pic-bling confessions of the writers in question, ty in his compositions, or of making others he would be ready to conclude that they worse by lowering that tone in order to bring were Sinners above all the Galileans.' his professions nearer to the level of his life. Whereas the truth most probably is, that Perhaps the most humiliating moment he they are so alive to the perception of the evil can ever experience is, when by an acciden- of their own hearts, that things which would tal glance at some former work he is re- be slight faults in the estimation of the accuminded how little he himself has profited ser, to them appear grave offences. Things by the very arguments with which he may which they lament as evils of magnitude, have successfully combated some error of would to the less tender conscience be impalthe reader; when he feels how much his pable, imperceptible. For instance,-While own heart is still under the dominion of that the caviller would call even the omission of wrong temper of which he has forcibly ex-prayer a venial fault; they would call a posed the turpitude to the conviction of heartless prayer a sin; where the one would think all was well if the literal performance There is, however, no personal reason had not been neglected, the other would be VOL. II.

others.

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