always eschew those things that are contrary to our holy profession, and follow all such things as are agreeable to the same,-through our Lord Jesus Christ."

SERMON V.

THE FORCE OF CONSCIENCE.

GENESIS xlv. 3.

And Joseph said unto his brethren, I am Joseph; doth my father yet live? And his brethren could not answer him, for they were troubled at his presence.

In the whole range of literature, ancient and modern, we meet with nothing, that, for unaffected simplicity and pathetic interest, is equal to the scripture narration of the History of Joseph. As combining entertainment with instruction, it is a favourite of our early years, and is lastingly remembered through life and whenever we recur to it in our manhood, the same impressions revive, with unabated pleasure, but with increasing benefit,-on account of the various matters of instruction that it affords or suggests to us. This will be acknowledged by every one, who is in the habit of reading the bible, and especially by those who have been accustomed to read it from their childhood. It is scarcely necessary

to observe, upon a history so familiar to every one, that the text relates to that point of time, when Joseph made himself known to his brethren. They had already, while they were ignorant of who he was, informed him of the state of their father and his family; but he, having now ordered his servants to withdraw, and being alone with them, informs them, while his sensations of joy and tenderness were almost too strong to allow the utterance of words, that he is their brother;—and, as is the case when the feelings of men are strongly agitated, he asks them for information, on a point upon which they had already satisfied him-whether his father were still living. The effect of this declaration and this question upon his brothers was such, that they, too, were surprised with sensations to which they were unable to give utterance. "And Joseph said unto his brethren, I am Joseph; doth my father yet live?

And his brethren could not answer him, for they were troubled at his presence." They were troubled; yet not for the same reasons that he was. It was a trouble of a different kind, and of a different origin. His was a trouble, arising merely from the expression of an overwhelming tenderness, mixed with some innocent endeavour to affect their hearts by a discovery which he knew must alarm them,-for when he saw that they were affected by it, he repeated to them the assurance of who he was, but added to it the main circumstance which then was uppermost in his own mind, as he knew it must also be in theirs.“ I am

Joseph your brother, whom ye sold into Egypt." Theirs, then, was a trouble arising from CONSCIENCE; and it is upon this particular that I purpose chiefly to discourse.

Conscience is a balance to the affections and passions of men,-to keep them even and moderate, and to confine them to their proper objects and uses. It is a guardian within our breasts,-placed there by the Almighty to preserve the purity of our minds. We often, from our natural dislike of a restraint, rebel against it, as we do against every thing else that opposes our inclinations; but it is not like some other restraints, to be broken through and then forgotten, but it recurs to us again and again. Some men are wise enough to consult their consciences upon most of the affairs of life,—and are particularly careful not to offend against it; because they thinkand think justly--that it is, as it were the representative of God himself speaking within them. To them, therefore, it is, like the holy scripture, "a light to their feet, and a lantern to their paths." Others, from the force of a depraved disposition, are desirous of casting it off altogether, as too troublesome a check upon their conduct;-and they succeed in some measure, but not entirely. They may, to use the Apostle's expression, "sear" it, and render it callous to a great degree; but still they cannot wholly destroy its natural sensibility. If we could look into the hearts even of the most wicked of men, we should find that, while to the world they appear hardened

against all feeling, they have many bitter moments of compunction and self-reproach. It cannot be otherwise :—because a moral sense of right and wrong, and a sentiment of approbation or disapprobation of their own actions, are as natural to men, and are as much a part of their constitution, as the bodily senses of sight and hearing, or any other faculty. Conscience is as essential to a rational creature, as consciousness is. Let a man's temper be ever so daring, and his actions ever so bad,—yet, when he has quitted his companions and is quite alone, there will be moments in which he must reflect upon his conduct;-and then his conscience will upbraid him, and raise those blushes in secret, which he has sufficient hardihood to disguise afterwards to other men, and even to himself. A proof that this must be the case is, that nothing offends a man of such character more than an allusion, however tacit, to any thing that he has done wrong. He feels that his own conscience sufficiently upbraids him, and that he needs no outward rebuke to remind him of his fault. Indeed, he considers such rebuke as an offence both to his pride and his conscience. St. Paul recognizes this doctrine, where he speaks of the conscience of the heathen, as "accusing or excusing one another." He, it is true, applies it to the natural notions men have of God, and of the duties which, as moral and religious creatures, they owe to him; but it may properly be applied to every thing that relates to human conduct.