Hereby we minister to our own enjoyment.

We read of

the luxury of doing good. The very act of kindness is accompanied with the most refined complacency. "The good man," says Solomon," shall be satisfied from himself." He refers not to the pride of self-flattery, but to the testimony of a good conscience. The pleasures resulting from christian kindness and benevolence are of a nature peculiarly refined and exalted, because they spring from a consciousness of well-doing. Self-satisfaction, without having the moral sense exercised to discern between good and evil, is an unenviable and despicable enjoyment. If we feel and think with any degree of justness respecting right and wrong, every sinful pursuit and pleasure must be mixed with disapprobation and painful apprehension. On the contrary, the due exercise of our moral powers supposes a regularity and subordination in all the parts of our spiritual constitution, which, in the nature of things, is inseparable from enjoyment. In this, indeed, all proper mental enjoyment consists. If it is pleasing to observe the order and harmony which pervade all the operations of the natural world, much more to perceive in ourselves the existence of a moral harmony regulating all our affairs, and directing them to their proper objects. In ministering to the afflicted, for example, how can any unpleasing sensation arise in the mind, when every disposition excited is marked with gentleness, amiableness, and kindness, and by a conformity to the precepts and example of the Redeemer? It is an evidence that we have not believed in vain, and that we have been renewed in the image of our minds. Many seem afraid of this species of enjoyment, and count all delight but that of faith to be a mere effervescence of self-righteousness, which only produces spiritual pride. Why then has our Lord pronounced his seven-fold beatitude on the graces of a renewed mind? Why has he so solemnly connected happiness with holiness? The angels are happy because they are

holy. The felicity of heaven is the perfection of holiness. In proportion, therefore, as we give up ourselves to the influence and government of christian charity, we approach to the felicity of the heavenly world. This happiness is enhanced by the good we are instrumental in effecting. The sensibility which causes us to sympathize with the sorrows of the afflicted renders us equally susceptible of their joys; and how delight. ful the pleasures which we thus receive. Sweet is the opening of spring; to mark the sterile winter putting forth the promise of fruitfulness, the cheerless trees mantling themselves with foliage, the herbage shooting out its tender blade,—the flower opening its beauties,—and the birds resuming their sprightliness and song; but how inferior such pleasures when compared with that which arises from the contemplation of a withered family reviving,-the glow of health returning on the emaciated cheek,-peace and joy lighting up the eye which had been overcast with gloom and despondency,-and vivacity animating the tongue that had long uttered only dejection and mourning; and how much is the pleasure increased when we can reflect that, instrumentally, it is our own work; and when the tearful eye is turned to us with overflowing gratitude, and the swelling heart pours forth a tide of thankfulness on account of our work of faith and labour of love. This affords the purest and liveliest joy that can thrill through the human heart. This happiness Job has described in glowing terms;" when the ear heard me, then it blessed me; and when the eye saw me, it gave witness to me; because I delivered the poor and the fatherless, and him that had none to help him. The blessing of him that was ready to perish came upon me, and I caused the widow's heart to sing with joy."

It will secure for us suitable sympathy in the day of calamity. The vicissitudes of life forbid any man from concluding, whatever be his present circumstances, that he shall

never stand in need of the help of others. What, though like Job, he wash his steps in butter, and the rocks pour him out rivers of oil, yet, like him, he may be the subject of those ruinous disasters which no shrewdness could foresee, and against which no vigilance could provide. Let us suppose, however, that he has been kind and benevolent in the days of his prosperity,—that he has dealt his bread to the hungry, ministered to the sick, visited the fatherless and widow in their affliction, and that along with temporal blessings he has dispensed the higher blessings of the gospel, pouring out with every sacrifice of benevolence the "wine of the kingdom; will not the kindness he has shown to others be a loadstone to attract their hearts to him? and will he not receive back, in a full tide, the streams of consolation which had ebbed from his own heart, to fill the empty channels of his neighbours' happiness? Who can be unkind to him who has been kind to all? What heart so cruel as to refuse to sympathize with him who, like his divine master, has gone about doing good? For him the face of pity will exhibit its softest expression, and to him the voice of love will utter its sweetest consolations. Even those who have not been befriended by him will be touched with pity for him. Such a man in distress interests all hearts in his favour; he is a vessel foundering which had been employed in succouring and rescuing the famished and the drowning. But should it so occur that he should look in vain for some one to pity and relieve him, will he fail to receive the more ample testimony of his sympathy, who is the "God of all comfort?" "Blessed is the man that considereth the poor, the Lord will deliver him in the day of trouble." "Consider the poor, and the Lord will strengthen thee on thy bed of languishing." "When thou seest the naked, cover him; hide not thyself from thine own flesh; then shall thy light break forth as the morning, and thy health shall spring forth speedily, and thy righteousness shall go before thee;

and the glory of the Lord shall be thy rereward. Then shalt thou call, and the Lord shall answer; thou shalt cry, and he shall say, here am I."

It will contribute to your spiritual instruction and improvent. "It is better," says the wise man, "to go to the house of mourning, than to go to the house of feasting; for by the sadness of the countenance the heart is made better." He does not represent sorrow as a state more eligible than joy; he considers the sadness which is induced by the contemplation of scenes of affliction in the light of discipline only. He views it with reference to an end. He compares it with certain improvements which he supposes it to produce, and which he regards as far outweighing in value every fleeting sensation of joy. It contributes to our improvement by the impressive views we derive from scenes of affliction.

They teach us the evil of sin. In a world where temptations to sin so extensively abound, where every situation, and object, and relation, hides innumerable dangers, we cannot have too deep an impression of its evil nature, and fearful consequences. In proportion as our minds are affected by the consideration of its exceeding sinfulness, and of the calamitous effects it has produced, and which are, after all, only a presage of the still greater woes that await the impenitent in the world to come, we shall be induced to view it with abhorrence, and to watch against its temptations. And what so likely to excite such considerations as the dwelling of affliction? O, is it possible to enter the house of mourning, -to take our station at the bed side of the sick and dying,

"That post of observation, darker every hour,”—

to behold all the solemn apparatus of death,— the darkened room, the whispering attendants,-the weeping friends,— the thrilling pains, which medicine cannot alleviate,-the

shortened breath,-the struggle for life,-the glazed eye,and at length the lifeless corpse, and reflect as we survey the scene, all this is the work of sin! such are the miseries it has entailed upon our race!—and not execrate an evil which has occasioned so much misery,—not resolve to pluck up the root of bitterness?

They teach us the vanity of the world. The world is ever an ensnaring object to a christian, and the danger increases in proportion as he is indulged with prosperity and ease. When his life continues to flow on in one smooth current, unruffled by any calamity; when, happy in himself, he sees nothing but what is agreeable around him; how liable is he to forget that this is not his rest, that here he is only a stranger and sojourner;" and how soon does his heart begin to cleave to the dust. What then so likely to contribute to his security, as frequent visits to the house of mourning? When some affecting scene of misery presents a strong discovery of the deceitfulness of earthly joy, and rouses our sensibility of earthly woe; when we see some who were once prosperous and happy, sunk by unexpected calamities into poverty and distress; or when in sad silence we stand by the friend whom we had loved as our own soul, and see him stretched on the bed of death, then the world begins to appear in a new light; its instability and vanity impress themselves with irresistible conviction upon our minds; we are led to feel by what a frail tenure we hold our possessions here; our desires and expectations of earthly bliss are restrained and modified; and we are taught to " rejoice as though we rejoiced not ;" and to " weep as though we wept not; " that is, neither in grief nor in joy to run to excess, but to use the world so as not to abuse it, "knowing that the fashion thereof passeth away."

They admonish us of the value of time. It was an excellent prayer of Moses, "so teach us to number our days, that we