A serious call to a devout and holy life

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A

SERIOUS CALL

TO A

DEVOUT AND HOLY LIFE^

Sfc. 6{c.

CHARACTERS OF THIS WORK.

1. By Dr. Johnson.

When at Oxford, I took up Laic's Serious Call to a IToly Life, expecting U>
find it a dull book (as such books generally are), and perhaps to laugh at it ;
but I found Law quite an overmatch for me, and this was the first occasion of
my thinking in earnest of religion, after I became capable of rational
inquiry. — Vide Boswelfs Life of Johnson, 3rd edit. vol. I. p. 43.

2. He much commended ' La-'s Serious Call,'' which he said was the finest
piece of hortatpry theology in any language. — Ibid. vol. 2. jp. 118.

3. This excellent treatise is wrote ia a strong and nervous style, and abounds
with many new and sublime thoughts : in a word, one may say of this book,
as Sir Richard Steel did of a Discnurse of Dr. South's, that it has in it what-
ever Kit or wisdom could put together; and I will venture to add, that who-
ever sits down, without prejudice, and attentively reads it throughout, will
rise up the wiser man and better Christian. — Vide Gctits. Mag, Nov. 1800.

4. The Writings of the Rev. W7n, Law will remain an everlasting testimony of
the strength and purity of the English language. — John Wesley.

Serious Call

TO A

DEVOUT AND HOLY LIFE,

ADAPTED TO

THE STATE AND CONDITION OF ALL ORDERS
OF CHRISTIANS.

BY WILLIAM LAW, A. M,

(Rg^teetttli ttntion.

CO RRECTED.

To which is added,

SOME ACCOUNT OF THE AUTHOR,

AND

THREE LETTERS TO A FRIEND,

Not before published in any of his Works. Also, TWO LETTERS from
Clergymen in the Establhhed Church, strongly recommending the Serious
Call, and other Works of the Author. — His Character by Edward Gibbon,
Esq., the Roman Historian, and a List of all his Works.

He that hath ears to hear, let him hear. — St. Lvkg viii. 8.

And behold I come quickly, and my reward is with me. — Rev. xzii> IS*

LONDON :

PRINTED FOR WILLIAM BAYNES, 54, PATER-
NOSTER'ROW ;

ST J. AND J. JACKSON, MARKET-PLACE) LOUTH.

1816.

f<^ CtfvJi-tw^ A-^eX- f«-V ^^^"^

SOI\IE ACCOUNT

OF THE

REV. WILLIAM LAW,

&c. (fcc.

THE Rev. William Law, of Kin-s ClilTe, in Nor-
thamptonshire, was born in the year 1686, being" the
second son of Mr. Thomas Law, grocer.

It is very probable that he received the rudiments
of his education at Oakham, or Uppingham, in Rut-
landshire: on the 7th of June, 1705, he became a
student in Emmanuel College, Cambridge.

In the year 1708 he commenced Bachelor of Arts ;
in 1711 was elected Fellow of the College of which
he was a Member; and, in 1712, commenced Master
of Arts.

Soon after the accession of his Majesty King George
I. Mr. Law being called upon to take the oaths pre-
scribed by act of parliament, and to sign the Declara-
tion, refused to do so; in consequence of which he
vacated his fellowship in 1716, and from thencefor-
ward was distinguished by the name of a non-juring
minister.

That he was at one time a curate in London appears
from a passage in one of his letters, not yet printed,
or from some other good authority ; but whether he
acted in that capacity while Fellow of Emmanuel, or
soon after he vacated his fellowship, cannot now be
determined ; but it is well known, that he soon went
to reside at Putney with Mr. Gibljon, as tutor to his
son Edward Gibbon, who was father of Edward Gib-
bon the younger, author of " The History of the De-
cline and Fall of the Roman Empire."

a3

VI SOME ACCOUNT OF

In the year 1717 Mr. Law engaged in controversy,
by writing in favour of the authority of the Christian
ministry in a national church.

In his parish church he joined in the public wor-
ship of God ; in his parish church, and there only, he
joined in celebration of the sacred rite of the Lord's
Supper; and in the same ground with those, who
were united to him by these acts of religion, he lies
interred.

In the year 1727 Mr. Law founded an alms-house
for the reception and maintenance of two old women,
either unmarried and helpless, or widows ; also a
school, for the instruction and clothing of fourteen
girls.

In the year 1755, the lands appropriated to the
support of his houses produced yearly fifty-four pounds
sterling; they now produce sixty-nine pounds ster-
ling, a rise inadequate to the increased value of the
produce.

As Mr. Law's first publications were well received,
and as he had been in Mr. Gibbon's family as tutor
and chaplain for some years before 1727, he might
have had the means of founding the widows' house,
and of educating fourteen girls, without the assistance
of any friend ; and perhaps he did so, although it is
by many believed, that the money so applied was the
gift of an unknown benefactor.

By Mr, Thomas Law, now living at Clilfe, the
grandson of Mr. George Law, who was the eldest
brother of William, it is said, that while Mr. Law was
standing at the door of a shop in jjondon, a person
unknown to him asked whether his name was William
Law, and whether he was of King's Cliffe; and, after
having received a satisfactory answer, delivered a
sealed paper, directed to the Rev. William Law, which
contained a bank note for one thousand pounds; and
it is believed by Mr. T. Law, that by those means the
small alms-house at Cliffe was built and endowed.

After i\Ir. Law retired to King's Cliffe, he refused

THE REV. W. LAW. Vll

to take payment for the copies of his publications. It
is said that his bookseller, Mr. Richardson, once pre-
vailed upon him to accept one hundred guineas.

At what time after the year 1732 Mr. Law quitted
Mr. Gibbon's house at Putney, and went to reside in
London, the author of this memoir cannot learn ; but
he has authority for saying-, that, some time before the
year 1740, he was instrumental in making Mrs. Hes-
ter Gibbon, his pupil's sister, acquainted with Mrs.
Elizabeth Hutcheson, widow of Archibald Hutche-
son, Esq. of the Middle Temple. ,

Mr. Hutcheson, when near his decease, recom-
mended to his wife a retired life, and told her, that he
knew no person whose society would be so likely to
prove profitable and agreeable to her as that of Mr.
Law, of whose writings he highly approved. Mrs.
Hutcheson, whose maiden name was Lawrence, had
been the wife of Colonel Robert Steward ; and, when
she went to reside in Northamptonshire, was in pos-
session of a large income, from the produce of an es-
tate which was in her own power, and of a life-interest
in property, settled on her in marriage, or devised to
her by Mr. Hutcheson.

These two ladies, Mrs. Hutcheson and Mrs. H. Gib-
bon, much devoted to God, and desirous of living en-
tirely to his glory, by the exercise of love to their
Christian brethren, formed the plan of living together
in the country, and in retirement from that circle of
society generally, but absurdly, called the world ; and
of taking TMr. Law as their chaplain, instructor, and
almoner.

We may be sure that their purpose was to cultivate
those good qualities, which best prepare the heart for
the enjoyment of that blessed region, " where all
worketh and willeth in quiet love."

In execution of their laudable design, they took a
house at Thrapstone, in Northamptonshire; but that
situation not proving agreeable to them, the two la-
dies enabled Mr. Law, in the year 1740, or soon af-

a4

Vlll SOME ACCOUNT OP

terwards, to prepare a roomy house near the church
at King's ChfFe, and in that part of the town called
'' The Hall Yard." This house had belonged to Mr.
Thomas Law, and was then possessed by William, the
only property devised to him by his father. It had a
good garden annexed, and a close of pasture ground ;
in one corner of which the small alms-house, built by
W. Law, now stands. Part of the land, at this time
in possession of Mr. Law's kinsman, T. Law, was, in
small parcels, purchased at different times by Mrs. H.
Gibbon, and by her devised to- the son of William
Law's nephew, who made additions to the estate by
purchases after Mrs. Gibbon's death ; and, dying un-
married, devised the whole to his brother, Mr. Tho-
mas Law.

The presence of Mr. Law, no doubt, contributed
to make the house in " The Hall Yard " a blessed
place of retreat ; the whole income of his tv/o female
friends being devoted to the relief of the poor, and all
their time to the cultivation of that good seed, which
the adorable Lover of Mankind had sow^n in their
hearts. Mrs. Hutcheson's annual income was little
more or less than two thousand pounds, and that of
Mrs. Gibbon nearly one thousand.

As the expenditure within the house was, in all re-
spects, remarkably frugal, very great must have been
the expenditure without; so great as to make those
at Cliffe, who remember Mr. Law and his companions,
say, that their acts of charity were boundless.

The daily distribution of food and raiment at their
door never ceased, nor the granting of occasional re-
lief to the sick and needy. It is said, that the report
of such munificence spread to places far from Cliffe,
and produced applications from many whose wants
were less pressing than the want of necessary food and
raiment, and that such were often gratified by chari-
table donations.

Mr. Edward Gibbon says, that his aunt Hester was
the original from whence the character of Miranda, in

THE REV. W. LAW. IX

the Serious CdW, was drawn ; but, as that lady was
very young- in her father's house when the Serious
Call was written, it seems likely that she was rather
an imperfect copy than a model, and that the original
existed only in Mr. Law's imagination.

It is said, and pixibably with truth, that Mr. Law,
while employed by Mr. Gibbon as tutor to his son,
acted voluntarily in giving tuition to his daughter ; and
that his pious instructions made an early and lasting*
impression on the mind of his female pupil, though
they had but little eifect on that of her brother. AVhy
a considerable part of the family estate was devised to
her and her sister, Mrs. Elliston, mother of Lady
Eliot, in prejudice of the heir at law, cannot now be
accounted tor in a satisfactory manner. After the
lapse of half a century, Mrs. Hester Gibbon's share
reverted into the natural channel by her will, and was
for a short time enjoyed by Edward Gibbon, who long-
expected it: but not without apprehensions, that his
aunt would devise it to some of those friends with
whom she had spent her life.

In the year 1761, on the morning of the 9th of
April, Mr. Law departed in the joyful hope of a bless-
ed life in regions of peace and love. He bore with
patience the severe pains of an internal inflammation,
which caused his death. When near expiring, he
sang a hymn with a strong and very clear voice.

Either before he sang the hymn, or soon after, he
is said to have spoken words, by which it was evident
that he felt the powers of the world to come : — " I
feel a sacred fire kindled in my soul, which will destroy
every thing- contrary to itself, and burn as a flame of
divine love to all eternity."

In such a triumph of holy joy did this extraordinary
servant of God resign his blessed spirit into the hands
of his beloved Lord and Master, at the place of his
nativity, the town of King's Cliife, in the county of
Northampton! And in the church-yard of that pa-
rish he lies interred, under a handsome tomb, erected

X SOME ACCOUNT OP

to his memory by a particular and dear friend^ who
lived many years with him, and therefore had long
known, and highly and justly esteemed his singular
worth.

Whether we take his character from reports, or
from his writings, we must revere his memory ; believ-
ing that few have been his equals in this age, and not
many in any age of the church. The wisdom given
to him was such as wc cannot suppose to reside in any
but those who are of a contrite and humble spirit, and
tremble at their Master's word.

By the works of which he was the author, during
the last twenty years of his life, it plainly appears,
that, in love of all goodness, no person exceeded him ;
in labours designed to draw all to the service of that
Master, of whose loving-kindness and mercy he spoke
copiously in ail his writings, he was never v/eary : to
speak good of his name seems to have been his great-
est delight; and the hrst wish of his heart, that he
and all mankind might enjoy the full benefit of that
wonderful act of love, by which the gates of heaven
were open to all believers. Deliver us from evil, was
his daily prayer; a petition suited to the minds of
contrite sinners in all places, and on all occasions;
and, in his dying hour, not forgotten by Mr. Law.

Between the years 1717 and 1737, he published
several tracts, all in support of religion in general,
accompanied with the earnest recommendation of
good morals. Of these works, the best known is
'^ The Serious Call to a Devout Life." To this and
other of Mr. Law's first writings, some object, as not
dwelling sufficiently on the means of reconciliation to
God, repentance, and faith.

A few years before the publication of the Serious
Call, he wrote a treatise on Christian Perfection,
which contains excellent doctrine. Some pages of his
best style of writing may be found in it; but what
that work proves might have been explained in fewer
words : it appears to have been superseded by the
Serious Call in public estimation.

THE REV. W. LAW. XI

The style of his censure on the playhouse may be
found fault vvith^ but to the substance of the work no
serious Christian will object: to suc'i a one it must
ever appear^ that the exhibitions at the theatre cannot
please any but those wljose vain minds take pleasure
in vanity. '' Vana \Lmis!" It is to little purpose to
dwell on this subject: those who like shows^ let what
will be saidj will always find arguments in defence of
their favourite amusement; while those who in any
degree regulate their lives by the precepts of the gos-
pel, seeking salvation from a state of sin, will avoid
scenes where the lust of the flesh, the lust of the eyes,
and the pride of life, find ample gratification.

The Serious Call to a Devout and Holy Life is by
many thought his most valuable wqrk. The design
is first to shew, that devotion means devotedness to
God ; and that prayer, public and private, retirement
for meditation and study, are but particular acts of
devotion, and no more than means for the cultivation
of the love of God and man.

In the Treatise on Regeneration, in an Appeal to
all who doubt, &c. in the Spirit of Prayer, in the Way
to Divine Knowledge, and in the Spirit of Love, Mr.
Law uses all the powers of his enlightened mind to
establish this great fundamental truth — that God is
love. He writes copiously on the fail of the first fa-
ther of mankind, knowing that the necessity for the
belief of the greatness of the remedy is best proved by
shewing the greatness of the disease.

Mr. Law was in stature rather over than under the
middle size; not corpulent, but stout-n:ade, with
broad shoulders ; his visage was round, his eyes grey ;
his features well proportioned, and not large ; his com-
plexion ruddy, and his countenance open and agree-
able. He was naturally more inclined to be merry
than sad. In his habits he was very regular and tem-
perate; he rose early, breakfasted iii his bcd-roona

XU SOME ACCOUNT OF

alone on one cup of chocolate ; joined his family in
prayer at nine o'clock,, and again, soon after noon^ at
dinner.

When the daily provision for the poor was not
made punctually at the usual hour, he expressed his
displeasure sharply, but seldom on any other occa-
sion. He did not join Mrs. Gibbon and Mrs. Hutche-
son at the tea-table, but sometimes eat a few raisins
standing while they sat.

At an early supper, after an hour's walk in his
field or elsewhere, he eat something, and drank one
or two glasses of wine ; then joined in prayer with the
ladies and their servants, attended to the reading of
some portion of Scripture, and, at nine o'clock, retir-
ed.

When the children of his nephew came to his house,
as they often did, he was much pleased to see them,
and to take them on his knee. The youngest of
them now (Anno 1813) lives at King's Clitfe, in the
bouse which did belong to Mr. Law.

From a printed Account of the two charitable Foun-
dations at King's Cliffe, in the County of North-
ampton. Dated 1755.

In the year of our Lord, one thousand seven hundred
and forty-five, Mrs. Hutcheson set up a school in the
town of King's Cliffe, for the education and full cloth-
ing of eighteen poor boys of the town of King's Cliffe,
with a salary for a master well qualified to teach them
reading and writing, and all the useful parts of arith-
metic.

Mrs. Hutcheson afterwards bought a school-house
for the master, built a school, and four little tene-
ments adjoining to it, for the separate habitation of
four ancient and poor widows, chosen out of the town
of King's Cliffe, with a weekly allowance.

Por the perpetual maintenance of these charities'.

I

THE REV. W. LAW. XUt

the following estates have, by Mrs. Hutcheson's oitler
and appointment, been conveyed, surrendered, and
sold, tor ever in trust, to G. Lynn, of Southvvick; W.
Pain King", of Finesliade, Esqs. ; to the Rev.C. Bates,
of Easton ; to the Rev. W. Piemont, Rector of King's
Cliffe; to T. Jackson, of Duddington, Gent.; to G.
Law, of JMorehay, Gent.

£. s. d.
One moiety of a certain number of Closes

in the County of Lincoln, let for .... 54 0 0
Land at Aslacton, in the county of Not-
tingham 53 0 0

Two Closes of King's Cliffc 18 10 0

Dealy's Closes 7 10 0

Ruxton Close 7 0 0

Close, near the school-house 8 0 0

^148 0 0

Donatus O'Brien, of Blatherwick, Esq., was, at the
desire of Mrs. Hutcheson, added to the six trustees
before mentioned.

The school, founded for the education and full
clothing of fourteen poor girls of the town of King's
Cliffe, was set up by Mr. Wm. Law, in the year of
our Lord, one thousand seven hundred and twenty-
seven, with a salary for a mistress well qualified to in-
struct them in reading, knitting, and .every useful
kind of needle-work.

He hath since built a school-house and school, and
also two little tenements adjoining to the schools, to be
inhabited separately by two poor ancient unmarried
women or widows, of the town of King's Clifie, with a
weekly allowance hereafter mentioned.

For the perpetual support of these charities, he, the
said \V. Law, hath conveyed for ever in trust, to G.
Lynn, of Southwick ; to D. O'Brien, of Blatherwick ;
to W. Pain King, of Fineshade, Esqs., and to the Rev
C. Bates, of Easton ; to the Rev. W. Piemont, Rector

XIV SOME ACCOUNT OF

of King's Ciiile ; to T. Jackson, of Duddington; Gent.,
and to George Law, of jMorehay, Gent.

1. The aforesaid scliool and school-house, and the
two little adjoining- tenements.

2. One moiety of a certain number of closes atNor-
thope, in Lincolnshire, let for fifty-four pounds per
annum.

The gross annual income arising at present. Anno
1813, from Mr. Law's portion of the estates, amounts
to sixty-nine pounds.

The gross annual income arising at present from
Mrs. Hutcheson's portion of the estates, amounts to
three hundred and eight pounds, eighteen shillings^
and sixpence.

£. s. d.

Mr. Law's 69 0 0

Mrs. Hutcheson's 308 18 6

^377 18 6

The rise of rent, from fifty-four to sixty-nine
pounds, at the end of fifty years, must appear small,
when the increased price of the products of all lands is
taken into consideration.

Mrs. Hutcheson died in January, 1781, aged 91.

Mrs. Gibbon died in June, 1790, aged 86.

The remains of Mr. Law were placed in a tomb
built by Mrs. Gibbon.

When Mrs. Hutcheson died, her remains were
placed, by her particular desire, at the feet of Mr. Law,
in a new tomb.

Mrs, Gibbon was interred with Mr. Law.

\_See a more full and complete Life of the Author,
unth Extracts from his Works. By R. Tighe. 8vo.
1813. Sold by Hatchdrd, Piccadilli/.']

THE REV, W. LAW. XV

Testimony concerning Mr. Law, by Edward Gibbon,
Esq. ( Vide Memoirs.)

" A LIFE of devotion and celibacy was tlie choice of
my aunt, Mrs. Hester Gibbon, who at the age of
eighty-five still resides in a hermitage at Chlte, in
Northamptonshire, having- long- survived her spiritual
guide and faithful companion, Mr. William Law, wiio
at an advanced age, about the year 1761, died in her
house. In our family he had left the reputation of a
worthy and pious man, who believed all that he pro-
fessed, and practised all that he enjoyed. The charac-
ter of a non-juror, which he maintained to the last, is
a sufficient evidence of his principles in church and
state, and the sacrifice of interest to conscience will be
always respectable. His theological writings, which
our domestic connexion has tempted me to peruse,
preserve an imperfect sort of life, and I can pronounce
with more confidence and knowledge on the merits of
the author. His last compositions **********
*********, and his discourse on the absolute un-
lawfulness of stage entertainments **********.
But these sallies ****** must not extin2:uish the
praise which is due to Mr. Wm. Law, as a wit and a
scholar. His arguments are specious and acute ; his
manner is lively ; his style, forcible and clear : — had not
his vigorous mind been clouded by enthusiasm, he might
be ranked with the mostag-reeable and ingenious writers
of the times. While the Bangorian controversy was a
fashionable theme, he entered the lists on the subject
of Christ's kingdom, and the authority of the priest-
hood Against the Plain Account of the Sacrament
of the Lord's Supper, he resumed the combat with
Bishop Hoadley, the object of Whig idolatry, and
Tory abhorrence ; and, at every weapon of attack and
defence, the noii-juror, on the ground which is com-
mon to both, approves himself at least equal to the
prelate. On the appearance of the Fable of the

XVI SOME ACCOUNT OF

Bees, he drew his pen against the Hcentious doctrine,
that private vices are pubhc benefits, and moraht}^, as
well as religion, must join in his applause. Mr.
Law's master-work, tiie Serious Call, is still read as a
popular and powerful book of devotion. His precepts
are rigid, but they are founded on the gospel ; his
satire is sharp, but is drawn from the knowledge of
human life ; and many of liis portraits are not unwor-
thy the pen of La Bruyere. If he finds a spark of
piety in his reader's mind, he will soon kindle it to a
flame ; and a philosopher must allow, that he exposes,
with equal severity and truth, the strange contradic-
tion between the faith and practice of the Christian
world. Under the names of Flavia and Miranda, he
admirably describes my two aunts, the heathen and
the Christian sister."

Such is the character this famous historian is com-
pelled, by the spirit of truth, to give to the piety and
goodness of Mr. Law :-^the list of his works, which
we now insert, together with two excellent letters
from clergymen in the established church, referring to
them and him, is taken from the Gent. Mag. Nov.
1800.

His works are,

L A Serious Call to a Devout and Holy Life,
adapted to the State and Condition of all Orders of
Christians. 8vo. and 12mo.

2. A Practical Treatise upon Christian Perfection.
8vo. and 12mo.

3. Three Letters to the Bishop of Bangor. 8vo.

4. Remarks upon a late Book, entitled, " The Fa-
ble of the Bees ; or. Private Vices Public Benefits."
8vo.

5. Tlie absolute Unlawfulness of Stage Entertain-
ments fully Demonstrated. 8vo. ,

6. The Case of Reason ; or. Natural Religion fair-
ly and fully Stated. 8vo.

THE REY. W. LAW. XVll

7. An earnest an serious Answer to Dr. Trapp's
Discourse of the Folly, Sin, and Danger of being-
Righteous over much. 8vo.

8. The Grounds and Reasons of Christian Rege-
neration. 8vo,

9. A Demonstration of' the gross and fundamental
Errors of a late Book, called, " A plain Account of
the Nature and End of the Sacrament of the Lord's
Supper/' affectionately addressed to all Orders of
Men, and more especially to all the younger Clergy.
8vo.

10. An Appeal to all that doubt or disbelieve the
Truths of the Gospel. 8vo.

11. The Spirit of Prayer ; or, the Soul rising out of
the Vanity of Time into the Riches of Eternity. 1q
Two Parts. 8vo. and 12mo.

12. The Spirit of Love. In 2 Parts. 8vo. and 12mo.

13. The Way to Divine Knowledge; being several
Dialogues between Humanus, Academicus, Rusticus,
and Theopholus, as preparatory to a new Edition of
the Works of Jacob Behmen, and the Right Use of
them. 8vo.

14. A short but sufficient Confutation of the Rev.
Dr. Warburton's projected Defence (as he calls it) of
Christianity, in his Divine Legation of Moses. In a
Letter to the Right Rev. the Lord Bishop of London.

15. A Collection of Letters on the most interesting
and important Subjects, and on several Occasions.
8vo.

16. Of Justification by Faith and Works ; a Dia-
logue between a Methodist and a Churchman. 8vo.

17. An humble, earnest, and affectionate Address
to the Clergy. 8vo.

His Works, making in all 9 vol. 8vo.

•'^VllI SOME ACCOUNT OF

Scarborousih, December %\, 1771.
1. '' Sir,

*^ Sunt certa piacula, quce te

Ter pure lecto poterunt recreare libello.' Hor.

" As I have an universal love and esteem for all
mankind, so particnlarlj for my brethren of the esta-
blished church, of which I should think myself an un-
worthy member, did I not take all opportunities of
doing g^ood, according to the abilities with which God
has enabled me. But as I have ever thought a con-
cern for men's souls to be preferable to that of their
bodies; so I have, in a more special manner, extended
my charity to that better part. We live in an age
wherein numerous objects present themselves to our
view, that are destitute of every virtue that can make
them worthy of the divine favour ; and, consequently,
there never will be wanting occasions for exercising
ourselves in a laudable endeavour for their amend-
ment. I, for my own part, though I live (when at
home) in a small country village, have had sufficient
work upon my hands to bring my parishioners to any
tolerable degree of piety and goodness ; I preached and
laboured amongst them incessantly, and yet, after all,
was convinced my work had been as fruitless as casting
pearls before swine : the drunkard continued his noctur-
nal practices, and the voice of the swearer was still heard
in our streets. However, I was determined to leave
no means untried for bringing this profane and obdu-
rate people to a sense of their duty ; accordingly, I
purchased many religious books, and distributed them
amongst them ; but, alas ! I could perceive no visible
effects. In short, I had the grief to find that all ray
labour had proved in vain, and was ready to cry out
with St. Paul, Who is sufficient for these things ?
About this time, I happened to peruse a treatise of
Mr. Law's, intitled, " A Serious Call to a Devout and
Holy Life ;" with which (if I may be allowed the ex-

THE REV. W. LAW. XIX

pression) I was so charmed and greatly edified, that I
resolved my flock should partake of the same spiritual
food : 1, therefore, gave to each person in my parish
one of those useful books, and charged them upon my
blessing- (for 1 consider them as my children) to care-
fully peruse the same. My perseverance was now
rewarded with success ; and 1 had the satisfaction of
beholding my people reclaimed, from a life of folly
and impiety, to a life of holiness and devotion.

" Before 1 conclude, 1 must beg leave to recom-
mend the afore-mentioned book to the persusal of all
your readers; and I heartily wish they may receive
as much benefit therefrom_, as those have who are
committed to my charge.

" This excellent treatise is wrote in a strong and
nervous style, and abounds with many new and sublime
thoughts : in a word, one may say of this book as Sir
Richard Steele did of a discourse of Dr. South's, that
it has in it whatever wit and wisdom can put together;
and 1 will venture to add, that whoever sits down
without prejudice, and attentively reads it throughout,
will rise up the wiser man and better Christian.

" It remains now only that I mention a word or
two concerning the author. This worthy clergyman
has been accused (by those lukewarm Christians, who
ridicule all degrees of piety that are above the com-
mon standards) of Methodism ; a charge as false as it
is cruel. I say not this as my own private opinion,
but from the testimony of several gentlemen of un-
doubted credit, who are acquainted with his manner of
life and conversation. Indeed, this is sufficiently de-
monstrated in many parts of this author's works,
particularly in his Three Letters to the Bishop of
Bangor, wherein he writes in vindication of the rites
and ceremonies of the church of England : all which
evidently declare the reverend author to be an ortho-
dox divine, and an indefatigable labourer in the Lord's
vineyard.

'* OuRANICJS."

XX SOME ACCOUNT 0F

North Crawley, Februan) Gth, HVZ.

2. -Sir, '^

" i perused the letter signed Oiiranius in your
paper* with that cordial couipiacency_, which every
faithful steward must feel, from observing,- the fur-
therance of his Master's interest ; and I devoutly wish,
that every other fellow-labourer was as assiduous in
sowing the good seed, as the enemy seems in sowing"
the tares.

" But white I approve and applaud Ouranius's zeal
in recommending- that excellent practical summary of
Christian duty, the Serious Call, I seem to regret the
limitation of it to that treatise alone, when to me it ap-
pears that a serious attention to those sublime tracts of
the same divinely-illuminated writer, " The Spirit of
Prayer," and " The Spirit of Love," would be pro-
ductive of at least equal advantages, especially at a
season w^hen the serpent is winding about, insinuating
his deadly poison in arrogant illustrations, and anti-
christian Family Bibles.

" To know whom we worship, to entertain proper
notions of God, is the first necessary principle of true
religion. And these volumes are calculated to convey
such exalted and amiable ideas of God, and to unfold,
in so rational and delightful a manner, the great mys-
teries of redemption and regeneration, that whoever
peruses them with candour and attention, will tind in
them a perfect key to the Holy Scriptures, " having
(if I may be allowed the sacred language) the glory of
God, and his light, like unto a stone most precious,
clear as crystal." And, beside informing his under-
standing, if they do not elevate his heart to an exalted
pitch of love and devotion to his great benefactor,
and cause it to overflow in streams of grateful benevo-
lence to all mankind, he must be among those obdu-
rate insensibles, who need our pity and our prayers.

* This afld the preceding Letter originally appeared in Lloyd's Evening Pu^.

THE REV. Vf. LAW. XXI

" The happy effects here promised arc not the
mere speculative conjectures of fancy, for 1 have only
described what were my own feelings upon the same
occasion. And I will further venture to declare, that I
received more light and satisfaction from the perusal
of these little volumes, than I had been able to extract
from many volumes of letter-learned commentators,
darkened illustrations, and bodies ofdivinity, which I had
before carefully read with the same temper and desire.

" I am so far in the same unfortunate predicament
with Ouranius, never to have enjoyed the blessedness
of that holy man's conversation ; but I have it well
authenticated that he faithfully practised what he
taught; or, in Burkitt's words, that his was " a preach-
ing life, as well as a preaching doctrine." And that
pious disregard and contempt of the riches and ho-
nours of the world, which he so pathetically recom-
mends to others, himself eminently displayed in refu-
sing' some of the best preferments in ihe Bishop of
London's gift, when proferred by his friend. Dr. Sher-
lock, in reward of the unanswerable letters to the
Bishop of Bangor.

" The charge of Methodism I never heard insinu-
ated against him, and could proceed only from those
who must be totally ignorant of the tenets of that sect,
or unacquainted with any among the writings of our
able defender of church discipline and autliority, and
especially of the last except one, " On Justification by
Faith and Works."

'' But not to leave myself liable to reprehension for
the partiality I have noticed in another, 1 am persuad-
ed, that whoever has imbibed knowledge at this pure
fountain will never cease thirsting while there remains
a drop of the sacred spring untasted. xVnd that
every scrip of that divinely-directed pen may be as ex-
tensive as was the writer's benevolence, is the ardent
prayer of your sincere well-wisher.

'' Theophilus."
• Your's, &c. Yj. Cozens.

b3

XXll SOME ACCOUNT OF

The following are the Author's Letters to a friend : —

LETTER L

Worthy and dear Sir,

My heart embraces you with all the tenderness and
affection of Christian love ; and 1 earnestly beg of God
to make me a messenger of his peace to your soul.

You seem to apprehend 1 may be much surprised
at the account you have given of yourself But, Sir,
I am neither surprised nor oii'ended at it. I neither
condemn nor lament your state; but shall endeavour
to shew you, how soon it may be made a blessing and
happiness to you. In order to which, 1 shall not en-
ter into a consideration of the different kinds of trouble
you have set forth at large ; I think it better to lay be-
fore you the one true ground and root, from whence
all the evil and disorders of human life have sprung.
This will make it easy for you to see what that is,
which must and only can be the full remedy and relief
for all of them, how different soever, either in kind or
degree.

The Scripture has assured us, that God made man
in his own image and likeness ; a sufficient proof that
man, in his first state, as he came forth from God,
must have been absolutely free from all vanity, want,
or distress of any kind, from any thing, either within
or without him. It would be quite absurd and blas-
phemous to suppose, that a creature, beginning to
exist in the image and likeness of God, should have a
vanity of life, or vexation of spirit. A god-like per-
fection of nature, and a painful distressed nature,
stand in the utmost contrariety to one another.

Again ; the Scripture has assured us, that man that
is born of a woman hath but a short time to live, and'
is full of misery ; therefore, man now is not that crea-
ture that he was by his creation. The first divine and
god-like nature of Adam, which was to have been kn-
mortally holy in union with God, is lost ; and, instead
of it, a poor mortal of earthly flesh and blood, born like

THE REV. W. LXVf. XXlll

a >vild ass's colt, of a short life, and full of misery, is,
through a vain pilgrimage, to end in dust and ashes.
Therefore, let every evil, whether inward or outward,
only teach you this truth— that man has infallibly lost
his first divine life in God ; and that no possible com-
fort, or deliverance, is to be expected, but only in this
one thing — that though man had lost his God, yet God
is become man, that man may be again alive in God,
as at his first creation. For all the misery and dis-
tress of human nature, whether of body or mind, is
wholly owing to this one cause — that God is not in
man, nor man in God, as the state of his nature re-
quires ; it is because man has lost that first life of God
in his soul, in and for which he was created. He lost
this light, and spirit, and life of God, by turning his
will, imagination, and desire, into a tasting and sensi-
bility of the good and evil of this earthly, bestial
world.

Now, here are two things raised up in man, instead
of the life of God ;— first, self, or selfishness, brought
forth by his choosing to have a wisdom of his own,
contrary to the will and instruction of his Creator;
secondly, an earthly, bestial, mortal life and body,
brought forth by his eating that food, which was poi-
son to his paradisaical nature. But these must, there-*
fore, be removed : that is, a man must first totally die
to self, and all earthly desires, views, and intentions, be-
fore he can be again in God, as his nature and first
creation requires.

But now, if this be a certain and immutable truth,
that man, so long as he is a selfish, earthly-minded
creature, must be deprived of his true life, the life of
God, the spirit of heaven in his soul ; then how is the
face of things changed ! for then, what life is so much
to be dreaded as a life of worldly ease and prosperity ?
what a misery, nay, what a curse, is there in every
thing that gratifies and nourishes our self-love, self-
esteem, and self-seeking ? On the other hand, what
a happiness is there in all inward and outward trou-

b4

XXIV SOME ACtOUNT OP

bles and vexations, when they force us ib feel and
know the hell that is hidden within us, and the vanity
of every thing- without us; when they turn our self-
love into self-abhorrence, and force us to call upon
God, to save us froir. ourselves, to giv€ us a new life,
new lig'ht, and new spirit in Christ Jesus.

O ^lappy famine! might the poor prodigal have
well said, which by reducing me to the necessity of
asking to eat husks with swine, brought me to myself,
and caused my return to my first happiness, in my
father's house.

Now, Sir, I will suppose your distressed state to be
as you represent it ; inwardly, darkness, heaviness,
and confusion of thoughts and passions ; outwardly,
ill-usage from friends, relations, and all the world ;
Tinable to strike up the least spark of light or comfort,
by any thought or reasoning of your own.

O happy famine, which leaves you not so much as
the husk of one human comfort to feed upon ! For,
my dear friend, this is the time and place for all that
good, and life, and salvation, to happen to you, which
happened to the prodigal son. Your way is as short,
and your success as certain, as his was. You have no
more to do than he had. You need not call out for
books and methods of devotion : for, in your present
state, much reading and borrowed prayers are not
your best method. All that you are to offer to God,
all that is lo help you to find him to be your Saviour
and Redeemer, is best taught and expressed by the
distressed state of your heart.

Only let your present and past distress make you
feel and acknowledge this two-tbid great truth : first,
that in and of yourself you are nothing but darkness^
vanity, and misery. Secotidly, that, of yourself, you
can no more help yourself to light and comfort, than
you can create an angel. People, at all times, can
seem to assent to these two truths ; but then it is an
assent that has no depth or reality, and so is of little or
no use. But your condition has opened your heart

THE REV. W. LAW. XXf

for a deep and full conviction of these truths. Now
give wi\y, 1 beseech you, to this conviction, and hold
these two truths in the same degree of certainty, as
you know two and two to be four ; and then, my dear
friend, you are, with the prodigal, come to yourself;
and above half your work, is done.

Being- now in the full possession of these two
truths, feeling them in the same degree of certainty
as you feel your own existence, you are under this
sensibility to give yourself absolutely and entirely to
God in Christ Jesus, as into the hands of infinite love ;
firmly believing this great and infallible truth, that
God has no will towards you, but that of infinite love,
and infinite desire to make you a partaker of his divine
nature; and that it is as absolutely impossible for the
Father of our Lord Jesus Christ to refuse you all that
good," and life, and salvation, which you want, as it is
for you to take it by your own power.

O! Sir, drink deep of this cup; for the precious
water of eternal life is in it. Turn unto God with this
faith ; cast yourself into this abyss of love ; and then
you will be in that state the prodigal was in, when he
said, I will arise and go to my father ; and will say
unto him. Father, I have sinned against heaven, and
before thee, and am no more worthy to be called thy
son : — and all that will be fulfilled in you which is re-
lated of him.

Make this, therefore, the two-fold exercise of your
heart : now^ bowing yourself down before God, in the
deepest sense and acknowledgment of your own no-
thingness and vileness ; then, looking up to God in
faith and love, consider him as always extending the
arms of his mercy towards you, and full of an infinite
desire to dwell in you, as he dwells in the angels in
heaven. Content yourself with this inward and sim-
ple exercise of your heart, for a while ; and seek, or
like nothing in any book, but that which nourishes
and strengthens this state of your heart.

Come unto me, says the holy Jesus^ all ye that la-

XXYl SOME ACCOUNT OF

bour and are heavy laden, and I will refresh you.
Here, my dear friend, is more for you to live upon,
more light for your mind, more of unction for your
heart, than in volumes of human instruction. Pick
up the words of the holy Jesus, and beg of him to be
the light and life of your soul. Love the sound of
his name ; for Jesus is the love, the sweetness, the
meekness, the compassionate goodness of the deity
itself; which became man, that so men might have
power to become the sons of God. Love, pity, ancf
wish well to every soul in the world ; dwell in love,
and then you dwell in God : hate nothing but the evil
that stirs in your own heart.

Teach your heart this prayer, till your heart conti-
nually saith, though not with outward words : " O,
holy Jesus ! meek Lamb of God! Bread that came
down from heaven ! Light and Life of all holy souls !
help me to a true and living faith in thee. O ! do
thou open thyself within me, with all thy holy nature,
spirit, tempers, and inclinations, that I may be born
again of thee; and be in thee a new creature, quick-
ened and revived, led and governed by thy Holy
Spirit."

Your's in all Christian affection,

W. LAW.

LETTER H.

Ml/ dear worthy Friend, July 20.

Whom I heartily love in the unity of the Spirit of
Christ. Your long letter I received some time the
last month, and read with much pleasure. For, long
as it was, I did not wish it to be shorter. I bless God
for that good and right spirit, which breathed in every
part of it. As it required no immediate answer, and
you left me to my own time, so I did not intend to
write till last week; but, by accidental affairs, have
been hindered from complying with my intention till
now.

THE REV. W. LAW. XXVll

Your judgment has failed you in nothing, but in
thinking your letter would be disagreeable to me ; or
that my answer was deferred on that account. Every
creature has my love ; but persons of your spirit
kindle in me every holy affection of honour and esteem
towards them. Love, with its fruits of meekness, pa-
tience, and humility, is all that I wish for myself and
every human creature; for this is to live in God,
united to him, both for time and eternity. Would
you have done with error, scruple, and delusion, con-
sider the Deity (as I have said) to be the greatest love,
the greatest meekness, the greatest sweetness; the
eternal unchangeable will to be a good and blessing
to every creature ; and that all the misery, darkness,
and death of fallen angels, and fallen men, consists ia
their having lost this divine nature. Consider your-
self, and all the fallen world, as having nothing to seek
or wish for, but, by the spirit of prayer, to draw into
the life of your soul rays and sparks of this divine,
meek, loving, tender nature of God. Consider the
holy Jesus as the gift of God to your soul, to begin
and finish the birth of God and heaven within you, in
spite of every inward or outward enemy. These three
infallible truths, heartily embraced, and made the
nourishment of your soul, shorten and secure the way
to heaven, and leave no room for error, scruple, or
delusion. The poverty of our fallen nature, the de-
praved workings of flesh and blood, the corrupt tem-
pers of our polluted birth in this world, do us no hurt,
so long as the spirit of prayer works contrary to them,
and longs for the first birth of the light and spirit of
heaven.

All our natural evil ceases to be our own evil, as
soon as our will-spirit turns from it : it then changes
its nature, loses all its poison and death, and only be-
comes our holy cross, on which we happily die from
self and this world into the kingdom of heaven.

I must congratulate you on your manner of prayer :
so practised, it becomes the life of the soul, and the

XXVIII SOME ACCOUNT OP

true food of eternity. Keep in this state of applica-
tion to God, and then you will infallibly find it to be
the way of rising out of the vanity of time into the
riches of eternity.

Do not expect or look for the same degrees of sen-
sible fervour. — The matter lies not there. Nature
will have its share ; but the ups and downs of that are
to be overlooked. — Whilst your will-spirit is good,
and set right, the changes of creaturely fervour lessen
not your union with God. It is the abyss of the heart,
an unfathomable depth of eternity within us, as much
above sensible fervour as heaven is above earth ; it is
this that works our way to God and unites us with
heaven. This abyss of tlie heart is the divine nature
and power within us, which never calls upon God in
vain; but, whether helped or deserted by bodily fer-
vour, penetrates through ail outward nature, as easily
and elfectually as our thoughts can leave onr bodies_,
and reach into the regions of eternity. — 1 am, with
hearty prayers to God for you, your truly affectionate
friend and servant,

W. LAW.

LETTER in.

Ml/ dear L-

■'1 AM greatly rejoiced at your expressing so feeling
a sense of the benefit of prayer; and hope you will
every day be more and more raised to, and united with
God, by it.

1 love no mysterious depths or heights of specula-
tion, covet no knowledge, want to see no ground of
nature, grace, and creature; but so far as it brings
me nearer to God, forces me to forget and renounce
every thing for him, to do every thing in him, and for
him ; and to give every breathing, moving, stirring
intention and desire of my heart, soul, spirit, and life
to him.

It is for the sake of the spirit of prayer that I have

THE REV. W. LAW. XXIX

Endeavoured to set so many points of religion in such
a view as must dispose the reader, willingly, to give up
all that he inherits from his fallen father; to be all
hunger and thirst after God, and have no thought or
care but how to be wholly his devoted instrument
every where ; and, in every thing, his adoring, joyful,
and thankful servant.

When it is the one-ruiing, never-ceasing desire of
our hearts, that God may be the beginning and end,
the reason and motive, of our doing or^iot doing, from
morning to night; then every where, whether speak-
ing or silent, whether inwardly or outwardly employ-
ed, we are equally offered up to the eternal Spirit —
have our life in him and from him, and are united to
him by that spirit of prayer, which is the comfort, the
support, the strength, and security of the soul ; travel-
ling, by the help of God, through the vanityof time
into the riches of eternity.

j\iy dear friend, have eyes shut and ears stopped to
every thing that is not a step in that ladder that reaches
from earth to heaven.

Reading is good, hearing is good, conversation and
meditation are good : but then they are only good at
times and occasions, in a certain degree; and must
be used and governed with such caution, as we eat
and drink, and refresh ourselves, or they will bring
forth in us the fruits of intemperance.

But the spirit of prayer is for all times and all oc-
casions ; it is a lamp that is to be always burning — a
light that is ever shining: everything calls for it —
every thing is to be done in it, and governed by it.
Because it is, and means, and wills nothing else, but
the totality of the soul: not doing this, or that; but
wholly, incessantly given up to God, to be where, and
what, and how he pleases.

The state of absolute resignation, naked faith, and
pure love of God, is the highest perfection and most
purified life of those who are born again from above,
and, through the divine power, become sons of God ;

XX'X SOME ACCOUNT OS"

and is neither more nor less than what our blessed
Redeemer has called and qualified us to long and as-
pire after, in these words : '' Thy kingdom come, thy
will be done on earth, as in heaven."

Near the conclusion of your's, you say, since your
last to me, you have met with a great many trials dis-
agreeable to flesh and blood, but that adhering to God
is always your blessed relief.

Yet permit me on this occasion, to transcribe a me-
morandum or t^vo from an old scrap of paper, which
has long lain by me for my own use.

1. Receive every inward and outward trouble — -
every disappointment, pain, uneasiness, darkness,
temptation, and desolation, with both thy hands, as a
true opportunity and blessed occasion of dying to self,
and entering into a fuller fellowship with thy self-de-
nying, sutfering Saviour.

2. Look at no inward or outward trouble, in any
other view — reject every other thought about it; and
then every kind of trial and distress will become the
blessed day of thy prosperity.

3. Be afraid of seeking or finding comfort in any
thing but God alone ; for that which gives thee com-
fort takes so much of thy heart from God. " Quid
est cor purum ? cui extoto, et pure sufficit solus Deus,
cui nihil sapit, quod nihil delectat, nisi Deus." That
is. What is a pure heart? One to which God alone
is totally and purely sufficient ; to which nothing re-
lishes or gives delight but God alone.

4. That state is best, wliich exerciseth the highest
faith in, and fullest resignation to God.

5. What is it that you want and seek, but that God
may be all in all in you ? But how can this be, unless
all creaturcly good and evil become as nothing in you
and to you?

" Oh anima mea, abstrahe te ab omnibus. Quid
tibi cum mutabilibus creaturis? Solum sponsum
tuum, qui omnium est author creaturarum, expectans,
hoc age, ut cor tuum ille liberum et expeditum sem-

THE REV. W. LAW. XXXI

per inveniat quoties illi ad ipsura venire placuerit."
That is, " O my soul ! withdraw thyself from all
things. What hast thou to do with changeable crea-
tures? Waiting and expecting thy Bridegroom, who
is the author of all creatures, let it be thy only care,
that he may find thy heart free and disengaged as of-
ten as it shall please him to visit thee."

I thank you for your kind offer about the manuscript
in the sale, but have no curiosity that way. I have
had all that I can have from books : I leave the rest
to God. I have formerly given away many of the
lives oi good Armelle, so can have no dislike to your
doing the same. I have often wished for some, or
several little things of that kind, though more accord-
ing to my mind ; by which the meanest capacities might,
in an easy manner, be led into the heart and spirit of

religion.

Dear man, adieu.

XXXii SOME ACCOUNT, &C,

THE ANGELS' HYMN.

Said to have been sung hy the late Rev. W. LaWy when on his
Death Bed.

Thus angels sang;, and thus sing we.
To God on high all glory be !
Let him on earth his peace bestow.
And unto men his favour shew.

Welcome, sweet words ! sweet words, indeed !

In darkness, light through them is spied;
Whate'er is needless, these we need :

Lord, let these words with us abide.

This day sets forth thy praises. Lord ;

Our grateful hearts to thee shall sing.
Our thankful lips now shall record

Thine ancient love, eternal King !

And let the church with one accord.
Resound amen, and praise the Lord.

Hallelujah! Hallelujah!

Hallelujuh! Hallelujah!

SERIOUS CALL

TO A

DEVOUT AND HOLY LIFE.

CHAPTER I.

Concerning the Nature and Extent of Christian
Devotion.

xJevotion is neither private nor public prayer ; but
pmyers^ whether private or public^ are particular
parts or instances of devotion. Devotion signifies a
life given or devoted to God.

He, therefore, is the devout man, who lives no
longer to his own will, or the way and spirit of the
world, but to the sole will of God ; who considers God
in every thing, who serves God in every thing, who
makes all the parts of his common life parts of piety,
by doing every thing in the name of God, and under
such rules as are conformable to his glory.

We readily acknowledge that God alone is to be
the rule and measure of our prayers, that in them we
are to look wholly unto him, and act wholly for him ;
that we are only lo pray in such a manner for such
things, and such ends, as are suitable to his glory.

INow, let any one but find out the reason why he is
to be thus strictly pious in his prayers, and he will
find the same as strong a reason to be as strictly pious
in all the other parts of his life. For there is not the
least shadow of a reason why we should make God the
rule and measure of our prayers, why we should
then look wholly unto him, and pray according to his
will; but what equally proves it necessary for us to

^ A SERIOUS CALL TO A

look wholly unto God, and make him the rule and mea-
sure of all the other actions of our life. ^ For any ways
of life, any employment of our talents, whether of
our parts, our time, or money, that is not strictly ac-
cording* to the will of God, that is not for such ends as
are suitable to his glory, are as great absurdities and
failing's as prayers that are not according to the will
of God. For there is no other reason why our pray-
ers should be according to the will of God, why they
should have nothing in them but what is wise, and
holy, and heavenly, there is no other reason for this,
but that our lives may be of the same nature, full of
the same wisdom, holiness, and heavenly tempers, that
we may live unto God in the same spirit that we pray
unto him. Were it not our strict duty to live by rea-
son, to devote all the actions of our lives to God ;
were it not absolutely necessary to walk before him in
wisdom, and holiness, and all heavenly conversation,
doing every thing in his name, and for his glory, there
would be no excellency or wisdom in the most heaven-
ly prayers. Nay, such prayers would be absurdities ;
they would be like prayers for wings when it was no
part of our duty to fly.

As sure, therefore, as there is any wisdom in pray-
ing for the Spirit o-f God, so sure is it that we are to
make that Spirit the rule of all our actions ; as sure as
it is our duty to look wholly unto God in our prayers,
so sure is it that it is our duty to live wholly unto God
in our lives. But we can no more be said to live unto
God, unless we live unto him in all the ordinary actions
of our life, unless he be the rule and measure of all our
ways, than we can be said to pray unto God, unless
our prayers look wholly unto him. So that unreason-
able and absurd ways of life, whether in labour or di-
version, whether they consume our time or our money,
are like unreasonable and absurd prayers, and are as
truly an often ce unto God.

It is for want of knowing, or at least considering
this, that we see such a mixture of ridicule in the lives

DEVOUT AND HOLY LIFE.

of many people. You see them strict as to some times
and places of devotion ; but when the service of the
church is over, they are bnt like those that seldom or
never come there. In tlieir way of life, their manner
of spending- their time and money, in their cares and
fears, in their pleasures and indulgences, in their la-
bours and diversions, they arc like the rest of the
world. This makes the loose part of the world gene-
rally make a jest of those that are devout, because they
see their devotion goes no further than their prayers,
and that when they ai'e over, they live no more unto
God till the time of prayer returns again, but live by
the same humour and fancy, and in as full an enjoy-
ment of all the follies of life, as other people. This is
the reason why they are the jest and scorn of careless
and worldly people ; not because they are really de-
voted to God, but because they appear to have no
other devotion but that of occasional prayers.

Julius is very fearful of missing prayers; all the
parish supposes Julius to be sick if he is not at church.
But if you were to ask him why he spends the rest of
his time by humour or chance? why he is a compa-
nion of the silliest people in their most silly pleasures ?
why he is ready for every impertinent entertainment
and diversion ? If you were to ask him why there is no
amusement too trifling to please him? why he is busy
at all balls and assemblies? why he gives himself up to
an idle gossiping' conversation? why he lives in fool-
ish friendships and fondness for particular persons^
that neither want nor deserve any particular kindness?
why he allows himself in foolish hatreds and resent-
ments ag-ainst particular persons, without considering
that he is to love every body as himself? If you ask
him why he never puts his conversation, his time, and
fortune, under the rules of religion, Julius has no more
to say for himself than the most disorderly person.
For the whole tenor of scripture lies as directly against
such a life as against debauchery and intemperance.
He that lives in such a course of idleness and folly,

b3

4 A SERIOUS CALL TO A

lives no move according- to the religion of Jesus Christ
than he that lives in gluttony and intemperance.

If a man was to tell Julius that there was no occa-
sion for so much constancy at prayers^ and that he
might without any harm to himself, neglect the service
of the churchy as the generality of people do^ Julius
would think such a one to be no Christian, and that he
ought to avoid his company. But, if a person only
tells him that he may live as the generality of the world
does, that he may enjoy himself as others do, that he
may spend his time and money as people of fashion
do, that he may conform to the follies and frailties of
the generality, and gratify his temper and passions as
most people do, Julius never suspects that man to
want a Christian spirit, or that he is doing the devil's
work.

And yet, if Julius was to read all the New Testa-
ment from the beginning to the end, he would find his
course of life condemned in every page of it.

And, indeed, there cannot be any thing imagined
more absurd in itself than wise, and sublime, and hea-
venly prayers, added to a life of vanity and folly, where
neither labour nor diversions, neither time nor money,
are under the direction of the wisdom and heavenly
tempers of our prayers. If we were to see a man pre-
tending to act wholly vfith regard to God in every
thing that he did, that would neither spend time nor
moneVj or take any labour or diverson, but so far as
he could act according to strict principles of reason
and piety, and yet at the same time neglect all prayer,
whether public or private, should we not be amazed
at such a man, and wonder how he could have so
much folly along with so much religion?

Yet this is as reasonable as for any person to pre-
tend to strictness in devotion, to be careful of observ- '
ing times and places of prayer, and yet letting the rest
of his life, his time, and labour, his talents and money,
be disposed of, without any regard to strict rules of
piety and devotion ; for it is as great an absurdity to

DEVOUT AND HOLY LIFE. O

suppose holy prayers, and divine petitions,, without an
hoUness of life suitable to them^ as to suppose an holy
and divine life without prayers.

Let any one, therefore, think how easily he could
confute a man that pretended to great strictness of
life without prayer, and the same arguments will as
plainly confute another that pretends to strictness of
prayer, without carrying the same strictness into every
other part of life. For to be weak and foolish in
spending our time and fortune, is no greater a mis-
take than to be weak and foolish in relation to our
prayers. And to allow ourselves, in any ways of life,
that neither are nor can be oftered to God, is the same
irreligion as to neglect our prayers, or use them in
such a manner as makes them an offering unworthy of
God.

The short of the matter is this — either reason and
religion prescribe rules and ends to all the ordinary
actions of our life, or they do not : if they do, then it
is as necessary to govern all our actions by those rules
as it is necessary to worship God. For if religion
teaches us any thing concerning eating and drinking,
or spending our time and money ; if it teaches us how
we are to use and contemn the world ; if it tells us what
tempers we are to have in common life, how we are to
be disposed towards all people, how we are to behave
towards the sick, the poor, the old, and destitute ; if
it tells us whom we are to treat with a particular love,
whom we are to regard with a particular esteem ; if
it tells us how we are to treat our enemies, and how
we are to mortify and deny ourselves ; he must be
very weak that can think these parts of religion are
not to be observed with as much exactness as any
doctrine that relates to prayers.

It is very observable, that there is not one command

in all the gospel for public worship : and perhaps it is

.a duty that is least insisted upon in scripture of any

other. The frequent attendance at it is never so

much as mentioned in all the New Testament ; where-

b3

b A SERIOUS CALL TO A

as that religion or devotion, which is to govern the or-
dinary actions of our life, is to be found in almost
every verse of scripture. Our blessed Saviour and his
apostles are wholly taken up in doctrines that relate
to common life. They call us to renounce the world,
and differ in every temper and way of life from the spi-
rit and way of the world ; to renounce all its goods, to
fear none of its evils, to reject its joys, and to have no
value for its happiness ; to be as new-born babes that
are born into a new state of things, to live as pilgrims
in spiritual watching, in holy fear, and heavenly aspir-
ing after another life ; to take up our daily cross, to
deny ourselves, to profess the blessedness of mourning,
to seek the blessedness of poverty of spirit ; to forsake
the pride and vanity of riches, to take no thought for
the morrow, to live in the profoundest state of humili-
ty, to rejoice in worldly sufferings ; to reject the lust
of the flesh, the lust of the eyes, and the pride of life ;
to bear injuries, to forgive and bless our enemies, and
to love mankind as God loveth them ; to give up our
whole hearts and affections to God, and strive to enter
through the strait gate into a life of eternal glory.

This is the common devotion which our blessed Sa-
viour taught, in order to make it the common life of
all Christians. Is it not, therefore, exceeding strange
that people should place so much piety in the attend-
ance of public worship, concerning which there is not
one precept of our Lord's to be found, and yet neglect
these common duties of our ordinary life, which are
commanded in every page of the gospel ? I call these
duties the devotion of our common life ; because if
they are to be practised, they must be made parts of
our common life, they can have no place any where
else.

If contempt of the world and heavenly affection is a
necessary temper of Christians, it is necessary that this
temper appear in the whole course of their lives, in
their manner of using the world, because it can have
no place any where else.

DEVOUT AND HOLY LIFE. 7

If self-denial be a condition of salvation^ all that
would be saved must make it a part of their ordinary
life. If humility be a Christian duty^ then the com-
mon life of a Christian is to be a constant course of
humility in all its kinds. If poverty of spirit be ne-
cessary, it must be the spirit and temper of every day
of our lives. If we are to relieve the naked^ the sick^
and the prisoner, it must be the common charity of our
lives, as far as we can render ourselves able to per-
form it. If we are to love our enemies, we must make
our common life a visible exercise and demonstration
of that love. If content and thankfulness, if the pa-
tient bearing of evil be duties to God, they are the
duties of every day, and in every circumstance of our
life. If we are to be wise and holy as the new-born
sons of God, we can no otherwise be so, but by re-
nouncing" every thing- that is foolish and vain in every
part of our common life. If we are to be in Christ
new creatures, we must shew that we are so by having;
new ways of living in the world. If we are to follow
Christ, it must be in our common way of spending
every day.

Thus it is in all the virtues and holy tempers of
Christianity ; they are not ours, unless they be the
virtues and tempers of our ordinary life. So that
Christianity is so far from leaving us to live in the com-
mon ways of life, conforming to the folly of customs,
and gratifying the passions and tempers which the
spirit of the world delights in ; it is so far from in-
dulging us in any of these things, that all its virtues
which it makes necessary to salvation are only so
many ways of living above, and contrary to, the world
in all the common actions of our life. If our common
life is not a common course of humility, self-denial,
renunciation of the world, poverty of spirit, and hea-
venly affection, we do not live the lives of Christians.

But yet though it is thus plain, that this and this
alone is Christianity, an uniform, open, and visible
practice of all these virtues ; yet it is as plain, thai

B 4

8 A SERIOUS CALL TO A

there is little or nothing of this to be found, even
amongst the better sort of people. You see them
often at church, and pleased with fine preachers ; but
look into their lives, and you see them just the same
sort of people as others are that make no pretences to
devotion. The difference that you find betwixt them
is only the difference of their natural tempers. They
have the same taste of the world, the same worldly
cares, and fears, and joys ; they have the same turn
of mind, equally vain in their desires : You see the
same fondness for state and equipage, the same pride
and vanity of dress, the same self-love and indulgence,
the same foolish friendships and groundless hatreds,,
the same levity of mind and trifling spirit, the same
fondness for diversions, the same idle dispositions and
vain ways of spending their time in visiting and con-
versation, as the rest of the world that make no pre-
tences to devotion.

I do not mean this comparison betwixt people seem-
ingly good and professed rakes, but betwixt people of
sober lives. Let us take an instance in two modest
women : Let it be supposed that one of them is care-
ful of times of devotion, and observes them through a
sense of duty, and that the other has no hearty con-
cern about it, but is at church seldom or often, just as
it happens. Now, it is a very easy thing to see this
difference betwixt these persons. But when you have
seen this, can you find any further difference betwixt
them ? Can you find that their common life is of a dif-
ferent kind? Are not the tempers, and customs, and
manners of the one of the same kind as of the other?
Do they live as if they belonged to different worlds,
had different views in their heads, and different rules
and measures of all their actions? Have they not the
same goods and evils, are they not pleased and dis-
pleased in the same manner, and for the same things?
Do they not live in the same course of life ? Does one
seem to be of this world, looking at the things that
are temporal, and the other to be of another worlds

DEVOUT AND HOLY LIFE. »

looking wholly at the things that are eternal? Does
the one live in pleasure, delighting herself in show or
dress, and the other live in self-denial and mortifica-
tion, renouncing every thing that looks like vanity ei-
ther of person, dress, or carriage? Does the one fol-
low public diversions, and trifle away her time in idle
visits and corrupt conversation ; and does the other
study all the arts of improving her time, living in
prayer and watching, and such good works as may
make all her time turn to her advantage, and be
placed to her account at the last day? Is the one
careless of expence, and glad to be able to adorn her-
self with every costly ornament of dress ; and does
the other consider her fortune as a talent given her by
God, which is to be improved religiously, and no more
to be spent in vain and needless ornaments than it is
to be buried in the earth ?

Where must you look to find one person of religion
differing in this manner from another that has none?
And yet, if they do not differ in these things which are
here related, can it with any sense be said the one is a
good Christian and the other not?

Take another instance amongst the men. Leo has
a great deal of good-nature, has kept what they call
good company, hates every thing that is false and
base, is very generous and brave to his friend ; but has
concerned himself so little with religion, that he hardly
knows the difference betwixt a Jew and a Christian.

Eusebius, on the other hand, has had early impres-
sions of religion, and buys books of devotion. He can
talk of all the feasts and fasts of the church, and
knows the names of most men that have been eminent
for piety. You never hear him swear, or make a
loose jest; and when he talks of religion, he talks of
it as of a matter of the last concern.

Here you see that one person has religion enough,
according to the way of the world, to be reckoned a
pious Christian, and the other is so far from all appear-
ance of religion, that he may fairly be reckoned a hea-

10 A SERIOUS CALL TO A

then ; and yet if you look into their common life, if
you examine their chief and ruling tempers in the
greatest articles of life, or the greatest doctrines of
Christianity, you will find the least difference imagin-
able.

Consider them with regard to the use of the world,
because that is what every body can see.

Now, to have right notions and tempers with rela-

, tion to this world, is as essential to religion as to have
right notions of God ; and it is as possible for a man

\ to worship a crocodile, and yet be a pious man, as to
have his affections set upon this world, and yet be a
good Christian.

But now, if you consider Leo and Eusebius in this
respect, you will find them exactly alike, seeking,
using, and enjoying all that can be got in this world,
in the same manner and for the same ends. You will
find that riches, prosperity, pleasures, indulgences,
state, equipage, and honour, are just as much the hap-
piness of Eusebius as they are of Leo. And yet if
Christianity has not changed a man's mind and temper
with relation to these things, what can we say that it
has done for him?
/ For if the doctrines of Christianity were practised,

/ they would make a man as different from other people
as to all worldly tempers, sensual pleasures, and the
pride of life, as a wise man is different from a natural ;
it would be as easy a thing to know a Christian by his
outward course of life, as it is now difficult to find
any body that lives it. For it is notorious that Chris-
tians are now not only like other men in their frailties
and infirmities, this might be in some degree excus-
able ; but the complaint is, they are like heathens in
all the main and chief articles of their lives. They
enjoy the world, and live every day in the same tem-
pers, and the same designs, and the same indulgences,
as they did who knew not God, nor of any happiness
in another life. Every body that is capable of any re-
flection must have observed, that this is generally the

DEVOUT AND HOLY LIFE. 11

state even of devout people, whether men or women.
You may see tliem dittcrent from other people so far
as to times and places of prayer, but generally like the
rest of the world in all the other parts of their lives ;
that is, adding" Christian devotion to an heathen life.
I have the authority of our blessed Saviour for this re-
mark, where he says. Take no thought, saijing, What
shall we eat, or ivhat shall tec drink, or wherewithal
shall we be clothed ? for after all these things do the
Gentiles seek. But if to be thus affected even with
the necessary things of this life shews that we are not
yet of a Christian spirit, but are like the heathens,
surely to enjoy the vanity and folly of the world as tliey
did, to be like them in the main chief tempers of our
lives, in self-love and indulgence, in sensual pleasures
and diversions, in the vanity of dress, the love of show
and greatness, or any other gaudy distinction of for-
tune, is a much greater sign of an heathen temper;
and consequently they who add devotion to such a life
must be said to pray as Christians, but live as heathens.

CHAPTER II.

All Inquiry into the Reason why the generality of
Christians fall so far short of the Holiness and £)e-
votion of Christianity.

IT may now be reasonably inquired, how it comes
to pass, that the lives even of the better sort of peo-
ple are thus strangely contrary to the principles of
Christianity.

But, before 1 give a direct answer to this, I desire
it may also be inquired, how it comes to pass that
swearing is so common a vice amongst Christians? It
is indeed not yet so common amongst women as it is
amongst men ; but amongst men this sin is so com-
mon, that perhaps there are more than two in three
that are guilty of it through the whole course of their

1^ A SERIOUS CALL TO A

lives^ swearing more or less^ just as it happens, some
constantly, others only now and then, as it were by
chance. Now, I ask how comes it that two in three
of the men are guilty of so gross and proikne a sin as
this ? There is neither ignorance nor human infirmity
to plead for it ; it is against an express command-
ment, and the most plain doctrine of our blessed
Saviour.

Do but now find the reason why the generality of
men live in this notorious vice, and then you will have
found the reason why the generality even of the bet-
ter sort of people live so contrary to Christianity.

Now, the reason of common sweariu"- is this : it is
1 1
'because men have not so much as the intention to

please God in all their actions ; for let a man but have
so much piety as to intend to please God in all the
actions of his life, as the happiest and best thing in
the world, and then he will never swear more. It
will be as impossible for him to swear, whilst he feels
this intention within himself, as it is impossible for a
man that intends to please his prince to go up and
abuse him to his face.

It seems but a small and necessary part of piety to
have such a sincere intention as this, and that he has
no reason to look upon himself as a disciple of Christ
who is not thus far advanced in piety. And yet it is
purely for want of this degree of piety that you see
such a mixture of sin and folly in the lives even of the
better sort of people. It is for want of this intention
that you see men that profess religion yet live in
swearing and sensuality ; that you see clergymen
given to pride and covetousness, and worldly enjoy-
ments. It is for want of this intention that you see
women that profess devotion, yet living in all the folly
and vanity of dress, wasting their time in idleness and
pleasure, and in all such instances of state and equi-
page as their estates will reach. For let but a woman
feel her heart full of this intention, and she will find
it as impossible to patch or paint as to curse or swcai' ;

DEVOUT AND HOLY LIFE. 13

she will 110 more desire to shine at balls and assem-
hlies, or make a figure amongst those that are most
finely dressed, than she will desire to dance upon a
rope to please spectators : She will know that the one
is as far from the wisdom and excellency of the Chris-
tian spirit as the other.

It was this general intention that made the primi-
tive Christians such eminent instances of piety, that
made the goodly fellowship of the saints, and all the
glorious army of martyrs and confessors. And if you
will here stop and ask yourself why you are not as
pious as the primitive Christians were, your own heart
will tell you that it is neither through ignorance nor
inability, but purely because you never thoroughly in-
tended it. You observe the same Sunday-worship
that they did ; and you are strict in it, because it is
your full intention to be so. And when you as fully
intend to be like them in their ordinary common life,
when you intend to please God in all your actions, you
will find it as possible as to be strictly exact in the ser-
vice of the church. And when you have this inten-
tion to please God in ail your actions, as the happiest
and best thing in the world, you will find in you as
great an aversion to every thing that is vam and im-
pertinent in common life, whether of business or plea-
sure, as you now have to any thing that is profane.
You will be as fearful of living in any foolish way,
either of spending your time or your fortune, as you
are now fearful of neglecting the public worship.

Now, who that wants this general sincere intention
can be reckoned a Christian ? And yet, if it was
amongst Christians, it would change the whole face of
the world ; true piety and exemplary holiness would
be as common and visible as buying and selling, or
any trade in life.

Let a clergyman be but thus pious, and he will con-
verse as if he liad been brought up by an apostle ; he
will no more think and talk of noble preferment than
of noble eating or a glorious chariot. He will no

14

A SERIOUS CALL TO A

more complain of the frowns of the worlds or a small j
cure^ or the want of a patron^ than he will complain of
the want of a laced coat or a running* horse. Let him -
but intend to please God in all his actions as the hap-
piest and best thing- in the worlds and then he will
know that there is nothing noble in a clergyman but \
burning zeal for the salvation of souls ; nor any thing \
poor in his profession^ but idleness and a worldly j
spirit. ^

Again^ let a tradesman but have this intention^ and it
will make him a saint in his shop ; his every day busi-
ness will be a course of wise and reasonable actions,
made holy to God, by being done in obedience to his
will and pleasure. He will buy and sell, and labour
and travel, because by so doing he can do some good
to himself and others. But then, as nothing can
please God but what is wise, and reasonable, and holy,
so he will neither buy, nor sell, nor labour in any
other manner, nor to any other end, but such as may
be shewn to be wise, and reasonable, and holy. He
will therefore consider not what arts, or methods, or
application, will soonest make him richer and greater
than his brethren, or remove him from a shop to a life
of state and pleasure ; but he will consider what arts,
what methods, what application, can make worldly
business most acceptable to God, and make a life of
trade a life of holiness, devotion, and piety. This will
be the temper and spirit of every tradesman ; he can-
not stop short of these degrees of piety, whenever it is
his intention to please God in all his actions, as the
best and happiest thing in the world.

And, on the other hand, whoever is not of this spirit
and temper in his trade and profession, and does not
carry it on only so far as is best subservient to a wise,
and holy, and heavenly life, it is certain that he has
not this intention ; and yet, without it, who can be
shewn to be a follower of Jesus Christ?

Again, let the gentleman of birth and fortune but
have this intention, and you will see how it will carry

DEVOUT AND HOLY LIFE. 15

him from every appearance of evil to every instance of
piety and goodness.

He cannot live by chance, or as humour and fancy
carry him_, because he knows that nothing can please
God but a wise and regular course of life. He can-
not live in idleness and indulgence, in sports and gam-
ing-, in pleasures and intemperance, in vain expenses
and high living ; because these things cannot be turn-
ed into means of piety and holiness, or made so many
parts of a wise and religious life.

As he thus removes from all appearance of evil, so
he hastens and aspires after every instance of good-
ness. He does not ask what is allowable and pardon-
able, but what is commendable and praiseworthy.
He does not ask whether God will forgive the folly of
our lives, the madness of our pleasures, the vanity of
our expenses, the richness of our equipage, and the
careless consumption of our time ; but lie asks whe-
ther God is pleased with these things, or whether these
are the appointed ways of gaining his favour. He
does not inquire whether it be pardonable to hoard up
money to adorn ourselves with diamonds, and gild our
chariots, whilst the widow and the orphan, the sick
and the prisoner, want to be relieved ; but he asks
whether God has required these things at our hands,
whether we shall be called to account at the last day
for the neglect of them, because it is not his intent to
live in such ways as, for ought we know, God may
perhaps pardon ; but to be diligent in such ways as
we know that God will infallibly reward.

He will not, therefore, look at the lives of Chris-
tians to learn how he ought to spend his estate ; but
he will look into the scriptures, and make every doc-
trine, parable, precept, or instruction, that relates to
rich men, a law to himself in the use of his estate.

He will have nothing to do with costly apparel, be-
cause the rich man in the gospel was clothed with
purple and fine linen. He denies himself the plea-
sures and indulgences which his estate could prociire^

16 A SERIOUS CALL TO A

because our blessed Saviour saith^ JVoe unto you that
are rich, for. ye have received your consolation. He
will have but one rule for charity, and that will be to
spend all that he can that way ; because the Judge of
quick and dead hath said, that all that is so given is
given to him.

He will have no hospitable table for the rich and
wealthy to come and feast with him in good eating
and drinking ; because our blessed Lord saith. When
thou makest a dinner, call not thy friends, nor thy
brethren, neither thy kinsmen, nor thy rich neigh'
hours, lest they also bid thee again, and a recompense
be made thee. But when thou inakest a feast, call
the poor, the ?naimed, the lame, the blind, and thou
shall be blessed ; for they cannot recompense thee,
but thou shalt be recompensed at the resurrection of
the just. Luke xiv, 12, 13, 14.
. He will waste no money in gilded roofs or costly

(( V furniture; he will not be carried from pleasure to

pleasure in expensive state and equipage, because an
inspired apostle hath said, that all that is in the world,
the lust of the Hesh, the lust of the eyes, and the pride
t^-«i^tv) ©f life, is not of the Father, but is of the world.

' ^ Let not any one look upon this as an imaginary de-
scription of charity, that looks fine in the notion, but
^■^•^^ ''''■'cannot be put in practice. For it is so far from be-
•j<.-»;/'^^<-''ing an imaginary impractible form of life, that it has
, t /,*;; been practised by great numbers of Christians in for-
mer ages, who were glad to turn their whole estates
Into a constant course of charity. And it is so far
from being impossible now, that if we can find any
/ C'hristians that sincerely intend to please God in all
their actions, as the best and happiest thing in the
world, v/hether they be young or old, single or mar-
, ried, men or women, if they have but this intention^
it will be impossible for them to do otherwise. This
one principle will infallibly carry them to this height
J^ . ,. of charity, and they will find themselves unable to
stop short of it. ^ ,

DEVOUT AND HOLY LIFE. 17

For how is it possible for a man that intends to
please God in the use of his money, and intends it be-
cause he judges it to be his gTeatest happiness, how
is it possible for such a one in such a state of mind to
bury his money in needless impertinent finery, in co-
vering himself or his horses with gold, whilst there
are any works of piety and charity to be done with it,
or any ways of spending it well?

This is as strictly impossible as for a man that in-
tends to please God in his words to go into company
on purpose to swear and lie. For as all waste and
unreasonable expense is done designedly and with de-
liberation, so no one can be guilty of it whose con-
stant intention is to please God in the use of his
money.

I have chosen to explain this matter by appealing to
this intention, because it makes the case so plain, and
because every one that has a mind may see it in the
clearest light, and feel it in the strongest manner,
only by looking into his own heart. For it is as easy
for every person to know, whether he intends to please
God in all his actions, as for any servant to know
whether this be his intention towards his master.
Every one also can as easily tell how he lays out his
money, and whether he considers how to please God
in it, as he can tell where his estate is, and whether it
be in money or land. So that here is no plea left for
ignorance or frailty, as to this matter ; every body is
in the light, and every body has power. And no one
can fail, but he that is not so much a Christian as to
intend to please God in the use of his estate.

You see two persons, one is regular in public and
private prayer, the other is not. Now, the reason of
this difference is not this, that the one has strength and
power to observe prayer, and the other has not ; but
the reason is this, that one intends to please God in
the duties of devotion, and the other has no intention
about it. Now, the case is the same in the right or
wrong use of our time and money. You s(?e one per-

18 A SERIOUS CALL TO A

son throwing away his time in sleep and idleness^ iti
visiting and diversions, and his money in the most vain
and unreasonable expenses. You see another careful
of every day, dividing his hours by rules of reason and
religion, and spending all his money in works of cha-
rity ; now, the difference is not owing to this, that one
has strength and power to do thus, and the other has
not ; but it is owing to this, that one intends to please
God in the right use of all his time and all his money,
and the other has no intention about it.

Here, therefore, let us judge ourselves sincerely ; let
us not vainly content ourselves with the common dis-
orders of our lives, the vanity of our expenses, the
folly of our diversions, the pride of our habits, the idle-
ness of our lives, and the wasting of our time, fancying
that these are such imperfections as we fall into
through the unavoidable weakness and frailty of our
natures ; but let us be assured, that these disorders of
our common life are owing to this, that we have not so
much Christianity as to intend to please God in all the
actions of our life, as the best and happiest thing in
the world. So that we must not look upon ourselves
in a state of common and pardonable imperfection,
but in such a state as wants the first and most funda-
mental principle of Christianity, viz. an intention to
please God in all our actions.

And if any one was to ask himself, how it cornes to
pass that there are any degrees of sobriety which he
neglects, any practice of humility which he wants, any
methods of charity which he does not follow, any rules
of redeeming time which he does not observe, his own
heart will tell him, that it is because he never intend-
ed to be so exact in those duties. For whenever we
fully intend it, it is as possible to conform to all this
regularity of life, as it is possible for a man to observe
times of prayer.

So that the fault does not lie here, that we desire to
be good and perfect, but through the weakness of our
nature fall short, of it; but it is because we have not

DEVOUT AND HOLY LIFE. 19

piety enoug'h to intend to be as good as we can^ or to
please God in all the actions of our life. This^ we
see, is plainly the case of him that spends his time in
sports, when lie should be at cimrch ; it is not his want
of power, but his want of intention or desire, to be
there.

And the case is plainly the same in every other folly
of human life. She that spends her time and money in
the unreasonable ways and fashions of the world, does
not do so because she wants power to be wise and re-
ligious in the management of her time and money ;
but because she has no intention or desire of being so.
^Vhen she feels this intention, she will find it as pos-
sible to act up to it, as to be strictly sober and chaste^
because it is her care and desire to be so.

This doctrine does not suppose that we have no
need of divine grace, or that it is in our own pow er to
make ourselves perfect. Jt only supposes that, through
the want of a sincere intention of pleasing God in all
our actions, we fall into such irregularities of life, as
by the ordinary means of grace we should have power
to avoid.

And that we have not that perfection which our
present state of grace makes us capable of, because we
do not so much as intend to have it.

It only teaches us that the reason why you see no
real mortification or self-denial, no eminent charity,
no profound humility, no heavenly aifection, no true
contempt of the world, no Christian meekness, no sin-
cere zeal, no eminent piety in the common lives of
Christians, is this — because they do not so much as in-
tend to be exact and exemplary in their virtues. , /--.. / .

c%

20 A SERIOUS CALL TO A

CHAPTER III.

Of the great Danger and Folly of not intending to be
as exemplary as ice can, in the practice of all
Christian virtues.

ALTHOUGH the goodness of God, and his rich

mercies in Christ Jesus, are a sufficient assurance to

* us that he will be merciful to our unavoidable weak-

•' nesses and infirmities, that is, to such failings as are

■ . ''. ^^-^^the effects of ignorance or surprise ; yet we have no

""6*^7' '^'t'^^son to expect the same mercy towards those sins

f4^ ' which we have lived in through a vvant of intention to

.r ^^ ' • af Old them.

>k.Hv("- For instance, the case of a common swearer, who
^"M'^.. .iii^s in that guilt, seems to have no title to the divine
' ' . f^Biercy ; for this reason, because he can no more plead '
any weakness or infirmity in his excuse, than the man
that hid his talent in the earth could plead his want of .
, strength to keep it out of the earth.
; But now, if this be rig-ht reasoning-, the case of a
*x * /.-Common swearer, that his sin is not to be reckoned a
,M\*L * 'pardonable frailty, because he has no weakness to
, J#t»-^ plead in its excuse ; Avhy then do we not carry this
\4^A»M, way of reasoning to its true extent? Why do we not
* y -^{j-iCas much condemn every one other error of life that .
: / /bas no more weakness to plead in its excuse than com-/;
mon swearing?

For if this be so bad a thing, because it might be

avoided, if we did but sincerely intend it, must not

^^^^^;p.^,^,tlien all other erroneous ways of life be very guilty, if

/V we live in them, not through weakness and inability,

^**:r / liut because we never sincerely intended to avoid them?

%^^% ^' For instance, you perhaps have made no progress

ii^-'iici^^ the most important Christian virtues, you have

•^carce gone half way in humility and charity ; now, if

'your failure in these duties is purely owing to your

" nvant of intention of performing them in any true de-

■r/

\\AA,

DEVOUT AND HOLY LIFE. 21

gree, have you not then as little to plead for yourself,
and are you not as much without all excuse^ as the
common swearer ?

Why, therefore, do you not press these things home
upon your conscience? Why do you not think it as
dangerous for you to live in such defects as are in
your power to amend, as it is dangerous for a common
swearer to live in the breach of that duty which it is
in his power to observe ? Is not negligence and a
want of a sincere intention as blameable in one case
as in another ?

You, it may be, are as far from Christian perfection
as the common swearer is from keeping the third com-
mandment ; are you not, therefore, as much condemn-
ed by the doctrines of the gospel as the swearer is by
the third commandment ?

You perhaps will say, that all people fall short of
the perfection of the gospel, and therefore you are
content with your failings. But this is saying nothing
•to the purpose. For the question is not whether gos-
pel perfection can be fully attained ; but whether you
come as near it as a sincere intention and careful dili-
gence can carry you ; whether you are not in a much
lower state than you might be, if you sincerely intend-
ed and carefully laboured to advance yourself in all
Christian virtues.

If you are as forward in the Christian life as your
best endeavours can make you, then you may justly
hope that your imperfections will not be laid to your
charge ; but if your defects in piety, humility, and
charity, are owing to your negligence and want of sin-
cere intention to be as eminent as you can in these
virtues, then you leave yourself as much without ex-
cuse as he that lives in the sin of swearing, through
the want of a sincere intention to depart from it.

The salvation of our souls is set forth in scripture as
a thing of difficulty, that requires all our dihgence, that
is to be icorked out with fear and trembling.

We are told that strait is the gate, and narrow, is
) -ti.j u.'^^-t>^i^y^ .ri / • -\,'-,-w ■'.<'■*', '\:,Loi^i. ■ ' "' ■■•'-■

S3 A SERIOUS CALL TO A

the voay, that leadeth unto life, and few there he that
find it; that many are called, hut few are chosen.
And that many wiii miss of their salvation, who seem
to have taken soaie pains to obtain it. As in these
words. Strive to enter in at the strait gate ; for many,
I say unto you, ivill seek to enter in, and shall not he
able.

Here our blessed Lord commands iis to strive to en-'
ter in^ because many will fail who only seek to enter.
By which we are plainly taiiglit that religion is a state
of labour and striving, and that many will fail of their
salvation ; not because they took no care or pains
about it, but because they did not take pains and care
enough ; they only sought, but did not strive to enter
in.

Every Christian, therefore, should as well examine
his own life by these doctrines as by the command-
ments. For these doctrines are as plain marks of our
condition, as the commandments are plain marks of
our duty.

For if salvation is only given to those who strive for
it, then it is as reasonable for me to consider whether
my course of life be a course of striving" to obtain it, as
to consider whether 1 am keeping- any of the com-
mandments.

If my religion is only a formal compliance with
those modes of worship that are in fashion where I live ;
if it costs tne no pains or trouble, if it lays me under
no rules and restraints, if I have no careful thoughts
and sober reflections about it, is it not great weakness
to think that I am striving to enter in at the strait
gate ?

If I am seeking every thing- that can delight my
senses, and regale my appetites ; spending- my time
and fortune in pleasures, in diversions, and worldly en-
joyments; a strang-cr to watch ings, fastings, prayers,,
and mortifications, how can it be said that 1 am work-
ing out my salvation with fear and trembling ?

If there is nothing in my life and conversation that

DEVOUT AND HOLY LIFE, 23

shews me to be different from the Jews and heathens ;
if I use the worlds and worldly enjoyments, as the ge-
nerality of people now do, and in all ages have done^,
why should I think that I am amongst those few who
are walking in the narrow way to heaven?

And yet if the way is narrow, if none can walk in it
but those that strive, is it not as necessary for me to
consider whether the way 1 am in be narrow enough ;
or the labour I take be a sufficient striving, as to con-
sider whether I sufficiently observe the second or third
commandment ?

The sum of this matter, is this: From the above-
mentioned, and many other passages of scripture, it ^^,,^ L*
seems plain, that our salvation depends upon the sin- ^1,, (^
cerity and perfection of our endeavours to obtain it. ^*' . * "

Weak and imperfect men shall, notwithstanding ^
their frailties and defects, be received, as having pleas-
ed God, if they have done their utmost to please him.

The rewards of charity, piety, and humility, will be
given to those whose lives have been a careful labour
to exercise these virtues in as high a degree as they
could.

We cannot offer to God the service of angels ; we
cannot obey him as man in a state of perfection could ;
but fallen men can do their best, and this is the per-
fection that is required of us ; it is only the perfection
of our best endeavours, a careful labour to be as per-
fect as we can.

But if we stop short of this, for aught we know, we
stop short of the merCy of God, and leave ourselves
nothing to plead from the terms of the gospel ; for God
has there made no promises of mercy to the slothful
and negligent. His mercy is only offered to our frail
and imperfect, but best endeavours, to practice all
manner of righteousness.

As the law to angels is angelical righteousness, as
the law to perfect beings is strict perfection, so the
law to our imperfect natures is the best obedience that
our frail nature is able to perform

c 4

24 A SERIOUS CALL TO A

The measure of our love to God seems injustice to
be the measure of our love of every virtue. We are
to love and practise it with all our heart, with all our
soul, with all our mind, and with all our strength.
And when we cease to live with this regard to virtue,
we live below our nature, and instead of being able to
plead our infirmities, we stand chargeable with negli-
gence.

It is for this reason that we are exhorted to work
out our salvation with fear and trembling ; because,
unless our heart and passions are eagerly bent upon
the work of our salvation ; unless holy fears animate
our endeavours^ and keep our consciences strict and
tender about every part of our duty, constantly ex-
amining how we live, and how fit we are to die; we
shall, in all probability, fall into a state of negligence,
and sit down in such a course of life t^s will never
carry us to the rewards of heaven.

And he that considers that a just God can only make
such allowances as are suitable to his justice, that our
works are all to be examined by lire, will find that
fear and trembling are proper tempers for those that
are drawing near so great a trial.

And, indeed, there is no probability that any one
should do all the duty that is expected from him, or
make that progress in piety which the holiness and
justice of God requires of him, but he that is constant-
ly afraid of falling short of it.

Now, this is not intended to possess people's minds
with a scrupulous anxiety, and discontent in the ser-
vice of Gocl, but to fill them with a just fear of living in
sloth and idleness, and in the neglect of such virtues
as they will want at the day of judgment.

It is to excite them to an earnest examination of
their lives, to such zeal, and care, and concern after
Christian perfection, as they use in any matter that has
gained their heart and aifections.

It is only desiring them to be so apprehensive of
their state, so humble in the opinion of themselves^ so

DEVOUT AND HOLY LIFE. 25

earnest after higher degrees of piety, and so fearful of
falling short of happiness, as the great Apostle St.
Paul was, when he thus wrote to the Philippians :

" Not as though I had already attained, either were
already perfect. But this one tiling I do ; forgetting
those things which are behind, and reaching forth unto
those things which are before, I press toward the
mark for the prize of the high calling of God in Christ
Jesus." And then he adds, " Let us, therefore, as
many as are perfect, be thus minded."

But now, if the apostle thought it necessary for
those who were in his state of perfection to be thus
minded ; that is, thus labouring, pressing, and aspir-
ing after some degrees of holiness, to which they were
not then arrived ; surely it is much more necessary for
us, who are born in the dregs of time, and labouring
under great imperfections, to be thus minded ; that is^
thus earnest and striving after such degrees of a holy
and divine life as we have not yet attained.

The best way for any one to know how much he
ought to aspire after holiness, is to consider not how
much will make his present life easy ; but to ask him-
self how much he thinks will make him easy at the
hour of death.

Now, any man that dares be serious as to put this
question to himself w ill be forced to answer, that at
death every one will wish that he had been as perfect'
as human nature can be.

Is not this therefore sufficient to put us, not only
upon wishing, but labouring after all that perfection
which we shall then lament the want of? Is it not ex-
cessive folly to be content with such a course of piety,
when we shall so want it as to have nothing else to
comfort us ? How can we carry a severer condemna-
tion against ourselves, than to believe that at the hour
of death we shall want the virtues of the saints, and
wish that we had been amongst the first servants of
God, and yet take no methods of arriving at their
height of piety whilst we are alive ?

26 A SERIOUS CALL TO A

Though this is an absurdity that we can easily pass
over at present, whilst the health of our bodies, the
passions of our minds, the noise, and hurry, and plea-
sures, and business of the world, lead us on with eyes
that see not, and ears that hear not ; yet at death it
will set itself before us in a dreadful magnitude, it
will haunt us like a dismal ghost, and our conscience
will never let us take our eyes from it.

We see, in worldly mattei's, what a torment seif-
condemnation is ; and how hardly a man is able to
forgive himself, when he has brought himself into any
calamity or disgrace purely by his own folly. The
affliction is made doubly tormenting, because he is
forced to charge it ail upon himself as his own act and
deed, against the nature and reason of things, and
contrary to the advice of all his friends.

Now, by this we may in some degree guess how
terrible the pain of that self-condemnation will be,
when a man shall find liimself in the miseries of death,
under the severity of a self-condemning conscience ;
charging all his distress upon his own folly and mad-
ness, against the sense and reason of his own mind^
against all the doctrines and precepts of religion, and
contrary to all the instructions, calls, and warnings
both of God and man.

Penitens was a busy notable tradesman, and very
jirosperous in his dealings ; but died in the thirty-fifth
year of his age.

A little before his death, when tlie doctors had given
him over, some of his neighbours came one evening'
to see him ; at which time he spake thus to them :

" I see," says he, " my friends, the tender concern
you have for me, by the grief that appears in your
countenances, and I know the thoughts that you now
have about nie. You think how melancholy a case it
is to see so young a man, and in such flourishing bu-
siness, delivered up (o death. And perhaps, had I
visited any of you in my condition, 1 should have had
the same thoughts of you.

DEVOUT AND HOLY LIFE. 27

" But now, my friends, my thoughts are no more
like your thoui^hts than my condition is hke yours.

" It is no trouble to me now to think that 1 am to
die young, or before I have raised an estate.

" These things are now sunk into such mere no-
things, that I have no name little enough to call them
by. For if, in a few days or hours, I am to leave
this carcase to be buried in the earth, and to find my-
self either for ever happy in the favour of God, or
eternally separated from all light and peace, can any
words sufficiently express the littleness of every thing-
else /

" Is there any dream like the dream of life, which \
amuses us with the neg-lect and disregard of these
things? Is there any folly like the folly of our manly j
state, which is too v/ise and busy to be at leisure for 1
these reflections?

" When we consider death as a misery, we only
think of it as a miserable separation from the plea-
sures of this life. AVe seldom mourn over an old man
that dies rich ; but we lament the young that are
taken away in the progress of their fortune. You
yourselves look upon me with pity, not that I am
g-oing- unprepared to meet the Judge of quick and
dead ; but that I am to leave a prosperous trade in
the flower of my life.

^' This is the wisdom of our manly tliougiits. And
,(j^ii. yet what folly of the siUiest children is so great as
,vK«nhis?>

" For what is there miserable or dreadful in death, f
but the consequences of it? When a man is dead \
what does anyTlTThg^signify to him, but the state he is j
then in? '

"Our poor friend Lepidus died, you know, as he
was dressing himself for a feast. Do you think it is
now part of his trouble that he did not live till that
entertainment was over? Feasts, and business, and
pleasures, and enjoyments, seem great things to us,
whilst we think of nothing else ; but as soon as we

28 A SERIOUS CALL TO A

add death to them, they all sink into an equal little-
ness ; and the soul that is separated from the body no
more laments the loss of business than the losing- of a
feast.

" If I am going into the joys of God, could there
be any reason to grieve that this happened to me be-
fore 1 was forty years of age? Could it be a sad thing
to go to heaven before I had made a few more bar-
gains, or stood a little longer behind the counter?

" And if I am to go amongst lost spirits, could
there be any reason to be content that this did not
happen to me till I was old, and full of riches ?

'' If good angels were ready to receive my soul,
could it be any grief to me that I was dying upon a
poor bed in a ga rrat ?

" And if God has delivered me up to evil spirits, to
be dragged by them to places of torments, could it be
any comfort to me that they found me upon a bed of
state ?

*' When you are as near death as I am, you will
know that ail the different states of life, whether of
youth or age, riches or poverty, greatness or mean-
ness, signify no more to you than whether you die in
a poor or stately apartment.
/ '' The greatness of those things which follow death
\ makes all that goes before it sink into nothing.

" Now that judgment is the next thing that I look
for, and everlasting happiness or misery is come so
near me, all the enjoyments and prosperities of life
seem as vain and insignificant, and to have no more to
do with my happiness than the clothes that I wore be-
fore I could speak.

" But, my friends, how am I surprised that I have
not always had these thoughts ? For what is there in
the terrors of death, in the vanities of life, or the ne-
cessities of piety, but what I might have as easily and
fully seen in any part of my life ?

" What a strange thing is it, that a little health,
or the poor business of a shop, should keep us so

DEVOUT AND HOLY LIFE. 29

senseless of these great things that are coming' so fast
upon us !

'' Just as you came into my chamber^ I was thinking
with myself what numbers of souls there are now in
the world in my condition at this very time^ surprised
with a summons to the other world ; some taken from
their shops and farms, others from their sports and
pleasures ; these at suits of law, those at gaming-ta-
bles ; some on the road, others at their own firesides^
and all seized at an hour when they thought nothing
of it; frighted at the approach of death, confounded
at the vanity of all their labours, designs, and projects,
astonished at the folly of their past lives, and not
knowing which way to turn their thoughts to find any
comfort. Their consciences flying in their faces,
bringing all their sins to their remembrance, torment-
ing them with deepest convictions of their own folly,
presenting them with the sight of the angry Judge,
the worm that never dies, the fire that is never quench-
ed, the gates of hell, the powers of darkness, and the
bitter pains of eternal death.

" Oh, my friends ! bless God that you are not of
this number, that you have time and strength to em-
ploy yourselves in such works of piety as may bring
you peace at the last.

" And take this along with you, that there is no-\
thing but a life of great piety, or a death of great stu- fi
pidity, that can keep off these apprehensions. ^

'' Had I now a thousand worlds, I would give them
all for one year more, that I might present unto God
one year of such devotion and good works, as I never
before so much as intended.

" You, perhaps, when you consider that I have lived
free from scandal and debauchery, and in the commu-
nion of the church, wonder to see me so full of remorse
and self-condemnation at the approach of death.

" But, alas ! what a poor thing it is to have lived
only free from murder, theft, and adultery, which is
all that I can say of myself!

30 A SERIOUS CALL TO A

" You knov»^, indeed^ that I have never been reck*
oned a sot^ but you are^, at the same time^ witnesses^
and have been frequent companions, of my intemper-
ance^ sensuality^ and great indulg-ence.

" And if I am nov/ going to a judgment^ where no-
thing will be rewarded but good works^ I may well
be concerned, that though I am no sot^ yet I have no
Christian sobriety to plead for me.

" It is true, I have lived in the communion of the
churchy and generally frequented its worship and ser-
vice on Sundays, when 1 was neither too idle, or not
otherwise disposed of by my business and pleasures.
But then my conformity to the public worship has
been rather a thing of course than any real intention
of doing that which the service of the church suppo-
ses ; had it not been so, I had been oftener at churchy,
more devout when there, and more fearful of ever
neglecting it.

" But the thing that now surprises me above all
wonders is this — that 1 never had so much as a gene-
ral intention of living up to the piety of the gospel.
This never so much as entered into my head or my
heart. I never once in my life considered whether I
was living as the laws of religion direct, or whether
my way of life was such as would procure me the
mercy of God at this hour.

" And can it be thought that I have kept the gos-
pel terms of salvation, without ever so much as intend-
ing, in any serious and deliberate manner, either to
know them or keep them? Can it be thought that 1
have pleased God with such a life as he requires^
tliough 1 have lived without ever considering what he
requires, or how much I have performed? How easy
a thing would salvation be, if it could fall into my care-
less hands, who have never had so much serious
thouglits about it, as about any one common barg-ain
that I have made ?

'" In the business of life I have used prudence and
reflection ; I have done every thing by rules and me-

DEVOUT AND HOLY LIFE. 31

thods. I have been glad to converse with men of ex-
perience and judgment, to find out the reasons why
some fail and others succeed in any business. I have
taken no step in trade but with great care and caution,
considering every advantage or danger that attended
it. I have always had my eye upon the main end of
business, and have studied all the ways and means of
being a gainer by all that 1 undertook.

'' But what is the reason that 1 have brou«ht none
of these tempers to religion: What is the reason that
I, who have so often talked of the necessity of rules
and methods, and dihgence in worldly business, have
all this while never once thought of any rules, or me-
thods, or managements, to carry me on in a life of
piety?

" Do you think any thing can astonish and con-
found a dying man like this ] What pain do you
think a man must feel, when his conscience lays all
his folly to his charge, when it shall shew him how re-
gular, exact, and wise he has been in small matters,
tliat are passed away like a dream, and how stupid
and senseless he has lived, without any reflection,
without any rules, in things of such eternal moment
as no heart can sufficiently conceive them !

" Had I only my frailties and imperfections to la-
ment at this time, I should lie here humbly trusting in
the mercies of God. But, alas! how can 1 call a ge-
neral disregard, and a thorough neglect of all religi-
ous improvement, a frailty and imperfection ; when it
v/as as much in my power to have been exact, and
careful, and diligent in a course of piety, as in the
business of my trade.

'' I could have called in as many helps, have prac-
tised as many rules, and been taught as many certain
methods of holy living, as of thriving in my shop, had
I but so intended and desired it.

" Oh ! my friends ! a careless life, unconcerned and
inattentive to the duties of religion, is so without all
excuse, so unworthy of the mercy of God, such a

H'1

shame to the sense and reason of our minds, that I can
hardly conceive a greater punishment, than for a man
to be thrown into the state that I am in to reflect
upon it."

Penitens was here going on, but had his mouth
■Ji stopped by a convulsion, which never suifered him to
* speak any more. He lay convulsed about twelve
hours, and then gave up the ghost.

Now, if the reader would imagine this Penitens to
have been some particular acquaintance or relation of
his, and fancy that he saw and heard all that is here
described, that he stood by his bedside when his poor
friend lay in such distress and agony, lamenting the
folly of his past life, it would, in all probability, teach
him such wisdom as never entered into his heart be-
fore. If to this he should consider how often he him-
self might have been surprised in the same state of
negligence, and made an example to the rest of the
world, this double reflection, both upon the distress
of his friend, and the goodness of that God who had
preserved him from it, would, in all likelihood, soften
his heart into holy tempers, and make him turn the
3 remainder of his life into a regular course of piety.
e This, therefore, being so useful a meditation, I shall
V here leave the reader, as I hope, seriously engaged
in it.

CHAPTER IV.

We can please God in no state or emploi/ment of
Life, but by intending and devoting it all to his
Honour and Glory.

HAVING in the first chapter stated the general
nature of devotion, and shewn that it implies not any
form of prayer, but a certain form of life that is offer-
ed to God, not at any particular times or places, but
to every where and in every thing ; I shall now descend

DEVOUT AND HOLY LIFE. 33

to some particulars, and shew how we are to devote
our labour and employment, our times and fortunes,
unto God.

As a good Christian should consider every place as
holy, because God is there, so he should look upon
every part of his life as a matter of holiness, because it
is to be offered unto God.

The profession of a clergyman is an holy profession,
because it is a ministration in holy tilings, an attend-
ance at the altar. But worldly business is to be made
holy unto the Lord, by being done as a service to him,
and in conformity to his divine will.

For as all men and all things in the world as truly
belong unto God as any places, things, or persons,
that are devoted to divine service ; so all things are to
be used, and all persons are to act in their several
states and employments for the glory of God.

Men of worldly business, therefore, must not look
upon themselves as at liberty to live to themselves, to
sacrifice to their own humours and tempers, because
their employment is of a worldly nature. But they
must consider, that as the world and all worldly pro-
fessions as truly belong to God as persons and things
that arc devoted to the altar ; so it is as much the duty
of men in worldly business to live wholly unto God, as
it is the duty of those who are devoted to divine
service.

As the whole world is God's, so the whole world is
to act for God. As all men have the same relation to
God, as all men have all their powers and faculties
from God ; so all men are obliged to act for God with
all their powers and faculties.

As all things are God's, so all things are to be used
and regarded as the things of God. For men to abuse
things on earth, and live to themselves, is the same re-
bellion against God as for angels to abuse things in
heaven; because God is just the same Lord of all on
earth, as he is the Lord of all in heaven.

Things may and must differ in their use, but yet

D

34 A SERIOUS CALL TO A

they are all to be used according to the will of God.

Men may and must differ in their employment, but
yet they must all act for the same ends^ as dutiful ser-
vants of God, in the right and pious performance of
their several callings.

Clergymen must live wholly unto God in one parti-
cular way,, that is, in the exercise of holy offices, in the
ministration of prayers and sacraments, and a zealous
distribution of spiritual goods.

But men of other employments are, in their parti-
cular ways, as much obliged to act as the servants of
God, and live wholly unto him in their several callings.

This is the only difference between clergymen and
people of other callings.

When it can be shewn that men might be vain, co-
vetous, sensual, worldly-minded, or proud in the exer-
cise of their worldly business, then it will be allowable
for clergymen to indulge the same tempers in their
sacred profession. For though these tempers are
most odious and most criminal in clergymen, who, be-
sides their baptismal vow, have a second time devoted
themselves to God to be his servants, not in the com-
mon offices of human life, but in the spiritual service
of the most holy sacred things ; and who are therefore
to keep themselves as separate and different from the
common life of other men, as a church or an altar is to
be kept separate from houses and tables of common
use ; yet as all Christians are by their baptism devoted
to God, and made professors of holiness, so are they
all in their several callings to live as holy and heavenly
persons, doing every thing in their common life only
in such a manner as it may be received by God as a
service done to him. For things spiritual and tem-
poral, sacred and common, must, like men and angels,
like heaven and earth, all conspire in the glory of God.

As there is but one God and Father of us all, whose
glory gives light and life to every thing that lives,
whose presence fills all places, whose power supports
all beings, whose providence ruleth all events ; so

DEVOUT AND HOLY LIFE. 35

every tiling that lives^ whether in heaven or earth,
wliether they be thrones or principahties, men or au-
g-elSj they must all with one spirit live wholly to the
praise and glory of this one God and Father of them
alL Angels as angels in their heavenly ministrations,
but men as men, women as women, bishops as bis-
hops, priests as priests, and deacons as deacons ; some
with things spiritual, and some with things temporal,
offering to God the daily sacrifice of a reasonable life,
wise actions, purity of heart, and heavenly affections.
This is the common business of all persons in this
world. It is not left to any woman in the world to trifle
away her time in the follies and impertinences of a
fashionable life, nor to any men to resign themselves
up to worldly cares and concerns ; it is not left to the
rich to gratify their passions in the indulgences and
pride of life ; nor to the poor to vex and torment their
hearts with the poverty of their state ; but men and
women, rich and poor, must with bishops and priests
walk before God, in the same wise and holy spirit, in
the same denial of all vain tempers, and in the same
discipline and care of their souls ; not only because
they have all the same rational nature, arfd are ser-
vants of the same God, but because they all want the
same holiness to make them fit for the same happiness,
to which they are called. It is therefore absolutely
necessary for all Christians, whether men or women,
to consider themselves as persons that are devoted to
holiness ; and so order their common ways of life by
such rules of reason and piety, as may turn it into
continual service unto Almighty God.

Now, to make our labour or employment an ac-
ceptable service unto God, we must carry it on with
the same spirit and temper that is required in giving of
alms, or any work of piety. For if,
1 Cor. X. 31. vohether loe eat or drink, or whatso-
ever ice do, we must do all to the
glory of God ; if we are to use this world as if we
used it not ; if we are to present our
d2

36 A SERIOUS CALL TO A

Rom. xii. 7. bodies a living sacrifice, holy, accept-
able to God ; if loe are to live bi/ faith,
and not bij sight, and to have our conversation in
heaven ; then it is necessary that the common way of
our life in every state be made to glorify God by such
tempers as make our prayers and adorations accept-
able to him. For, if we are worldly or earthly-mind-
ed in our employments^ if they are carried on with
vain desires and covetous tempers, only to satisfy our-
selves, we can no more be said to live to the glory of
God than gluttons and drunkards can be said to eat
and drink to the glory of God.

As the glory of God is one and the same thing, so
whatever we do suitable to it must be done with one
and the same spirit. That same state and temper of
mind which makes our alms and devotions acceptable,
must also make our labour or employment a proper
offering unto God. If a man labours to be rich, and
pursues his business, that he may raise himself to a
state of figure and glory in the world, he is no longer
serving God in his employment; he is acting under
other masters, and has no more title to a reward from
God than lie that gives alms that he may be seen, or
prays that he may be heard of men. For vain and
earthly desires are no more alloAvable in our employ-
ments than in our alms and devotions. For these
tempers of worldly pride and vain-glory are not only
evil, when they mix with our good works, but they
have the same evil nature, and make us odious to God,
when they enter into the common business of our em-
ployment. If it were allowable to indulge covetous
or vain passions in our worldly employments, it would
then be allowable to be vain-glorious in our devotions.
But as our alms and devotions are not an acceptable
service but when they proceed from a heart truly de-
voted to God, so our common employment cannot be
reckoned a service to him, but when it is performed
with the same temper and piety of heart.

Most of the employments of life are in their own

DEVOUT AND HOLY LIFE. 37

nature lawful ; and all those that are so may be made
a substantial part of our duty to God^ if we engage in
them only so far^ and for such ends^ as are suitable to
beings that are to live above the world all the time
that they live in the world. This is the only measure
of our application to any worldly business ; let it be
what it will, where it will, it must have no more of our
hands, our hearts, or our time, than is consistent with
an hearty, daily, careful preparation of ourselves foi
another life. For as all Christians, as such, have re-
nounced this world, to prepare themselves, by daily
devotion and universal holiness, for an eternal state of
quite another nature, they must look upon worldly
employments as upon worldly wants and bodily in-
firmities ; things not to be desired, but only to be en-
dured and suffered, till death and the resurrection iiave
carried us to an eternal state of real happiness.

Now, he that does not look at the things of this life
in this degree of littleness, cannot be said either to feel
or believe the greatest truths of Christianity. For if
he thinks any thing- great or important in human
business, can he be said to feel or believe those scrip-
tures which represent this life, and the greatest thing's
of life, as bubbles, vapours, dreams, and shadows ?

If he thinks figure and show, and worldly glory, to
be any proper happiness of a Christian, how can he
be said to feel or believe this doctrine. Blessed are ye
when men shall hate you, and when they shall sepa-
rate you from their company, and shall reproach you,
and cast out your names as evil, for the Son of man's
sake? For surely, if there was any real happiness in
figure and show, and worldly glory ; if these things
deserved our tlioughts and care, it could not be a mat-
ter of the highest joy, when we are torn from them by
persecutions and sufferings? If, therefore, a man
will so live as to shew that he feels and believes the
most fundamental doctrines of Christianity, he must
live above the world ; this is the temper that must en-
able him to do the business of life, and vet live wholly

d3

38 A S-ERIOUS CALL TO A

unto God, and go through some worldly employment
with a heavenly mind. And it is as necessary that
people live in their employments with this temper, as
it is necessary that their employment itself be lawful.

The husbandman that tilleth the ground is employ-
ed in an honest business that is necessary in life, and
very capable of being made an acceptable service unto
God ; but if he labours and toils, not to serve any
reasonable ends of life, but in order to have his plough
made of silver, and to have his horses harnessed in
gold, the honesty of his employment is lost as to him,
and his labour becomes his folly,

A tradesman may justly think that it is agreeable
to the will of God for him to sell such things as are
innocent and useful in life ; such as help both himself
and others to a reasonable support, and enable them
to assist those that want to be assisted. But if, in-
stead of this, he trades only with regard to himself,
without any other rule than that of his own temper ;
if it be his chief end in it to grow rich, that he may
live in figure and indulgences, and be able to retire
from business to idleness and luxury, his trade as to
him loses all its innocency, and is so far from being an
acceptable service to God, that it is only a more plau-
sible course of covetousness, self-love, and ambition.
For such a one turns the necessities of employments
into pride and covetousness, just as the sot and epicure
turn the necessities of eating and drinking into glut-
tony and drunkenness. Now, he that is up early and
late, that sweats and labours for these ends, that he
may be some time or other rich, and live in pleasure
and indulgence, lives no more to the glory of God than
he that plays and games for the same ends. For
though there is a great difference between trading and
gaming, yet most of that difference is lost when men
once trade with the same desires and tempers, and for
the same ends that others game. Charity and fine
dressing are things very different; but if men give
alms for the sam.e reasons that others dress fine.

DEVOUT AND HOLY LIFE. 39

only to be seen and admired, charity is then but like
the vanity of fine clothes. In like manner, if the same
motives make some people painful and industrious in
their trades, which makes others constant at gaming,
such pains are but like the pains of gaming.

Calidus has traded above thirty years in the greatest
city of the kingdom ; he has been so many years con-
stantly increasing his trade and his fortune. Every
hour of the day is with him an hour of business ; and
though he eats and drinks very heartily, yet every
meal seems to be in a hurry, and he would say grace
if he had time. Calidus ends every day at the tavern,
but has not leisure to be there till near nine o'clock.
He is always forced to drink a good hearty glass, to
drive thoughts of business out of his head, and make
his spirits drowsy enough for sleep. He does business
ail the time that he is rising, and has settled several
matters before he can get to his counting-room. His
prayers are a short ejaculation or two, which he never
misses in stormy tempestuous weather, because he has
always something or other at sea. Calidus will tell
you, with great pleasure, that he has been in this hur-
ry for so many years, and that it must have killed him
long ago, but that it has been a rule with him to get
out of the town every Saturday, and make the Sunday
a day of quiet and good refreshment in the country.

He is now so rich, that he would leave off his busi-
ness, and amuse his old age with building and furnish-
ing a fine house in the country, but that he is afraid
he should grow melancholy, if he was to quit his busi-
ness. He will tell you, with great gravity, that it is a
dangerous thing for a man that has been used to get
money ever to leave it off. If thoughts of religion
happen at any time to steal into his head, Calidus
contents himself with thinking that he never was a
friend to heretics and infidels, that he has always been
civil to the minister of his parish, and very often given
something to the charity-schools.

Now, this way of life is at such a distance from all

D 4

40 A SERIOUS CALL TO A

the doctrine and discipline of Christianity^ that no one
can live in it through ignorance or frailty. Calidus can
no more imagine that he is born again of
St. John iii. the spirit; that he is in Christ a nezv
1 Pet. ii. 11. creature ; that he lives here as a strajiger
Col. iii. 1. and jnlgrim, setting his affections upon
tilings above, and lairing up treasures
in heaven : He can no more imagine this than he can
think that he has been all his life an apostle working'
miracles^ and preaching the gospel.

It must also be owned that the generality of trading
peoplCj especially in great towns^ are too much like
Calidus. You see them all the week buried in busi-
ness^ unable to think of any thing else, and then
spending* the Sunday in idleness and refreshment, in
wandering into the country, in such visits and jovial
meetings as make it often the worst day of the week.

Now, they do not live thus because they cannot sup-
port themselves with less care and application to busi-
ness ; but they live thus because they want to grow
rich in their trades, and to maintain their families in
some such figure and degree of finery as a reasonable
Christian life has no occasion for. Take away but
this temper, and then people of all trades will find
themselves at leisure to live every day like Christians,
to be careful of every duty of the gospel, to live in a
visible course of religion, and to be every day strict
observers both of private and public prayer.

Now, the only way to do this is for people to con-
sider their trade as something that they are obliged to
devote to the glory of God, something- that they are to
do only in such a manner as that they may make it a
duty to him. Nothing can be right in business that is
not under these rules. The apostle commands ser-
vants to be obedient to their masters, in singleness of
heart, as unto Christ ; not with e^e-service, as men
pleasers, but as the servants of Christ, doing the will of
God from the heart ; with good-will doing sei"ciceas un-
to the Lord, and not unto men, Eph. vi. 5. Col. iii. 22, 23.

DEVOUT AND HOLY LIFE. 41

This passage sufficiently shews thai all Christians
are to live wholly unto God in every folate and condi-
tion^ during" the work of their common calling, in such
a manner, and for such ends, as to make it a part of
their devotion or service to God. Por certainly, if
poor slaves are not to comply with their business as
men-pleasers, if they are to look wholly unto God in
ail their actions, and serve in singleness of heart as
unto the Lord, surely men of other employments and
conditions must be as much obliged to go through
their business with the same singleness of heart, not
as pleasing the vanity of their own minds, not as gra-
tifying their own selfish worldly passions, but as the
servants of God in all that they have to do. For
surely no one will say that a slave is to devote his
state of life unto God, and make the v\'ill of God the
sole rule and end of his service, but that a tradesman
need not act with the same spirit of devotion in his
business ; for this is as absurd as to make it necessary
for one man to be more just or faithful than another.

It is therefore absolutely certain that no Christian
is to enter any further into business, nor for any other
ends, than such as he can in singleness of heart offer
unto God as a reasonable service. For tlie Son of
God has redeemed us for this only end, that we
should, by a life of reason and piety, live to the glory
of God. This is the only rule and measure for every
order and state of life. Without this rule, the most
lawful employment becomes a sinful state of life.

Take away this from the life of a clergyman, and
his holy profession serves only to expose him to a
greater damnation. Take away this from tradesmen,
and shops are but so many houses of greediness and
filthy lucre. Take away this from gentlemen, and
the course of their life becomes a suurce of sensuaiiiy,
pride, and wantonness. Take av/ay this rule from
our tables, and all falls into gluttony and drunkenness.
Take away this measure from our dress and habits,
and all is turned into such paint and glitter, and ridi-

42 A SERIOUS CALL TO A

culous ornaments^ as are a real shame to the wearer.
Take away this from the use of our fortunes, and you
will find people sparing in nothing* but charity. Take
away this from our diversions, and you will find no
sports too silly, nor any entertainments too vain and
corrupt, to be the pleasure of Christians.

If, therefore, we desire to live unto God, it is ne-
cessary to bring our whole life under this law, to make
his glory the sole rule and measure of our acting in
every employment of life ; for there is no other true
devotion but this, of living devoted to God in tha
common business of our lives.

So that men must not content themselves with the
lawfulness of their employments, but must consider
whether they use them as they are to
Coloss. iii. 1. use every thing, as strangers and pil-
1 Pet. i. 15, grims that are baptised unto the resur-
16. rcction of Jesus Christ, that are to fol-

Eph. V. 26, low him in a wise and heavenly course
27. of life, in the mortification of all world-

ly desires, and in purifying and prepar-
ing their souls for the blessed enjoyment of God.

For to be vain, or proud, or covetous, or ambitious,
in the common course of our business, is as contrary
to these holy tempers of Christianity as cheating and
dishonesty.

If a glutton was to say in excuse of his gluttony,
that he only eats such things as it is lawful to eat, he
would make as good an excuse for himself, as the
greedy, covetous, ambitious tradesman, that should say
he only deals in lawful business. For as a Christian
is not only required to be honest, but to be of a Chris-
tian spirit, and make his life an exercise of humility,
repentance, and heavenly affection, so all tempers that
are contrary to these are as contrary to Christianity
as cheating is contrary to honesty.

So that the matter plainly comes to this ; all irregu-
lar tempers in trade and business are but like irregu-
lar tem.pers in eating and drinking.

DEVOUT AND HOLY LIFE. 41

Proud views and vain desires in our worldly em-
ployments are as truly vices and corruptions as hy-
pocrisy in prayer, or vanity in alms. And there can
be no reason given why vanity in our alms should
make us odious to God, but what will prove any other
kind of pride to be equally odious. He that labours
and toils in a calling-, that makes a figure in the world,
and draws the eyes of people upon the splendour of his
condition, is as far from the pious humility of a Chris-
tian as he that gives alms that he may be seen of men.
For the reason why pride and vanity in our prayers
and alms render them an unacceptable service to God,
is not because there is any thing particular in prayers
and alms that cannot allow of pride, but because pride
is in no respect nor in any thing made for man ; it
destroys the piety of our prayers and alms, because it
destroys the piety of every thing that it touches, and
renders every action that it governs incapable of be-
ing offered unto God.

So that, if we could so divide ourselves as to be
humble in some respects, and proud in others, such
humility would be of no service to us, because God re-
quires us as truly to be humble in all our actions and
designs, as to be true and honest in them.

And as a man is not honest and true, because he is
not so to a great many peeple, or upon several occa-
sions, but because truth and honesty is the measure of
all his dealings with every body, so the case is the same
in humility or any other temper ; it must be the gene-
ral ruling habit of our minds, and extend itself to all
our actions and designs, before it can be imputed to us.

We indeed sometimes talk as if a man might be
humble in some things, and proud in others, humble
in his dress, but proud of his learning, humble in his
person, but proud in his views and designs. But
though this may pass in common discourse, where few
things are said according to strict truth, it cannot be
allowed when we examine into the nature of our ac-
tions.

44 A SERIOUS CALL TO A

. It is very possible for a man that lives by cheating
to be very punctual in paying; for what he buys^ but
then every one is assured that he does not do so out of
any principle of true honesty. .

In like manner^ it is very possible for a man that is
proud of his estate^ ambitious in his views^ or vain of
his learning', to disregard his dress and person in such
a manner as a truly humble man would do ; but to
suppose that he does so out of a true principle of re-
ligious humility is full as absurd as to suppose that a
cheat pays for what he buys out of a principle of reli-
gious honesty.

As, therefore, all kinds of dishonesty destroy our
pretences to an honest principle of mind, so ail kinds
of pride destroy our pretences to an humble spirit.

No one wonders tiiat those prayers and alms which
proceed from pride and ostentation are odious to God ;
but yet it is as easy to she^v that pride is as pardon-
able there as any \^here else.

If we could suppose that God rejects pride in our
prayers and alms, but Ijears with pride in our dress,
our persons, or estates, it would be the same thing as
to suppose that God condemns falshood in some ac-
tions, but allows it in others ; for pride in one thing
differs from pride in another thing, as the robbing of
one man differs from the robbing of another.

Again, if pride and ostentation are so odious that
they destroy the merit and worth of the most reasons
able actions, surely they must be equally odious in
those actions which are only founded in the Aveakness
and infirmity of our nature. Thus alms are com-
manded by God as excellent in themselves, as true in-
stances of divine temper, but clothes are only allowed
to cover our shame ; surely, therefore, it must at least
be as odious a degree of pride to be vain in our
clothes, as to be vain in our alms.

Again, we are commanded to pray without ceasing,
as a means of rendering our souls more exalted and
divine, but wc are forbidden to lay up treasures upon

DEVOUT AND HOLY LIFE. 45

earth ; and can we think that it is not as bad to be
vain of those treasures which we are forbidden to lay
up, as to be vain of those prayers which we are com-
manded to make.'

Women are required to have their heads covered,
and to adorn themselves with shamefacedness ; if,
therefore^ they are vain in those things
which are expressly forbidden, if they 1 Cor. xi. 13.
patch and paint that part which can
only be adorned by shamefacedness, 1 Tim. ii, 9.
surely they have as much to repent of
for such a pride, as they have whose pride is the mo-
tive to their prayers and charity. This must be
granted, unless we will say that it is more pardonable
to glory in our shame, than to glory in our virtue.

All these instances are only to shew us the great ne-
cessity of such a regular and uniform piety as extends
itself to all the actions of our common life.
I That we must eat and drink, and di*ess and dis-
j course, according* to the sobriety of the Christian spi-
l rit, engage in no employments but such as we can
; truly devote unto God, nor pursue them any further
; than as they conduce to the reasonable ends of a holy
devout life.

That we must be honest, not only on particular oc-
casions, and in such instances as are applauded" in the
world, easy to be ])erformed, and free from danger or
loss, but from such a living- principle of justice as
makes us love truth and integrity in all its instances,
follow it through all dangers, and ai^ainst all opposition ;
as knowing that the more we pay for any truth, the
b'etter is our bargain, and that then our integrity be-
comes a pearl when we have parted Avith all to keep it.
That we must be humble, not only in such instances
as are expected in the world, or suitable to our tem-
pers, or confined to particular occasions, but in such
an humility of spirit, as renders us meek and lowly in
the whole course of our lives, as shews itself in our
dress, our person, our conversation, our enjoyment of

46 A SERIOUS CALL TO A

the world, the tranquility of our minds, patience under
injuries, submission to superiors, and condescension to
those that are below us ; and in ail the outward ac-
tions of our lives.

That we must devote not only time and places to
prayer, but be every where in the spirit of devotion,
with hearts always set towards heaven, looking up to
God in all our actions, and doing every thing* as his
servants ; living in the world as in an holy temple of
God, and always worshipping him, though not with
our lips, yet with the thankfulness of our hearts, the
holiness of our actions, and the pious and charitable
use of all his gifts. That we must not only send up
petitions and thoughts now and then to heaven, but
must go through all our worldly business with an
heavenly spirit, as members of Christ's mystical body,
and, with new hearts and new minds, are to turn an
earthly life into a preparation for a life of greatness
and glory in the kingdom of heaven.

Now, the only way to arrive at this piety of spirit
is to bring all your actions to the same rule as your
devotions and alms. You very well know what it is
that makes the piety of your alms or devotions ; now,
the same rules, the same regard to God, must render
every thing else that you do a fit and acceptable ser-
vice unto God.

Enough, I hope, has been said to shew you the ne-
cessity of thus introducing religion into all the actions
of your common life, and of living and acting with the
same regard to God in all that you do, as in your
prayers and alms.

Eating is one of the lowest actions of our lives, it
is common to us with mere animals, yet we see that
the piety of all ages of the world has turned this ordi-
nary action of animal life into a piety to God, by mak^
ing every meal to begin and end with devotion.

We see yet some remains of this custom in most
Christian families ; some such little formality as shews
you that people used to call upon God at the begin-

DEVOUT AND HOLY £lFE. 47

ning and end of their meals. But, indeed, it is now
generally so performed, as to look more like a mock-
ery of devotion than any solemn application of the
mind unto God. In one house you may perhaps see
the head of the family just pulling off his hat, in ano-
ther half getting- up from his seat ; another shall, it
may be, proceed so far as to make as if he said some-
thing ; but, however, these little attempts are the re-
mains of some devotion that was formerly used at
such times^ and are proofs that religion has belonged
to this part of common life.

But to such a pass are we now come^ that though
the custom is yet preserved, yet we can hardly bear
with him that seems to perform it with any degree of
seriousness^ and look upon it as a sign of fanatical tem-
per, if a man has not finished as soon as he begins.

I would not be thought to plead for the necessity of
long prayers at these times ; but this much 1 think
may be said, that if prayer is proper at these times,
we ought to oblige ourselves to use such a form of
words as should shew that we solemnly appeal to God
for such graces and blessings as are proper to the oc-
casion ; otherwise the mock ceremony, instead of
blessing our victuals, does but accustom us to trifle
with devotion, and gives us a habit of being unaffected
with our prayers.

If every head of a family was, at the return of every
meal, to oblige himself to make a solemn adoration of
God in such a decent manner as becomes a devout mind,
it would be very likely to teach him, that swearing,
sensuality, gluttony, and loose discourse, were very
improper at those meals which were to begin and end
with devotion.

And if, in these days of general corruption, this part
of devotion is fallen into a mock ceremony, it must be
imputed to this cause, that sensuality and intemperance
have got too great a power over us to suffer us to add
any devotion to our meals. But this much must be
said, that when we are as pious as Jews and heathens

48 A SERIOUS CALL TO A

of al! ages Imve been, we shall think it proper to pray
at the beginning and end of our meals.

I have appealed to this pious custom of all ages of
the world, as a proof of the reasonableness of the doc-
trine of this and the foregoing chapters ; that is^ as a
proof that religion is to be the rule and measure of
ail the actions of ordinary life. For surely, if we are
not to eat but under such rules of devotion, it must
plainly appear, that whatever else we do must, in its
proper way, be done with the same regard to the glory
of God, and agreeably to the principles of a devout
and pious mind.

CHAPTER V.

Persons free from the Necessity of Labour and Em-
ployment are to consider themselves as devoted to
God in a higher degree.

GREAT part of the world are free from the neces-
sities of labour and employments, and have their time
and fortunes in their own disposal.

But as no one is to live in his employment accord-
ing to his own humour, or for such ends as please his
own ikncy, but is to do all his business in such a man-
ner as to make it a service unto God ; so those who
have no particular employment are so far from being
left at greater liberty to live to themselves, to pursue
their own humours, and spend their time and fortunes
as they please, that they are under greater obligations
of living wholly unto God in all their actions.

The freedom of their state lays them under a great-
er necessity of always choosing and doing the best
things.

They are those of whom much will be required^ be-
cause much is given unto them.

A slave can only live unto God in one particular

DEVOUT AND HOLY LIFE. 49

way ; that is, by religious patience and submission in
his state of slavery.

But all ways of holy living, all instances, and all
kinds of virtue, lie open to those who are masters of
themselves, their time, and their fortunes.

It is as much the duty, therefore, of such persons to
make a wise use of their liberty, to devote themselves
to all kinds of virtue, to aspire after every thing that
is holy and pious, to endeavour to be eminent in all
good works, and to please God in the highest and most
perfect manner ; it is as much their duty to be thus
wise in the conduct of themselves, and thus extensive
in their endeavours after holiness, as it is the duty of a
slave to be resigned unto God in his state of slavery.

You are no labourer or tradesman, you are neither
merchant nor soldier; consider yourself, therefore,
as placed in a state, in some degree, like that of good
angels, who are sent into the world as ministering
spirits for the .general good of mankind, to assist, pro-
tect, and minister for those who shall be heirs of sal-
vation. For the more you are free from the common
necessities of men, the more you are to imitate the
higher perfections of angels.

Had you, Serena, been obliged, by the necessities
of life, to wash clothes for your maintenance, or to
wait upon some mistress that demanded all your la-
bour, it would then be your duty to serve and glorify
God by such humihty, obedience, and faithfulness, as
might adorn that state of life.

It would then be recommended to your care to im-
prove that one talent to its greatest height ; that when
the time came that mankind were to be rewarded for
their labours by the great Judge of quick and dead,
you might be received wrth a well done, good and
faithful servaiit, enter thou into the joy of thy Lord.
Matt. XXV.

But, as God has given you five talents, as he has
placed you above the necessities of life, as he has left
you in the hands of yourself, in the happy liberty of

50 A SERIOUS CALL TO A

choosing- the most exalted ways of virtue ; as he has
enriched you with many gifts of fortune^ and left you
nothing- to do but to make the best use of a variety of
blessings^ to make the most of a short hfe^ to study
voiir own perfection^ the honour of God^ and the good
of your neighbour ; so it is now your duty to imitate
the greatest servants of God^ to inquire how the most
eminent saints have Hved^ to study all the arts and me-
thods of perfection, and to set no bounds to your love
and gratitude to the bountiful Author of so many
blessings.

It is now your duty to turn your five talents into five
more, and to consider how your time and leisure, and
health and fortune, may be made so many happy
means of purifying your own soul, improving your
fellow-creatures in the ways of virtue, and of carrying
you at last to the greatest heights of eternal glory.

As you have no mistress to serve, so let your own
soul be the object of your daily care and attendance.
Be sorry for its impunities, its sports, and imperfec-
tions, and study all the holy arts of restoring it to its
natural and primitive purity.

Delight in its service, and beg of God to adorn it
with every grace and perfection.

Nourish it with good works, give it peace in solitude,
get it strength in prayer, make it wise with reading,
enlighten it by meditation, make it tender with love,
sweeten it with humility, humble it with patience, en-
liven it with psalms and hymns, and comfort it with
frequent reflections upon future glory. Keep it in
the presence of God, and teach it to imitate those
guardian angels, who, though they attend to human
affairs, and the lowest of mankind, yet always behold
the face of our Father which is in heaven. St. Matth.
xviii. 10.

This, Serena, is your profession. For as sure as
God is one God, so sure it is that he has but one com-
mand to all mankind, whether they be bond or free,
rich or poor ; and that is, to act up to the excellency

DEVOUT AND HOLY LIFE. 51

of that nature which he has given them^ to live by
reason^ to walk in the hght of rehgion^ to use every
thing as wisdom directs^ to glorify God in all his gifts,
and dedicate every condition of life to his service.

This is the one common command of God to all
mankind. If you have an employment^ you are to be
thus reasonable, and pious and holy, in the exercise of
it ; if you have time, and a fortune in your own power^
you are obliged to be thus reasonable, and holy and
pious, in the use of all your time, and all your fortune.

The right religious use of every thing, and every
talent, is the indispensable duty of every being that is
capable of knowing right and wrong.

For the reason why we are to do any thing as unto
God, and with regard to our duty and relation to him,
is the same reason why we are to do every thing as unto
God, and with regard to our duty and relation to him.

That which is a reason for our being wise and holy
in the discharge of all our business, is the same rea-
son for our being wise and holy in the use of all our
money.

As we have always the same natures, and are every
where the servants of the same God, as every place is
equally full of his presence, and every thing is equally his
gift, so we must always act according to the reason of our
nature ; Ave must do every thing as the servants of God;
we must live in every place as in his presence; we must
use every thing as that ought to be used which belongs
to God.

Either this piety, and wisdom, and devotion, is to
go through every way of life, and to extend to the use
of every thing, or it is to go through no part of life.

If we might forget ourselves, or forget God, if we
might disregard our reason, and live by humour and
fancy in any thing, at any time, or in any place, it
would be as lawful to do the same in every thing, at
every time, and every place.

If, therefore, some people fancy that they must be
grave and solemn at church, but may be silly and

e2

52 A SERIOUS CALL TO A

frantic at home ; that they must live by some rule on
the Sunday, but may spend other days by chance ;
that they must have some times of prayer, but may
waste the rest of their time as they please ; that they
must give some money in charity, but may squander
away the rest as they have a mind ; such people have
not enough considered the nature of religion, or tlie
true reason of piety. For he who, upon principles of
reason^ can tell why it is good to be wise and heaven-
ly-minded at church, can tell that it is always desirable
to have the same tempers in all other places. He that
truly knows why he should spend any time well,
knows that it is never allowable to throw any time
away. He that rightly understands the reasonableness
and excellency of charity, will know that it can never
be excusable to waste any of our money in pride and
folly, or in any needless expenses.

For every argument that shews the wisdom and ex-
cellency of charity, proves the wisdom of spending all
our fortune well. Every argument that proves the
wisdom and reasonableness of having times of prayer,
shews the wisdom and reasonableness of losing' none
of our time.

If any one could shew that we need not always act
as in the divine presence, that we need not consider
and use every thing as the gift of God, that we need
not always live by reason, and make religion the rule
of all our actions, the same arguments would shew that
we need never act as in the presence of God, nor
make religion and reason the measure of any of our
actions. If, therefore, we are to live unto God at any
time or in any place, we are to live unto him at all
times and all places. If we are to use any thing as the
gift of God, we are to use every thing as his gift. If
we are to do any thing by strict rules of reason and
piety, we ought to do everything in the same manner;
because reason, and wisdom, and piety, are as much
the best things at all times and in all places, as they
are the best thing's at any time or in any place.

DEVOUT AND HOLY LIFE, 53

If it is our glory and happiness to have a rational
nature, that is endued with wisdom and reason, that is
capable of imitating- the divine nature, then it must be
our glory and happiness to improve our reason and
wisdom, to act up to the excellency of our rational na-
ture, and to imitate God in all our actions to the ut-
most of our power. They, therefore, who confine
religion to times and places, and some little rules of re-
tirement, who think that it is being too strict and rigid
to introduce religion into common life, and make it
give laws to all their actions and ways of living, they
who think thus not only mistake, but they mistake the
whole nature of religion ; for surely they mistake the
whole nature of religion who can think any part of
their life is made more easy for being free from it.
They may well be said to mistake the whole nature of
wisdom who do not think it desirable to be always
wise. He has not learned the nature of piety who
thinks it too much to be pious in all his actions. He
does not sufficiently understand what reason is^ who
does not earnestly desire to live in every thing ac-
cording to it.

If we had a religion that consisted in absurd super-
stitions, that had no regard to the perfection of our
nature, people might well be glad to have some part
of their life excused from it. But as the religion of
the gospel is only the refinement and exaltation of
our best faculties^ as it only requires a life of the high-
est reason, as it only requires us to use this world as
in reason it ought to be used, to live in 'such tempers
as are the glory of intelligent beings, to walk in such
wisdom as exalts our nature, and to practise such
piety as will raise us to God, Who can think it griev-
ous to live always in the spirit of such a religion^ to
have every part of his life full of it, but he that would
think it much more grievous to be as the angels of
God in heaven.

Further, as God is one and the same being, always
acting like himself, and suitably to his own nature, so

e3

54 A SERIOUS CALL TO A

it is the duty of every being that he has created to
live according to the nature that he has given it^ and
always to act like itself.

It iSj therefore^ an immutable law of God^ that all
rational beings should act reasonably in all their ac-
tions ; not at this time^ or in that place^, or upon this
occasion, or in the use of some particular thing, but at
all times, in ail places, on all occasions, and in the use
of all things. This is a law that is as unchangeable as
God, and can no more cease to be, than God can cease
to be a God of wisdom and order.

When, therefore, any being that is endued with
reason does an unreasonable thing at any time, or in
any place, or in the use of any thing, it sins against
the great law of its nature, abuses itself, and sins
against God, the author of that nature.

They, therefore, who plead for indulgences and va-
nities, for any foolish fashions, customs, and humours
of the world, for the misuse of our time or money,
plead for a rebellion against our nature, for a rebel-
lion against God, who has given us reason for no
other end than to make it the rule and measure of all
our ways of life.

When, therefore, you are guilty of any folly or ex-
travagance, or indulge in any vain temper, do not
consider it as a small matter, because it may seem so
if compared to some other sins ; but consider it as it
is acting contrary to your nature, and then you will
see that there is nothing small that is unreasonable.
Because all unreasonable ways are contrary to the
nature of all rational beings, whether men or angels ;
neither of which can be any longer agreeable to God
than as they act according to the reason and excel-
lence of their nature.

The infirmities of human life make such food and
raiment necessary for us as angels do not want ; but
then it is no more allowable for us to turn these neces-
sities into follies, and indulge ourselves in the luxury
of food, or the vanities of dress, than it is allowable for

DEVOUT AND HOLY LIFE, 55

angels to act below the dignity of their proper state.
For a reasonable life, and a wise use of our proper
condition, is as much the duty of all men, as it is the
duty of all angels and intelligent beings. These are
not speculative flights or imaginary notions, but are
plain and undeniable laws, that are founded in the
nature of rational beings, who as such are obliged to
live by reason, and glority God by a continual right
use of their several talents and faculties. So that
though men are not angels, yet they may know for
what ends, and by what rules, men are to live and act,
by considering the state and perfection of angels. Our
blessed Saviour has plainly turned our thoughts this way,
by making this petition a constant part of all our prayers.
Thy will he done on earth, as it is in heaven ; a plain
proof that the obedience of men is to imitate the obedi-
ence of angels, and that rational beings on earth are to
live unto God, as rational beings in heaven live unto him.

When, therefore, you would represent to your
mind how Christians ought to live unto God, and in
what degrees of wisdom and holiness they ought to use
the things of this life, you must not look at the
world, but you must look up to God, and the society
of angels, and think what wisdom and holiness are
lit to prepare you for such a state of glory ; you must
look to all the highest precepts of the gospel; ex-
amine yourself by the spirit of Christ ; you must think
how the wisest men in the world have lived ; you must
think how departed souls would live, if they were
again to act the short part of human life ; you must
think what degrees of wisdom and holiness you will
wish for when you are leaving the world.

Now, all this is not overstraining the matter, or
proposing to ourselves any needless perfection. It is
but barely complying with the apostle's advice, where
he says. Finally, brethren, whatsoever things are true,
zi)hatsoever things are just, whatsoever things are
pure, whatsoever things are of good report; ij there
be any virtue, and if there he any praise, think on

E 4

56 A SERIOUS CALL TO A

these things. Phil. iv. 8. For no one can come near
the doctrine of this passage but he that proposes to
himself to do every thing- in this life as a servant of
God, to live by reason in everything that he does, and
to make the wisdom and holiness of the gospel the
rule and measure of his desiring and using- every gift
of God.

CHAPTER VI.

Containing the great Obligatiofis, and the great Ad'
vantages of making a wise and religious Use of
our Estates and Fortunes.

AS the holiness of Christianity consecrates all states
and employments of life unto God ; as it requires us to
aspire after an universal obedience, doing and using-
every thing as the servants of God, so are we more es'
pecially obliged to observe this religious exactness in
the use of our estates and fortunes.

The reason of this would appear very plain^ if we
were only to consider that our estate is as much
the gift of God as our eyes or our hands, and is no
more to be buried, or thrown away at pleasure, than
we are to put out our eyes^ or throw away our limbs as
we please.

But, besides this consideration, there are several
other great and important reasons why we should be
religiously exact in the use of our estates.

First, Because the manner of using our money, or
spending our estate, enters so far into the business of
every day, and makes so great a part of our common
life, that our common life must be much of the same
nature as our common way of spending our estate.
If reason and religion govern us in this, then reason
and religion have got great hold of us ; but if humour,
pride, and fancy are the measures of our spending- our
estates, then humour, pride, and fancy will have the
direction of the greatest part of our life.

DEVOUT AND HOLY LIFE. 57

Second!}/, Another great reason for devoting all our
estate to right uses is this^ because it is capable of
being- used to the most excellent purposes, and is so
great a means of doing good. If we waste it, we do
not waste a trifle that siguilies little, but we waste that
which might be made as eyes to the blind, as a hus-
band to the widow, as a father to the orphan. We
waste that which not only enables us to minister
worldly comforts to those that are in distress, but that
which might purchase for ourselves everksthig trea-
sures in heaven. So that, if we part with our money
in foolish ways, we part with a great p(>v> er of com-
forting our fellow-creatures, and of making ourselves
for ever blessed.

If there be nothing so glorious as doing good, if
there is nothing that makes us so like to God, then
nothing can be so glorious in the use of our money as
to use it all in works of love and "oodness, makin"-
ourselves friends, fathers, benefactors, to all our fei-
low-creatures, imitating the divine love, and turning
all our power into acts of generosity, care^ and kind-
ness, to such as are in need of it.

If a man had eyes, and hands, and feet, which he
could give to those that wanted them ; if he should
either lock them up in a chest, or please himself with
some needless or ridiculous use of them, instead of
giving them to his brethren that were blind and lame,
should we not justly reckon him an inhuman wretch?
If he should rather choose to amuse himself with fur-
nishing his house with those things, than to entitle
himself to an eternal reward by giving them to those
that wanted eyes and hands, might we not justly reck-
on him mad?

Now, money has very much the nature of eyes and
feet ; if we either lock it up in chests, or Avaste it in
needless and ridiculous expenses upon ourselves,
whilst the poor and the distressed want it for their
necessary uses ; if we consume it in the ridiculous or-
naments of apparel^ while others are starving in na-

58 A SERIOUS CALL TO A

kedness, we are not far from the cruelty of him that
chooses rather to adorn his house witli the hands and
eyes than to give them to those that want them. If
we choose to indulge ourselves in such expensive en-
joyments as have no real use in them^ such as satisfy
no real want^ rather than to entitle ourselves to an
eternal reward, by disposing of our money well^ w^
are guilty of his madness^ who rather chooses to lock
up eyes and hands than to make himself for ever bless-
ed^ by giving them to those that want them.

For, after wc have satisfied our own sober and rea-
sonable wants, all the rest of our money is but like
spare eyes or hands ; it is something that we cannot
keep to ourselves without being foolish in the use of
it, something- that can only be used well by giving it
to those that v/ant it.

Thirdli/, If we waste our money, we are not only
guilty of v*asting a talent which God has given us, Ave
are not only guilty of making that useless which is so
powerful a means of doing good, but we do ourselves
this further harm, that we turn this useful talent into
a powerful means of corrupting ourselves ; because,
as far as it is spent wrong, so far it is spent in the sup-
port of some V, rong temper, in gratifying some vain
and unreasonable desires in conforming to those fa-
shions and pride of tlie world, which, as Christians
and reasonable men, we are obliged to renounce.

As wit and fine parts cannot be trifled away and
only lost, but will lead those that have them into
greater follies, if they arc not strictly devoted to piety,
so money, if it is not used strictly according to reason
and religion, cannot only be trifled away, but it will
betray people into greater follies, and make them live
a more silly and extravagant life than they could have

/ done without it. If, therefore, you do not spend your
money in doing good to others, you must spend it to
the hurt of yourself You will act like a man that

* should refuse to give that as a cordial to a sick friend,
which he could not drink himself without inflaming-

DEVOUT AND HOLY LIFE. 59

his blood. For this is the case with superfluous mo-
ney ; if you give it to those that want it^ it is a cor-
dial; if you spend it upon yourself in something- that
you do not want, it only inflames and disorders your
mind, and makes you worse than you would be with-
out it.

Consider again the forementioned comparison : If
the man that would not make a right use of spare eyes
and hands should, by continually trying to use them
himself, spoil his own eyes and hands, we might justly
accuse him of still greater madness.

Now, this is truly the case of riciies spent upon our-
selves in vain and needless expenses ; in trying to use
them where they have no real use, nor we any real
want, we only use them to our great hurt, in creating
unreasonable desires, in nourishing ill tempers, in in-
dulging our passions, and supporting a worldly vain
turn of mind. For high eating and drinking, fine
clothes, and line houses, state and equipages, gay
pleasures and diversions, do all of them naturally hurt
and disorder our hearts ; they are the food and nou-
I'ishment of all the folly and weakness of our nature,,
and are certain means to make us vain and worldly in
our tempers. They are all of them the support of
something that ought not to be supported : they are
contrary to that sobriety and piety of heart which re-
lishes divine things ; they are like so many weights
upon our minds, that make us less able and less inclin-
ed to raise up our thoughts and affections to the things
that are above.

So that money thus spent is not merely wasted or
lost, but it is spent to bad purposes and miserable ef-
fects, to the corruption and disordea' of our hearts,
and to the making us less able to live up to the sub-
lime doctrines of the gospel ; it is but like keeping
money from the poor to buy poison for ourselves.

For what is spent in the vanity of dress, may be
reckoned so much laid out to fix vanity in our minds.
So much as is laid out on idleness and indulgence, may

60 A SERIOUS CALL TO A

be reckoned so much given to render our hearts dull
and sensual. So much as is spent in state or equi-
pagCj may be reckoned so much spent to dazzle your
own eyes^ and render you the idol of your own imagi-
nation. And so in every thing, when you go from
reasonable \vants^ you only support some unreason-
able temper, some turn of mind which every good
Christian is called upon to renounce.

So that, on a!i accounts, whether we consider our
fortune as a talent and trust from God, or the great
good tliat it enables us to do, or the great harm that it
does to ourselves, if idly spent; on all these great ac-
counts, it appears that it is absolutely necessary to
make reason and religion the strict rule of using all
our fortune.

Every exhortation in scripture to be wise and rea-
sonable, satisfying only such Avants as God would
have satisfied ; every exhortation to be spiritual and
heavenly, pressing after a glorious change of our na-
ture ; every exhortation to love our neighbour as our-
selves, to love all mankind as God has loved them, is
a command to be strictly religious in the use of our
money. For none of these tempers can be complied
with unless we be wise and reasonable, spiritual and
heavenly, exercising a brotherly love, a godhke cha-
rity, in the use of all our fortune. These tempers,
and this use of our Avorldly goods, are so much the
doctrine of all the New Testament, that you cannot
read a chapter without being taught something of it.
I shall only produce one remarkable passage of scrip-
ture, which is sufficient to justify all that 1 have. said
concerning this religious use of our fortune.

" When the Son of man shall come in his glory,
and all tiie holy angels with him, then shall he sit
upon the throne of his glory. And before him shall
be gathered all nations ; and he shall separate them
one from another, as a shepherd divideth the sheep
from the goats ; and he shall set the sheep on his
right hand, but the goats on the left. Then shall the

DEVOUT AND HOLY LIFE. 61

King say unto them on his right hand. Come ye bless-
ed of my Father, inherit the kingdom prepared for
you fi'om the foundation of the world, i'or 1 was an
hungered, and ye gave me meat ; I was thirsty, and
ye gave me drink ; I was a stranger, and ye took me
in ; naked, and ye clothed me ; 1 was sick, ond ye vi-
sited me ; I was in prison, and ye came unto me.
Then shall he say unto them on the left hand, Depart
from me, ye cursed, into everlasting tire, prepared for
the devil and his angels ; for I was an hinigered, and
ye gave me no meat; I was thirsty, and ye gave me
no drink ; I was a stranger, and ye took me not in ;
naked, and ye clothed me not ; sick, and in prison,
and ye visited me not. These shall go away into
everlasting punishment, but the righteous into life
eternal."

I have quoted this passage at length, because, if
one looks at the way of the world, one would hardly
think that Christians had ever read this part of scrip-
ture. For what is there in the lives of Christians that
looks as if their salvation depended upon these good
works? And yet the necessity of them is here asserted
in the highest manner, and pressed upon us by a live-
ly description of the glory and terrors of the day of
judgment.

Some people, even to those who may be reckoned
virtuous Christians, look upon this text only as a ge-
neral recommendation of occasional works of charity ;
whereas it shews the necessity not only of occasional
charities now and then, but the necessity of such an
entire charitable life, as is a continual exercise of all
&uch works of charity as we are able to j)erform.

Vou own that you have no title to salvation, if you
have neglected these good works ; because such per-
sons as have neglected them are at the last day to be
placed on the left hand, and banished with a depart
ye cursed. There is, therefore, no salvation but in
the performance of these good works. Who is it,
tiierefore, that may be said to have performed these
good works? Is it he that has sortietimcs assisted a

6% A SERIOUS CALL TO A

prisoner^ or relieved the poor or sick? This would
be as absurd as to say that he had performed the du-
ties of devotion who had sometimes said his prayers.
Is it, therefore, he that has several times done these
works of charity ? This can no more be said, than
he can be called a truly just man who had done acts
of justice several times. What is the rule, therefore,
or measure of performing- these good works? How
shall a man trust that he performs them as he ought ?

Now, the rule is very plain and easy, and such as
is common to every other virtue or good temper, as
well as to charity. Who is the humble, or meek, or
devout, or just, or faithful man ? Is it he that has se-
veral times done acts of humility, meekness, devotion,
justice, or fidelity? No, but it is he that lives in the
habitual exercise of these virtues. In like manner,
he only can be said to have performed these works of
charity, who lives in the habitual exercise of them to
the utmost of his power. He only has performed the
duty of divine love, who loves God w ith all his heart
and all his mind, and with all his strength. And he
only has performed the duty of these good works
who has done them with all his heart, and with all his
mind, and with all his strength ; for there is no other
measure of our doing good than our power of doing- it.

The Apostle St. Peter puts this cjucstion to our
blessed Saviour, Lord, how oft shall my brother sin
against me, and I forgive Mm ? till
seven times? Jesus saith unto him, I Mat. viii. 21.
sai/ not unio thee until seven times, but
until seventy times seven. Not as if after this num-
ber of offences a man might then cease to forgive ;
by the expression of seventy times seven, is to shew
us that we are not to bound our forg-iveness by any
number of offences, but are to continue forgiving the
most repeated offences against us. Thus, our Savi-
our saith in another place, if he tres-
pass against thee seven times in a day, Luke xvii. 4.
and seven times in a day turn again to
thee saying- I repent, thou shalt forgive him. Ifj

DEVOUT AND HOLY LIFE. 63

therefore, a man ceases to forgive his brother^ be-
cause he has forgiven him often ah'eady ; if he ex-
cuses himself from forgiving this man^ because he has
forgiven several others ; such a one breaks this law
of Christ, concerning the forgiving one's brother.

Now, the rule of forgiving is also the rule of giv-
ing ; you are not to give or do good to seven^ but to
seventy times seven ; you are not to cease from giv-
ing, because you have given often to the same person
or to other persons^ but must look upon yourself as
much obliged to continue relieving those that continue
in wants as you was obliged to relieve them once or
twice. Had it not been in your power you had been
excused from relieving any person once ; but if it is
in your power to relieve people often, it is as much
your duty to do it often, as it is the duty of others to
do it but seldom, because they are but seldom able.
He that is not ready to forgive every brother as often
as he wants to be forgiven, does not forgive like a
disciple of Christ ; and he that is not ready to give to
every brother that wants to have something given him,
does not give like a disciple of Christ ; for it is as ne-
cessary to give to seventy times seven, to live in the
continual exercise of all good works to the utmost of
our power, as it is necessary to forgive until seventy
times seven, and live in the habitual exercise of this
forgiving temper towards all that want it.

And the reason of all this is very plain, because
there is the same goodness, the same excellency, and
the same necessity of being thus charitable at one
time as at another. It is as much the best use of our
money to be always doing good with it, as it is the
best use of it at any particular time ; so that that
which is a reason for a charitable action is as good a
reason for a charitable life. That which is a reason
for forgiving one offence is the same reason for for-
giving all offences. For such charity has nothing to
recommend it to-day but what will be the same re-
commendation of it to-morrow ; and you cannot neg-

64: A SERIOUS CALL TO A

lect it at one time without being- guilty of the same
sin as if you neglected it at another time.

As sure, therefore, as these works of charity are
necessary to salvation, so sure is it that we are to do
them to the utmost of our power ; not to-day or to-
morrow, but through the whole course of our life.
If, therefore, it be our duty at any time to deny our-
selves any needless expenses, to be moderate and fru-
gal, that we may have to give to those that want, it is
as much our duty to do so at all times, that we may
be further able to do more good. For if it is at any
time a sin to prefer needless vain expence to works of
charity, it is so at all times ; because charity as much
excels all needless and vain expences at one time as at
another. So that if it is ever necessary to our salva-
tion to take care of these works of charity, and to see
that we make ourselves in some degree capable of
doing them, it is as necessary to our salvation to take
care to make ourselves as capable as we can be of
performing them in all the parts of our life.

Either, therefore, you must so far renounce your
Christianity as to say, that you need never perform
any of these good works ; or you must own that you
are to perform them all your life in as high a degree
as you are able. There is no middle way to be taken,
any more than there is a middle way betwixt pride and
humility, or temperance and intemperance. If you
do not strive to fulfil all charitable works, if you neg-
lect any of them that are in your power, and deny as-
sistance to those that want what you can give, let it be
when it will or where it will, you number yourself
amongst those that want Christian charity ; because
it is as much your duty to do good with all that you
have, and to live in the continual exercise of good
works, as it is your duty to be temperate in all that you
eat and drink.

Hence also appears the necessity of renouncing all
those foolish and unreasonable expenses which the
pride and folly of mankind has made so common and

DEVOUT AND HOLY LIFE. 65

fashionable in the world. For, if it is necessary to do
good works as far as you are able, it must be as ne-
cessary to renounce those needless ways of spending
money, which render you unable to do works of cha-
rity.

You must therefore no more conform to these ways
of the world, than you must conform to the vices of
the world ; you must no more spend with those that
idly waste their money as their own humour leads
them, than you must drink with the drunken, or in-
dulge yourself with the epicure ; because a course of
such expenses is no more consistent with a life of cha-
rity, than excess in drinking is consistent with a hfeof
sobriety. When, therefore, any one tells you of the
lawfulness of expensive apparel, of the innocency of
pleasing yourself with costly satisfactions, only ima-
gine that the same person was to tell you that you
need not do works of charity, that Christ does not re-
quire you to do good unto your poor brethren, as unto
him, and then you will see the wickedness of such ad-
vice ; for to tell you that you may live in such ex-
penses, as to make it impossible for you to live in the
exercise of good works, is the same thing as telling
you that you need not have any care about such good
works themselves.

CHAPTER VII.

How the imprudent use of an Estate corrupts all the
tempers of the Mind, and fills the heart ivith poor
and ridiculous passions through the whole course of
Life ; represented in the Character o/'Plavia.

IT has already been observed, that a prudent and
religious care is to be used in the manner of spending
our money or estate, because the manner of spending
our estate makes so great a part of our common life^

p

66 A SERIOUS CALL TO A

and is so much the business of every day, that, accord-
ing- as we are wise or imprudent in this respect,
the whole course of our hves will be rendered either
very wise, or very full of foll3^

Persons that are well affected to religion, that re-
ceive instructions of piety v/ith pleasure and satisfac-
tion, often wonder how it comes to pass that they
make no greater progress in that religion which they
so much admire.

Now the reason of it is this : it is because religion
lives only in their head, but something else has pos-
session of their hearts : and therefore they continue
from year to year, mere admirers and praisers of piety,
without ever coming up to the reality and perfection
of its precepts.

If it be asked why religion does not get possession of
their hearts, the reason is this ; it is not because they
live in gross sins or debaucheries, for their regard to
religion preserves them from such disorders.

But it is because their hearts are constantly em-
ployed, perverted, and kept in a wrong state, by the
indiscreet use of such things as are lawful to be used.

The use and enjoyment of their estates is lawful,
and therefore it never comes into their heads to imagine
any great danger fiom that c[uarter. They never re-
flect that there is a vain and imprudent use of their es-
tates, which, though it does not destroy like gross sins,
yet so disorders the heart, and supports it in such sen-
suality and dulness, such pride and vanity, as makes it
incapable of receiving the life and spirit of piety.

For our souls may receive an infinite hurt, and be
rendered incapable of all virtue, merely by the use of
innocent andlav»ful things.

What is more innocent than rest and retirement,
and yet what more dangerous than sloth and idleness?
What is more lawful than eating and drinking, and
yet what more destructive of all virtue, what more
fruitful of all vice, than sensuality and indulgence ?

How lawful and praise-worthy is the care of a fa-

DEVOUT AND HOLY LIFE. 67

niily, and yet how ctMtainly are many people render-
ed incapable of all virtue by a worldly and solicitous
temper !

Now it is for want of relii^ious exactness in the use
of these innocent and lawful thing-s, that religion can-
not get possession of our hearts ; and it is in the right
and prudent management of ourselves as to these
things, that all tlie art of holy hving chiefly consists.

Gross sins are plainly seen, and easily avoided by
persons that profess religion ; but the indiscreet and
dangerous use of innocent and lawful things, as it does
not shock and oflend our conscience, so it is difficult
to make people at all sensible of the danger of it.

A gentleman that expends all his estate in sports,
and a woman that lays out all her fortune upon her-
self, can hardly be persuaded that the spirit of religion
cannot exist in such a way of life.

These persons, as has been observed, may live free
from debaucheries ; they may be fiiends of religion,
so far, as to praise and speak well of it and admire it
in their imaginations ; but it cannot govern their
hearts, and the spirit of their actions, till they change
their way of life, and let religion give laws to the use
and spending of their estates.

For a woman that loves dress, that thinks no ex-
pense too great to bestow upon the adorning of her
person, cannot stop there; for that temper draws a
thousand other follies along with it, and will render the
whole course of her life, her business, her conver-
sation, her hopes^ her fears, her tastes, her pleasures,
and diversions, all suitable to it-

Flavia and Miranda are two maiden sisters, that
have each of them two hundred pounds a year. They
buried their parents twenty years ago, and have since
that time spent their estate as they pleased.

Flavia has been the wonder of all her friends, for
her excellent management in making so surprising a
figure on so moderate a fortune. Several ladies tha;t
have twice her fortune arc not able always to be so

F 7

9.

68 A SERIOUS CALL TO A

genteel^ and so constant at all places of pleasure and
expense. She has every thing that is in the fashion,
and is in every place where there is any diversion.
Flavia is very orthodox ; she talks warmly ag-ainst he-
retics and schismatics^ is generally at church, and often
at the sacrament. She once commended a sermon that
was against the pride and vanity of dress, and thought
it was very just against Lucinda, whom she takes to be
a great deal finer than she need to be. If any one
asks Flavia to do something in charity, if she likes the
person who makes the proposal, or happens to be in a
right temper, she will toss him half-a-crown, or a
crown, and tell him, if he knew what a long milliner's
bill she had just received, he would think it a great
deal for her to give. A quarter of a year after this she
hears a sermon upon the necessity of charity ; she
thinks the man preaches well, that it is a very proper
subject, that people want much to be put in mind of
it ; but she applies nothing to herself, because she re-
members that she gave a crown some time ago, when
she could ill spare it.

As for poor people themselves, she will admit of no
complaints for them ; she is very positive they are all
cheats and liars, and will say any thing to get relief,
and therefore it must be a sin to encourage them in
their evil ways.

You would think Flavia had the tenderest con-
science in the world, if you was to see how scrupulous
and apprehensive she is of the guilt and danger of giv-
ing amiss.

She buys all books of wit and humour, and has
made an expensive collection of all our English poets ;
for she says one cannot have a true taste of any of
them without being very conversant with them all.

She will sometimes read a book of piety, if it is a
short one, if it is much commended for style and lan-
guage, and she can tell where to borrow it.

Flavia is very idle, and yet very fond of fine work ;
this makes her often sit working in bed until noonj and

DEVOUT AND HOLY LIFE. 69

be told many a long story before she is up ; so that I
need not tell you that her morning devotions are not
always rightly performed.

Plavia would be a miracle of piety, if she was but
half so careful of her soul as she is of her body. The
rising of a pimple in her face, the sting of a gnat, will
make her keep her room for two or three days, and she
thinks they are very rash people who do not take care
of things in time. This makes her so over-careful of
her health, that she never thinks she is well enough;
and so over-indulgent, that she never can be really
well. So that it costs her a great deal in sleeping-
draughts and waking-draughts, in spirits for the head,
in drops for the nerves, in cordials for the stomach,
and in saffron for the tea.

If you visit Flavia on the Sunday, you will always
meet good company, you will know what is doing in
the world, you will hear the last lampoon, be told who
wrote it, and who is meant by every name that is in
it. You will hear what plays were acted that week,
which is the finest song in the opera, who was intoler-
able at the last assembly, and what games are most in
fashion. Flavia thinks they are atheists that play at
cards on the Sunday, but she will tell you the nicety of
all the games, what cards she held, how she played
them, and the history of all that happened at play, as
soon as she comes from church. If you would know
who is rude and ill-natured, who is vain and foppish,
who lives too high, and who is in debt; if you would
know what is the quarrel at a certain house, or who or
who are not in love; if you would know how late Be-
linda comes home at night, what clothes she has
bought, how she loves compliments, and what a long
story she told at such a place ; if you would know
how cross Lucius is to his wife, what ill-natured things
he says to her when nobody hears him ; if you would
know how they hate one another in their hearts,
though they appear so kind in public, you must visit
Flavia on the Sunday. But still she has so great a

f3

70 A SERIOUS CALL TO A

regard for the holiness of the Sunday, that she has turn-
ed a poor old wido^v out of her house, as a profane
wretch, for having- been found once mending her
clothes on the Sunday night.

Thus lives Flavia ; and if she lives ten years longer,
she will have spent about fifteen hundred and sixty
Sundays after this manner. She will have wore about
two hundred different .suits of clothes. Out of this
thirty years of her life, fifteen of them will have been
disposed of in bed ; and of the remaining fifteen,
about fourteen of them will have been consumed in
eating, drinking, dressing, visiting, conversing, reading
and hearing plays and romances at operas, assemblies,
balls, and diversions. For you may reckon all the
time she is up, thus spent, except about an hour and
a half that is disposed of in church, most Sundays in
the year. With great management and under mighty
rules of economy, she will have spent sixty hundred
pounds upon herself, bating only some shillings,
crowns, or half crowns, that have gone from her in
accidental charities.

I shall not take upon me to say, that it is impossible
for Flavia to be saved ; but this much must be said,
that she has no grounds from scripture to think she is
in the way of salvation. For her whole life is in di-
rect opposition to all those tempers and practices
which the gospel has made necessary to salvation.

If you were to hear her say, that she lived all her
life like Aniia the prophetess, who departed not from
the temple, hut served God with fastings and prayers,
night and day, you would look upon her as very ex-
travagant ; and yet this would be no greater extrava-
gance than for her to say, that she had been striving
to enter in at the strait gate, or making any one
doctrine of the gospel a rule of her life.

She may as well say, that she lived with our Saviour
when he was upon earth, as that she has lived in imi-
tation of him, or made it any part of her care to live in
such tempers as he required of all those that would be

DEVOUT AND HOLY LIFE. 74

his disciples. She may as truly say^ that she has every
(lay washed the saints' feet, as that she has lived in
Christian humility and poverty of spirit, and as rea-
sonably think that she has taught a charity-school, as
that she has lived in works of charity. She has as
much reason to think that she has been a sentinel in an
army, as that she has lived in watching- and self-denial.
And it may as fairly be said, that she has lived by the
labour of her hands, as that she has given all diligence
to make her calling and election sure.

And here it is well to be observed, that the poor
vain turn of mind, the irreligion, the folly and vanity
of this whole life of Flavia, is all owing to the manner
of using- her estate ; it is this that has formed her spi-
rit, that has given life to every idle temper, that has
supported every trifling passion, and kept her from all
thoughts of a prudent, useful, and devout life.

When her parents died, she had no thought about
her two hundred pounds a year, but that she had so
much money to do what sjie would wish, to spend
upon herself, and purchase the pleasures and gratifi-
cations of all her passions.

And it is this setting- out, this false judgment, and
indiscreet use of her fortune, that has filled her whole
life with the same indiscretion, and kept her from
thinking of what is right, and wise, and pious, in
every thing else.

]f you have seen her delighted in plays and roman-
ces, in scandal and backbiting-, easily flattered, and
soon atfronted ; if you have seen her devoted to plea-
sures and diversions, a slave to every passion in its
turn, nice in every thing that concerned her body or
dress, careless of every thing that might benefit her
soul, always wanting some new entertainment, and
ready for every happy invention in sihow or dress, it
was because she had purchased all these tempers with
the yearly revenue of her fortune.

She might have been humble, serious, devout, a
lover of good books, an admirer of prayer and retire-

F 4

72 A SERIOUS CALL TO A

ment, careful of her time, diligent in good works, full
of charity and the love of God, but that the imprudent use
of her estate forced all the contrary tempers upon her.

And it was no wonder that she should turn her time,
her mind, her health, and strength, to the same uses
that she turned her fortune. It is owing to her being
wrong in so great an article of life, that you can see
nothing wise, or reasonable, or pious, in any other
part of it.

Now, though the irregular trifling spirit of this cha-
racter belongs, I hope, but to few people, yet many
may here learn some instruction from it, and perhaps
see something of their own spirit in it.

For as Flavia seems to be undone by the unreason-
able use of her fortune, so the lowness of most people's
virtue, the imperfections of their piety, and the dis-
orders of their passions, is generally owing to their
imprudent use and enjoyment of lawful and innocent
things.

More people are kept from a true sense and state of
religion by a regular kind of sensuality and indulg-
ence, than by gross drunkenness. More men live re-
gardless of the great duties of piety, through too great
a concern for worldly goods, than through direct in-
justice.

This man would perhaps be devout, if he was not
so great a virtuoso. Another is deaf to all the motives
to piety, by indulging an idle, slothful temper.

Could you cure this man of his great curiosity and
inquisitive temper, or that of his false satisfaction and
thirst after learning, you need do no more to make
them both become men of great piety.

If this woman would make fewer visits, or that not
be always talking, they would neither of them find it
half so hard to be affected with religion.

For all these things are only little, when they are
compared to great sins ; and though they are little in
that respect yet they are great, as they are impedi-
ments and hindrances of a pious spirit.

DEVOUT AND HOLY LIFE. 73

For as consideration is the only eye of the soul, as
the truths of religion can be seen by nothing- else ; so
whatever raises a levity of mind, a trifling spirit, ren-
ders the soul incapable of seeing, apprehending, and
relishing the doctrines of piety.

Would we, therefore, make a real progress in re-
ligion, we must not only abhor gross and notorious
sins, but we must regulate the innocent and lawful
parts of our behaviour, and put the most common and
allowed actions of life under the rules of discretion and
piety.

CHAPTER VIII.

How the wise and pious use of an Estate naturally
carrieth us to great perfection in all the virtues of
the Christian Life ; represented in the Character
q/' Miranda.

ANY one pious regularity of any one part of our t
life is of great advantage, not only on its own account,
but as it uses us to live by rule, and think of the go-
vernment of ourselves.

A man of business, that has brought one part of his
affairs under certain rules, is in a fair way to take the
same care of the rest.

So he that has brought any one part of his life un-
der the rules of religion, may thence be taught to ex-
tend the same order and regularity into other parts of
his life.

If any one is so wise as to think his time too pre-
cious to be disposed of by chance, and left to be de-
voured by any thing that happens in his way ; if he
lays himself under a necessity of observing how every
day goes through his hands, and obliges himself to a
certain order of time in his business, his retirements,
and devotions, it is hardly to be imagined how soon

74 A SERIOUS CALL TO A

such a conduct will reform^ improve, and perfect the
whole course of his life.

He that once knows the value, and reaps the advan-
tage of a well-ordered time, will not long be a stranger
to the value of any thing else that is of any real con-
cern to him.

A rule that relates even to the smallest part of our
life is of great benefit to us, merely as it is a rule.

For, as the proverb saith. He that hath begun zfoell,
has half done ; so he that has begun to live by rule,
has gone a great way towards the perfection of his
own life.

By rule must here be constantly understood a reli-
gious rule, observed upon a principle of duty to God.

For if a man should oblige himself to be moderate
in his meals only in regard to his stomach, or abstain
from drinking only to avoid the head-ach ; or be mo-
derate in his sleep, through fear of a lethargy ; he
might be exact in these rules, without being at all the
better man for them.

But when he is moderate and regular in any of
these things, out of a sense of Christian sobriety and
self-denial, that lie may offer unto God a more rea-
sonable and holy life, then it is that the smallest rul6
of this kind is naturally the beginning of great piety.

For the smallest rule in these matters is of great
benefit, as it teaches us some part of the government
of ourselves, as it keeps up a tenderness of mind, as it
presents God often to our thoughts, and brings a sense
of religion into the ordinary actions of our common
life.

If a man, wlienever lie was in company where any
one swore, talked lewdly, or spoke evil of his neigh-
bour, should make it a rule to himself, either gently
to reprove him, or if that was not proper, then to leave
the company as decently as he could ; he would find
that this little rule, like a little leaven hid in a great
quantity of meal, would spread and extend itself
throuiih the whole form of his life.

DEVOUT AND HOLY LIFE. 75

If another should oblige himself to abstain on the
Lord's day from many innocent and law fid things^ as
travelling', visiting, common conversation, and dis-
coursing upon Avorldly matters, as trade, news, and
the like ; if he should devote the day, besides the pub-
lic worship, to greater retirement, rea(hng, devotion,
instruction, and the works of charity ; though it may
seem but a small thing, or a needless nicety, to require
a man to abstain from such things as may be done
without sin, yet whoever would try the beneht of so lit-
tle a rule, would perhaps thereby find such a change
made in his spirit, and such a taste of piety raised n\
his mind, as he was an entire stranger to before.

It would be easy to shew, in many other instances,
how little and small matters are the first steps and na-
tural beginnings of great perfections.

But the two things which of all others most want
to be under a strict rule, and which are the greatest;
blessings both to ourselves and others, when they ai-e
rightly used, are our time and our money. These ta-
lents are continual means and opportunities of doing
g'ood.

He that is piously strict and exact in the wise ma-
nagement of either of these cannot be long- ignorant
of the right use of the other ; and he that is happy in
the religious care and disposal of them both is already
ascended several steps upon the ladder of Christian
perfection.

Miranda (the sister of Flavia) is a sober reasonable
Christian ; as soon as she was mistress of her time and
fortune, it was her first thought how she might best
fulfil every thing that God required of her in the use
of them, and how she might make the best and happi-
est use of this short life. She depends upon the truth
of what our blessed Lord hath said, that there is but
one thing iiecdf'ul, and therefore makes her whole life
but one continual labour after it. She has but one
reason for doing or not doing, for liking or not liking
any thing, and that is the wdl of God. She is not so

76 A SERIOUS CALL TO A

weak as to pretend to add what is called the fine lady
to the true Christian. Miranda thinks too well to be
taken with the sound of such silly words ; she has re-
nounced the world to follow Christ in the exercise of
humility, charity, devotion, abstinence, and heavenly
aifections ; and that is Miranda's tine breeding-.

Whilst she was under her mother, she was forced
to be genteel, to live in ceremony, to sit iip late at.
nights, to be in the folly of every fashion, and always
visiting on Sundays. To go patched, and loaded v.ith
a burden of fineries to the holy sacrament ; to be in
every polite conversation ; to hear profaneness at the
play-house, and wanton songs and love intrigues at the
opera; to dance at pubhc places, that fops and rakes
might admire the fineness of her shape, and the beau-
ty of her motions. The remembrance of this way of
life makes her exceedingly careful to atone for it by a
contrary behaviour.

Miranda does not divide her duty between God,
her neighbour, and herself; but she considers all as
due to God, and so does every thing in his name, and
for his sake. This makes her consider her fortune as
the gift of God, that is to be used as every thing is
that belongs to God, for the wise and reasonable ends
of a Christian and holy life. Her fortune, therefore,
is divided betwixt herself and several other poor peo-
ple, and she has only her part of relief from it. She
thinks it tlie same folly to indulge herself in needless
vain expenses, as to give to other people to spend in
the same way. Therefore, as she will not give a poor
man money to go to see a puppet-show, neither will she
allow herself any to spend in the same manner ; think-
ing it very proper to be as wise herself as she expects
poor men should be. For it is a folly and a crime in a
poor man, says Miranda, to waste what is given him
in foolish trifles, whilst he wants meat, drink, and
clothes. And is it less folly, or a less crime, in me to
spend that money in silly diversions, which might be
so much better spent in imitation of the divine good-

DEVOUT AND HOLY LIFE. 77

nesSj in works of kindness and charity towards m^
fellow-creatures, and fellow-Christians!' If a poor
man's own necessities are a reason why he should not
waste any of his money idly, surely the necessities of
the poor, the excellency of charity, which is received
as done to Christ himself, are a much greater reason
why no one should ever waste any of his money ; for
if he does so, he does not only do, like the poor man,
only waste that which he wants himself, but he wastes
that which is wanted for the most noble use, and which
Christ himself is ready to receive at his hands. And
if we are angry at a poor man, and look upon him as
a wretch, when he throws away that which should buy
his own bread, how must we appear in the sight of
God, if we make a wanton idle use of that which would
buy bread and clothes for the hungry and naked
brethren, who are as near and as dear to God as we
are, and fellow-heirs of the same state of future glory ?
This is the spirit of Miranda, and thus she uses the
g"ifts of God ; she is only one of a certain number of
poor people that are relieved out of her fortune, and
she only differs from them in the blessedness of giving.

Excepting her victuals, she never spent ten pounds
a year upon herself. If you were to see her, you
would wonder what poor body it was that was so sur-
prisingly neat and clean. She has but one rule that
she observes in her dress, to be always clean and in
the cheapest things. Every thing about her resem-
bles the purity of her soul, and she is always clean
without, because she is always pure within.

Every morning sees her early at her prayers. She
rejoices in the beginning of every day, because it be-
gins all her pious rules of holy living, and brings the
fresh pleasure of repeating them. She seems to be
as a guardian -angel to those that dwell about her, with
her watchings and prayers blessing the place where
she dwells, and making intercession with God for
those that are asleep.

Her devotions have had some intervals, and God

78 A SERIOUS CALL TO A

has heard several of her private prayers^ before the
lig-ht is suffered to enter into her sister's room. Mi-
randa does not know what it is to have a dull half-day ;
the returns of her liours of prayer^ and her religious
exercises, come too often to let any considerable part
of time lie heavy upon her hands.

When you see her at work^ you see the same wis-
dom that governs all her other actions. She is either
doing- something" that is necessary for herself, or ne-
cessary for others v» lio want to be assisted. There is
scarce a poor family in the neighbourhood but wears
something' or other that has had the labour of her
hands. Her wise and pious mind neither wants the
amusement, nor can bear with the folly of idle and
impertinent work.^ She can admit of no such folly
as this in the day, because she is to answer for all
hei' actions at night. AVhen there is no wisdom to be
observed in the employment of her hands, when there
is no useful or charitable work to be done^ Miranda
will work no more. At her table she lives strictly by
this rule of holy scripture, whether ye eat or drink,
or whatsoever ye do, do all to the glory of God.
This makes her begin and end every meal, as she be-
gins and ends every day, with acts of devotion : She
eats and drinks only for the sake of living, and with
so regular an abstinence, that every meal is an exer-
cise of self-denial, that she humbles her body every
time that'siiC is forced to feed it. If Miranda were
to run a race for her life^ she would submit to a diet
liiat ^vas proper for it. But as the race which is set
before her is a race of holiness, purity, and heavenly
affection, whicii she is to finish in a corrupt, disorder-
ed body of earthly passions, so her every-day diet has
only this one end, to make her body fitter for this
spiritual race. She does not weigh her meat in a
pair of scales, but she Aveighs it in a much better ba-
lance ; so much as gives a proper streng-th to her
hody, and renders it able and willing to obey the soul,
(o join in psalms and prayers, and hft up eyes and

DEVOUT AND HOLY LIFE. 79

hands towards heaven with greater readiness, so much
is Miranda's meal. So that Miranda will never have
her eyes swell with fatness, or pant under a heavy
load of flesh, till she has changed her religion.

The Holy Scriptures, especially of the New Testa-
ment, are her daily study ; these she reads with a
M^atcliful attention, constantly casting an eye upon
herself, and trying herself, by every doctrine that is
there. When she has the New Testament in her
hand, she supposes herself at the feet of our Saviour
and his apostles, and makes every thing that she learns
of them so many laws of her life. She receives their
sacred words with as much attention and reverence as
if she saw their persons, and knew that they were just
come from heaven on purpose to teach her the way
that leads to it.

She thinks that the trying herself every day by the
doctrines of scripture is tlie only possible way to be
ready for her trial at the last day. She is sometimes
afraid that she lays out too much money in books, be-
cause she cannot forbear buying all practical books of
any note, especially such as enter into tlic heart of re-
ligion, and describe the inward holiness of tlie Chris-
tian life. But of all human writings, the lives of pi-
ous persons and eminent saints are her greatest de-
light. In these she searches as for hidden treasure,
hoping to find some secret of holy living, sonic un-
common degree of piety, which she may make her
own. By this means Miranda has her head and heart
stored with all the principles of wisdom and holiness.
She is so full of the one main business of life, that she
finds it diflicult to converse upon any other subject ;
and if you are in her company when she thinks pro-
per to talk, you must be made wiser and better whe-
ther you will or not.

To relate her charity would be to relate the history
of every day for twenty years ; for so long has all her
fortune been spent that way. She has set up near ■
- twenty poor tradesmen that had failed in their busii-

80 A SERIOUS CALL TO A

ness^ and saved as many from failing-. She has edu-
cated several poor children that were picked up in the
streets, and put them in a way of an honest employ-
ment. As soon as any labourer is confined at home
with sickness, she sends him, till he recovers, twice the
value of his wages, that he may have one part to give
to his family, as usual, and the other to provide things
convenient for his sickness.

If a family seems too large to be supported by the
labour of those that can work in it, she pays their rent,
and gives them something yearly towards their cloth-
ing. By this means there are many poor families
that live in a comfortable manner, and are from year
to year blessing her in their prayers.

If there is any poor man or woman that is more
than ordinarily wicked and reprobate, Miranda has
her eye upon them ; she watches their time of need
and adversity ; and if she can discover that they are
in any great straits of affliction, she gives them speedy
relief. She has this care for this sort of people, be-
cause she once saved a very profligate person from
being- carried to prison, who immediately became a
true penitent.
^ There is nothing in the character of Miranda more
to be admired than this temper. For this tenderness
of affection towards tlie most abandoned sinners is the
highest instance of a divine and godlike soul.

Miranda once passed by a house where the man and
his wife were cursing and swearing- at one another in
a most dreadful manner, and three children crying;
about tliem ; this sight so much affected her compas-
sionate mind, that she went the next day and bought
the three children that they might not be ruined by
living- with such wicked parents. They now live with
Miranda, are blessed with her care and prayers, and
all the good works which she can do for them. They
hear her talk, they see her live, they join with her in
psalm's and prayers. The eldest of them has already
converted his parents from their wicked life^ and shews

DfiVOUT AND HOLY LIFE. Sl

a turn of mind so remarkably pious, that Miranda in-
tends him for holy orders ; that being thus saved him-
self, he may be zealous in the salvation of souls, and
do to other miserable objects as she lias done to him.
I Miranda is a constant relief to poor people in their
misfortunes and accidents. There are sometimes lit-
tle misfortunes that happen to them, which of them-
selves they could never be able to overcome. The
death of a cow, or a horse, or some little robbery,
would keep them in distress all their lives. She does
not suifer them to grieve under such accidents as

; these. She immediately gives them the full value of

I their loss, and makes use of it as a means of raising

\ their minds toAvards God.

She has a great tenderness for old people that are
grown past their labour. The parish allowance to

/ such people is very seldom a comfortable maintenance.
For this reason, they are the constant objects of her
care ; she adds so much to their allowance, as some-
what exceeds the wages they got when they were
young. This she does to comfort the infirmities of
their age, that, being free from trouble and distress,
they may serve God in peace and tranquillity of mind.
She has generally a large number of this kind, who by
her charities and exhortations to holiness, spend their

\ last days in great piety and devotion,

INIiranda never wants compassion, even to common
beggars, especially towards those that are old, or sick,
or full of sores, that want eyes or limbs ; she hears
their complaints with tenderness, gives them some
proof of her kindness, and never rejects them with
hard or reproachful language, for fear of adding af-
fliction to her fellow-creatures.

If a poor traveller tells her that he has neither
strength, nor food, nor money left, she never bids him
go to the place from whence he came, or tells him that
she cannot relieve him, because he may be a cheat, or
she does not know him ; but she relieves him for that
reason, because he is a stranger, and unknown to her,

G

82

A SERIOUS CALL TO A

For it is the most noble part of charity to be kind and
tender to tliose whom we never saw before, and per-
haps never may see again in this hfe. 1 teas a stran-
ger, and ye took me in, saith our blessed Saviour ;~l3iit
who can perform this duty that will not reheve per-
sons that are unknown to him.

Miranda considers that Lazarus was a common beg-
gar, that he was the care of angels, and carried into
Abraham's bosom. She considers that our blessed Sa-
viour and his apostles were kind to beggars ; that tliey
spoke comfortably to them, healed their diseases, and
restored eyes and limbs to the lame and blind. That
Peter said to the beggar that wanted an alms from
him. Silver and gold have I none, but such as I have
give I thee ; in the name of Jesus Christ ofNazartth,
rise up and loalk. Miranda, therefore, never treats
beggars with disregard and aversion, but she imitates
the kindness of our Saviour and his apostles towards
them ; and though she cannot, like them, work mira-
cles for their relief, yet she relieves them with that
power which she hath ; and may say with the apostle.
Such as I have give I thee, in the name of Jesus Christ.

It may be, says Miranda, that I may often give to
those that do not deserve it, or that will make an ill use
of my alms. But what then ? Is not this the very
method of divine goodness ? Does not God make his
sun to rise on the evil and on the good ? Is not this
the very goodness that is recommended to us in scrip-
ture, that, by imitating of it, we may be children of
our Father who is in heaven, icho sendeth rain on
the just and on the unjust? And shall I withhold
a little money or food iiom my fellow-creature, for
fear he should not be good enough to receive it of me ?
Do I beg of God to deal with me not according to my
merit, but according to his own great goodness ; and
shall I be so absurd as to withhold my charity from a
poor brother because he may perhaps not deserve it?
Shall I use a measure towards him, which I pray God
never to use towards me ?

DEVOUT AND HOLY LIFE. 83

Besides, where has the scripture made merit the rule
or measure of charity ? On the contrary, the scripture
saith, //■ thy enemy hunger, feed him ; if he thirsty
give him drink.

Now, this plainly teaches us that the merits of per-
sons are to he no rule of our charity, but that we are
to do acts of kindness to those that least of all deserve
them. For if I am to love and to do good to my worst
enemies ; if I am to be charitable to them, notwith-
standing- all their spite and malice, surely merit is no
measure of charity. If 1 am not to withhold my cha-
rity from such bad people, and who are at the same
time enemies, surely I am not to deny alms to poor
beggars whom I neither know to be bad people, nor
any vN^ay my enemies.

You will perhaps say that, by this means, I encou-
rage people to be beggars. But the same thoughtless
objection may be made against all kind of charities,
for they may encourage people to depend upon thertJ.

The same may be said against forgiving our ene-
mies, for it may encourage people to do us hurt. The
same may be said even against the goodness of God,
that, by pouring his blessing- on the evil and on the
good, on the just and on the unjust, evil and unjust
men are encouraged in their wicked ways. The same
may he said against clothing the naked, or giving me-
dicines to the sick, for they may encourage people to*
neglect themselves, and be careless of their health.
But when the love of God dwelleth in you, when it
has enlarged your heart, and filled you with bowels of
mercy and compassion, you will make no more such
objections as these.

When you are at any time turning away the poor,
the old, the sick and helpless traveller, the lame or the
blind, ask yourself this question. Do I sincerely wish
these poor creatures may be as happy as Lazarus, that
was carried by angels into Abraham's bosom ? Do I
sincerely desire that God would make them fellow-
heirs with me in eternal glory ? Now, if you search

g2

84 A SERIOUS CALL TO A

into your soul, you will find that there is none of these
motions there^ that you are wishing nothing of this ;
for it is impossible for any one heartily to wish a poor
creature so great a happiness, and yet not have a heart
to give him a small alms. For this reason, says Mi-
randa, as far as I can I give to all, because I pray to
God to forgive all; and I cannot refuse an alms to
those whom 1 pray to God to bless, whom I wish to be
partakers of eternal glory ; but am glad to shew some
degree of love to such as, I hope, will be the objects of
the infinite love of God. And if, as our Saviour has
assured us, it be more blessed to give than to receive,
we ought to look upon those that ask our alms as so
many friends and benefactors, that come to do us a
greater good than they can receive ; that come to exalt
our virtue, to be witnesses of our charity, to be monu-
ments of our love, to be our advocates with God, to be
to us in Christ's stead, to appear for us at the day of
judgment, and to help us to a blessedness greater than
our alms can bestow on them.

This is the spirit, and this is the life of the devout
Miranda ; and if she lives ten years longer she will
have spent sixty hundred pounds in charity, for that
which she allows herself may be fairly reckoned
amongst her alms.

When she dies, she must shine amongst apostles,
and saints, and martyrs ; she must stand amongst the
first servants of God, and be glorious amongst those
that have fought the good fight^ and finished their
course with joy.

CHAPTER IX.

Containing some Reflections 07i the Life of Miranda,
and shewing how it may and ought to be imitated by
all her Sex.
NOW, this life of Miranda, which I heartily re-

f^oniraend to the imitation of her sex, however contrary

DEVOUT AND HOLY LIFE. 85

it may seem to the way and fashion of the worlds is
yet suitable to the true spirit, and founded upon the
plainest doctrines of Christianity.

To live as she does, is as truly suitable to the gospel
of Christ, as to be baptized or receive the sacrament.

Her spirit is that which animated the saints of for-
mer ages ; and it is because they lived as she does that
we now celebrate their memories, and praise God for
their examples.

There is nothing that is whimsical, trifling, or un-
reasonable in her character, but every thing there is
described in a right and proper instance of a solid and
real piety.

It is as easy to shew that it is whimsical to go to
church, or to say one's prayers, as that it is whimsical
to observe any of these rules of life ; for all Miranda's
rules of living unto God, of spending her time and for-
tune, of eating, working, dressing, and conversing, are
as substantial parts of a reasonable and holy life as de-
votion and prayer.

For there is nothing to be said for the wisdom of
sobriety, the wisdom of devotion, the wisdom of cha-
rity, or the wisdom of humility, but what is as good an
argument for the wise and reasonable use of apparel.

Neither can any thing be said against the folly of
luxury, the folly of sensuality, the folly of extrava-
g-ance, the folly of prodigality, the folly of ambition, of
idleness or indulgence, but what must be said against
the folly of dress ; for religion is as deeply concerned
in the one as in the, other.

If you may be vain in one thing, you may be vain in
every thing ; for one kind of vanity only differs from
another, as one kind of intemperance differs from
another.

If you spend your fortune in the needless vain finery
of dress, you cannot condemn prodigality, or extrava-
gance, or luxury, without condemning yourself

If you fancy that it is your own folly, and that
therefore there can be no great matter in it, you are

g3

86 A SERIOUS CALL TO A

like those that think they are only guilty of the folly of
covetousness, or the folly of ambition. Now though
some people may live so plausible a life as to appear
chargeable with no other fault than that of covetous-
ness or ambition^ yet the case is not as it appears ; for
covetousness or ambition cannot subsist in a heart that
is_, in other respects,, rightly devoted to God.

In like manner, though some people may spend
most that they have in needless expensive ornaments
of dress, and yet seem to be, in every other respect,
truly pious, yet it is certahily false ; for it is as impos-
sible for a mind that is in a true state of religion to be
vain in the use of clothes, as to be vain in the use of
alms or devotions. Now to convince you of this from
your own reflections, let us suppose that some eminent
saint, as for instance, that the holy Virgin Mary was
sent into the world to be again in a state of trial for a
few years, and that you was going to her to be edified
by her great piety, would you expect to find her
dressed out and adorned in fine and expensive clothes?
No ; you would know in your own mind that it was
as impossible as to find her learning to dance. Do
but add saint or holy to any person, either man or wo-
man, and your own mind tells you immediately that
such a character cannot admit of the vanity of fine ap-
parel. A saint genteelly dressed is as great nonsense
as an apostle in an embroidered suit ; every one's own
natural sense convinces him of the inconsistency of
these things.

Now, what is the reason that, w hen you think of a
ifT-H^^'^ . saint or eminent servant of God, you cannot admit of
j^t^v 'i < the vanity of apparel ? Is it not because it is incon-
» I ^', sistent with such a right state of heart, such true and
'^'^-t- exalted piety ? And is not this, therefore, a demon-
f|i# * '*'^' '^ration that, where such vanity is admitted, there a
^\^|**-'' right state of heart, true and exalted piety, must needs
1' V be wanted? For as certainly as the holy Virgin Mary
could not indulge herself, or conform to the vanity of
' r Lji the world in dress and figure, so certain is it, that none

DEVOUT AND HOLY LIFE. 87

can indulge themselves in this vanity but those who
want her piety of heart ; and consequently it must be
owned, that all needless and expensive finery of dress
is the effect of a disordered heart, that is not governed
by the true spirit of religion.

Covetousness is not a crime, because there is any
harm in gold or silver, but because it supposes a fool-
ish and unreasonable state of mind, that is fallen from
its true good, and sunk into such a poor and wretched
satisfaction.

In like manner, the expensive finery of dress is not
a crime, because there is any thing- good or evil in
clothes, but because the expensive ornaments of cloth-
ing* shew a foolish and unreasonable state of hearty
that is fallen from right notions of human nature, that
abuses the end of clothing, and turns the necessities of
life into so many instances of pride and folly.

All the world agree in condemning remarkable fops.
Now, what is the reason of it ? Is it because there is
any thing sinful in their particular dress or affected
manners '{ No ; but it is because all people know that
it shews the state of a man's mind, and that it is im-
possible for so ridiculous an outside to have any thing-
wise, or reasonable, or good within. And, indeed, to*",
suppose a fop of great piety is as much nonsense j
as to suppose a coward of great courage. So that
all the world agree in owning that the use and man-
ner of clothes is a mark of the state of a man's mind_,
and consequently, that it is a thing highly essential to
religion. But then it should be well considered, that
as it is not only the sot that is guilty of intemperance^
but every one that transgresses the right and religious
measures of eating and drinking; so it should be con-
sidered, that it is not only the fop that is guilty of the
vanity and abuse of dress, but every one that departs
from the reasonable and religious ends of clothing.

As, therefore, every argument against sottishness is
as good an argument against all kinds of intemper-
ancCj so every argument against the vanity of fops is

G 4

88 A SERIOUS CALL TO A

as good an argument against all vanity and abuse of
dress ; for they are all of the same kind, and only differ
as 0!ie degree of intemperance may ditfer from ano-
ther. She that only paints a little may as justly ac-
cuse another^ because she paints a great deal ; as she
that uses but a common finery of dress, accuses ano-
th. '' tiiat is excessive in her finery.

For as, in the matter of temperance, there is no
rule but the sobriety that is according to the doctrines
and spirit of our religion ; so in the matter of apparel,
there is no rule to be observed but such a right use of
clothes as is strictly according to the doctrines and
spirit of our religion. To pretend to make the way of
the world our measure in these things, is as weak and
ahsurd as to make the way of the world the measure
of our sobriety, abstinence, or humility. It is a pre-
tence that is exceedingly absurd in the mouths of
Christians, who are to be so far from conforming to the
fashions of this life, that, to have overcome the world,
is made an essential mark of Christianity.

This, therefore, is the way that you are to judge of
the crime of vain apparel ; you are to consider it as
an offence against the proper use of clothes, as covet-
ousness is an offence against the proper use of money ;
you are to consider it as an indulgence of proud and
unreasonable tempers, as an offence against the hu-
mility and sobriety of the Christian spirit ; you are to
consider it as an offence against all those doctrines
that require you to do all to the glory of God, that re-
quire you to make a right use of your talents ; you
are to consider it as an off'ence against all those texts
of scripture that command you to love your neighbour
as yourself, to feed the hungry, to clothe the naked,
and do all works of charity that you are able ; so that
you must not deceive yourself with saying, where can
be the harm of clothes? for the covetous man might
as well say, where can be the harm of gold or silver ?
But you must consider, that it is a great deal of harm
to want that wise, and reasonable^ and humble state

DEVOUT AND HOLY LIFE. 89

of heart, which is according" to the spirit of religion,
and which no one can have in the manner that he
oug-ht to have it, who indulges himself either in the
vanity of dress, or the desire of riches.

There is, therefore, nothing right in the use of
clothes, or in the use of any thing- else in the world,
but the plainness and simplicity of the gospel. Every
other use of things (however polite and fashionable iu
the world) distracts and disorders the heart, and is in-
consistent with that inward state of piety, that purity
of heart, that wisdom of mind, and regularity of
affection, which Christianity requireth.

If you would be a good Christian, there is but one
way ; you must live wholly unto God, you must live
according to the wisdom that comes from God ; you
must act according to the right judgments of the na-
ture and value of things ; you must live in the exer-
cise of holy and heavenly affections, and use all the
gifts of God to his praise and glory.

Some persons, perhaps, who admire the purity and
perfection of this life of Miranda, may say, how can it
be proposed as a common example ! How can we
who are married, or we who are under the direction
of our parents, imitate such a life ?

It is answered, just as you may imitate the life of
our blessed Saviour and his apostles. The circum-
stances of our Saviours life, and the state and condi-
tion of his apostles, was more dirferent from yours
than that of Miranda's is ; and yet tiieir life, the puri-
ty and perfection of their beliaviour, is the common
example that is proposed to all Christians.

« It is their spirit, therefore, their piety, their love of ./juJU-

I God, that you are to imitate, and not the particular ^

( form of their life.

( Act under God as they did; direct your common
actions to that end which they did ; glorify your pro-
per state with such love of God, such charity to your
neighbour, such humility and self-denial, as they did ;
and thcHj though you are only teaching your own

\

90 A SERIOUS CALL TO A

children, and St. Paul is converting" whole nations,
yet you are following his steps, and acting- after his
example.

Do not think, therefore, that you cannot or need
not be like Miranda, because you are not in her state
of life ; for as the same spirit and temper would have
made Miranda a saint, though she had been forced to
labour for a maintenance, so if you will but aspire af-
ter her spirit and temper, every form and condition
of life will furnish you with sufficient means of em-
ploying it.

Miranda is what she is, because she does every
thing- in the name, and with regard to her duty to
God ; and when you do the same, you will be exactly
like her, though you are never so different from her in
the outward state of your life.

You are married, you say ; therefore you have not
your time and fortune in your power as she has.

It is very true ; and therefore you cannot spend so
much time, nor so much money, in the manner that
she does.

But now Miranda's perfection does not consist in
lis, that she spends so much time, or so much money
in such a manner, but that she is careful to make the
best use of ail that time, and all that fortune, which
God has put into her hands. Do you, therefore, make
the best use of all that time and money which is in
your disposal, and then you are like Miranda.

If she has two hundred pounds a year, and you
have only two mites, have you not the more reason to
be exceeding- exact in the wisest use of it? If she has
a deal of time, and you have but a little, ought you
not to be the more watchful and circumspect, lest that
little should be lost?

You say, if you were to imitate the cleanly plain-
ness and cheapness of her dress, you should oifend
your husbands.

First, Be very sure that this is true^ before you
make it an excuse.

DEVOUT AND HOLY LIFE. 01

Secondly/, If your husbands do really require you
to patch your faces, to expose your breasts naked, and
to be fine and expensive in all your apparel, then take
these two resolutions :

First, To forbear from all this as soon as your hus-
bands Avill permit you.

Secondly/, To use your utmost endeavours to re-
commend yourselves to their affections by such solid
virtues as may correct the vanity of their minds, and
teach them to love you for such qualities, as will make
you amiable in the sight of God and his holy ang^els.

As to this doctrine concernino' the plainness and
modesty of dress, it may perhaps be thought by some
to be sufficiently confuted by asking, whether all per-
sons are to be clothed in the same manner?

These questions are generally put by those who
had rather perplex the plainest truths than be obliged
to follow them.

Let it be supposed that I had recommended an uni-
versal plainness of diet ; is it not a thing sufficiently
reasonable to be universally recommended? But
would it thence follow that the nobleman and the la-
bourer were to live upon the same food?

Suppose I had pressed an universal temperance,
does not religion enough justify such a doctrine? But
would it therefore follow that all people were to drink
the same licjuors, and the same quantity ?

In like manner, though plainness and sobriety of
dress is recommended to all, yet it does by no means
follow that all are to be clothed in the same manner.

Now, what is the particular rule with regard to
temperance? How shall particular persons, that use
different liquors, and in different quantities, preserve
their temperance ?

Is not this the rule ? Are they not to guard against
indulgence, to make their use of liquors a matter of
conscience, and to allow of no refreshments but such
as are consistent with the strictest rules of Christian
pobriety ?

92

A SERIOUS CALL TO A

Now, transfer this rule to the matter of apparel,
and all questions about it are answered.

Let every one but guard ag-ainst the vanity of dress,
let them but make their use of clothes a matter of con-
science, let them but desire to make the best use of
their money, and then every one has a rule that is suf-
ficient to direct them in every state of life. This rule
will no more let the great be vain in their dress, than
intemperate in their liquors ; and yet will leave it as
lawful to have some difference in their drink.

But now will you say, that you may use the finest
richest wines, when and as you please, that you may
be as expensive in them as you have a mind, because
different liquors are allowed ? If not, how can it be
said that you may use clothes as you please, and wear
the richest things you can get, because the bare dif-
ference of clothes is lawful .'

For as the lawfulness of different liquors leaves no
room, nor any excuse, for the smallest degree of in-
temperance in drinking; so the lawfulness of different
apparel leaves no room, nor any excuse, for the small-
est degrees of vanity in dress.

To ask what is vanity in dress, is no more a puz-
zling question than to ask wlipt is intemperance in
drinking ; and though religion does not here state the
particular measure for ail individuals, yet it gives such
general rules as are a sufficient direction in every state
of life.

He that lets religion teach him that the end of drink-
ing is only so far to refresh our spirits as to keep us
in good health, and make soul and body fitter fqr all
the offices of a holy and pious life, and that he is to
desire to glorify God by a right use of this liberty,
will always know what intemperance is in his particu-
lar state.

So he that lets religion teach him that the end of
clothing is only to hide our shame and nakedness,
and to secure our bodies from the injuries of weather,
and that he is to desire to glorify God by a sober and

DEVOUT AND HOLY LIFE. 93

wise use of this necessity, will always know what va-
nity of dress is in his particular state.

And he that thinks it a needless nicety to talk of the
religious use of apparel, has as much reason to think
it a needless nicety to talk of the relig'ious use of li-
quors ; for luxury and indulgence in dress is as great
an ahuse as luxury and indulgence in eating- and drink-
ing-; and there is no avoiding- either of tliem, but by
making- religion the strict measure of our allowance
in both cases. And there is nothing in religion to ex-
cite a man to this pious exactness in one case, but
what is as good a motive to the same exactness in the
other.

Further, as all things that are lawful are not there-
fore expedient, so there are some things law fill in the
use of liquors and apparel, which by abstaining from
them for pious ends may be made means of great per-
fection.

Thus, for instance, if a man should deny himself
such use of liquors as is lawful ; if he should refrain
from such expense in his drink as might be allowed
without sin ; if he should do this, not only for the sake
of a more pious self-denial, but that he might be able
to relieve and refresh the helpless, poor, and sick ; if
another should abstain from the use of that which is
lawful in dress ; if he should be more frugal and mean
in his habit than the necessities of religion absolutely
require ; if he should do this not only as a means of
better humility, but that he may be more able to
clothe other people ; these persons might be said to
do that which was highly suitable to the true spirit,
though not absolutely required by the letter of the
law of Clirist.

For if those who give a cup of cold water to a dis-
ciple of Christ shall not lose their reward, how dear
must they be to Christ who often give themselves wa-
ter, that they may be able to give wine to the sick and
lauguishing members of Christ's body !

But to return : AH that has been here said to mar-

$4 A SERIOUS CALL TO A

ried women p.iay serve for the same instruction to
such as are still under the direction of their parents.

Now, though the obedience which is due to parents
does not obhge them to carry their virtues any higher
than tlieir parents require them, yet their obedience
requires them to submit to their direction in all things
not contrary to the laws of God,

If, therefore, your parents require you to live more
in the fashion and conversation of the world, or to be
more expensive in your dress and person,^ or to dispose
of your time, otherwise than suits with your desires
after greater perfection, you must submit, and bear it
as your cross, till you are at liberty to follow the hig'h-
er counsels of Cluist, and have it in your power to
choose the best ways of raising- your virtue to its great-
est height.

Now, although, whilst you are in this state, you
may be obliged to forego some means of improving
your virtue, yet there are some others to be found in
it, that are riot to be had in a life of more liberty.

For, if, in this state, where obedience is so great a,
virtue, you comply in all things lawful, out of a pi-
ous tender sense of duty, then tliose things which you
thus perform, are, instead of being- hindrances of your
virtue, turned into means of improving' it.

What you lose by being restrained from such things
as you would choose to observe, you gain by that ex-
cellent virtue of obedience, in humbly complying
against your temper.

Now what is here granted is only in things lawful,
and therefore the diversion of our English stage is
here excepted, being elsewhere proved, as I think, to
be absolutely unlawful.

Thus much to shew how persons under the direc-
tion of others may imitate the wise and pious life of
Miranda.

But as for those who are altogether in their own
hands, if the liberty of their states makes them covet
the best gifts, if it carries them to choose the most ex-

DEVOUT AND HOLY LIFE. 95

cciient ways, if they, havin*^ all in their own power,
shoulJ turn the whole form of their life into a regular
exercise of the highest virtues, happy are they who
have so learned Christ !

Ail i)ersons cannot receive this saying. They that
are ready to receive it, let them receive it, and bless
that Spirit of God which has put such good motions
into their hearts.

God may be served and glorified in every state of
life. But as there are some states of life more desi-
rable than others, that more purify our natures, that
more improve our virtues, and dedicate us unto God
in a higher manner ; so those who are at liberty to
choose for themselves seem to be called by God to be
morje eminently devoted to his service.

Ever since the beginning of Christianity, there\
have been two orders, or ranks of people amongst \
good Christians. \

The one that feared and served God in the common |
offices of a secular worldly life.

The other, renouncing the common business and
common enjoyments of life, as riches, marriage, ho-
nours, and pleasures, devoted themselves to voluntary
poverty, virginity, devotion, and retirement, that by
this means they might live wholly unto God, in the
daily exercise of a divine and heavenly life.

This testimony I have from the famous ecclesiasti-
cal historian Eusebius, who lived at the time of the
first general council, when the faith of our Nicene
creed was established, when the church was in its
greatest glory and purity, when its bishops were so
many holy fathers and eminent saints.

'" Therefore," saith he, '' there have been instituted
in the church of Christ two ways or manners of living ;
the one, raised above the ordinary state of nature, and
common ways of living, rejects wedlock, possessions,
and worldly goods ; and, being wholly separate and
removed from the ordinary conversation of common
life, is appropriated and devoted solely to the worship

96 A SERIOUS CALL TO A

and service of God^ through an exceeding' degree of
heavenly love.

" They who are of this order of people seem dead
to the life of this world, and, having their bodies only
upon earth, are, in their minds and contemplations,
dwelling in heaven, from whence, like many heavenly
inhabitants, they look down upon human life, making
intercessions and oblations to Almighty God for the
whole race of mankind ; and this not with the blood
of beasts, or the fat, or smoke, and burning of bodies^
but with the highest exercises of true piety, with
cleansed and purified hearts, and with an whole form
of life strictly devoted to virtue. These are their sa-
crifices, which they continually oft'er unto God, im-
ploring his mercy and favour for themselves and their
fellow-creatures.

" Christianity receives this as the perfect manner
of hfe.

" The other is of a lower form, and, suiting itself
more to the condition of human nature, admits of
chaste wedlock, and care of children and family, of
trade and business, and goes through all the employ-
ments of life under a sense of piety and fear of God.

" Now, they wiio have chosen this manner of life
have their set times for retirement and spiritual exer-
cises, and particular days are set apart for their hear-
ing and learning the word of God. And this order
of people is considered as in the second state of pie-
ty."— Emeh. Dem. Evan. I. I.e. 8.

Thus this learned historian.

If, therefore, persons of either sex, moved with the
life of Miranda, and desirous of perfection, should
unite themselves into little societies, professing volun-
tary poverty, virginity, retirement, and devotion, liv-
ing upon bare necessaries, that some might be relieved
by their charities, and all be blessed with their pray-
ers, and benefited by their example ; or if, for want of
this, they should practise the same manner of life in
as high a degree as they could by themselves; such

DEYOUT AND HOLY LIFE. 9lf

persons would be so far from being chargeable with
any superstition or blind devotion^ that they might be
justly said to restore that piety which was the boast
and glory of the church when its greatest saints were
alive.

Now, as this learned historian observes, that it was
an exceeding great degree ot heavenly love tliat car-
ried these persons so much above the common ways of
life to such an eminent state of holiness, so it is not to
be wondered at that the religion of Jesus Christ should
fill the hearts of many Christians with this high de-
gree of love.

For a religion that opens such a scene of glory,
that discovers things so infinitely above all the worlds
that so triumphs over death, that assures us of such
mansions of bliss, where we shall so soon be as the
angels of God in heaven ; what wonder is it, if such
a religion, such truths and expectations, should, in
some holy souls, destroy all earthly desires, and make
the ardent love of heavenly things be the one conti-
nual passion of their hearts !

If the religion of Christians is founded upon the in-
finite humiliation, the cruel mockings and scourgings,
the prodigious sufferings, the poor persecuted life and
painful death of a crucified Son of God, what wonder
is it, if many humble adorers of this profound mystery^
many affectionate lovers of a crucified Lord, should re-
nounce their share of worldly pleasures, and give
themselves up to a continual course of mortification
and self-denial, that, by thus suffering with Christ
here, they may reign with him hereafter?

If truth itself hath assured us that there is but one
thing needful, Avhat wonder is it that there should be
some amongst Christians so full of faith as to believe
this in the highest sense of the words, and to desire
sucli a separation from the world, that their care and
attention to the one thing needful may not be inter-
rupted ?

If our blessed Lord hath said. If thou wilt be per-

H

98 A SERIOUS CALL TO A

feet, go and sell that thou hast, and give to the poor^
and thou shalt have treasure in heaven, and come
and follow me ; what wonder is it that there should
be amongst Christians some such zealous followers of
Christ, so intent upon heavenly treasure, so desirous
of perfection, that they should renounce the enjoyment
of their estates, choose a voluntary poverty, and re-
lieve all the poor that they are able ?

If the chosen vessel St. Paul hath said. He that is
unmarried careth for the things that belong to the
Lord, hoio he may please the Lord ; and there is this
difference also between a wife and a virgin ; the un-
married woman careth for the things of the Lord,
that she may be holy both in body and spirit ; what
wonder is it, if the purity and perfection of the virgin
state have been the praise and glory of the church in
its first and purest ages ?

That there have always been some so desirous of
pleasing God, so zealous after every degree of purity
and perfection, so glad of every means of improving
their virtue, that they have renounced the comforts
and enjoyments of wedlock to trim their lamps, to pu-
rify their souls, and wait upon God in a state of
perpetual virginity ?

And if now, in these our days, we want examples
of these several degrees of perfection ; if neither cler-
gy nor laity are enough of this spirit ; if Ave are so far
departed from it, that a man seems, like St. Paul at
Athens, a setter forth of strange doctrines, when he
recommends self-denial, renunciation of the world, re-
gular devotion, retirement, virginity, and voluntary
poverty, it is because we are fallen into an age where
the love not only of many, but of most, is waxed cold.

I have made this little appeal to antiquity, and quot-
ed these few passages of scripture, to support some
uncommon practices in the life of Miranda, and to
shew that her highest rules of holy living, her devo-
tion, self-denial, renunciation of the world, her chari-
ty, virginity, and voluntary poverty, are founded on

t)EVOUT AND HOLY LIFE.

99

the sublimest counsels of Christ and his apostles, suit-
able to the high expectations of another life, pro-
per instances of a heavenly love, and ail followed by
the greatest saints of the best and purest ages of the
church.

He that hath ears to hear, let him hear.

CHAPTER X.

Sheioing how all Orders and Ranks of Men and
Women of all Ages are obliged to devote them-
selves to God.

I HAVE, in the foregoing chapters, gone through
the several great instances of Christian devotion, and
shewn that all the parts of our common life, our em-
ployments, our talents, and gifts of fortune, are all to
be made holy and acceptable unto God by a wise and
religious use of every thing, and by directing our ac-
tions and designs to such ends as are suitable to the
honour and glory of God.

I shall now shew that this regularity of devotion,
this holiness of common life, this religious use of every
thing that we have, is a devotion that is the duty of
all orders of Christian people.

Fulvius has had a learned education, and taken his
degrees in the university ; he came from thence that
he might be free from any rules of life. He takes no
employment upon him, nor enters into any business,
because he thinks that every employment or business
calls people to the careful performance and discharge
of its several duties. When he is grave, he will tell
you that he did not enter into holy orders, because he
looks upon it to be a state that requires great holmess
of life, and that it does not suit his temper to be so
good. He will tell you that he never intends to mar-
ry, because he cannot oblige himself to that regularity
of life, and good behaviour, which he takes to be the

h2

loo A SERIOUS CALL TO A

duty of those that are at the head of a family. He re-
fused to be godfather to his nephew, because he will
have no trust of any kind to answer for.

Fulvius thinks that he is conscientious in his con-
duct, and is therefore content with the most idle, im-
pertinent, and careless life.

He has no religion, no devotion, no pretences to
piety. He lives by no rules, and thinks all is very
well, because he is neither a priest, nor a father, nor
a guardian, nor has any employment or family to look
after.

But, Fulvius, you are a rational creature, and" as
such are as much oblised to live accordinH- to reason
and order as a priest is obliged to attend at the altar,
or a guardian to be faithful to his trust ; if you live
contrary to reason, you do not commit a small crime,
you do not break a small trust ; but you break the law
of your nature, you rebel against God who gave you
that nature, and rank yourself amongst those whom
the God of reason and order will punish as apostates
and deserters.

Though you have no employment, yet, as you are
baptized into the profession of Christ's religion, you
are as much obliged to live according to the holiness
of the Christian spirit, and perform all the promises
made at your baptism, as any man is obliged to be
honest and faithful in his calling. If you abuse this
great calling, you are not false in a small matter, but
you abuse tlie precious blood of Christ ; you crucify
the Son of God afresh ; you neglect the highest in-
stances of divine goodness ; you disgrace the church
of God ; you blemish the body of Christ ; you abuse
the means of grace, and the promises of glory ; and it
will be more tolerable for Tyre and Sidon in the day
of judgment than for you.

It is, therefore, gi^eat folly for any One to think
himself at liberty to live as he pleases, because he is
not in such a state of life as some others are ; for if
there is any thing dreadful in the abuse of any trust.

DEVOUT AND HOLY LIFE. 101

if there is any thing to be feared for the neglect of any
calhng, there is nothing more to be feared than the
wrong use of our reason^ nor any thing more to be
dreaded than the neglect of our Christian calling,
which is not to serve tlie little uses of a sliort life^ but
to redeem souls unto God^ to fill heaven with saints^
and finish a kingdom of eternal glory unto God.

No man^ therefore^ must think himself excused from
the exactness of piety and morality^ because he has
chosen to be idle and independent in the world ; for
the necessities of a reasonable and holy life are not
founded in the se\cral conditions and employments of
this lifC;, but in the immutable nature of God^ and the
nature of man. A man is not to be reasonable and
holy, because he is a priest, or the father of a family ;
but he is to be a pious priest, and a good father, be-
cause piety and goodness are the laws of human na-
ture. Could any man please God without living ac-
cording to reason and order, there would be nothing-
displeasing to God in an idle priest or a reprobate fa-
ther. He, therefore, tliat abuses his reason is like him
that abuses the priesthood ; and he that neglects the
holiness of the Christian life is as the man that disre-
gards the most important trust.

If a man was to choose to put out his eyes, rather
than enjoy the light, and see the works of God ; if he
should voluntarily kill himself, by refusing to eat and
drink, every one Avould own that such a one was a re-
bel against God, who justly deserved his highest indig-
nation. You would not say that this was only sinful in a
priest, or a master of a family, but in every man as sucIl

Now, wherein does the sinfulness of ihis behaviour
consist? Does it not consist in this, that he abuses his
nature, and refuses to act that part for which God had
created him? But, if this be true, then all persons
that abuse their reason, who act a diiVerent part from
that for which God created them, are, like this man,
rebels against God, and, on tlie same account, sub-
ject to his wrath.

II 3

lOS

A SERIOUS CALL TO A

Let us suppose that this man, instead of putting out
his eyes, had only employed them in looking at ridi-
culous things, or shut them up in a sleep ; that instead
of starving himself to death by not eating at all, he
should turn every meal into a feast, and eat and drink
like an epicure ; could he be said to have lived more
to the glory of God? Could he any more be said to
act the part for which God had created him, than if he
had put out his eyes, or starved himself to death?

Now, do but suppose a man acting unreasonably ;
do but suppose him extinguishing his reason, instead
of putting out his eyes, and living in a course of folly and
impertinence, instead of starving himself to death, and
then you have found out as great a rebel against God.

For he that puts out his eyes, or murders himself,
has only this guilt, that he abuses the powers that God
has given him ; that he refuses to .act that part for
which he was created, and puts himself into a state
that is contrary to the divine will. And surely this is
the guilt of every one that lives an unreasonable, un-
holy, and foolish life.

As, therefore, no particular state or private life is an
excuse for the abuse of our bodies or self-murder, so
no particular state or private life is an excuse for the
abuse of our reason, or the neglect of the holiness of
the Christian religion. For surely it is as much the
will of God that we should make the best use of our
rational faculties, that we should conform to the purity
and holiness of Christianity, as it is the will of God
that we should use our eyes, and eat and drink for the
preservation of our lives.

Till, therefore, a man can shew that he sincerely
endeavours to live according to the will of God, to be
that which God requires him to be ; till he can shew
that he is striving to live according to the holiness of
the Christian religion ; whosoever he be, or whereso-
ever he be, he has all that to answer for that they have
who refuse to live, who abuse the greatest trusts, and
neglect the hiahest calling in the workl

DEVOUT AND HOLY LIFE. 103

Every body acknowledges that all orders of men are
to be equally and exactly honest and faithful ; there is
no exception to be made, in these duties, for any pri-
vate or particular state of life. Now, if we would but
attend to the reason and nature of things ; if we would
but consider the nature of God and the nature of man,
we should find the same necessity for every other
right use of our reason, for every grace or religious
temper of the Christian life ; we should find it as ab-
surd to suppose that one man must be exact in piety,
and another need not, as to suppose that one man
must be exact in honesty, but another need not.
For Christian humility, sobriety, devotion, and piety,
are as great and necessary parts of a reasonable life as
justice and honesty.

And, on the other hand, pride, sensuality, and co-
vetousness, are as great disorders of the soul, are as
high an abuse of our reason, and as contrary to God,
as cheating and dishonesty.

Theft and dishonesty seem, indeed, to vulgar eyes,
to be greater sins, because they are so hurtful to civil
society, and are so severely punished by human laA\^s.

But if we consider mankind in a higher view, as
God's order or society of rational beings, that are to
glorify him by the right use of their reason, and by
acting conformably to the order of their nature, we
shall find that every temper that is equally contrary to
reason and order, that opposes God's ends and de-
signs, and disorders the beauty and glory of the ra-
tional world, is equally sinful in man, and equally
odious to God. This would shew us that the sin of
sensuality is like the sin of dishonesty, and renders us
as great objects of the divine displeasure.

Again, if we consider mankind in a further view, as
a redeemed order of fallen spirits, that are baptized
into a fellowship with the Son of God ; to be temples
of the Holy Ghost ; to live according to his holy in-
spirations ; to offer to God the reasonable sacrifice of
an humble, pious, and thankful life ; to purify them -

H 4

104 A SERIOUS CALL TO A

selves from the disorders of their fall ; to make a right
use of the means of giace^ in order to be sons of eter-
nal glory ; if we look at mankind in this true light,
then we shall find that all tempers that are contrary
to this holy society, that are abuses of this infinite mer-
cy ; ail actions that make us unlike to Christ, that dis-
g-race his body, that abuse the means of grace, and
oppose our hopes of glory^ have every thing- in them
that can make us for ever odious unto God. So that,
though pride and sensuality, and other vices of the
like kind, do not hurt civil society as cheating and dis-
honesty do, yet tiiey hurt that society, and oppose
those ends which are greater and more glorious in the
eyes of God than all the societies that relate to this
world.

Nothing, therefore, can be more false than to ima-
gine, that because we are private persons that have
taken upon us no charge or employment of life, that
therefore we may live more at large, indulge our ap-
petites, and be less careful of the duties of piety and
hohness ; for it is as good an excuse for cheating and
dishonesty. Because he that abuses his reason, that
indulges himself in lust and sensuality, and neglects
to act the wise and reasonable part of a true Chris-
tian, has every thing in his life to render him hateful to
God, that is to be found in cheating and dishonesty.

If, therefore, you rather choose to be an idle epicure
than to be unfaithful ; if you rather choose to live in
Just and sensuality than to injure your neighbour in
his goods, you have made no better a provision for
the favour of God than he that rather chooses to rob
a house than to rob a church.

For the abusing of our own nature is as great a dis-
obedience against God as the injuring our neighbour;
and he that wants piety towards God has done as
much to damn himself as he that wants honesty to-
wards men. Every argument, therefore, that proves
it necessary for all men, in all stations of life, to be
truly honest, proves it equally necessary for all men.

DEVOUT AND HOLY LIFE. i05

in- all stations of life, to be truly holy and pious, and
do all things in such a manner as is suitable to the
glory of God.

Again, another argument to prove that all orders of
men are obliged to be thus holy and devout in the com-
mon course of their lives, in the use of every thing
that they enjoy, may be taken from our obligation to
prayer.

It is granted that prayer is a duty that belongs to
all states and conditions of men ; now, if we inquire
into the reason why no state of life is to be excused
from prayer, we shall find it as good a reason why
every state of life is to be made a state of piety and
holiness in all its parts.

For the reason why we are to pray unto God, and
praise him with hymns, and psalms of thanksgiving, is
this, because we are to live wholly unto God, and glo-
rify him all possible ways. It is not because the
praises of words, or forms of thanksgiving, are more
particularly parts of piety, or more the worship of God
than other things ; but it is because they are possible
ways of expressing our dependence, our obedience and
devotion to God. Now, if this be the reason of ver-
bal praises and thanksgivings to God, because we are
to live unto God all possible ways, then it plainly fol-
lows that we are equally obliged to worship and glo-
rify God in all other actions that can be turned into
acts of piety and obedience to him ; and as actions are
of much more sign i (lean cy than words, it must be a
much more acceptable worship of God to glorify him
in all the actions of our common life, than with any
little form of words at any particular times.

Thus, if God is to be worshipped with forms of
thanksgiving, he that makes it a rule to be content and
thankful in every part and accident of his life, because
it comes from God, praises God in a much higher
manner than he that has some set time for singing of
psalms. He that dares not say an ill-natured word, or
do an unreasonable thing, because he considers God as

106 A SERIOUS CALL TO A

every where present^ performs a better devotion than
he that dares not miss the church. To hve in the
world as a strang-er and a pilg-rim, using- all its enjoy-
ments as if we used them not, making all our actions so
many steps towards a better life, is offering a better sacri-
fice to God than any forms of holy and heavenly prayers.

To be humble in all our actions, to avoid every ap-
pearance of pride and vanity, to be meek and lowly in
our words, actions, dress, behaviour, and designs, in
imitation of our blessed Saviour; is worshipping- God
in a higher manner than they who have only time to
fall low on their knees in devotion. He that contents
himself with necessaries, that he may give the re-
mainder to those that want it, that dares not to spend
any money foolishly, because he considers it as a ta-
lent from God, which must be used according to his
will, praises God with something that is more glorious
than songs of praise.

He that has appointed times for the use of wise and
pious prayers, performs a proper instance of devotion ;
but he that allows himself no times, nor any places,
nor any actions, but such as are strictly conformable
to wisdom and holiness, worships the divine nature
with the most true and substantial devotion. For who
does not know that it is better to be pure and holy
than to talk about purity and holiness? Nay, who
does not know tliat a man is to be reckoned no further
pure, or holy, or just, than as he is pure, and holy,
and just in the common course of his life? But if
this be plain, then it is also plain, that it is better to
be holy than to have holy prayers.

Prayers, therefore, are so far from being a suffi-
cient devotion, that they are the smallest parts of it,
Wc are to praise God with words and prayers, be-
cause it is a possible way of glorifying God, who has
given us such faculties as may be so used. But then,
as words are but small things in themselves, as times
of prayer are but little if compared with the rest of
our lives ; so that devotion, which consists in times

DEVOUT AND HOLY LIFE. 107

find forms of prayer^ is but a very small thing if com-
pared to that devotion which is to appear in every
other part and circumstance of our lives.

Again, as it is an easy thing to worship God with
forms of words, and to observe times of offering them
unto him, so it is the smallest kind of piety.

And, on the other hand, as it is more difficult to wor-
ship God with our substance, to honour him with the
right use of our time, to offer to him the continual sa-
crifice of self-denial and mortification ; as it requires
more piety to eat and drink only for such ends as may
glorify God, to undertake no labour, nor allow of any
diversion, but where we can act in the name of God ;
as it is most difficult to sacrifice all our corrupt tem-
pers, correct all our passions, and make piety to God
the rule and measure of all the actions of our common
life ; so the devotion of this kind is a much more ac-
ceptable service unto God than those words of devo-
tion which we offer to him either in the church or in
our closet.

Every sober reader will easily perceive that I do
not intend to lessen the true and great value of pray-
ers, either public or private, but only to shew him that
they are certainly but a very slender part of devotion,
when compared to a devout life.

To see this in a yet clearer light, let us suppose a
person to have appointed times for praising God with
psalms and hymns, and to be strict in the observation
of them ; let it be supposed also that in his common
life he is restless and uneasy, full of murmurings and
complaints at every thing, never pleased but by
chance, as his temper happens to carry him, but mur-
muring and repining at the very seasons, and having
something to dislike in every thing that happens to
him. Now, can you conceive any thing more absurd
and unreasonable than such a character as this ? Is
such a one to be reckoned thankful to God, because he
has forms of praise which he offers to him ? Nay, is
it not certain that such forms of praise must be so far

108 A SERIOUS CALL TO A

from being an acceptable devotion to God^ that they
must be abhorred as an abomination ? Now the ab-
surdity which you see in this instance is the same in
liny other part of our life ; if our common life hath
jiny contrariety to our prayers, it is the same abomin-
ation as songs of thanksgiving in the mouths of mur-
murers.

Bended knees, whilst you are clothed with pride ;
heavenly petitions, whilst you are hoarding up trea-
sures upon earth ; holy devotions, whilst you live in
the follies of the world ; prayers of meekness and cha-
rity, whilst your heart is the scat of spite and resent-
ment ; hours of prayer, whilst you give up days and
years to idle diversions, impertinent visits, and foolish
pleasures; are as absurd, unacceptable services to
God, as forms of thanksgiving from a person that lives
in repinings and discontent.

So that, unless the common course of our lives be ac-
cording to the common spirit of our prayers, our
prayers are so far from being a real or sufficient de-
gree of devotion, that they become an empty lip-la-
bour, or, what is worse, a notorious hypocrisy.

Seeing, therefore, we are to make the spirit and
temper of our prayers the conmion spirit and temper
of our lives, this may serve to convince us that all or-
ders of people are to labour and aspire after the same
utmost perfection of the Christian life. For as all
Christians are to use the same holy and heavenly de-
votion, as they are all, with the same earnestness, to
pray for the Spirit of God, so it is a sufficient proof
that ail orders of people are, to the utmost of their
power, to make their life agreeable to that one spirit,
for which they are all to pray.

As certain, therefore, as the same holiness of pray-
ers requires the same holiness of life, so certain is it
that all Christians are called to the same holiness of
life.

A soldier or a tradesman is not called to minister at
the altar, or preach the gospel ; but every soldier or

DEVOUT AND HOLY LIFE. 109

tradesman is as much obliged to be devout, humble,
holy, and heavenly minded, in all the parts of his
common life, as a clergyman is obliged to be zealous,
faithful, and laborious in all parts of his profession.

And all this for one plain reason ; because all peo-
ple are to pray for the same holiness, wisdom, and di-
vine tempers, and to make themselves as fit as thej
can for the same heaven.

All men, therefore, as men, have one and the same
important business, to act up to the excellency of their
rational nature, and to mkke reason and order the
law of all their designs and actions. All Christians,
as Christians, have one and the same calling, to live
according to the excellency of the Christian spirit,
and to make the sublime precepts of the gospel the
rule and measure of all their tempers in common life.
The one thing needful to one is the one thing needful
to all.

The merchant is no longer to hoard up treasures
uport earth ; the soldier is no longer to fight for glory ;
the great scholar is no long'er to pride himself in the
depths of science ; but they must all with one spirit,
count all things but loss for the excellence/ of the
knoioledge of Christ Jesus.

The fine lady must teach her eyes to weep, and be
clothed with humility ; the polite gentleman must ex-
change the gay thoughts of wit and fancy for a broken
and a contrite heart ; the man of ciuality must so far
renounce the dignity of his birth as to think himself
miserable till he is born again ; servants must consider
their service as done to God ; masters must consider
their servants as their brethren in Christ, that are to
be treated as their fellow-members of the mystical body
of Christ.

Young ladies must either devote themselves to piety,
j)rayer, self-denial, and all good works, in a virgin
state of life, or else marry to be holy, sober, and pru-
dent in the care of a family, bringing up their chil-
dren in piety, humility^ and devotion, and abounding^

110 A SERIOUS CALL TO A

in all other good works to the utmost of their state
and capacity. They have no choice of any thing
else,, but must devote themselves to God in one of these
states. They may choose a married or single life ;
but it is not left to their choice whether they will
make either state a state holiness, humility, devotion,
and all other duties of the Christian life. It is no
more left in their power, because they have fortunes,
or are born of rich parents, to divide themselves be-
twixt God and the world, or take such pleasures as
their fortunes would afford them, than it is allowable
for them to be sometimes chaste and modest, and
sometimes not.

They are not to consider how much religion may
secure them a fair character, or how they may add
devotion to an impertinent, vain, and giddy life ; but
must look into the spirit and temper of their prayers,
into the nature and end of Christianity, and then they
will find that, whether married or unmarried, they
have but one business upon their hands, to be wise,
and pious, and holy, not in little modes and forms of
worship, but in the whole turn of their minds, in the
whole form of all their behaviour, and in the daily
course of their common life.

Young gentlemen must consider what our blessed
Saviour said to the young gentleman in the gospel ;
he bid him sell all that he had, and give it to the poor.
Now, though this text should not oblige all people to
sell all, yet it certainly obliges all kinds of people to
employ all their estates in such wise, reasonable, and
charitable ways, as may sufficiently shew that all that
they have is devoted to God, and that no part of it is
kept from the poor to be spent in needless, vain, and
foolish expenses.

If, therefore, young gentlemen propose to them-
selves a life of pleasure and indulgence, if they spend
their estates in high living, in luxury, and intemper-
ance, in state and equipage, in pleasures and diver-
sions, in sports and gaming, and such like wanton

DEVOUT AND HOLY LIFE. Ill

•ratifications of their foolish passions^ they have as
much reason to look upon themselves to be angels as
disciples of Christ.

Let them be assured that it is the one only business
of a Christian gentleman to distinguish himself by
good workSj to be eminent in the most sublime virtues
of the gospel, to bear with the ignorance and weak-
ness of the vulgar, to be a friend and patron to all that
dwell about him, to live in the utmost heights of wis-
dom and holiness, and shew, through the whole course
of his life, a true religious greatness of mind. They
must aspire after such a gentility as they might have
learned from seeing the blessed Jesus, and shew no
other spirit of a gentleman but such as they might
have got by living with the holy apostles. They must
learn to love God with all their heart, with all their
soul, and with all their strength, and their neighbour as
themselves ; and then they have all the greatness and
distinction that they can have here, and are fit for an
eternal happiness in heaven hereafter.

Thus, in all orders and conditions, either of men or
women, this is the one common holiness which is to
be the common life of all Christians.

The merchant is not to leave devotion to the cler-
gyman, nor the clergyman to leave humility to the la-
bourer ; women of fortune are not to leave it to the
poor of their sex to be discreet, chaste keepers at
home, to adorn themselves in modest apparel, shame-
facedness, and sobriety ; nor poor women leave it to
the rich to attend on the worship and service of God.
Great men must be eminent for true poverty of spirit,
and people of a low and afflicted state must greatly re-
joice in God.

The man of strength and power is to forgive and
pray for his enemies, and the innocent sufferer that is
chained in prison must, with Paul and Silas, at mid-
night sing praise to God ; for God is to be glorified,
holiness is to be practised, and tlie spirit of religion is

112 A SERIOUS CALL TO A

to be the common spirit of every Christian in every
state and condition of life.

For the Son of God did not come from above to add
an external form of worship to the several ways of life
that are in the world,, and so to leave people to live as
they did before, in such tempers and enjoyments as
the fashion and spirit of the world approves. But as
he came down from heaven altogether divine and
heavenly in his own nature, so it was to call mankind
to a divine and heavenly life, to the hig-hest change of
their whole nature and temper, to be born again of
the Holy Spirit, to walk in the wdsdom and light and
love of God, and be like him to the utmost of their
power ; to renounce all the most plausible ways of the
world, whether of greatness, business, or pleasure, to
a mortification of all their most agreeable passions, and
to live in such wisdom, and purity, and holiness, as
might fit them to be glorious in the enjoyment of God
to all eternity.

Whatever, therefore, is foolish, ridiculous, vain, or
earthly, or sensual in the life of a Christian, is some-
thing that ought not to be there ; it is a spot and a
defilement that must be washed away with tears of re-
pentance. But if any thing of this kind runs through
the course of our whole life, if we give ourselves to
things that are either vain, foolish, or sensual, we re-
nounce our profession.

For as siire as Jesus Christ was wisdom and holiness,
as sure as he came to make us like himself, and to be
baptized in his spirit, so sure it is that none can be
said to keep to their Christian profession but those
who, to the utmost of their power, live a wise, holy,
and heavenly life. This, and this alone, is Christian-
ity, an universal holiness in every part of life, a hea-
venly wisdom in all our actions, not conforming to the
spirit and temper of the world, but turning all worldly
enjoyments into means of piety and devotion to God.

But now, if this devout state of heart, if these habits

DEVOUT AND HOLY LIFE. 113

of inward holiness, be true religion, then true relii^ion
is equally the duty and happiness of all orders of men ;
for there is nothin"- to recommend it to one that is not
the game recommendation of it to all states ot people.

If it be the happiness and glory of a bishop to live in
this devout spirit, full of these holy tempers, doing
every thing as unto God, it is as much the glory and
happiness of all men and women, whether young or
old, to live in the same spirit ; and whoever can tind
any reasons why an ancient bishop should be intent
upon divine things, turnmg all his life into the higliest
exercises of piety, wisdom, and devotion, will find
them so many reasons why he should, to the utmost of
liis power, do the same himself.

If you say that a bisliop must be an eminent example
of Christian holiness, because of his high and sacred
calling, you say right ; but if you say that it is more
to his advantage to be exemplary than it is yours,
you greatly mistake ; for there is nothing to make the
highest degrees of holiness desirable to a bishop, but
what makes them equally desirable to every young
person of every family.

For an exalted piety, high devotion, and the reli-
gious use of every thing, are as much the glory and
happiness of one state of life as it is of anotlier.

Do but fancy in your mind what a spirit of piety
you would have in the best bishop in the world, how
you would have him love God, how you Vv^ould have
him imitate the life of our Saviour and his apostleg,
how you would have him live above th.e worhl, shining
in all the instances of a heavenly life, and then you
have found out that spirit which you ought to make
the spirit of your own life.

I desire every reader to dwell awhile upon this re-
flection, and perhaps he will find more conviction
from it then he imagines. Every one can tell how
good and pious he would have some people to be ;
everyone knows how wise and reasonable a thing it is
in a bishop to be entirely above the world, and be an

I

114

A SERIOUS CALL TO A

example of Christian perfection. As soon as yon
think of a wise and ancient bishop, you fancy some
exalted degree of piety, a living example of all those
holy tempers which you find described in the gospel.

Now, if you ask yourself what is the happiest thing-
for a young- clergyman to do ? you must be forced to
answer, that nothing can be so happy and glorious for
him as to be like that excellent holy bishop.

If you go on, and ask what is the happiest thing for
any young gentleman or his sister to do? the answer
must be the same — that nothing* can be so happy or
glorious for them as to live in such habits of piety, in
such exercises of a divine life, as this good old bishop
does. For every thing that is great and glorious in
religion is as much the true glory of every man or wo-
man as it is the glory of any bishop. If high degrees
of divine love, fervent charity, spotless purity, heaven-
ly affection, constant mortification, frequent devotion,
be the best and happiest way of life for any Christian,
it is so for all.

Consider, again, were you to see a bishop, in the
whole course of his life, living below his character, con-
forming to all the foolish tempers of the world, and go-
verned by the same cares and fears which govern vain
and worldly men, -w hat would you think of him t
Would you tliink that he was only guilty of a small
mistake? No, you would condemn him as erring in
that which is not only tiic most, but the only, impor-
tant matter that relates to him. Pause awhile in this
consideration, till your mind is fully convinced how
miserable a mistake it is in a bishop to live a careless,
worldly life.

Whilst you are thinking in this manner, turn your
thoughts towards some of your acquaintance, your bro-
ther or sister, or any young" person. Now, if you ob-
serve tlie common course of their lives to be not ac-
cording to the doctrines of the gospel, if you see that
their way of life cannot be said to be a sincere endea-
vour to Gwter in at tiie strait gate, you see something

DEVOUT AND HOLY LIFE. 115

that you are to condemn in the same degree, and for
the same reasons. They do not commit a small mis-
take, but are wrong- in that which is their all, and mis-
take their true happiness as much as that bishop who
neglects the high duties of his calling. Apply this
reasoning to yourself; if you find yourself living an.
idle, indulgent, vain life, choosing rather to gratify
your passions than to live up to the doctrines of Chris-
tianity, and practise the plain precepts of our blessed
Lord, you have all that blindness and unreasonableness
to charge upon yourself that you can charge upon any
irregular bishop.

For all the virtues of the Christian life, its perfect
purity, its heavenly tempers, are as much the sole rule
of your life as the sole rule of the life of a bishop. If
you neglect these holy tempers, if you do not eagerly
aspire after them, if you do not shewyourself a visible
example of them, you are as much fallen from your
true happiness, you are as great an enemy to yourself,
and have made as bad a choice as that bishop who
chooses rather to enrich his family than to be like an
apostle. For there is no reason why you should think
the highest holiness, the most heavenly tempers, to be
the duty and happiness of a bishop, but what is as good
a reason why you should think the same tempers to be
the duty and happiness of all Christians. And as the
wisest bishop in the world is he who lives in the great-
est heights of holiness, who is most exemplary in all
the exercises of a divine life, so the wisest youth, the
wisest woman, whether married or unmarried, is she
that lives in the highest degrees of Christian holiness,
and all the exercises of a divine and heavenly life.

%

116 . A SERIOUS CALL TO A

CHAPTER XI.

Shewing how great Devotion fills our Lives with the
greatest Peace and Happiness that can be enjoyed
in this World.

SOME people will perhaps object^ that all these
rules of holy living unto God^ in all that we do, are
too great a restraint upon human life ; that it will be
made too anxious a state by thus introducing a regard
to God in all our actions ; and that, by depriving our-
selves of so many seemingly innocent pleasures, we
shall render our lives dull, uneasy, and melancholy.

To which it may be answered :

First, That these rules are prescribed, and will cer-
tainly procure a quite contrary end ; that, instead of
making our lives dull and melancholy, tliey__willren-
der thgia-iiitt-4i£.coiitent and strong satisfaction TT^iat
by these rules we only cf^?rTg?rthe childish satisfactions
of our vain and sickly passions for the solid enjoyments
and real happiness of a sound mind.

Secondly, That as there is no foundation for comfort
in t]ie-£iyxiyments of this life, but in the assurance
that a wise and goo^ God governeth the world, so the
more we find out God in every_tliixig, the more we ap-
ply to him in every place ; the more we look up to him
in all our actions, the more we conform to his will ; the
more we act according to his wisdom and imitate his
goodness, by so much the more do we enjoy God, pai^
take of the divine nature, and heighten and increase
all that is happy and comfortable in human life.

Thirdh/, He that is endeavouring to subdue and
root out of his mind all those passions of pride, envy,
and ambition, which religion opposes, is doing more
to make himself happy, even in this life, than he that
is contriving means to indulge them.

For these passions are the causes of all the disquiets
and vexations of human life ; they are the dropsies

DEVOUT AND HOLY LIFE. 117

and fevers of our minds, vexing them with false appe-
tites, and restless cravings after such things as we do
not want, and spoiling our taste for those things which
are our proper good.

Do but imagine that you somewhere or other saw a
man that proposed reason as the rule of all his actions,
that had no desires but after such things as nature
wants, and religion approves, that was as pure from
all the motives of pride, envy, and covetousness, as
from thoughts of murder ; that, in this freedom from
worldly passions, he had a soul full of divine love, wish-
ing and praying that all men may have what they
want of worldly things, and be partakers of eternal
glory in the life to come.

Do but fancy a man living in this manner, and your
own conscience will immediately tell you that he is the
happiest man in the world, and that it is not in the
power of the richest fancy to invent any higher hap-
piness in the present state of life.

And, on the other hand, if you suppose him to be in
any degree less perfect ; if you suppose him but sub-
ject to one foolish fondness, or vain passion, your own
conscience will again tell you, that he so far lessens
his own happiness, and robs himself of the true enjoy-
ment of his other virtues. So true it is, that the more
we live by the rules of religion, the more peaceful and
happy do we render our lives.

Again, as it thus appears that real happiness is only
to be had from the greatest degrees of piety, the great-
est denials of our passions, and the strictest rules of
religion, so the same truth will appear from a consi-
deration of human misery. If we look into the world,
and view the disquiets and troubles of human life, we
shall find that they are all owing to our violent and ir-
religious passions.

Now, all trouble and uneasiness is founded in the
want of something or otlier ; would we therefore
know the true cause of our troubles and disquiets, we
must find out the cause of our wants ; because that

i3

lis

A SERIOUS CALL TO A

which creates and increases our wants, does, in the
same degree^ create and increase our troubles and dis-
quiets.

God Ahiiig-hty has sent us into the world with very

few wants ; meat, and drink, and clothing, are the only

things necessary in life ; and as these are only our

, present needs, so the present world is well furnished

to supply these needs.

If a man had half the world in his power, he can
make no more of it than this ; as he wants it only to
support an animal life, so it is unable to do any thing-
else for him, or to afford him any other happiness.

This is the state of man, born with few wants, and
into a large world, very capable of supplying- them.
So that one would reasonably suppose, that men
should pass their lives in content and thankfulness to
God, at least that they should be free from violent dis-
quiets and vexations, as being placed in a world that
has more than enough to relieve all their wants.

But if to all this we add, that this short life, thus
furnished with all that we want in it, is only a short
passage to eternal glory, where we shall be clothed
with the brightness of angels, and enter into the joys
of God, we might still more reasonably expect that hu-
man life should be a state of peace, and joy, and de-
light in God. Thus it would certainly be^ if reason
had its full power over us.

But alas! though God, and nature, and reason,
make human life thus free from wants, and so full of
happiness, yet our passions, in rebellion against God,
against nature and reason, create a new world of
evils, and fill human life with imaginary wants and
vain disquiets.

The man of pride has a thousand wants, which only
his own pride has created ; and these render him as
full of trouble as if God had created him with a thou-
sand appetites, without creating- any thing- that was
proper to satisfy them. Envy and ambition have also
their endless wants, which disquiet the souls of men,

DEVOUT AND HOLY LIFE. 119

and by their contradictory motions render them as
foolishly miserable as those that want to fly and creep
at the same time.

Let but any complaining, disquieted man, tell you
the ground of his uneasiness, and you will plainly see
that he is the author of his own torment, that he is
vexing- himself at some imaginary evil, which will
cease to torment him as soon as he is content to be
that which God, and nature, and reason, require him
to be.

If you should see a man passing his days in disquiet,
because he could not walk upon the water, or catch
birds as they fly by him, you would readily confess
that such an one might thank himself for such uneasi-
ness. But now, if you look into all the most torment-
ing- disquiets of Hfe, you will tind them thus absurd ;
where people are only tormented by their own folly,
and vexing themselves at such things as no more con-
cern them, nor are any more their proper good, than
walking upon the water, or catching- birds.

What can you conceive more silly and extravag-ant,
than to suppose a man racking- his brains, and study-
ing- night and day how to fly? wandering- from his
own house and home, wearying- himself with climbing-
upon every ascent, cringing and courting- every body
he meets, to lift him up from the ground, bruising-
himself with continual falls, and at last breaking his
neck? And all this from an imagination that it would
be glorious to have the eyes of people gazing- up at
him, and mighty happy to eat, and drink, and sleep, at
the top of the highest trees in the kingdom. Would
you not readily own that such an one was only dis-
quieted by his own folly?

If you ask, what it signifies to suppose such silly
creatures as these as are no-where to be found in hu-
man life ?

It may be answered, that wherever you see an ambi-
tious man, there you see this vain and senseless flyer.

Again, if you should see a man that had a large pond

i4

120 A SERIOUS CALL TO A

of water, yet living* in continual thirst, not suffering
himself to drink half a draught for fear of lessening
his pond ; if you should see him wasting his time and
strength in fetching more water to his pond, always
thirsty, yet always carrying a bucket of water in his
hand, watching early and late to catch the drops of
rain, gaping after every cloud, and running greedily
into every mire and mud in hopes of water, and always
studying how to make every ditch empty itself into his
pond; if you should see him grow grey and old in
these anxious labours, and at last end a careful, thirsty
life hy falling into his own pond ; would you not say
that such an one was not only the author of all his own
disquiets, but was foolish enough to be reckoned
amongst idiots and madmen ? But yet, foolish and
absurd as this character is, it does not represent half
the follies and absurd disquiets of the covetous man.

I could now easily proceed to shew the same effects
of all our other t>iri<sions, and make it plainly appear,
that all our miseries, vexations, and complaints, are
entirely of our own making, and that in the same ab-
surd manner as in these instances of the covetous and
ambitious man. Look where you will, you will see all
worldly vexations but like the vexation of him that was
always in mire and mud in search of water to drink,
when he had more at home than was sufficient for an
hundred horses.

Ca^lia is always telling you how provoked she is,
what intolerable shocking things happen to her, what
monstrous usage she suffers, and what vexations she
meets with every where. She tells you that her pa-
tience is quite wore out, and there is no bearing the
behaviour of people. Every assembly that she is at
sends her home provoked; something or other has
been said or done that no reasonable well-bred person
ought to bear. Poor people that want her charity are
sent away with hasty answ^ers, not because she has
not a heart to part with any money, but because she
is too full of some trouble of her own to attend to the

DEVOUT AND HOLY LIFE. 121

complaints of others. Caelia has no business upon her
hands, but to receive the income of a plentiful for-
tune ; but yet, by the doleful turn of her mind, you
would be apt to think that she had neither food nor
lodging". If you see her look more pale than ordinary,
if her lips tremble when she speaks to you, it is be-
cause she is just come from a visit, where Lupus took
no notice at all of her, but talked all th.e time to Lu-
cinda, who has not half her fortune. \V hen cross ac-
cidents have so disordered her spirits that she is forced
to send for the doctor to make her able to eat, she
tells him, in great anger at Providence, that she never
was well since she was born, and that she envies every
begg'ar that she sees in health.

This is the disquiet life of Caelia, who has nothing
to torment her but her own spirit.

If you would inspire her with a Christian humility,
you need do no more to make her happy as any per-
son in the world. This virtue would make her thank-
ful to God for half so much health as she has had, and
help her to enjoy more for the time to come. This
virtue would keep oft' tremblings of the spirits and loss
of appetite, and her blood would need nothing else to
sweeten it.

I have just touched upon these absurd characters for
no other end but to convince you, in the plainest man-
ner, that the strictest rules of religion are so far from
rendering a life dull, anxious, and uncomfortable, (as
is above objected,) that on the contrary, all the mise-
ries, vexations, and complaints, that are in the world,
are all owing to the want of religion ; being directly
caused by those absurd passions which religion teaches
us to deny.

For all the wants which disturb human life, which
make us uneasy to ourselves, quarrelsome with others,
and unthankful to God ; which weary us in vain la-
bours and foolish anxieties^ which carry us from pro-
ject to project, from place to place, in a poor pursuit
of we do not know what, are the wants which neither

122 A SERIOUS CALL TO A

Godj nor nature^ nor reason^ hath subjected us to^ but
are solely infused into us by pride^ envy_, ambition,,
and covetousness.

So far^ therefore;, as you reduce your desires to such
things as nature and reason require ; so far as you re-
gulate all the motions of your heart by the strict rules
of religion^, so far you remove yourself from that infi-
nity of wants and vexations which torment every
heart that is left to itself.

Most people^ indeed, confess that religion preserves
us from a great many evils, and helps us, in many re-
spects, to a more happy enjoyment of ourselves ; but
then they imagine tliat (his is only true of such a mo-
derate share of religion as only gently restrains us from
the excesses of our passions. They suppose that the
strict rules and restraints of an explted piety, are such
contradictions to our nature, as must needs make our
lives dull and uncomfortable.

Although the weakness of this objection sufficiently
appears from what hath been already said, yet I shall
add one word more to it.

This objection supposes that religion, moderately
practised, adds much to the happiness of life ; but
that such height of piety as the perfection of religion
requireth, has a contrary cfl'ect.

It supposes, therefore, that it is happy to be kept
from the excesses of envy, but unhappy to be kept
from other degrees of envy ; that it is happy to be de-
livered from a boundless ambition, but unhappy to be
without a more moderate ambition. It supposes also
that the happiness of life consists in a mixture of am-
bition and humility, charity and envy, heavenly affec-
tion and covetousness. All which is as absurd as to
suppose that it is happy to be free from excessive
pains, but unhappy to be without more moderate
pains ; or that the happiness of health consisted in be-
ing' partly sick and partly well.

For if humility be the peace and rest of the soul^
then no one has so much happiness from humility as

DEVOUT AND HOLY LIFE. 123

he that is the most humble. If excessive envy is a
torment of the soul^ he most perfectly delivers himself
from torment that most perfectly extinguishes every
spark of envy. If there is any peace and joy in doing*
any action according to the will of God, he that brings
the most of his actions to this rule does most of all in-
crease the peace and joy of his life.

And thus it is in every virtue ; if you act up to
every degree of it_, the more happiness you have from
it. And so of every vice ; if you only abate its exces-
ses, you do but little for yourself; but if you reject it
in all degrees, then you feel the true ease and joy of a
reformed mind.

As for example : If religion only restrains the ex-
cesses of revenge, but lets the spirit still live withirt
you in lesser instances, your religion may have made
your life a little more outwardly decent, but not have
made you at all happier or easier in yourself. But if
you have once sacrificed all thoughts of revenge in
obedience to God, and are resolved to return good for
evil at all times, that you may render yourself more
like to God, and fitter for his mercy in the kingdom of
love and glory, this is a height of virtue that will make
you feel its happiness.

Secondlj/, As to those satisfactions and enjoyments
which an exalted piety requireth us to deny ourselves,
this deprives us of real comfort of life.

For, Ist, Piety requires us to renounce no ways of
life, where we can act reasonably, and offer what we
do to the glory of God. All ways of life, all satisfac-
tions and enjoyments that are within these bounds,
are no way denied us by the strictest rules of piety.
Whatever you can do or enjoy, as in the presence of
God, as his servant, as his rational creature, that has
received reason and knowledge from him, all that you
can perform conformably to a rational nature aivj the
will of God, all this is allowed by t'jc linvs of piety;
and will you thnik that your life will be uncomfort-
able, unless you may displease God, be a fool and

124 A SERIOUS CALL TO A

mad^ and act contrary to that reason and wisdom
which he has implanted in you?

And a? for those satisfactions which we dare not of-
fer to a holy God^ which are only invented by the fol-
ly and corruption of the worlds which inttame our
passions^ and sink our souls into grossness and sensu-
ality^ and render us incapable of the divine favour
either here or hereafter^ surely it can be no uncom-
fortable state of life to be rescued by religion from
such self-murder, and to be rendered capable of eter-
nal happiness.

Let us then suppose a person destitute of that
knowledge which we have from our senses, placed
somewhere by himself, in the midst of a variety of
things which he did not know how to use ; that he
has by him bread, wine, water, golden dust, iron
chains, gravel, garments, fire, &c. let it be supposed,
that he has no knowledge of the right use of these
things, nor any direction from his senses how to quench
his thirst, or satisfy his hunger, or make any use of
the things about him. Let it be supposed, that in his
draught lie puts golden dust into his eyes; when his
eyes sma't, he puts wine into his ears; that in "his
hunger he puts gravel in his mouth ; that in pain he
loads himself with the iron chains ; that, feeling cold,
he puts his feet in the water ; that being frighted at
the fire he runs away from it ; that, being weary, he
makes a seat of his bread. Let it be supposed that,
through his ignorance of the right use of the things
that are about him, he will plainly torment himself
whilst he lives, and at last die, blinded with dust, chok-
ed with gravel, and loaded with irons. Let it be sup-
posed that some good being came to him, and shewed
him the nature and use of all the things that were
about him^ and gave him such strict rules for using
them, as would certainly, if observed, make him the
happier for all that he had, and deliver him from the
pains of hunger, and thirst, and cold.

Now, could you with any reason affirm, that those

DEVOVt AND HOLY LIFE. 125

strict rules of using those things that were about him
had rendered that poor man's hfe dull and uncomfort-
able?

Now, this is in some measure a representation of
the strict rules of religion ; they only relieve our igno-
rance, save us from tormenting ourselves, and teach
us to use every thing about us to our proper advantage.

Man is placed in a world full of variety of things ;
his ignorance makes him use many of them as absurd-
ly as the man that put dust in his eyes to relieve his
thirst, or put on chains to remove pain.

Religion, therefore, here comes in to his relief, and
gives him strict rules of using every thing that is about
him, that, by so using them suitably to his own nature
and the nature of the things, he may have always the
pleasure of receiving a right benefit from them. It
shews him what is strictly right in meat, drink, and
clothes ; that he has nothing else to expect from the
things of this world, but to satisfy such wants of his
own ; and then to extend his assistance to all his
brethren, that, as far as he is able, he may help all his
fellow-creatures to the same benefit from the world
that he hath.

It tells him, that this world is incapable of giving
him any other happiness ; and that all endeavours to
be happy in heaps of money or acres of land, in fine
clothes, rich beds, stately equipage, and show and
splendour, are only vain endeavours, ignorant attempts
after impossibilities ; these things being no more able
to give the least degree of happiness than dust in the
eyes can cure thirst, or gravel in the mouth satisfy
hunger; but, like dust and gravel misapplied, will
only serve to render him more unhappy by such an
ignorant misuse of them.

It tells him, that although this world can do no
more for him than satisfy these wants of the body, yet
that there is a much greater good prepared for man
than eating, drinking, and dressing ; that it is yet in-
visible to his eyes^ being too glorious for the appre-

126 A SERIOUS CALL TO A

hension of flesh and blood_, but reserved for him to en-
ter upon as soon as this short hfe is over^ where, in a
new body, formed to an angehc hkeness, he shall
dwell in the light and glory of God to all eternity.

It tells him, that tliis state of glory will be given to
all those who make a right use of the things of this
present world; who do not blind themselves with
g'oldcn dust, or eat gravel, or groan under loads of iron
of their own putting on ; but use bread, water, wine,
and garments, for such ends as are according to na-
ture and reason ; and who with faith and thankfulness
■worship the kind Giver of all that they enjoy here, and
hope for hereafter.

Now, can any one say that the strictest rules of
such a religion as this debar us any of the comforts of
life? Might it not as justly be said of those rules
that only hindered a man from choaking himself with
gravel ? For the strictness of these rules only consists
in the exactness of their rectitude.

Who could complain of the severe strictness of a law
that, without any exception, forbade the putting' of
dust into your eyes? Who could think it too rigid
that there were no abatements? Now, this is the
strictness of religion ; it requires nothing of us strict-
ly or without abatements, but where every degree of
the thing is wrong, where every indulgence does us
some hurt.

If religion forbids all instances of revenge without
any exception, it is because all revenge is of the na-
ture of poison ; and though we do not take so much
as to put an end to life, yet, if we take any at all, it
corrupts the whole mass of blood, and makes it diffi-
cult to be restored to our former health.

If religion commands an universal charity, to love
our neighbour as ourselves, to forgive and pray for all
our enemies without any reserve, it is because all de-
grees of love are degrees of happiness, that strengthen
and support the divine life of the soul, and are as ne-
cessary to its health and happiness as proper food is

DEVOUT AND HOLY LIFE. 127

necessary to the health and happiness of tlie body.

If relii^'ion has hiws against laying up treasures up-
on eaith, and commands us to be content with food
and raiment, it is because every other use of the world
is, abusing- it to our own vexation, and turning all its
conveniences into snares and tra})s to destroy us ; it
is because this plainness and simplicity of life secures
us from the cares and pains of restless pride and en-
vy, and makes it easier to keep that strait road that
will carry us to eternal life.

If religion saith, Sell that thou hast, and gi're to
the poor, it is because there is no other natural or rea-
sonable use of our riches, no other way of making
ourselves happier for them ; it is because it is as
strictly right to give others that which w-e do not want
ourselves as it is right to use so much as our own wants
require. For if a man has more food than his own
nature requires, how base and unreasonable is it to
invent foolish ways of wasting it, and make sport for
his own full belly, rather than let his fellow-creatures
have the same comfort from food which he hath had !
It is so far, therefore, from being a hard law of reli-
gion to make this use of our riches, that a reasonable
man would rejoice in that religion, which teaches him
to be happier in that which he gives away than in
that which he keeps for himself; which teaches him
to make spare food and raiment be greater blessings
to him than that which feeds and clothes his own body

If religion requires us sometimes to fast and deny
our natural appetites, it is to lessen that struggle and
war that is in our nature ; it is to render our bodies
fitter instruments of purity, and more obedient to the
good motions of divine grace ; it is to dry up the
springs of our passions that war against the soul^ to
cool the flame of our blood, and render the mind more
capable of divine meditations. So that although
these abstinences give some pain to the body, yet they
so lessen the power of bodily appetites and passions,
and so increase our taste of spiritual joys^ that even

128 A SERIOUS CALL TO A

these severities of religion^ when practised with dis-
cretion^ add much to the comfortable enjoyment of
our Hves.

If reh'gion calleth us to a life of watching- and pray-
er^ it is because we hve amongst a crowd of enemies^
and are always in need of the assistance of God. If
we are to confess and bewail our sins^ it is because
such confessions relieve the mind^ and restore it to
ease^ as burdens and weights taken otf the shoulders re-
lieve the body, and make it easier to itself. If we are
to be frequent and fervent in holy petitions, it is to
keep us steady in the sight of our true good, and that we
may never want the happiness of a lively faith, a joy-
ful hope, and well-grounded trust in God. If we are
to pi'ay often, it is tliat we may be often happy in such
secret joys as only prayer can give ; in such communi-
cations of the divine presence, as will fill our minds Avith
all the happiness thatbeings not in heaven are capable of.

Was there any thing in the world more worth our
care ; was there any exercise of the mind, or any con-
versation with men, that turned more to our advan-
tage than this intercourse with God, we should not be
called to such a continuance in pra^^er. But if a man
considers what it is that he leaves when he retires to
devotion, he will find it no small happiness to be so
often relieved from doing nothing, or nothing to the
purpose ; from dull idleness, unprofitable labour, or
vain conversation. If he considers that all that is in
the world, and all that is doing in it, is only for the
I)ody and bodily enjoyments, he will have reason to
rejoice at those hours of prayer, which carry him to
higher consolations, which raise him above these poor
concerns, which open to his mind a scene of greater
things, and accustom his soul to the hope and expec-
tation of them.

If religion com.mands us to live wholly unto God,
and to do all to his glory, it is because every other
way is living wholly against ourselves, and will end in
our own shame and confusion of face.

DEVOUT Mity HOLY LIFE. 129

As every thing- is dark that God does not enlighten •
so every thing is senseless that has not it'-- ^ of

knowledge from him ; as noticing lives but by partak-
ing* of life from him ; as nothing- exists but because he
commands it to be ; so there is no glory or greatness
but what is the glory or greatness >', God.

We indeed may talk of human giory, as we may talk
of human life or human knowledge ; but as we are
sure that human life iaipHes nothing of our own, but a
dependent living- in God^ or eiijoying so much life in
God ; so human glory, whenever we find it, must be
only so much glory as we enjoy in the glory of God.

This is the state of all creatures, whether men or
angels ; as they make not themselves, so they enjoy
nothing- fi'om themselves ; if they are great, it must be
only as g;reat receivers of the gifts of God ; their pow-
er can only be so much of the divine power acting- in
them ; their wisdom can only be so much of the divine
wisdom shining within them ; and their light and glo-
ry only so much of the light and glory of God shining
upon them.

As they are not men or angels, because they had a
mind to be so themselves, but because the will of God
formed them to be what they are ; so they cannot en-
joy this or that happiness of men or angels, because
they have a mind to it, but because it is the will of God
that such things be the happiness of men, and such
things the happiness of angels. But now, if God be
thus all in all ; if his will is thus the measure of all
things and all natures ; if nothing can be done but by
his power ; if nothing can be seen but by a light
from him ; if we have nothing to fear but from his
justice ; if we have nothing to hope for but from his
goodness ; if this is the nature of man, thus helpless
in himself; if this is the state of all creatures, as well
those in heaven as those on earth ; if they are no-
thing, can do nothing, can sutfer no pain, nor feel any
happiness, but so far, and in such degrees, as the pow-
er of God does all this ; if this be the state of things,

K

130 A SERIOUS CALL TO A

then how can we have the least glimpse of joy and
comfort ; how can we have any peaceful enjoyment
of ourselves, but by living wholly unto that God, using
and doing every thing conformably to his will? A life
thus devoted unto God, looking wholly unto him in all
our actions, and doing all things suitably to his glory,
is so far from being dull and uncomfortable, that it
creates new comforts in every thing that we do.

On tlie contrary, would you see how happy they are
who live according to their own wills, who cannot sub-
mit to the dull and melancholy business of a life de-
voted unto God, look at the man in the parable, to
whom his Lord had given one talent.

He could not bear the thoughts of using his talent
according to the will of him from whom he had it, and
therefore he chose to make himself happier in a way
of his own. Lord, says he, I knew thee, that thou art
an hard nmn, reaping inhere thou hadst not sown,
and gathering where thou hadst not strawed. And
Izvas afraid, and went and hid thi/ talent in the earth,
Lo there thou hast that is thine. Matt. xxv. 24.

His Lord having convicted him out of his own
mouth, dispatches him with this sentence ; Cast the
unprofitable servant into utter darkness ; there shall
he weeping and g7iashing of teeth. Matt. xxv. 30.

Here you see how happy this man made himself by
not acting wholly according to the Lord's will, it
was, according to his own account, a happiness of
murmuring and discontent. I knew thee, says he,
that thou wast an hard man : It was an happiness of
fears and apprehensions. I was, says he, afraid : It
was an happiness of vain labours and fruitless travails.
I went, says he, and hid thy talent : and after having
been awhile the s])ort of foolish passions, tormenting
fears, and fruitless labours, he is rewarded with dark-
ness, eternal weeping, and gnashing of teeth.

Islow this is the happiness of all those who look upon
a strict and exalted piety, that is a right use of talent,
to be a dull and melancholy state of life.

DEVOUT AND HOLY LIFE. 131

They may live awliile free from the restraints and
directions of religion, but instead thereof, they must
be under tlie absurd I'overnrnent of their passions :
they must, hke the man in tlic parable, live in'mur-
murings and discontents, in fears and apprehensions
They may avoid the labour of doing' good, of spending-
their time devoutly, of laying- up treasures in heaven,
of clothing- the naked, of visiting the sick ; but then
they must, like this man, have labours and pains in
vain, that tend to no use or advantag-e, tliat do no good
either to themselves or others ; they must travail, and
labour, and work, and d\g, to hide their talent in the
earth. They must, like him at the Lord's coming, be
convicted out of their own mouths, be accused by
their own hearts, and have every thing- that they have
said and thought of religion be made to shew the jus-
tice of their condemnation to eternal darkness, weep-
in«-, and c-nashins- of teeth.

This is the purchase that they make, who avoid the
strictness and perfection of relig'ion_, in order to live
happily.

On the other hand, would you see a short descrip-
tion of the happiness of a life rightly employed, whol-
ly devoted to God, you must look at tlie man in the
parable, to whom his Lord had given five talents.
Lord, says he, thou delhcrest unto me five talents ;
behold, 1 have gained besides them five talents more.
His Lord said unto him, Well done thou good and
faithful servant ; thou hast been faithful over a few
things, I will make thee ruler over mani/ things ; en-
ter thou into the joys of thy Lord.

Here you see a life that is wholly intent upon the
improvement of the talents that is devoted wholly un-
to God, is a state of happiness, prosperous labours,
and glorious success. Here are not, as in the former
case, any uneasy passions, murmuring-s, vain fears,
and fruitless labours. The man is not toiling- and dig-
ging in the earth for no end or advantage ; but his pi-
ous labours prosper in his hands, his happiness in-

k2

132 * A SERIOUS CALL TO A

creases upon him^ the blessing of five becomes the
blessing- of ten taients ; and he is received, with a
loell done good and faithful servant.enter thou into the
joij of thy Lord.

Now, as the case of these men in the parable left
nothing- else to their choice but either to be happy in
using their gifts to the glory of the Lord, or miserable
by using them according to their own humours and
fancies, so the state of Christianity leaves us no other
choice.

All that we have, all that we are, all that we enjoy,
are only so many talents from God ; if we use them to
the ends of a pious and holy life, our five talents will
become ten, and our labours will carry us into the joy
of our Lord ; but if we abuse them to the gratification
of our own passions, sacrificing the gifts of God to
our own pride and vanity, we shall live here in vain
labours and foolish anxieties, shunning religion as a
melancholy thing, accusing our Lord as a hard mas-
ter, and then fall into everlasting misery.

We may for awhile amuse ourselves with names,
and sounds, and sliadows of happiness ; we may talk
of this or that greatness and dignity ; but if we desire
real happiness, we have no other possible way to it
but by improving our talents by so holily and piously
using the powers and faculties of men in this present
state, that we may be happy and glorious in the powers
and faculties of angels in the world to come.

How ignorant, therefore, are they of the nature of
religion, of the nature of man, and the nature of God,
who think a life of stiict piety and devotion to God, to
be a dull and uncomfortable state, when it is so plain
and certain that there is neither comfort nor joy»tO be
found in any thing else !

DEVOUT AND HOLY LIFE. 133

CHAPTER XII.

The Happiness of a Life wholly devoted unto God,
further proved from the "canity, the sensuality, and
the ridiculous poor Enjoyments, lohich they are
forced to take up with, who live according to their
own Humours. This represented in various Cha-
racters,

WE may still see more of the happiness of a life de-
voted unto God, by considering the poor contrivances
for happiness, and the contemptible ways of life,
which they are thrown into, who are not under the di-
rections of a strict piety, but seeking- after happiness
by other methods.

If one looks at their lives who live by no rule but
their own humours and fancies ; if one sees but what
it is which they call joy, and greatness, and happiness ;
if one sees how they rejoice and repent, charge and
fly from one delusion to another ; one shall find great
reason to rejoice that God hath appointed a strait and
narrow way that leadeth unto life, and that we are not
left to the folly of our minds, or forced to take up with
such shadows of joy and happiness as the weakness and
folly of the world has invented. 1 say invented, be-
cause those things which make up the joy and happi-
ness of this world are mere inventions, which have no
foundation in nature and reason, are no way the pro-
per good or happiness of man, no way perfect either
in his body or his mind, or carry him to his true end.

As for instance, when a man proposes to be happy
in ways of ambition, by raising himself to sonie imagi-
nary heights above other people ; this is truly an in-
vention of happiness which has no foundation in na-
ture, but is as mere a cheat of our own making, as if a
man should intend to make himself happy by climbing
up a ladder.

If a woman seeks for happiness from fine colours or

k3

134 A SfiRIOUS CALL TO A

Spots upon her face^ from jewels and rich clothes, this
is as merely an invention of happiness, as contrary to
nature and reason^ as if she should propose to make
herself happy by painting- a post, and putting- the
same tinery upon it. It is in this respect that 1 call
these joys and happiness of the"world mere inventions
of happiness, because neither God, nor nature, nor
reason, hath appointed them as such ; but whatever
appears joyful, or great, or happy in them, is entirely
created or invented by the blindness and vanity of our
own minds.

And it is on these inventions of happiness that I de-
sire you to cast your eye, that you may thence learn
how great a good religion is, which delivers you from
such a multitude of follies and vain pursuits as are the
torment and vexation of minds that wander from their
true happiness in God.

Look at Flatus, and learn how miserable they are
who are left to the folly of their own passions.

Flatus is rich and in health, yet always uneasy, and
always searching after happiness. Every time you vi-
sit him you find some new project in his head, he is
eager upon it, as something- that is more worth his
while, and will do more for him than any thing that is
already past. Every new thing- so seizes him, that if
you were to take him from it, he would think himself
quite undone. His sanguine temper and strong pas-
sions promise him so much happiness in every thing',
that he is always cheated, and is satisfied with no-
thing.

At his first setting out in life, fine clothes were his
delight, his inquiry was only after the best tailors and
peruke-makers, and he had no thoughts of excelling in
any thing but dress. He spared no expense, but car-
ried every nicety to its greatest height. But this hap-
piness not answering his expectations, he left oif his
brocades, put on a plain coat, railed at fops and
beaux, and gave himself up to gaming with great ea-
g-erness,

DEVOUT AND HOLY LIFE. 135

This new pleasure satisfied him for some time ; he
envied no other way of life. But being by the fate of
play drawn into a duel, where he narrowly escaped
his death, he left oif the dice, and sought for happi-
ness no longer amongst the gamesters.

The next thing that seized his wandering imagina-
tion was the diversions of the town ; and for more
than a twelvemonth you heard him talk of nothing but
ladies, drawing-rooms, birth-nights, plays, balls, and as-
semblies. But growing sick of these, he had recourse
to hard drinking. Here he had a merry night, and
met with stronger joys than any he had felt before.
Here he had thoughts of setting up his staff, and look-
ing out no further ; but unluckily falling into a fever,
he grew angry at all strong liquors, and took his leave
of the happiness of being drunk.

The next attempt after happiness carried him into
the field ; for two or three years nothing was so happy
as hunting ; he entered upon it with all his sou!, and
leaped more hedges and ditches than had ever been
known in so short a time. You never saw him but in
a green coat ; he was the envy of all that blew the
horn, and always spoke to his dogs in great propriety
of language. If you met him at home in a bad day, you
would hear him blow his horn, and be entertained
with the surprising accidents of the last noble chace.
No sooner had Flatus outdone all the world in the
breed and education of his dogs, built new kennels,
new stables, and bought a new hunting seat, but he
immediately got sight of another happiness, hated the
senseless noise and hurry of hunting, gave away his
dogs, and was for some time after deep in the pleasures
of building.

Now* he invents new kind of dove-cots, and has
such contrivances in his barns and stables as were
never seen before ; he wonders at the dulness of the
old builders, is wholly bent upon the improvement of
architecture, and will hardly hang a door in the ordi-
nary way. He tells his friends that he never was so

R 4

136 A SERIOUS CALL TO A

delighted in any thing* in his life ; that he has more
happiness amongst his brick and mortar than ever )ie
had at court ; and that he is contriving how to have
some little matter to do that way as long as he lives. '.

The next year he leaves liis house unfinished^ con^-
plains to every body of masons and carpenters^ and
devotes himself wholly to the happiness of riding
about. After this, you can never see him but on
horseback, and so highly delighted with this new way
of life, that he would tell you, give him but his horse
and a clean country to ride in, and you might take all the
rest to yourself. A variety of new saddles and bridles,
and a great change of horses, added much to the plea-
sure of this new way of life. But, however, having
after some time tired both himself and his horses, the
happiest thing he could tliink of next was to go
abroad and visit foreign countries ; and there, indeed,
happiness exceeded his imagination, and he was only
uneasy that he had begun so fine a life no sooner.
The next month he returned home, unable to bear any
longer the impertinence of foreigners.

After this, he was a great student for one whole
year ; he was up early and late at his Italian grammar,
that he might have the happiness of understanding the
opera, whenever he should hear one, and not be like
those unreasonable people that are pleased with they
do not know what.

Flatus is very ill-natured, or otherwise, just as his
affairs happen to be when you visit him ; if you find
him when some project is almost worn out, you will
find a peevish, ill-bred man ; but if you had seen him
just as he entered upon his riding regimen, or begun
to excel in sounding of the horn, you had been saluted
with great civility.

Flatus is now at a full stand, and is doing what he
never did in his life before ; he is reasoning and re-
flecting with himself. He loses several days in con-
sidering which of his cast-off ways of life he should try
again.

DEVOUT AND HOLY LIFE. 137

But here a new project comes in to his relief. He
is now living- upon herbs, and running about the coun-
try, to get himself into as good wind as any running
footman in the kingdom.

I have been thus circumstantial in so many foolish
particulars of this kind, because I hope that every par-
ticular folly that you see here will naturally turn it-
self into an argument for the wisdom and happiness of
a religious life.

If I could lay before you a particular account of all
the circumstances of terror and distress that daily at-
tend a life at sea, the more particular 1 was in the ac-
count, the more I should make you feel and rejoice in
the happiness of living upon the land.

In like manner, the more I enumerate the follies,
anxieties, delusions, and restless desires which go
through every part of a life devoted to human passions
and worldly enjoyments, the more you must be affect-
ed with that peace, and rest, and solid content, which
religion oives to the souls of men.

If you had but just cast your eye upon a madman
or a fool, it perhaps signifies little or nothing to you ;
but if you was to attend them for some days, and ob-
serve the lamentable madness and stupidity of all their
actions, this would be an affecting sight, and would
make you often bless yourself for the enjoyment of
your reason and senses.

Just so, if you are only told in the gross of the folly
and madness of a life devoted to the world, it makes
little or no impression upon you ; but if you are shewn
how such people live every day ; if you see the conti-
nual folly and madness of all their particular actions
and designs, this would be an affecting sight, and make
you bless God for having given you a greater happi-
ness to aspire after.

So that characters of this kind, the more folly an^l
ridicule they have in them, provided that they be but
natural, are most useful to correct our minds ; and,
therefore^ are no where more proper than in books of

138 A SERIOUS CALL TO A

devotion and practical piety. And as in several cases
we best ]earn the nature of things by looking at that
which is contrary to them^ so perhaps we best com-
prehend the excellency of wisdom by contemplating
the wild extravagances of folly.

I shall, therefore, continue this method a little fur-
ther, and endeavour to recommend the happiness of
piety to you, by shewing you, in some othei* instan-
ces, how miserably and poorly they live who live with-
out it.

But you will perhaps say, that the ridiculous, rest-
less life of Flatus is not the common state of those
who resign themselves up to live by their own hu-
mours, and neglect the strict rules of religion ; and
that, therefore, it is not so great an argument of the
happiness of a religious life as I would make it.

1 answer, that i am afraid it is one of the most ge-
neral characters in life ; and that few people can read
it, without seeing sometiiing in it that belongs to
themselves. For where shall we find that wise and
happy man who has not been eagerly pursuing differ-
ent appearances of happiness, sometimes thinking it
was here, and sometimes there?

And if people were to divide their lives into parti-
cular stages, and ask themselves what they were pur-
suing, or what it vras wliich they had chiefly in view
when tliey were twenty years old, what at twenty-five,
what at thirty, what at forty, what at fifty, and so on,
till they were brought to their last bed ; numbers of
people would find that they had liked and disliked, and
pursued as many diiferent appearances of happiness
as are t(vbe seen in the life of Flatus.

And thus it must necessarily be more or less with
all those who propose any other happiness than that
which arises from a strict and regular piety.

But, secondly, let it be granted that the generality
of people are not of such restless, fickle tempers as
Flatus ; the difterence then is only this. Flatus is con-
tinually changing and trying something new, but

DEVOUT AND HOLY LIFE. 139

Others are content with some one state ; they do not
leave gaming, and then fall to hunting. But they
have so much steadiness in their tempers, that some
seek after no other happiness but that of heaping up
riches ; others grow old in the sports of the field ;
others are content to drink themselves to death_, with-
out the least inquiry after any other happiness.

Now, is there any thing more happy or reasonable
in such a life as this than in the life of Flatus? Is it
not as great and desirable, as wise and happy, to be
constantly changing from one thing to another, as to
be iiothing else but a gatherer of money, a hunter, a
gamester, or a drunkard, all your life?

Siiall religion be looked upon as a burden, as a dull
and melancholy state, for calling men from such hap-
piness as this, to live according to the laws of God, to
labour after the perfection of their nature, and pre-
pai'e themselves for an endless state of joy and glory
in the presence of God ?

But turn your eyes now another way, and let the
trifling joys, the gewgaw happiness of Feliciana, teach
you how wise they are, what delusion they escape,
whose hearts and hopes are fixed upon a happiness in
God.

If you was to live with Feliciana but one half year,
you would see all the happiness that she is to have as
long as she lives. She has no more to come, but the
poor repetition of that which could never have pleas-
ed once, but through a littleness of mind, and want of
thought.

She is again to be dressed fine, and keep her visit-
ing da}' . She is again to change the colour of her
clothes, again- to have a new head, and again put
patches on hei face. She is again to sec who acts
best at the playhouse, and who sings finest at the
opera. She is again to make ten visits iti a day, and
be ten times in a diy trying to telk artfully, easily, and
politely, about UQthing.

She is to be again delighted with sonic new fashion.

140

A SERIOUS CALL TO A

and again angry at the change of some old one. She
is to be again at cards, and gaming at midnight, and
again in bed at noon. She is to be again pleased with
hypocritical compliments, and again disturbed with
imaginary affronts. She is to be again pleased with
her good luck at gaming, and again tormented with
the loss of her money. She is again to prepare her-
self for a bi»'th-night, and again to see the town full of
good con any. She is again to hear the cabals and
intrigues of the town, again to have secret intelligence
of private amours, and early notice of marriages,,
quarrels, and partings.

If you see her come out of her chariot more briskly
than usual, converse with more spirits, and seem ful-
ler of joy than she was last week, it is because there
is some surprising new dress, or new diversion just
come to town.

These are ail the substantial and regular parts of
Feliciana's happiness ; and she never new a pleasant
day in her life, but it was owing to some one or more
of these things.

It is for this happiness that she has always been
deaf to the reasonings of religion, that her heart has
been too gay and cheerful to consider what is right or
wrong in regard to eternity, or to listen to the sound of
such dull words as wisdom, piety, and devotion.

It is for fear of losing some of this happiness that
she dares not meditate on the immortality of her soul,
consider her relation to God, or turn her thoughts to-
wards those joys which make saints and angels infi-
nitely happy in the presence and glory of God.

But now let it here be observed, that as poor a
round of happiness as this appears, yet most Avomen
that avoid the restraints of religion for a gay life must
be content with very small parts of it. As they have
not Feliciana's fortune and figure in the world, so
they must give away tlie comforts of a pious life for a
very small part of her happiness.

And if you look into the world, and observe the lives

D£VOUT AND HOLY LIFE. 141

of those vvomen^ whom no arguments can persuade to
live wholly unto God^, in a wise and pious employment
of themselves^ you will find most of them to be sucli
as lose all the comforts of religion^ without gaiaing the
tenth part of Feliciana's happiness. They are such
as spend their time and fortunes merely in mimick-
ing the pleasures of richer people ; and rather look
and long after than enjoy those delusions, which are
only to be purchased by considerable fortunes.

But if a woman of high birth and good fortune,
having read the gospel, should rather wish to be an
under servant in some pious family, where wisdom,
piety, and great devotion, directed all the actions of
every day ; if she should rather wish this than to live
at the top of Feliciana's happiness, 1 should think her
neither mad nor melancholy, but that she judged as
rightly of the spirit of the gospel, as if she had rather
wished to be poor Lazarus at the gate, than to be the
rich man clothed in purple and fine linen, and faring
sumptuously every day.

But to proceed ; would you know what an happi-
ness it is to be governed by the wisdom of religion,
and be devoted to the joys and hopes of a pious life,
look at the poor condition of Succus, whose greatest
happiness is a good night's rest in bed, and a good
meal when he is up. When he talks of happiness, it
is always in such expressions as shew you that he has
only his bed and his dinner in his thoughts.

This regard to his meals and repose makes Succus
order all the rest of his time with relation to them.
He will undertake no business that may hurry his spi-
rits, or break in upon his hours of eating and rest. If
he reads, it shall only be for half an hour, beciuise that
is sufficient to amuse the spirits ; and he will read
something that will make him laugh, as rendering the
body fitter for its food and rest ; or if he has at any
time a mind to indulge a grave thought, he always
has recourse to a useful treatise upon the ancient
cookery. Succus is an enemy to all party matters.

,14$ A SERIOUS CALL TO A

having" made it an observation, that there is as good
eating- amongst the whig-s as the tories.

He talks coolly and moderately upon all subjects,
and is as fearful of falling into a passion as of catcli-
ing- cold, being* very positive that they are both equal-
ly injurious to the stomach. If you ever see him more
hot than Ordinary, as is upon some provoking occa-
sion, when the dispute about cookery runs very high,
or in the defence of some beloved dish, which has of-
ten made him happy. But he has been so long upon
these subjects, is so well acquainted with all that can
be said on both sides, and has so often answered all
objections, that he generally decides the matter with
great giavity,

Succus is very loyal, and as soon as ever he likes
any wine he drinks the king's health with all his heart.
Nothing can put rebellious thoughts into his head, un-
less he should live to see a proclamation against eat-
ing of pheasant's eggs.

All the hours that are not devoted either to repose
or nourishment are looked upon by Succus as waste
or spare time ; for tiiis reason he lodges near a coffee-
house Pud a tavern, that when he rises in the morning
he may hear the news, and when he parts at night he
may not have far to bed. In the morning you always
see him in the same place in the coffee-room, and if he
seems more attentively engaged than ordinary, it is
because some criminal has broken out of Newgate, or
some lady Vvas robbed last night, but they cannot tell
where. When he lias learned all that he can, he goes
home to settle the matter with the barber's boy that
comes to shave him.

The next waste time that lies upon his hands is
from dinner to supper ; and if melancholy thoughts
ever come into his head it is at this time, when he is
often left to himself for an hour or more, and that af-
ter the greatest pleasure he knows is just over. He is
afraid to sleep, because he has heard it is not healthful at
that time, so that he is forced to refuse so welcome a guest.

DEVOUT AND HOLY LIFE. 143

But here he is soon relieved by a settled raethod of
playing" at cards till it is lime to tliink of some little
nice matter for supper.

After til is Succus takes his g-Jass^ talks of the ex-
cellency of the English constitution, and praises that
minister the most who keeps the best table.

On a Sunday night you may sometimes hear him
condemning the iniquity of the town rakes ; and the
bitterest thing that he says against them is this^ that
he verily believes some of them are so abandoned as
not to have a regular meal or a sound night's sleep in
a week.

At eleven, Succus bids all good night, and parts in
great friendship. He is presently in bed, and sleeps
till it is time to go to the coffee-house next morning.

If you was to live with Succus for a twelvemonth,
this is all that you w^ould see in his life, except a few
curses and oaths that he uses as occasion offers.

And now I cannot help making this reflection :

That as I believe the most likely means in the world
to inspire a person with true piety, was to have seen
the example of some eminent professor of religion, so
the next thing that is likely to till one with the same
zeal, is to see the folly, the baseness, and poor satis-
faction of a life destitute of religion ; as the one dis-
poses us to love and admire the v» isdom and greatness
of religion, so the other may make us fearful of living
without it.

For who can help blessing God for the means of
grace, and for the hope of glory, when he sees what
variety of folly they sink into who live without it? Who
would not heartily engage in all the labours and exer-
cises of a pious life, be stedfast, immovable, and al-
ways abounding in the work of the Lord, when he
sees what dull sensuality, what poor views, what gross
enjoyments, they are left to seek, who seek for happi-
ness in other ways?

So that, whether we consider the greatness of reli-
gion, or the littleness of all other things, and the mean-

144* A SERIOUS CALL TO A

ness of all other enjoyments, there is nothing to be
found in the whole nature of things for a thoughtful
mind to rest upon, but a happiness in the hopes of
religion.

Consider now with yourself how unreasonable it is
pretended, that a life of strict piety must be a dull and
anxious state. For can it with any reason be said,
that the duties and restraints of religion must render
our lives heavy and melancholy, when they only de-
prive us of such happiness as has been here laid before
you"'

Must it be tedious and tiresome to live in the conti-
nual exercise of charity, devotion, and temperance, to
act wisely and virtuously, to do good to the utmost of
your power, to imitate the divine perfections, and pre-
pare yourself for the enjoyment of God? Must it be
dull and tiresome to be delivered from blindness and
vanity, from false hopes and vain fears, to improve in
holiness, to feel the comforts of conscience in all your
actions, to know that God is your friend, that all must
work for your good, that neither life nor death, neither
men nor devils, can do you any harm ; but that all
your sufferings and doings that are offered unto God,
all your watch ings and prayers, and labours of love
and charity, all your improvements, are in a short time
to be rewarded vv'ith everlasting glory in the presence
of God ; must such a state as this be dull and tiresome
for want of such happiness as Flatus or Feliciana
enjoy?

Now, if this cannot be said, then there is no happi-
ness or pleasure lost by being strictly pious, nor has
the devout man any thing to envy in any other state
of life. For all the art and contrivance in the world,
without religion, cannot make mere of human life, or
carry its happiness to any greater height, than Flatus
or Feliciana have done.

The finest wit, the greatest genius upon earth, if
not governed by religion, must be as foolish, and low,
and vain in his methods of happiness, as the poor Succus,

DEVOUT AND HOLY LIFE. 14&

If you was to see a man dully endeavouring all his
life to satisfy his thirst, by holding up one and the
same empty cup to his mouth, you would certainly de-
spise his ignorance.

But if you should see others of brighter parts and
finer understandings ridiculing the dull satisfaction of
one cup, and thinking to satisfy their own thirst by a
variety of gilt and golden empty cups, would you think
that these were ever the wiser, or happier, or better
employed, for their finer parts ?

Now, this is all the difference that you can see in
the happiness of this life.

The dull and heavy soul may be content with one
empty appearance of happiness, and be continually
trying to hold one and the same empty cup to his
mouth all his life. But then, let the wit, the great
scholar, the fine genius, the great statesman, the polite
gentleman, lay all their heads together, and they can
only shew you more and various empty appearances of
happiness ; give them all the world into their hands,
let them cut and carve as they please, they can only
make a greater variety of empty cups.

So that, if you do not think it hard to be deprived of
the pleasures of gluttony for the sake of religion, you
have no reason to think it hard to be restrained from
any other worldly pleasure ; for search as deep, and
look as far as you will, there is nothing here to be
found that is nobler or greater than high eating and
drinking, unless you look for it in the wisdom and
laws of religion.

And if all that is in the world are only so many
empty cups, what does it signify which you take, or
how many you take, or how many you have ?

If you would but use yourself to such meditations as
these, to reflect upon the vanity of all orders of life
without piety, to consider how all the ways of the
world are so many different ways of error, blindness,
and mistake, you would soon find your heart made
wiser and better by it. These meditations would

L

146 A SERIOUS CALL TO A

awaken your souls into a zealous desire of that solid
happiness, which is only to be found in recourse to
God.

Examples of great piety are not now common in
the Avorld, it may not be your happiness to live within
sight of any, or to have your virtue inflamed by their
light and fervour ; but the misery and folly of worldly
men is what meets your eyes in every place, and you
need not look far to see how poorly, how vainly, men
dream away their lives for want of religious wisdom. '

This is the reason that I have laid before you so
many characters of the vanity of a worldly life, to
teach you to make a benefit of the corruption of the
age, and that you may be made wise, though not by
the sight of what piety is, yet by seeing what misery
and folly reigns, where piety is not.

If you would turn your mind to such reflections as
these, your own observation would carry this instruc-
tion much further, and all your conversation and ac-
quaintance with the world would be a daily conviction
to you of the necessity of seeking some greater happi-
ness, than all the poor enjoyments this world can give.

To meditate upon the perfection of the divine attri-
butes, to contemplate the glories of heaven, to con-
sider the joys of saints and angels living for ever in
the brightness and glory of the divine presence; these
are the meditations of souls advanced in piety, and not
so suited to every capacity.

But to see and consider the emptiness and error of
all worldly happiness, to see the grossness of sensu-
ality, the poorness of pride, the stupidity of covetous-
ness, the vanity of dress, the delusion of honour, the
blindness of our passions, the uncertainty of our lives,
and the shortness of all worldly projects ; these are
meditations that arc suited to all capacities, fitted to
strike all minds ; they require no depth of thought to
sublime speculation, but are forced upon us by all our
senses, and taught us by almost every thing that we
see and hear.

DEVOUT AND HOLY LIFE. 147

This is that wisdom that crieth, and
putteth forth her voice in the streets, Prov. viii. 1 .
that standeth at all our doors, that ap-
pealeth to all our senses, teaching- us in every thing
and every where, by all that we see, and all Uiat we
hear, by births and burials, by sickness and healthy by
life and death, by pains and poverty, by misery and
vanity, and by all the changes and chances of life ; that
there is nothing else for man to look after, no other
end in nature for him to drive at, but a happiness
which is only to be found in the hopes and expecta-
tions of religion.

CHAPTER XIII.

IThat 7iot only a Life of vanity or sensuality, but even
the most regular kind of Life that is not governed
by great Devotion, sufficiently shews its miseries,
its wants, and emptiness, to the eyes of all the
world ; this represented in various Characters.

IT is a very remarkable saying of our Lord and
Saviour to his disciples in these words. Blessed are
your eyes for they see, and your ears for they hear.
They teach us two things : First, That the dulness
and heaviness of men's minds, with regard to spiritu-
al matters, is so great, that it may justly be compared
to the want of eyes and ears.

Secondly, That God has so filled every thing and
every place with motives and arguments for a godly
life, that they who are but so blessed, so happy as to
use their eyes and their ears, must needs be affected
with them.

Now, though this was in a more especial manner
the case of those whose senses were witnesses of the
life, and miracles, and doctrines of our blessed Lord ;
yet it is truly the case of all Christians at this time.
For the reasons of religion, the calls of piety, are so

l2

148 A SERIOUS CALL TO A

written and engraved upon every thing', and present
themselves so strongly and so constantly to all our
senses in every thing that we meet, that they can only
be disregared by eyes that see not, and cars that hear
not.

What greater motive to a religious life than the va-
nity, the poorness of all worldly enjoyments ; and yet
who can help seeing and feeling this every day of his
life?

What greater call to look towards God than the
pains, the sickness, the crosses, and vexations of this
life, and yet Avhose eyes and ears are not daily wit^
nesses of them ?

What miracles could more strongly appeal to our
senses, or what message from heaven speak louder to
us, than the daily dying and departure of our fellow-
creatures ?

So that the one thing needful, or the great end of
life, is not left to be discovered by tine reasoning and
deep reflections, but is pressed upon us in the plainest
manner by the experience of all our senses,, by every
thing that we meet in life.

Let us but intend to see and hear, and then the
whole world becomes a book of wisdom and instruc-
tion to us ; all that is regular in the order of nature,
all that is accidental in the course of things, all the
mistakes and disappointments that happen to our-
selves, all the miseries and errors that we see in other
people, become so many plain lessons of advice to us,
teaching us, with as much assurance as an angel from
heaven, that we can no vvays raise ourselves to any
true happiness, but by turning all our thoughts, our
wishes, and endeavours, after the happiness of another
life.

It is this right use of the world that I would lead
you into, by directing you to turn your eyes upon every
shape of human folly, that you may thence draw fresh
arguments and motives of living to the best and great-
est purposes of your creation.

DEVOUT AND HOLY LIFE. 149

And if you would but carry this intention about you,
of profiting by the follies of the worlds and of learn-
ing the greatness of religion from the littleness and
vanity of every other way of life ; if, 1 say, you would
but carry this intention in your mind, you would find
every day, every place^ and every person, a fresh
proof of their wisdom who choose to live wholly unto
God; jou would then often return home the wiser,
the better, and the more strengthened in religion, by
every thing that has fallen in your way.

Octavius is a learned, ingenious man, well versed in
most parts of literature, and no stranger to any king-
dom in Europe. The other day, being just recovered
from a lingering fever, he took upon him to talk thus
to his friends :

" My glass," says he, " is almost run out ; and
your eyes see how many marks of age and death I
bear about me ; but I plainly feel myself sinking away
faster than any standers-by imagine. 1 fully believe
that one year more will conclude my reckoning."

The attention of his friends was much raised by
such a declaration, expecting to hear something truly
excellent from so learned a man, who had but a year
longer to live ; when Octavius proceeded in this man-
ner :

" For these reasons," says he, '' my friends, I have
left off all taverns ; the Avine of those places is not
good enough for me in this decay of nature. 1 must
now be nice in what I drink ; 1 cannot pretend to do
as I have done ; and, therefore, am resolved to furnish
my own cellar with a little of the very best, though it
cost me ever so much.

'" I must also tell you, my friends, that age forces a
man to be wise in many other respects, and makes us
change many of our opinions and practices.

'" You know how much I have liked a large ac-
quaintance ; I now condemn it as an error. Three
or four cheerful, diverting companions, are all that 1
now desire ; because I find that, in my present infir-

l3

150 A SERIOUS CALL TO A

mities, if I am left alone, or to grave company, I am
not so easy to myself."

A few days after Octavius had made this declaration
to his friends, he relapsed into his former illness, was
committed to a nurse, who closed his eyes before his
fresh parcel of wine came in.

Young Eugenius, who was present at this dis-
course, went home a new man, with full resolutions of
devoting hmiself wholly unto God.

" 1 never," says Eugenius, '' was so deeply affected
with the wisdom and importance of religion as when I
saw how poorly and meanly the learned Octavius was
to leave the world through the want of it.

" How often had I envied his great learning, his
skill in language, his knowledge of antiquity, his ad-
dress, and fine manner of expressing himself upon all
subjects ! But, when I saw how poorly it all ended,
what was to be the last year of such a life, and how
foolishly the master of all these accomplishments was
then forced to talk, for want of being acquainted with
the joys and expectations of piety : i was thoroughly
convinced that there v/as nothing to be envied or de-
sired but a life of true piety ; nor any thing so poor
and comfortless as a death without it."

Now, as the young Eugenius was thus edified and
instructed in the present case, so, if you are so happy
as to have any thing of his thoughtful temper, you
will meet with variety of instruction of this kind ; you
will find that arguments for the wisdom and happiness
of a strict piety offer themselves in all places, and ap-
peal to all your senses in the plainest manner.

You will find that all the world preaches to an atten-
tive mind, and that, if you have but ears to hear, al-
most every thing you meet teaches you some lesson of
wisdom.

But now, if to these admonitions and instructions,
which we receive from our senses, from an experience
of the state of human life ; if to these we add the lights
of religion, those great truths which the Son of God

DEVOUT AND HOLY LIFE. 151

had taught us, it will be then as much past all doubt
that there is but one happiness for man, as that there
is but one God.

For, since religion teaches us that our souls are im-
mortal, that piety and devotion will carry them to an
eternal enjoyment of God, and that carnal worldly
tempers will sink them into an everlasting* misery with
damned spirits, what gross nonsense and stupidity is it
to give the name of joy or happiness to any thing but
that which carries us to this joy and happiness in God?

Was all to die with our bodies, there might be some
pretence for those different sorts of happiness that arc
so much talked of; but, since our all begins at the
death of our bodies ; since all men are to be immortal,
either in misery or happiness, in a world entirely dif-
ferent from this ; since they are all hastening hence,
at all uncertainties, as fast as death can cut them
down ; some in sickness, some in health, some sleep-
ing, some waking, some at midnight, others at cock-
crowing, and all at hours that they know not of ; is it
not certain that no man can exceed another in joy and
happiness, but so far as he exceeds him in those virtues
which fit him for a happier death ?

Cognatus is a sober regular clergyman, of good re-
pute in the world, and well esteemed in his parish.
All his parishioners say he is an honest man, and very
notable at making a bargain. The farmers listen to
him with great attention, when he talks of the proper-
est time of selling corn.

He has been for twenty years a diligent observer of
markets, and has raised a considerable fortune by
good management.

Cognatus is very orthodox, and full of esteem for
our English liturgy ; and if he has not prayers on
Wednesdays and Fridays, it is because his predeces-
sors had not used the parish to any such custom.

As he cannot serve both his livings himself, .so he
makes it matter of conscience to keep a sober curate
upon one of them, wliom he hires to take care of all

L 4

152 A SERIOUS CALL TO A

the souls in the parish, at as cheap a rate as a sober
mail can be procured.

Cognatus has been very prosperous all his time ; but
still he has had the uneasiness and vexations that they
have who are deep in worldly business. Taxes, losses,
crosses, bad mortgag-es, bad tenants, and the hardness
of the times, are frequent subjects of his conversation ;
and a good or a bad sea,son has a great effect upon his
spirits.

Cognatus has no other end in growing rich, but
that he may leave a considerable fortune to a niece,
whom he has politely educated in expensive finery by
what he has saved out of the tithes of two livings.

The neighbours look upon Cognatus as a happy
clergyman, because they see him (as they call it) in
good circumstances ; and some of them intend todedi-
iCate their own sons to the church, because they see
how well it has succeeded with Cognatus, whose fa-
ther was but an ordinary man.

But now, if Cognatus, when he first entered into
holy orders, had perceived how absurd a thing it is to
grow rich by the gospel ; if he had proposed to him-
self the example of some primitive father ; if he had
had the piety of the great St. Austin in his eye, who
durst not enrich any of his relations out of the reve-
nue of the church ; if, instead of twenty years' care to
lay up treasures upon earth, he Iiad distributed the in-
come of every year in the most Christian acts of cha-
rity and compassion :

If, instead of tempting his niece to be proud, and
providing her with such ornaments as the apostle for-
bids, he had clothed, comforted, and assisted numbers
of widows, orphans, and distressed, who were all to
appear for him at the last day :

If, instead of the cares and anxieties of bad bonds,
troublesome mortgages, and ill bargains, he had had
the constant comfort of knowing that his treasure was
securely laid up where neither moth corrupteth, nor
thieves break through and steal, could it with any rea-

DEVOUT AND HOLY LIFE. 153

son be said that he had mistaken the spirit and dignity
of his order, or lessoned any of that happiness which
is to be found in his sacred employments?

If, instead of rejoicini^- in the happiness of a second
living", he had thought it as unbecoming the office of a
clergyman to traffic for gain in holy things, as to open
a shop :

If lie had thought it better ta recommend some
honest labour to his niece, than to support her in idle-
ness by the labours of a curate ; better that she should
want fine clothes and a rich husband, than the cure of
souls should be farmed about, and brother clergymen
not suffered to live by those altars at which they serve.
If this had been the spirit of Cognatus, could it with
any reason be said, that these rules of religion, this
strictness of piety, had robbed Cognatus of any real
happiness? Could it be said that a life thus governed
by the spirit of the gospel must be dull and melan-
choly, if compared to that of raising a fortune for a
niece ?

Now, as this cannot be said in the present case, so
in every other kind of life ; if you enter into the par-
ticulars of it, you will find that, however easy and
prosperous it may seem, yet you cannot add piety to
any part of it, without adding so much of a better joy
and happiness to it.

Look now at the condition of life whicli draws the
envy of all eyes.

Negotius is a temperate, honest man. He seived
his time under a master of great trade, but has by his
own management made it a more considerable busi-
ness than ever it was before. For thirty years past
he has written fifty or sixty letters in a week, and is
busy in corresponding with all parts of Europe. The
general good of trade seems to Negotius to be the ge-
neral good of life; whomsoever he admires, whatever
he commends or condemns either in church or state,
is admired, commended^ or condemned, with some re-
gard to trade.

154 A SERIOUS CALL TO A -

As money is continually pouring in upon him, so he
often lets it go in various kinds of expense and gene-
rosity, and sometimes in ways of charity.

Negotius is always ready to join in any public con-
tribution. If a purse is making at any place where
he happens to be, whether it be to buy a plate for a
horse-race, or to redeem a prisoner out of jail, you
are always sure of having something from him.

He has given a fine ring of bells to a church in the
country, and there is much expectation that he will
some time or other make a more beautiful front to the
market-house than has been seen in any place ; for it
is the generous spirit of Negotius to do nothing in a
mean way.

If you ask what it is that has secured Negotius from
all scandalous vices, .it is the same thing that has kept
him from all strictness of devotion ; it is his great bu-
siness. He has always had too many important things
in his head, his thoughts have been too much employed
to suffer him to fall either into any courses of rakery,
or to feel the necessity of an inward, solid piety.

For this reason, he hears of the pleasures of de-
bauchery and the pleasures of piety with the same in-
difference, and has no more desire of living in the one
than in the other, because neither of them consist
with that turn of mind and multiplicity of business
which are his happiness.

If Negotius was asked, what it is that he drives at
in life? he would be as much at a loss for an answer,
as if he was asked what any other person is thinking
of; for though he always seems to himself to know
what he is doing, and has many things in his head,
which are the motives of his actions, yet he cannot
tell you of any one general end of life, that he has
chosen with deliberation, as being truly worthy of all
his labour and pains.

He has several confused notions in his head, which
have been a long time there, such as these, viz. That
it is something great to have more business than other

DEVOUT AND HOLY LIFE. 1^5

people ; to have more dealings upon his hands than an
hundred of the same profession ; to grow continually
richer and richer, and to raise an immense fortune be-
fore he dies. The thing that seems to give Negotius
the greatest life and spirit, and to be most in his
thoughts, is an expectation that he shall die richer
than any of his business ever did.

The generality of people, when they think of hap-
piness, think upon Negotius, in whose life every in-
stance of happiness is supposed to meet ; sober, pru-
dent, rich, prosperous, generous, and cliaritable.

Let us now, therefore, look at this condition in ano-
ther but truer light.

Let it be supposed, that this same Negotius was a
painful, laborious man, every day deep in a variety of
affairs ; that he neither drank nor debauched, but was
sober and regular in his business. Let it be supposed
that he grew old in this course of trading ; and that
the end and design of all this labour, and care, and
application to business, was only this, that he might
die possessed of more than an hundred thousand pairs
of boots and spurs, and as many great-coats.

Let it be supposed that the sober part of the world
say of him when he is dead, that he was a great and
happy man, a thorough master of business, and had
acquired an hundred thousand pairs of boots and spurs
when he died.

Now, if this was really the case, I believe it would
be readily granted, that a life of such business was as
poor and ridiculous as any that can be invented. But
it would puzzle any one to shew, that a man that has
spent all his time and thoughts in business and hurry,
that he might die, as it is said, worth an hundred thou-
sand pounds, is any whit wiser than he who has taken
the same pains to have as many pairs of boots and
spurs when he leaves the world.

For if the temper and state of our souls be our
whole state ; if the only end of life be to die as free
from sin, and as exalted in virtue, as we can ; if na-

156 A SERIOUS CALL TO A

ked as we came^ so naked are we to return^ and to
stand a trial before Christ and his holy angels^ for
everlasting- happiness or misery ; what can it possi-
bly signify what a man had^ or had not^ in this world?
What can it signify what you call those things which
a man has left behind him? whether you call them his
or any one's else^ whether you call them trees or
fields, or birds or feathers ; whether you call them an
hundred thousand pounds or an hundred thousand
pairs of boots and spurs? I say, call them, for the
things signify no more to him than the names.

Now, it is easy to see the folly of a life thus spent
to furnish a man with such a number of boots and
spurs. But yet there needs no better faculty of see-
ing-, no finer understanding, to see the folly of a life
spent in making a man a possessor of ten towns be-
fore he dies.

For if, when he has got all his towns, or all his
boots, his soul is to go to its own place among sepa-
rate spirits, and his body be laid by in a coffin, till
the last trumpet calls him to judgment; where the in-
quiry will be, how humbly, how devoutly, how purely,
how meekly, how piously, how charitably, how hea-
venly we have spoke, thought, and acted, whilst we
were in the body ; how can we say, that he who has
worn out his life in raising an hundred thousand
pounds, has acted wiser for himself than he who has
had the same care to procure an hundred thousand
of any thing else?

But, furtlier, let it now be supposed that Negotius,
when he first entered into business, happened to read
the gospel with attention, and eyes open, found that
he had a much greater business upon his hands tlian
that to which he had served an apprenticeship ; that
there were things which belong to man, of much
greater importance than all that our eyes can see ; so
glorious as to deserve all our thoughts, so dangerous
as to need all our care, and so certain as never to de-
ceive the faithful labourer.

DEVOUT AND HOLY LIFE. 157

Let it be supposed that, from reading this book, he
had discovered that his soul was more to liim than his
body ; that it was better to grow in the virtues of the
soul, than to have a large body or a full purse ; that it
was better to be fit for heaven, than to have a variety
of fine houses upon earth ; that it was better to secure
an everlasting happiness, than to have plenty of things
which he cannot keep ; better to live in habits of hu-
mility, piety, devotion, charity, and self-denial, than
to die unprepared for judgment ; better to be most like
our Saviour, or some eminent saint, than to excel all the
tradesmen in the world in business and bulk of fortune.

Let it be supposed that Negotius, believing these
things to be true, entirel}'' devoted himself to God at
his first setting out in the world, resolving to pursue
his business no further than was consistent with great
devotion, humility, and self-denial ; and for no other
ends but to provide himself with a sober subsistence,
and to do all the good that he could to the souls and
bodies of his fellow-creatures.

Let it therefore be supposed that, instead of the
continual hurry of business, he was frequent in his re-
tirements, and a strict observer of all the hours of
prayer; that, instead of restless desires after more
riches, his soul had been full of the love of God and
heavenly affection, constantly watching against world-
ly tempers, and always aspiring after divine grace;
that, instead of worldly cares and contrivances, lie was
busy in fortifying his soul against all approaches of
sin ; that, instead of costly show and expensive gene-
rosity of a splendid life, he loved and exercised all in-
stances of humility and lowliness ; that, instead of
great treats and full tables, his house only furnished a
sober refreshment to those that wanted it.

Let it be supposed, that his contentment kept him
free from all kinds of envy ; that his piety made him
thankful to' God in all crosses and disappointments;
that his charity kept him from being rich by a conti-
nual distribution to all objects of compassion.

158 A SERIOUS CALL TO A

Now, had this been the Christian spirit of Negoti-
us, can any one say that he had lost the true joy and
happiness of life by thus conforming- to the spirit, and
living up to the hopes of the gospel ?

Can it be said, that a life made exemplary by such
virtues as these, which keep heaven always in our
sight, which both delight and exalt the soul here, and
prepare it for the presence of God hereafter, must be
poor and dull, if compared to that of heaping up rich-
es, which can neither stay with us nor we with them?

It would be endless to multiply examples of this
kind, to shew you how little is lost, and how much is
gained, by introducing a strict and exact piety into
every condition of human life.

I shall now, therefore, leave it to your own medita-
tion to carry this way of thinking further, hoping that
you are enough directed, by what is here said, to con-
vince yourself that a true and exalted piety is so far
from rendering any life dull and tiresome, that it is
the only joy and happiness of every condition in the
world.

Imagine to yourself some person in a consumption,
or any other lingering distemper that is incurable.

If you was to see such a man wholly intent upon
doing every thing in the spirit of religion, making the
wisest use of all his time, fortune, and abilities. If he
was for carrying every duty of piety to its greatest
height, and striving to have all the advantage that
could be had from the remainder of his hfe. If he
avoided all business but such as was necessary ; if he
was averse to all the follies and vanities of the world,
had no taste for finery and show, but sought for all his
comfort in the hopes and expectations of religion ; you
would certainly commend his prudence, you would
say that he had taken the right method to make him-
self joyful and happy as any one can be in a state of
such infirmity.

On the other hand, if you should see the same per*
son, with trembhng hands, short breath, thin jaws^

DEVOUT AND HOLY LIFE. 159

«nd hollow eyeSj wholly intent upon business and bar-
gains as long- as he could speak. If you should see
him pleased with fine clothes, when he could scarce
stefcid to be dressed, and laying out his money in hor-
ses and dogs rather than purchase the prayers of the
poor for his soul, which was so soon to be separated
from his body, you would certainly condemn him as a
weak, silly man.

Now, as it is easy to see the reasonableness, the
wisdom, and happiness of a rehgious spirit in a con-
sumptive man ; so, if you pursue the same way of
thinking, you will as easily perceive the same wisdom
and happiness of a pious temper in every other state
of life.

For how soon w'ill every man that is in health be in
the state of him that is in a consumption! How soon
will he want all the same comforts and satisfactions of
religion which every dying man wants !

And if it be wise and happy to live piously, because
we have not above a year to live, is it not being more
wise, and making ourselves more happy, because we
may have more years to come? If one year of piety
before we die is so desirable, is not more years of piety
much more desirable?

If a man has five fixed years to live, he could not
possibly think at all, without intending to make the
best use of them all. When he saw his stay so short
in this world, he must needs think that this was not a
world for him ; and when he saw how near he was to
another world, that was eternal, he must sureiy think
it very necessary to be very diligent in preparing him-
self for it.

Now, as reasonable as piety appears in such a cir--
cumstance of life, it is yet more reasonable in every
circumstance of life to every thinking man.

For who but a madman can reckon that he has five
years certain to come?

And if it be reasonable and necessary to deny our
worldly tempers, and live wholly unto God, because

160 A SERIOUS CALL TO A

we are certain that we are to die at the end of five
years ; surely it must be more reasonable and neces-
sary for us to live in the same spirit, because we have
no certainty that we shall live five weeks.

Again, if we were to add twenty years to the five,
which is in all probability more than will be added to
the lives of many people who are at man's estate,
what a poor thing is this! how small a difference is
there between five and twenty-five years ?

It is said, that a day is with God as a thousand years,
and a thousand years as one day ; because in regard
to his eternity, this difference is as nothing.

Now, as we are all created to be eternal, to live in
an endless succession of ages upon ages, where thou-
sands, and. millions of thousands of years Avill have no
proportion to our everlasting life in God ; so with re-
gard to this eternal state, which is our real state, twen-
ty-five years is as poor a pittance as twenty-five days.

Now, we can never make any true judgment of time
as it relates to us, without considering the true state
of our duration. If we are temporary being?, then a
little time may justly be called a great deal in relation
to us : but if we are eternal beings, then the difference
of a few years is as nothing.

If we were to suppose three different sorts of rati-
onal beings, all of different but fixed duration, one
sort that lived certainly only a month, the other a
year, and the third an hundred years.

Now, if these beings were to meet together and talk
about time, they must talk in a very different lan-
guage ; half an hour to those who were to live but a
month must be a very different thing to what it is to
those who are to live a hundred years.

As, therefore, time is thus different a thing with re-
gard to the state of those who enjoy it, so if we would
know what time is with regard to ourselves, we must
consider our state.

Now, since our eternal state is as certainly ours as
our present state ; since we are as certainly to live for

DEVOUT AND HOLY LIFE. 161

ever as we now live at all ; it is plain that we cannot
judge of the value of any particular time, as to us, but
by comparing it to that eternal duration for which we
are created.

If you would know what five years signify to a be-
ing that was to live an hundred, you must compare
five to an hundred, and see what proportion it bears
to it, and then you will judge right.

So, if you would know what twenty years signify to
a son of Adam, you must compare it, not to a million of
ages, but to an eternal duration, to which no number of
millions bears any proportion, and then you will judge
right by finding nothing.

Consider, therefore, this ; how would you condemn
the folly of a man that should lose his share of future
glory for the sake of being rich, or great, or praised,
or delighted in any enjoyment, only one poor day be-
fore he was to die ?

But if the time will come, when a number of years
will seem less to every one than a day does now, what
a condemnation must it then be, if eternal happiness
should appear to be lost for something less than the
enjoyment of a day ?

Why does a day seem a trifle to us now ? It is be-
cause we have years to set against it ; it is the dura-
tion of years that makes it appear as nothing.

What a trifle, therefore, must the years of a man's
age appear, when they are forced to be set against
eternity, when there shall be nothing but eternity to
compare them with !

Now, this will be the case of every man as soon as
he is out of the body ; he will be forced to forget the
distinctions of days and years, and to measure time,
not by the course of the sun, but by setting it against
eternity.

As the fixed stars, by reason of our being placed at
such distance from them, appear but as so many points,
so when we are placed in eternity, and shall look
back upon all time, it will appear but as a moment.

M

162 A SERIOUS CALL TO A

Then a luxury, an indulgence, a prosperity, a great-
ness of fifty years, will seem, to every one that looks
back upon it, as the same poor, short enjoyment, as if
he had been snatched away in his first sin.

These few reflections upon time tend only to shcAV
how poorly they think, how miserably they judge, who
are less careful of an eternal state, because they may
be some years distant from it, than they would be, if
they knew they were within a few weeks of it.

CHAPTER XIV.

Concerning that part of Devotion, ivhich relates to
Times and Hours of Prayer. Of daily early
Prayer in the Morning. How ice are to improve
our Forms of Prayer, and how to increase the
Spirit of Devotion.

HAVING, in the foregoing chapters, shewn the
necessity of a devout spirit, or habit of mind, in every
part of our common life, in the discharge of all our
business, in the use of all the gifts of God, I come now
to consider that part of devotion which relates to
times and hours of prayer.

I take it for granted that every Christian who is in
health is up early in the morning ; for it is much
more reasonable to suppose a person up early because
he is a Christian, than because he is a labourer, or a
tradesman, or a servant^ or has business that wants
him.

We naturally conceive some abhorrence of a man
that is in bed when he should be at his labour, or in
bis shop. AVe cannot tell how to think any thing
good of him who is such a slave to drowsiness as to
neglect his business for it.

Let this, therefore, teach us to conceive how odious
we must appear in the sight of heavenj if we are in

DEVOUT AND HOLY LIFE, 163

bedj shut up in sleep and darkness^ Avhen we should be
praising- God_, and are such slaves to drowsiness as to
neglect our devotions for it.

For if he is to be blamed as a slothful drone, that
rather chooses the lazy indulgence of sleep, than to
perform his proper share of worldly business, how
much is he to be reproached that had rather lie folded
up in a bed, than be raising up his heart to God, in
acts of praise and adoration {

Prayer is the nearest approach to God, and the
highest enjoyment of him, that we are capable of in
this life.

It is the noblest exercise of the soul, the most exalt-
ed use of our best faculties, and the highest estimation
of the blessed inhabitants of heaven.

When our hearts are full of God, sending up holy
\ desires to the throne of grace, we are then in our
highest state ; we are upon the utmost heights of hu-
man greatness ; we are not before kings and princes,
but in the presence and audience of the Lord of all
the world, and can be no higher, till death is swallow-
ed up in glory.

On the other hand, sleep is the poorest, dullest re-
freshment of the body, that is so far from being in-
tended as an enjoyment, that we are forced to receive
it either in a state of insensibility, or in the folly of
dreams.

Sleep is such a dull stupid state of existence, that
even amongst mere animals, we despise them most
which are most drowsy. He, therefore, that chooses
to enlarge the slothful indulgence of sleep, rather
than be early at his devotions to God, chooses the
dullest refreshment of the body, before the highest,
noblest employment of the soul ; he chooses that state,
which is a reproach to mere animals, rather than that
exercise, which is the glory of angels.

You will perhaps say, though you rise late, yet you
are always careful of your devotions when you are up.

It may be so ; but what then ? Is it well done of

m2

16i A SERIOUS CALL TO A

you to rise late because you pray when you are up ?
Is it pardonable to waste great part of the day in bed,
because some time after you say your prayers?

It is as much your duty to rise to pray as to pray
when you are risen. And if you are late at your pray-
ers^ you offer to God the prayers of an idle, slothful
worshipper, that rises to prayers as idle servants rise
to their labour.

Further, if you fancy that you are careful of your
devotions when you are up, though it be your custom
to rise late, you deceive yourself; for you cannot per-
form your devotions as you ought. For he that can-
not deny himself this drowsy indulgence, but must
pass away good part of the morning in it, is no more
prepared for prayer when he is up than he is prepared
for fasting, abstinence, or any other self-denial. He
may, indeed, more easily read over a form of prayer
than he can perform these duties ; but he is no more
disposed to enter into the true spirit of prayer than he
is disposed to fasting-. For sleep, thus indulged, gives
a softness and idleness to all our tempers, and makes
us unable to relish any thing but what suits with an
idle state of mind, and gratihes our natural tempers as
sleep does. So that a person that is a slave to this
idleness is in the same temper when he is up ; and
though he is not asleep, yet he is under the effects of
it; and every thing that is idle, indulgent, or sensual,
pleases him, for the same reason that sleep pleases
him ; and, on the other hand, every thing that re-
quires care or trouble, or self-denial, is hateful to him,
for the same reason that he hates to rise. He that
places any happiness in this morning indulgence would
be glad to have all the day made happy in the same
manner; though not with sleep, yet with such enjoy-
ments as gratify and indulge the body in the same
manner as sleep does ; or, at least, with such as come
as near to it as they can. The remembrance of a
warm bed is in his mind all the day, and he is glad
when he is not one of those that sit starving- in a church.

DEVOUT AND HOLY LIFE. 165

Now, you do not imagine that such a one can truly
mortify that body which he thus indulges ; yet you
might as well think this as that he can truly perform
his devotions, or live in such a drowsy state of indul-
gence, and yet relish the joys of a spiritual life.

For surely no one will pretend to say tiiat he knows
and feels the true happiness of prayer, who does not
think it worth his while to be early at it.

It is not possible in nature for an epicure to be tru-
ly devout ; he must renounce this habit of sensuality
before he can relish the happiness of devotion.

Now, he that turns sleep into an idle indulgence
does as much to corrupt and disorder his soul, to make
it a slave to bodily appetites, and keep it incapable of
all devout and heavenly tempers, as he that turns the
necessities of eating into a course of indulgence.

A person that eats and drinks too much does not
feel such effects from it as those do who live in noto-
rious instances of gluttony and intemperance ; but yet
his course of indulgence, though it be not scandalous
in the eyes of the world, nor such as torments his own
conscience, is a great and constant hindrance to his
improvement in virtue ; it gives him eyes that see
not, and ears that hear not ; it creates a sensuahty in
the soul, increases the power of bodily passions, and
makes him incapable of entering into the true spirit of
religion.

Now, this is the case of those who waste their time
in sleep ; it does not disorder their lives, or wound
their consciences, as notorious acts of intemperance
do; but, like any other more moderate course of in-
dulgence, it silently, and by smaller degrees, wears
away the spirit of religion, and sinks the soul into a
state of dulness and sensuality.

If you consider devotion only as a time of so much
prayer, you may perhaps perform it, though you live
in this daily indulgence ; but if you consider it as a
state of the heart, as a lively fervour of the soul, that
is deeply atfectcd with a sense of its own misery and

m3

166 A SERIOUS CALL TO A

infirmities^ and desiring the Spirit of God more than
all things in the worlds you will find that the spirit of
indulg-ence and the spirit of prayer cannot subsist to-
gether. Mortification of all kinds is the very life
and soul of piety ; but he that has not so small a de-
gree of it as to be able to be early at his prayers^ can
have no reason to think that he has taken up his cross,
and is following Christ.

What conquest has he got over himself? what right
hand has he cut off? what trials is he prepared for? what
sacrifice is he ready to offer unto God ? who cannot
be so cruel to himself as to rise to prayer at such a
time as the drudging part of the world are content to
rise to their labour.

Some people will not scruple to tell you that they
indulge themselves in sleep, because they have nothing
to do; and that if they had either business or pleasure
to rise to^ they would not lose so much of their time in
sleep. But such people must be told that they mis-
take the matter ; that they have a great deal of busi-
ness to do ; they have a burdened heart to change ;
they have the whole spirit of religion to get. For,
surely, he that thinks devotion to be of less moment
than business or pleasure, or that he has nothing to
do, because nothing but his prayers want him, maybe
justly said to have the whole spirit of religion to seek.

You must not therefore consider how small a crime
it is to rise late, but you must consider how great a
misery it is to want the spirit of religion ; to have a
heart not rightly affected v/ith prayer ; and to live in
such softness and idleness, as makes you incapable of
the most fundamental duties of a truly Christian and
spiritual life.

This is the right way of judging of the crime of
wasting great part of your time in bed.

You must not consider the thing barely in itself,
but what it proceeds from ; what virtues it shcAvs to
be wanting ; what vices it naturally strengthens.
For every habit of this kind discovers the state of the

DEVOUT AND HOLY LIFE. 167

soul^ and plainly shews the whole turn of your mind.

If our blessed Lord used to pray early before day ;
if he spent whole nights in prayer; if the devout
Anna was day and night in the temple ; if St. Paul
and Silas at midnight sang praises unto God; if the
primitive Christians, for several hundred years, be-
sides their hours of prayer in the daytime, met public-
ly in the churches at midnight to join in psalms and
prayers, is it not certain that these practices shewed
the state of their heart ? Are they not so many plain
proofs of the whole turn of their minds?

And if you live in a contrary state, wasting great
part of every day in sleep, thinking any time soon
enough to be at your prayers, is it not equally certain
that this practice as much shews the state of your
heart, and the whole turn of your mind?

So that, if this indulgence is your way of life, you
have as much reason to believe yourself destitute of
the true spirit of devotion, as you have to believe the
apostles and saints of the primitive church were truly
devout. For as their way of life was a demonstration
of their devotion, so a contrary way of life is as strong
a proof of a want of devotion.

When you read the scriptures you see a religion
that is all life, and spirit, and joy in G^d; that sup-
poses our soul risen from earthly desires, and bodily
indulgences, to prepare for another body, another
world, and other enjoyments. You see Christians re-
presented as temples of the Holy Ghost, as children of
the day, as candidates for an eternal crown, as watch-
ful virgins that have ttieir lamps always burning in
expectation of the bridegroom. But can he be
thought to have this joy in God, this care of eternity,
this watchful spirit, who has not zeal enough to rise to
his prayers?

When you look into the writings and lives of the
first Christians, you see the same spirit that you sec in
the scriptures. All is reality, life, and action. Watch-

M 4

168 A SERIOUS CALL TO A

ing-s and prayers, self-denial and mortification, wa»
the common business of their lives.

From that time to this there has been no person
like them, eminent foi* piety, who has not, like them,
been eminent for self-denial and mortification. This
is tiie only royal way that leads to a kingdom.

But how far are you from this way of life, or rather
how contrary to it, if instead of imitating' their auste-
rity and mortification, you cannot so much as renounce
so poor an indulgence as to be able to rise to your
prayers ? If self-denials and bodily sufferings, if
watchings and fastings, will be marks of glory at the
day of judgment, where must we hide our heads that
have slumbered away our time in sloth and softness ?

You perhaps now find some pretences to excuse
yourself from the severity of fasting and self-denial,
which the first Christians practised. You fancy that
human nature is grown v/eaker, and that the differ-
ence of climates may make it not possible for you to
observe their methods of self-denial and austerity in
these colder countries.

But all this is but pretence ; for the change is not
in the outward state of things, but in the inward state
of our minds. When there is the same spirit in us
that there was in the apostles and primitive Christians,
when we feel the weight of religion as they did, when
we have their faith and hope, we shall take up our
cross and deny ourselves, and live in such methods of
mortification as they did.

Had St. Paul lived in a cold country, had he had a
constitution made weak with a sickly stomach, and
often infirmities, he would have done as he advised
Timothy ; he would have mixed a little wine with his
water.

But still he would have lived in a state of self-denial
and mortification. He would have given this same
account of himself. " I therefore so run, not as un-
certainly ; so fight I, not as one that beateth the air;

DEVOUT AND HOLY LIFE. 169

but I keep under my body;, and bring it into subjec-
tion, lest that by any means, when I have preached to
others, I myself should be a cast-away."

After all, let it now be supposed, that you imagine
there is no necessity for you to be so sober and vigi-
lant, so fearful of yourself, so watchful over your pas-
sions, so apprehensive of danger, so careful of your
salvation, as the apostles were. Let it be supposed,
that you imagine thatyou want less self-denial and mor-
tification to subdue your bodies, and purify your souls,
than they wanted ; that you need not have your loins
girt, and your lamps burning as they had ; will you
therefore live in a quite contrary state? WUl you
make your life as constant a course of softness and in-*
dulgence, as theirs was of strictness and self-denial ?

If, therefore, you should think that you have time
sufficient both for prayer and other duties, though you
rise late, yet let me persuade you to rise early, as an
instance of self-denial. It is so small a one that if you
cannot comply with it, you have no reason to think
yourself capable of any other.

If I was to desire you not to study the gratification
of your palate in the niceties of meats and drinks, I
would not insist much upon the crime of wasting- your
money in such a way though it be a great one ; but I
would desire you to renounce such a way of life, be-
cause it supports you in such a state of sensuality and
indulgence, as renders you incapable of relishing the
most essential doctrines of religion.

For the same reason, I do not insist much on the
crime of wasting so much of your time in sleep, though
it be a great one; but 1 desire you to renounce this
indulgence, because it gives a softness and idleness to
your soul, and is so contrary to that lively, zealous,
watchful, self-denying spirit, which was not only the
spirit of Christ and his apostles, the spirit of all the
saints and martyrs which have ever been amongst
men, but must be the spirit of all those wlio would
not sink in the common corruption of the world.

170 A SERIOUS CALL TO A

Here, therefore, we must fix our charge against
this practice ; we must blame it, not as having this or
that particular evil, but as a general habit that extends
itself through our whole spirit, and supports a state
of mind that is wholly wrong.

It is contrary to piety ; not as accidental slips and
mistakes in life are contrary to it, but in such a man-
ner as an ill habit of body is contrary to health.

On the other hand, if you was to rise early every
morning, as an instance of self-denial, as a method of
renouncing indulgence, as a means of redeeming
your time, and htting your spirit for prayer, you
M would find mighty advantages from it. This method,
^ though it seems such a small circumstance of hfe,
would in all probability be a means of great piety. It
would keep it constantly in your head, that softness
and idleness were to be avoided, that self-denial was a
part of Christianity. It would teach you to exercise
power over yourself, and make you able by degrees
to renounce other pleasures and tempers that war
against the soul.

This one rule would teach you to think of others ;
it would dispose your mind to exactness, and be very
likely to bring the remaining part of the day under
rules of prudence and devotion.

But, above all, one certain benefit from this method
you Avill be sure of having, it will best fit and prepare
you for the reception of the Holy Spirit. When you
thus begin the day in the spirit of renouncing sleep,
because you are to renounce softness, and redeem your
time ; this disposition, as it puts your heart in a good
state, so it will procure the assistance of the Holy Spi-
rit; what is so planted and watered Avill certainly
have an increase from God. You will then speak
from your heart, your soul will be awake, your pray-
ers will refresh you like meat and drink, you will feel
what you say, and begin to know what saints and holy
men have meant by fervours of devotion.

He that is thus prepared for prayer, who rises with

DEVOUT AND HOLY LIFE. 171

these dispositions^ is in a very ditferent state from him
who has no rules of this kind, who rises by chance, as
he happens to be weary of his bed, or is able to sleep
no longer. If such a one prays only with his mouth ;
if his heart feels nothing of that which he says; if his
prayers are only things of course ; if they are a lifeless
form of words, which he only repeats because they are
soon said, there is nothing to be wondered at in al!
this ; for such dispositions are the natural effect of
such a state of life.

Hoping, therefore, that you are now enough con-
vinced of the necessity of rising early to your prayers, I
shall proceed to lay before you a method of daily prayer.

I do not take upon me to prescribe to you the use ^
of any particular forms of prayer, but only to shcAV the ^
necessity of praying at such times and in such a manner.

You will here find some helps, how to furnish
yourself with such forms of prayer as shall be useful
to you. And if you are such a proficient in the spi-
rit of devotion, that your heart is always ready to pray
in its own language, in this case I press no necessity
of borrowed forms.

For though 1 think a form of prayer very necessary
and expedient for public worship, yet if any one can
find a better way of raising his heart unto God in pri-
vate than by prepared forms of prayer, I have nothing
to object against it; my design being only to assist
and direct such as stand in need of assistance.

Thus much, 1 believe, is certain, that the generality
o? Christians ought to use forms of prayer at all the
regular times of prayer. It seems right for every one |
to begin with a form of prayer ; and if, in the midst
of devotions, he finds his heart ready to break forth
into new and higher strains of devotion, he should
leave his form for a while, and follow those fervours of
his heart, till it again wants the assistance of his useful
petitions.

This seems to be the true liberty of private devo-
tion ; it should be under the direction of some form ;

17^ A SERIOUS CALL TO A

but not so tied down to it^ but that it may be free to
take such new expressions as its present fervours hap-
pen to furnish it with ; which sometimes are more af-
fecting, and carry the soul more powerfully to God,
than any expressions that were ever used before.

All people that have ever made any reflections upon
what passes in their own hearts, must know that they
are mighty changeable in regard to devotion. Some-
times our hearts are sg awakened^ have such strong-
apprehensions of the divine presence, are so full of
deep compunction for our sins, that we cannot confess
them in any language but that of tears.

Sometimes the light of God's countenance shines so
bright upon us, we see so far into the invisible worlds
we are so affected vvith the wonders of the love and
goodness of God, that our hearts worship and adore
in a language higher than that of words, and we feel
transports of devotion which only can be felt.

On the other hand, sometimes we are so sunk into
our bodies, so dull and unaffected with that which con-
cerns our souls, that our hearts are as much too low
for our prayers ; we cannot keep pace with our forms
of confession, or feel half of that in our hearts which
we have in our mouths ; we thank and praise God with
forms of words, hut our hearts have little or no share
in them.

It is therefore highly necessary to provide against
this inconstancy of our hearts, by having at hand such
forms of prayer as may best suit us when our hearts
are in their best state, and also be most likely to raise
and stir them up when they are sunk into dulness.
For as words have a power of alTecting our hearts on
all occasions, as the same thing differently expressed
has different efiects upon our minds, so it is reason-
able that we should make this advantage of language,
and provide ourselves with such forms of expressions
as are most likely to move and enliven our souls, and
till them with sentiments suitable to them.
I The first thing that you are to do when you are

DEVOUT AND HOLY LIFE. 173

upon your knees, is to shut your, eyes, and, with a \
short silence, let your soul place itself in the presence ^
of God ; that is, you are to use this or some other bet-
ter method to separate yourself from all common
thoughts, and make your hearts as sensible as you can
of the divine presence.

Now, if this recollection of spirit is necessary, as
who can say it is not? then how poorly must they per-
form their devotions, who are always in a hurry ; who
beg'in them in haste, and hardly allow themselves time
to repeat their very form, with any gravity or atten-
tion ? Theirs is properly saying prayers, instead of
praying.

To proceed ; if you was to use yourself (as far as
you can) to pray always in the same place ; if you
was to reserve tiiat place for devotion, and not allow
yourself to do any thing common in it ; if you was ne-
ver to be there yourself, but in times of devotion; if
any little room, or (if that cannot be) if any particular
part of a room, was thus used, this kind of consecra-
tion of it, as a place holy unto God, would have an |
effect upon your mind, and dispose you to such tern- (
pers as would very much assist your devotion. For, |
by having a place thus sacred in your room, it would t
in some measure resemble a chapci, or house of God.
This would dispose you to be always in the spirit of
religion when you was there, and till you with wise
and holy thoughts when you was by yourself. Your
own apartment would raise in your mind such senti-
ments as you have when you stand near an altar ; and
you would be afraid of thinking or doing any thing
that was foolish near that place, which is the place of
prayer, and holy intercourse with God.

When you begin your petitions, use such various
expressions of the attributes of God as may make you
most sensible of the greatness and power of the divine \
nature.

Begin, therefore, in words like these : " O Being of
all beings, Fpuntain of all light and glory, gracious

174 A SERIOUS CALL TO A

Father of men and angels, whose universal Spirit is
everywhere present, giving life, and light, and joy to
all angels in heaven, and all creatures upon earth," &c.

For these representations of the divine attributes,
which shew us in some degree the majesty and great-
ness of God, are an excellent means of raising our
hearts into lively acts of worship and adoration.

What is the reason that most people are so much
aft'ected with this petition in the burial service of our
church : '' 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?" It is be-
cause the joining- together so many great expressions,
g-ives such a description of the greatness of the Divine
Majesty as naturally affects every sensible mind.

Although, therefore, prayer does not consist in fine
words or studied expressions, yet as words speak to
the soul, as they have a certain power of raising
thoughts in the soul ; so those words which speak of
God in the highest manner, which most fully express
the power and presence of God, which raise thoughts
in the soul most suitable to the greatness and provi-
dence of God, are the most useful and moat edifying-
j I in our prayers.

When you direct any of your petitions to our bless-
ed Lord, let it be in some expressions of this kind :
' '^O Saviour of the world, God of God, Light of Light,
thou that art the brightness of thy Father's glory, and
the express Image of his person ; thou that art the Al-
pha and Omega, the beginning and end of all things;
thou that hast destroyed the power of the devil ; thou
that hast overcome death ; thou that art entered into
the Holy of holies ; that sittest at the right hand of
the Father ; that art high above all thrones and prin-
cipalities ; that makest intercession for all the world ;
thou that art the judge of the quick and dead;
thou that wilt speedily come down in thy Father's
glory to reward all men according to their works, be
thou my light and my peace/' &c.

DEVOUT AND HOLY LIFE. 175

For such representations, which describe so many
characters of our Saviour's nature and power, are not
only proper acts of adoration, but will, if they are re-
peated with attention, till our hearts with the highest
fervours of true devotion.

Again, if you ask any particular j:^race of our bless-
ed Lord, let it be in some manner like this :

" O ! holy Jesus, son of the most hig-h God, thou
that was scourged at a pillar, stretched and nailed on
a cross for the sins of the world, unite me to thy cross,
and fill my soul with thy holy, humble, and suffering
spirit ! O ! Fountain of mercy, thou that didst save the
thief upon the cross, save me from the guilt of a sin-
ful life ; thou that didst cast seven devils out of Mary
Magdalene, cast out of my heart all evil thoughts and
wicked tempers. O ! Giver of life, thou that didst
raise Lazarus from the dead, raise up my soul from
the death and darkness of sin. Thou that didst give
to thy apostles power over unclean spirits, give me
poAver over mine own heart. Thou that didst appear
unto thy disciples when the doors were shut^ do thou
appear to me in the secret apartments of my heart.
Thou that didst cleanse the lepers, heal the sick, and
give sight to the blind, cleanse my heart, heal the dis-
orders of my soul, and fill me with heavenly light."

Now, these appeals have a double advantage : Firsts
As they are so many proper acts of our faith, whereby
we not only shew our belief of the miracles of Christ,
but turn them at the same time into so many instan-
ces of worship and adoration.

Secondly/, As they strengthen and increase the faith
of our prayers, by presenting to our mind so many in-
stances of that power and goodness,, which we call
upon for our own assistance.

For he that appeals to Christ, as casting out devils,
and raising the dead, has then a powerful motive in his
hand to pray earnestly and depend faithfully upon his
assistance.

Again, in order to fill your prayers with excellent

176 A SERIOUS CALL TO A

strains of devotion, it may be of use to you to observe
this further rule :

When at any time, either in reading- the scripture
or any book of piety, you meet with a passage that
more than ordinarily affects your mind, and seems as
it were to give your heart a new motion towards God,
you should try to turn it into the form of a petition,
and then give it a place in your prayers.

By this means you would be often improving your
prayers, and storing yourself with proper forms of
making the desires of your heart known unto God.

At all the stated hours of prayer it will be of great
benefit to you to have something fixed, and some-
thing at liberty in your devotions.

You should have some fixed subject which is con-
stantly to be the chief matter of your prayer at that
particular time ; and yet have liberty to add such other
petitions as your condition may then require.

For instance : As the morning is to you the begin-
ning of new life ; as God has then given you a new
enjoyment of yourself, and a fresh entrance into the
world, it is highly proper that your first devotions
should be a praise and thanksgiving to God, as for a
new creation ; and that you should offer and devote
body and soul, all that you are, and all that you have,
to his service and glory.

Receive, therefore, every day as a resurrection from
death, as a new enjoyment of life; meet every rising
sun with such sentiments of God's goodness as if you
had seen it, and all things, new created upon your
account ; and, under the sense of so great a blessing,
let your joyful heart praise and magnify so good and
glorious a Creator.

Let, therefore, praise and thanksgiving, and obla-
tion of yourself unto God, be always the fixed and cer-
tain subject of your first prayers in the morning ; and
then take the liberty of adding such other devotions as
the accidental difference of your state, or the acciden-
tal difference of your heart, shall then make most
needful and expedient for you.

DEVOUT AND HOLY LIFE. 177

For one of the greatest benefits of private devotion
consists in rightly adapting our prayers to these two
conditions — the difference of our state,, and the differ-
ence of our hearts.

By the difference of our state is meant the differ-
ence of our eternal state or condition^, as of sickness,
health, pains, losses, disappointments, troubles, parti-
cular mercies or judgments from God; all sorts of
kindnesses, injuries, or reproaches, from other people.

Now, as these are great parts of our state of life, as
they make great difference in it, by continually
changing, so our devotion will be made doubly bene-
ficial to us, when it watches to receive and sanctify all
these changes of our state, and turns tiiem all into so
many occasions of a more particular application to
God of such thanksgivings, such resignation, such
petitions, as our present state more especially re-
quires.

And he that makes every change in his state a rea-
son of presenting unto God some particular petitions
suitable to that change, will soon find that he has
taken an excellent means, not only of praying with
fervour, but of living as he prays.

The next condition, to which we are always to
adapt some part of our prayers, is the difference of
our hearts, by which is meant the different state of the
tempers of our hearts, as of love, joy, peace, tranquilli-
ty, dulness and dryness of spirit, anxiety, discontent,
motions of envy and ambition, dark and disconsolate
thoughts, resentments, fretfulness, and peevish tem-
pers.

Now, as these tempers, through the weakness of
our nature, will have their succession more or less
even in pious minds, so we should constantly make
the present state of our heart the reason of some par-
ticular application to God.

If we are in the delightful calm of sweet and easy
passions, of love and joy in God, we should then offer
the grateful tribute of thanksgiving to God for the

178 A SERIOUS CALL TO A

possession of so much happiness, thankfully owning
and acknowledging- him as the bountiful Giver of it
all.

If, on the other hand, we feel ourselves laden with
heavy passions, with dulness of spirit, anxiety, and un-
easiness, Ave must then look up to God in acts of hu-
mility, confessing our unworthiness, opening our
troubles to him, beseeching him in his good time to
lessen the weight of our infirmities, and to deliver us
from such passions as oppose the purity and perfectioi\
of our souls.

Now, by thus watching and attending to the pre-
sent state of our hearts, and suiting some of our peti-
tions exactly to their wants, we shall not only be well
acquainted with the disorders of our souls, but also be
well exercised in the methods of curing them.

By this prudent and wise application of our pray-
ers, we shall get all the relief from them that is possi-
ble ; and the very changeableness of our hearts will
prove a means of exercising a greater variety of holy
tempers.

Now, by all that has here been said, you will easi-
ly perceive, that persons careful of the greatest bene-
fit of prayer ought to have a great share in the form-
ing and composing their own devotion.

As to that part of their prayers which is always fix-
ed to one certain subject, in that they may use the
help of some forms composed by other persons ; but
in that part of their prayers which they are always to
suit to the presenl state of their life, and the present
state of their heart, there they must let the sense
of their ovrn condition help them to such kinds of pe-
tition, thanksgiving, or resignation, as their present
state more especially requires.

Happy are tliey who have this business and employ-
ment upon their hands !

And now, if people of leisure, whether men or wo-
men, who are so much at a loss how to dispose of their
lime, who are forced into poor contrivances, idle vi-

DEVOUT AND HOLY LIFE. 179

sits, and ridiculous diversions, merely to get rid of
hours that hang heavily upon their hands; if such
were to appoint some certain spaces of their time to
the study of devotion, searching after all the means
and helps to attain a devout spirit ; if they were to
collect the best forms of devotion, to use themselves
to transcribe the finest passages of scripture prayers ;
if they were to collect the devotions, confessions, peti-
tions, praises, resignations, and thanksgivings, which
are scattered up and down in the psalms, and range
them under proper h^ads, as so much proper fuel for
the flame of their own devotion : If their minds were
often thus employed, sometimes meditating upon
them, sometimes getting them by heart, and making
them as habitual as their own thoughts, how fervently
would they pray who came thus prepared to prayer !

And how much better would it be to make this be-
nefit of leisure time than to be dully and idly lost in
the poor impertinences of a playing, visiting, wander-
ing life !

How much better would it be to be thus furnished
with hymns and anthems of the saints, and teach their
souls to ascend to God, than to corrupt, bewilder, and
confound their hearts with the wild fancies, the lustful
thoughts of lewd poets !

Now, though people of leisure seem called more
particularly to this study of devotion, yet persons of
much business or labour must not think themselves ex-
cused from this or some better method of improving
their devotion.

For the greater their business is, the more need
tliey have of some such method as this to prevent its
power over their hearts, to secure them from sinking
into worldly tempers, and preserve a sense and taste of
heavenly tilings in their minds. And a little time, re-
gularly and constantly employed to any one use or
end, will do great things, and produce mighty effects.

And it is for want of considering devotion in this
light, as something that is to be nursed and cherished

n2

180 A SERIOUS CALL TO A

with care, as something- that is to be made part of our
business, that is to be improved with care and contri-
vance, by art and method, and a diligent use of the
best helps ; it is for want of considering- it in this light
that so many people are so little benefited by it, and
live and die strang-ers to that spirit of devotion, which,
by a prudent use of proper means, they might have
enjoyed in a hig-h degree.

For, though the spirit of devotion is the g-ift of
God, and not attainable by any mere power of our
own, yet it is mostly g-iven, and never withheld, from
those who, by a wise and diligent use of proper means,
prepare themselves for the reception of it.

And it is amazing to see how eagerly men employ
their parts, their sag-acity, time, study, application,
and exercise ; how all helps are called to their assist-
ance when any thing- is intended and desired in world-
ly matters; and how dull, negligent, and unimproved
they are, how little they use their parts, sagacity, and
abilities, to raise and increase their devotion !

Mundanus is a man of excellent parts, and clear ap-
prehension. He is well advanced in age, and has
made a great figure in business. Every part of trade
and business that has fallen in his way has had some
improvement from him ; and he is always contriving to
carry every method of doing any thing well to its great-
est height. Mundanus aims at the greatest per-
fection in every thing. The soundness and strength
of his mind, and his just way of thinking upon things,
make him intent upon removing all imperfections.

He can tell you all the defects and errors in all the
common methods, whether of trade, building, or im-
proving land or manufactures. The clearness and
strength of his understanding, which he is constantly
improving- by continual exercise in these matters, by
often digesting- his thoughts in writing, and trying
every thing every way, has rendered him a great mas-
ter of most concerns hi human life.

Thus has Mundanus gone on, increasing his know-

DEVOUT AND HOLY LIFE. 181

ledge and judgment as fast as his years came upon
him.

The only thing which has not fallen under his im*
provement, nor received any benefit from his judicious
mind, is his devotion. This is just in the same poor
state it was when he was only six years of age, and the
old man prays now in that little form of words which
his mother used to hear him repeat night and morn-
ing.

Thus Mundanus, who hardly ever saw the poorest
utensils, or ever took the meanest trifle into his hand,
without considering how it might be made or used to
better advantage, has gone on all his life long praying
in the same manner as when he was a child, without
ever considering how much better or oftener he might
pray, without considering how improvable the spirit
of devotion is, how many helps a wise and reasonable
man may call to his assistance, and how necessary it
is that our prayers should be enlarged, varied, and
suited to the particular state and condition of our
lives.

If Mundanus sees a book of devotion, he passes it
by as he does a spelling-book, because he remembers
that he learned to pray so many years ago under his
mother, when he learned to spell.

Now, how poor and pitiable is the conduct of this
man of sense, who has so much judgment and under-
standing in every thing but that which is the whole
wisdom of man !

And how miserably do many people more or less
imitate this conduct!

All which seems to be owing to a strange infatuated
state of negligence, w hich keeps people from consi-
dering what devotion is. For if they did but once
proceed so far as to reflect about it, or ask themselves
any questions concerning it, they would soon see that
the spirit of devotion was like any other sense or un-
derstanding, that is only to be improved by study,
care, application, and the use of such means and helps

n3

183 A SERIOUS CALL TO A

as are necessary to make a man a proficient in any art
or science.

Classicus is a man of learning', and well versed in
all the best authors of antiquity. He has read them
so much that he has entered into their spirit, and can
very ingeniously imitate the manner of any of them.
All their thoughts are his thoughts, and he can ex-
press himself in their language. He is so great a
friend to this improvement of the mind, that if he
lights on a young' scholar, he never fails to advise him
concerning his studies.

Classicus tells his young' man, he must not think
that he has done enough when he has only learned
languages, but that he must be daily conversant with
the best authors, read them again and again, catch
their spirit by living* with them, and that there is no
other way of becoming- like them, or of making him-
self a man of taste and judgment.

How wise mig-ht Classicus have been, and how
much good might he have done in the world, if he had
but thought as justly of devotion as he does of learn-
ing!

He never, indeed, says anything shockmg or offen-
sive about devotion, because he never thinks or talks
about it. It suffers nothing- from him but neglect and
disregard.

The two Testaments would not have had so much
as a place amongst his book??, but that they are both
to be had in Greek.

Classicus thinks that he sufficiently shews his regard
for the holy scriptures, when he tells you that he has
no other book of piety besides them.

It is very well, Classicus, that you prefer the Bible
to all other books of piety ; he has no judgment that
is not thus far of your opinion.

But if you will have no other book of piety besides
the Bible, because it is the best, how comes it, Classi-
cus, that you do not content yourself with one of the
best books amongst the Greeks and Romans ? How

DEVOUT AND HOLY LIFE. 183

comes it that you are so greedy and eager after all of
them ? How comes it that you think the knowledge
of one is a necessary help to the knowledge of tlie
other ? How comes it that you are so earnest, so la-
borious, so expensive of time and your money, to re-
store broken periods and scraps of the ancients?

How comes it that you read so many commentators
upon Cicero, Horace, and Homer, and not one upon
the gospel ? How comes it that your love of Cicero
and Ovid makes you love to read an author who
writes like them ; and yet your esteem for the gospel
gives you no desire, nay, prevents your reading such
books as breathe the very spirit of the gospel?

How comes it that you tell your young scholar he
must not content himself with barely understanding
his authors, but must be continually reading them all,
as the only means of entering into their spirit^ and
forming his own judgment according to them?

Why, then, must the Bible lie alone in your study?
Is not the spirit of the saints, the piety of the holy fol-
lowers of Jesus Christ, as good and necessary a means
of entering into the spirit and taste of the gospel as
the reading of the ancients is of entering into the
spirit of antiquity ?

Is the spirit of poetry only to be got by much read-
ing of poets and orators ? And is not the spirit of de-
votion to be got in the same way by a frequent reading
the holy thoughts and pious strains of devout men?

Is your young poet to search after every line that
may give new wings to his fancy, or direct his imagin-
ation? And is it not as reasonable for him who de-
sires to improve in the divine life, that is, in the love
of heavenly things, to search after every strain of de-
votion that may move, kindle, and inflame the holy
ardour of his soul?

Do you advise your orator to translate the best ora-
tions, to commit much of them to memory, to be fre-
quently exercising his talent in this manner, that habits
of thinking and speaking justly may be formed in hi*

N 4

184 A SERIOUS CALL TO A

mind? And is there not the same benefit and advan-
tage to be made by books of devotion ? Should not a
man use them in the same way, that habits of devotion,
and aspiring" to God in holy thoughts^ may be well
formed in his^ soul ?

Now, the reason why Classicus does not think and
judge thus reasonably of devotion, is owing to his
never thinking of it in any other manner than as the
repeating a form of words. It never in his life enter-
ed into his head to think of devotion as a state of the
heart, as an improveable talent of the mind, as a tem-
per that is to grow and increase like our reason and
judgment, and to be formed in us by such a regular
diligent use of proper means, as are necessary to form
any other wise habit of mind.

And it is for want of this that he has been content
all his life with the bare letter of prayer, and eagerly
bent upon entering into the spirit of heathen poets
and orators.

And it is much to be lamented that numbers of
scholars are more or less chargeable with this exces-
sive folly ; so negligent of improving their devotion,
and so desirous of other poor accomplishments, as if
they thought it a nobler talent to be able to write an
epigram in the turn of Martial, than to live, and
think, and pray to God, in the spirit of St. Austin.

And yet to correct this temper, and fill a man Avith a
quite contrary spirit, there seems to be no more re-
quired than the bare belief of the truth of Christianity.

And if you was to ask Mundanus and Classicus, or
any man of business or learning, whether piety is not
the highest perfection of man, or devotion the great-
est attainment in the world, they must both be forced
to answer in the affirmative, or else give up the truth
of the gospel.

For, to set any accomplishment against devotion, or
to think an)- thing or all things in the world bears any
proportion to its excellency, is the same absurdity in
a Christian, as it would be in a philosopher to prefer a

DEtOUT AN© ttOLV tlFE. 195

meal's meat to the greatest improvement in know-
ledge.

For, as philosophy professes purely the search and
inquiry after knowledge, so Christianity supposes, in-
tends, desires, and aims at nothing else but the raising
fallen man to a divine life, to such habits of holiness,
such degrees of devotion, as may fit him to enter
amongst the holy inhabitants of the kingdom of
heaven.

He that does not believe this of Christianity may be
reckoned an infidel ; and he that believes thus much
has faith enough to give him a right judgment of the
value of things, to support him in a sound mind, and
enable him to conquer all the temptations which the
workl sliiill lay in his way.

To conclude this chapter. Devotion is nothing else
but right apprehensions and right affections towards
God.

AH practices, therefore, that heighten and improve
our true apprehensions of God, all ways of life that
tend to nourish, raise, and fix our affections upon him,
are to be reckoned so many helps and means to fill us
with devotion.

As prayer is the proper fuel of this holy flame, so
we must use all our care and contrivance to give
prayer its full power ; as by alms, self-denial, frequent
retirements, and holy readings, composing forms for
ourselves, or using the best we can get, adding length
of time, and observing hours of prayer, changing, im-
proving, and suiting our devotions to the condition of
our lives, and the state of our hearts.

Those who have most leisure seem more especially
called to a more eminent observance of these holy
rules of a devout life. And they who, by the necessi-
ty of their state, and not through their own choice,
have but little time to employ thus, must make the
best use of that little they have.

For this is the certain way of making devotion pro-
duce a devout life.

186 A SERIOUS CALL TO A

CHAPTER XV.

Of chanting or singing of Psalms in our private De-
votions. Of the excellency and benefit of this kind
of Devotion. Of the great effect it hath upon our
hearts. Of the means of performing it in the best
manner.

YOU have seen in the foregoing chapter what
means and methods you are to use to raise and im-
prove your devotion ; how early you are to beg-in
your prayers^ and what is to be the subject of your
first devotions in the morning.

There is one thing- still remaining- that you must
be required to observe^ not only as fit and proper to
be done, but as such as cannot be neglected, without
great prejudice to your devotions; and thai is, to be-
gin all your prayers with a psalm.

This is so right, is so beneficial to devotion, has so
much effect upon our hearts_, that it may be insisted
upon as a common rule for all persons.

I do not mean that you should read over a psalm,
but that you should chant or sing one of those psalms,
which we commonly call the reading- psalms ; for
singing is as much the proper use of psalm, as devout
supplication is the proper use of a form of prayer;
and a psalm only read is very much like a prayer that
is only looked over.

Now, the method of chanting a psalm, such as is
used in the colleges, in the universities, and in some
churches, is such as all persons are capable of. The
change of the voice in thus chanting of a psalm is so
small and natural, that every body is able to do it, and
yet sufficient to raise and keep up the gladness of our
heart.

You are, therefore, to consider this chanting of a
psalm as a necessary beginning of your devotions^ as

DEVOUT AND HOLY LIFE. 187

something that is to awaken all that is good and holy
within you, that is to call your spirits to their pro-
per duty, to set you in your best posture towards hea-
ven, and tune all the powers of your soul to worship
and adoration.

For there is nothing that so clears a way for your
prayers, nothing that so disperses dulness of heart,
nothing that so purifies the soul from poor and little
passions, nothing that so opens heaven, or carries
your heart so near it, as these songs of praise.

They create a sense and delight in God, they awak-
en holy desires, they teach you how to ask, and they
prevail with God to give. They kindle an holy flame,
they turn your heart into an altar, your prayers into
incense, and carry them as a sweet-smelling savour to
the throne of grace.

The difference between singing and reading a
psalm will easily be understood, if you consider the
difference between reading and singing a common
song that you like. Whilst you only read it, you only
like it, and that is all; but soon as you sing it, then
you enjoy it, you feel the delight of it, it has got hold
of you, your passions keep pace with it, and you feel
the same spirit within you that there seems to be in
the words.

If you was to tell a person that has sung a song that
he need not sing it, that it was sufficient to peruse it,
he would wonder what you mean, and would think
you as absurd as if you was to tell him that he should
only look at his food, to see whether it was good, but
need not eat it ; for a song of praise not sung is very
like any other good thing not made use of.

You will perhaps say, that singing is a particular ta-
lent that belongs only to particular people, and that
you have neither voice nor ear to make any music.

If you had said that singing is a general talent, and
that people dilfcr in that as they do in all other things,
you had said something much truer.

For, how vastly do people difler in the talent of

188 A SERIOUS CALL TO A

thinking, which is not only common to all men, but
seems to be the very essence of human nature ! How
readily do some people reason upon every thing, and
how hardly do others reason upon any thing ! How
clearly do some people discourse upon the most abtruse
matters, and how confusedly do others talk upon the
plainest subjects ?

Yet no one desires to be excused from thought, or
reason, or discourse, because he has not these talents
as some people have them. But it is fully as just for
a person to think himself excused from thinking upon
God, from reasoning about his duty to him, or dis-
coursing about the means of salvation, because he has
not these talents in any fine degree ; this is fully as
just as for a person to think himself excused from sing-
ing the praises of God, because he has not a fine ear
or a musical voice.

For as it is speaking, and not graceful speaking,
that is a required part of prayer, as it is bowing, and
not genteel bowing, that is a proper part of adoration^
so it is singing, and not ajtful fine singing, that is a re-
quired way of praising God.

If a person was to forbear praying because he had
an odd tone in his voice, he would have as good an ex-
cuse as he has that forbears from singing psalms, be-
cause he has but little management of his voice ; and
as a man's speaking his prayers, though in an odd tone,
may yet sufficiently answer all the ends of his own de-
votion, so a man's singing of a psalm, though not in a
very musical way, may yet sufficiently answer all the
ends of rejoicing in, and praising God.

Secondly/, This objection might be of some weight
if you was desired to sing to entertain other people,
but is not to be admitted in the present case, where
you are only required to sing the praises of God as a
part of your own private devotion.

If a person that has a very ill voice, and a bad way
of speaking, was desired to be the mouth of a congre-
gation, it would be a very proper excuse for him to say

DEVOUT AND HOLY LIFE. 189

that he had not a voice^ or a way of speaking, that
was proper for prayer ; but he would be very absurd if,
for the same reason, he should neglect his own private
devotions.

Now, this is exactly the case of singing psalms ; you
may not have the talent of singing, so as to be able to
entertain other people, and, therefore, it is reasonable
to excuse yourself from it ; but if, for that reason, you
should excuse yourself from this way of praising God,
you would be gudty of a great absurdity ; because
singing is no more required for the music that is made
by it, than prayer is required for the fine words that it
contains, but as it is the natural and proper expres-
sion of a heart rejoicing in God.

Our blessed Saviour and his apostles sung an hymn,
but it may reasonably be supposed that they rather re-
joiced in God than made fine music.

Do but so live, that your heart may truly rejoice in
God, that it may feel itself aft'ected with the praises of
God, and then you Avill find that this state of your
heart will neither want a voice nor ear to find a tune
for a psalm. Every one at some time or other finds
himself able to sing in some degree ; there are some
times and occasions of joy that make all people ready
to express their sense of it in some sort of harmony.
The joy that they feel forces them to let their voices
have a part in it.

He, therefore, that saith he wants a voice or an ear
to sing a psalm, mistakes the case ; he wants that spi-
rit that really rejoices in God; the dulness is in his
heart, and not in his ear ; and when his heart feels a
true joy in God, when it has a full relish of what is ex-
pressed in the psalms, he will find it very pleasant to
make the motions of his voice express the motions of
his heart.

Singing, indeed, as it is improved into an art, as it
signifies the running of the voice through such or such
a compass of notes, and keeping time with a studied
variety of changes, is not natural, nor the ett'ect of any

190 A b'ERIOUS CALL TO A

natural state of the mind; so^ in this sense_, it is not
common to all people^ any more that those antic and
invented motions^ which make fine dancing-, are com-
mon to all people.

But singing-j as it signifies a motion of the voice suit-
able to the motions of the heart, and the changing of
its tone according to the meaning of the words which
we utter, is as natural and common to all men as it is
to speak high when they threaten in anger, or to
speak low when they are dejected and ask for a pardon.

All men, therefore, are singers, in the same man-
ner as all men think, speak, laugh, and lament. For
singing is no more an invention than grief or joy are
inventions.

Every state of the heart naturally puts the body in-
to some state that is suitable to it, and is proper to
show it to other people. If a man is angry or dis-
dainful, no one need instruct him how to express
these passions by the tone of his voice ; the state of
his heart disposes him to a proper use of his voice.

If there are but few singers of divine songs, if peo-
ple want to be exhorted to this part of devotion, it is
because there are but few whose hearts are raised to
that height of piety, as to feel any emotions of joy and
delight in the praises of God.

Imagine to yourself that you had been with Moses
when he was led through the Red sea, that you had
seen the waters divide themselves, and stand on a heap
on both sides, that you had seen them held up till you
had passed through, then let fall upon your enemies ;
do you think that you should then have wanted a voice
or an ear to have sung with Moses, The Lord is my
strength and my song, and he is become my salva-
tion, ^c. I know your own heart tells you that all
people must have been singers upon such an occasion.
Let this, therefore, teach you that it is the heart that
tunes a voice to sing the praises of God ; and that if you
cannot sing these same words now with joy, it is be-
cause you are not so affected with the salvation of the

DEVOUT AND HOLY LIFE. 191

world by Jesus Christ as the Jews were, or you yourself
would have been with their deliverance at the Red sea.

That it is the state of the heart that disposes us to
rejoice in any particular kind of singing', may be easily
proved from a variety of observations upon human
nature. An old debaucliee may, according to the
lanffuasre of the world, have neither voice nor car, if
you only sing a psalm or a song ni praise ol virtue to
him ; but yet if in some easy tune you sing something-
that celebrates his former debauches, he will then,
though he has no teeth in his head, show you that he
has both a voice and an ear to join in such music.
You then awaken his heart, and he as naturally sings
to such words as he laug-hs when he is pleased. And
this will be the case in every souij that touches the
heart ; if you celebrate the ruling passion of any man's
heart, you put his voice in tune to join with you.

Thus, if you can find a man whose ruling' temper is
devotion, whose heart is full of God, his voice will re-
rejoice in those songs of praise, which glorify that
God that is the joy of his heart, though he has neither
voice nor ear for other music. Would you, therefore,
delightfully perform this part of devotion, it is not so
necessary to learn a tune, or practise upon notes, as to
prepare your heart; for, as our blessed Lord saith,
out of the heart proceed evil thoughts, murders, &c.
so it is equally true, that out of the heart proceed holy
joys, thanksgiving, and praise. If you can once say
with David, Mj/ heart is fixed ; O God, my heart is
fixed, it will be very easy and natural to add, as he
did, / icill sing, and give praise, Sgc.

Secondly, Let us now consider another reason for
this kind of devotion. As sing'ing is a natural effect
of joy in the heart, so it has also a natural power of
rendering the heart joyful.

The soul and body are so united that they have
each of them power over one another in their actions.
Certain thoughts and sentiments in the soul produce
such and such motions or actions in the body ; and.

19^ A SERIOUS CALL TO A

on the other hand, certain motions and actions of the
body have the same power of raising such and such
thoughts and sentiments in the soul. So that as sing-
ing is the natural effect of joy in the mind, so it is as
truly a natural cause of raising joy in the mind.

As devotion of the heart naturally breaks out into
outward acts of prayer, so outward acts of prayer are
natural means of raising the devotion of the lieart.

it is thus in all states and tempers of the mind; as
the inward state of the mind produces outward actions
suitable to it, so those outward actions have the like pow-
er of raising an inward state of mind suitable to them.

As anger produces angry words, so angry words in-
crease anger.

So that if we bai'ely consider human nature, we
shall find that singing or chanting the psalms is as pro-
per and necessary to raise our hearts to a delight in
God, as prayer is proper and necessary to excite in us
the spirit of devotion. Every reason for one is in all
respects as strong a reason for the other.

If, therefore, you would know the reason and necessi-
ty of singing psahns, you must consider the reason and
necessity of praising and rejoicing- in God ; because
singing of psalms is as much the true exercise and
support of this spirit of thanksgiving', as prayer is the
true exercise and support of the spirit of devotion ;
and you may as well think that you can be devout as
you ouglit, without the use of prayer, as that you can
rejoice in God as you ought, without the practise of
singing psalms ; because this singing is as much the
natural language of praise and thanksgiving, as pray-
er is the natural language of devotion.

The union of soul and body is not a mixture of
their substances, as we see bodies united and mixed
together, but consists solely in the mutual power that
they have of acting upon one another.

If two persons were jn such a state of dependence
upon one another, that neither of them could act, or
move, or think, or feek or sutfer, or desire any things,

DEVOUT AND HOLY LIFE, 193

^vitliout putting the other into the same condition^ one
might properly say, that tliey were in a strict union,
although their substances were not united together.

Now, this is the union of the soul and body ; the
substance of the one cannot be mixed or united with
the other, but they are held together in such a state
of union, that all the actions and sufferings of the one
are at the same time the actions and sufferings of the
other. The soul has no thought or passion but the
body is concerned in it ; the body has no action or
motion but what in some degree aifects the soul.

Now, as it is the sole will of God that is the reason
and cause of all the powers and effects which you
see in the world; as the sun gives light and heat, not
because it has any natural power of so doing, as it is
fixed in a certain place, and other bodies move about
it, not because it is in the nature of the sun to stand still,
and in the nature of other bodies to move about it,
but merely because it is the will of God that they
should be in such a state. As the eye is the organ or
instrument of seeing, not because the skins, and coats,
and humours of the eye have a natural power of giving
sight ; as the ears are the organs or instruments of
hearing, not because the make of the ear has any na-
tural power over sounds, but merely because it is the
will of God, that seeing and hearing should be thus re-
ceived ; so in like manner it is the sole will of God,
and not the nature of a human soul or body, that is
the cause of this union betwixt the soul and the body.

Now, if you rightly apprehend this short account of
the union of the soul and body, you will see a great
deal into the reason and necessity of all the outward
parts of religion.

This union of our souls and bodies is the reason
both why we have so little and so much power ovei*
ourselves. It is owing to this union that we have so
little power over our souls ; for as we cannot prevent
the effects of external objects upon our bodies, as we
cannot command outward causes, so we cannot al-

o

194 A iSERIOUS CALL TO A

ways command the inward state of our minds ; be-
cause^ as outward ol)jects act upon our bodies^ without
our leave, so our bodies act upon our minds by the
laws of the union of the sou! and body ; and thus you
see it is owing to this union that we have so Uttle
power over ourselves.

On the other hand, it is owing to this union that we
have so much power over ourselves. For as our souls
in a great measure depend upon our bodies, and as
we have great power over our bodies, as we com-
mand our outward actions, and oblige ourselves to
such habits of life as naturally produce habits in the
soul, as we can mortify our bodies, and remove our-
selves from objects that inflame our passions, so we have
a great power over the inward state of our souls.
Again, as we are masters of our outward actions, as we
can force ourselves to outward acts of reading, pray-
ing, singing, and the like ; and as all these bodily ac-
tions have an effect upon the soul, as they naturally
tend to form such and such tempers in our hearts ;
so, by being masters of these outward bodily actions,
we have great power over the inward state of the
heart.

And thus it is owing to this union that we have so
much power over ourselves.

Now, from this you may also see the necessity and
benefit of singing psalms, and of all the outward acts
of religion ; for if the body has so much power over
the soul, it is certain that all such bodily actions as af-
fect the soul are of great weight in religion ; not as if
there was any true worship or piety in the actions
themselves, but because they are proper to raise and
support that spirit, which is the true worship of God.

Though, therefore, the seat of religion is in the
heart, yet since our bodies have a power over our
hearts, since outward actions both proceed from, and
enter into the heart, it is plain, that outward actions
have a great power over that religion which is seated
in the heart.

DEVOUT AND HOLY LIFE. 195

^Ve are, therefore, as well to use outward helps, as
inward meditation, iu order to beget and lix habits of
piety in our hearts.

Tills doctrine may be easily carried too far; for by
calling in too many outward means of worship, it may
degenerate into superstition ; as on the otlier hand,
some have fallen into the contrary extreme. For be-
cause religion is justly placed in the heart, some have
pursued that notion so far, as to renounce vocal pray-
er, and other outward acts of worship, and have re-
solved all religion into a quietism, or mystic inter-
courses with God in silence.

Now these are two extremes equally prejudicial to
true religion ; and ought not to be objected either
against internal or external worship. As you ought
not to say, that I encourage that quietism, by placing
religion in the heart ; so neither ought you to say, that
I encourage superstition, by shewing the benefit of
outward acts of worship.

For since we are neither all soul, nor all body ;
seeing none of our actions are either separately of the
soul, or separately of the body ; seeing we have no
habits but such as are produced by the actions both of
our souls and bodies ; it is certain, that if we would
arrive at habits of devotion, or delight in God, we must
not only meditate and exercise our souls, but we must
practise and exercise our bodies to all such outward
actions, as are conformable to these inward tempers.

If we would truly prostrate our souls before God,
we must use our bodies to postures of lowliness. If
we desire true fervour of devotion, we must make
prayer the frequent labour of our lips. If we would
banish all pride and passion from our hearts, we must
force ourselves to all outward actions of patience and
meekness. If we would feel motions of joy and de-
light in God ; we must practise all the outward acts of
it, and make our voices call upon our hearts.

Now, therefore, you may plainly see the reason and
necessity of singing of psalms ; it is because outward
"^ o2

196 A SERIOUS CALL TO A

actions are necessary to support inward tempers ; and
therefore^ the outward act of joy is necessary to raise
and support the inward joy of the mind.

If any people were to leave oft' prayer^ because they
seldom find the motions of their hearts answering the
words winch they speak, you would charge them with
great absurdity. You would tliink it very reasonable^
that they shall continue their prayers, and be strict in
observing all times of prayer, as the most likely means
^of removing- the dulness and indevotion of their hearts.

Now this is very much the case as to singing" of
psalms, people often sing without finding any inward
joy suitable to the words vvhich they speak ; therefore,
they are careless of it, or wholly neglect it ; not con-
sidering* that they act as absurdly, as he tliat should
neglect prayer, because his heart was not enough af-
fected with it. For it is certain, that this singing is as
much the natural means of raising motions of joy in the
mind, as prayer is the natural means of raising devotion.

I have been the longer upon this head, because of
its g-reat importance to true religion. For there is no
state of mind so holy, so excellent, and so truly per-
fect, as that of thankfulness to God ; and consequent-
ly nothing is of more importance in religioij, than that
which exercises and improves this habit of mind.

A dull, uneasy, complaining spirit, vvhich is some-
times the spirit of those that seenj careful of religion,
is yet of all tempers the most contrary to religion, for
it disowns that God which it pretends to adore. For
he sufficiently disowns God, who does not adore him
as a Being* of infinite goodness.

If a man does not believe that all the world is as
God's family, where nothing happens by chance, but
all is guided and directed by the care and providence
of a being* that is -all love and goodness to all his crea-
tures ; if a man docs not believe this from his heart, he
cannot be said truly to believe in God. And yet he
that has this faith, hath faith enough to overcome the
worlds and always be thankful to God. For he that

DEVOUT AND HOLY LIFE, 197

believes that every thing happens to him for the best,
cannot possibly complain for the want of something-
that is better.

If, therefore^ you live in murmurings and com-
plaintSj accusing all the accidents of life^ it is not be-
cause you are a Avcak^ infirm creature^ but it is be-
cause you Avant the first principle of religion,, a right
belief in God. For as thankfulness is an express
acknowledgement of the goodness of God towards
yoUj so repinings and complaints are as plain accusa-
tions of God's want of goodness towards you.

On the other hand, would you know who is the
greatest saint in the world ? It is not he who prays
most, or fasts most ; it is not he who gives most alms,
or is most eminent for temperance, chastity, or justice ;
but it is he who is always thankful to God, who wills
every thing that God willeth, who receives every thing
as an instance of God's goodness, and has a heart al-
ways ready to praise God for it.

AH prayer and devotion, fasting and repentance,
meditation and retirement, all sacraments and ordi-
nances, are but so many means to render the soul thus
divine and conformable to the will of God, and to fill it
with thankfulness and praise for every thing that
comes from God. This is the perfection of all virtues ;
and all virtues that do not tend to it, or proceed from
it, are but so many false ornaments of a soul not con-
verted unto God.

You need not, therefore, now wonder, that I lay so
much stress upon singing a psalm at all your devotions,
since you see it is to form your spirit to such joy and
thankfulness to God, as is the highest perfection of a
divine and holy life.

If any one would tell you the shortest, surest way to
all happiness, and all perfection, he must tell you to
make it a rule to yourself, to thank and praise God
for every thing that happens to you. For it is cer-
tain, that whatever seeming calamity happens to you^
if you thank and praise God for it, you turn it into a

o3

198 A SERIOUS CALL TO A

blessing'. Could you, therefore, work miracles, you
could not do more for yourself, than by this thankful
spirit, for it heals with a word speaking-, and turns all
that it touches into happiness.

If, therefore, you would be so true to your eternal
interest, as to propose this thankfulness as the end of
all your religion ; if you would but settle it in your
mind, that this was the state that you w^as to aim at by
all your devotions ; you would then have something
plain and visible to walk by in all your actions^ you
would then easily see the effect of your virtues_, and
might safely judge of your improvement in piety. For
so far as you renounce all selfish tempers and motions
of your ov/n will, and seek for no other happiness^ but
ii> the thankful reception of every thing that happens
to you, so far you may be safely reckoned to have ad-
vanced in piety.

And although this be the highest temper that you
can aim at, though it be the noblest sacrifice that the
greatest saint can offer unto God, yet it is not tied to
any time, or place, or great occasion, but is always in
your power, and may be the exercise of every day.
For the common events of every day are sufficient to
discover and exercise this temper, and may plainly
shew you how far you are governed in all your ac-
tions by this thankful spirit.

And for this reason I exhort you to this method in
your devotion, that every day may be made a day of
thanksgiving, and that tlie spirit of murmur and dis-
content may be unable to enter into the heart, which
is so often employed in singing the praises of God.

It may perhaps after ail be objected, that although
the great benefit, and excellent effects of this prac-
tice, are very apparent, yet it seems not altogether so
fit for private devotions ; since it can hardly be per-
formed without making our devotions public to other
people, and seems also liable to the charge of sound-
ing a trumpet at our prayers.

It is therefore answered,, First, That great numbers

DEVOUT AND HOLY LIFE. 199

of people have it in their power to be as private as they
please; such persons, therefore,, are excluded from
this excuse, which, however it may be so to others, is
none to them. Therefore, let such take the benefit of
this excellent devotion.

Sccondlj/, Numbers of people are by the necessity
of their state, as servants, apprentices, prisoners, and
families in small houses, forced to be continually in the
presence or sight of somebody or other.

Now are such persons to neglect their prayers, be-
cause they cannot pray without being* seen ? Are they
not rather ojjliged to be more exact in them, that
others may not be witnesses of their neglect, and so
corrupted by their example ?

Now what is here said of devotion, may surely be
said of this chanting a psalm, which is only a part
of devotion.

The rule is this ; Don't pray that you may be seen
of men, but if your confinement obliges you to be al-
ways in the sight of others, be more afraid of being-
seen to neglect, than of being seen to have recourse
to prayer.

Thirdli/, The state of the matter is this. Either
people can use such privacy in this practise, as to have
no hearers, or they cannot. If tliey can, then this ob-
jection vanishes as to them : and if they cannot, they
should consider their confinement, and the necessities
of their state, as the confinement of a prison ; and then
they have an excellent pattern to follow, they may
imitate St. Paul and Silas, who .sang praises to God in
prison, though we are expressly told, that the prison-
ers heard them. They, therefore, did not refrain
from this kind of devotion for fear of being heard by
others. If, therefore, any one is in the same neces-
sity, either in prison or out of prison, what can he do
better, tlian to follow this example?

I cannot pass by tliis place of scripture, without de-
siring the pious reader to observe how strongly Ave
are here called upon to this use of psalms, and what a

o 4

200 A SERIOUS CALL TO A

mighty recommendation of it, the practise of these
two great saints is.

In this their great distress in prison, in chains, un-
der the soreness of stripes, in the horror of night, the
divinest, hohest thing they could do, was to sing
praises unto God.

And shall we, after this, need any exhortation to
this holy practise? Shall we let the day pass without
such thanksgivings as they would not neglect in the
night? Shall a prison, chains, and darkness, furnish
them with songs of praise, and shall we have no sing-
ings in our closets ?

Further, let it also be observed, that while these two
holy men were thus employed in the most exalted part
of devotion, doing that on earth, which angels do in
heaven, that the foundations of the prison were shak-
en, all the doors were opened, and every one's hands
were loosed. Acts xvi. 26.

And shall we now ask for motives to this divine
exercise, when, instead of arguments, we have here
such miracles to convince us of this mighty power
with God?

Could God by a voice from heaven more expressly
call us to these songs of praise, than by thus showing
us, how he hears, delivers, and rewards those that use
them ?

But this by the wa}^ I now return to the objection
in hand ; and answer. Fourthly, That the privacy of
our prayers, is not destroyed by our having, but by dur
seeking witnesses of them.

If, therefore, nobody hears you but those you can-
not separate yourself from, you are as much in secret,
and your Father who seeth in secret, will as truly re-
ward your secresy, as if you was seen by him alone.

Fifthly, Private prayer, as it is opposed to prayer in
public, does not suppose that no one is to have any
witness of it. For husbands and wives, brothers and
sisters, parents and children, masters and servants, tu-
tors and pupils, arc to be witnesses to one another of

DEVOUT AND HOLY LIFE. 201

such devotion, as may truly and properly be called
private. It is far from being- a duty to conceal such
devotion from such near relations.

In all these cases, therefore, where such relktions
sometimes pray tog'ether in private, and sometimes
apart by themselves, the chanting of a psalm can have
nothing objected against it.

Our blessed Lord commands us, when we fast, to
anoint our heads and wash our faces, that we appear
not unto men to fast, but unto our Father which is in
secret.

But this only means, that we must not make public
ostentation to the world of our fasting.

For if no one was to fast in private, or could be
said to fast in private, but he that had no witnesses of
it, no one could keep a private fast, but he that lived
by himself: For every family must know who fasts
in it. Therefore the privacy of fasting does not sup-
pose such a privacy, as excludes every body from
knowing it, but such a privacy as does not seek to be.
known abroad.

Cornelius, the devout centurion, of whom the scrip-
tures saith, that he gave much, and prayed to God
alway, saith unto St. Peter, Four days ago, I icas
fasting until this hour, Acts x. 2.

Now that this fasting was sufficiently private and
acceptable to God, appears from the vision of an an-
gel, with which the holy man was blessed at that time.
But that it was not so private, as to be entirely un-
known to others, appears, as from the relation of it
here, so, from what is said in another place, that he
called tioo of his household servants, and a devout
soldier of them that waited upon him continually . So
that Cornelius's fasting was so far from being un-
known to his family, that the soldiers and they of his
household were made devout themselves, by continu-
ally waiting upon him, that is, by seeing and partak-
ing of his good works.

As therefore the privacy or excellency of fasting is

202 A SERIOUS CALL TO A

not destroyed by being known to some particular per-
sonSj neither would the privacy or excellency of your
devotions be hurt^ though by chanting- a psalm you
should be heard by some of your family.

The whole of the matter is this. Great part of the
world can be as private as they please^ therefore let
them use this excellent devotion between God and
themselves.

Another great part of the world must and ought to
have witnesses of several of their devotions ; let them
therefore not neglect the use of a psalm at such times
as it ought to be known to those with whom they live,
that they do not neglect their prayers. For surely,
there can be no harm in being known to be singing a
psalm, at such times as it ought to be known that you
are at your prayers.

And if at other times you desire to be in such secre-
cy at your devotions, as to have nobody suspect it, and
for that reason forbear your psalm ; I have nothing to
object against it ; provided, that at the known hours
of prayer, you never omit this practice.

For who would not be often doing that in the day,
which St. Paul and Silas would not neglect in the
middle of the night? And if, when you are thus sing-
ing, it should come into your head how the prison
shaked, and the doors opened, when St, Paul sang, it
would do your devotion no harm.

Lastly, Seeing our imaginations have great power
over our hearts, and can mightily affect us with their
representations, it would be of great use to you, if at
the beginning of your devotions, you was to imagine
to yourself some such representations, as might heat
and warm your heart into a temper suitable to those
prayers that you are then about to offer unto God.

As thus ; before you begin your psalm of praise and
rejoicing in God, make this use of your imagination.

Be still, and imagine to yourself, that you saw the
heavens open, and the glorious choir of Cherubims
and Seraphims about the throne of God. Imagine

DEVOUT AND HOLY LIFE. S03

that you hear the music of those angelic voices that
cease not day and night to sing the glories of him that
isj and was^ and is to come.

Help your imaginations with such passages of scrip-
ture as these. Rev. vii. 9. " I beheld, and lo, in hea-
ven a great multitude which no man could number, of
all nations, and kindreds, and people, and tongues,
standing before the throne, and before the Lamb,
clothed with Avhite robes, and palms in their hands.
And they cried with a loud voice. Salvation to our God
which sitteth upon the throne, and unto the Lamb.

And all the angels stood round about the throne,
and fell before the throne on their faces, and wor-
shipped God, saying. Amen : Blessing, and glory, and
power, and strength, be unto God, for ever and ever.
Amen."

Think upon this, till your imagination has carried
you above the clouds, till it has placed you amongst
those heavenly beings, and made you long to bear a
part in their eternal music.

If you will but use yourself to this method, and let
your imagination dwell among such representations as
these, you will soon find it an excellent means of rais-
ing the spirit of devotion within you.

Always therefore begin your psalm or song of praise
with these imaginations ; and at every verse of it ima-
gine yourself amongst those heavenly companions,
that your voice is added to theirs, and that angels join
with you, and you with them ; and that you, with a
poor and low voice, are singing that on earth which
they are singing in heaven.

Again, Sometimes imagine that you had been one
of those that joined with our blessed Saviour when he
sung an hymn. Strive to imagine to yourself with
what majesty he looked; fancy that you had stood
close by him, surrounded with his glory. Think how
your heart would have been inflamed, what ecstacies of
J^y you would have then felt, when singing with the
Son of God. Think again and again, with what joy

204 A SERIOUS CALL TO A

and devotion you would then have sung, had this been
really your happy state^ and what a punishment you
should have thought it, to have been then silent ; and
let this teach you how to be affected with psalms and
hymns of thanksgiving*.

Agaiuj Sometimes imagine to yourself that you saw
holy David with his hands upon his harp, and his eyes
fixed upon heaven, calling with transport on the crea-
tion, sun and moon, light and darkness ; day and night,
men and angels, to join with his rapturous soul in
praising the Lord of heaven.

Dwell upon this imagination, till you think you are
singing with this divine musician, and let such a com-
panion teach you to exalt your heart unto God in the
following psalm ; which you may use constantly first
in the morning.

Psalm cxlv. / will magnify thee, O God my king :
I loill praise thy name for ever and ever, 8^c.

These following psalms, as the 34th, 96th, 103rd,
111th, 146th, and 147th, are such as wonderfully set
forth the glory of God ; and therefore you may keep
to any one of them at any particular hour, as you like :
Or you may take the finest parts of any psalms^ and
so adding them together, may make tliem titter for
your own devotion.

CHAPTER XVI.

Recommending Devotion at nine o'clock in the morn-
ing, called in Scripture the third hour of the day.
The subject of these prayers is humility.

I AM now come to another hour of prayer, which
in scripture is called the third hour of the day ; but
according to our way of numbering the hours, it is
called the ninth hour of the morning.

The devout Christian must at this time look upon
himself as called upon by God to renew his acts of

DEVOUT AND HOLY LIFE. 205

prayer, and address himself again to the throne of
grace.

There is indeed no express command in scripture
to repeat our devotions at this hour. But then it is to
be considered also, that neither is there an express
command to begin and end the day with prayer. So
that if tliat he looked upon as a reason for neglecting
devotion at this hour, it may as well be urged as a
reason for neglecting devotion both at the beginning
and end of the day.

But if the practice of the saints in all ages of the
world, if the customs of the pious Jews and primitive
Christians be of any force with us, we have authority
enough to persuade us, to make this hour a constant
season of devotion.

The scriptures shew us how this hour was conse-
crated to devotion, both by Jews and Christians: so
that if we desire to number ourselves amongst those
whose hearts were devoted unto God, we must not let
this hour pass without presenting us to him in some
solemnities of devotion. And besides this authority
for this practice, the reasonableness of it is sufficient
to invite us to the observance of it.

For if you was up at a good time in the morning,
your first devotions will have been at a proper distance
from this hour : you will have been long enough at
other business, to make it proper for you to return to
this greatest of all business, the raising your soul and
affections unto God.

But if you have risen so late, as to be hardly able to
begin your first devotions at this hour, which is proper
for your second, you may thence learn that the in-
dulging yourself in the morning sleep is no small mat-
ter, since it sets you so tar back in your devotions,
and robs you of those graces and blessings, which are
obtained by frequent prayers.

For if prayer has power with God, if it looses the
bands of sin, if it purifies the soul, reforms our hearts,
and draws down the aids of divine grace ; how can

S06 A SERIOUS CALL TO A

that be reckoned a small matter^ which robs us of an
hour of prayer ?

Imagine yourself somewhere placed in the air, as a
spectator of all that passes in the world ; and that you
saw in one view, the devotions which all Christian
people offer unto God every day. Imagine that you
saw some piously dividing the day and night, as the
primitive Christians did, and constant at all hours of
devotion, singing psalms, and calling upon God, at all
those times, that saints and martyrs received their gifts
and graces from God.

Imagine that you saw others living without any
rules, as to times and frequency of prayer, and only at
their devotions sooner or later, as sleep and laziness
happens to permit them.

Now if you was to see this, as God sees it, how do
you suppose you should be affected with this sight?
What judgment do you imagine you should pass upon
these different sorts of people? Could you think, that
those who were thus exact in their rules of devotion, got
nothing by their exactness ? Could you think, that their
prayers were received just in the same manner, and pro-
cured them no more blessings, than theirs do, who prefer
laziness and indulgence to times and rules of devotion ?

Could you take the one to be as true servants of
God, as the other? Could you imagine, that those
who were thus different in their lives, would find no
difference in their states after death? Could you think
it a matter of indifference to which of these people
you were most like ?

If not, let it be now your care to join yourself to
that number of devout people, to that society of saints,
amongst whom you desire to be found, when you
leave the world.

And although the bare number and repetition of our
prayers is of little value, yet since prayer, rightly and
attentively performed, is the most natural means of
amending and purifying our hearts ; since importunity
and frequency in prayer is as much pressed upon us

DEVOUT AND HOLY LIFE. 207

by scripture, as prayer itself, we may be sure, that
when we are frequent and importunate in ^our pray-
ers, we arc taking- the best means of obtaining the
hig-hest benefits of a devout life.

And on the other hand, they who through negli-
gence, laziness, or any other indulgence, render them-
selves either unable, or uninclined to observe rules and
hours of devotion, we may be sure, that they deprive
themselves of those graces and blessings which an
exact and fervent devotion procures from God.

Now as this frequency of prayer is founded in the
doctrine of scripture, and recommended to us by the
practice of the true worshippers of God ; so we ought
not to think ourselves excused from it, but where we
can shew, that we are spending our time in such busi-
ness, as is more acceptable to God, than these returns
of prayer.

Least of all must we imagine, that dulness, negli-
gence, indulgence, or diversions, can be any pardon-
able excuses for our not observing an exact and fre-
quent method of devotion.

If you are of a devout spirit, you will- rejoice at
these returns of prayer, which keep your soul in an
holy enjoyment of God ; wliich change your passions
into divine love^. and fill your heart with stronger joys
and consolations, than you can possibly meet with in
any thing else.

And if you are not of a devout spirit, then you are
moreover obliged to this frequency of prayer, to train
and exercise your heart into a true sense and feeling
of devotion.

Now seeing the holy spirit of the Christian Reli-
gion, and the example of the saints of all ages, call
upon you thus to divide the day into hours of prayer ;
so it will be highly beneficial to you, to make a right
choice of those matters which are to be the subject of
your prayers, and to keep every hour of prayer ap-
propriated to some particular subject, which you may
alter or enlarge, according as the state you are in re-
quires.

208 A SERIOUS CALL TO A

By this means you will have an opportunity of being
large and particular in all the parts of any virtue or
gmcQ, which you then make the subject of your pray-
ers. And by asking for it in all its parts^ and making-
it the substance of a whole prayer once every day,
you will soon find a mighty change in your heart;
and that you cannot thus constantly pray for all the
parts of any virtue every day of your life, and yet live
the rest of the day contrary to it.

If a worldly-minded man was to pray every day
against all the instances of a worldly temper ; if he
should make a large description of the temptations of
covetousness, and desire God to assist him to reject
them all, and to disappoint him in all his covetous de-
signs, he would find his conscience so much awaken-
ed, that he would be forced either to forsake such
prayers, or to forsake a worldly life.

The same will hold true, in any other instance.
And if we ask, and have not, it is because we ask
amiss. Because we ask in cold and general forms,
such as only name the virtues without describing their
particular parts, such as are not enough particular to
our condition, and therefore make no change in our
hearts. Whereas when a man enumerates all the
parts of any virtue in his prayers, his conscience is
thereby awakened, and he is frightened at seeing how
far short he is of it. And this stirs him up to an ar-
dour in devotion, when he sees how much he wants of
that virtue which he is praying for.

1 have in the last chapter laid before you the excel-
lency of praise and thanksgiving, and recommended
that as the subject of your first devotions in the morn-
ing.

And because an humble state of soul is the very
state of religion, because humility is the life and soul
of piety, the foundation and support of every virtue
and good work, the best guard and security of all holy
affections; 1 shall reconunend humihty to you, as
higlily proper to be made the constant subject of your

DEVOUT AND HOLY LIFE. 209

devotions^ at this third hour of the day : earnestly de-
siring- you to think no day safe, or likely to end well,
in which you have not thus early put youi'self in this
posture ot humility, and called upon God to carry you
through the day in the exercise of a meek and lowly
spirit.

This virtue is so essential to the right state of our
souls, that there is no pretending to a reasonable or
pious life without it. We may as well think to see
without eyes, or live without breath, as to live in the
spirit of religion, without the spirit of humility.

And although it is thus the soul and essence of all
religious duties, yet is it, generally speaking, the least
understood, the least regarded, the least intended, the
least desired, and sought after, of all other virtues,
amongst all sorts of Christians.

No people have more occasion to be afraid of the
approaches of pride, than those who have made some
advances in a pious life. For pride can grow as well
upon our virtues as our vices, and steals upon us on all
occasions.

Every good thought that we have, every good ac-
tion that we do, lays us open to pride, and exposes us
to the assaults of vanity and self-satisfaction.

It is not only the beauty of our persons, the gifts of
fortune, or our natural talents, and the distinctions of
life ; but even our devotions and alms, our fastings
and humiliations, expose us to fresh and ^strong temp-
tations of this evil spirit.

And it is for this reason, that I so earnestly advise
every devout person to begin every day in this exer-
cise of humility, that he may go on in safety under the
protection of his good guide, and not fall a sacrifice to
his own progress in those virtues, which are to save
mankind from destruction.

Humility does not consist in having a worse opinion
of ourselves than we deserve, or in abasing ourselves
lower than we really are. But as all virtue is found-
ed in truths so humility is founded in a true and just

p

210 A SEKIOUS CALL TO A

sense of our weakness, misery, and sin. He that
rightly feels and hves in this sense of his condition,
lives in huniihty.

The weakness of our state appears from our inabi-
lity to do any thing-, as of ourselves. In our natural
state we are entirely without any power ; we are in-
deed active beings, but can only act by a power, that
is every moment lent us from God.

We have no more power of our own to move a
hand, or stir a foot, than to move the sun, or stop the
clouds.

When we speak a word, we feel no more power in
ourselves to do it, than we feel ourselves able to raise
the dead. For we act no more within our own power,
or by our own strength, when we speak a word, or
make a sound, than the apostles acted within their own
power, or by their own strength, when a word from
their mouth cast out devils, and cured diseases.

As it was solely the power of God that enabled
them to speak to such purposes, so it is solely the pow-
er of God that enables us to speak at all.

We indeed find that we can speak, as we find that
we are alive ; but the actual exercise of speaking is no
more in our own power, than the actual enjoyment of
life.

This is the dependent helpless poverty of our state ;
which is a great reason for humility. For since we
neither are, nor can do any thing of ourselves, to be
proud of any thing that we are, or of any thing that
we can do, and to ascribe glory to ourselves for these
things, as our own ornaments, has the guilt both of
stealing and lying. It has the guilt of stealing, as it
gives to ourselves those things whicli only belong to
God. It has the guilt of lying, as it is the denying the
truth of our state, and pretending to be something that
we are not.

Secondly, Another argument for humility, is found-
ed in the misery of our condition.
. Now the misery of our condition appears in this.

DEVOUT AND HOLY LIFE.

211

that we use the borrowed powers of our, nature, to the
torment and vexation of ourselves^ and our fellow-
creatures.

God Almighty has entrusted us with the use of rea-
son, and we use it to the disorder and corruption of
our nature. We reason ourselves into all kinds of
folly and misery, and make our lives the sport of fool-
ish and extravagant passions : Seeking after imagi-
nary happiness in all kinds of shapes, creating to our-
selves a thousand wants, amusing our hearts with false
hopes and fears, using the world worse than irrational
animals, envying, vexing and tormenting one another
with restless passions, and unreasonable contentions.

Let any man but look back upon his own life, and
see what use he has made of his reason, how little he
has consulted it, and how less he has followed it.
What foolish passions, what vain thoughts, what need-
less labours, what extravagant projects, have taken up
the greatest part of his life. How foolish he has been
in his words and conversation ; how seldom he has
done well with judgment, and how often he has been
kept from doing ill by accident ; how seldom he has
been able to please himself, and how often he has dis-
pleased others ; how often he has changed his coun-
sels, hated what he loved, and loved what he hated ;
how often he has been enraged and transported at
trifles, pleased and displeased with the very same
things, and constantly changing^ from one vanity to
another. Let a man but take this view of his own
life, and he will see reason enough to confess, that
pride was not made for man.

Let him but consider, that if the world knew all
that of him, which he knows of himself; if they saw
what vanity and passions govern his inside, and what
secret tempers sully and corrupt his best actions, he
would have no more pretence to be honoured and ad-
mired for his goodness and wisdom, than a rotten and
distempered body to be loved and admired for its
beauty and comeliness.

p2

212

A SERIOUS CALL TO A

This is so true, and so known to the hearts of al-
most all people, that nothing would appear more
dreadful to them, than to have their hearts thus fully
discovered to the eyes of all beholders.

And perhaps there are very few people in the
world, who would not rather chuse to die, than to
have all their secret follies, the errors of their judg-
ments, the vanity of their minds, the falseness of their
pretences, the frequency of their vain and disorderly
passions, their uneasiness, hatreds, envies, and vex-
ations, made known unto the world.

And shall pride be entertained in a heart thus con-
scious of its own miserable behaviour ?

Shall a creature in such a condition, that he could
not support himself under the shame of being known
to the world in his real state ; shall such a creature,
because his shame is only known to God, to holy an-
g-els, and his own conscience ; shall he, in the sight of
God, and holy angels, dare to be vain and proud of
himself?

Thirdly, If to this we add the shame and guilt of
sin, we shall lind a still greater reason for humility.

No creature that had lived in innocence, would have
thereby got any pretence for self-honour and esteem ;
because, as a creature, all that it is, or has, or does, is
from God, and therefore the honour of all that belongs
to it, is only due to God.

But if a creature that is a sinner, and under the dis-
pleasure of the great governor of all the world, and
deserving nothing from him, but pains and punish-
ments for the shameful abuse of his powers ; if such a
creature pretends to self-glory for any thing that he
i.s, or docs, he ca!i only be said to glory in his shame.

Now how monstrous and shameful the nature of sin
is, is sufficient!} apparent from that great atonement
that is necessary to cleanse us from the guilt of it.

Nothing less has been required to take away the
guilt of our sins, than the sufferings and death of the
j!>on of God. Had he not taken our nature upon him^

DEVOUT AND HOLY LIFE. 213

our nature had been for ever separated from God, and
incapable of ever appearing before him.

And is there any room for pride or self-glory,
whilst we are partakers of such a nature as this .'

Have our sins rendered us so abominable and odious
to him that made us, that he could not so much as re-
ceive our prayerSj or admit oup repentance, till the Son
of God made himself man, and became a suttering" ad-
vocate for our whole race ; and can we in this state
pretend to high thoughts of ourselves? Shall we pre-
sume to take delight in our own worth, who are not
worthy so much as to ask pardon for our sins, without
the mediation and intercession of the Son of God?

Thus deep is the foundation of humility laid, in
these deplorable circumstances of our condition ;
which shew, that it is as great an offence against truth,
and the reason of things, for a man in this state of
things to lay claim to any degrees of glory, as to pre-
tend to the honour of creating himself. If man will
boast of any thing as his own, he must boast of his
misery and sin : for there is nothing else but this, that
is his own property.

Turn your eyes towards heaven, and fancy that you
saw what is doing there ; that you saw cherubims and
seraphims, and all the glorious inhabitants of that
place, all united in one work; not seeking glory from
one another, not labouring their own advancement,
not contemplating their own perfections, not singing
their own praises, not valuing themselves, and despis-
ing others, but all employed in one and the same
work ; all happy in one and the same joy ; casting
down their crowns before the throne of God, giving
glori/, and honour, and poiccr to him alone. Rev. iv.
10, 11.

Then turn your eyes to the fallon world, and con-
sider how unreasonable and odious it must be, for such
poor worms, such miserable sinners, to take delight in
their own fancied glories, whilst the highest and most
glorious sons of heaven, seek for no other greatness

p3

214 A SERIOUS CALL TO A

and honour, but that of ascribing all honour and great-
ness, and glory to God alone !

Pride is only the disorder of the fallen world, it has
no place amongst other beings ; it can only subsist
where ignorance and sensuality, lies and falsehood,
lusts and impurity reign.

Let a man, when he is most delighted with his own
figure, look upon a crucifix, and contemplate our
blessed Lord stretched out, and nailed upon a cross ;
and then let him consider, how absurd it must be, for
a heart full of pride and vanity, to pray to God,
through the sufferings of such a meek and crucified
Saviour.

These are the reflections that you are often to me-
ditate upon, that you may thereby be disposed to walk
before God and man in such a spirit of humility, as
becomes the weak, miserable, sinful state of all that
are descended from fallen Adam.

When you have, by such general reflections as
these, convinced your mind of the reasonableness of
humility, you must not content yourself with this, as if
you was therefore humble, because your mind acknow-
ledges the reasonableness of humility, and declares
against pride. But you must immediately enter your-
self into the practice of this virtue, like a young be-
ginner, that has all of it to learn, that can learn but
little at a time, and with great difficulty. You must
consider, that you have not only this virtue to learn,
but that you must be content to proceed as a learner
in it ail your time, endeavouring after greater degrees
of it, and practising every day acts of humility, as you
every day practise acts of devotion.

You would not imagine yourself to be devout, be-
cause in your judgment you approved of prayers, and
often declared your mind in favour of devotion. Yet
how many people imagine themselves humble enough
for no other reason, but because they often commend
humihty, and make vehement declarations against
pride ?

DEVOUT AND HOLY LIFE. S15

Csecus is a rich maiij of good birth, and very fine
parts. He is fond of dress, curious in the smallest
matters that can add any ornament to his person. He
is haughty and imperious to all his inferiors, is very
full of every thing that he says or does, and never ima-
gines it possible for such a judgment as his to be mis-
taken. He can bear no contradiction, and discovers
the weakness of your understanding, as soon as ever
you oppose him. He clianges every thing in his
house, his habit, and his equipage, as often as any
thing more elegant comes in his way ; Caecus would
have been very religious, but that he always thought
he was so.

There is nothing so odious to Caecus as a proud
man ; and the misfortune is, that in this he is so very
quick-sighted, that he discovers in almost every body
some strokes of vanity.

On the other hand, he is exceeding fond of humble
and modest persons. Humility, says he, is so amiable
a quality, that it forces our esteem wherever we meet
with it. There is no possibility of despising the
meanest person that has it, or of esteeming the greatest
man that wants it.

Caecus no more suspects himself to be proud, than
he suspects his want of sense. And the reason of it
is, because he always finds himself in love with humili-
ty, and so enraged at pride.

It is very true, Caecus, you speak sincerely when
you say you love humility, and abhor pride. You are
no hyprocrite, you speak the true sentiments of your
mind ; but then take this along with you, Caecus, that
you only love humility, and hate pride, in other peo-
ple. You never once in your life thought of any
other humility, or of any other pride, than that which
you have seen in other people.

The case of Caecus is a common case ; many peo-
ple live in all the instances of pride, and intlulge every
vanity that can enter into their minds, and yet never
suspect themselves to be governed bv pride and vani-

p 1

^16 A SERIOUS CALL TO A

ty, because they know how much they dishke proud
people, and how mightily they are pleased with humi-
lity and modesty, wherever they find them.

All their speeches in favour of humility, and all their
railings against pride, are looked upon as so many
true exercises, and effects of their own humble spirit.

Whereas in truth, these are so far from being- pro-
per acts, or proofs of humility, that they are great
arguments of the want of it.

For the fuller of pride any one is himself, the more
impatient ivill he be at the smallest instances of it in
other people. And the less humility any one has in
his own mind, the more will he demand, and be de-
lighted with it in other people.

You must therefore act by a quite contrary mea-
sure, and reckon yourself only so far humble, as you
impose every instance of humility upon yourself, and
never call for it in other people. So far an enemy to
pride, as you never spare it in yourself, nor even cen-
sure it in other persons.

Now in order to do this, you need only consider,
that pride and humility signify nothing to you, but so
far as they are your own ; that they do you neither
good nor harm, but as they are the tempers of your
own heart.

The loving therefore of humility is of no benefit or
advantage to you, but so far as you love to see all your
own thoughts, words, and actions, governed by it.
And the hating of pride does you no good, is no per-
fection in you, but so far as you hate to harbour any
degree of it in your own heart.

Now in order to begin, and set out well in the prac-
tice of humility, you must take it for granted, that you
are proud, that you have all your life been more or less
infected with this unreasonable temper.

You should believe also, that it is your greatest
weakness, that your heart is most subject to it, that it
is so constantly stealing upon you, that you have rea-
son to watch and suspect its approaches in all your
^.ctions,

DEVOUT AND HOLY LIFE. 217

For tbis is what most people, especially new begin-
ners in a pious life, may with great truth think of
themselves.

For there is no one vice that is more deeply rooted
in our nature, or that receives such constant nourish-
ment from almost every thing that we think or do. —
There being hardly any thing in the world that we
want or use, or any action or duty of life, but pride
finds some means or other to take hold of it. So that
at what time soever we begin to offer ourselves to
God, we can hardly be surer of any thing, than that
we have a great deal of pride to repent of.

If therefore you find it disagreeable to your mind
to entertain this opinion of yourself, and that you
cannot put yourself amongst those that want to be
cured of pride, you may be as sure as if an angel from
heaven had told you, that you have not only much,
but all your humility to seek.

For you can have no greater sign of a more con-
firmed pride, than when you think that 3^ou are hum-
ble enough. He that thinks he loves God enough,
shews himself to be an entire stranger to that holy pas-
sion ; so he that thinks he has humility enough, shews
that he is not so much as a beginner iu the practice
of true humility.

CHAPTER XVH,

Shewi7ig how difficult the practice of Humility is
made, by the general spirit and temper of the
ivorld. How Christianity/ requireth us to live con-
trary to the icorld.

EVERY person, when he first applies himself to
the exercise of this virtue of humility, must, as I said
Ijefore, consider himself as a learner ; that is, to learn
something that is contrary to former tempers, and ha-

218 A SERIOUS CALL TO A

bits of mind, and which can only be got by daily and
constant practice.

He has not only as much to do, as he that has som©'
new art or science to learn, but he has also a great
deal to unlearn : He is to forget, and lay aside his
own spirit, which has been a long while fixing and
forming itself; he must forget, and depart from abun-
dance of passions and opinions, which the fashion,
and vogue, and spirit of the world has made natural
to him.

He must lay aside his own spirit, because, as we
are born in sin, so in pride, which is as natural to us
as self-love, and continually springs from it. And this
is one reason why Christianity is so often represented
as a new birth, and a new spirit.

He must lay aside the opinions and passions which
he has received from the world, because the vogue
and fashion of the world, by which we have been car-
ried away, as in a torrent, before we could pass right
judgments of the value of things, is in many respects
contrary to humility ; so that we must unlearn what
the spirit of the world has taught us, before we can
be governed by the spirit of humility.

The devil is called in scripture the prince of this
world, because he has great power in i*:, because ma-
ny of its rules and principles are invented by this
evil spirit, the father of all lies and falsehood, to se-
parate us from God, and prevent our return to hap-
piness.

Now according to the spirit and vogue of this
world, whose corrupt air we have all breathed, there
are many things that pass for great and honourable,
and most desirable, which yet are so far from being so,
that the true greatness and honour of our nature con-
sists in the not desiring them.

To abound ia wealth, to have fine houses and rich
clothes, to be attended with splendour and equipage,
to be beautiful in our persons, to have titles of digni-
ty, to be above our fellow-creatures, to command the

DEVOUT AND HOLY LIFE. 219

bows and obeisance of other people, to be looked on
with admiration, to overcome our enemies with pow-
er, to subdue all that oppose us, to set ourselves in as
much splendour as we can, to live highly and magni-
ficently, to eat and drink, and delight ourselves in the
most costly manner, these are the great, the honour-
able, the desirable things, to which the spirit of the
world turns the eyes of all people. And many a man
is afraid of standing still, and not engaging in the pur-
suit of these things, lest the same world should take
him for a fool.

The history of the gospel is chiefly the history of
Christ's conquest over this spirit of the world. And
the number of true Christians, is only the number of
those who, following the Spirit of Christ, have lived
contrary to the spirit of the world.

If any man hath not the Spirit of Christ, he is none
of his. Again, Whosoever is born of God, over Com-
eth the world. Set your affections on things above,
and not on things on the earth ; for ye are dead, and
your life is hid ivith Christ in God. This is the lan-
guage of the New Testament. This is the mark of
Christianity ; you are to be dead ; that is, dead to the
spirit and temper of the world, and live a new life in
the Spirit of Jesus Christ,

But notwithstanding the clearness and plainness of
these doctrines which thus renounce the world, yet
great part of Christians live and die slaves to the cus-
toms and tempers of the world.

How many people swell with pride and vanity, for
such things as they would not know how to value at
all, but that they are admired in the world.

Would a man take ten years more drudgery in bu-
siness to add two horses more to his coach, but that he
knows, that the world most of all admires a coach and
six? How fearful are many people of having their
houses poorly furnished, or themselves meanly clothed^
for this only reason, lest the world should make no ac-
count of them, and place them amongst low and mean
people !

220 A SERIOUS CALL TO A

How often would a man have yielded to the haugh-
tiness and ill nature of others^ and shew a submissive
temper^ but that he dares not pass for such a poor
spirited man in the opinion of the world.

Many a man would often drop a resentment^ and
forgive an affront, but that he is afraid, if he should,
the world would not forgive him.

How many would practise Christian temperance and
sobriety in its utmost perfection, were it not for the
censure which the world passes upon such a life.

Others have frequent intentions of living up to the
rules of Christian perfection, which they are fright-
ened from, by considering what the world would say
of them.

Thus do the impressions, which we have received
from living in the world, enslave our minds, that we
dare not attempt to ]je eminent in the sight of God,
and holy angels, for fear of being little in the eyes of
the world.

From this quarter arises the great difficulty of hu-
mility, because it cannot subsist in any mind, but so
far as it is dead to the world, and has parted with all
desires of enjoying all greatness and honours. So that
in order to be truly humble, you must unlearn all those
notions which you have been all your life learning from
this corrupt spirit of the world.

You can make no stand against the assaults of
pride, the meek aflections of humility can have no
place in your soul, till you stop the power of the world
over you, and resolve against a blind obedience to its
laws.

And when you are once advanced thus far, as to be
able to stand still in the torrent of worldly fashions
and opinions, and examine the worth and value of
tilings which arc most admired and valued in the
world, you have gone a great way in the gaining of
your freedom, and have laid a good foundation for
the amendment of your heart.

For as great as the power of the world is, it is all built

DEVOUT AND HOLY LIFE. 221

upon a blind obedience, and we need only open our
eyes, to get quit of its power. Ask who you will,
learned or unlearned, every one seems to know and
confess, that the general temper and spirit of the world,
is nothing else but humour, folly, and extravagance.

Who will not own, that the wisdom of philosophy,
the piety of religion, was always confined to a small
number? And is not this expressly owning and con-
fessing, that the common spirit and temper of the
world, is neither according to the wisdom of philoso-
phy, nor the piety of religion?

Tiie world, therefore, seems enough condemned
even by itself, to make it very easy for a thinking man
to be of the same judgment.

And, therefore, I hope you will not think it a hard
saying, that in order to be humble, you must withdraw
your obedience from that vulgar spirit which gives
laws to fops and coquettes, and form your judgments
according to the wisdom of philosophy, and the piety
of religion. Who would be afraid of making such a
change as this?

Again, To lesson your fear and regard to the opi-
nion of the world, think how soon the world will dis-
regard you, and have no more thought or concern
about you, than about the poorest animal that died in
a ditch.

Your friends, if they can, may bury you with some
distinction, and set up a monument to let posterity see
that your dust lies under such a stone ; and when that
is done, all is done. Your place is filled up by ano-
ther, the world is just in the same state it was, you are
blotted out of its sight, and as much forgotten by
the world as if you had never belonged to it.

Think upon the rich, the great, and the learned
persons, that have made great figures, and been high
in the esteem of the world ; many of them died in
your time, and yet they are sunk, and lost, and gone,
and as much disregarded by the world, as if they had
been only so maoy bubbles of water.

222 A SERIOUS CALL TO A

Think again^ how many poor souls see heaven lost,
and lie now expecting a miserable eternity, for their
service and homage to a world, that thinks itself every
whit as weJl without them, and is just as merry as it
was when they were in it.

Is it, therefore, \vorth your while to lose the small-
est degree of virtue, for the sake of pleasing so bad a
master, and so false a friend as the world is ?

Is it worth your while to bow the knee to such an
idol as this, that so soon will have neither eyes, nor
ears, nor a heart to regard you ; instead of serving
that great, and holy, and mighty God, that will make
all his servants partakers of his own eternity?

Will you let the fear of a false world, that has no
love for you, keep you from the fear of that God,
who has only created you, that he may love and bless
you to all eternity ?

Lastly, you must consider what behaviour the pro-
fession of Christianity requireth of you, with regard
to the world :

Now this is plainly delivered in these words ; Who
gave himself for our sins, that he might deliver us
from this present evil world. Gal. i. 4. Christianity,
therefore, implieth adeliverance from this world ; and he
that professeth it, professeth to live contrary to every
thing and every temper that is peculiar to this evil world.

St. John declareth this opposition to the world in
this manner, Thej/ are of the world : therefore, speak
they of the world, and the world heareth them. fVe
are of God, 1 John iv. 5. This is the description of
the followers of Christ; and it is proof enough that
no people are to be reckoned Christians in reality, who
in their hearts and tempers belong to this world. We
know, saith the same apostle. That we are of God,
and the whole world lieth in wickedness, ch. v. ver. 19.
Christians, therefore, can no further know that they
are of God, than so far as they know that they are not
of the world ; that is, that they do not live according
to the ways and spirit of the world. For all the ways.

DEVOUT AND HOLY LIFE. 233

and maxims, and politics, and tempers of (he world,
lie in wickedness. And he is only of God, or born of
God in Christ Jesus, who has overcome this world ;
that is, who has chosen to live by faith, and govern his
actions by the principles of a wisdom revealed from
God by Christ Jesus.

St. Paul takes it for a certainty so well known to
Christians, that they are no long*er to be considered as
living- in this world, that he thus argues from it, as
from an undeniable principle, concerning the abohsh-
ing the rites of the Jewish law : Wherefore if ye be
dead loitli Christ from the rudiments of the world,
tchj/, as though living in the world, are ye subject to
ordinances / Col. ii. 20. Here could be no argument
in this, but in the apostle's taking it for undeniable^
that Christians knew, that their profession required
them to have done with all the tempers and passions
of this world, to live as citizens of the new Jerusalem,
and to have their conversation in heaven.

Our blessed Lord himself has fully determined this
point in these words : They are not of this world, as I
am not of this world. This is the state of Christianity
with regard to this world. If you are not thus out of,
and contrary to the world, you want the distinguishing
mark of Christianity ; you do not belong to Christ,
but by being out of tlie world as he was out of it.

We may deceive ourselves, if we please, with vain
and softening commands upon these word.s, but they
are and will be understood in their first simplicity and
plainness, by every one that reads them in the same
spirit that our blessed Lord spoke them. And to un-
derstand them in any lower, less significant meaning,
is to let carnal wisdom explain away that doctrine, by
which itself was to be destroyed.

The Christian's great conquest over the world, is
all contained in the mystery of Christ upon the cross.
It was there, and from thence, that he taught all
Christians how they were to come out of, and conquer
the world, and what they were to do in order to be

^24

A SERIOUS CALL TO A

his disciples. And all the doctrines, sacraments, and
institutions of the g'ospel, are only so many explica-
tions of the meaning-, and applications of the benefit
of this great mysteiy.

And the state of Christianity implieth nothing else
but an entire, absohite conformity to that spirit which
Christ shewed in the mysterious sacrifice of himself
upon the cross.

Every man, therefore, is only so far a Christian as
he partakes of tliis Spirit of Christ. It was this that
made St. Paul so passionately express himself, God
forbid that I sJiould glory, save in the cross of our
Lord Jesus Christ : but why does he glory ? Is it be-
cause Christ had suffered in his stead, and had excused
himself from suffering? No, by no means. But it
was because his Christian profession had called him
to the honour of suffering with Christ, and of dying
to the world under reproach and contempt, as he had
done upon the cross. For he immediately adds, 63/
ty/iom the world is crucified unto me, and I unto the
•world. Gal. vi. 14. This you see was the reason of
his glorying in the cross of Christ, because he had
called him to a like state of death and crucifixion to
the world.

Thus was the cross of Christ, in St Paul's days,
the glory of Christians; not as it signified their not
being ashamed to own a Master that was crucified,
but as it signified their glorying in a religion, which
was nothing else but a doctrine of the cross, that call-
ed them to the same sufi'ering spirit, the same sacri-
fice of themselves, the same renunciation of the world,
the same humility and meekness, the same patient
bearing of injuries, reproaches, and contempts, and
the same dying to all the greatness, honours, and hap-
piness of the world, which Clirist shewed upon the
cross.

To have a true idea of Christianity, we must not
consider our blessed Lord us suffering in our stead,
but as our representative, acting in our name, and

DEVOUT AND HOLY LIFE. 225

with such particular merit, as to make our joining
with him acceptable unto God.

He sulYcred, and was a sacrifice, to make our suf-
feriujj^s and sacrifice of ourselves fit to be received by
God. And we are to suffer, to be crucified, to die,
and rise with Christ ; or else his crucifixion^ death,
and resurrection, will profit us nothing-.

The necessity of this conformity to all that Christ
did, and suffered upon our account, is very plain from
the whole tenor of Scripture.

First, As to his sufferings, this is the only condition
of our beini^ saved by them ; if '' we suffer with him,
we shall also reign with him."

Secondly, As to his crucifixion. '' Knowing this,
that our old man is crucified with him," &c. Rom.
vi. 6. Here you see Christ is not crucified in our
stead ; but unless our old man be really crucified with
him, the cross of Christ will profit us nothing".

Thirdly, As to the death of Christ, the condition is
this ; " If we be dead with Christ, we believe that we
shall also live with him." If, therefore, Christ be dead
alone, if we are not dead with him, we are as sure,
from this scripture, that we shall not live with him.

Lastly, As to the resurrection of Christ, the scrip-
ture sheweth us how we are to partake of the benefit
of it ; '' If ye be risen with Christ, seek those things
which are above, where Christ sitteth on the right
hand of God." Col. iii. 1.

Thus you see how plainly the Scripture sets forth
our blessed Lord, as our representative, acting and
suffering in our name, binding and obliging us to con-
form to all that he did and suffered for us.

It was for this reason, that the holy Jesus said of
his disciples, and in them of all true believers, " They
are not of this world, as I am not of this world." Be-
cause all true believers conforming to the sufterings,
crucifixion, death, and resurrection of Christ, live no
longer after the spirit and temper of this world, but
their life is hid with Christ in God.

Q

226 A SERIOUS CALL TO A

This is the state of separation from the worlds to
which all orders of Christians are called. They must
so far renounce all worldly tempers, be so far govern-
ed by the things of another life, as to shew, that they
are truly and really crucified, dead, and risen with
Christ. And it is as necessary for all Christians to
conform to this great change of spirit, to be thus in
Christ new creatures, as it was necessary that Christ
should sutfer, die, and rise again for our salvation.

How high the Christian life is placed above the ways
of this world, is wonderfully described by St. Paul in
these words : " Wherefore henceforth know we no
man after the flesh ; yea, though we have known
Christ after the flesh ; yet henceforth we know him no
more. Therefore if any man be in Christ, he is a new
creature : old things are passed away ; behold all
things are become new." 2 Cor. v. 16.

He that feels the force and spirit of these words,
can hardly bear any human interpretation of them.
Henceforth, says be ; that is, since the death and re-
surrection of Christ, the state of Christianity is be-
come so glorious a state, that we do not even consider
Christ himself as in the flesh upon earth, but as a God
of glory in heaven ; Ave know and consider ourselves
not as men in the flesh, but as fellow-members of a
new society, that are to have all our hearts, our tem-
pers, and conversation in heaven.

Thus it is that Christianity has placed us out of, and
above the w orld ; and we fall from our calling, as soon
as we fall into the tempers of the world.

•Now as it was the spirit of the world that nailed
our blessed Lord to the cross ; so every man that has
the spirit of Christ, that opposes the world, as he did,
will certainly be crucified by the world some way or
other.

For Christianity still lives in the same world that
Christ did ; and these two will be utter enemies, till
the kingdom of darkness is entirely at an end.

Had you lived with our Saviour as his true disciple,

DEVOUT AND HOLY LIFE. 227

you had then been hated as he was ; and if you now
live in his spirit, the world will be the same enemy to
you now, that it was to him then.

" If ye were of the world/' saith our blessed Lord,
'' the world would love its own ; but because ye are
not of the world, but I have chosen you out of the
world, therefore the world hateth you." John xv. 19.

We are apt to lose the true meaning; of these
words, by considering them only as an historical de-
scription of something that was the state of our Sa-
viour and his disciples at that time. But this is read-
ing the Scripture as a dead letter : for they as exactly
describe the state of true Christians at this, and all
other times to the end of the world.

For as true Christianity is nothing else but the spi-
rit of Christ, so whether that spirit appear in the per-
son of Christ himself, or his apostles, or followers in
any age, it is the same thing : whoever hath his spirit
will be hated, despised, and condemned by the world
as he was.

For the world will always love its own, and none
but its own : this is as certain and unchangeable, as
the contrariety betwixt light and darkness.

When the holy Jesus saith. If the world hate you,
(he does not add by way of consolation, that it may
some time or other cease its hatred, or that it will not
always hate them ; but he only gives this as a reason
for their bearing it). You know that it hated me he-
fore it hated 2/ou: signifying, that it was he, that is,
his spirit, that by reason of its contrariety to the
world, was then, and always would be hated by it.

You will perhaps say, that the world is now become
Christian, at least that part of it where we live ; and
therefore the world is not to be considered in that state
of opposition to Christianity, as when it was heathen.

It is granted, the world now professeth Christianity,,
but will any one say, that this Christian world is of
the spirit of Christ? Are its general tempers the
tempers of Christ ? Are the passions of sensualityj

228 A SEIliOUS CALL TO A

self-lovCj pride, covetoiisness, ambition, and vain-g-Io-
ry, less contrary to the spirit of the gospel, now they
are amongst Christians, than when they were amongst
heathens .^ Or will yon say, that the tempers and pas-
sions of the heathen world are lost and gone ?

Consider, Secondly, What yon are to mean by the
world. Now this is fully described to our hands by
St. John. All that is in the world, the lust of the
flesh, the lust of the cj/es, and the pride of life, &c. 1
John iii. 16. This is an exact and full description of
the world. Now will you say, that this world is be-
come Christian ? But if all this still subsists, then the
.same world is now in being, and the same enemy to
Christianity, that was in St Johns days.

It is this world that St. John condemned, as being
not of the Father ; whether therefore it outwardly
professeth, or openly persecuteth Christianity, it is
still in the same state of contrariety to the true spirit
and holiness of the gospel.

And indeed the world, by professing Christianity, is
so far from being a less dangerous enemy than it was
before, that it has by its favours destroyed more
Christians than ever it did by the most violent perse-
cution.

We must, therefore, be so far from considering the
world as in a state of less enmity and opposition to
Christianity, than it was in the first times of the gos-
pel, that Ave must guard against it as a greater and
more dangerous enemy now, than it was in those times.

It is a greater enemy, because it has greater power
over Christians by its favours, riches, honours, re-
wards, and protections, than it had by the fire and fury
of its persecutions.

It is a more dangerous enemy, by having lost its
appeaiance of enmity. Its outward profession of
Christianity makes it no longer considered as an
enemy, and therefore the generality of people are ea-
sily persuaded to resign themselves up to be governed
and directed by it.

BEVOUT AND HOLY LIFE. 229

How many consciences are kept at quiet, upon no
other foundation^ but because they sin under the au-
thority of the Christian world ?

How many directions of the gospel lie by unregard-
ed; and how unconcernedly do particular persons
read them; for no other reason^ but because they
seem unregarded by the Christian world ?

How many compliances do people make to the
Christian world, without any hesitation or remorse ;
which, if they had been required of them only by hea-
thens, would have been refused, as contrary to the ho-
liness of Christianity ?

Who could be content with seeing how contrary his
life is to the gospel, but because he sees that he lives
as the Christian world doth?

AVho that reads the gospel, would want to be per-
suaded of the necessity of great self-denial, humility,
and poverty of spirit, but that the authority of the
world has banished this doctrine of ^lie cross?

There is nothing, therefore, that a .good Christian
ought to be more suspicious of, or more constantly
guard against, than the authority of the Christian
world.

And all the passages of scripture^ which represent
the world as contrary to Christianity, which require
our separation from it, as from a mammon of unrigh-
teousness, a monster of iniquity, are all to be taken in
the same strict sense, in relation to the present world.

For the change that the world has undergone,
has only altered its methods, but not lessened its pov/-
er of destroying religion.

Christians had nothing to fear from the heathen
world, but the loss of their lives ; but the world be-
come a friend, makds it difficult for them to save their
religion.

Whilst pride, sensuality, covetousness, and ambi-
tion, had only the authority of the heathen world.
Christians were thereby made more intent upon the
contrary virtues. But when pride, sensuality, covet-

q3

S30 A SERIOUS CALL TO A

ousness^ and ambition, have the authority of the
Christian world, then private Christians are in the ut-
most danger, not only of being* shamed out of the
practice, but of losing- the very notion of the piety of
the gospel.

There is, therefore, hardly any possibility of saving
yourself from the present world, but by considering it
as the same wicked enemy to all true holiness, as it is
represented in the scriptures ; and by assuring your-
self, that it is as dangerous to conform to its tempers
and passions, now it is Christian, as when it was hea-
then.

For only ask yourself. Is the piety, the humility, the
sobriety of the Christian world, the piety, the humili-
ty, and sobriety of the Christian spirit? If not, how
can you be more undone by any world, than by con-
forming to that which is Christian ?

Need a man do more to make his soul unfit for the
mercy of God, than by being greedy and ambitious of
honour? Yet.how can a man renounce this temper,
without renouncing the spirit and temper of the world,
in which you now live ?

How can a man be made more incapable of the spi-
rit of Christ, tlmn by a wrong value for money ; and
yet how can he be more wrong in his value of it, than
by following the authority of the Christian world?

Nay, in every order and station of life, whether of
learning or business, either in church or state^ you
cannot act up to the spirit of religion, without re-
nouncing the most general temper and behaviour of
those who are of the same order and business as your-
self.

And though human prudence seems to talk mighty
wisely about the necessity of avoiding particularities,
yet he that dares not to be so weak as to be particu-
lar, will be often obliged to avoid the most substantial
duties of Christian piety.

These reflections will, I hope, help you to break
through those difficulties, and resist those temptations.

DEVOUT AND HOLY LIFE. 231

which the authority and fashion of the world hatli
raised against the practice of Christian humility.

CHAPTER XVIII.

Shewi7ig how the Education lohichmen generally re-
ceive in their youth, makes the doctrines of Humi-
lity difficult to he practised. The spirit of a better
Education represented in the character o/'Paternus.

ANOTHER difficulty in the practice of humility,
arises from our education. We are all of us^ for the
most part, corruptly educated, and then committed to
take our course in a corrupt w orld ; so that it is no
wonder, if examples of great piety are so seldom seen.

Great part of the world are undone by being born
and bred in families that have no religion ; where
they are made vicious and irregular, by being like
those with whom they first lived.

But this is not the thin«' I now mean : the education
that I here intend, is such as children generally re-
ceive from virtuous and sober parents, and learned tu-
tors and governors.

Had we continued perfect, ns God created the first
man, perhaps the perfection of our nature had been a
sufficient self-instruction for every one. But as sick-
ness and diseases have created the necessity of medi-
cines and physicians, so the change and disorder of
our rational nature has introduced the necessity of
education and tutors.

And as the only end of tlie physician is to restore
nature to its own state ; so the only end of education
is, to restore our rational nature to its proper state.
Education, therefore, is to be considered as reason
borrowed at second-hand, which is, as far as it can, to
supply the loss of original perfection. And as physic
may justly be called the art of restoring health, so

q4

^32 A SERIOUS CALL TO A

education should be considered in no other light,
than as the art of recovering to man the use of his
reason.

Now as the instruction of every art or science is
founded upon the discoveries^ the wisdom, experience,
and maxims of the several g-reat men that have labour-
ed in it ; so that human wisdom, or right use of our
reason, which young people should be called to by
their education, is nothing else but the best experience
and finest reasonings of men, that have devoted them-
selves to the study of wisdom, and the improvement of
human nature.

All therefore that great saints and dying men, when
the fullest of light and conviction, and after the high-
est improvement of their reason, all that they have said
of the necessity of piety, of the excellency of virtue, of
their duty to God, of the emptiness of riches, of the
vanity of the world ; all the sentences, judgments, rea-
sonings, and maxims of the wisest of philosophers,,
when in their highest state of wisdom, should consti-
tute the common lessons of instruction for youthful
minds.

This is the only way to make the young and ignorant
part of the world the better for the wisdom and know-
ledge of the wise and ancient.

An education which is not wholly intent upon this,
is as much beside the point, as an art of physic, that
had little or no regard to the restoration of health.

The youths that attended upon Pythagoras, Socra-
tes, Plato, and Epictetus, were thus educated. Their
every-day lessons and instructions were so many lec-
tures upon the nature of man, his true end, and the
right use of his faculties ; upon the immortality of the
soul, its relation to God, the beauty of virtue, and its
agreeableness to the divine nature ; upon the dignity
of reason, the necessity of temperance, fortitude, and
generosity, and the shame, and folly of indulging our
passions.

Now as Christianity has, as it were, new created

DEVOUT AND HOLY LIFE. 233

the moral and religious world, and set every thing that
is reasonable, wise, holy, and desirable, in its true
point of light ; so one would expect, that the educa-
tion of youth should be as much bettered and amend-
ed by Christianity, as the faith and doctrines of reli-
gion are amended by it.

As it has introduced such a new state of things, and
so fully informed us of the nature of man, the ends of
his creation, the state of his condition ; as it has fixed
all our goods and evils, taught us the means of purify-
ing our souls, pleasing God, and becoming eternally
happy; one might naturally suppose, that every
Christian country abounded with schools for the teach-
ing not only a few questions and answers of a Cate-
chism, but for the forming, training, and practising
youths in such an outward course of life, as the high-
est precepts, the strictest rules, and the subHmest doc-
trines of Christianity require.

An education under Pythagoras, or Socrates, had no
other end, but to teach youth to think, judge, act, and
follow such rules of life, as Pythagoras and Socrates
used.

And is it not as reasonable to suppose, that a Chris-
tian education should have no other end, but to teach
youth how to think, and judge, and act, and live ac-
cording to the strictest laws of Christianity ?

At least one would suppose, that in all Christian
schools, the teaching youth to begin their lives in the
spirit of Christianity, in such severity of behaviour,
such abstinence, sobriety, humility, and devotion, as
Christianity requires, should not only be more, but an
hundred times more regarded, than any, or all things
else.

For our education should imitate our guardian an-
gels, suggest nothing to our minds but what is wise
and holy ; help us to discover and subdue every vain
passion of our hearts, and every false judgment of our
minds.

And it is as sober and reasonable to expect and re-

S34 ▲ SERIOUS CALL TO A

quire all this benefit of a Christian education, as to re-
quire that physic should strengthen all that is right in
our nature, and remove that which is sickly and dis-
eased.

But, alas ! our modern education is not of this kind.

The first temper that we try to awaken in children,
is pride ; as dangerous a passion as that of lust. We
stir them up to vain thoughts of themselves, and do
every thing we can, to puff up their minds with a
sense of their own abihties.

Whatever way of life we intend them for, we apply
to the fire and vanity of their minds, and exhort them
to every thing from corrupt motives : We stir them
up to action from principles of strife and ambition,
from glory, envy, and a desire of distinction, that they
may excel others, and shine in the eyes of the world.

We repeat and inculcate these motives upon them,
till they think it a part of their dut^ to be proud, envi-
ous, and vain-glorious of their own accomplishments.

And when we have taught them to scorn to be out-
done by any, to bear no rival, to thirst after every in-
stance of applause, to be content with nothing but the
highest distinctions ; then we begin to take comfort
in them, and promise the world some mighty things
fi'om youths of such a glorious spirit.

If cliildren are intended for holy orders, we set be-
fore them some eminent orator, whose fine preaching
has made him the admiration of the age, and carried
him through all the dignities and preferments of the
church.

We encourage them to have these honours in their
eye, and to expect the reward of their studies from them.

If the youth is intended for a trade, we bid him look
at all the rich men of the same trade, and consider
how many now are carried about in their stately
coaches, who began in the same low degree as he now
does. We awaken his ambition, and endeavour to
give his mind a right turn, by often telling him how
very rich such and such a tradesman died.

DEVOUT AND HOLY LIFE. 235

If he 19 to be a lawyer, then we set great counsel-
lors, lords, judges, chancellors, before his eyes. We
teli him what great fees, and great applause attend
fine pleading. We exhort him to take fire at these
things, to raise a spirit of emulation in himself, and to
be content with nothing less than the highest honours
of the long robe.

That this is the nature of our best education, is too
plain to need any proof; and I believe there are few
parents, but would be glad to see these instructions
daily given to their children.

And after all this, we complain of the effects of
pride ; we wonder to see grown men actuated and go-
verned by ambition, envy, scorn, and a desire of g-lory ;
not considering that they were all the time of their
youth, called upon to all their action and industry
upon the same principles.

You teach a child to scorn to be out-done, to thirst
for distinction and applause; and is it any wonder
that he continues to act all his life in the same manner?

Now if a youth is ever to be so far a Christian as to
govern his heart by the doctrines of humility, I would
fain know at what time he is to begin it ; or if he is
ever to begin it at all, why we train him up in tempers
quite contrary to it?

How dry and poor must the doctrine of humility
sound to a youth, that has been spurred tip to all his
industry by ambition, envy, emulation, and a desire of
glory and distinction! And if he is not to act by
these principles when he is a man, w hy do we call him
to act by them in his youth?

Envy is acknowledged by all people, to be the most
ungenerous, base, and wicked passion, that can enter
into the heart of a man.
, And is this a temper to be instilled, nourished, and
established in the minds of young people ? ,

I know it is said that it is not envy, but emulation,
that is intended to be awakened in the minds of young
men.

236 A SERIOUS CALL TO A

But this is vainly said. For when children are
taught to bear no rivals and to scorn to be out-done
by any of their age^ they are plainly and directly
taufflit to be envious. For it is impossible for any one
to have this scorn of being out-done^ and this conten-
tion with rivals, without burning- with envy against ail
those that seem to excel him, or get any distinction
from him. So that what children are taught, is rank
envy, and only covered with a name of a less odious
sound.

Secondly, If envy is thus confessedly bad, and it be
only emulation that is endeavoured to be awakened in
children, surely there ought to be great care taken,
that children may know the one from the other. That
they may abominate the one as a great crime, whilst
they give the other admission into their minds.

But if this were to be attempted, the fineness of the
distinction betwixt envy and emulation, would shew
that it was easier to divide them into words, than to
separate them in action.

For emulation, when it is defined in the best man-
ner, is nothing else but a refinement upon envy, or
rather the most plausible part of that black and ve-
nomous passion.

And though it is easy to separate them in the no-
tion, yet the most acute philosopher, that understands
the art of distinguishing ever so well, if he gives him-
self up to emulation, will certainly find himself deep
fn envy.

For envy is not an original temper, but the natu-
ral, necessary, and unavoidable eifect of emulation, or
a desire of glory.

So that he who establishes the one in the minds of
people, necessarily fixes the other there. And there
is no other possible way of destroying envy, but by
destroying emulation, or a desire of glory. For the
one always rises and falls in proportion to the other.

1 know it is said in defence of this method of educa-
tion, that ambition, and a desire of glory,, are nccessa-

DEVOUT AND HOLY LIFE. 237

vy to excite young people to industry ; and that if we
were to press upon them the doctrines of humility^ we
should deject their minds, and sink them into dulness
and idleness.

But these people who say this, do not consider, that
this reason, if it has any strength, is full as strong
against pressing the doctrines of humility upon grown
men, lest we should deject their minds, and sink them
into dulness and idleness.

For who does not see that middle-aged men want as
much the assistance of pride, ambition, and vain glory,
to spur them up to action and industry, as children
do ? And it is very certain, that the precepts of hu-
mility are more contrary to the designs of such men,
and more grievous to their minds, when they are
pressed upon them, than they are to the minds of
young persons.

This reason therefore that is given, why children
should not be trained up in the principles of true hu-
mility, is as good a reason why the same humility
should never be required of grown men.

Thirdli/, Let those people, who think that children
would be spoiled, if they were not thus educated, con-
sider this.

Could they think, that if any children had been
educated by our blessed Lord, or his holy apostles,
that their minds would have been sunk into dulness
and idleness ?

Or could they think, that such children would not
have been trained up in the profoundest principles of
a strict and true humility? Can they say that our
blessed Lord, who was the meekest and humblest man
that ever was on earth, was hindered by his humility
from being the greatest example of worthy and glori-
ous actions, that ever were done by man ?

Can they say that his apostles, who lived in the
humble spirit of their Master, did therefore cease to
be laborious and active instruments of doing good to
all the world ?

23S A SERIOUS CALL TO A

A few such reflections as these, are sufficient to ex-
pose all the poor pretences for an education in pride
and ambition.

Paternus lived about t5VO hundred years ago ; he
had but one son^ whom he educated himself in his
own house. As they were sitting- together in the gar-
den, when the child was ten years old^ Paternus thus
began to him.

The little time that you haVe been in the world, my
child, you have spent wholly with me ; and my love
and tenderness to you, has made you look upon me as
your only friend and benefactor, and the cause of all
the comfort and pleasure that you enjoy : your heart,
I know, would be ready to break with grief, if you
thought this was the last day that I should live with
you.

But, my child, though you now think yourself
mighty happy, because you have hold of my hand, you
are now in the hands, and under the care of a much
greater Father and Friend than I am, whose love to
you is far greater than mine, and from whom you re-
ceive such blessings as no mortal can give.

That God whom you have seen me daily worship ;
whom I daily call upon to bless both you and me, and
all mankind; whose wondrous acts are recorded in
those scriptures which you constantly read : That
God who created the heavens and the earth ; who
brought a flood upon the whole world; who saved
Noah in the ark ; who was the God of Abraham,
Isaac, and Jacob ; whom Job blessed and praised in
the greatest afflictions; who delivered the Israelites
out of the hands of the Egyptians ; who was the pro-
tector of righteous Joseph, Moses, Joshua, and holy
Daniel ; who sent so many prophets into the world ;
who sent his Son Jesus Christ to redeem mankind:
This God, who has done all these great things, who
has created so many millions of men, who lived and
died before you was born, with whom the spirits of
good men, that are departed life, now live, whom infi-

DEVOUT AND HOLY LIFE. 239

iiite numbers of angels now worship in heaven ; this
great God, who is the Cieator of worlds, of angels,
and men, is your lovuig Father and Friend, your good
Creator and Nourishcr, from whom, and not from me,
you received your beir.o- ten years ai»'o, at the time
that I planted that littk te.uier eini vvhich you there
see.

I myself am not half the age of this shady oak, un-
der which we sit ; many of our fathers have sat under
its boughs ; we have all of us called it ours in our
turn, though it stands, and drops its masters, as it
drops its leaves.

You see, my son, this wide and large firmament
over our heads, where the sun and moon, and all the
stars appear in their turns. If you was to be carried
up to any of these bodies at this vast distance from us,
you would still discover others as much above, as the
stars that you see here are above the earth. Were
you to go up or down, east or west, north or south,
you would find the same height without any top, and
the same depth without any bottom.

And yet, my child, so great is God, that all these
bodies added together are but as a grain of sand in
his sight. And yet you are as much the care of this
great God and Father of all worlds, and all spirits, as
if he had no son but you, or there were no creature
for him to love and protect but you alone. He num-
bers the hairs of your head, watches over you sleeping
and waking, and has preserved you from a thousand
dangers, which neither you nor I know any thing of.

llow poor my power is, and how little I am able to
do for you, you have often seen. Your late sickness
has shewn you how little I could do for you in that
state ; and the frequent pains of your head are plain
proofs, that I have no power to remove them.

I can bring you food and medicines, but have no
power to turn them into your relief and nourishment;
it is God alone that can do this for you.

Therefore, my child, fear and worship, and love

240 A SERIOUS CALL TO A

God. Your eyes indeed cannot yet see him, but
every thing you see, are so many marks of his power
and presence, and he is nearer to you than any thing
that you can see.

Take him for your Lord, and Father, and Friend,
look up to him as the fountain and cause of all the
good that you have received through my hands ; and
reverence me only as the bearer and minister of God's
good things unto you. And he that blessed my fa-
ther before I was born, will bless you when I am dead.

Your youth and little mind is only yet acquainted
with my family, and therefore, you think there is no
happiness out of it.

But, my child, you belong to a greater family than
mine, you are a younger member of the family of this
Almighty Father of all nations, who has created infi-
nite orders of angels and numberless generations of
men, to be fellow-members of one and the same soci-
ety in heaven.

You do well to reverence and obey my authority,
because God has given me power over you, to bring
you up in his fear, and to do for you as the holy fa-
thers recorded in Scripture did for their children, who
are now in rest and peace with God.

I shall in a short time die, and leave you to God
and yourself; and if God forgiveth my sins, I shall go
to his Son Jesus Christ, and live amongst patriarchs
and prophets, saints and martyrs, where I shall pray
for you, and hope for your safe arrival at the same
place.

Therefore, my child, meditate on these great things,
and your soul will soon grow great and noble by so
meditating upon them.

Let your thoughts often leave these gardens, these
fields and farms, to contemplate upon God and hea-
ven, to consider upon angels, and the spirits of good
men living in light and glory.

As you have been used to look to me in all your ac-
tions, and have been, afraid to do any thing, unless you

DEVOUT AND HOLY LIFE ^41

first knew my will ; so let it now be a rule of your life,
to look up to God in all your actions^ to do every
thing- in his fear, and to abstain from every thing that
is not according- to his will.

Bear him always in your mind, teach your thoughts
to reverence him in every place, for there is no place
where he is not.

God keepeth a book of life, wherein all the actions
of all men are written ; your name is thefe, my child,
and when you die, this book will be laid open before
men and angels, and according as your actions are
there found, you will either be received to the happi-
ness of those holy men who have died before you, or
be turned away amongst wicked spirits, that are never
to see God any more.

Never forget this book, my son ; for it is written, it
must be opened, you must see it, and you must be
tried by it. Strive, therefore, to fill it with your good
deeds that the hand-writing of God may not appear
against you.

God, my child, is all love, and wisdom, and good-
ness ; and every thing that he has made, and every ac-
tion that he does, is the etfectof them all. Therefore,
you cannot please God, but so far as you strive to
walk in love, wisdom, and goodness. As all wisdom,
love, and goodness proceed from God, so nothing but
love, wisdom, and goodness, can lead to God.

When you love that which God loves, you act with
him, you join yourself to him ; and when you love
what he dislikes, then you oppose him, and separate
yourself from him. This is the true and the right
way : think what God loves, and do you love it with
all your heart.

First of all, my child, worship and adore God, think
of him magnificently, speak of him reverently, magni-
fy his providence, adore his power, frequent his ser-
vice, and pray unto him frequently and constantly.

Next to this, love your neighbour, which is all man-
kind, wit,h such tenderhess and affection, as you love

R

242 A SERIOUS CALL TO A

yourself. Think how God loves all mankind^ how
merciful he is to them, how tender he is of them, how
carefully he preserves them, and then strive to love
the world as God loves it.

God would have all men to be happy ; therefore,
do you will, and desire the same. All men are great
instances of divine love ; therefore, let all men be in-
stances of your love.

But above all, my sou, mark this ; never do any
thin^ through strife, or envy, or emulation, or vain-
glory. Never do any thing in order to excel other
people, but in order to please God^ and because it is
his will, that you should do every thing in the best
manner that you can.

For if it is once a pleasure to you to excel other
people, it will by degrees be a pleasure to you, to see
other people not so good as yourself.

Banish, tlierefore, every thought of self-pride, ind
self-distinction, and accustom yourself to rejoice in all
the excellencies and perfections of your fellow-crea-
tures, and be as glad to see any of their good actions,
as your own.

For as (iod is as well pleased with their wellrdo-
ings, as with yours ; so you ought to desire, that every
thing* that is wise, and holy, and good, may be per-
foruked in as high a manner by other people, as by
yourself.

Let this, therefore, be your only motive and spur to
all good actions, honest industry, and business, to do
every thing- in as perfect and excellent a manner as
you can, for this only reason ; because it is pleasing*
to God, who desires your perfection, and writes all
your actions in a book. "^Vhen 1 am dead, my son,
you will be master of ail my estate, which will be a
g-reat deal more than the necessities of one family re-
quire. Therefore, as you are to be charitable to the
souls of men, and wish them the same happiness with
you in heaven, so be charitable to their bodies, and en-
deavour to make them as happy as you upon earth.

DftVOLT AND HOLY LIFE. 243

As God has created all things for the common good
of all men, so let that part of them, which is fallen to
your share, be employed, as God would have all era-
ployed, for the common good of all.

Do good, my son, first of all to those that most de-
serve it, but remember to do good to all. The great-
est sinners receive daily instances of God's goodnesfts
towards them ; he nourishes and preserves them, that
they may repent, and return to him ; do you there-
fore, imitate God, and think no one too bad to receive
your relief and kindness, when you see that he wants
it.

I am teaching you Latin and Greek, not that you
should desire to be a great critic, a fine poet, or an
eloquent orator ; I would not have your heart feel any
of those desires ; for the desire of these accomplish-
ments is a vanity of the mind, and the masters of them
are generally vain men. For the desire of any thing
that is not a real good, lessens the application of the
mind after that which is so.

But I teach you these languages, that at proper
times you may look into the history of past ages, and
learn the methods of God's providence over the world.
That reading the writings of the ancient sages, you
may see how wisdom and virtue have been the praise
of great men, of all ages, and fortify your mind by
their wise sayings.

Let truth and ])lainness, therefore, be the only or-
nament of your language, and study nothing but how
to think of all things as they deserve, to chuse every
thing that is best, to live according to reason and or-
der, and to act in every part of your life, in conformity
to the will of God.

Study how to fill your heart full of the love of God,
and the love of your neighbour, and then be content
to be no deeper a scholar, no finer a gentleman, than
these tempers will make you. As true religion is no-
thing else but simple nature governed by right reason,
so it loves and requires great plainness and simplicity \

r2

244 A SERIOUS CALL TO A

in life. Therefore, avoid all superfluous shows of
finery and equipage, and let your house be plainly
furnished with moderate conveniences. Do not con-
sider what your estate can afford, but what right rea-
son requires.

Let your dress be sober, clean, and modest, not to
set out the beauty of your person, but to declare the
sobriety of your mind, that your outward garb may
resemble the inward plainness and simplicity of your
heart. For it is highly reasonable, that you should be
one man, all of a piece, and appear outwardly such as
you are inwardly.

As to your meat and drink, in them observe the
highest rules of Christian temperance and sobriety ;
consider your body only as the servant and minister of
your soul ; and only so nourish it, as it may best per-
form an humble and obedient service to it.

But, my son, observe this as a most principal thing,
which I shall reraeidter you of as long as I live with

Hate and despise all human glory, for it is nothing
else but human folly. It is the greatest snare and the
greatest betrayer, that you can possibly admit into
your heart.

Love humility in all its instances, practise it in all
its parts, for it is the noblest state of the soul of man ;
it will set your heart and affections right towards God,
and fill you with every temper that is tenderandaffec-
tioimte towards men.

Let every day, therefore, be a day of humility, con-
descend to all the weakness and infirmities of your
fellow-creatures, cover their frailties, love their excel-
lencies, encourage their virtues, relieve their wants,
rejoice in their prosperities, compassionate their dis-
tress, receive their friendship, overlook their unkind-
ness, forgive their malice, be a servant of servants,
and condescend to do the lowest offices to the lowest
of mankind.

Aspire after nothing but your own purity and per-

DEVOUT AND HOLY LIFE. 245

fection, and liave no ambition but to do every thing in
so reasonable and religious a manner^ that you may
be glad that God is every where present, and sees arid
observes all your actions. The greatest trial of hu-
mility is an humble behaviour towards your equals in
age, estate, and condit!on of life. Therefore, be care-
ful of all the motions of your heart towards these peo-
ple ; let all your behaviour towards them be governed
by unfeigned love. Have no desire to put any of
your equals below you, nor any anger at those that
would put themselves above you. If they are proud,
they are ill of a very bad distemper; let them, there-
fore, have your tender pity, and perhaps your meek-
ness may prove an occasion of their cure. But if
your humility should do them no good, it will however
be the greatest good that you can do to yourself.

Remember that there is but one man in the world,
with whom you are to have perpetual contention, and
be always striving to exceed him, and that is yourself.

The time of practising these precepts, my child,
will soon be over with you, the world will soon slip
through your hands, or rather you will soon slip
through it ; it seems but the other day since 1 receiv-
ed these same instructions from my dear fatlier, that I
am now leaving with you. And the God that gave me
ears to hear, and a heart to receive what my father
said unto me, will, I hope, give you grace to love and
follow the same instructions.

Thus did Paternus educate his son.

Can any one now think that such an education as
this would weaken and deject the minds of young peo-
ple, and deprive the world of any worthy and reason-
able labours?

It is so far from that, that there is nothing so likely
to ennoble and exalt the mind, and prepare it for the
inost heroical exercise of all virtues.

For who will say, that a love of God, a desire of
pleasing him, a love of our neighbour, a love of truth,
of reason and virtue, a contemplation of eternity and

K 3 -

!246 A SERIOUS CALL TO A

the rewards of piety, are not stronger motives to great
and good actions, than a little uncertain popular
praise ?

On the other hand, there is nothing in reality that
more weakens the mind, and reduces it to meanness
and slavery, nothing that makes < it less master of its
own actions, or less capable of following reason, than
a love of praise and honour.

For as praise and honour are often given to things
and persons, where they are not due ; as that is gene-
rally most praised and honoured, that most gratifies
the humours, fashions, and vicious tempers of the
world ; so he that acts upon the desire of praise and
applause, must part with every other principle; he
must say black is white, put bitter for sweet, and
sweet for bitter, and do the meanest, basest things^
in order to be applauded.

For in a corrupt world, as this is, worthy actions
are only to be supported by their own worth, where,
instead of being praised and honoured, they are most
often reproached and persecuted.

So that to educate children upon a motive of emu-
lation, or a desire of glory, in a world where glory it-
self is false, and most commonly given wrong, is to de-
stroy the natural integrity and fortitude of their minds,
and give them a bias which will oftener carry them to
base and mean, than great and worthy actions.

DEVOUT AND HOLY LIFE. 247

CHAPTER XIX.

Shewing hoio the method of educating daugiitei'!*,
makes it difficnltfor them to enter into the spirit of
Christian humilitj/. How miser abbj they are in-
jured and abused hy such an Education. The
spirit of a better Education represented in the Cha-
racter oyEusebia.

THAT turn of mind, which is taug-ht and encou-
raged in the education of daughters, makes it exceed-
ing difficult for them to enter into such a sense and
practice of humihty, as the spirit of Christianity re-
quireth.

The right education of this sex is of the utmost im-
portance to human life. There is nothing that is
more desirable for the common good of all tlie world.
For though women do not carry on the trade and bu-
siness of the world, yet as they are mothers and mis-
tresses of families, that have for some time the care of
the education of their children of both sorts, they are
entrusted with that which is of the greatest conse-
quence to human life. For this reason, good or bad,
women are likely to do as much good or harm in the
world, as good or bad men in the greatest business of
life.

For as the health and strength, or weakness, of
our bodies is very much owing to their methods of
treating us when we were young; so the soundness or
folly of our minds is not less owing to those first
tempers and ways of thinking, which we eagerly re-
ceived from the love, tenderness, authority, and con-
stant conversation of our mothers.

As we call our first language our mother-tongue, so we
may as justly call out first tempers our motiicr-tem-
pers ; and perhaps it may be found more easy to for-
get the language, than to part entirely with those tem-
pers which we learnt in the nursery.

\i 4

248 A SERIOUS CALL TO A

It is therefore much to be lamented, that this sex,
on whom so much depends, who have the first forming-
both of our bodies and our minds, are not only educa-
ted in pride, but in the silliest and most contemptible
part of it.

They are not indeed suffered to dispute with us the
proud prizes of arts and sciences, of learning- and elo-
quence, in which I have much suspicion they would
often prove our superiors ; but we turn them over to
the study of beauty and dress, and the whole world
conspires to make them think of nothing else. Fathers
and mothers, friends and relations, seem to have no
other wish towards the little girl, but that she may have
a fair skin, a fine shape, dress well, and dance to ad-
miration.

Now if our fondness for our persons, a desire of
beauty, a love of dress, be a part of pride (as surely it
is a most contemptible part of it), the first step to-
wards a woman's humihty seems to require a repen-
tance of her education.

For it must be owned, that, generally speaking,
good parents are never more fond of their daughters,
than when they sec them too fond of themselves, and
dressed in such a manner, as is a great reproach to the
gravity and sobriety of the Christian life.

And what makes this matter still more to be lament-
ed, is this, that women are not only spoiled by this
education, but we spoil that part of the world which
would otherwise furnish most instances of an eminent
and exalted piety.

For I believe it may be affirmed, that for the most
part there is a finer sense, a clearer mind, a readier
apprehension, and gentler dispositions in that sex, than,
in the other.

All which tempers, if they were truly improved by
proper studies and sober methods of education, would
in all probability carry them to greater heights of piety
than are to be found amongst the generality of men.

For this reason I speak to this matter with so much

DEVOUT AND HOLY LIFE. 249

openness and plainness, because it is much to be la-
mented^ that persons, so naturally qualified to be great
examples of piety, should, by an erroneous education,
be uiade poor and gaudy spectacles cff the greatest
vanity.

The church has formerly had eminent saints in that
sex; and it may reasonably be thought, that it is
purely owing to their poor and vain education, that
this honour of tlieir sex is, for the most part, confined
to former ages.

The corruption of the world indulges them in great
vanity ; and mankind seem to consider them in no
other view, than as so many painted idols, that are to
allure and gratify their passions ; so that if many wo-
men are vain, light, gewgaw creatures, they have this
to excuse themselves, that they are not only such as
their education has made them, but such as the gene-
rality of the world allows them to be.

But then they should consider, that the friends to
their vanity are no friends of theirs : they should consi-
der, that they are to live for themselves, that they
have as great a share in the rational nature as men
have ; that they have as much reason to pretend, and
as much necessity to aspire after the highest accom-
plishments of a Christian and solid virtue, as the grav-
est and wisest amongst Christian philosophers.

They should consider that they are abused and in-
jured, and betrayed from their only perfection, when-
ever they are taught, that any thing is an ornament in
them, that is not an ornament in the wisest amongst
mankind.

It is generally said, that women are naturally of lit-
tle and vain minds ; but this 1 look upon to be as false
and unreasonable, as to say, that butchers are natural-
ly cruel : for as their cruelty is not owning to their na-
ture, but to their way of life, which has changed their
nature ; so whatever littleness and vanity is to be ob-
served in the minds of women, it is like the cruelty of
butchers^ a temper that is wrought into them by that

250 A SERIOUS CALL TO A

life which they are taught and accustomed to lead.

At least thus much must be said^ that we cannot
charge any thing upon their nature^ till we take care
that it is not perverted by their education.

And, on the other hand, if it were true that they
were thus naturally vain and light, then how much
more blameable is that education, which seems con-
trived to strengthen and increase this folly and weak-
ness of their minds ! For if it were a virtue in a wo-
man to be proud and vain in herself, we could hardly
take better means to raise this passion in her, than
those that are now U8cd in her education.

Matilda is a fine woman, of good breeding, great
sense, and much religion. She has three daughters
that are educated by herself. She will not trust them
with any one else, or at any school, for fear they
should learn any thing ill. She stays with the danc-
ing-master all the time he is with them, because she
will hear every thing that is said to them. She has
heard them read the scriptures so often, that they can
repeat great part of it without the book ; and there
is scarce a good book of devotion but you may find it
in their closets.

Had Matilda lived in the first ages of Christianity,
when it was practised in the fullness and plainness of
its doctrines, she had, in all probability, been one of
its greatest saints. But as she was born in corrupt
times, where she wants examples of Christian perfec-
tion, and hardly ever saw a piety higher than her
own ; so she has many defects, and communicates
them all to her daughters.

Matilda never was meanly dressed in her life ; and
nothing pleases her in dress but that which is very
rich and beautiful to the eye.

Her daughters see her great zeal for religion, but
then they see an equal earnestness for all sorts of
finery. They see she is not negligent of her devo-
tion, but then they see her more careful to preserve
her complexion, and to prevent those changes which
time and age threaten her with.

DEVOUT AND HOLY LIFE. 251

They are afraid to meet her if they have missed the
church ; but then they are more afraid to see her, if
they are not laced as straight as they can possibly be.

She often shews them her own picture, which was
taken when their father fell in love with her. She
tells them how distracted he was with passion at the
first sight of her, and that she had never had so fine a
complexion but for tlie diligence of her good mother,
who took exceeding care of it.

Matilda is so intent upon all the arts of improving
their dress, that she has some new fancy almost every
day, and leaves no ornament untried, from the richest
jewel to the poorest flower. She is so nice and criti-
cal in her judgment, so sensible of the smallest error,
that the maid is often forced to dress and undress her
daughters three or four times in a day before she can
be satisfied with it.

As to the patching, she reserves that to iierself ; for,
she says, if they are not stuck on with judgment, they
are mther a prejudice than an advantage to the face.

The children see so plainly the temper of their mo-
ther, that they even atfect to be more pleased with
dress, and to be more fond of every little ornament,
than they really are, merely to gain her favour.

They saw their eldest sister once brouglit to her
tears, and her perveyseness severely reprimanded, for
presuming to say, that she thought it was better to
cover the neck, than to go so far naked as the modern
dress requires.

She stints them in their meals, and is very scrupu-
lous of what they eat and drink, and tells them how
many fine shapes she has seen spoiled in her time for
want of such care; if a pimple risi^s in their faces,
she is in a great fright, and they themselves are as
afraid to see her with it, as if they had committed some
great sin.

Whenever they begin to look sanguine and health-
ful, she calls in the assistance of the doctor; and if
physic, or issues, will keep the complexion from in-

A SERIOUS CALL TO A

dining to coarse or ruddy^ sbe thinks them well em-
ployed.

* By this means they are poor, pale, sickly, infirm
creatures, vapoured through want of spirits, crying- at
the smallest accidents, swooning away at any thing
that frights them, and hardly able to bear the weight
of their best clothes.

The eldest daughter lived as long as she could un-
der this discipline, and died in the twentieth year of
her age.

When the body was opened, it appeared that her
ribs had grown into her liver, and that her other en-
trails were much hurt by being crushed together with
her stays, which her mother had ordered to be twitch-
ed so straight, that it often brought tears into her eyes
whilst the maid was dressing her.

Her youngest daughter is run away with a game-
ster, a man of great beauty, who in dressing and danc-
ing has no superior,

Matilda says, she should die with grief at this acci-
dent, but that her conscience tells her she has contri-
buted nothing to it herself. She appeals to their clo-
sets, to their books of devotion, to testify what care
she has taken to establish her children in a life of solid
piety and devotion.

Now though I do not intend to say, that no daugh-
ters are brought up in a better way than this, for I
hope there are many that are ; yet this much 1 believe
may be said, that the much greater part of them are
not brought up so well, or accustomed to so much re-
ligion, as in the present instance.

Tlieir minds are turned as much to the care of their
beauty and dress, and the indulgence of vain desires,
as in the present case, without having such rules of
devotion to stand against it. So that if solid piety,
humility, and a sober sense of themselves, is much
wanted in that sex, it is the plain and natural conse-
quence of a vain and corrupt education.

And if they are often too ready to receive the first

DEVOUT AND HOLY LIFE. 253

fops, beaux, and fine dancers for their husbands ; it is
no wonder they should like that in men, which they
have been taught to admire in themselves.

And if they are often seen to lose that little religion
they were taught in their youth, it is no more to be
wondered at, than to see a little flower choked and
killed amongst rank weeds.

For personal pride and affectation, a delig-ht in
beauty and fondness of finery, are tempers that must
either kill all religion in the soul, or be themselves
killed by it ; they can no more thrive together than
health and sickness.

Some people that judge hastily will, perhaps, here
say, that I am exercising too great a severity against
the sex.

But more reasonable persons will easily observe,
that I entirely spare the sex, and only arraign their
education ; that 1 not only spare them, but plead their
interest, assert their honour, set forth their perfections,
commend their natural tempers, and only condemn
that education which is so injurious to their interests,
so debase* their honour, and deprives them of the be-
nefit of their excellent natures and tempers.

Their education, I profess, 1 cannot spare ; but the
only reason is, because it is their greatest enemy, be-
cause it deprives the world of so many blessings, and
the church of so many saints, as might reasonably be
expected from persons so formed by their natural
tempers to all goodness and tenderness, and so fitted
by the clearness and brightness of their minds, to
contemplate, love, and admire every thing that is holy,
virtuous, and divine.

If it should here be said, that I even charge too high
upon their education, and that they are not so much
hurt by it, as 1 imagine :

It may be answered, that though I do not pretertd
to state the exact degree of mischief that is done by
it, yet its plain and natural tendency to do harm, is
sufficient tojustify the most absolute condemnutiou of it.

254 A SERIOUS CALL TO A

But if any one would know how, generally, women
are hurt by this education ; if he ima^nes there may
be no personal pride, or vain fondness of themselves,
in those that ai-e {patched and dressed out with so much
glitter of art and ornament :

Let him only make the following experiment where-
ever he pleases.

Let him only acquaint any such woman with his.
opinion of her ; I do not mean that he should tell her
to her face, or do it in any rude public manner ; but
let him contrive the most civil, secret, friendly way,
that he can think of only to let her know his opinion,
that he thinks she is neither handsome, nor dresses
well, nor becomes her finery ; and I dare say, he will
find there are but very few fine dressed women, that
will like him never the worse for his bare opinion,
though known to none but themselves ; and that he
will not be long without seeing the effects of her re-
sentment.

But if such an experiment would -shew him that
there are but few such women that could bear with
his friendship, after they knew he had such an opini-
on of them, surely it is time to complain of, and ac-
cuse that education, which so generally corrupts their
hearts.

For though it is hard to judge of the hearts of peo-
ple, yet where they declare their resentment and un-
easiness at any thing, there they pass the judgment
upon themselves. If a woman cannot forgive a man
who thinks siic has no beauty, nor any ornament
from her dress, there she infallibly discovers the state
of her own heurt, and is condemned by her own, and
not another's judgment.

For we never are angry at others, but when their
opinions of us are contrary to that which we have of
<;ur.^elves.

A man that makes no pretence to scholarship, is
never angry at those that do not take him to be a
scholar : so if a woman had no opinion of h^r own

DEVOUT AND HOLY LIFE. 255

person and dress, she would never be angry at those,
who are of the same opinion with herself.

So that the general bad elfects of this education are
too much known, to admit of any reasonable doubt.

But how possible it is to bring up daughters in a
more excellent way, let the following character de-
clare.

Eusebia is a pious widow, well born, and well bred,
and has a good estate for five daughters, whom she
brings up as one instructed by God, to fit five virgins
for the kingdom of heaven. Her family has the same
regulation as a religious house, and all its orders tend
to the support of a constant regular devotion.

S!ie, her daughters, and her maids, meet together
at all the hours of prayer in the day, and chaunt
psalms and other devotions, and spend the rest of their
time in such good works, and innocent diversions, as
render tliem fit to return to their psalms and prayers.

She loves them as her spiritual children, and they
reverence her as their spiritual mother, with an af-
fection far above that of the fondest friends.

She has divided part of her estate amongst them,
that every one may be charitable out of their own
stock, and each of them take it in their turns to pro-
vide for the poor and sick of the ])arish.

Eusebia brings them up to ail kinds of labour that
are proper for women, as sewing, knitting, spinning,
and all otiier parts of housewifery ; not for their amuse-
ment, Init that tliey may be serviceable to themselves
and others, and be saved from those temptations which
attend an idle life.

She tells them, she had rather see them reduced to
tlie necessity of maintaining themselves by their own
work, than to have riches to excuse themselves from
labour. For though, says she, you may be able to
assist the poor without your labour, yet by your la-
bour you will be able to assist them more.

If Eusebia has lived as free from sin as it is possible
for human nature, it is because she is always watching

256

A SERIOUS CALL TO A

and ^uardin^ against all instances of pride. And if
her virtues are stronger and higher than other peo-
ple's, it is because they are all founded in a deep hu-
mility.

My children, says she, when your father died, I was
much pitied by my friends, as having all the care of a
family, and the management of an estate fallen upon me.

But my own grief was founded upon another prin-
ciple : I was grieved to see myself deprived of so faith-
ful a friend, and that such an eminent example of
Christian virtues, should be taken from the eyes of
his children before they we^e of an age to love and
follow it.

But as to worldly cares, which my friends thought
90 heavy upon me, they are most of them of our own
making, and fall away as soon as we know ourselves.

If a person in a dream is disturbed with strange ap-
pearances, his trouble is over as soon as he is awake,
and sees that it was the folly of his dream.

Now when a ri^ht knowledge of ourselves enters
into our mind.«t, it makes as great a change in all our
thoughts and apprehensions, as when wc awake from
the wanderings of a dream.

We acknowledge a man to be mad or melancholy,
who fancies himself to be glass, and so is afraid of
stirring ; or, taking himself to be wax, dare not let the
sun shine upon him.

But, my children, there are things in the world
which pass for wisdom, politeness, grandeur, happi-
oess, and fine breeding, which shew as great ignorance
of ourselves, and might as justly pass for thorough
madness, as when a man fancies himself to be glass,
er ice.

A woman that dares not app.ear in the world without
fine clothes, that thinks it a happiness to have a face
finely coloured, to have a skin delicately fair, that had
rather die than be reduced to poverty, and be forced
to work for a poor maintenance, is as ignorant of her-
self to the full, as he that fancies himself to be glass.

Contents.

CHAP. I.

PAG£

Concerning the nature and extent of Christian Devotion 1

CHAP. II.

An enquiry into the reason, why the generality of Christians

fall so short of the Holiness and Devotion of Christianity 1 1

CHAP. III.

Of the great danger and folly of not intending to be as emi-
nent and exemplary as we can, in the practice of all
Christian Virtues . . . . .20

CHAP. IV.

We can please God in no state or condition of life, but by

intending and devoting it all to his honour and glory . 32

CHAP. V.

Persons that are free from the necessity of labour and em-
ployments, are to consider themselves as devoted to God
in a higher degree . . . , . 4S

CHAP. VI.

Containing the great obligations, and the great advantages,
of making a wisa and religious use of our Estates and
Fortunes . . . . . . 56

CHAP. VII.

JIow the imprudent use of an estate corrupts all the tempers
of the mind, and fiUi the heart with poor and ridiculons

c

XXXIV CONTENTS.

VAGB

passions through the whole course of life ; represented in

the Character of Flavia . . . .66

CHAP. VIII.

How the wise and pious use of an estate naturally carrieth
us to great perfection in all the Virtues of the Christian
Life ; represented in the Character of Miranda , 73

CHAP. IX.

Containing some reflections upon the Life oi Miranda ; and
shewing how it may, and ought to be imitated by all her
sex . . . . . . . 84

CHAP. X.

Shewing how all orders and ranks of men and women, of all

ages, are obliged to devote themselves unto God , 99

CHAP. XI.

Shewing how great Devotion fills our Lives with the greatest

peace and happiness that can be enjoyed in this world . 1 16c

CHAP. XII.

The happiness of a Life wholly devoted unto God, farther
proved, from the vanity, the sensuality, and the ridicu-
lous, poor enjoyments, which they are forced to take up
with, who live according to their own humours. This
represented in various Characters . . » 13J

CHAP. xiir.

That not only a Life of Vanity, or Sensuality, but even the
most regular kind of life, that is not governed by a great
devotion, sufficiently shews its miseries, its wants, and
emptiness, to the eyes of all the world. This represented
in various Characters .... 147

CHAP. XIV.

Concerning that part of devotion, which relates to Times
and Hours of Prayer. Of daily early Prayer in the
Morning. How we are to improve our Forms of Prayer,
and how to increase the Spirit of Devotio;i . • 164

CONTENTS. XXXV

CHAP. Xt.

Of chanting or singing of Psalms in our private devotions.
Of the excellency and benefit of this kind of dcTotion.
Of the great effect* it hath upon our hearts. Of the
means of performing it in the best manner . .186

CHAP. XVI.

Recommending Devotion at nine o'clock in the morning,
called in Scripture the third hour of the day. The sub-
ject of these prayers is Humility . . . 204

CHAP. XVII.

Shewing how difficult the practice of humility is made, by
the general spirit and temper of the world. How Chris-
tianity requireth us to live contrary to the world . 217

CHAP. XVIII.

Shewing how the education which men generally receive in
their youth makes the doctrine of humility difficult to be
practised. The spirit of a better education represented
in the character of Pa^ernw* . . .231

CHAP. XIX.

Shewing how the method of educating Daughters makes it
difficult for them to enter into the spirit of Christian
humility. How miserably they are injured and abused
by such an education. The spirit of a better education
represented in the Character of Eusebia , , 247

CHAP. XX.

Recommending Devotion at twelve o'clock, called in Scrip-
ture the sixth hour of the day. This frequency of devo-
tion equally desirable by all orders of people. Universal
Love is here recommended to be the subject of prayer at
this hour. Of intercession, as an act of universal love 269

CHAP. XXI.

Of the necessity and bene6t of Intercession, considered as
an exercise of universal love. How all orders of men

XXXVl CONTENTS.

TA6K

are to pray and intercede with God for one another.
How naturally such intercession amends and reforms the
hearts of those that use it ... . . 292,

CHAP. XXII.

Recommending Devotion at three o'clock, called in Scrip-
ture the ninth hour of the day. The subject of prayer,
at this hour, is Resignation to the Divine Pleasure. The
nature and duty of Conformity to the Will of God in all
our actions and designs . , , 311

CHAP. XXIII.

Of Evening Prayer. Of the nature and necessity of Ex-
amination. How we are to be particular in the Confes-
sion of all our Sins. How we are to fill our minds with
a just horror and dread of all Sin . . 325

CHAP. XXIV.

The Conclusion. Of the Excellency and greatness of a

devout Spirit . . . , 339

DEVOUT AND HOLY LlFE. 257

For this reason, all my discourse with you has been
to acquaint you with yourselves, and to accustom you
to such books and devotions, as may best instruct yoii
in this greatest of all knovvled"e.

You would think it hard^ not to know the famjiy
into which you was born^ what ancestors you were
descended from, and what estate was to come to you.
13ut, my children, you may know all this with exact-
ness^ and yet be as ii;norant of yourselves^ as he that
takes himself to be wax.

For thoug'h you were all of you born of my body,
and bear your father's name, yet you are all of you
pure spirits. I do not mean that you have not bodies
that want meat, and drink, and sleep, and clothing, but
that all that deserves to be called you, is nothing- else
but spirit. A being- spiritual and rational in its na-
ture, that is as contrary to all fleshly or corporeal be-
ings, as life is contrary to death ; that is made in the
image of God, to live for ever, never to cease any
more, but to enjoy life, and reason, and knowledge,
and happiness in tike presence of God, in the society
of angels, and glorious spirits, to all eternity.

Every thing that you call yours, besides this spirit,
is but like your clothing : something that is only to be
used for a while^ and then to end^ and die, and wear
away, and to signify no more to you, than the cloth-
ing and bodies of other people.

But, my children, you are not only in this manner
spirits, but you are fallen spirits, that began your life
in a state of corruption and disorder, full of tempers
and passions, that blind and darken the reason of your
mind, and incline you to that which is hurtful.

Your bodies are not only poor and perishing like
your clothes, but they ai^ like infected clothes, that
fill you with all diseases and distempers, which oppress
the soul with sickly appetites and vain cravings.

So that all of us are like two beings, that have, as it
were, two hearts within us : with the one we see, and
taste, and reason, and admire purity and holiness ;

s

S58 A RKUI()II« < VLl- TO A

vvitli (lie otiior uf iiiclim' to pride, and vanity, and
Bcnsiuil deli«^lii.s.

"^riiis inlc^iiiiil wnr wc iilvvnys Iccl williin us move or
less; :ind if yon would know ihv one llun^- nefessiiry
lo all the world, it is this; to ])reserve luul perfect iiil
(JKit is nitionnl, lioly, and divine in (knr nature, and to
mortily, remove, and destroy all that vanity, ])ride, and
sensuality, which spring's from the corruption of our
state.

Conid yon Ihink, my children, when you look at
the world, and see what customs, and fashions, and
pleasures, and troubles, and |)rojects, and temp<Ms,
employ ihe hearts and time of mankind, that thin«;s
were thus, as I have told you/

IJut do not you he alfected at these thin«i,s, the
world is in a ^reat dream, and but few people arc
awake in it.

We fancy that we fall into darkness, when we die ;
but alas, we arc nujst of us in the daik till then ; and
the eyes of our souls oidy then bei;in to see, when our
bodily eyes are closing-.

Y(»u see then your state, my < hililren ; you aie to
honour, iniprove, and perfect tlu^ spirit that is within
you,\ou are to |)repare it for the kingdom ol" heaven,
to nourish it with (he love of (iod, and of virtue, to
adorn it wi(h i;()o(l works, unci lo make it as holy and
Iwavenly as you can. \ Ou are '.o |)reserve it iVom
the errors and vanities of the world, (.o save it from
the corru[)tions (d' the body, from those false dcli^lds,
and sensual lempers, whi<h (he body (emp(s it with.

Vou are to nourish \our sj)iri(s with picnis read-
ini;s, and holy me(lila(ions, wi(h wa(chini;s, fas(ini;s,
and prayers, (hat you may (asle. and relish, and de-
sire, (ha( e(ernal s(a(t«, wliich is (o l)ei;in when this
life ends.

As (o your bodies, you are (o C(>nsider (hem as poor,

(perishiuf;- thinj;s, (ha( are sickly and corrupt at pre-

'Hcn(,and will s«»on droj) into connnon dust. You are

tuvviitch over them as enemies, (hat aro always tryinj;*

Dl'.VOl T V\J) UOIV I. IKE. 259

lo tempt and botiay yon, ami so novor lollovv tluMrml-
vice and counsel ; you air to consider them as the
place and hahiiahon «>! your soals. and so keep them
pare, and clean, ami decent ; v<ni are to consider
them as the servants and instrninents of action, and so
{•ivt* tin in lood. and rest, and raiment, tiiat tliey may /
be slron;;aml heailhCid todo tliethities ol" a charilahie, ^
usel'nl. pious life.

Whilst you live thus, \un live like \onrsel\es; ;iii(l
whenever yon have less re:;-ard to your siads, or more
re«»ard to your bodies, than this crimes to ; whenever
y«>u are nn)re intent upon adorninj;- your persons, than
jipon perieclini;' olvonr souls, yon are much ntor*' be-
side yourselves, tlain he, (liat had rather have a laced
coat than an heat(hrul body.

b\)V this reason, my children, I have tnut;ht you no-
ihin<>' that was dangerous for you to learn : 1 have
kej)t you IVom every thiui;- that mi:;ht betray you into
weakness and lolly ; or make you think any thinj; line
but a line mind ; any thim;- ha])py but the favour of
(joil ; or any thiuji;' desirable but to do all the i;()od
you possibly can.

instead of the vain, imnnulest (MitertainnuMit of
])lavsan(l operas, I huve taui;ht v«)U to delii;ht in visit-
in:;- the sick and poor. \\ hat music, iind dancini;',
and diversions are to many in the world, that prayers,
and devotions, and psalms are to you. ^ i»ur IkmuIh
have not been employed in plait in<^' the hair, and
udornin";- your persons ; but in nud\in<;- clotlu's for the
naked. \ On have not wasted \(h\\' lortinu's upon
yourselves, but. have -.idded ytuir labour to tlnin, todo
luoi'e i^ood to other pi'ople

Instead of forced shapes, piitched faces, ^t-nteel
nirs, and alVected motions, I have taught you to con-
ceal your bixlies with nnxlest •garments, and let tlu»
world have nothing to view of you, but the plainness
and sincerity, and humility of all your behavi(uir.

Y^ou know, niy < hildr«'n, the hi^li perfection, and
the great rewards of virginity ; you kiu>w how it

»2

260 A SEUIOUS CALL TO A

frees from worldly cares and troubles^ and furnislies
means and opportunities of liie,lier advancement in a '
divine life ; therefore^ love, and esteem^ and honour
virginity ; bless God for all that glorious company of
holy virgins^ that from the beginning of Christianity,
havCj in the several ages of the church, renounced the
cares and pleasures of matrimony, to be perpetual ex-
amples of soliUide, contemplation, ajid prayer.

liut as every one has their proper gift from God, as
1 look upon you all to be so many great blessings of a
married state; so I leave it to your choice either to
do as 1 Iiave done, or to aspire after higher degrees of
perfection in a virgin state of life.

I desire nothing, I press nothing upon you, but to
make the most of human life, and to aspire after per-
fection in whatever state of life you chuse.

Never therefore consider yourseives as persons that
are to be seen, admired, and courted by men; but as
poor sinners, that are to save yourselves from the va-
nities and follies of a miserable world, by humility, de-
votion, and self-denial. Lrearn to live for your own
sakes, and the service of God, and let nothing in the
world be of any value with you, but that which you can
turn into a service to God, and a medns of your future
happiness.

Consider often how poweifaily you are called to a
virtuous life, and what great and gioiious things God
has doiie for you, to make you in love with every
thing that can promote ins glory.

Think upon the vanity and shortness of human
life, and let deatli and eternity be often in your
minds: for these thonghts will strengthen and exalt
your minds, make you wise and judicious, and truly
sensible of the littleness of human things.

Think of t!ie happiness of prophets and apostles,
saints and martyrs, wlio are now rejoicing in the pre-
.sence of God, and see themselves possessors of eter-
nal glory. And then think how. desirable a thing it i&,
to watch and pray, and do good as they did, that when
you die you may have your lot amongst them.

DEVOUT AND HOLY LIFE. 261.

Whether married therefore or unmarried^ consider
yourselves as mothers and sisters, as friends and rela-
tions to all that want your assistance ; and never allow
yourselves to be idle, whilst others are in want of any
thing" that your hands can make for them.

This useful, charitable, humble employment of
yourselves, is what I recommend to you with great
earnestness, as being- a substantial part of a wise and
pious life. And besides the good you will thereby do
to other people, every virtue of your own heart will
be very much improved by it.

For next to reading, meditation, and prayer, there
is nothing that so secures pur hearts from foolish pas-
sions, nothing that preserves so holy and wise a frame
of mind, as some useful, humble, employment of our-
selves.

Never therefore consider your labour as an amuse-
ment, that is to get rid of your time, and so may be as
trifling as you please ; but consider it as something
that is to be serviceable to yourselves and others, that
is to serve some sober ends of life, to save and redeem
your time, and make it turn to your account, when the
works of all people shall be tried by lire.

When you was little, I left you to little amusements,
to please yourselves in any things that were free from
harm ; but as you are now grown up to a knowledge
of God, and yourselves ; as your minds are now ac-
quainted with the worth and value of virtue, and ex-
alted with the great doctrines of religion, you are now
to do nothing as children, but despise every thing that
is poor, or vain, and imp-ertinent ; you are now to
make the labours of your hands suitable to the piety of
your hearts, and employ yourselves for the same ends,
and with the same spirit, as you watch and pray.

For if there is any good to be done by your labour,
if you can possibly employ yourselves usefully to other
people, how silly is it, \v)\v contrary to the wisdom of
religion to make that a mere amusement, which might
as easily be made an exercise of the greatest charity !

s3

263 A SERIOUS CALL TO A

What would you think of the wisdom of him, that
should employ his time in distilling of waters, and
making- liquors which nobody could use, merely to
amuse himself with the variety of their colour and
clearness, when, with less labour and expense, he
might satisfy the wants of those who have nothing to
drink.

Yet he would be as wisely employed, as those that
are amusing themselves with such tedious works as
they neither need, nor hardly know how to use them
when they are finished ; when with less labour and
expense they might be doing as much good, as he that
is clothing the naked, or visiting the sick.

Begird, therefore, to know the wants of the poor-
est people, and let your hands be employed in making
such mean and ordinary things for them, as their ne-
cessities require. By thus making your labour a gift
^nd service to the poor, your ordinary work will be
changed into a holy service, and made as acceptable
to God as your devotions.

And as charity is the greatest of all virtues, as it al-
ways was the chief temper of the greatest saints ; so
nothing- can make your ow n charity more amiable in
the sight of God, than this method of adding your la-
bour to it.

The humility also of this employment will be as be-
neficial to you, as the charity of it. It will keep you
from all vain and proud thoughts of your own state
and distinction in life, and from treating the poor as
creatures of a different species. By accustoming
yourselves to this labour and service to the poor, as
the representatives of Jesus Christ, you will soon find
your hearts softened into the greatest meekness and
lowlinesg towards them. You will reverence their
estate and condition, think it an honoiu'to serve them,
and never be so pleased with yourselves as when you
are most humbly employed in their service.

This will make you true disciples of your meek^
Lord and Master^ who came into the loorld not to be

DEVOUT AND HDLY UFE. 263

2)unistered unto, hut to minister ; and though he was
Lord of all, and amongst the creatures of his own
making-, yet was amongst them as one that serveth.

Christianity has then had its most glorious eftects
upon your hearts, when it has thus changed your spirit^
removed all the pride of life from you, and made you
delight in humbling* yourselves beneath the lowest of
all your fellow-creatures.

Live, therefore, my children, as you have begun
your lives, in humbler labour for the good of others ;
and let ceremonious visits, and vain acquaintances,
have as li((le of your time as you possibly can. Con-
tract no foolish friendships, or vain fondnesses for par-
ticular persons ; but love them most, that most turn
your love towards God, and your compassion towards
all the world.

But, above all, avoid the conversation of fine bred
fops and beaux, and hate nothing mt)re than the idle
discourse, the flattery and compliments of that sort of
men ; for they are the shame of their own sex, and
ought to be the abhorrence of yours.

When you go abroad, let humility, modesty, and a
decent carriage, be all the state that you take upon
you ; and let tenderness, compassion, and good na-
ture, be all the fine breeding that you shew in any
place.

If evil speaking, scandal, or backbiting, be the con-
versation where you happen to be, keep your heart
and your tongue to yourself; be as much grieved as if
you was amongst cursing and swearing, and retire as
.soon as you can.

Though you intend to marry, yet let the time never
come till you find a man tlmt has those perfections,
which you have been labouring after yourselves ; who
is likely to be a friend to all your virtues, and with
whom it is better to live, than to want the benefit of
his example.

Love poverty, anf! reverence poor people ; as for
many reasons, so particularly for this, because our

s 4

264 A SERIOUS CALL TO A

blessfed Saviour was one of the number^ and because
you may make them all so many friends and advocates
with God for you.

Visit and converse with them frequently ; you will
often find simplicity, innocence, patience, fortitude,
and great piety amongst them ; and where they are
iiot so, your good example may amend them.

Rejoice at every opportunity of doing an humble
action, and exercising the meekness of your minds ;
whether it be, as the Scripture expresses it, in wash-
ing the saints' feet, that is, in waiting upon, and serv-
ing those that are below you ; or in bearing with the
haughtiness and ill manners of those that are your
equals, or above you. For there is nothing better
than humility ; it is the fruitful soil of all virtues; and
every thing that is kind and good naturally grows
from it.

Therefore, my children, pray for, and practise hu-
mility, and reject every thing in dress, or carriage, or
conversation, that has any appearance of pride.

Strive to do every thing that is praise-worthy, but
do nothing in order to be praised ; nor think of any
reward for all your labours of love and virtue, till
Christ Cometh with all his holy angels.

And, above all, my children, have a care of vain
and proud thoughts of your own virtues. For as sooh
as ever people live different from the common way of
the world, and despise its vanities, the devil represents
to their minds the heights of their own perfections ;
and is content they should excel in good works, pro-
vided that he can but make them proud of them.

Therefore, watcli over your virtues with a jealous
eye, and reject every vain thought, as you would re-
ject the most wicked imaginations ; and think what a
loss it would be to you, to have the fruit of all your
good works devoured by the vanity of your own
minds.

Never, therefore, allow yourselves to despise those
who do not follow your rules of life ; but force your

DEVOUT AND HOLY LIFE. 265

hearts to love them, and pray to God for them ; and
let humility be ahvays whispering- it into your ears,
that you yourselves will fall from those rules to-mor-
row, if God should leave you to your own strength
and wisdom.

When, therefore, you have spent days and weeks
well, do not sutfer your hearts to contemplate any
thing as your own, but give all the glory to the good-
ness of God, who has carried you through such rules
of holy living", as you were not able to observe by
your own strength ; and take care to begin the next
day, not as proficients in virtue, that can do great mat-
ters, but as poor beginners, that want the daily assist-
ance of God to save you from the grossest sins.

Your dear father was an humble, watchful, pious,
wise man. Whilst his sickness would suffer him to
talk with me, his discourse was chiefly about your
education. He knew the benefits of humility, he saw
the ruins which pride made in our sex ; and, there-
fore, he conjured me, with the tenderest expressions,
to renounce the fashionable way of educating daugh-
ters in pride and softness, in the care of their beauty
and dress; and to bring you all up in the plainest,
simplest instances of an humble, holy, and industrious
life.

He taught me an admirable rule of humility, which
he practised all the days of his life ; which was this :
to let no morning pass without thinking upon some
frailty and infirmity of our own, that may put us to
confusion, make us blush inwardly, and entertain a
mean opinion of ourselves.

Think, therefore, my children, that the soul of your
good father, who is now with God, speaks to you
through my mouth; and let the double desire of your
father, who is gone, and I, who am with you, prevail
upon y<^u to love God, to study your onn perfection,
to practise humility, and, with innocent labour and
charity, to do all the good that you can to all jour fel-
low-creatures, till God calls you to another life. .

^66 A SERIOUS CALL TO k

Thus did the pious widow educate her daughters.

The spirit of this education speaks so plainly for it-
self, thatj I hope^ 1 need say nothing in its justifica-
tion. If we could see it in life^ as well as read of it
in books^ the world would soon find the happy eftects
of it.

A daughter thus educated would be a blessing to
any family that she came into ; a fit companion for a
wise man, and make him happy in the government of
his family, and the education of his children.

And she that either was not inclined^ or could not
dispose of herself well in marriage, would know how
to live to great and excellent ends in a state of vir-
ginity.

A very ordinary knowledge of the spirit of Christi-
anity, seems to be enough to convince us, that no edu-
cation can be of true advantage to young women, but
that which trains them up in humble industry, in great
plainness of life, in exact modesty of dress, manners,
and carriage, and in strict devotion. For what should
a Christian woman be but a plain, unaffected, modesty
humble creature, averse to every thing, in her dress
and carriage, that can draw the eyes of beholders, or
gratify the passions of lewd and amorous persons?

How great a stranger must he be to the gospel, who
does not know that it requires this to be the spirit of
a pious woman !

Our blessed Saviour saith. Whosoever looketh upon
a woman to lust after her, hath already committed
aduUery with her in his heart. St. Matt. v. 28.

Need an education, which turns women's minds to
the arts and ornaments of dress and beauty, be more
strongly condemned, than by these words? For sure-
ly, if the eye is so easily and dangerously betrayed,
every art and ornament is sufficiently condemned, that
naturally tends to betray it.

And how can a woman of piety more justly abhor
and avoid any thing, than that which makes her per-
son more a snare and temptation to other people ? If

DEVOUT AND HOLY LIFE. 267

lust and Avanton eyes are the death of the soul, can
any women think themselves innocent, who, with na-
ked breasts, patched faces, and every ornament of
dress, invite the eye to offend?

And as there is no pretence for innocence in such a
behaviour, so neither can they tell how to set any
bounds to their guilt. For as they can never know
how much, or how often they have occasioned sin in
other people, so they can never know how much guilt
will be placed to their own account.

This, one would think, should sufficiently deter
every pious woman from every thing that might ren-
der her the occasion of loose passions in other people.

St. Paul, speaking of a thing, entirely innocent, rea-
sons after this manner : But take heed, test by anif
means this liberti/ of yours become a stumbling-block
to those that are weak. — And through thy knoidedge
thy weak brother perish, for ichom Christ died. But
when ye sin so against the brethren, and wound their
weak conscience, ye sin against Christ. Wherefore,
if meat make my brother to offend, I will eat no flesh
while the world standeth, lest I make my brother to
offend, 1 Cor. viii. 9 — 13.

Now if this is the spirit of Christianity ; if it re-
quires us to abstain from things thus lawful, innocent,
and useful, when there is any danger of betraying our
weak brethren into an error thereby : surely it can-
not be reckoned too nice or needless a point of con-
science, for women to avoid such things, as are nei-
ther innocent nor useful, but naturally tend to corrupt
their own hearts, and raise ill passions in other people.

Surely every woman of Christian piety ought to say,
in the spirit of the apostle, if patching and paint, or
any vain adorning of my person, be a natural means
of making weak, unwary eyes to ofi'end, I will re-
nounce all these arts as long as I live, lest 1 should
make my fellow-creatures to offend.

I shall now leave this subject of humility ; having
said enough, as I hope, to recommend the necessity

Z6S A SERIOUS CALL TO A

of making it the constant^ chief subject of your devo-
tion at this hour of prayer.

I have considered the nature and necessity of humi-
lity;, and its great importance to a rehgious hfe. I
have shewn you how many difficulties are formed
against it from our natural tempers^ the spirit of the
worlds and the common education of both sexes.

These considerations will^ I hope, instruct you
how to form your prayers for it to the best advantage;
and teach you the necessity of letting no day pass,
without a serious, earnest application to God, for the
whole spirit of humility. Fervently beseeching him
to fill every part of your soul with it, to make it the
ruling, constant habit of your mind, that you may not
only feel it, but feel all your other tempers arising
from it ; that you may have no thoughts, no desires,
no designs, but such as are the true fruits of an hum-
ble, meek, and lowly heart.

That you may always appear poor, and little, and
mean in your own eyes, and fully content that others
should have the same opinion of you.

That the whole course of your life, your expence,
your house, your dress, your manner of eating, drink-
ing, conversing, and doing every thing, may be so
many continual proofs of the true unfeigned humility
of your heart.

That you may look for nothing, claim nothing, re-
sent nothing ; that you may go through all the actions
and accidents of life calmly and quietly, as in the pre-
sence of God, looking wholly unto him, acting wholly
for him ; neither seeking vain applause, nor resenting
neglects or affronts, but doing and receiving every
thingi n the meek and lowly spirit of our Lord and Sa-
viour Jesus Christ.

DEVOUT AND HOLY LIFE. 269

CHAPTER XX.

Recommending Devotion at twelve o'clock, called in
Scripture the sixth hour of the day. Thefrequencj/
of devotion equalfj/ desirable by all orders of peo-
ple. Universal love is here recommended to be the
subject of prayer at this hour. Of intercession^ as
an act of universal love.

IT will perhaps be thought by some people, that
these hours of prayer come too thick ; that they can
only be observed by people of great leisure, and ought
not to be pressed upon the generality of men, who
have the cares of families, trades, and employments ;
nor upon the gentry, whoso state and figure in the
world cannot admit of this frequency of devotion. And
that it is only fit for monasteries and nunneries, or
such people as have no more to do in the world than
they have.

To this it i» answered,

First, That this method of devotion is not pressed
upon any sort of people, as absolutely necessary, but
r^'commended to all people, as the best, tiie happiest,
and most perfect way of life.

And if a great and exemplary devotion is as much
the greatest happiness and perfection of a merchant,
a soldier, or a man of quality, as it is the greatest hap-
piness and perfection of the most retired contempla-
tive life, then it is as proper to recommend it without
any abatements to one order of men as to another.
Because happiness and perfection are of tlie same
worth and value to all people.

The gentleman and tradesman may, and must spend
much of their time differently from the pious monk in
the cloister, or the contemplative hermit in the desart :
But then, as the monk and hermit lose the ends of re-
tirement, unless they make it all serviceable to devo-
tion ; so the gentleman and merchant fail of the great-

S70 A SERIOUS CALL TO A

est ends of a social life^ and live to tlieir loss in the
\vorld_, unless devotion be their chief and governing
temper.

It is certainly very honest and creditable for people
to engage in trades and employments ; it is reason-
able for gentlemen to manage well their estates and
families^, and such recreations as are proper to their
state. But then every gentleman and tradesman loses
the greatest happiness of his creation^ is robbed of
something that is greater than all employments^ dis-
tinctions^ and pleasures of the worlds if he does not
live more to piety and devotion,, than to any thing else
in the world.

Here are^ therefore^ no excuses made for men of
business and figure in the world. Firsts Because it
\vould be to excuse them from that which is the great-
est end of living ; and be only finding so many rea-
sons for making them less beneficial to themselves,
and less serviceable to God and the world.

Secondly, Because most men of business and figure
engage too far in worldly matters ; much farther than
tlie reasons of hunian life, or the necessities of the
world require.

Merchants and tradesmen, for instance, are genfi-
rally ten times farther engaged in business than they
need; which is so far from being a reasonable excuse
for their want of time for devotion, that it is their
crime, and must be censured as a blameable instance of
covetousness and ambition.

The gentry, and people of figure, either give them-
selves up to state employments, or to the gratifications
of their passions in a life of gaiety and debauchery ;
and if these things might be admitted as allowable
avocations from devotion, devotion must be reckoned
a poor circumstance of life.

Unless gentlemen can shew that they have another
God tiian the Father of our Lord Jesus Christ ; ano-
ther nature than that which is derived from Adam ;
another religion than the Christian, it is in vain to

DEVOUT AND HOLY LIFE. S71

plead their state, and dignity, and pleasures, as rea-
sons lor not preparing their souls for God, by a strict
and reg'ular devotion.

For since piety and devotion are the common un-
changeable means of saving all the souls in the world
that shall be saved, there is nothing left for the gen-
tleman, the soldier, and the tradesman, but to take
care that their several states be, by care and watch-
fulness, by meditation and prayer, madd states of an
exact and solid piety.

If a merchant, having forbore from too great busi-
ness, that he might quietly atiend on the service of
God, should therefore die worth twenty, instead of
fifty thousand pounds, could any one say that he had
mistaken his calling, or gone a loser out of the world?

If a gentleman should have killed fewer foxes, been
less frequent at balls, gaming, and merry-meetings,
becausb stated parts of his time had been given to re-
tirement, to meditation, and devotion, could it be
thought, that when he left the world, he would regret
the loss of those hours that he had given to the care
and improvement of his soul?

If a tradesman, by aspiring after Christian perfec-
tion, and retiring himself often from his business,
should, instead of leaving his children fortunes to spend
in luxury and idleness, leave them to live by their own
honest labour ; could it be said that he had made a
wrong use of the world, because he had shewn his
children, that he had more regard to that which is
eternal, than to this which is soon to be at an end.

Since, therefore, devotion is not only the best and
most desirable practice in a cloister, but the best and
most desirable practice of men, as men, and in every
state of life, they that desire to be excused from it, be-
cause they are men of figure, and estates, and busi-
ness, are no wiser than those that should desire to be
excused from health and happiness, because they were
men of figure and estates.

1 cannot see why every gentleman, merchant, or

272 A SERIOUS CALL T0 A

soldier, should not put these questions seriously to
himself:

Wliat is the best thing- for me to intend and drive
at in all my actions/ How shall 1 do to make the most
of human life? What ways shall I wish that 1 had ta-
ken, when I am leaving" the world ?

NoWj to be thus wise, and to make thus much use"
of our reason, seems to be but a small and necessary
piece >of wisdom. For how can we pretend to sense
and judgment, if we dare not seriously consider, and
answer, and govern our lives by that which such ques-
tions require of us?

Shall a nobleman think his birth too high a dignity
to condescend to such questions as these? Or a trades-
man think his business too great, to take any care
about himself?

Now here is desired no more devotion in any one's
life, than the answering these few questions require.

Any devotion that is not to the greater advantage
of him that uses it, than any thing that he can do in
the room of it ; any devotion that does not procure an
infinitely greater good, than can be got by neglecting-
it, is freely yielded up ; here is no demand of it.

But if people will live in so much ignorance, as ne-
ver to put these questions to themselves, but push on a
blind life at all chances, in quest of they do not know
what or why, without ever considering the worth, or
value, or tendency of their actions; without consider-
ing what God, reason, and eternity, and their own
happiness require of them ; it is for the honour of de-
votion that none -can neglect it, but those who are thui
inconsiderate, who dare not enquire after that which
is the best and most worthy of their choice.

It is true, Claudias, you are a man of figure and es-
tate, and are to act the part of such a station of human
life ; you are not called as Elijah was, to be a prophet,
or as St. Paul, to be an apostle.

But will you therefore not love yourself? Will you
liot seek apd study your own happiness, because yon

DEVOUT AND HOLY LIFE5. 273

are not called to preach up the same things to other
people?

You would think it very absurd for a man not to
value his own health, because he was not a physician ;
or the preservation of his limbs, because he was not a
bone-setter. Yet it is more absurd for you, Claudius,
to neglect the improvement of your soul in piety, be-
cause you are not an apostle or a bishop.

Consider this text of scripture, Ifye live after the
Jlesh, ye shall die ; but if, through the Spirit, ye do
mortify the deeds of the body, ye shall live. For as
many as are led by the Spirit of God, they are the
sons of God. Rom. viii. 13, 14. Do you think that
this scripture does not equally relate to all mankind ?
Can you find any exception here for men of figure and
estate? Is not a spiritual and devout lite here made
the common condition on which all men are to become
sons of God ? Will you leave hours of prayer and
rules of devotion to particular states of life, when no-
thing- but the same spirit of devotion can save you, or
any man, from eternal death ?

Consider again this text: For we must all appear
before the judgment-seat of Christ, that everyone may
receive the things done in his body, according to that
he hath done, ichether it be good or bad. 2 Cor. v. 10.
Now, if your estate would excuse you from appearing
before this judgment-seat ; if your figure could pro-
tect you from receiving according to your works, there
would be some pretence for your leaving devotion to
other people. But if you, who are nov/ thus distin-
guished, must then appear naked amongst common
souls, without any other distinction from others but such
as your virtues or sins give you ; does it not as much
concern you, as any prophet or apostle, to make the
best provision for the best rewards at that great day?

Again, consider this great doctrine of the apostle:
For none of us, that is, of us Christians, liveth tp
himself: For whether ice live, we live unto the
Lord; and whether we die, we die unto the Lord.

T

1t74: A SERIOUS CALL TO A

For to this end Christ both died, and rose, andrevivsc,
that he might be Lord both of the dead and the living.

Now are you, Claudius^ excepted out of the doctii'ie
of this text? Will you^ because of your condition^
leave it to any particular sort of people^ to live and die
unto Christ? if so^ you must leave it to them, to bo
redeemed by the death and resurrection of Christ.
For it is the express doctrine of the text, that for this
end Christ died and rose again, that none of us should
live to himself. It is not that priests, or apostle-,
inonks, or hermits^ should live no longer to themselves ;
but that none of us, that is, no Christian, of what state
soever, should live unto himself.

If, therefore, there he any instances of piety, any
rules of devotion, which you can neglect, and yet livo
as truly unto Christ as if you observed them, this text
calls you to no sucb devotion, l^ut if you forsake
such devotion, as you yourself know is expected fro:::
solue particular sorts of people; sUch devotion as ycu
know becomes people that live wholly unto Christ,
that aspire after great piety ; if you neglect such de-
votion for any v^orldly consideration, that you may live
more to y(>ur own temper and taste, more to the fa-
shions and wavs of the world, you forsnke the terms
on which all Christians are to receive the benefit of
Christ's death and resurrection.

Observe farther, how the same doctrine is taught by
St. Peter: As he zchich hath called j/ou is holj/, so be
ye holy in all manner of conversation. \ Pet. i. 15.

If, therefore, Claudius^ you are one of those that
^re here called, you see what it is that you are called
to. It is not to have so much religion as suits witii
your temper, your business, or your p}eus'i:ires ; it is
not to a particular sort of piety tluit may be sufficient
for gentlemen of figure and cstateV ; but it is, first, to
ire holy, as lie which hath called you is 'holy ; secondly,
hi js to be thus holy in all manner of conversation ; that
%', 'tqcafry this spirit and degree of boliness into every
p£irt/ari(l through the whole form of yottr life.

DEVOUT AND HOLY LIFE. 275

And the reason the apostle immediately gives, why
the spirit of holiness must be the common spirit of
Christians, as such, is very aifeeting-, and such as
equally calls upon all sorts of Christians. Forasmuch
as2/e hnow, says he, that ye were not redeemed with
corruptible tilings, as silver and gold, from your vain
conversation — but with the precious blood of Christy
&c.

As if he had said, Forasmuch as ye know ye were
made capable of this state of holiness, entered into a
society with Christ, and made heirs of his glory, not
by any human means, but by such la mysterious in-
stance of love, as infinitely exceeds every thing- that
can be thought of in this woild ; since God has re-
deemed you to himself, and your own happiness, at so
great a price, how base and shameful must it be, if
you do not henceforth devote yourselves wholly to the
glory of God, and become holy, as he who hath called
you is holy !

If, therefore, Claudius, you consider your figure
and estate ; or if, in the words of the text, you consi-
der your gold and silver, and the corruptible things
of this life, as any reason why you may live to your
own humour and fancy, why you may neglect a life of
strict piety and great devotion ; if you think any thing-
in the world can be an excuse for your not imitating-
the holiness of Christ in the whole course and form of
your life, you may make yourself as guilty, as if you
should neglect the holiness of Christianity for the sake
of picking- straws.

For the gieatness of this new state of life to which
we are called in Christ Jesus, to be for ever as the an-
g"els of God in heaven, and the greatness of the price
by which we are made caj)able of this state of glory _,
has turned every thing- that is vvoildly, temporal, and
corruptible, into an equal littleness ; and made it as
great baseness and folly, as great a contempt of the
blood of Christ, to neglect any degrees of holiness,
because you are a man of some estate and quality, as

t2

276 A SEHIOUS CALL TO A

it would be to neglect it, because you had a fancy to
pick straws.

Again, the same apostle saith. Know ye not, that
your body is the temple of the Holy Ghost ivhich is
in you, and ye are not your own ? For ye are bought
with a price ; therefore glorify God in your body, and
in your spirit, which are God's. 1 Cor. vi. 19, 20.

How poorly, therefore, Claudius, have you read the
scripture! how little do you know of Christianity, if
you can yet talk of your estate and condition as a pre-
tence for a freer kind of life !

Are you any more your own, than he that has no
estate or dignity in the world? Must mean and little
people preserve their bodies as temples of the Holy
Ghost, tjy watching-, fasting, and prayer ; but may you
indulge yourselves in idleness, in lusts, and sensuality,
because ye have so much rent, or such a title of distinc-
tion ? How poor and ignorant are such thoughts as
these. And yet you must either think thus, or else
acknowledge that the holiness of saints, prophets, and
apostles, is the holiness that you are to labour after
with all the diligence and care that you can.

And if you leave it to others, to live in such piety
and devotion, in such self-denial, humility, and tem-
perance, as may render them able to glorify God in
their body and in their spirit ; you must leave it to
them also to have the benefit of the blood of Christ.

Again, the apostle saith. You know hoxv we exhort-
ed, comforted, and charged every one of you, that you
would walk icorthy of God, who hath called you to
his kingdom and glory.

You, perhaps, Claudius, have often heard these
words without ever thinking- how much they required
of you. And yet you cannot consider them, without
perceiving to what an eminent state of holiness they
call you.

For how can the holiness of the Christian life be
set before you in higher terms, than when it is repre-
sented to you as walking wortliy of God? Can you

DETOUT AND HOLY LIFE. S77

think of any abatements of virtue^ any neglects of de-
votion, that are well consistent with a life that is to be
made worthy of God? Can you suppose that any man
walks in this manner, but he that watches over all his
steps, and considers how every thing he does may be
done in the spirit of holiness? And yet as high as
these expressions carry this holiness, it is here plainly
made the necessary holiness of all Christians. For
tile apostle does not here exhort his fellow apostles
and saints to this holiness, but he commands all Chris-
tians to endeavour after it : fVe charged, says he,
eveiy one of you, that you would walk worthy of God,
who hath called you to his kingdom and glory.

Again; St. Peter saith, i/'am/ m«?« speak, let him
speak as the oracles of God; if any man minister, let
him do it as of the ability that God giveth ; that God
in all things may be glorified in Christ Jesus. 1 Pet.
iv. 11.

Do you not here, Claudius, plainly perceive your
high calling? Is he that speaketh, to have such re-
gard to his words, that he appear to speak as by the
direction of God? Is he that giveth, to take care that
he so giveth, that what he disposeth of may appear to
be a gift that he hath of God? And is all this to be
done, that God may be glorified in all things?

Must it not then be said. Has any man nobility, dig-
nityof state, or figure in the world? let him so use his
nobility or figure of life, that it may appear he uses
these as the gifts of God, for the greater setting forth
of his glory. Is there now, Claudius, any thing forced
or far-fetched in this conclusion ? Is it not the plain
sense of the words, that every thing in life is to be
made a matter of holiness unto God ? If so, then your
estate and dignity is so far from excusing you from
great piety and holiness of life, that it lays you under
a greater necessity of living more to the glory of
God, because you have more of his gifts that may be
made serviceable to it.

For people, therefore, of figure, or business, or dig-

i3

278 A SERIOUS CALL TO A

nity in the worlds to leave great piety atid eminent de-
votion to any particular orders of men, or such as they
think !iave liUie else to do in the world, is to leave the
kingdom of God to them. For it is the very end of
Christianity to redeem all orders of men into one holy
society, tiiat rich and poor, liii^ii and low, masters and
servants, may in one and tlie same spirit of piety be-
come a chosen gencralion, a roi/al priesl/wod, an
holy nation, a peculiar people, that are to shew forth
the praises of hi in, who hath called than out of dark-
ness into his inar-cellous lii^ht. 1 Pet. ii. 9.

Thus much being said to shew that great devotion
and holiness is not to be left to any particular sort of
people, but to be the common spirit of all that desire
to live up to the terms of common Christianity ; I now
proceed to consider the nature and necessity of univer-
sal love, which is here recommended to be the subject
of your devotion at this hour. You are here also call-
ed to intercession, as the most proper exercise to raise
and preserve that love. By intercession is meant a
praying to God, and interceding with him for our fel-
low-creatures.

Our blessed Lord hath recommended his love to us_,
as the pattern and example of our love to one another.
As therefore he is continually making intercession for
us all, so ouglit we to intercede and pray for One ano-
ther,

A neiD commandment, saith he, Igiveuntot/ou, that
ye love one another, as I have loved you. By this
shall all men know that ye are my disciples, if ye love
one another.

The newness of this precept did not consist in this,
that men were commanded to love one another: for
this was an old precept, both of the law of Moses and
of nature. But it was new in this respect, that it was
to imitate a new, and till then unheard-of example of
love ; it was to love one another as Christ bad loved us.

And if men are to know that we are disciples of
Christ,, by thus loving one another according to his

DEVOUT AND HOLY LIFE. 279

new example of love ; then it is certain^ tliat if we are
void of this love, we make it as plainly known unto
men, that we are none of his disciples.

There is no principle of the heart that is more ac-
ceptable to God, than an universal fervent love to all
mankind, wishini^- and praying- for their happiness ; be-
cause there is no principle of the heart that makes us
more like God, who is love and goodness itself, and
created all things for their enjoyment of happiness.

The greatest idea that we can frame of God is,
when we conceive him to be a being of infinite love
and goodness ; using an infinite wisdom and power for
the common good and happiness of all his creatures.

The iiighest notion therefore that we can form of
man is, when we conceive him as like to God in this
respect as he can be; using all his infinite faculties,
whether of wisdom, power, or prayers, for the com-
mon good of ail his fellow-creatures ; heartily desiring
they may have all the happiness they are capable of,
and as many benefits and assistances from him, as his
state and condition in the world will permit him to
give them.

And, on the other hand, what a baseness and iniquity
is there in all instances of hatred, envy, spite, and ill-
will ; if we consider, that every instance of them is so
far acting in opposition to God, and intending mischief
and harm to those creatures, which God favours, and
protects, and preserves, in order to their happiness !
An ill-natured man amongst God's creatures is the
most perverse creature in the world, acting contrary
to that love, by which himself subsists, and which
alone gives subsistence to all that variety of beings,
that enjoy life in any part of the creation. Whatsoever
ye would that men should do unto you, even so do
unto them.

Now though this is a doctrine of strict justice, yet
it is only an universal love that can comply with it.
For as love is the measure of our acting towards our-
selves, so we can never act in the same manner to-

.t4

^80

A SERIOUS CALL TO A

wards other people, till we look upon them with that
love with which we look upon ourselves.

As we have no degrees of spite, or envy, or ill-will
to ourselves, so we cannot be disposed towards others
as we are towards ourselves, till we universally re-
nounce all instances of spite and envy, and ill-will,
even in the smallest degrees.

If we had any imperfection in our eyes, that made
us see any one thing- wrong', for the same reason they
would shew us an hundred things wrong.

So if we have any temper of our hearts, that makes
ns envious, or spiteful, or ill-natured towards any one
man, the same temper will make us envious, and spite-
ful, and ill-natured towards a great many more.

If therefore we desire this divine virtue of love, w&
must exercise and practise our hearts in the love of all ;
because it is not Christian love^tiil it is the love of all.

If a man could keep this whole law of love, and yet
©ffend in one point, he would be guilty of all. For as
one allowed instance of injustice destroys the justice
of all our other actions, so one allowed instance of
envy, spite, and ill-will, renders all our other acts of
benevolence and atfection nothing worth.

x\cts of love that proceed not from a principle of
universal love, are but like acts of justice, that proceed
from a heart not disposed to universal justice.

A love which is not universal may indeed have ten-
derness and affection, but it hath nothing of righteous-
ness or piety in it ; it is but humour and temper, or
interest, or such a love as publicans and heathens
practise.

All particular envies and spites, are as plain depart-
ures from the spirit of Christianity, as any particular
acts of injustice. For it is as much a law of Christ to
treat every body as your neighbour, and to love your
neighbour as yourself, as it is a law of Christianity to
abstain from theft.

Now the noblest motive to this universal tenderness
and affection, is founded in this doctrine, God is love;
and he that dwelleth in him, dwelleth in God,

DEVOtJT AND HOLY LIFE. 281

Who, therefore, whose heart has any tendency to-
wards God, would not aspire after this divine temper,
which so changes and exalts our nature into an union
with him ?

How should we rejoice in the exercise and practice
of this love, which, so often as we feel it, is so often an
assurance to us, that God is in us, that we act according
to his Spirit, who is love itself? But we must observe
that love has then only this mighty power of uniting us
to God, when it is so pure and universal, as to imitaie
that love, which God beareth to all his creatures.

God willeth the happiness of all beings, though it is
no happiness to himself. Therefore we must desire
the happiness of all beings, though no happiness com-
eth to us from it.

God equally delighteth in the perfections of all his
creatures, therefore we should rejoice in those perfec-
tions, wherever we see them, and be as glad to have
other people perfect as ourselves.

As God forgiveth all, and giveth grace to all, so we
should forgive all those injuries and atfronts which we
receive from others, and do all the good Ave can to
them. ^*

God Almighty, besides his own great example of
love, which ought to draw all his creatures after it,
has so provided for us, and made our happiness so
common to us all, that we have no occasion to envy 6if
hate one another.

For we cannot stand in one another's way ; or, by
enjoying any particular good, keep another from his
full share of it. As we cannot be happy, but in the
enjoyment of God, so we cannot rival, or rob one
another of this happiness.

And as to other tilings, the.enjoyments and prospe-
rities of this life, they are so little in themselves, so fo-
reign to our happiness, and, generally speaking, so
contrary to that which they appear to be, that they are
no foundation for envy, or spite, or hatred.

382 A SERIOUS CALL TO A

How silly would it be to envy a man, that was
drinking- poison out of a golden cup ! and yet who can
say, that he is acting wiser than thus, when he is en-
vying any instance of v^orldiy greatness?

How many saints has adversity sent to heaven ! And
how many poor sinners has prosperity plunged into
everlasting misery ! A man seems then to be in the
most glorious state, when he has conquered, disgra-
ced, and liumbled his enemy ; tliough it may be, tliat
same conquest has saved his adversary and undone
himself.

This m^n had perhaps never been debauched, but
for his fortune and advar.cenient ; that had never been
pious, but through his poverty and disgrace.

She that is envied for her beauty may perchance
owe all her misery to it ; and another may be for ever
happy, for having had no admircss of her person.

Ojie man succeeds in every thing, and so loses all :
another meets with nothing but crosses and disap-
pointments, and thereby gains more than all the world
is worth.

This x^lergyman may be undone by his being made
a bishop; and that may save both himself and others,
by being fixed to his first poor vicarage.

How envied was Alexander, when, conquering the
world, he built towns, set up his statues, and left
marks of his glory in so many kingdoms! And how
despised was the poor preacher St. Paul, when he was
beaten .with rods! And yet how strangely was the
world mistaken in their judgment! How much to be
envied was St. Paul! How much to be pitied was
Alexander!

Tiiese few reflections sufficiently shew us, that <the,
different conditions of this life have nothiiag in them
to excite our uneasy passions, nothing that can rea-
sonably interrupt our love and affection to one anO'
ther.

To proceed now to another motive to ihU uniyei'sal
love.

DEVOUT AND HOLY LIFE. ^83

Our power of doing external acts of love and good-
ness is often very narrow and restrained. There are,
it may be, but few people to whom we can contribute
any worldly relief.

But though our outward means of doing good are
often thus limited, yet if our hearts are but full of love
and goodness, we get as it were an infinite power;
because God will attribute to us those good works,
those acts of love and tender charities, wiiich we sin-
cerely desired, and would gladly have performed,, had
it been in our power.

You cannot heal all the sick, relieve all the poor;
you cannot comfort all in distress, nor be a father to
all the fatherless. You cannot, it may be, deliver
many from their misfortunes, or teach them to find
comfort in God.

But if there is a love and tenderness in your heart
that delights in these good works, and excites you to
do all that you can ; if your love has no bounds, but
continually wishes and prays for the relief and happi-
ness of all that are in distress, you will be received by
God as a benefactor to those, who have had nothing
from you but your good will and tender ailections.

You cannot build hospitals for the incurable ; you
cannot erect monasteries for the education of persons
in holy solitude, continual prayer, and mortification ;
but if you join in your heart with those that do, and
thank God for their pious designs ; if you are a friend
to thepe great friends to mankind, and rejoic'C in their
eminent virtues, you will be received by God as a
sharer of such good works, as though they had none
of your hands, yet they had all your heart.

This consideration surely is sufficient to make us
look to, and watch over our hearts with all diligence ;
to study the improvement of our inward tempers,
and aspire after every height and perfection of a lov-
ing, charitable, and benevolent mind.

And, on the other hand, we may hence learn the
great evil and mischief of all Avrong turns of mind, of

284 A SERIOUS dALt TO A

envy^, spite, hatred, and ill-will. For if the goodness
of our hearts will entitle us to the reward of good ac-
tions, which we never performed ; it is certain that
the badness of our hearts, our envy, ill-nature, and
hatred, will bring us under the guilt of actions that we
have never committed.

As he that lusteth after a woman shall be reckoned
an adulterer, though he has only committed the crime
in his heart ; so the malicious, spiteful, ill-natured man,
Jthat only secretly rejoices at evil, shall be reckoned a
murderer, though he has shed no blood.

Since, therefore, our hearts,' which are always nak-
jed and open to the eyes of God, give such an exceed-
ing extent and increase either to our virtues or vices,
it is our best and greatest business to govern the
motions of our hearts, to watch, correct, and improve
the inward state and temper of our souls.

Now there is nothing that so much exalts our souls
as this heavenly love; it cleanses and purifies like a
holy fire, and all ill-tempers fall away before it. It
makes room for all virtues, and carries them to their
greatest height. Every thing that is good and holy
grows out of it, and it becomes a continual source of
all holy desires and pious practices. By love, 1 do not
mean any natural tenderness, which is more or- less
in people according to their constitutions ; but I mean
a larger principle of the soul, founded in reason and
piety, which makes us tender, kind, and benevolent to
all our fellow-creatures, as creatures of God, and for
his sake.

It is this love that loves all things in God, as his
creatures, as the images of his power, as the creatures
of his goodness, as parts of his family, as members of
his society, that becomes a holy principle of all great
and good actions.

The love, therefore, of our neighbour is only a
branch of our love to God. For when we love God
with all our hearts, and with all our souls, and with all
eur streqgth, we shall necessarily love those beings

DEVOUT AND HOLY LIFE. 285

that are so nearly related to God, that have every thing
fipm him, and created by him, to be objects of his
oun eternal love. If I hate or despise any one man
in the world, I hate something" that God cannot hate,
and despise that which he loves.

And can 1 think that I love God with all my heart,
whilst 1 hate that which belongs only to God, which
has no other master but him, which bears his image,
is part of his family, and exists only by the continu-
ance of his love towards it? It was the impossibility
of this that made St. John say. That if any man saith,
he loveth God, and hateth his brother, he is a liar.

These reasons sufficiently shew us, that no love is
holy or religious, till it becomes universal.

For if religion requires me to love all persons, as
God's creatures, that belong to him, that bear his
image, enjoy his protection, and make parts of his fa-
mily and household ; if these are the great and neces-
sary reasons why I should live in love and friendship
with any one man in the world, they are the same
great and necessary reasons why I should live in love
and friendship with every one man in the world : and
consequently, I offend against all these reasons, and
break through all these tics and obligations, whenever
I want love towards any one man. The sin, therC'
fore, of hating or despising any one man, is like the
sin of hating all God's creation ; and the necessity of
loving any one man, is the same necessity of loving
every man in the world. And though many people
may appear to us ever so sinful, odious, or extrava-
gant in their conduct, we must never look upon that
as the least motive for any contempt or disregard of
them, but look upon them with the greater compas-
sion, as being in the most pitiable condition that can
be.

As it was the sins of the world, that made the Son
of God become a compassionate suffering advocate for
all mankind ; so none is of the spirit of Christ but he
that has the utmost compassion for sinners. Nor m

286 A SERIOUS CALL TO A

there any greater sign of your own perfection^ than
when you find yourselves all love and compassion to-
wards them that are very weak and defective. And,
on the other hand^ you have never less reason to be
pleased Avith yourself, than when you find yourself
most angry and offended at the behaviour of others.
All sin is certainly to be hated and abhorred wherever
it is ; but then we must set ourselves against sin, as we
do against sickness and diseases, by shewing ourselves
tender and compassionate to the sick and diseased.

All other hatred of sin, which does not fill the heart
with the softest, tenderest affections towards persons
miserable in it, is the servant of sin at the same time
that it seems to be hating it.

And there is no temper which even good men ought
more carefully to watch and guard against than this.
For it is a temper that lurks and hides itself under the
cover of many virtues, and by behig unsuspected does
the more mischief.

A man naturally fancies that it is his own exceeding
love of virtue that makes him not able to bear with
those that want it. And when he abhors one man,
despises another, and cannot bear the name of a third,
he supposes it all to be a proof of his own high sense
of virtue and just hatred of sin.

And yet one would think, that a man needed no
other cure for this temper than this one reflection :

That if this had been the spirit of the Son of God,
if tie luid liated sin in this manner, there had been no
redemption of the world : That if God had hated sin-
ners in this nranner day and night, the world itself had
ceased long ag-o.

This, therefore, we may take for a certain rule, that
the more we partake of the divine nature, the more
improved we are ourselves ; and the higher our sense
of virtue is, the more we shall pity and compassionate
those that want it. The sight of such people will
then, instead of raising in us a haughty contempt, or
peevish indignation towards them, fill us with &uch

DEVOUT AND HOLY LIFE. 287

bowels of compassion^ as when we see tlie miseries of

: \{ the folliesj therefore, crimes, and ill behaviour
c; o.v fellow-creatures, may not lessen that love and
te it'?rness which we are to have for all uiankindj we
6!\)u!d often consider the reasons on which this duty
of love is founded.

Now wc are to love our neighjjour, that is^ all man-
k'iid, not because they are wii^e, holy, virtuous, or
well-behaved ; for all mankind neither ever was, nor
ever will be so ; therefore it is certain, that the reason
of our bein"' obliiied to love them cannot be founded
in their virtue.

Again : if their virtue or g"oodness were the reason
of our being obliged to love people, we should have no
rule to proceed by ; because, though sorae people's
virtues or vices are very notorious, yet, generally
speaking, we are but very ill judges of the virtue and
merit of other people.

Thirdly, ^Ve are sure that the virtue or merit of
persons is not the reason of our being obliged to love
them, because we are commanded to pay the highest
instances of love to our worst enemies; we are to
love, and bless, and pray for those that most injurious-
ly treat us. This, therefore, is demonstration, that
the merit of persons is not the reason on which our
obligation to love them is founded.

Let lis farther consider what that love is which we
owe to our neighbour. It is to love him as ourselves :
that is, to have all those sentiments towards him, which
we have towards ourselves ; to wish him every thing*
that we may lawfully wish to ourselves ; to be glad of
every good, and sorry for every evil that happens to
him : and be ready to do him all such acts of kindness
as we are always ready to do ourselves.

This love, therefore, you see, is nothing- else but a
love of benevolence ; it requires nothing of us but
such good wislies, tender affections, and such acts of
li'mdness as we ^hew to ourselves.

288 A SERIOUS CALL TO A

This is all the love that we owe to the best of men ;
and we are never to want any degree of this love to
the worst or most unreasonable man in the world.

Now what is the reason why we are to love every
man in this manner? It is answered, that our obliga-
tion to love all men in this manner is founded upon
many reasons.

First, Upon a reason of equity : for, if it is just to
love ourselves, in this manner, it must be unjust to
deny any degree of this love to others, because every
man is so exactly of the same nature and in the same
condition as ourselves.

If, therefore, your own crimes and follies do not les-
sen your obligation to seek your own good, and wish
well to yourself; neither do the foUies and crimes of
your neighbour lessen your obligation to wish and
seek the good of your neighbour.

Another reason for this love is founded in the au-
thority of God, who has commanded us to love every
man as ourselves.

Thirdly, We are obliged to this love, in imitation of
God's goodness, that we may be children of our Fa-
tlier, which is in heaven, who willeth the happiness of
all his creatures, and maketh his sun to rise on the
evil, and on the good.

Fourthly, Our redemption by Jesus Christ calleth
us to the exercise of this love, who came from heaven,
and laid down his life out of love to the whole sinful
world.

Fifthly, By the command of our Lord and Saviour,
who has required us to love one another, as he has
loved us.

These are the great perpetual reasons on which our
obligation to love all mankind as ourselves is founded.

These reasons never vary or change; they always
continue in their full force; and, therefore, equally
oblige at all times, and in regard to all persons.

God loves us, not because we are wise, and good,
and holy, but in pity to us^ because w^ want this hap-

t)EVOUT AND HOLY LIFE. 289

pincss : He loves us, in order to make us good. Our
love, therefore, must take this course ; not looking- for,
or requiring the merit of our brethren, hut pitying
their disorders, and wishing tlieni all the good that
they want, and are capable of receiving.

It appears now plainly from what has been said,
that the love which we owe to our brethren is only a
love of benevolence. Secondly, that this duty of be-
nevolence is founded upon such reasons as never vary
o»' change, such as have no dependence upon the
qualities of persons. From whence it follows, that it
is the same great sin, to want this love to a bad man,
as to want it to a good man. Because he that denies
any of this benevolence to a bad man, offends against
all tlie same reasons of love, as he does that denies any
benevolence to a good man ; and consequently, it is
the same sin.

When, therefore, you let loose an ill-natured pas-
sion, either of hatred or contempt, towards (as you
suppose) an ill man, consider what you would think of
another that was doing the same towards a good man,
and be assured that you are committing the same sin.

You will, perhaps, say. How is it possible to love
a good and a bad man in the same degree?

Just as it is possible to be as just and faithful to a
good man, as to an evil man. Now are you in any
difficulty about performing justice and faithfulness to
a bad man ? Are you in any doubts, whether you
need be so just and faithful to him, as you need be to
a good man? Now why is it, that you are in no
doubt about it? It is because you know that justice
and faithfulness are founded upon reasons that never
vary or change, that have no dependence upon the
merits of men, but are founded in the nature of things,
in the laws of God, and, therefore, are to be observed
with equal exactness towards good and bad men.

Now do but think thus justly of charity, or love to
your neighbour, that it is founded upon reasons that
Tary not, that have no dependence upon the merits of

u

^DO A SERIOUS CALL TO A

men, and then you will find it as impoBsible to per-
forin the same exact charity, as the same exact justice
to all men, whether i^oodor bad.

You will perhaps farther ask, if you are not to have
a particular esteem, veneration, and reverence for
good men ? It is answered. Yes. But then this high
esteem and veneration, is a thing" very diiferent from
that love of benevolence which we owe to our neigh-
bour.

The high esteem and veneration which you have
for a man of eminent piety, is no act of charity to him ;
it is not of pity and compassion that you so reverence
him, but it is rather an act of charity to yourself, that
such esteem and veneration may excite you to follovr
his example.

You may, and ought to love, like, and approve the
life which the good man leads ; but then this is only
the loving of virtue, wherever we see it. And we do
not love virtue with the love of benevolence, as any
thing" that wants our good wishes, but as something-
that is our proper good.

The whole of the matter is this. The actions
which you are to love, esteem, and admire, are the ac-
tions of good and pious men ; but the persons to
whom you are to do all the good you can, in all sorts
of kindness and compassion, are all persons, whether
good or bad.

This distinction betwixt love of benevolence, and
esteem or veneration, is very plain and obvious. And
you may perhaps still better see the plainness and
necessity of it, by this following instance :

No man is to have an high esteem, or honour, for
his own accomplishments, or behaviour; yet every
man is to love himself, that is, to wish well to himself;
therefore, (his distinction betwixt love and esteem, is
not only plain, but very necessary to be observed.

Again ; if you think it hardly possible to dislike the
actions of unreasonable men, and yet have a true love
for them : Consider this with relation to yourself

DEVOUT AND HOLY LIFE. 291

It i«; verv possible, I Ijope^ for you not only to dis-
like, hut to detest and abhor a ^reat many of your own
past actions, and to accuse yourself with great folly
for tiiem. But do you then lose any of those tender
sentiments towards yourself, which you used to have?
Do you then cease to wish well to yourself? Is not
the love of yourself as stroni^- then as at any other
time ?

Now what is thus possible with relation to our-
selves, is in the same maniier possible with relation to
others. We may have the hig-hest good wishes to-
wards them, desiring for them every good that we de-
sire for ourselves,, and yet at the same time dislike their
way of life.

To proceed; all that love which we may justly have
for ourselves, we are in strict justice obliged to exer-
cise towards all other men ; and we offend against the
great law of our nature, and the greatest laws of God,
when our tempers towards others are difl"crent from
those which we have towards ourselves.

Now that self-love which is just and reasonable,
keeps us constantly tender, compassionate, and wcll-
alfected towards ourselves; if, therefore, you do not
feel these kind dispositions towards all other people,
you may be assured, that you are not in that state of
charity, which is the very life and soul of Christian
piety.

You know how it hurts you to be made the jest and
ridicule of other people ; how it grieves you to be rob-
bed of your reputation, and deprived of the favourable
opinion of your neighbours : If, therefore, you expose
others to scorn and contempt in any degree'; if it
pleases you to see or hear of their frailties or infirmi-
ties; or if you are only loth to conceal their faults,
you are so far from loving such people as yourself,
that you may be justly supposed to have as much ha-
tred for them, as you have love for yourself. For
such tempers are as truly the proper fruits of hatred^
as the contrary tempers ace the proper fruits of love.

u 2

292

A SERIOUS CALL TO A

And as it is a certain sij^n that you love yourself,
because yon are tender of every thing- that concerns
you : so it is a certain sign that you hate your neigh-
bour, when you are pleased with any thing that hurts
him.

But now, if the want of a true and exact charity be
so great a want, that, as St. Paul saith, it renders our
greatest virtues but empty sounds and tinkling cym-
bals, how highly docs it concern us to study every art,
and practise every method of raising our souls to this
state of charity! It is for this reason, that you are
here desired, not to let this hour of prayer pass, with-
out a full and solemn supplication to God, for all the
instances of an universal love and benevolence to all
mankind.

Such daily constant devotion being the only likely
means of preserving you in such a state of love, as is
necessary to prove you to be a true follower of Jesus
Christ.

CHAPTER XXI.

Ofthe necessiti/ and hencjit of Intercession, consider-
ed as an exercise of universal lore. How all or-
ders of men arc to praij and intercede icith God for
one another. How natnrallij such intercession
amends and reforms the hearts of those that use it.

THAT intercession is a great and necessary part of
Christian devotion, is very evident from Scripture.

The first followers of Christ seem to support all
their love, and to maintain all their intercourse and
correspondence, by mutual prayers for one another.

St. Paul, whether he writes to churches, or particu-
lar persons, shews his intercession to be perpetual for
them, that they are the constant subject of his pray-
ers.

Thus to the Philippians, / thank my God iipoti

DEVOUT AND HOLY LIFE. 293

evev\) remembrance ofi/ou. Always in every prayer
of m'uie for you all, making request icitk joy. Phil. i.
4, 5. Here we see, not only a continual intercession,
but performed ^vit]l so much gladness as shews that it
was an exercise of love, in which he highly rejoiced.

His devotion had also the same care for particular
persons, as appears by the following- passage. I thank
my God, ichom I serve from my forefathers, icith a
pure conscience, that, loithout ceasing, I have remem-
brance of thee in my prayers night and day, 2 Tim. i.
3, How holy an acquaintance and friendship was
this, how^ worthy of persons that were raised above the
world, and related to one another, as new members of
a kingdom of heaven !

Apostles and great saints did not only thus benefit
and bless particular churches, and private persons ;
but they themselves also received graces from God by
the prayers of others. Thus, saith St. Paul to the Co-
rinthians, You also helping together by prayer for
US, that for the gift bestowed upon ns by the means of
many persons, thanks may be given by many on our
behalf, 2 Cowl 11.

This was the ancient friendship of Christians unit-
ing and cementing- their hearts, not by worldly consi-
derations, of human passions, but by the mutual com-
munications of spiritual blessings, by prayers and
thanksgiving's to God for one another.

It was this holy intercession that raised Christians
to such a state of mutual love, as far exceeded all that
had been praised and admired in human friendship.
And when the same spirit of intercession is again in
the world, when Christianity has the same power over
the hearts of the people, that it then had, this holy
friendship will be again in fashion, and Christians will
be again the wonder of the world, for that exceeding*.
love which they bear to one another.

For a frequent intercession with God, earnestly be-
seeching- him to forgive tlic sins of all mankiiui, to
bless them with his providence, eniightea tlicm with

294 A SERIOUS CALL TO A

his Spirit, and bring them to everlasting- liappiness, is
the divinest exercise that the heart of man can be en-
gaged in.

Be daily, therefore, on 3rour knees in a solemn deli-
berate performance of this devotion, praying for others
in forms, with such length and importunity, and earn-
estness, as you use for yourself; and you will find all
little ill-natured passions die away, your heait grow
great and generous, delighting in the common happi-
ness of others, a? you used only to delight in your own.

For he that daily prays to God, that all men may be
happy in heaven, takes the likeliest Avay to make him
wish for, and delight in tiieir happiness on earth. And
it is hardly possible for you, to beseech and intreat God
to make any one happy in the highest enjoyments of
his glory to all eternity, and yet b^' troubled to see him
enjoy the much smaller gifts of God in this short and
low state of human life. For how strange and unna-
tural would it be to pray to God to grant health and a
longer life to a sick man, and at ihe same time to envy
him the poor pleasures of agreeable medicines ! Yet
this would be no more strange, or unnatural, than to
pray to God that your neighbour may enjoy the. high-
est degrees of his mercy and favour, and yet at the
same time envy hioi the little credit and figure he hath
amongst his fellow-creatures.

When, therefore, you have once habituated your
heart to a serious performance of this holy intercession,
you have done a great deal to render it incapable of
spite and envy, and to make it naturally delight in the
happiness of all mankind. This is the natural eft'ect
of a general intercession for all mankind. But the
greatest benefits of it are then received, when it de-
scends to such particular instances as our state and
condition in life more particularly require of us.

Though we arc to treat all mankind as neighbours
and brethren, as any occasion offers ; yet as we can
only live in the actunl society of a few, and are by our
state and condition more particularly related to some

DEVOUT AND HOLY LIFE. 295

than others; so when our intercession is made an
exercise of love and care for those amongst whom our
lot is fallen, or who belong- to us in a near lelation, it
then becomes the greatest benefit to ourselves, and
produces its best effects in our own hearts. If, there-
fore, you should always change and alter your inter-
cessions according as the needs and necessities of your
neighbours or acquaintances seem to require ; be-
seeching God to deliver them from such and such par-
ticular evils, or to grant them this or that particular
gift or blessing ; such intercessions, besides the great
charity of them, would have a mighty eftect upon your
heart, as disposing you to every other good office, and
to the exercise of every other virtue towards such per-
sons, as have so often a place in your prayers.

This would make it pleasant to you to be courteous,
civil, and condescending to all about you ; and make
you unable to say or do a rude or hard thing to those,
for whom you have used yourself to be so kind and
compassionate in your prayers. For there is nothing
that makes us love a man so much, as praying for
him ; and, when you can once do this sincerely for
any man, you have fitted your soul for the perform-
ance of every thing that is kind and civil towards him.
This will fill your heart with a generqsity and tender-
ness, that will give you a better and sweeter behaviour,
than any thing that is called fine breeding and good
manners.

By considering yourself as an advocate with God
for your neighbours and acquaintance, you would
never find it hard to be at peace with them yourself.
It would be easy to you to bear with, and forgive those,
for whom you particularly implored the divine mercy
and forgiveness.

Such prayers as these amongst neighbours and ac-
quaintance would unite them to one another in the
strongest bonds of love and tenderness. It would ex-
alt and ennoble their souls, and teach them to consider
one another in a higher state, as members of a spiritual

u 4

296 A SERIOUS CALL TO A

society, that are created for the enjoyment of the com-
mon blessings of God, and fellow-heirs of the same
future glory. And by being thus desirous, that every
one should have their full share of the favours of God,
they would not only be content, but glad to see one
another happy in the little enjoyments of this transi-
tory life. These would be the natural effects of such
an intercession amongst people of the same town or
neighbourhood, or that were acquainted with one
another's state and condition.

Ouranius is a holy priest, full of the spirit of the
gospel, watching, labouring, and praying for a poor
country village. Every soul in it is as dear to him as
himself; and he loves them all as he loves himself;
because he prays for them all, as often as he prays for
himself. If his whole life is one continual exercise of
great zeal and labour, hardly ever satisfied with any
degrees of care and watchfulness, it is because he has
learned the great value of souls, by so often appear-
ing before God, as an intercessor for them.

He never thinks he can love, or do enough for his
flock ; because he never considers them in any other
view, than as so many persons, that, by receiving the
gifts and graces of God, are to become his hope, his
joy, and his crown of rejoicing. He goes about his
parish, and visits every body in it ; but visits in the
same spirit of piety that he preaches to them ; he
visits them to encourage their virtues, to assist them
with his advice and counsel, to discover their manner
of life, and to know the state of their souls, that he may
intercede with God for them, according to their parti-
cular necessities.

When Ouranius first entered into holy orders, he
had a haughtiness in his temper, a great contempt and
disregard for all foolish and unreasonable people ; but
he has prayed away this spirit, and has now the great-
est tenderness for the most obstinate sinners ; because
he is always hoping, that God will sooner or later hear
those prayers that he makes for their repentance.

DEVOUT AND HOLY LIFE. 297

The rudeness, ill-nature, or perverse behaviour of any
of his flock, used at first to betray him into impatience ;
but it now raises no other passion in him, than a de-
sire of being upon his knees in prayer to God for
them.

Thus have his prayers for others altered and amend-
ed the state of his own heart. It would strangely de-
light you to see with what spirit he converses, with
what tenderness he reproves, with what affection he
exhorts, and with what vigour he preaches ; and it is
all owing to this, because he reproves, exhorts, and
preaches to those for whom he first prays to God.
This devotion softens his heart, enlightens his mind,
sweetens his temper, and makes every thing that comes
from hini instructive, amiable, and afiecting. At his
first coming to this little village, it was as disagreeable
to him as a prison, and every day seemed too tedious
to be endured in so retired a place. He thought his
parish was too full of poor and mean people, that
were none of them fit for the conversation of a gentle-
man.

This put him upon a close application to his stu-
dies. He kept much at home, writ notes upon Homer
and Plautus, and sometimes thought it hard to be call-
ed to pray by any poor body, when he was just in the
midst of one of Homer's battles. This was his polite,
or I may rather say, poor ignorant turn of mind, be-
fore devotion had got the government of his heart.
But now his days are so far from being tedious, or his
parish too great a retirement, that he now only wants
more time to do that variety of good which his soul
thirsts after. The solitude of his little parish is be-
come matter of great comfort to him ; because he
hopes that God has placed him and his Hock there,
to make it their way to heaven. He can now not only
converse with, but gladly attend and wait upon, the
poorest kind of people. He is now daily watching
over the weak and infirm, humbling himself to per-
verse, rude, ignorant people, wherever he can find

298 A SERIOUS CALL TO A

them ; and is so far from desiring to be considered
as a gentleman^ that he desires to be used as the ser-
vant of all ; and, in the spirit of his Lord and Master,
girds himself, and is glad to kneel down and wash any
of their feet. He now thinks the poorest creature in his
parish good enougli, and great enough, to deserve the
humblest attendances, the kindest friendships, the ten-
derest offices, he can possibly shew them. He is so
far now from wanting agreeable company, that he
thinks there is no better conversation in the world,
than to be talking with poor and mean people about
the kin,^dom of heaven. All these noble thou<>hts
and divine sentiments arc the eOects of his great devo-
tion ; he presents every one so often before God in
his prayers, that he never thinks he can esteem, re-
verence, or serve those enough, for whom he implores
£0 many mercies from God.

Oaranius is mightily alfccted with this passage of
holy scripture : The effectual fervent prayer of a
righteous man availetli much, Jam.es v. \^. This
makes him practice all the arts of holy living-, and as-
pire after every instance of piety and righteousness,
that his prayers for his ilock may have their full force,
and avail much with God. i^'or this reason he has
sold a small estate that he had, and has erected a cha-
ritable retirement for ancient, poor people, to live in
prayer and piety — that his prayers, being assisted by
such good vvorkpi, may pierce the clouds, and bring
down blessings upon those souls committed to his care.

Ouranius reads how God himself said unto Abime-
lech concerning Abraham, He is a prophet: he shall
Jtraij for thee and thou shall live. Gen. xx. 7. And
-again, how he said of Job : And my servant Job shall
pray for you ; for him icill I accept, Job xlii. 8.

From these passages Ouranius justly concludes,
that the prayers of men eminent for holiness of life
have an extraordinary power with God; that he grants
to other people such pardons, reliefs, and blessings,
Ihrouo-U their prayers, as would not be granted to men

DEVOUT AND HOLY LIFE. 299

of less piety and perfection. This makes Ouranius
exceeding studious of Christian perfection, searching
after every grace and holy temper, purifying his heart
all manner of ways, fearful of every error and defect
in his life, lest his prayers for his flock should be less
availing with God, through his own defects in holiness.

This makes him careful of every temper of his
heart, give alms of all that he hath, watch, and fast,
and mortify, and live according to the strictest rules
of temperance, meekness, and humility, that he may
be in some degree like an Abraham, or a Job, in his
parish, and make such prayers for them as God will
hear and accept.

These are the happy effects, which a devout inter-
cession hath procured in the life of Ouranius. And if
other people, in their several stations, were to imitate
this example, in such a manner as suited their particu-
lar state of life, they would certainly find the same
happy effects from it.

If masters, for instance, were thus to remember
their servants in their prayers, beseeching God to bless
them, and suiting their petitions to tiie particular
wants and necessities of their servants ; letting no day
pass without a full performance of this part of devo-
tion, the benefit would be as o>reat to themselves as to
their servants. No way so likely as this, to inspire
him with a true sense of that power which they have
in their hands, to make them delight in doing good,
and becoming exemplary in all the parts of a wise
and good master. The presenting their servants so
often before God, as equally related to God, and enti-
tled to the same expectations of heaven as themselves,
would naturally incline them to treat them, not only
with such humanity as became fellow-creatures, but
with such tenderness, care, and generosity, as became
fellow-heirs of the same glory. This devotion would
make masters inclined to every thing that was good
towards their servants ; be watchful of their behaviour,
and as ready to require of them an exact observance

500 A SERIOUS CALL TO A

of the duties of Christianity, as of the duties of their
service. This would teach them to consider their
servants as God's servants, to desire their perfection,
to do nothing- before them that might corrupt their
minds, to impose no business upon them that should
lessen their sense of religion, or hinder them from
their full share of devotion, both public and private.
This praying' for them would make them as glad to
see their servants eminent in piety as themselves, and
contrive that they should have all the opportunities
and encouragements, both to know and perform all
the duties of the Christian life. How natural would
it be for such a master to perform every part of family-
devotion ; to have constant prayers ; to excuse no
one's absence from them ; to have the Scriptures, and
books of piety, often read amongst his servants; to
take all opportunities of instructing them, of raising"
their minds to God, and teaching them to do all their
business, as a service to God, and upon the hopes and
expectations of another life ! How natural would it
be for such a one to pity their weakness and igno-
rance, to bear with the dulness of their understandings,
or the pervcrseness of their tempers ; to reprove them
with tenderness, exhort them with affection, as hoping-
that God would hear his prayers for them ! How im-
possible would it be for a master, that thus interceded
with God for his servants, to use any unkind threaten-
ings towards them, to damn and curse them as dogs
and scoundrels, and treat them only as the dregs of the
creation ! This devotion would give them another
spirit, and make them consider how to make proper
returns of care, kindness, and protection to those, who
had spent their strength and time in service and at-
tendance u})on them.

Now, if gentlemen think it so low an employment
for their state and dignity to exercise such a devotion
as this for their servants, let them consider how far
they are from the spirit of Christ, who made himself
not only an intercessor, but a sacrifice for the whole
race of sinful mankind.

DEVOUT AND HOLY LIFE. 301

Let them consider how miserable tlieir g-reatness
would be, if the Son of God should think it as much
below him to pray for them, as tliey do to pray for
their fellow-creatures. Let them consider how far
they are from that spirit, which prays for its most un-
just enemies, if they have not kindness enoui^h to pray
for those by whose labour and service they live in
ease themselves.

Again ; If parents should thus make themselves ad-
vocates and intercessors with God for their children,
constantly applying- to heaven in behalf of them, no-
thing would be more likely, not only to bless their
children, but also to form and dispose their own minds
to the performance of every thing- that was excellent
and praiseworthy. I do not suppose but that the
g-enerality of parents remember their children in their
prayers, and call upon God to bless them. But the
thing- here intended is not a general remembrance
of them, but a regular metiiod of recommending all
their particular needs and necessities unto God ; and
of praying- for every such particular g-race and virtue
for them, as their state and condition of life shall see.n
to require.

The state of parents is a holy state, in some degree
like that of the priesthood, and calls upon them to
bless their children with their prayers and sacrifices
to God. Thus it was that holy Job watched over,
and blessed his children ; he aanctijicd them ; he rose
lip earhj in the morning, and offered burnt-ojl'ering-s,
according to the numl)er of them all. Job. i. 5.

If parejits, therefore, considering- themselves in this
light, should be daily calling- upon God in a solemn,
deliberate manner, altering and extending their inter-
cessions, as the state and growth of their children re-
quired, such devotion would have a mighty inlluence
upon the rest of their lives ; it would make them very
circumspect in the government of themselves ; prudent
and careful of every thing they said or did, lest their
example should hinder that, which they so constantly

sot

A SERIOUS CALL TO A

desired in their prajers. If a father was daily making-
particular prayers to God, that he would please to in-
spire his children with true piety, great humility, and
strict temperance, what could be more likely to make
the father himself become exemplary in these virtues?
How naturally would he grow ashamed of wanting
such virtues as he thought necessary for his children !
So that his prayers for their piety Avould be a certain
means of exalting his own to its greatest height.

If a father thus considered himself as an intercessor
with God for his children, to bless them with his pray-
ers, Avhat more likely means to make him aspire after
eveiy degree of holiness, that he might thereby be fit-
ter to obtain blessings from heaven for them? How
would such thoughts make him avoid every thing that
was sinful and displeasing- to God, lest, when he prayed
for his children, God should reject his prayers! How
tenderly, how religiously, would such a father con-
verse with his children, whom he considered as his
little spiritual flock, whose virtues he was to form by
his example, encourage by his authority, nourish by
his counsel, and prosper by his prayers to God for
them !

How fearful would he be of all greedy and unjust
ways of raising- their fortune, of bringing- them up in
pride and indulgence, or of making them too fond of
the world, lest he should thereby render them incapa-
ble of those graces, which he was so often beseechinj^
God to grant them.

Tiiese being- the plain, natural, happy effects of this
intercession, all parents, I hope, who have the real
welfare of tlieir children at heart, who desire to be
their true friends and benefactors, and to live amongst
them in the spirit of wisdom and piety, will not neg-
lect so great a means, both of raising their own virtue^
and doing an eternal good to those who are so near
and dear to them by the strongest ties of nature.

Lastly. If all people, when they feel the first ap-
proaches of resentment^ envy, or contempt, towards

•DEVOUT AND HOLY LIFE. 303

others; or if, in all little disagreements and misunder-
standings whatever, they should, instead of indulging-
th^ir minds with little low retlections, have recourse
at such times to a more particular and extraordinary
intercession with God, for such persons as had raised
their envV;, resentment, or discontent, this would be a
certain way to prevent the growth of all uncharitable
tempers. If you was also to form your prayer or in-
tercession at that time, to the greatest degree of con-
trariety to that temper which you was then in, it would
be an excellent means of raising your heart to the
greatest state of perfection. As for instance : when
at any time you find in your heart motions of envy
towards any person, whether on account of his riches,
power, reputation, learning, or advancement, if you
should immediately betake yourself at that time to
your prayers, and pray to God to bless and prosper
him in that very thing which raised your envy ; if you
should express and repeat your petitions in the stronjj-
est terms, beseeching- God to grant him all the happi-
ness from the enjoyment of it that can possibly be re-
ceived, you will soon find it to be the best antidote in
the world to expel the vemon of that poisonous pas-
sion. This would be such a triumph over yourself,
would so humble and reduce your heart into oliedience
and order, that the devil would be even afraid of
tempting you again in the same manner, when he saw
the temptation turned into so great a means of amend-
ing- and reforming- the state of your heart.

Again ; If any little difierence or misunderstandings
that you happened to have at any time with a relation,
a neighbour, or any one else, you should then pray
for them in a more extraordinary manner than you
ever did before, beseeching God to give them every
grace, and blessing, and happiness you can think of,
you would have taken the speediest method that can
be, of reconciling all dilferences, and clearing up all
misunderstandings. You would then think nothing
too great to be forgiven, stay for no condescensions.

304 A SERIOUS CALL TO A

need no mediation of a third person, but be glad to
testify your love and good will to him, who had so
high a place in your secret prayers. This Avould be
the mighty power of such Christian devotion ; it would
remove all peevish passions, soften your heart into the
most tender condescensions, and be the best arbitrator
of all differences that happened between you and any
of your acquaintance.

The greatest resentments amongst friends and
neighbours most often arise from poor punctilios and
little mistakes in conduct. A certain sign that their
friendship is merely human, not founded upon religi-
ous considerations, or supported by such a course of
mutual prayer for one another, as the first Christians
used. For such devotion must necessarily either de-
stroy such tempers, or be itself destroyed by them.
You cannot possibly have any ill temper, or shew any
unkind behaviour to a man for whose welfare you are
so much concerned, as to be his advocate with God in
private.

Hence we may learn the odious nature and exceed-
ing guilt of spite, hatred, contempt, and angry passions ;
they are not to be considered as defects in good nature
and sweetness of temper, not as failings in civility of
manners or good breeding, but as such base tempers,
as are entirely inconsistent uith the charity of inter-
cession. You think it a small matter to be peevish or
ill-natured to such or such a man ; but you should
consider, vvhetlier it be a small matter to do that, which
you could not do, if you had but so much charity as to
be able to recommend him to God in your prayers.
You think it a small matter to ridicule one man, and
despise another ; but you should consider, whether it
be a small matter to want that charity towards these
people, which Christians are not allowed to want to-
wards their most inveterate enemies. For be but as
charitable to these men, do but bless and pray for
them, as you are obliged to bless and pray for your
enemies^ and then you will find that you have charity

DEVOUT AND HOLY LIFE. 305

enough, to make it impossible for you to treat them
with any degree of scorn or contempt. For you can-
not possibly despise and ridicule that man whom your
private prayers recommend to the love and favour of
God.

When you despise and ridicule a man^ it is with no
other end but to make him ridiculous and contempti-
ble in the eyes of other men_, and in order to prevent
their esteem of him. How therefore can it be possi-
ble for you sincerely to beseech God to bless that man
with the honour of his love and favour, whom you de-
sire men to treat as worthy of their contempt?

Could you out of love to a neighbour desire your
prince to honour him with every mark of esteem and
favour, and yet at the same time expose him to the
scorn and derision of your own servants? Yet this is
as possible, as to expose that man to the scorn and
contempt of your fellow creatures, whom you recom-
mend to the favour of God in your secret prayers.

From these considerations we may plainly discover
the reasonableness and justice of this doctrine of the
Gospel, Whosoever shall say unto his brother, Raca,
shall be in danger of the council ; but ivhosoever
shall saj/, Thou fool, shall be in danger of hell f re,
Matt. V. 22. We are not, I suppose, to believe that
every hasty word, or unreasonable expression that
slips from us by chance or surprise, and is contrary to
our intention and tempers, is the great sin here signi-
fied. Cut he that says, Raca, or Thou fool, must
chiefly mean him that allows himself in deliberate, de-
signed acts of scorn and contempt towards his brother,,
and in that temper speaks to him, and of him, in re-
proachful language.

Now since it appears that these tempers are at the
bottom the most rank uncharitableness, since no one
can be guilty of them, but because he has not charity
enough to pray to God for his brother ; it cannot be
thought hard or rigorous justice, that such tempers
should endanger the salvation of Christians. For who

SOG A SERIOUS CALL TO A

would think it liard^ that a Christian cannot obtain the
favour of God for himself, unless he reverence and es-
teem his brother Christian, as one that bears the imai^e
of God, as one for whom Christ died, as a member of
Christ's body, as a member of that holy society on
earth, which is in union with that triumphant church
in heaven? Yet all these considerations must be for-
got, all these glorious privileges disregarded, before
man can treat him that has them, as an object of
scorn and contemi>t. So that to scorn or despise a
brother, or, as our blessed Lord says, to call him Raca or
Fool, must be looked upoj3, as amongst the most
odious, unjust, and guilty tempers, that can be support-
ed in the heart of a Christian, and justly excluding
him from all his hopes in the salvation of Jesus Christ.
For to despise one for whom Christ died, is to be as
contrary to Christ, as he that despises any thing that
Christ has said, or done.

If a Christian that had lived with the holy Virgin
Mary, should, after the death of our Lord, have taken
any occasion to treat her with contempt, you would
certainly say, that he had lost his piety towards our
blessed Lord. For a true reverence for Christ must
have forced him to treat her with respect, who was so
nearly related to him.

1 dare appeal to any man's mind, whether it does
not tell him, that this relation of the Virgin Mary to
our. blessed Lord, must liave obliged all those that
lived and conversed with her, to treat her with great
respect and esteem. Might not a man have justly
dreaded the vengeance of God upon him, for any
scorn and contempt that he had shewn to her?

Now if this be plain and obvious reasoning, if a
contempt offered to tlie Virgin Mary must have been
interpreted a contempt of Christ, because of her near
relation to him ; then let the same reason shew you
the great impiety of despising any brother. You
cannot despise a l3rother, without despising him that

DEVOUT AND HOLY LIFE. 307

stands in a high relation to God, to his Son Jesus
Christy and to the Holy Trinity.

You would certainly tiiink it a mighty impiety to
treat a writing- with great contempt^ that had been
written by the finger of God ; and can you think it a
less impiety to contemn and vilify a brother, who is
not only the workmanship, but the image of God?
You would justly think it great prophaneness to con-
temn and trample upon an altar, because it was ap-
propriated to holy uses', and had had the body of
Christ so often placed upon it ; and can you suppose
it to be less prophaneness to scorn and trample upon
a brother, who so belongs to God, that his very body
is to be considered as the temple of the Holij Ghost,
J Cor. vi. 15.

Had you despised and ill-treated the Virgin Mary,
you had been chargeable with the impiety of despising-
her, of whom Christ was born. And if you scorn and
despise a brother, you are chargeable with the impiety
of despising him, for whom Christ laid down his life.
And now if this scornful temper is founded upon a dis-
regard of all tliese relations, which every Christian
bears to God, and Christ, and the Holy Trinity, can
you wonder, or think it hard, that a Christian who
thus allows himself to despise a brother should be iii
danger of hell fire?

Secondly, It must here be observed, that though in
these words. Whosoever shall say. Thou fool, &c., the
gTeat sin there contemned is an allowed temper of de-
spising a brother ; yet we are also to believe, that all
hasty expressions, and words of contempt, though
spoken by surprise or accident, are by this text con-
demned as great sins, and notorious breaches of
Christian charity.

They proceed from g-reat want of Christian love
and meekness, and call for great repentance. They
are only little sins when compared with habits and
settled tempers of treating- a brother despitefully, and

x2

308 A SERIOUS CALL TO A

fall as directly under the condemnption of this text^
as the a:rossest habits of uncharitableness. And the
reason why we are always to apprehend great guilty
and call ourselves to a strict repentance for these
hasty expressions of anger and contempt^ is this; be-
cause they seldom are what they seem to be, that is,
mere starts of temper, that are occasioned purely by
surprise or accident; but are much more our own
proper acts, than we generally imagine.

A man says a great many bitter things ; he present-
ly forgives himself, because he supposes it was only
the suddenness of the occasion, or something acciden-
tal, that carried him so far beyond himself But he
should consider, that perhaps the accident, or surprise,
was not the occasion of his angry expressions, but
might only be the occasion of his angry temper shew-
ing itself Now as this is, generally speaking, the
case, as all haughty, angry language generally pro-
ceeds from some secret habits of pride in the heart ;
so people that are subject to it, thoug-li only now and
then as accidents happen, have great reason to repent
of more than their present behaviour, to charge them-
selves with greater guilt than accidental passion, and
to bring themselves to such penance and mortification,
as is proper to destroy habits of a haughty spirii.
And this may be the reason, why the text looks no far-
ther than the outward language ; why it only says.
Whosoever shall say. Thou fool ; because few can
proceed so far, as to the accidental use of haughty,
disdainful language, but they whose hearts are more
or less possessed with habits and settled tempers of
pride and haughtiness.

But to return : Intercession is not only the best ar-
bitrator of all differences, the best promoter of true
friendship, the best cure and preservative against all
-unkind tempers, all angry and haughty passions, but
is also of great use to discover to us the true state of
our own hearts.

There are many tempers which we think lawful

DEVOUT AND HOLY LIFE. 809

and innocent, which we never suspect of any harm ;
which, if they were to be tried by this devotion, would
soon shew us how we have deceived ourselves.

Susurrus is a pious, temperate, good man, remark-
able for abundance of excellent qualities. No one
more constant at the service of the church, or whose
heart is more affected with it. His charity is so great,
that he almost starves himself, to be able to give great-
er alms to the poor. Yet Susurrus had a prodigious
failing along with these great virtues. He had a
mighty inclination to hear and discover all the defects
and infirmities of all about him. You was welcome
to tell him any thing of any body, provided that you
did not do it in the style of an enemy. He never dis-
liked an evil speaker, but when his language was
rough and passionate. If you would but whisper any
thing gently, though it was ever so bad in itself, Su-
surrus was ready to receive it. When he visits, you
generally hear him relating how sorry he is for the
defects and failings of such a neighbour. He is al-
ways letting you know how tender he is of the repu-
tation of his neighbour; how loth to say that which
he is forced to say ; and how gladly he would conceal
itj if it could be concealed.

Susurrus had such a tender, compassionate manner
of relating things the most prejudicial to his neigh-
bour, that he even seemed, both to himself and others,
to be exercising a Christian charity at the same time
that he was indulging a whispering, evil-speaking
temper.

Susurrus once whispered to a particular friend in
great secrecy, something too bad to be spoke of pub-
licly. He ended with saying, how glad he was, that
it had not yet took wind, and that he had some hopes
it might not be true, though the suspicions were
strong. His friend made him this reply : You say,
Susurrus, that you are glad it has not yet taken wind;
and that you have some hopes it may not prove true.
Go home, therefore, to your closet, and pray to God

x3

310 A SERIOUS CALL TO A

for this man, in such a manner^ and with such earnest-
ness as you would pray for yourself on the like occa-
sion.

Beseech God to interpose in liis favour, to save him
from false accusers, and bring- all those to shame who,
by uncharitable whispers and secret stories, wound
l)im, like those who stab in the dark. And when you
have made this prayer, then you may, if you please,
go tell the same secret to some other friend, that you
have told to me.

Susurrus wa§ exceedingly affected with this rebuke,
and felt the force of it upon his conscience in as lively
a manner, as if he had seen the books opened at the
day of judgment. All other arguments might have
been resisted; but it was impossible for vSusurrus
either to reject, or to follow this advice, without being
equally self-condemned in the highest degree. From
that time to this he has constantly used himself to this
method of intercession ; and his heart is so entirely
changed by it, that he can now no more privately
whisper any thing to the prejudice of another, than he
can openly pray to God to do people hurt. Whisper-
ings and evil-speakings now hurt his ears, like oaths
and curses ; and he has appointed one day in the week
to be a day of penance as long as he lives, to humble
himself before God, in the sorrowful confession of his
former guilt. It may well be wondered how a man
of so much piety as Susurrus could be so long deceiv-
ed in himself, as to live in such a slate of scandal and
evil-speaking, without suspecting himself to be guilty
of it. But it was the tenderness and seeming compas-
sion with which he heard and related every thing,
that deceived both himself and others. This was a
falseness of heart, which was only to be fully discover-
ed by the true charity of intercession. And if people
of virtue, who think little harm of themselves, as Su-
surrus did, were often to try their spirit by such an in-
tercession, they would often find themselves to be
such, as they least of all suspected.

DEVOUT AND HOLY LIFE. 311

I have laid before you the many and great advan-
tages of intercession. You have seen what a divine
friendship it must needs beget amongst Christians ;
how dear it would render all relations and neighbours
to one another; how it tends to make clergymen^
masters, and parents exemplary and perfect in all the
duties of their station ; how certainly it destroys all
envy, spite, and ill-natured passions ; how speedily it
reconciles all ditferences ; and with what a piercing-
light it discovers to a man the true state of his heart.

These considerations will, I hope, persuade you to
make such intercession as is proper for your state, the
constant, chief matter of your devotion at this hour of
prayer.

CHAPTER XXII.

Recommending Devotion at three o'clock, called in
Scripture the ninth hour of the day. The subject
of prayer at this hour is Resignation to the divine
pleasure. The nature and duty of conformity to
the will of God in all our actions and designs.

I HAVE recommended certain subjects to be made
the fixed and chief matter of your devotions, at all the
hours of prayer that have been already considered.
As thanksgiving, and oblation of yourself to God, at
your first prayers in the morning; at nine, the great
virtue of Christian humility is to be the chief part of
your petitions ; at twelve, you are called upon to pray
for all the graces of universal love, and to raise it in
your heart by such general and particular interces-
sions, as your own state and relation to other people
seem more particularly to require of you. At this
hour of the afternoon you are desired to consider the
necessity of resignation and conformity to the will of
God, and to make this great virtue the principal mat-
ter of your prayers.

X 4

313 A SERIOUS CALL TO A

There is nothing wise, or holy, or just, but the
great will of God. This is as strictly true in the most
rig-id sense, as to say that nothing is infinite and eter-
nal but God. No beings, therefore, whether in hea-
ven or on earth, can be wise, or holy, or just, but
so far as they conform to this will of God. It is con-
formity to this will, that gives virtue and perfection to
the highest services of angels in heaven ; and it is
conformity to the same will that makes the ordinary
actions of men on earth become an acceptable service
unto God.

The whole nature of virtue consists in conforming,
and the whole nature of vice in declining from the will of
God. All God's creatures are created to fulfil his will ;
the sun and moon obey his will, by the necessity of
their nature : angels conform to his will by the perfec-
tion of their nature. If, therefore, you would shew
yourself not to be a rebel and apostate from the order
of the creation, jou must act like beings both above
and below you ; it must be the great desire of your
soul, that God's will may be done by you on earth, as
it is done in heaven. It must be the settled purpose
and intention of your heart, to will nothing, design
nothing, do nothing, but so far as you have reason to
believe thai it is the will of God that you should so de-
sire, design, and do. It is as just and necessary to
live in this state of heart, to think thus of God and
yourself, as to think that you have any dependence
upon him. And it is as great a rebellion against God,
to think that your will may ever differ from his, as to
think that you have not received the power of willing
from him. You are, therefore, to consider yourself
as a being that has no other business in the world, but
to be that which God requires you to be ; to have no
tempers, no rules of your own ; to seek no self-de-
signs or self-ends, but to fill some place, and act some
part in strict conformity and thankful resignation to
the divine pleasure. To think that you are your own,
or at your own disposal, is as absurd as to think that
you created, and can preserve yourself. It is as

DEVOUT AND HOLY tIFE. 315

plain and necessary a first principle, to believe that
you are thus God's, that you thus belong to him, and
are to act and suffer all in a thankful resignation to his
pleasure, as to believe, that in him you live, and move,
and have your being.

Resignation to the divine will signifies a cheerful
approbation and thankful acceptance of every thing
that comes from God. It is not enough patiently to
submit, but we must thankfully receive and fully ap-
prove of every thing that, by the order of God's provi-
dence, happens to us. For there is no reason why we
should be patient, but what is as good and strong a
reason why we should be thankful. If we were un-
der the hands of a wise and good physician, that could
not mistake, or do any thing to us but what certainly
tended to our benefit, it would not be enough to be
patient, and abstain from murmuring against such a
physician ; but it would be as great a breach of duty
and gratitude to him, not to be pleased and thankful
for what he did, as it would be to murmur at him.
Now this is our true state with relation to God ; we
cannot be said so much as to believe in him, unless we
believe him to be of infinite wisdom. Every argu-
ment, therefore, for patience under his disposal of us,
is as strong an argument for approbation and thank-
fulness for every thing that he does to us. And there
needs no more to dispose us to this gratitude towards
God, than a full belief in him, that he is this being
of infinite wisdom, love, and goodness. Do but assent
to this truth, in the same manner as you assent to
things of which you have no doubt, and then you will
cheerfully approve of every thing that God has already
approved for you. For as you cannot possibly be
pleased with the behaviour of any person towards you,
but because it is for your good, is wise in itself,
and the effect of his love and goodness towards you ;
so when you are satisfied that God does not only do that
which is wise, and good, and kind, but that which is
the effect of an infinite wisdom and love in the care of

314 A SERIOUS CALL TO A

you ; it will be as necessary, whilst you have this faith,
to be thankful and be pleased with every thing which
God chuses for you, as to wish your own happiness.
Whenever therefore you find yourself disposed to un-
easiness, or murmuring at any thing* that is the eftect
of God's providence over you, you must look upon
yourself as denying either the wisdom or goodness of
God. For every complaint necessarily supposes this.
You would never complain of your neighbour, but
that you suppose you can shew either his unwise, un-
just, or unkind behaviour towards you. Now every
murmuring, impatient rejection under the providence
of God, is the same accusation of God. A complaint
alwayis supposes ill usage.

Hence also you may see the great necessity and
piety of this thankful state of heart, because the want
of it implies an accusation of God's want either of wis-
dom, or goodness, in his disposal of us. It is not
therefore any high degree of perfection, founded in
any uncommon nicety of thinking, or refined notions,
but a plain principle, founded in this plain belief, that
God is a being of infinite wisdom and goodness. Now
this resignation to the divine will, may be considered
in two respects : First, As it signifies a thankful ap-
probation of God's general providence over the world :
Secondly, \s it signifies a thankful acceptance of his
particular providence over us.

First, Every man is by the law of his creation, by
the first article of his creed, obliged to consent to, and
acknowledge the wisdom and goodness of God, in his
general providence over the whole world. He is to
believe that it is the effect of God's great wisdom and
goodness, that the world itself was formed at such a
particular time, and in such a manner. That the ge-
neral order of nature, the whole frame of things, is
contrived and formed in the best manner. He is to
believe that God's providence over states and kingdoms,
times and seasons, is all for the best. That the revo-
lutions .of state, and changes of empire, the rise and

DEVOUT AND HOLY LIFE. 315

fall of monarchies, persecutions, wars, famines, and
plagues, are all permitted, and conducted by God's
providence, to the general good of man in this state
of trial. A good man is to believe all this, with the
same fulness of assent, as he believes that God is in
every place, though he neither sees, nor can compre-
hend the manner of his presence This is a noble mag-
nificence of thought, a true religious greatness of mind,
to be thus affected with God's general providence, ad-
miring and magnifying his wisdom in all things ; never
murmuring at the course of the world, or the state of
things, but looking upon all around, at heaven and
earth, as a pleased spectator ; and adoring that invisi-
ble hand, which gives laws to all motions, and over-
rules all events to ends suitable to the highest wisdom
and goodness.

It is very common for people to allow themselves
great Hberty in finding fault with such things as have
only God for their cause. Every one thinks he may
justly say, what a wretched, abominable climate he
lives in. This man is frequently telling you, what a
dismal, cursed day it is, and what intolerable seasons
we have. Another thinks he has very little to thank
God for, that it is hardly worth his while to live in a
world so full of changes and revolutions. But these
are tempers of great impiety, and shew tiiat religion
has not yet its seat in the heart of those tliat have them.
It sounds indeed much better to murmur at the course
of the world, or the state of things, than to murmur
at providence ; to complain of the seasons and weather,
than to complain of God ; but, if these have no other
cause but God and his providence, it is a poor dis-
tinction to say, that you are only angry at the things,
but not at the cause and director of them.

How sacred the whole frame of the world is, how
all things are to be considered as God's, and referred
to him, is fully taught by our blessed Lord in the case
of oaths : But I say unto you. Swear not at all ;
neither hy heaven, for it is God's throne ; nor by the

^16 A SERIOUS CALL TO A

earth, for it is his footstool ; neither by Jerusalentj
for it is the city of the great King ; neither shaltthou
swear hy thy head, because thou canst not make one
hair white or black ; Mat. v. 37. ; that is, because the
whiteness or blackness of thy hair is not thine, but
God's.

Here you see all things in the whole order of na-
ture, from the highest heavens to the smallest hair,
are always to be considered, not separately as they are
in themselves, but as in some relation to God. And if
this be good reasoning, thou shalt not swear by the
earth, a city, or thy hair, because these things are God's,
and in a certain manner belong to him ; is it not ex-
actly the same reasoning to say. Thou shalt not mur-
mur at the seasons of the earth, the states of cities,
and the change of times, because all these things are
in the hands of God, have him for their author, are
directed and governed by him to such ends, as are
most suitable to his wise providence?

If you think you can murmur at the state of things
without murmuring at Providence, or complain of sea-
sons without complaining of God; hear what our
blessed Lord says farther upon oaths : Whoso shall
isicear by the altar, siceareth by it, and all things
thereon : and whoso shall sioear by the temple, swear-
eth by him that dicelleth therein : and he that shall
swear by heaven, sweareth by the throne of God, and
by him that sitteth thereon. Matt, xxiii. 20. Now
does not this scripture plainly oblige us to reason after
this manner : Whoso murmurs at the course of the
world, murmurs at God that governs the course of the
world. Whoso repines at seasons and weather, and
speaks impatiently of times and events, repines and
speaketh impatiently of God, who is the sole Lord and
Governor of times, seasons, and events. As therefore,
when we think of God himself, we are to have no sen-
timents but of praise and thanksgiving; so when we
look at those things which are under the direction of
God, and governed by his providence, we are to re-

DETOUT AND HOLY LIFB. 317

ceive them with the same tempers of praise and gra-
titude. And though we are not to think all things
right, and just, and lawful, which the providence of
God permits ; for then nothing could be unjust, be-
cause nothing is without his permission; yet we must
adore God in the greatest public calamities, the most
grievous persecutions, as things that are suffered by
God, like plagues and famines, for ends suitable to his
wisdom and glory in the government of the world.

There is nothing more suitable to the piety of a
reasonable creature, or the spirit of a Christian, than
thus to approve, admire, and glorify God in all the
acts of his general providence : considering the whole
world as his particular family, and all events as directed
by his wisdom.

Every one seems to consent to this, as an undeniable
truth. That all things must he as God pleases ; and
is not this enough to make every man pleased with
them himself? And how can a man be a peevish com-
plainer of any thing that is the effect of providence,
but by shewing that his own self-will and self-wisdom
is of more weight with him, than the will and wisdom
of God? And what can religion be said to have done
for a man, whose heart is in this state?

For if he cannot thank and praise God, as well in
calamities and sufferings, as in prosperity and happi-
ness, he is as far from the piety of a Christian, as he
that only loves them that loves him is from the charity
of a Christian. For to thank God only for such things
as you like, is no more a proper act of piety, than to
believe only what you see, is an act of faith

Resignation and thanksgiving to God are only acts
of piety, when they are acts of faith, trust, and confi-
dence in the divine goodness. The faith of Abraham
was an act of true piety, because it stopped at no diffi-
culties, was not altered or lessened by any human ap-
pearances. It first of all carried him, against all shew
of happiness, from his own kindred and country, into
a strange land^ not knowing whither he went. It af-

SI 8 A SERIOUS CALL TO A

terwards made him, against all appearance of nature^
when his bodij was dead, lohen he was about a7i hun-
dred t/ears old, depend upon the promise of God, be-
ing J ulh/ persuaded, that what God had promised he
was able to perform. It was this same faith, that
against so many pleas of nature, so many appearances
of reason, prevailed npon him to offer up Isaac — ac-
counting that God loas able to raise him up from the
dead. Heb. xi. 17, 19. Now this faith is the true
pattern of Christian resignation to the divine pleasure ;
you are to thank and praise God, not only for things
agreeable to you, that have the appearance of happi-
ness and comfort : but when you are, like Abraham,
called from all appearance of comfort, to be a pilgrim
in a strange land, to part with an only son • being as fully
persuaded of the divine goodness in all things that hap-
pen to you, as Abraham was of the divine promise, when
there was the least appearance of its being* performed.

This is true Christian resignation to God, which
requires no moie to the support of it, than such a plain
assurance of tlie goodness of God, as Abraham had of
his veracity. And if you ask yourself, what greater
reason Abraham had to depend upon the divine vera-^
city, tlian you have to depend upon the divine good-
ri6sy, you will find that none can be given. You can-
not, therefore, look upon this as an unnecessary, high'
pitch of perfection, since the want of it implies the
wanty not of any high notions, but of a plain and or-
dinary faith in the most certain doctrines both of na-
tural and revealed religion. ;

Thus much concerrtins,' resioniation to the divine
will, as it signifies a thdnkfui approbation of God's
general providence: It is now to be considered, as it
signifies a thankful acceptance of God's particular
providence over us.

Every man is to considerdlimself as a particular ob-
ject of God's providence; under the same care and
protection of God, as if the world had been made for
iiim alone. It is not by chance that any man is born

DEVOUT AND HOLY LIFE. 519

at such a time, of such parents,, and in such place and
condition. It is as certain, that every soul comes into
the body at such a time, and in such circumstances, by
the express dcsignment of God,, according- to some
pur})o.ses of his vviil, and for some particuhir ends;
this is as certain, as that it is by the express design-
ment of God, that some being-s arc angels, and others
are men. It is as much by the counsel and eternal
purpose of God, that you should be born in your par-
ticular state, and that Isaac should be the son of Abra-
ham, as that Gabriel should be an angel, and Isaac a
man. The scriptures assure us, that it was by divine
appointment, that our blessed Saviour was born at
Bethlehem, and at such a time. Now, although it
was owing" to the dignity of his person, and the great
importance of his birth, that thus much of the divine
counsel was declared to the world concerning the time
and manner of it, yet we are as sure from the same
scriptures, that the time and manner of every man's
coming into the world, is according to some eternal
purposes and direction of divine providence, and in
such time and place, and circumstances, as are directed
ainl governed by God, for particular ends of his wis-
dbm and goodness. This we are as certain of, froin
plain revelation', as we can be of any thing. For if
we are told, that not a sparroic fallet/i to the ground
witJiout our heavenlj/ Fathei\ can any thing more'
strongly teach us, that much greater beings, such as
human souls, come not into the world without the care
and direction of our heavenly Father? If it is said,
Ike very hairffofijourheadare all numbered, is it not
to teach us, that nothing, not the smallest things ima-
ginable, happen to us by chance? But if the smallest
things we can conceive are declared to be under the
divine direction, need we, or can we be more plainly
taught, that the greatest things of life, such as the
manner of our coming into the world, our parents, the
timej and other circumstances of our birth and condi-

S20 A SERIOUS CALL TO A

tion^ are all according- to the eternal purposes^ directioit,
and appointment of divine Providence?

When the disciples put this question to our blessed
Lord^ concerning the biiiid maii^ saying. Master, who
did sin, this 7nan, or his parents, that he was born
blind ? he that was the eternal wisdom of God made
this answer : Neither hath this man sinned, nor his
parents ; but that the tcorAs of God should be 7nade
manifest in him. John ix. 2, 3. Plainly declaring-,
that the particular circumstances of every man's birth,
the body that he receives, and the condition and state
of life into which he is born, are appointed by a secret
providence, which directs all things to their particular
times, and seasons, and manner of existence, that the
wisdom and works of God may be made manifest in
them all. As, therefore, it is thus certain, that we are
what we are, as to birth, time and condition of enter-
ing into the world ; since all that is particular in our
state is the effect of God's particular providence over
us_, and intended for some particular ends, both of his
glory and our own happiness, we are, by the greatest
obligations of gratitude, called upon to conform and
resign our w ill to the will of God in all these respects ;
thankfully approving and accepting every thing that
is particular in our state. Praising and glorifying his
name for our birth of such parents, and in such cir-
cumstances of state and condition ; being fully assured,
that it was for some reasons of infinite wisdom and
goodness, that we were so born into such particular
states of life. If the man above-mentioned was born
blind, that the works of God might be manifested in
him, had he not great reason to praise God for ap-
pointing him, in such a particular manner, to be the
instrument of his glory? And if one person is born
here, and another there ; if one falls amongst riches,
and another into poverty ; if one receives his flesh and
blood from these parents, and another from those, for
as particular ends, as the man was born blind ; have

DEVOUT AND HOLY LIFE. 321

not al! people the g-reatest reason to bless God, and
to be thankful for their particular state and condition,
because all that is particular in it is as directly intend-
ed for the glory of God, and their own good^ as the
particular blindness of that man, who was so born,
that the works of God might be manifested in him?

How noble an idea does this give us of the divine
Omniscience presiding over the whole world, and go-
verning* such a long" chain and combination of seeming
accidents and chances, to the common and particular
advantages of all beings ! So that all persons, in such
a wonderful variety of causes, accidents, and events,
should all fall into such particular states, as were fore-
seen and fore-ordained to their best advantage, and so
as to be most serviceable to the wise and glorious ends
of God's government of all the world.

Had you been any thing else than what you are,
you had, all things considered, been less wisely provi-
ded for than you are now ; you had wanted some cir-
cumstances and conditions that are best fitted to make
you happy yourself, and serviceable to the glory of
God. Could you see all that which God sees, all that
happy chain of causes and motives, which are to move
and invite you to a right course of life, you would see
something to make you like that state you are in, as
fitter for you than any other. But, as you cannot see
this, so it is here that your Christian faith and trust
in God is to exercise itself, and render you as grateful
and thankful for the happiness of your state, as if you
saw every thing that contributes to it with your own
eyes. But now, if this is the case of every man in the
world, thus blessed with some particular state that is
most convenient for him, how reasonable is it for
every man to will that which God lias already willed
for him ! and, by a pious faith and trust in the divine
goodness, thankfully adore and magnify that wise pro-
vidence, which he is sure has made the best choice for
him of these things, which he could not choose for
himself.

^22

A SERIOUS CALL TO A

Every uneasiness at our own state is founded upoR
"comparing- it with that of other people ; which is full
as unreasonable^ as if a man in a dropsy should be
angry at those that prescribe different things to him
from those which are prescribed to people in health.
For all the different states of life are like the different
states of diseases : what is a remedy to one man, in
his state, may be poison to another. So that to mur-
mur because you are not as some others are, is as if a
man, in one disease, should murmur that he is not
treated like him that is in another. Whereas, if he
was to have his will, he would be killed bv that which
will prove the cure of another. It is just thus in the
various conditions of life; if you give yourself up to
uneasiness, or complain at any thing in your state,
you may, for ought you know, be so ungrateful to God,
as to murmur at that very thing", which is to prove the
cause of your salvation. Had you it in your power to
g-et that which you think it so grievous to want, it
might perhaps be that very thing, which of all others
would most expose you to eternal damnation. So that,
whether we consider the infinite goodness of Ood, that
cannot choose amiss for us, or our own great ignorance
of what is most advantageous to us, there can be no-
thing so reasonable and pious as to have no will but
that of God's, and desire nothing for ourselves, in our
persons, our state, and condition, but that which the
good providence of God appoints us. Farther, as the
good providence of God thus introduces us into the
world, into such states and conditions of life as are
most convenient for us ; so the same unerring wisdom
orders all events and changes in the whole course of
our hves in such a manner, as to render them the fit-
test means to exercise and improve our virtue. No-
thing hurts us, nothing destroys us, but the ill use of
that liberty with which God has entrusted us.

We are as sure that nothing happens to us by
chance, as that the world itself was not made by
chance; we are as certain that all things happen and

DfiVOUT AND HOLY LiPE. S23

work together for our good, as that God is goodness
itself. So that a man has as much reason to will
every thing that happens to him, because God wills it,
as to think that is wisest which is directed by infinite
wisdom. This is not cheating or soothing ourselves
into any false content, or imaginary happiness ; but is
a satisfaction, grounded upon as great a certainty as
the being and attributes of God. For, if we are right
in believing; God to act over us with infinite wisdom
and goodness, we cannot carry our notions, conformity _,
and resignation to the divine will too high ; nor can
we ever be deceived by thinking that to be best for us
which God has brought upon us. For the providence
of God is not more concerned in the government of
night and day, and the variety of seasons, than in the
common course of events that seem most to depend
upon the mere wills of men. So that it is as strictly
right to look upon all worldly accidents and changes,
all the various turns and alterations in your own life,
to be as truly the effects of divine Providence, as the
rising and setting of the sun, or the alterations of the
seasons of the year. As you are, therefore, always to
adore the wisdom of God in the direction of these
things ; so it is the same reasonable duty always to
magnify God, as an equal director of every thing that
happens to you, in the course of your own life. This
holy resignation and conformity of your will to the
will of God being so much the true state of piety, I
hope you will think it proper to make tliis hour of
prayer a constant season of applying to God for so
great a gift; that, by thus constantly praying for it,
your heart may be habitually disposed towards it, and
always in a state of readiness to look at every thing as
God's, and to consider him in every thing ; that so
every thing that befals you may be received in tlie spirit
of piety, and made a means of exercising some virtue.
There is nothing that so powerfully governs the
heart, that so strongly excites us to wise and reason-
able actions, as a true sense of God's presence.

y2

324 A SERIOUS CALL TO A

Biitj as we cannot see or apprehend the essence of
God ; so nothing will so constantly keep us under a
lively sense of the presence of God, as this holy resig-
nation, which attributes every thing to him, and re-
ceives every thing as from him.

Could we see a miracle from God, ho\v would our
thoughts be affected with an holy awe and veneration
of his presence ! But if we consider every thing as
God's doing, either by order or permission, we shall
then be affected with common things as they would
be who saw a miracle. For, as there is nothing to af-
fect you in a miracle, but as it is the action of God,
and bespeaks his presence ; so, when you consider
God as acting in all things and all events, then all
things will become venerable to you, like miracles,
and fiiil you with the same awful sentiments of the di-
vine presence. Now you must not reserve the exer-
cise of this pious temper to any particular times or oc-
casions, or fancy how resigned you will be to God, if
such or such trials should happen ; for this is amusing
yourself with the notion or idea of resignation, instead
of the virtue itself Do not, therefore, please your-
self with thinking how piously you would act and sub-
mit to God in a plague, a famine, or persecution ; but
be intent upon the perfection of the present day ; and
be assured, that the best way of shewing a true zeal
is to make little things the occasions of great piety.

Begin, therefore, in the smallest matters, and most
ordinary occasions, and accustom your mind to the
daily exercise of this pious temper, in the lowest oc-
currences of life. And when a contempt, an affront,
a little injury, loss, or disappointment, or the smallest
events of every day, continually raise your mind to
God in proper acts of resignation, then you may justly
hope, that you shall be numbered amongst those that
are resigned and thankful to God in the greatest trials
and afflictions.

DEVOUT AND HOLY LIFE. S2j

CHAPTER XXIII.

Of Evening Prayer. Of the nature and necessity
of Examination. How we are to he particular in
the Confession of all our Sins. How we are to Jill
our minds with a just horror and dread of all Sin.

I AM now come to six o'clock in the evening, which,
according to the scripture account, is called the twelfth,
or last hour of the day. This is a time so proper for
devotion, that 1 suppose nothing need be said to re-
commend it, as a season of prayer, to all people that
profess any regard to piety. As the labour and action
of every state of life is generally over at this hour, so
this is the proper time for every one to call himself to
account, and review all his behaviour, from the first
action of the day. The necessity of this examination
is founded upon the necessity of repentance. For if
it be necessary to repent of all our sins ; if the guilt of
unrepented sins still continue upon us, then it is ne-
cessary not only that our sins, but the particular cir-
cumstances and aggravations of them, be known, and
recollected, and brought to repentance. The Scrip-
ture saith. If we confess our sins, he is faithful and
just to for give us our sins, and to cleanse us from all
unrighteousness. J John i. 9. ; which is as much as
to say, that then only our sins are forgiven, and we
cleansed from the guilt and unrighteousness of them,
when they are thus confessed and repented of.

There seems, therefore, to be the greatest necessity,
that all our daily actions be constantly observed and
brought to account, lest, by a negligence, we load
ourselves with the guilt of unrepented sins. This
examination, therefore, of ourselves every evening, is
not only to be considered ns a commendable rule, and
fit for a wMse man to observe; but as something that
is as necessary as a daily confession and repentance of
our sins; because this dailv repentance is of very little

v3

326 A SERIOUS CALL TO A

significancy^ and loses all its chief benefit, unless it be
a particular confession and repentance of the sins of
that day. This examination is necessary to repent-
ance in the same manner as time is necessary ; you
cannot repent or express your sorrow, unless you al-
low some time for it ; nor can you repent, but so far
as you know what it is that you are repenting- of. So
that, when it is said, that it is necessary to examine
and call your actions to account, it is only saying, that
it is necessary to know what, and how many things
you are to repent of.

You, perhaps, have hitherto only Used yourself to
confess yourself a sinner in general, and asked forgive-
ness in the gross, without any particular remembrance,
or contrition for the particular sins of that day ; and,
by this practice, you are brought to believe that the
same short, general form of confession of sin in gene-
ral is a sufficient repentance for every day. Suppose
another person should hold that a confession of our
sins in general, once at the end of every week, was
sufficient; and that it was as well to confess the sins
of seven days altogether, as to have a particular re-
pentance at the end of every day.

I know you sufficiently to see the unreasonableness
and impiety of this opinion, and that you think it is
easy enough to shew the danger and folly of it : yet
you cannot bring one argument against such an opi-
nion, but what will be as good an argument against
such a daily repentance, as does not call the particu-
lar sins of that day to a strict account. For as you can
bring no express text of Scripture against such an
opinion, but must take all your arguments from the
nature of repentance and the necessity of a particular
repentance for particular sins; so every argument of
that kind must as fully prove the necessity of being-
very particular in our repentance of the sins of every
day; since nothing can he justly said against leaving
the sins of the whole week to be repented for in the
gross, but what may as justly be said against a daily

DEVOUT AND HOLY LIFE. 327

repentance, which considers the sins of that day only
in the gross.

Would you tell such a man, that a daily confession
was necessary to keep up an abhorrence of sin, that
the mind would grow hardened and senseless of the
guilt of sin without it? And is not this as good a rea-
son for requiring- that your daily repentance be very
express and particular for your daily sins ? For if con-
fession is to raise an abhorrence of sin, surely that
confession which considers and lays open your parti-
cular sins, that brings them to light with all their cir-
cumstances and aggravations, that requires a particular
sorrowful acknowledgement of every sin, must, in a
much g-reater degree, fill the mind with an abhorrence
of sin, than that which only in one and the same form
of words confesses you only to be a sinner in general.
For as this is nothing but what the greatest saint may
justly say of himself; so the daily repeating of only
such a confession has nothing in it to make you truly
ashamed of your own way of life.

Again : Must you not tell such a man, that, by
leaving- himself to such a weekly, general confession,
he would be in great danger of forgetting a great many
of his sins? But is there any sense or force in this ar-
gument, unless you suppose that our sins are all to be
remembered and brought to a particular repentance?
And is it not as necessary that our particular sins be
not forgotten, but particularly remembered in your
daily, as in a repentance at any other time? So that
every argument for a daily confession and repentance
is the same argument for the confession and repent-
ance of the particular sins of every day : because daily
confession has no other reason or necessity but our
daily sins ; and therefore is notliing of what it should
be, but so far as it is repentance and sorrowful ac-
knowledgment of the sins of the day.

You would, I suppose, think yourself chargeable
with great impiety, if you was to go to bed without
confessing yourself to be a sinner, and asking pardon

Y 4

328 A SERIOUS CALL TO A

of God : you would not think it sufficient that you did
so yesterday ; and yet, if, without any regard to the
present day, you only repeat the same form of words
that you used yesterday, the sins of the present may
justly be looked upon to have had no repentance.
For if the sins of the present day require a new con-
fession, it must be such a new confession as is proper
to itself. For it is the state and condition of <5very
day that is to determine the state and manner of your
repentance in the evening-; otherwise, the same ge-
neral form of words is rather an empty formality, that
has the appearance of a duty, than such a true perform-
ance of it, as is necessary to make it truly useful to you.
Let it be supposed, that on a certain day you have
been guilty of these sins : that you have told a vain lie
upon yourself, ascribing something falsely to yourself
through pride ; that you have been guilty of detrac-
tion, and indulged yourself in some degree of intem-
perance. Let it be supposed, that, on the next day,
you have lived in a contrary manner; that you have
neglected no duty of devotion, and been the rest of
the day innocently employed in your proper business.
Let it be supposed, that, on the evening of both these
days, you only use the same confession in general, con-
sidering it rather as a duty, that is to be performed
every night, than as a repentance that is to be suited
to the particular state of the day. Can it with any
reason be said, that each day has had its proper re-
pentance? Is it not as good sense to say, there is no
difference in the guilt of these days, as to say that there
need be no different repentance at the end of them?
Or how can each of them have its proper repentance,
but by its having a repentance as large, and extensive,
and particular, as the guilt of each day.

Again : Let it be supposed, that, in that day, when
you had been guilty of the three notorious sins above-
mentioned, that, in your evening repentance, you had
only called one of them to mind ; is it not plain, that
the other two are unrepented of, and that therefore

DEVOUT AND HOLY LIFE. 339^

their guilt still abides upon you? So that you are
then in the state of him who commits himself to the
night without the repentance for such a day, as had
betrayed him into two such great sins. Now these are
not heedless particulars, or such scrupulous niceties,
as a man need not trouble himself about ; but are such
plain truths, as essentially concern the very life of
piety. For if repentance is necessary, it is full as
necessary that it might be rightly performed, and in
due manner. And 1 have entered into all these parti-
culars only to shew you, in the plainest manner, that
examination, and a careful review of all the actions of
the day, is not only to be looked upon as a good rule,
but as something as necessary as repentance itself.

If a man is to account for his expenses at night,
can it be thought a needless exactness in him, to take
notice of every particular expense in the day ? And if
a man is to repent of his sins at night, can it be thought
too great a piece of scrupulosity in him, to know and
not call to mind what sins he is to repent of?

Farther : Though it should be granted, that a con-
fession in general be a sufficient repentance for
the end of such days as have only the unavoidable
frailties of our nature to lament, yet even this fully
proves the absolute necessity of this self-examination:
for without this examination, who can know that he
has gone through any day in this manner?

Again : An evening repentance, which thus brings
all the actions of the day to account, is not only neces-
sary to wipe off tlie guilt of c in, but is also the most
certain way to amend and perfect our lives. For it is
only such a repentance as this, that touches tlie heart,
awakens the conscience, and leaves an horror and de-
testation of sin upon the mind. For instance : If it
should happen that upon any particular evening, all
that you could charge yourself with should be this,
viz. a hasty negligent performance of your devotions,
or too much time spent in an impertinent conversation ;
ifthe unreasonableness of these things were fully reflect-

330 A SERIOUS CALL TO A

ed upon J and acknowledged ; if you was then to con-
demn yourself before God for them^ and implore hig
pardon and assisting grace^ what could be so likely a
means to prevent your falling into the same faults the
next day? Or if you should fall into them again the
next day ; yet if they were again brought to the same
examination and condemnation in the presence of God,
their happening again would be such a proof to you
of your own folly and weakness, would cause such a
pain and remorse in your mind^ and fill you with such
shame and confusion at yourself, as would in all pro-
bability make you exceedingly desirous of greater
perfection.

Now in the case of repeated sins, this would be the
certain benefit that we should receive from this exam-
ination and confession ; the mind would thereby be
made humble, full of sorrow and deep compunction,
and by degrees forced into amendment.

Whereas a formal, general confession, that is only
considered as an evening duty, that overlooks the par-
ticular mistakes of the day, and is the same whether
the day be spent ill or well, has little or no effect upon
the mind ; a man may use such a daily confession, and
yet go on sinning and confessing all his life, without
any remorse of mind, or true desire of amendment.
For if your own particular sins are left out of your
confession, your confessing of sin in general has no
more effect upon your mind, than if you had only
confessed that all men in general are sinners. And
there is nothing in any confession to shew that it is
yours, but so far as it is a self-accusation, not of sin in
general, or such as is common to all others, but of
such particular sins as are your own proper shame
and reproach.

No other confession, but such as thus discovers and
accuses your own particular guilt, can be an act of
true sorrow or real concern at your own condition.
And a confession that is without this sorrow and com-
punction of heart has nothing in it, either to atone for

DEVOUT AND HOLY LIFE. 331

past sins, or to produce in us any true reformation
and amendment of life.

To proceed : in order to make this examination still
further beneficial, every man should oblige himself to
a certain method in it. As every man has something
particular in his nature, stronger inclinations to some
vices than others, some infirmities that stick closer to
him, and are harder to be conquered than others ; and
as it is as easy for every man to know this of himself,
as to know whom he likes or dislikes ; so it is highly
necessary, that these particularities of our natures and
tempers should never escape a severe trial at our even-
ing repentance ; 1 say a severe trial, because nothing
but a rigorous severity against these natural tempers,
is sufficient to conquer them.

They are the right eyes that are not to be spared,
but to be plucked out and cast from us. For as they
are the infirmities of nature, so they have the strength
of nature, and must be treated with great opposition,
or they will soon be too strong for us. He, therefore,
who knows himself most of all subject to anger and
passion, must be very exact and constant in his exam-
ination of this temper every evening. He must find
out every slip that he has made of that kind, whether
in thought, or word, or action ; he must shame, and
reproach, and accuse himself before God, for every
thing that he has said or done in obedience to his pas-
sion. He must no more allow himself to forget the ex-
amination of this temper, than to forget his whole
prayers.

Again : If you find that vanity is your prevailing
temper, that is always putting you upon the adornment
of your person, and catching every thing that compli-
ments or flatters your abilities, never spare or forget
this temper in your evening examination ; but confess
to God every vanity of thought, or word, or action,
that you have been guilty of, and put yourself to all
the shame and confusion for it that you can. In this
manner should all people act with regret to their chief

332 A SERIOUS CALL TO A

frailty, to which their nature most inclines them.
And though it should not immediately do all that they
would wish, yet by constant practice it would certainly
in a short time produce its desired effect.

Farther : As all states and employments of life have
their particular dangers and temptations, and expose
people more to some sins than others, so every man
that wishes his own improvement, should make it a
necessary part of his evening examination, to consider
how he has avoided, or fallen into such sins as are
most common to his state of life. For as our business
and condition of life has great power over us, so no-
thing but such watchfulness as this, can secure us
from those temptations to which it daily exposes us.
The poor man, from his condition of life, is always in
danger of repining and uneasiness; the rich man is
most exposed to sejisuality and indulgence ; the trades-
man to lying and unreasonable gains ; the scholar to
pride and vanity; so that in every state of life, a man
should always, in his examination of himself, have a
strict eye upon those faults, to which hi* state of life
most of all exposes him.

Again : As it is reasonable to suppose, that every
good man has entered into, or at least proposed to
himself^ some method of holy living, and set himself
some such rules to observe, as are not common to
other people, and only known to himself; so it should
be a constant part of his night recollection, to examine
how and in what degree he has observed them, and to
reproach himself before God for every neglect of
them. By rules, I here mean such rules as relate to
the well-ordering of our time, and the business of our
common life. Such rules as prescribe a certain order
to ail that we are to do, our business, devotion, morti-
fications, readings, retirements, conversation, meals,
refreshments, sleep, and the like. Now as good
rules relating to all these things are certain means of
great improvement, and such as all serious Christians
must needs propose to themselves, so they will hardly

DEVOUT AND HOLY LIFE. 333

ever be observed to any purpose, unless they are made
the constant subject of our evening examination.

Lastli/, You are not to content yourself with a hasty
general review of the day, but you must enter upon it
with deliberation ; begin with the first action of the
day, and proceed, step by step, through every particu-
lar matter that you have been concerned in, and so
let no time, place, or action be overlooked. An ex-
amination thus managed, will in a little time make
you as different from yourself as a wise man is differ-
ent from an ideot. It will give you such a newness of
mind, such a spirit of wisdom, and desire of perfection,
as you was an entire stranger to before. Thus
much concerning the evening examination,

I proceed now to lay before you such considerations
as may fill your mind with a just dread and horror of
all sin, and help you to confess your own in the most
passionate contrition and sorrow of heart. Consider
first, how odious all sin is to God, what a mighty baser
ness it is, and how abominable it renders sinners in
the sight of God. That it is sin alone that makes the
great difference betwixt an angel and the devil ; and
that every sinner is, so far as he sins, a friend of the
devil's, and carrying on his work against God. That
sin is a greater blemish and defilement of the soul than
any filth or disease is a defilement of the body. And
to be content to live in sin, is a much greater baseness,
than to desire to wallow in the mire, or love any bo-
dily impurity.

Consider how you must abhor a creature that de-
lighted in nothing but filth and nastiness, that hated
every thing that was decent and clean ; and let this
teach you to apprehend how odious that soul, that de-
lights in nothing but the impurity of sin, must appear
unto God. For all sins, whether of sensuality, pride,
or falseness, or any other irregular passion, are no-
thing else but the filth and impure disease of the ra-
tional soul. And all righteousness is nothing else but
the purity, the decency, the beauty and perfection of
that spirit^ which is made in the image of God,

33^ A SERIOUS CALL TO A

Again ; Learn what horror you ought to have for
the guilt of sin, from the greatness of that atonement
which has been made for it. God made the world by
the breath of his mouth, by a word speaking ; but the
redemption of the world has been a work of longer
labour. How easily God can create beings, we learn
from the first chapter of Genesis ; but how difficult it
is for infinite mercy to forgive sins, we learn from that
costly atonement, those bloody sacrifices, those pains
and penances, those sicknesses and deaths, which all
must be undergone, before the guilty sinner is fit to
appear in the presence of God.

Ponder these great truths : That the Son of God
was forced to become man, to be partaker of all our
infirmities ; to undergo a poor, painful, miserable, and
contemptible life ; to be persecuted, hated, and at last
nailed to a cross, that by such suff*erings he might ren-
der God propitious to that nature in which he suffer-
ed.— That all the bloody sacrifices and atonements of
the Jewish law, were to represent the necessity of this
great sacrifice, and the great displeasure God bore to
sinners. That the world is still under the curse of
sin and certain marks of God's displeasure at it ; such
as famines, plagues, tempests, sickness, diseases, and
death.

Consider that all the sons of Adam are to go through
a painful, sickly life, denying and mortifying their na-
tural appetites, and crucifying the lust of the flesh, in
order to have a share in the atonement of our Savi-
our's death. That all their penances and self-denials,
all their tears and repentance, are only made available
by redemption ; all these sacrifices and sufferings both
of God and man, are only to remove the guilt of sin ;
and then let this teach you with what tears and con-
trition you ought to purge yourself from it. After
this general consideration of the guilt of sin, which
has done so much mischief to your nature, and expos-
ed it to so great punishment, and made it so odious
to God, that nothing less than so great an atonement

DEVOUT AND HOLY LIFE. 335

of the Son of God, and so great repentance of our
own, can restore us to the divine favour :

Consider next your own particular share in the
guilt of sin. And if you would know with what zeal
you ought to repent yourself, consider how you would
exhort another sinner to repentance; and w4iat re-
pentance and amendment you would expect from him,
whom you judged to be the greatest sinner in the
world. — Now this case every man may justly reckon
to be his own. And you may fairly look upon your-
self to be the greatest sinner that you know in the
world.

For though you may know abundance of people to
be guilty of some gross sins, with which you cannot
charge yourself, yet you may justly condemn yourself
as the greatest sinner that you know. And that for
these following reasons :

First, because you know more of the folly of your
own heart, than you do of other people's ; and can
charge yourself with various sins, that you only know
of yourself, and cannot be sure tliat other sinners are
guilty of them. So that as you know more of the fol-
ly, the baseness, the pride, the deceitfulness, and neg-
ligence of your own heart, than you do of any one's
else, so you have just reason to consider yourself as
the greatest sinner that you know : Because you
know more of the greatness of your own sins, than
you do of other people's.

Secondly, The greatness of our guilt arises chiefly
from the greatness of God's goodness towards us,
from the particular graces and blessings, the favours,
the lights and instructions that w^e have received from
him.

Now as these graces and blessings, and the multi-
tude of God's favour towards us, are the great aggra-
vations of our sins against God, so they are only
known to ourselves. And therefore every sinner
knows more of the aggravation of his own guilt, than
he does of other people's ; and consequently may

S36 4 SERIOUS CALL TO A

justly look upon himself to be the greatest sinner that
he knows.

How good God hath been to other sinners, what
light and instruction he has vouchsafed to them ;
what blessings and graces they have received from
him ; how often he has touched their hearts with holy
inspirations, you cannot tell. Kut all this you know
of yourself; therefore you know greater aggrava-
tions of your own guilt, and are able to charge your-
self with greater ingratitude than you can charge
upon other people.

And this is the reason why the greatest saints have
in all ages condemned themselves as the greatest sin-
ners, because they knew some aggravations of their
own sins, which they could not know of other peo-
ple's. The right way therefore to fill your heart with
true contrition, and a deep sense of your own sins, is
this : You are not to consider, or compare the out-
ward form or course of your life with that of other peo-
ple's, and then think yourself to be less sinful than they,
because the outward course of your life is less sinful
than theirs. But in order to know your own guilt,
you must consider your own particular circumstances,
your health, your sickness, your youth or age, your
particular calling, the happiness of your education,
the degrees of light and instruction that you have re-
ceived, the good men that you have conversed with,
the admonitions that you have had, the good books
that you have read, the numberless multitude of divine
blessings, graces, and favours, that you have received,
the good motions of grace that you have resisted, the
resolutions of amendment that you have so often bro-
ken, and the checks of conscience that you have dis-
regarded. For it is from these circumstances that
every one is to state the measure and greatness of
his own guilt. And as you know only these circum-
stances of your own sins, so you must necessarilv know
how to charge yourself with higher degrees of guilt,
than you can charge upon other people. God Al'

DEVOUT AND HOLY LIFE. 337

mighty knows greater sinners it may be than you are ;
because he sees and knows the circumstances of all
men's sins : But your own heart, if it is faithful to you,
can discover no guilt so great as yonr own ; because
it can only see in you those circumstances, on which
great part of the guilt of sin is founded. You may
see sins in other people, that you cannot charge upon
yourself; but then you know a number of circum-
stances of your own guilt that you cannot lay to their
charge. And, perhaps, that person that appears at
such a distance from your virtue, and so odious in your
eyes, would have been much better than you are, had
he been altogether in your circumstances, and received
all the same favours and graces from God that you
have.

This is a very humbling reflection, and very pro-
per for those people to make, who measure their vir-
tue by comparing the outward course of their lives
with that of other people's : for look at whom you
will, however ditferent from you in his way of life, yet
you can never know that he has resisted so much
divine grace as you have ; or that, in all your circum-
stances, he would not have been much truer to his-
duty than you are. Now this is the reason why I de-
sired you to consider how you would exhort that man
to confess and bewail his sins, whom you looked upo«
to be one of the greatest sinners ; because, if you
will deal justly, you must fix the charge at home, and
look no farther than yourself. For God has given no
one any power of knowing the true greatness of any
sins, but his own ; and, therefore, the greatest sinner
that every one knows is himself. You may easily see
how such a one, in the outward course of his life,
breaks the law of God ; but then you can never say,
that had you been exactly in all his circumstances,
that you should not have broken them more than he
has done. A serious and frequent reflection upon
these things will mightily tend to humble us in our
own eyeSj make us very apprehensive of the greatness

2k

SSH A SERIOUS CALL TO A

of our own guilt, and very tender in censuring and
condemning- other people ; for who would dare to be
severe against other people, when, for aught he can
tell, the severity of God may be more due to him than
to them? WIio would exclaim against the guilt of
others, when he considers that he knows more of the
greatness of his own guilt than he does of their's ?
How often you have resisted God's holy Spirit ; how
many motives to goodness you have disregarded ; how
many particular blessings you have sinned against;
how many good resolutions you have broken ; how
many checks and admonitions of conscience you have
stifled, you very well know : but how often this has
been the case of other sinners, you know not ; and,
therefore, the greatest sinner that you know must be
yourself.

Whenever^ therefore, you are angry at sin or sin-
ners ; whenever you read or think of God's indigna-
tion and wrath at wicked men, let this teach you to be
the most severe in your censure, and most humble and
contrite in the acknowledgement and confession of
your own sins, because you know of no sinner equal
to yourself.

Lastly, to conclude this chapter : Having thus ex-
amined and confessed your sins at this hour of the
evening, you must iiftcrwards look upon yourself as
still obliged to betake yourself to prayer again just
before you go to bed. The subject that is most pro-
per for your prayers, at that time, is death. Let
your prayers, therefore, then be wholly upon it, reck-
oning up all the dangers, uncertainties, and terrors of
death ; let them contain every thing that can aflect
and awaken your mind into just apprehensions of it.
Let your petitions be all for right sentiments of the
approach aiRJ importance of death ; and beg of God,
that your mind may be possessed with such a sense of
its nearness, that you may have it always in your
thoughts, do every thing as in the sight of it, and-
make every day a day of preparation for it. Repre-

OfiVOUT AND HOLY LIFE. 339

sent to your imagination, that your bed is your gravel-
that all things are ready for your interment; that you
are to have no more to do with this world ; and that
it will be owing to God's great mercy if you ever see
the light of the sun again, or have another day to add
to your works of piety. And then commit yourself to
sleep, as into the hands of God ; as one that is to have
no more opportunities of doing good ; but is to awake
amongst spirits that are separate from the body, and
waiting for the judgment of the last great day.

Such a solemn resignation of yourself into the
hands of God every evening, and parting with all the
world, as if you was never to see it any more, and all
this in the silence and darkness of the night, is a prac-
tice that will soon have excellent effects upon your
spirit. For this time of the night is exceeding pro-
per for such prayers and meditations ; and the like-
ness which sleep and darkness have to death will con-
tribute very much to make your thoughts about it
the more deep. and affecting. So that J hope you
will not let a time, so proper for such prayers, be ever
passed over without them.

CHAPTER XXIV.

The Conclusion. Of the Excellenci/ and Greatness
of a devout Spirit.

1 HAVE now finished what I intended in this Trea-
tise : 1 have explained the nature of devotion, both as
it signifies a life devoted to God, and as it signifies a
regular method of daily prayer. 1 have now only to
add a word or two in recommendation of a life go-
verned by this spirit of devotion. For though it is as
reasonable to suppose it the desire of all Christians to
arrive at Christian perfection, as to suppose that all
sick men desire to be restored to perfect health ; yet

z2

340 A SERIOUS CALL TO A

experience shews us, that nothing wants more to be
pressed, repeated, and forced upon minds, than the
plainest rules of Christianity. Voluntary poverty,
virginity, and devout retirement, have been here re-
commended as things not necessary, yet highly bene-
ficial to tiiose tliat would make the way to perfection
the most easy and certain. But Christian perfection
itself is tied to no particular form of life ; but is to be
attained, though not with the same ease, in every state
of life. This has been fully asserted in another place ;
where it has been shewn that Christian perfection
calls no one (necessarily) to a cloister, but to the full
performance of those duties, which are necessary for
all Christians, and common to all states of life. Christ.
Perfect, p. 2. So that the whole of the matter is
plainly this: Virginity, voluntary poverty, and such
other restraints of lawful things, are not necessary to
Christian perfection ; but are much to be commend-
ed in those, who choose them as helps and means of a
more safe and speedy arrival at it. It is only in this
manner, and in this sense, that I Avould recommend
any particularity of life; not as if perfection con-
sisted in it, but because of its great tendency to
produce and support the true spirit of Christian per-
fection. But the thing- wisich is here pressed upon
all, is, a life of great and strict devotion ; which, I
think, has been sufficiently siiewn to be equally the
duty and happiness of all orders of men. Neither is
there a-iy thing, in any particular state of life, that
can be justly pleaded as a reason for any abatement
of a devout spirit.

But because, in this polite age of ours, we have so
lived away the spirit of devotion, that many seem
afraid even to be suspected of it, imagining great de-
votion to be great bigotry ; that it is founded in igno-
rance and poorness of spirit, and that little, weak, and
dejected minds are generally the greatest proficients
in it ; it shall here be fully shew n, that great devotion
is the noblest temper of the greatest and noblest

DEVOUT AND HOLY LIFE. 341

souls ; and that they who think it receives any advan-
tage from ignorance and poorness of spirit, are them-
selves not a little, but entirely ignorant of the nature
of devotion, the nature of God, and the nature of
themselves.

People of fine parts and learning, or of g-reatknow -
ledge in worldly matters, may perhaps think it hard to
have their want of devotion charged upon their igno-
rance. But if they will be content to be tried by rea-
son and scripture, it may soon be made to appear,
that a want of devotion, wherever it is, either amongst
the learned or unlearned, is founded in gross igno-
rance, and the greatest blindness and insensibility
that can happen to a rational creature ; and that de-
votion is so far from being the effect of a little and de-
jected mind, that it must and will be always highest
in the most perfect natures. And first. Who reckons
it a sign of a poor, little mind, for a man to be full of
reverence and duty to his parents, to have the truest
love and honour for his friend, or to excel in the high-
est instances of gratitude to his benefactor? Are not
these tempers, in the highest degree, in the most ex-
alted and perfect minds '{ And yet what is high de-
votion, but the highest exercise of these tempers, of
duty, reverence, love, honour, and gratitude to the
amiable, glorious parent, friend, and benefactor of all
mankind? Is it a true greatness of mind to reverence
the authority of your parents, to fear the displeasure
of your friend, to dread the reproaches of your bene-
factor? and must not this fear, and dread, and rever-
ence, be much more just, and reasonable, and honour-
able, when they are in the highest degree towards
God ? Now, as the higher these tempers are, the
more are they esteemed amongst men, and are allow-
ed to be so much the greater proofs of a true great-
ness of mind ; so the higher and greater these tempers
are towards God, so much tiic more do they prove the.
nobility, excellence, and greatness of the mind. So
that, so long as duty to parents, love to friends,

z3

342 A SERIOUS CALL TO A

and gratitude to benefactors, are thought great and
honourable tempers — devotion, which is nothing else
but duty, love, and gratitude to God, must have the
highest place amongst our highest virtues.

If a prince, out of his mere goodness, should send
you a pardon by one of his slaves, would you not think
it a part of your duty to receive the slave with marks
of love, esteem, and gratitude, for his great kindness
in bringing you so great a gift ; and, at the same time,
think it a meanness and poorness of spirit, to shew
love, esteem, and gratitude to the prince, who of his
own goodness freely sent you the pardon? And yet
this would be as reasonable as to suppose that love,
esteem, honour, and gratitude, are noble tempers, and
instances of a great soul, when they are paid to our
fellow-creatures; but the effects of a poor, ignorant,
dejected mind, when they are paid to God.

Farther : That part of devotion which expresses it-
self in sorrowful confession, and penitential tears of a
broken and contrite heart, is very far from being any
sign of a little and ignorant mind. For who does not
acknowledge it an instance of an ingenuous, gener-
ous, and brave mind, to acknowledge a fault, and ask
pardon for any offence? And are not the finest and
most improved minds, the most remarkable for this
excellent temper? Is it not also allowed, that the in-
genuity and excellence of a man's spirit is much shewn,
when his sorrow and indignation at himself rises in
proportion to the folly of his crime, and the goodness
and greatness of the person he has offended ? Now if
things are thus, then the greater any man's mind is,
the more he knows of God and himself, the more will
he be disposed to prostrate himself before God, in all
the humblest acts and expressions of repentance.
And the greater the ingenuity, the generosity, judg-
ment, and penetration of his mind is, the more will he
exercise and indulge a passionate, tender sense of
God's just displeasure ; and the more he knows of the
greatness, the goodness, and perfection of the divine

DEVOUT AND HOLY LIFE. 343

nature, the fuller of shame and confusion will he be
at his own sins and ing-ratitude. And, on the other
hand, the more dull and ignorant any soul is/the more
base and ungenerous it naturally is, the more senseless
it is of tlie goodness and purity of God ; so much the
more averse will it be to all acts of humble confession
and repentance.

Devotion therefore is so far from being best suited
to little ignorant minds, that a true elevation of soul, a
lively sense of honour, and great knowledge of God
and ourselves, are the greatest natural helps that oup
devotion hath.

And, on the other hand, it shall here be made ap-
pear by variety of arguments, that indevotion is found-
ed in the most excessive ignorance.

And, First, Our blessed Lord, and his apostles,
were eminent instances of great and frequent devotion.
Now if you will grant (as all Christians must grant)
that their great devotion was founded in a true know-
ledge of the nature of devotion, the nature of God,
and the nature of man ; then it is plain, that all those
that are insensible of the duty of devotion, are in this
excessive state of ignorance ; they neither know God,
northemselves, nor devotion. For if a right know-
ledge in these three respects produces great devotion,
as in the case of our Saviour and his apostles, then a.
neglect of devotion must be chargeable upon igno-
rance.

Again : How comes it that most people have re-
course to devotion, when they are in sickness, distress,
or fear of death ? Is it not because this state shews
them more of the want of God, and their own weak-
ness, than they perceive at other times? Is it not be-
cause their infirmities, their approaching end, con-
vince them of something, which they did not half per-
ceive before? Now if devotion at these seasons is the
etVect of a better knowledge of God and ourselves,
then the neglect of devotion, at other times, is always
owing to great ignorance of God and ourselves.

z4

344

A SERIOUS CALL TO A

Farther : As indevotion is ignorance, so it is the
most shameful ignorance, and such ought to be charg-
ed with the greatest folly. This will fully appear to
any one that considers by what rules we are to judge
of the excellency of any knowledge, or the shameful-
ness of any ignorance. Now knowledge itself would
be no excellence, nor ignorance any reproach to us,
but that we are rational creatures. But if this be
true, then it follows plainly, that that knowledge which
is most suitable to our rational nature, and which most
concerns us, as such to know, is our highest, finest
knowledge ; and that ignorance which relates to
things that are most essential to us, as rational crea-
tures, and which we are most concerned to know, is of
all others, the most gross and shameful ignorance.
If therefore there be any things that concern us more
than others, if there be any truths that are more to us
than all others, he that has the fullest knowledge of
these things, that sees these tiuths in the clearest,
strongest light, has, of all others, as a rational crea-
ture, the clearest understanding, and the strongest
parts. If therefore our relation to God be our great-
est relation, if our advancement in his favour be our
highest advancement, he that has the highest notions
of the excellence of this relation, he that most strong-
ly perceives the highest worth, and the great value of
holiness and virtue, that judges every thing little,
when compared with it, proves himself to be master
of the "best, and most excellent knowledge. If ajudge
had fine skill in painting, architecture, and music, but
at the same time had gross and confused notions of
equity, and a poor dull apprehension of the value of
justice, who would scruple to reckon him a poor igno-
rant judge? If a bishop should be a man of great ad-
dress and skill in the arts of preferment, and under-
standing how to mise and enrich his family in the
world, but should have no taste or sense of the maxims
and principles of the saints and fathers of the church;
if he did not conceive the holy nature and great obli-

DEVOUT AND HOLY LIFE. 345

gallons of his calling", and judge it better to be cruci-
fied to the world, than to live idly in pomp and
splendour, who would scruple to charge such a bishop
with want of understanding ? If we do not judge and
pronounce after this manner, our reason and judgment
are but empty sounds. But now, if a judge is to be
reckoned ignorant, if he does not feel or perceive the
value and worth of justice ; if a bishop is to be looked
npon as void of understanding, if he is more experien-
ced in other things, than in the exalted virtues of his
apostolical calling; then all common Christians are to
be looked upon as more or less knowing, accordingly
as they know more or less of those great things,
which are the common and greatest concern of all
Christians. If a gentleman should fancy that the
moon is no bigger than it appears to the eye, that it
shines with its own light, that all the stars are only so
many spots of light ; if, after reading books of astro-
nomy, he should still continue in the same opinion,
most people would think he had but a poor apprehen-
sion. But if the same person should think it better to
provide for a short life here, than to prepare for a
glorious eternity hereafter, that it was better to be
rich than to be eminent in piety, his ignorance and
dulness would be too great to be compared to any
thing else.

There is no knowledge that deserves so much as
the name of it, but that which we call judgment. And
that is the most clear and improved understanding,
which judges best of the value and worth of things;
all the rest is but the capacity of an animal, is but
mere seeing and hearing.

And there is no excellence of any knowledge in us,
till we exercise our judgment, and judge well of the
value and worth of things. If a man had eyes that
could see beyond the stars, or pierce into the heart of
the earth, but could not see the things that were before
him, or discern any thing that was serviceable to him,
we should reckon that he had but a very bad sight. If

346 A SERIOUS CALL TO A

another had ears that received sounds from the world
in the moon, but could hear nothing- that was done
upon earth, we should look upon him to be as bad as
deaf. In like manner, if a man has a memory that
can retain a great many things ; if he has a wit that
is sharp and acute in arts and sciences, or an imagin-
ation thjit can wander agreeably in fictions, but has
a dull poor apprehension of his duty and relation to
God, of the value of piety, or the worth of moral vir-
tue, he may very justly be reckoned to have a bad un-
derstanding. He is but like the man that can only
see and hear such things as are of no benefit to him.
As certain, therefore, as piety, virtue, and eternal hap-
piness are of the most concern to man ; as certain as
the immortality of our nature, and relation to God,
are the most glorious circumstances of our nature, so
certain is it, that he who dwells most in contemplation
of them, whose heart is most affected with them, who
sees farthest into them, who best comprehends the
value and excellency of them, who judges all worldly
attainments to be mere bubbles and shadows in com-
parison of them, proves himself to have of all others
the finest understanding, and the strongest judgment.
And if we do not reason after this manner, or allow
this method of reasoning, we have no arguments to
prove, that there is any such thing as a wise man, or
a fool. For a man is proved to be a natural, not be-
cause he wants any of his senses, or is incapable of
every thing, but because he has no judgment, and is
entirely ignorant of the worth and value of things — he
will perhaps chuse a fine coat rather than a large es-
tate. And as the essence of stupidity consists in the
entire want of judgment, in an ignorance of the value
of things ; so, on the other hand, the essence of wis-
dom and knowledge must consist in the excellency of
our judgment, or in the knowledge of the worth and
value of things. This therefore is an undeniable
proof, that he who knows most of the value of the
best things, who judges most rightly of the things

DEVOUT AND HOLY LIFE. 347

which are of most concern to him, who had rather
have his soul in a state of Christian perfection, than
the greatest share of worldly happiness, has the high-
est wisdom, and is at the farthest distance from men
that are naturals, that any knowledge can place him.
On the other hand, he that can talk the learned lan-
guages, and repeat a great deal of history, but prefers
the indulgence of his body to the purity and perfection
of his soul, who is more concerned to get a name, or
an estate here, than to live in eternal glory hereafter,
is in the nearest state to that natural, who chuses a
painted coat rather than a large estate. He is not
called a natural by men, but he must appear to God,
and heavenly beings, as in a more excessive state of
stupidity, and will sooner or later certainly appear so
to himself

But now if this be undeniably plain, that we cannot
prove a man to be a fool, but by shewing that he has
no knowledge of things that are good and evil to him-
self, then it is undeniably plain, that we cannot prove
a man to be wise, but by shewing that he has the full-
est knowledge of things that are his greatest good,
and his greatest evil. If, therefore, God be our great-
est good ; if there can be no good but in his favour,
nor any evil but in departing from him, then it is plain,
that he who judges it the best thing he can do to please
God to the utmost of his power, who worships and
adores him with all his heart and soul, who had rather
have a pious mind than all the dignities and honours
in the world, shews himself to be in the highest state
of human wisdom.

To proceed : We know how our blessed Lord acted
in a human body ; it was his meat and drink to do
the will of his Father which is in heaven. And if any
number of heavenly spirits were to leave their habita-
tions in the light of God, and be for a while united to
human bodies, they would certainly tend towards God
in all their actions, and be as heavenly as they could
in a state of flesh and blood.

34S A SERIOUS CALL TO A

They would certainly act in this manner, because
they would know that God was the only good of all
spirits ; and that whether they were in the body or out
of the body, in heaven or on earth, they must have
every degree of their greatness and happiness from
God alone. All human spirits, therefore, the more ex-
alted they are, the nearer they come to heavenly spi-
rits, by so much the more will they live to God in all
their actions, and make their whole life a state of devo-
tion. Devotion, therefore, is the greatest sign of a
great and noble genius, it supposes a soul in its high-
est state of knowledge ; and none but little and blinded
minds, that are sunk into ignorance and vanity, are
destitute of it.

If a human spirit should imagine some mighty
prince to be greater than God, we should take it for a
poor ignorant creature ; all people would acknowledge
such an imagination to be the height of stupidity.
But if this same human spirit should think it better to
be devoted to some mighty prince than to be devoted
to God, would not this still be a greater proof of a
poor, ignorant, and blinded nature / Yet this is what
all people do, who think any thing better, greater, or
wiser than a devout life. So that which way soever we
consider this matter, it plainly appears, that devotion
is an instance of great judgment, of an elevated na-
ture; and the want of devotion is a certain proof of
the want of understanding. The greatest spirits of
the heathen world, such as Pythagoras, Socrates, Plato,
Epictetus, Marcus Antoninus, &c. owed all their
greatness to the spirit of devotion. They were full
of God ; their wisdom and deep contemplations tended
only to deliver men from the vanity of the world, the
slavery of bodily passions, that they might act as spi-
rits that came from God, and were soon to return to
him.

Again : To see the dignity and greatness of a devout
spirit, we need only compare it with other tempers
that are chosen in the room of it. St. John tells us^

DEVOUT AND HOLY LIFE. 349

that all in the world (that is, all the tempers of a
worldly life) is the lust of the flesh, the lust of the
eyes, and the pride of life. Let us therefore consider,
what wisdom or excellency of mind there is required
to qualify a man for these delights. Let us suppose
a man given up to the pleasures of the body ; surely
this can be no sig'n of a fine mind, or an excellent spi-
rit : For if he has but the temper of an animal, he is
great enough for these enjoyments. Let us suppose
him to be devoted to honours and splendours, to be
fond of glitter and equipage ; now if this temper re-
quired any great parts or fine understanding to make
a man capable of it, it would prove the world to abound
with great wits. Let us suppose him to be in love
with riches, and to be so eager in the pursuit of them,
as never to think he has enough ; now this passion is
so far from supposing any excellent sense, or great
understanding, that blindness and folly are the best
supports that it hath. Let us lastly suppose him in
another light, not singly devoted to any of these pas-
sions, but, as it mostly happens, governed by all of
them in their turns — does this shew a more exalted
nature, than to spend his days in the service of any
one of tliem? For to have a taste for these things,
and to be devoted to them, is so far from arguing any
tolerable parts or understanding, that they arc suited
to the dullest, weakest minds, and require only a great
deal of pride and folly to be greatly admired. But
now let libertines bring any such charge as this, if they
can, against devotion. They may as well endeavour
to charge light with every thing that belongs to dark-
ness. Let them but grant that there is a God, and
Providence, and then they have granted enough to
justify the wisdom, and support the honour of devotion.
For if there is an infinitely wise and good creature, in
whom we live, move, and have our being, whose pro-
vidence governs all things in all places, surely it must
be the highest act of our understanding to conceive
rightly of him ; it must be the noblest instances of

350 A SERIOUS CALL TO A

judgment, the most exalted temper of our nature, to'
worship and adore this universal providence, to con-
form to its laws, to study its wisdom, and to live and
act every where, as in the presence of this infinitely
good and wise Creator. Nou^ he that lives thus lives
in the spirit of devotion. And what can shew such
great parts, and so fine an understanding, as to live in
this temper. For if God is wisdom, surely he must
be the wisest man in the world, who most conforms to
the wisdom of God, who best obeys bis providence,
who enters farthest into his designs, and does all he
can, that God's will may be done on earth, as it is
done in heaven. A devout man makes a true use of
his reason ; he sees through the vanity of the world,
discovers the corruption of his nature, and the blind-
ness of his passions. He lives by a law which is not
visible to vulgar eyes ; he enters into the world of spi-
rits ; he compares the greatest things, sets eternity
against time; and chuses rather to be for ever great
in the presence of God, when he dies, than to have the
greatest share of worldly pleasures whilst he lives.
He that is devout is full of these great thoughts ; he
lives upon lliese noble reflections, and conducts him-
self by rules and principles, which can only be appre-
hended, admired, and loved by reason. There is no-
thing therefore that shews so great a genius, nothing
that so raises us above vulgar spirits, nothing that so
plainly declares an heroic greatness of mind, as great
devotion. When you suppose a man to be a saint, or
all devotion, you have raised him as much above all
other conditions of life, as a philosopher is above an
animal.

Lastly, Courage and bravery are words of a great
sound, and seem to signify an heroic spirit ; but yet
humility, which seems to be ihe lowest, meanest part
of devotion, is a more certain argument of a noble and
courageous mind. For humility contends with greater
enemies, is more constantly engaged, more violently
assaulted, bears more, suffers more, and requires

DEVOUT AND HOLY LIFE. 351

greater courage to support itself, than any instances of
worldly bravery. A man that dares be poor and con-
temptible in the eyes of the world, to approve himself
to God ; that resists and rejects all human glory, that
opposes the clamour of his passions, that meekly puts
up all injuries and wrongs, and dares stay for his re-
ward till the invisible hand of God gives to every one
their proper places, endures a much greater trial, and
exerts a nobler fortitude, than he that is bold and dar-
ing in the fire of battle. For the boldness of a soldier,
if he is a stranger to the spirit of devotion, is rather
weakness than fortitude ; it is at best but mad passion,
and heated spirits, and has no more true valour in it
than the fury of a tiger. For as we cannot lift up a
hand^ or stir a foot, but by a power that is lent us from
God; so bold actions that are not directed by the
laws of God, or so many executions of his will, are no
more true bravery, than sedate malice is Christian
patience.

Reason is our universal law, that obliges us in all
places and at all times ; and no actions have any ho-
nour, but so far as they are instances of our obedience
to reason. And it is as base and cowardly, to be bold
and daring against the principle of reason and justice,
as to be bold and daring in lying and perjury.

Would we therefore exercise a true fortitude, we
must do all in the spirit of devotion, be valiant against
the corruptions of the world, and the lusts of the flesh,
and the temptations of the devil ; for to be daring and
courageous against these enemies, is the noblest bra-
very that a human mind is capable of.

1 have made this digression, for the sake of those,
who think a great devotion to be bigotry and poorness
of spirit ; that by these considerations they may see,
how poor and mean all other tempers are, if compared
to it. That they may see, that all worldly attainments,
whether of greatness, wisdom, or bravery, are but
empty sounds ; and there is nothing wise, or great, or

S52 A SERIOUS CALLj &C.

noble, in a human spirit, but rightly to know, and
heartily worship and adore the great God, that is the
support and life of all spirits, whether in heaven or on
«arth.

FINIS.

J. and J. Jackson, Printers, Marketplace, Loutb.

Date Due

BV4500 .L407 1816

A serious call to a devout and holy

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