ever intend to lead, and which we never do lead, because we are always intending it ;-are we convinced, I say, that we are to be judged not by that imaginary life which we are for ever intending to lead, but by the life which we are now actually living? Have we given up the folly of expecting to do anything in future, which we will not do now; of expecting to do that in sickness, which we cannot do in health; of expecting to do that in death, which we cannot do in life? Are we doing just as much to prepare as if the judgment were to depend on what we are doing; for it is to depend on what we are doing, and doing, and doing, through the whole of life: as much, I say, as if the judgment were to depend on these hourly deeds which we are now performing, on these momentary feelings which we are now cherishing? If not, then, there ought to be a revolution in our lives-call it conversion, regeneration, a change of heart, I care not by what name-but, I say, that there ought to be a revolution in our lives, of such magnitude and moment, that the eternal judgment only can declare it! Are we, then, habitually ready to die? If not habitually, we never are, for religion is a habit. If not habitually; if not, at least, habitually making ourselves ready, there is reason to fear that we never shall be; for life-do you not perceive ?-is a tissue of thoughts, purposes, and feelings, which is growing stronger as it lengthens; so that the disinclination to prepare for death is growing every moment, while, every moment the time for it lessens.

There is a vague notion-for it is the hope of all that death will not break into the midst of life- -a vague notion, with many, of retiring in advancing years from the cares and business of life to make this preparation, which involves a great and hazardous mistake.

They seem to think that the heart will become pure and spiritual and heavenly, as the state of life becomes quiet and free from the urgency of worldly cares. Delusive expectation! as if all growth in nature were not most vigorous amidst calm and silence: as if, in like manner, the rooted passions of the soul were not likely to grow stronger and more stubborn, amidst the silence and quietude of declining years! What is the fact? Did you ever see selfishness, or avarice, or a worldly mind, lose its accustomed power in such circumstances? On the contrary, we know-who has not witnessed sad and striking instances of it?we know, that nothing is more common, than for avarice and worldliness to find strength in leisure and freedom in retirement; that they fix a stronger grasp upon the decaying faculties, and fling their icy bonds over the soul amidst the winter of age. As well might the Ethiopian change his complexion, by retiring from the scorching sun, to his shaded hut as soon might the leopard lose his spots, barely by plunging into the solitudes of the wilderness: when the flood could not wash them away. The waters of death are not waters of ablution, but rather do they give the colouring and complexion to our destiny. They are not a slow and oblivious stream; but rather a rushing torrent that bears us away, before we are aware. Death comes suddenly to all. It does break sooner or later into the midst of life. It comes at a time when we think not. It comes, not when all our plans are ready for it; not with harbingers and prophecies and preparations; not with a heart-thrilling message, saying, "set thy house in order, for this year thou shalt die ;" no voice is in the infectious breath of the air that brings contagion and death with it; no coming step startles us when disease is approaching; no summoning hand knocks at the gate of life, when its last dread

foe is about to enter its dark and guarded passages; no monitory conviction within, says, "this month, this week I shall die!" No, it comes at a time when we think not; it comes upon an unprepared hour, unless our life be preparation; it finds us with all our faults, with all our sins about us; it finds us, that which life has made us-finds us such as the very action, habit, and spirit of life, have made us; and bids us die, such as we lived!

Who of you will meet his end when he expects it? Perhaps not one. Or if you should, how solemn a message would you address to the living! Who of us has, in our own apprehension, been brought to such a crisis, but has had thoughts, which no language can utter, on this momentous concern? We felt that then was not the time to prepare. "Oh! not now—not here!" is the language of the dying man, as with broken utterance and the failing and faltering breath of life, he testifies his last conviction, "not now-not here, is the place or the time, to prepare for death!" And he feels too, that all which the world contains, vanishes into nothing, compared with this preparation ! Are we, then, prepared ?—not by a preternatural or extravagant state of feeling; not by glooms, nor by raptures; nor by any assurance, nor by any horror of mind; but by the habitual and calm discharge of our duty, by labours of kindness, by the spirit of devotion ?-by a temper of mind, kindred to that heaven which we hope to enter? Are we thus ready, every day, every hour? On the exchange, in the office, in the study; in the house and by the way; in the work-shop and in the field; are we ever ready? "Blessed are those servants, whom the Lord when he cometh shall find watching and if he shall come, in the second watch, or in the third watch, and find them so, Blessed are those servants."

VI.

COMPASSION FOR THE SINFUL.

AND WHEN HE HAD LOOKED ROUND ABOUT HIM WITH ANGER, BEING GRIEVED FOR THE HARDNESS OF THEIR HEARTS, HE SAID UNTO THE MAN, STRETCH FORTH THY HAND.-Mark iii. 5.

THAT part of this passage, only, which relates to the moral temper of our Saviour, is proposed for your present meditations. It is, in other words, and especially, the compassion of Jesus.

In reading the first clause of the sentence-he "looked round about him with anger"-I suppose that many may have felt an emotion, a thrill almost, of pain and doubt; they have felt that these words, by themselves, and in their simple meaning, were in painful contrast with all their ideas of our Saviour's meekness and patience; they have been ready to doubt whether the words could have been correctly translated. But how entirely and delightfully is the mind relieved by the words that follow-" being grieved for the hardness of their hearts!" He was indignant as he looked around him, and witnessed the bitter enmity and the base hypocrisy of the Jews; but his indignation instantly softened into pity; he was grieved at the hardness of their hearts.

This is one instance of that sublime moral harınony, that union in which the most opposite qualities met and mingled, that so entirely singles out from all other models, the character of our heavenly Teacher

and Master. We recognise the same spirit with that which was so pathetically manifested, in his appeal to Jerusalem. "O Jerusalem! Jerusalem!-thou that killest the prophets and stonest them that are sent to thee," here is the tone of indignation and reproach; but mark, how instantly it is redeemed from the ordinary character of those sentiments-" thou that killest the prophets and stonest them that are sent unto thee; how often would I have gathered thy children even as a hen gathereth her brood under her wing, but ye would not!"

The spirit with which we should regard the faults and sins of mankind is nearly a neglected subject in morals; and it had been well for moral reformers and preachers of righteousness, if they had more thoroughly considered it. It is, moreover, a very practical subject to all men. For we are constantly brought into contact with the faults and transgressions of mankind; every day offers, from this cause, some annoyance to our feelings, or some injury to our interests; every newspaper, that is taken in our hand, is burthened with the recital of crimes-robberies, murders, piracies, wars. Indeed, this constant experience of injustice or exasperation in some or other of their forms, and this extensive observation of human wickedness, are a part of our moral discipline; and it becomes us, to consider how we should meet it, and be made better by other men's faults. It is, indeed, in its mildest form, a sad and grievous discipline, from which, no one should be willing to come out, unprofited.

There is another general observation applicable to this subject. As we advance in our moral discriminations, we shall always find that things before indifferent, become interesting; and things distant, it may be added, become near. A war, for instance, breaks out