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not in words, but actions; is practically imbibed; and shews itself accordingly, not in the words, but actions, of the obHere the Author saw, what would appear too paradoxical to be believed in some other places-He saw the wealthy devout, and the man who had a great fortune, in effect, his all, exposed to the winds and waves, unbending himself in an evening, with a surprising greatness of soul, to all the sweets of a cheerful or religious conversation; nay, he saw him maintain his part in this conversation, with such a mixture of wit, sound sense, gaiety, and goodness, as did honour, not only to the solid, but to the ornamental, part of that education, which may be had in the school of business. A stranger, seeing him in this attitude, would not imagine he had been bred from his childhood to trade, or had, at this instant, a single boat on sea. Neither would he imagine, if he knew his application to business so very assiduous, or his economy so exactly frugal, that he could, on proper occasions, find in his heart to live with the liberality of a prince, and, to proper objects, give away with the charity of a saint.

It was in London, and among you, Gentlemen, that the Author of these Discourses formed an idea of private and domestic heroism, which he makes no scruple to prefer to that of politicians and conquerors. He therefore leaves their unjustifiable arts, and bloody laurels, to be made the objects of vulgar admiration by the poets; and, having passed by both the court and camp, and found the truly great man in a counting-house or shop, dedicates his labours, with an inexpressible affection and esteem, to you. Accept, Gentlemen, the tenders of his gratitude; and what, in regard to its own defects, you cannot approve of, be pleased, with your wonted goodness, to indulge, in regard to a writer earnestly studious to demonstrate that respect towards you, and that zeal for the cause of every virtue, which every man, who knows both, must acknowledge to be justly due.

That, in thus addressing you, he speaks not as a flatterer, or as a man of selfish designs, his speaking to a community, and not a particular person, may serve to shew. But, if this is not sufficient, the following Discourses will fully prove it; for, in them he considers the true religion as the only cure for the vices of mankind; and therefore thinks it not sufficient to demonstrate its truths, if in every Discourse they

are not pointed in their full vigour, and with the collected force of all the talents God hath bestowed on the preacher, against the horrible sins of an abandoned age, howsoever backed by numbers, howsoever countenanced by custom, howsoever dignified by station, or privileged by title and power. He little regards what they say, who tell him, it is a folly to expect any thing else from this method, but the contempt, perhaps ruin, of him who takes it. Be it so. However, the servant of God ought to do his duty, and leave the rest to his Master. That this is his duty, the enormous increase of wickedness on the one side, and the commands of God on the other, who, in times like these, bids us cry aloud, and spare not,' have made it sufficiently evident. And that his ruin, as the worldly-minded call it, will prove his happiness and glory in the end, is also as certain as the promises of God can make it. If he is not as much an infidel as too many of those he ought to reprove, on these he will rely, and by those he will be guided, and will be in little pain about the consequences.

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He hopes his Discourses will be read, because they are new and spirited. And if they are favoured with a perusal, it is possible they may touch the reader in some yet feeling quarter of his heart, to which others, better executed in the main, have been too general, or too tender, to penetrate. He knows there is a large class of men, as well satisfied with their own practices, though vicious, as with their principles, though irreligious; who, therefore, are determined to keep every thing at a distance, which might possibly lessen this satisfaction. But if any of these shall happen to read what I am now writing, let him consider a little, that irreligion may be folly, and vice misery, for aught he can judge, who will consult with nothing but his passions about the one, and with his prejudices only about the other.

How can he who will not try, foresee whether a writer like this, after accosting him with a severer face than usual, may not lead him to another kind of satisfaction, more sincere and perfect, more likely to afford him a solid tranquillity while he lives, and sweet consolations when he dies? It is plain, he must be diffident of the grounds on which that composure is erected, wherein he at present endeavours to rest, because he dare not trust them to the slightest exami

nation. How he can deal thus contemptuously by his own understanding, and yet conceitedly call himself a rational, nay, a free creature, is inconceivable to a man really in his senses. However, he may venture himself perhaps safely enough with these Discourses. They are not such miracles in their kind, but that their defects, and his unanswerable arguments for infidelity and wickedness, may happen to bring him off, with his favourite system unshaken. Should this be the case, he will have one additional presumption (and surely he needs a thousand) to settle him more securely on the lees of his present infatuation.

Should you, Gentlemen (which God avert), lay aside that attachment to religion and virtue, from which result the many blessings you have long enjoyed; experience will soon teach us to date the ruin of you and your country from that unhappy era. Infidel principles are the source of dissolute practices, and dissipated fortunes. No degree of present prosperity or affluence can stand its ground against dishonesty, striking at the root of that credit, and a vicious profusion, wasting those funds, on which commerce, the spring of wealth, is founded. The city, fully convinced of this important truth, will consider every encroachment of infidelity as they do a French invasion, and treat every pert pretender to disputation, who, having made shipwreck of his principles, harangues for irreligion in the drawingroom, the coffee-house, and such-like talkeries, as a contemptible bankrupt to common sense and common honesty. Thus, Gentlemen, it is hoped, you will look on this coxcomb of controversy, even though he should give himself the air of having learned his infidel parade at St. James's. Your piety is much nearer akin to true wisdom, and your humanity to true politeness, than that superficial pomp and flourish, which the unthinking citizen is apt to admire in the mere courtier. Quit not these honest principles and pursuits, that have made you rich, for the contrary, howsoever dignified by vain appearances, in hopes they will make you great; for if you use your wealth as the Author of religion and giver of wealth prescribes, you are infinitely greater already than all the titles and splendour of nobility can make

you.

All the miseries you have ever suffered, or feared, con

sidered either as private persons, or as a collective and permanent body, were owing to the vices lashed in the Discourses hereby introduced to you: and all your wealth and power have flowed from the virtues therein recommended. The writer before you endeavours to give you a still deeper detestation of those vices, that have engendered all your factions and bankruptcies, all your public and private calamities and he endeavours to inspire you with a yet warmer attachment to those virtues which have given you your trade, increased your numbers, extended and adorned your buildings, and heaped the delicacies of the world on your tables.

In order to accomplish these happy purposes, he urges the Christian principles in their genuine purity, and with all the weight of their eternal sanctions. And, as the best means deeply to impress the sentiments he would excite, he follows the impulses of nature, without regarding the formality of those rules, to which the critics in sermons would confine that species of performance. As thevariety of subjects, on which discourses of this kind may be executed, and of the minds to which they may be applied, is endless, so he thinks every human talent may be properly exerted in such a work; nay, exerted with all its force, since the ends pursued in such compositions are of infinite moment. How is it possible for the bounded eloquence of man to exceed on topics, every one of which necessarily carries the eye into an eternity of duration, and an immensity of happiness or misery! Topics, on which the miracles of infinite wisdom, compassion, and power, and of human ingratitude, human insensibility, and impenitence, are occasionally to be displayed! Were every word of the preacher to fly on fire to the ears of his audience, they could not be too warm for the subjects he handles, much less too piercing, God knows, for the callous of those minds they are aimed at. The eloquence of the pulpit cannot possibly be too much animated, if good sense and truth give a basis to every period. Where these are found, infidelity itself cannot suspect it of enthusiasm or imposture. But how, on the other hand, to reconcile the frostiness of some discourses on the great things of religion, with the supposition of a lively faith in the preacher, is a difficulty which such a preacher only can explain. He may

say he is a firm believer, and sufficiently warmed with his faith; but thinks reasonable beings ought to be dealt with only by reason. And why only? Why not rather according to their whole nature? Did God give us our passions for nothing? Does religion furnish no objects of love and fear? Or does this dispassionate preacher so far regret his own religious warmths, as to think the communication of them to others would be criminal in him?

If a point is evident of itself, or demonstrated to the understanding, or already taken for granted on good grounds by those who hear us; is there any danger in pressing it home on the heart? or rather, is there any thing else to be done? We know by experience, not only that a man may be convinced, without being moved; but that when he is so, his conviction is of little consequence to him. The prophets, the apostles, and primitive fathers, were above the little arts of rhetoric; yet they wrote and spoke with ardour, as well as the ancient heathen orators. What they had proved, even by miracles, they urged on the active part of the mind with the most pathetic addresses, with the most inducing promises, with the most alarming menaces. The goodness, the power, the majesty, of God, glowed in their descriptions. The virtuous heard, and loved; the vicious heard, and trembled.

If a preacher is forbidden to meddle with the pathetic (in which is comprehended every thing that can rightly stir up the passions), he must be forbidden to quote the Scriptures, where a more than human pathos breathes almost in every page. But if he may quote, why may he not imitate? Or indeed, how can he forbear expressing the vehement emotions of his own heart, if his heart is really moved? He is surely as much at liberty to use enforcements, as reasonings of his own. Nay, it is infinitely more his business to furnish such enforcements, than reasonings, for all those numerous cases, where conviction hath already taken place, but is not attended with a suitable practice. Were a man, for instance, to preach on the subject of murder, it would surely be most impertinent in him to spend the time in proving murder to be a sin, and shewing that God will punish it; which every one knows as well as he. Ought he not rather to say every thing that could heighten the horror of

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