to our motives and to the heart; the other, to our manners and to the exterior. Approbation is the reward of good intentions; admiration, of good appearances. The desire of being approved is a passion which may include God himself among the objects of its concern; and from a desire of his approbation the descent is easy to a lively regard for the good opinion of his children. But the desire of being admired can have no reference to God, for God cannot admire. Admiration is an emotion unknown to the mind of omnipotence. He, in whose sight all worldly glory is but a glimmering exhalation, low in its origin, transitory in its continuance, delusive in its effects, cannot be dazzled by splendor, or deceived by appearances. He, who wishes to be admired, must not look above the earth.

Again, the love of approbation is a gentle, moderate and equable affection; the love of admiration grows fast into excess: then it inflames the imagination, preys upon the spirits, and disturbs the whole frame of the soul. The lover of admiration disdains the cool commendations, which are bestowed upon moral qualities. He pants to be eminent, and makes haste to be known. He is willing to be hated, if he may but be feared; or censured, if be may but be wondered at. When he talks, he talks to be listened to; when he is silent, he sits to be observed; when he does good, he is disappointed if it be not known; when he does evil, be is willing it should be known, if it will gain respect to his talents, even at the expense of his disposition. On the contrary, he, who seeks only to be approved, receives with diffidence, as well as pleasure, the praises which he has not coveted, nor disdained. He is contented with the still and quiet commendation of the few, and suspects the noisy encomiums of the many. He waits for approbation from others, rather as a gratefulecho of the whispers of his own conscience, than as a pre

cursor and herald of his own self-complacency. The praise which he receives is, therefore, bestowed the more freely, because unsought; and he regards the good opinion of the good, as the annunciation provided by God on earth of the judgment already passed in Heaven.

We shall mention only one more restriction of this universal passion, a restriction which is the more definite as it is the more important, and more peculiarly conformable to the spirit of our religion. It is this. Human estimation should be valued as the means of usefulness, but should never be sought, as the end and ultimate reward of our exertions. Let us look round on some of the numberless examples of self-deception on this subject. Here you may see a man, whose bosom is just beginning to burn with sentiments of patriotism. Awakened by some accidental circumstance, he is full of ardour, seeks for popularity that he may obtain power, and for power, only that he may put in execution his long meditated plans of public utility. He soon finds, however, that popular favour is more easily retained by flattery and accommodation, than by the contrivance of public benefits; and he sits down in the easy chair of office inactive and useless, contented with believing, that the times are not yet ripe for his schemes of improvement.

Do you wish for another instance of one who deceives himself into the belief, that he seeks for human estimation only as an instrument of greater usefulness? Look at that man, who is so painfully solicitous to keep on good terms with all with whom he is acquainted, how different soever may be their characters, their principles, and their importance in society. If you ask him, why he is thus anxious to be thought well of by every one, he will answer you with apparent sincerity, "because I wish to be extensively useful. I would retain favour even with

the ignorant and the worthless, that I may have it in my power to throw all this influence into the scale of virtue and good principles, in cases of emergency, difficulty and tumult." When the long expected hour of his usefulness arrives, we find him neutral, sycophantic, and unworthy of trust. The universal reputation, which he has sought to obtain, is first replaced by universal indifference, and changes at last to universal contempt.

My friends, it is a noble triumph of evangelical morality, to make us willing to employ distinction as a means of others' good. You, then, whose names are the wonder and delight of your contemporaries, come, lend your reputation to the cause of religion. You, whose names are now highest in the list of honour, let us hear, that you have accomplished some service for mankind before your downfal. And you who are now pressing forward in the career of distinction, before you triumph over another rival, consider whether you shall supply his place in all the beneficial extent of his influence; and when you take another step on the rough acclivity of fame, remember, that not only are the eyes of many more directed to you, but that, from a greater height, you may now scatter blessings more diffusively.

We proposed, lastly, to consider the means, by which this love of human estimation may be dimainished in our own hearts. The following considerations are a few of the many, which may be suggested.

In the first place, consider what we all are, in the estimation of him who cannot be deceived, and who will not be mocked. Think, you who are daily panting for acclamation and applause, are these shouts heard in heaven? And you, also, to whom the eyes of the world are raised, as to a lofty and portentous object of admiration, think from what an inconceivable distance the eye of omniscience looks down upon you, even at your highest elevation.

What! Is it man, the lowest, perhaps, in the order of rational intelligences-man, who at his best estate is altogether vanity, whose purest actions are polluted services, whose most mighty deeds are the varied struggles of a worm, whose most enviable reputation . must at last be examined before the tribunal of all searching justice-is it man who requires to be admonished not to be elated with the applause of creatures like himself? My friends, let us go and humble ourselves in prayer before the throne of God, and I think we cannot rise directly from our knees, and stretch ourselves out in the importance which the world may have given us.

The excessive value, which we may be inclined to put upon human estimation, must be diminished, whenever we seriously examine ourselves in the following manner. For what am I now most esteemed? Perhaps for the very quality, of which I know that I possess the least. The world sees me only in public, when I am all upon my guard, when I have put on my most showy and agreeable dress, when I have taken pains to conceal the deformities of my heart, and to patch up the imperfections of my understanding. But when I retire into my closet, I see at once, that I have been flattered. This man's attention I won by an affected complaisance; another's complacency I secured by luckily coinciding with his peculiar passion or prejudice. As to my talents, one man mistook my silence for wisdom; another, my fluency for knowledge; one was caught by some superficial display of my wit; another formed bis conclusions of my powers from my accidental superiority to him in a particular instance. As to my disposition, no man knows, how many evil passions prey upon me in secret; how many contests are there going on between malevolence and fear, between batred and politeness: no man can see the workings of my passions, or estimate the difficulty

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which I find in preserving agreeable appearances. When I consider, too, how incompetent are many of the judges of my character, how subject are my friends to prejudice, and the multitude to blind admiration, I cannot but fear, lest I should appreciate too highly a reputation, which is built upon the ignorance of some, and the prejudice of others of my fellow creatures.

Another consideration, which ought to diminish our desire of human estimation, is the excessive uncertainty of the favour of the world. It is uncertain, because it may be lost by our own inadvertencies. The fair character, which years have been polishing and whitening, may be blasted in a moment of imprudence. The proud reputation of talents or of wit may be lost in an hour of forgetfulness, of weakness, or of low spirits. Nay more, the monument of our fame may tumble over in an instant, even by our rash endeavours to build it too high. How often has a trifling mistake, or a casual impropriety, precipitated a popular idol from his seat in the admiration of the multitude. We may lose our reputation by our ignorance, indeed, more easily than by our fault. But even if we were in no danger from ourselves, if we were sure of always deserving the credit, which we at any time possess, consider how fickle in itself is the opinion of mankind. They rush forever into opposite extremes. Let us, then, anticipate their changes. Let us become indifferent to them, before they become indifferent to us. The world cannot long endure to admire. Admiration is an exertion of the mind which fatigues; and even if it were as easy to continue to admire, as to love or to approve, the passion must at length be exhausted. What we look at for any length of time infallibly becomes fa- . miliar; and what has become familiar no longer excites admiration. No man appears great, says a severe moralist no man appears great to his domes