ity; to go about doing good, healing diseases, relieving infirmities, correcting errors, removing prejudices, forgiving sins, inculcating repentance; promoting piety, justice, charity, peace, harmony, courtesy, cheerfulness among men ; crowding, in short, into the narrow compass of his ministry, more acts of humanity and kindness, than the longest life of the most beneficent man on earth ever yet produced. Yet in this active course of life, we find him frequently breaking away from the crowds that surrounded him, and betaking himself to privacy and solitude. The desert, the mountain, and the garden, were scenes which he seemed to love, and with which he took all opportunities of refreshing himself: purchasing them sometimes even at the expence of night-watches, when the day had been wholly taken up in the offices of humanity, and the business of his mission. Here it was he spent whole hours in pious contemplation and fervent prayer; in adoring the goodness of God to mankind; in expressing on his own part, the utmost submission to his divine will; in reviewing the progress, and looking to the completion, of

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the great work he had undertaken; in confirming his resolutions, and strengthening his soul against the severe trials he was to undergo in the prosecution of it. From these retreats and these holy meditations, he came out again into public, not gloomy and languid, not disgusted with the world and discontented with himself, but with recruited spirits, and a redoubled ardour of benevolence; prepared to run again his wonted course, and to pour fresh benefits and mercies on mankind.

If then not only the pious author of the text, but the divine Author of our faith himself, found retirement and recollection necessary to the purposes of a holy life, there can be little doubt of its use and importance to all that are desirous of treading in their steps. But I shall endeavour to show still more distinctly the advantages attending it, by laying before you the following considerations; considerations, which the present holy season*, set apart for the practice of this very duty, will, I hope, assist in pressing home upon your hearts.

* This Sermon was preached at St. James's Chapel on the first day of Lent, Feb. 6. 1788.

I. In the first place, it is a truth too notorious to be denied, and too melancholy not to be lamented, that the objects of sense, which here surround us, make a much deeper impression upon the mind than the objects of our faith. And the reason is plain. It is, because the things that are temporal are seen; are perpetually soliciting our senses, and forcing themselves upon our observation; whilst the things that are eternal, merely because they are not seen, and therefore want the advantage of continual importunity and solicitation, have but little influence upon our hearts. It is, therefore, the first and most obvious use of retirement, to take off our attention from the things of this world, and thereby to destroy, for a time at least, their attractions. When they cease to be seen, or are seen only in imagination, they lose, in a great measure, their dominion over us. We can then contemplate them in their real forms, stripped of that false glare with which they are apt to dazzle our eyes and mislead our understandings. then plainly see, how little they can boast of intrinsic worth, how much they owe to the warmth of fancy, the tumult of passion, the

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ardour of pursuit, and the hurry of the world. For as these causes no longer operate in the stillness of retirement, every charm that they bestowed drops off, and vanishes with them; the objects of our pursuit shrink to their proper dimensions; and we are amazed to see them reduced in an instant almost to nothing, and so little left of all that we gazed at with so much admiration, and followed with so much eagerness.

II. If at the same time that we recede from this world we turn our eyes upon the next, we shall reap a double advantage from our self-communion. By frequently meditating on the concerns of eternity, we shall begin to perceive their reality, and at last to feel their influence. Spiritual meditations are at first very irksome and disagreeable, not because they are unnatural, but because they are unusual. Give but the soul a little respite, a moment's breathing, from the incessant importunity of cares and pleasures, and she will almost naturally raise herself towards that heavenly country, where she hopes at last to find rest and happiness. Every faculty and power, both of the body and mind, are perfected by use; and it is

by the same means that the eye of faith is also strengthened, and taught to carry its views to the remotest futurity. By degrees we shall learn to allow for the distances of spiritual, as we do every day for those of sensible, objects; and, by long attention to their greatness, forget or disregard their remoteness, and see them in their full size and proportion. A taste for religious meditations will grow upon us every day; and, by constant perseverance, we shall so refine our sentiments and purify our affections, as to become what the Scriptures call spirituallyminded; to live, as it were, out of the body; and to walk by faith as steadily and as surely as we used to do by sight.

III. Nothing is so apt to wear off that reverence of virtue, and abhorrence of vice, with which all well-principled men enter into the world, as a constant commerce with the world. If we have had the happiness of a good education, our first judgments of men and things are generally right. We detest all appearance of baseness, artifice, and hypocrisy; we love every thing that is fair, open, honest, and generous. But how seldom does it happen, that we carry these