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countenance would brighten with anticipated freshness and reno

vation.

Now, if a man were really convinced that such a disease as this had taken possession of his eternal soul, what can we suppose would be his sensations? If a distant hint-if an indistinct murmur were breathed, that there was something wrong about it, an eternal thing with something wrong about it!-to think, that that living spirit within us, by which we can hold communion with the unseen world and the Father of spirits, and which is destined to wander through eternity, is indisposed and out of order ;-what alarm, what jealousy of inquiry should it excite! what earnest investigation of symptoms; what anxious search into the nature of the complaint and the possibility of a cure! And yet, it is astonishing with what perfect composure a man not only can hear the voice of Almighty God warning him, but can acknowledge that there is no health in him, and yet scarcely think it a subject worth his inquiry!

Really, it is pitiable and melancholy to hear with what accuracy a sick man will describe all the marks and features of his disorder, how every passing pain, every change, every symptom, and every fluctuation of health and strength is treasured up, and amplified and discussed. What a physician does the sick man become in his own case! Nay, with what seeming pleasure does he dwell upon every circumstance, with what fond and longing eloquence he can expatiate upon his pangs and his sufferings, as if he loved them because they are his own! But, if you inquire into the health of his eternal soul, its sicknesses, its symptoms, its peculiar constitution, its signs of life and death; all dumb, all languid, all flat and unprofitable! Before we go further, is not this a sufficient proof that all is wrong,

that the spirit within him has been left to take care of itself, while the heap of dust to which it is attached, has excited such an interest, that every grain of it seems to have been weighed and counted? Oh! that this mysterious stranger within us could appear to us in some palpable shape, that we might inspect, handle, and examine it; that we might be able to feel the beating of its pulse, and watch the changes of its complexion;-that we might know when it looked pale, and sickly, and death-like, and when it wore the fresh and rosy hue of health. But it hides itself from my view; it muffles itself from my observation; and though I can amuse myself with looking at the perishable body in which it is contained, through a microscope, and studying its very infirmities with a fond and melancholy delight, I do not feel a sufficient interest in the immortal and unseen spirit within, to follow it into its hiding-places, and pursue it into its recesses. If we went no further, this is enough to prove that there is some fatal disease within,-that we do not seem to care for the inquiry.'

Sermon the seventh is a very striking illustration of the Apostolic argument for holiness, 1 Cor. vi. 20. The eighth, on Col. iii. 3., is apparently unfinished: the train of thought is complete, however, as far as it proceeds, and the preacher

probably left the further application of the text to be supplied extempore. The ninth and tenth are on the self-denial and obedience required of the Christian, the texts are Luke ix. 23., and Matt. xi. 30. The eleventh is a specimen of the Author's earliest sermons; founded on Rom. v. 12. The last four have for their texts, 1 Cor. xiii. 12, 13; Eccl. viii. 11; 1 John iv. 10; 1 Cor. x. 13. We shall take our last specimen from the concluding sermon.

'All the excuses which we are in the habit of making, appear to be reducible to two classes;-and what is very remarkable, they contradict each other. One of these dangerous apologies is, that many of our particular temptations are in their very nature different from those of other men. We often persuade ourselves, that we are placed in circumstances totally different from those in which other human beings are involved; and often fancy that nature has given us passions and propensities from which the generality of mankind are entirely free, or by which they are much less powerfully actuated. Hence, we flatter ourselves that our situation is original, and the temptations to which we are exposed, so unlike those which human nature is generally called upon to encounter,-that the transgression into which it leads us is something new, that it stands distinct and alone; and we can scarcely bring ourselves to think that God will class it with the ordinary violations of his law, or sentence it to the same condemnation. Thus we often go on, imagining that many of our transgressions are exceptions to those of the generality of men, and that we have made out a new case for ourselves in the annals of sin, to plead before the throne of God.

This is one of our excuses ;-but what is the other?-The common frailty of our nature; the plea that all men do the same; that our sins are such as the bulk of mankind commit; and that we only gratify the passions of human nature, or its common weaknesses, in complying with such temptations. Now, would it not be enough to shew the emptiness and silliness of these apologies, to consider, that there-is not a single sin that we could not justify by such means. If the temptation seems to be peculiar to us,-not such as human nature is in general subject to, the first will serve. If it be one to which the generality of mankind are exposed, the second comes to our relief: so that we are certain, that if the one fails, the other will succeed. One would imagine that this would be enough. But the passage before us meets them both. As to the first excuse,-that there are certain temptations peculiar to ourselves, and which we do not share in common with our fellow creatures, it says, "There hath no temptation taken you, but such as is common to man." But even leaving Scripture out of the question, what reason have we to suppose that we are an exception to the general laws of human nature? Should we not rather conclude, that men who partake of the same nature as ourselves, may be subject to the very same temptations. We are all inclined to conceal "the sins which most easily

beset us:" therefore, without our observation, others may be exposed to those very trials which we conceive exclusively our own, and may, at that instant, be making the very same excuse. There is no doubt that men differ very much in their character and constitution, and the ingredients of human nature are variously mixed in different beings. The ruling propensity in one man may be avarice; in another, "evil concupiscence" and debauchery; in another, gluttony and drunkenness; in another, ambition; in another, the predominant passion may be, a fondness for mischief, for riot, and blood; while another may be governed by a sottish indolence or a wild inconstancy. But, as the Apostle declares, (after enumerating the gifts of the Holy Spirit to different men,) that "all these worketh one and the self-same spirit; the spirit of sinful human nature. They are the common elements of our nature; only differently mixed. But it is generally in defence of the chief and ruling passion that we urge the first excuse, which we mentioned above; and thus, every man would yield to the passion to which he was most attached, and would embrace the sin he most loved. Every man would thus have chosen one part of the law which he might break ;;-that part which he was always most inclined to break; and, therefore, the very part which he was bound to be most watchful in observing. There, chiefly, and because it is our ruling passion, and that which exalts itself most against the love of God, lies our perilous and fiery trial, where our greatest resistance should be exerted.

'There remains, now, only the second excuse, the frailty of human nature; the common tendency to sin, which we all feel. Alas! this indeed is true; but it is equally true, that there is "a God of purer eyes than to behold iniquity;" a God who has said, "the soul that sinneth, it shall die;" a God whom without holiness no man shall behold. Yet, even with the sense of this present to our minds and our hearts, how totally unable do we feel ourselves, to make that great and continued exertion;-to effect that complete revolution in heart, in conversation, and in practice, which shall qualify us to stand before the Holiness of God. How totally unable do we feel ourselves, to make any advance, even under the consciousness, that we are bound by his command, bound by our own consciences, -our own hopes and fears, bound by the thoughts of death and life, bound by the prospect of misery or immortality, to lay all our earthly affections at his feet, and consecrate our very beings to his service! How feebly do we attempt to struggle through the throng and crowd of temptations that besiege and beset us on every side, and that stand between us and our God! The passage before us, in reply to our first excuse, declared that there hath no temptation taken us that is not common to man; but what says it to our second, the frailty of our unfortunate nature?" God is faithful, who will not suffer you to be tempted above that ye are able." Here, with our warning, is our great consolation. It is not merely that God will assist us, but that he will not suffer us to be tempted above that we are able. It is uttered in all the majesty of conscious Omnipotence. I will not suffer you to be tempted above that ye are able. It is as if he had

promised to work a miracle, rather than allow us to be overpowered. It is as if he would shake the powers of heaven and earth, rather than that his promise should not be performed;-that he would check the course of nature, that he would stop, the sun in his career, if he were found to bring us into dangers out of which there is no escape; that he would arrest the profligate current of human affairs, that he would say to the tide of temptations, if it were pouring in too boldly upon us, “Thus far shalt thou come, and no

further."

But let us fully understand the meaning and the nature of this glorious promise. We may observe then, in the first place; it is not a promise of grace which excuses us from resisting temptation, but of grace by which we are enabled to overcome it. So that while, by the blood of Christ, and by that alone, we are saved, and while no human being shall be able to say he has earned salvation unto himself, we are ten times, and ten times more bound to wage war with the world, the flesh, and the devil, as the unworthy sinners whom Christ has redeemed, than as the presumptuous Pharisee who proudly counts over his works and his alms as the price of his salvation. For we are endowed with new motives and new strength to resist it, which he, "trusting in himself," never could experience. In fact, God does every thing for us, short of what is inconsistent with his own nature, which revolts at impurity and sin. For our sakes, He sends his Son on earth, to a life of sorrow and persecution, and to a death of agony and shame, in order to redeem us from the punishment of sin; He sends his Holy Spirit, to purify us from its corruption; He utters prophecy to warn us; He works miracles to convince us; every thing, in fact, that is not incompatible with the fixed principle of his nature," Without holiness no man shall see the Lord."

The second thing to be observed in this promise, is the inseparable connexion of Divine grace with human exertion. He does not say that he will not suffer us to be overcome, but that he will not suffer us to be tempted above that we are able. Here we see the genuine operation of the grace of God. Human exertion without it, is hopeless, powerless, ineffectual. Dependent upon our own exer tion alone, we should be tempted above that we are able. On the other hand, the grace of God is given in vain, unless we embrace it humbly,-unless we hold it fast in our hearts,-unless we wield it in our hands. It does not actually vanquish the temptation; but it clothes us for the battle in the armour of righteousness. Therefore, with watching and praying, and with fear and trembling, let us await the approach of every temptation that we see bearing down upon our souls. Inspired by the animating assurance, that God is faithful, and will not suffer us to be tempted above that we are able; and with the awful sense that God is on our side, and that we must not dare to desert his standard when he promises us victory; let us advance to fight the good fight of faith. But let us march with slow and thoughtful steps, and an humble and resigned confidence, to meet the attack of sin and death under the shadow of His holi

ness, who would often have gathered us under his protecting wing, and we would not. Thus will this poor worm, who once crawled along the earth, yielding, with a faint heart and a trembling conscience, to every sin that assailed him, become "more than conqueror through him that loved him."

If the transition from poetry to theology has, to any of the lovers of light reading, been an unwelcome one, these extracts must, we think, convince them, that a sermon may be not less interesting than an ode;-interesting, we mean, even apart from the infinite importance of the subject, as bearing all the marks of originality, energy, and taste which delight us in the lighter compositions. In these sermons, it is quite evident that Mr. Wolfe had reined in his fancy, and had studied the utmost simplicity and sobriety of expression; but still, they are richly imbued with the genuine elements of poetry. In their style and diction, indeed, they are pure prose; there is no tinsel, no artificial cadence, no pomp of language about them; but the images of the past, the present, and the future are held up with a graphic vividness of expression, and the characters of men are portrayed with a dramatic distinctness, that shew the imaginative cast and power of the Author's mind. And the charm of these sermons is, that the effect is produced, not by elaborate paragraphs, or a train of vehement declamation, but by a few simple touches. Nothing can be more concise, and yet, nothing more natural and perspicuous than the diction; nothing more admirable than the pure and fervent love to God and man which glows in every sentiment. A short biographical notice shall close this article.

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Charles Wolfe, the youngest son of Theobald Wolfe, Esq., of Blackhall, County Kildare, was born at Dublin, Dec. 14, 1791. General Wolfe, the hero of Quebec,' and the late Lord Kilwarden, were both related to his family. His father died when he was very young. At eleven years of age, Charles was sent to a school at Salisbury, whence he was removed, in 1805, to Winchester school. Here he soon distinguished himself by his proficiency in classical studies, especially by his early talent for Latin and Greek versification. At no school to which he ever went, did he ever receive even a slight punishment or even reprimand. When a boy, he had a strong wish to enter the army, but, on finding that it would pain his mother, he totally gave up the idea. In 1809, he entered the university of Dublin, where he was early rewarded by many academical honours. The prize poem which he wrote in the first year of his college course, on the subject, Jugurtha incarceratus, is, for a youth of eighteen, a most brilliant pro

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