the very best of men are fubject, and which are almost the only fins that a truly charitable man can have to cover. For what is this charity, at last, of which fuch great things are faid in Scripture? Read over that well-known, and most eloquent defcription of it by St. Paul, and you will find it to be fomething very different from that false image of it which the philofophy of this world has set up to worship. From thence, from the whole tenor of Scripture, you will find it to be not merely an easy, undistinguishing good nature, or a thoughtless, profuse, pernicious liberality; but an inward principle of univerfal kind affection, founded in nature, improved by reason, and perfected by grace; reftraining us, in the first place, from doing harm; then prompting us, on every occafion, and towards every perfon, to do all the good we poffibly can. This is the only charity that the Gofpel is acquainted with; the only one, that in conjunction with repentance, and faith in our Redeemer, can in the leaft contribute to obtáin pardon for our failings, and render us meet to be partakers of the kingdom of Heaven.

In whatever sense, then, we understand the expreffion of charity covering our fins, the fensualist can never avail himself of that protection, because he acts in direct contradiction to the very first principles of true Chriftian charity. "Love worketh no ill to his neigh-›

bour," fays St. Paul; therefore love is the fulfilling of the law; and therefore he who works fuch ill to his neighbour, as the volup tuary does every day, (by deftroying the inno cence, the peace, the comfort, the happiness, temporal and eternal, of thofe very perfons for whom he profeffes the tendereft regard) must be an utter ftranger to real philanthropy. Though he may feed the hungry and clothe the naked, and vifit the fatherlefs and widows in their affliction; yet, if to gratify his own paffions, he plunges those who have never offend ed him in mifery and difgrace, he is a hurtful member of fociety. Nay, perhaps his very liberality and good-nature ferve only to render him the more hurtful. They throw a luftre over the criminal part of his character, and render him an object of admiration to the croud of fervile imitators, who, not having the fense to separate his vices from his accom→ plishments,

plishments, form their conduct upon his ek ample in the grofs, and hope to become equally agreeable by being equally wicked. And, as if it was not enough to have these patterns before our eyes in real life, they are once more ferved up to us in the productions of fome modern writers, who, to the fond ambition of what they call copying after nature, and of gaining a name, are content to facrifice the interests of virtue, and to lend a willing hand towards finishing the corruption of our manners. Hence it is, that in feveral of our moft favourite works of fancy and amufement, the principal figure of the piece is fome pro-t feffed libertine, who, on the strength of a pleafing figure, a captivating address, and a certain amiable generofity of difpofition, has the privi lege of committing whatever irregularities he thinks fit, and of excufing them in the cafieft manner imaginable, as the unavoidable effects of constitution, and the little foibles of a heart intrinfically good. Thus, whilst he delights our imagination, and wins our affections, he never fails, at the fame time, to corrupt our principles. And young people, more éfpecially, instead of being infpired with a juft detefta

tion of vice, are furnished with apologies for it which they never forget, and are even taught to confider it as a neceffary part of an accomplished character.

It becomes, then, every fincere Christian to oppose to the utmost this prevailing licentioufnefs, which infinuates itself into the manners and minds of men, under the protection of fome engaging qualities, with which it sometimes is, but much oftener affects to be, united. And the only way of putting a stop to this mischief, and of restoring that union which the text enforces, and which ought always to fubfift between the two great branches of practical morality, is to fhow by our example (the most intelligible and convincing of all proofs) that BENEVOLENCE is then most lovely, when joined with its true ally, its proper companion, SELF-GOVERNMENT; that, in order to form a pleafing character, it is by no means neceffary to throw into it any impure alloy; but that, on the contrary, a truly pious, and strictly moral Chriftian, will not only be the most virtuous, but the most amiable of men.

Unhappily, indeed, a contrary opinion has too long and too generally prevailed amongst us:

VOL. II.

L

and

and licentious wits have taught great numbers to believe that purity of manners is a vulgar and a contemptible virtue, and that all pretence to it is in general nothing more than hypocrify and grimace. But let us not be frightened by a few hard words, and a little witless buffoonery, from pursuing steadily the invariable rule of moral rectitude. As fure as God himself is all purity and perfection, there is such a thing as real purity of heart and life; and it is one of the most exalted virtues that can dignify human nature. It gives that strength and vigour, and mafculine firmness to the mind, which is the foundation of every thing great and excellent. It has produced fome of the nobleft ftruggles, and most heroical exertions of foul, that the world ever faw, and is, perhaps, a more convincing, more unequivocal proof of our fincerity in Religion, than even benevolence itself. When it is confidered how many inducements, how many temptations, there are to acts of humanity, to which nature prompts, to which fashion draws, to which vanity, intereft, popularity, ambition, fometimes lead us, one cannot always be fure that they proceed from a truly Christian prin