soon be forgotten. Notwithstanding all the pains which you take, the result will seldom correspond with the preparations that are made: several articles, deemed essential, will be forgotten; and many things will be out of place. At the houses of others you will not always receive the attention, which you think your due: some person will be preferred before you, though his claims are not superior to your own. Conversation too will often be dull; and the day or the evening will pass off languidly. You will utter several frigid jests, of which, when you recollect them on the succeeding day, you will be heartily ashamed: and if the conversation with a select band, in a corner of the apartment, assumes what may be thought a more dignified style; if you undertake to settle the interesting concerns of the nation, you will be frequently contradicted, and sometimes conquered in an argument. On the whole, though you may meet with the pleasure, which you are seeking for; yet it is not impossible that the winter may be imbittered with repeated mortifications. But if you devote yourselves to the service of the wretched, you will be exposed to none of this chagrin. With the expense of one sumptuous feast, you may afford substantial aid to a great number of poor families; and in the meantime you will have more leisure to attend to your domestic affairs, more leisure to cultivate the minds of your children, more leisure to improve your own understandings. I do not suggest these things with the expectation of inducing you to give up the first of your plans; but I would hope to prevail on you not entirely to neglect the other. If you think it wise and salutary, begin to execute it this day; begin with bestowing your bounty on your indigent brethren of this church, who now ask of

you your alms. While your hearts exult at the birth of the prince of peace, let their souls also be filled with joy. Then will the blessing of those, who are ready to perish, come upon you; and you will contribute in part to the promotion of the great design for which the Saviour was born; which was to manifest the glory of God, to bind up the broken-hearted, to comfort those who mourn, and to produce peace on earth, and good will to

men.

Christmas.

SERMON VII.

THE END OF THE YEAR.

1 PETER IV. 7.

THE END OF ALL THINGS IS AT HAND BE YE THEREFORE SOBER, AND WATCH UNTO PRAYER.

men.

THAT We are accustomed to regard this season as the end of the year, is not owing to any divine command, or to any particular position of the heavenly bodies: it is entirely a human ordinance, to which it is proper to conform for no other reason, than because it is used by other But notwithstanding one day is as fit to end the year as another, yet as the point is settled by universal consent, we are inclined to consider this termination as completing one of the divisions of life; and certain reflections are apt to enter the minds of the thoughtful. In these reflections, which are of a serious, and somewhat of a melancholy cast, it is best to indulge; because it is always of use to be serious, and not unprofitable sometimes to be melancholy. When we have attained the middle of life, — and many of us, my brethren, have reached beyond it, we have seen the termination of so many sublunary pleasures, we have lost so many things which render life valuable, that a contemplation of the end forces itself on our minds. I naturally therefore at this time turn my attention to the subject. My purpose

is, first, to recall to your recollection a few of the reflec tions, which a contemplation of the end of the year suggests; and, secondly, to remind you, in a brief exhortation, of the actions and habits, which are connected with them.

I. A reflection on the end of the year leads us to fix our thoughts on many other things, which end. When we view the last rays of the setting sun, on the last day of its annual course, we cannot forbear to say, How transitory are all earthly objects! A few days ago, as it seems, the year commenced, and now it is gone, and in a moment it will be sunk forever in the ocean of eternity. Though it has carried away with it a great portion of my life yet its progress has been so rapid, that it has left me little time for enjoyment, and less for improvement.Other periods of life, though of a somewhat longer duration, are of the same transient nature.

Childhood thus passes away, and soon comes to an end. It is generally esteemed by those, who enjoy it no more, as the most happy season of life; but those, who are in it, are impatient for its termination. They ardently wish to experience what it is to be their own masters, to go and come when they please, and to be free from the restraints, which the authority of elders and superiors imposes on them. Childhood is gone, and with it a great part of the pleasures of existence. There is an end of the heart-thrilling sport, of the innocent laugh, which is not excited by the malignity of wit, and which bursts on the ear like the wild notes of a bird. There is an end too of no small portion of the importance of life; for, strange as it might be thought without experience, the trifling amusements and employments of child

hood appear more momentous, whilst we are engaged in them, than the more serious occupations of riper years.

Youth however is a period, in which the business of life still appears of some importance. It is an age, which we would, if it was possible, chain down to a rock of adamant. But time bears it on with his quickest wing whilst we are thinking that it is just commenced, we find it at an end. This portion of our existence is frequently supposed to abound with the most exquisite delights. It is certainly more interesting, but, I believe, not quite so happy, as the middle of life. There are in it too many mortifications, too much disappointed love, too many broken hearts. We are too much exposed in it to tumultuous passions and raging appetites. It is a tempestuous sea, over which the winds blow with the violence of a hurricane, and where we are in constant danger, either of beating against the rocks, or of foundering in the deep. When we have passed over it with an unshattered bark, instead of lamenting that this sea is so narrow, we ought rather to rejoice that youth is at an end; and that we are now arrived at manhood, a smoother sea, where we can sail with less hazard.

As not many persons are willing to think themselves old, although they are obliged to confess that they are no longer young, manhood appears the longest portion of human life. It does not terminate, like youth, in ten or twelve annual revolutions of the earth; but it is protracted to twenty or thirty years. How short a period are thirty years. They are gone: manhood is passed away as well as youth. We stand on the verge of the year, and on the verge of age. When we have taken one step more, we become old men.

You, my brother, whose head is not entirely covered