which Jesus and his disciples could not have been guilty; and yet this omission has been charged upon the friend of John and Lazarus as a defect in his religion. Many, I doubt not, are the Christians, who have passed through this world of frequent changes and various characters, and yet have never chanced to find a real friend. Many more are there who have wept over the grave of some one, long known and loved; but, alas! as they had not the power to awake him from his slumbers, so, too, they have not had the good-fortune afterwards to replace him.

The second reflection, which I shall make, is, that, if we would practise this virtue, if it must be so named, in all its purity, and enjoy our fondest attachments in perfection, we must call in to our aid the religion of Christ. Tell us not of the heroic friendships of ancient story, when it was thought generous, to sacrifice a whole nation for an injury to a friend, and when the duties of this attachment were exalted above all other obligations, and allowed to break every other tie, and benevolence itself was lost in the pretended despotism of private love. Tell us not of those modern connexions which demand of us, in honor, to sacrifice one man's life to vindicate another's name from false imputations, or of the numerous pitiful unions of wicked men, for purposes of interest or indulgence, conviviality or temporary convenience. These have as little to do with affection as with religion. True Christian regard is as different from all this as lust from pure love, or bodily strength from real courage. The only perfect union of minds will be that which is animated, corrected, and matured by the evangelical spirit of Christianity. Why? Because their faith and hopes are not only one through their present destiny, but because man has interests and hopes

in eternity, dearer and greater than any temporal well-being, and that union of minds, into which eternity enters not, and makes no part of their common hopes, must be essentially defective; because this idea, rendering the affection, which it influences, more sublime and more interesting, must make it superior to any temporary union of views and purposes, how many years soever may have cemented it. You anticipate the company of your friend to-morrow; the Christian not to-morrow only, but forever. He does not lose sight of him through the long range of a future existence.

Further; the essential temper of Christianity is selfdistrust; and it is the very charm of friendship, to love to repose on another's knowledge and affection. The greatest foe of grace is pride; and pride, also, cannot coëxist with generous, undisguised, unqualified affection. Again; it is the object of the gospel, to wear off the dissocial points of our character, to unite our conflicting interests and hostile passions, and to endue us with that temper which" is not easily provoked," and which "thinketh no evil." It is, also, the tendency of our religion, to exhaust those sources of jealousy and distrust, which so often embitter our tenderest and dearest connexions. A Christian, knowing his own infirmities, will not expect too much, even from him he loves best. He has none of that pride which takes offence at fancied neglects; and he sees the folly and the sin of requiring from another such an illiberal attachment to himself as shall confine all his sacrifices to him, and exclude the rest of the world from his attention. It, therefore, appears to me, that, to make friendship perfect, Christianity was necessary; because this alone teaches us the sinfulness of wishing for such a monopoly of affection as is demanded by

some narrow minds, and is so contrary to the genius of the gospel.

Why do we see so many ruptures of amity in the circle of our acquaintance? Is it not, in many cases, from a selfish and excessive jealousy of affection, inconsistent with the true sentiment of benevolence? Still further; the true Christian is the best master of his passions, and thus he avoids a perpetual danger, on which the most ardent minds are apt to fall asunder, and their love to change to aversion. It is a painful thought, to fall out by the way, when we have the long path of eternity to travel together.

In fine, where the affection between two minds is not influenced by a sense of a present and all-gracious Father in Heaven; where the tomb, when it has closed upon one of them, is thought to have separated them forever; where they have no communion of mind upon the most interesting of human contemplations, God, Jesus, and the life to come; where the all-sanctifying grace of the gospel does not mould their desires, correct and unite their dispositions in humility and Christian love, there may be fondness, there may be satisfaction, there may be partiality, but there is not friendship, such as it existed between Jesus and John; such, in fact, as that for which Jesus prayed, when he said, "Holy Father, keep, through thine own name, those whom thou hast given me, that they may be one, as we are."

My Christian friends, if you have found one who leans on your breast, and you are not afraid that he should listen to the secrets that disturb it; if wisdom and virtue have directed you to him; if ardent love of truth, generous accommodation to each other, fear of God, attachment to his gospel, and hope of everlasting life have bound you together, cherish such a union of minds. The grace

Jesus Christ will temper every desire of your hearts, and mellow your affections by the gentle influences of his gospel. Your interests will more closely intertwine, as you draw nearer to the grave, and become more detached from the surrounding distractions of the world; and the tomb, when it closes upon you, shall not separate you; for, as God is true," them, that sleep in Jesus, will God bring with him." Jesus, who once raised a friend from the tomb, will not let it close forever on those who love him, and who love like him.

SERMON XIX.

LUKE XVI. 2.

GIVE AN ACCOUNT OF THY STEWARDSHIP.

ONCE more a day has arrived which reminds us of the astonishing flight of our time. And of what time? Of that brief space in which is crowded the whole scene of our mortal probation; that momentary space in which is determined the everlasting destiny of man. I tremble, when I think that we are now taking an eternal leave of one more of those few years that are allotted to the life of man. "Man fleeth as a shadow, and continueth not." Let us employ the fleeting moments of this day in reflecting upon the poverty of human existence, before it escapes and shuts up forever the closing year.

Why is it, that the points and bounds of our passing time, when they present themselves, affect us so unpleasantly, and spread such a gloom over our meditations? Is it, that we are not aware of the approach of this last day of another year? No, surely; for every departing week, every setting sun, has given us an admonition of this day, and has prepared us for its arrival. Is it, because this day informs us how old we are, and that we are so much nearer to the close of life? No, surely; for every other day has told us the same truth; and, besides this, who is there but imagines that he has many years to live? No,