better.

And such a principle we shall find in the dislike, which every man is inclined to feel towards whatever causes him pain; even though the person, or thing, from which his pain proceeds, is altogether free from any desire to injure him.

In the brute creation this principle of undistinguishing resentment is often and conspicuously perceivable. And with savages, whose brutal passions are little more under restraint than those of the beasts which perish; and with the barbarous kings of the East, whose fury of temper is stimulated by flattery, and by absolute power; such instances of rage are common, and prove, that it is instruction only, which, in cases like these, makes the man and the brute to differ. Fling a stone at a dog; and he will turn to bite the stone. Of savages, it is said, that, when wounded by an arrow, they will rage against the senseless wood, as if that were their enemy: and we are told of an ancient Moorish king, that, when news was brought him of the loss of one of his cities, he smote off the head of the guiltless messenger, who had only done his duty by delivering to him the melancholy tidings. These are instances, indeed, of this passion carried to an excess, from which the education and restraints, under which most men lie, in a great measure, happily forbid them; but the passion, which I have described, is the same with that which

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leads men, every day, to curse the tool, which breaks in their hands; or the weather, which is unfavourable to their business; which leads them to take offence at all those who, however unknowingly or unwillingly, have been hinderances to their advancement; and to quarrel with those, who, even as a matter of duty and of kindness, have given them advice, which they were unwilling to receive, or to profit by. We need not, therefore, wonder, that, whoever discharges the duty of warning mankind, of the error of their ways, and of the wrath of God, which burns against them, — whoever attempts to convince them of their wickedness, their folly, and their probable misery hereafter, is almost sure to be regarded, not as their best friend; but as the disturber of their peace, and the enemy of their happiness; that the picture, which is held out to the sinner, of his future dangers, is supposed to proceed, not from a concern for his safety, but from a wish that he may perish; and that plainness of speech, which is, in a desperate case, the truest charity, is esteemed sufficient to stamp the person, who employs it, as uncharitable and unfeeling. To cure men, so far as the weakness of our nature will allow, of a fault so common, and so natural, it may be useful, first, to expose the folly of those pretensions, by which a man usually seeks to justify to himself and others, a conduct such

as I have been describing. Secondly, to suggest some considerations, by which the advantage and value of reproof may be made plain to all of us; and we may be led to overcome our unwillingness to receive it, by a sense of the important use, which it becomes us, as reasonable creatures, to make of it.

The usual reasons, which we give, for being angry with those persons, who tell us of our faults, our folly, or our danger, are, either that it is no concern of theirs; or, that they have spoken of us, unjustly and uncandidly; or, that they have not given the advice, for our sake, but for their own, -out of pride to show forth their own wisdom, by exposing our weakness; — out of malice to give us pain, or to lessen our reputation in the world; - or out of hypocrisy, to obtain from mankind the praise of being zealous in the cause of God, and in the conviction, or conversion, of sinners.

Now, to the first of these objections, that it is no concern of theirs, the situation of the friendly adviser will generally furnish an answer: since, if he be our relation, our friend, our master, or other superior, or, above all, if he be a minister of God's word, he is not only justified in interfering; but it is his bounden duty to interfere, with his advice, and with his reproof, in every instance, where that advice, or that reproof, can be serviceable to us. He is,

by the place which he holds, the guardian of our souls and he must answer it, at the peril of his own soul, to God, if we perish, without his taking due pains to point out to us our danger. "Son of man," said God to Ezekiel, [and the same commandment is addressed to all those, who, whether by friendship, or by authority, or by office, have the opportunity of calling sinners to repentance]—“Son of man, I have made thee a watchman unto the house of Israel: therefore hear the word at my mouth, and give them warning from me. When I say unto the wicked, thou shalt surely die; thou givest him not warning, nor speakest to warn the wicked from his wicked way, to save his life, the same wicked man shall die in his iniquity; but his blood will I require at thy hand!"1

and

So far, then, is the advice, of which we complain, an unjustifiable interference, that, in nine out of ten of the cases, in which advice is generally offered, there is a necessity, an obligation, of the strictest and most aweful kind, imposed on men to advise us.

And, in truth, whether the relations, of which I have spoken, exist betwen us and our friendly reprover, or no, yet, if our sins be great, or our errors, great and notorious, -even a stranger may be called on to advise, and to reprove, us

1 Ezek. iii. 17, 18.

for our good; no less than a stranger would be called on to give us food, or medicine, when we were starving, or sick; or to pluck us from the river, when we were in danger of drowning; or to call us back from the precipice, towards which we were blindly wandering.

But, "they have spoken of us, unjustly, or unfairly!" To whom have they thus spoken? to others, or to ourselves? If to others, they have committed a grievous fault; but this is not reproof, but slander. If to ourselves, and privately, let us seriously consider, first, whether the harshness of their rebukes can, possibly, have done us any harm. Secondly, whether it may not have been anxiety for our welfare, which prompted their over earnestness; and whether we ought not to love, rather than hate, an error which flowed from such a feeling. Thirdly, whether we can, indeed, be sure, that their reproofs have been unjust, or unfair; whether it is not more likely, that our self-opinion blinds us to our own faults, than that others should think worse of us than we deserve; or, whether, at least, we are not as much too favourable to ourselves, as they are too severe.

But, "the advice has been given from selfish motives, from pride, from a desire to give pain, from hypocrisy." Supposing this to be the fact, is the advice, on that account, the less valuable ? If what has been said be true, it is, surely, wiser