of them. He has seen them through the progress of the change; and a far greater number he has seen out to the last change.

And then, let him observe himself! While the seabeaten rock, or the massive tower, or even the great oak, presents to him the same aspect as when he was a youth or a child, what is the case with him? How could he, by his appearance, be known for the same? And how does he know himself to be the same? Is it by his withered countenance his infirmities-his pains- - his laborious walking his extinguished spirits-his prospects vanished?

But we may take the impressive instruction without bringing the whole length of life thus into the contrast. It may have happened to us to fix our attentive look on some such permanent objects, and after a moderate interval-a few years to come to behold them again. They are seen just the same; but even within that space, we may have experienced a very great change. Our condition in life,-our health, the state of our social relations, may have become in the meantime very different; projects ended,-prospects surrendered,-we are quite in another stage of life. may look at the object, and say,-" So and so, I was designing or expecting, when I saw this last (and this great tree, or ancient arch)-then I possessed-now I have lost-" How happy if we can say,-"Then I was all for this transitory state, now I am earnestly occupied for another!"

We

The

At any rate, whatever may have been the particular course of experience, it would betray a thoughtless spirit, if some striking reflections should not be excited. man should at least be reminded, "So much of my life has irrevocably passed away since, and while the space has inade no perceptible difference to this object which I behold again, it has made a most important one to me. A few more such spaces at the most (which will still make no

difference to it,) will finish my mortal term-perhaps one such, perhaps much less." And, possibly, in the former instance, he viewed it with some to whom the subsequent space of time has made all the difference of life and death! It is here still, and just as it then was,—where are they?

The great general instruction from all this is, how little hold-how little absolute occupancy we have of this world. When all the scene is evidently fixed to remain, we are under the compulsion to go. We have nothing to do The generation "comes"

It

with it, but as passing from it. but to "pass away," seeing another following it closely under the same destination. Men may strive to cling-to seize a firm possession-to make good their establishment -resolve and vow that the world shall be theirs. But it disowns them,-stands aloof;-it will stay, but they must go. It seems to declare to them, that it is no more for them, than it has been for the countless preceding generations; those, in their time, wished to appropriate it, but what is become of them? It warns us that it was designed for us, but just as much as it was for all those departed tribes; and we may consider what they have of it now. signifies to us, that equally to all it will yield one matter of permanence-just one, and no more, and that is,—a grave. If that enduring possession of the earth will content us, that is secure. In all other senses of possession it will eject us. Men, in their earnest adhesion to it, may raise mighty works of enduring stability-towers, palaces, strongly built houses, as if they absolutely would connect themselves with the world's own prolonged duration. Well; they may do so; and the earth will retain these, but will expel them. They may construct what they please that shall stay; it is their own absence that will be enforced. It is their concern whether they can beguile themselves to fancy, that in the permanence of such proud representatives of

themselves, they can actually hold, when gone, any real and gratifying possession of the earth.

But should not the final lesson be, that the only essential good that can be gained from the world, is that which can be carried away from it? Alas! that mere sojourners— beings of transition-travellers rapidly passing away, should be mainly intent on obtaining that which they must leave, -doom themselves to depart in utter deprivation-when their inquisitive glance over the scene should be after any good that may go with them,-something that is not fixed in the soil, the rocks, or the walls.

Let us look on the earth in the spirit of this inquiry, "What has the bounteous Creator placed here ?—what has the glorious Redeemer left here, that I may by his grace, seize and take with me, and find it invaluable in another world ?" It will then be delightful to look back, with the reflection, I could not stay on that earth. I saw but a little while its enduring objects,-its grand solidities,—I saw them but to be admonished that I should remove. I have left them maintaining their unchanging aspects; but in my passage I descried, by the aid of the Divine Spirit, something better than all that they signified to me was no possession for me-I seized the pearl of great price, and have brought it away."

LECTURE XXXV

THE NECESSITY AND RIGHT METHOD OF SELF-EXAMINATION.

2 COR. xiii. 5.

"Examine yourselves, whether ye be in the faith; prove your own selves. Know ye not your own selves, how that Jesus Christ is in you, except ye be reprobates ?”

WHEN the necessity and value of knowledge are thought of, it is readily admitted that self-knowledge is about the most necessary of all. From of old, it has been accounted a precept of the highest wisdom, "KNOW THYSELF.”

Might we not, then, wonder a little, that there should not be more of this knowledge among men, and more assiduity to acquire it? That attention should be so much averted from this concern? For I suppose our general belief is,— that there is but little. Is not this the notion? In a numerous assembly, or in the crowd of a city, it is presumed, by any one that happens to think of it, that very few, among the numbers around him have a deep, comprehensive, well-rectified, steady, estimate of themselves,—a true insight. The presumption, or surmise, is understood to go even as far as this; namely, that suppose any number of persons, acquainted with one another, the judgments they form of one another would, in the whole account, be nearer the truth than those which they entertain of their own selves, notwithstanding the great advantage men have for knowing themselves better than others can.

But, if the case be so, how comes it to be so? Can it be, that they do not think it worth while to apply a serious

attention to so near and interesting an object? or, that they have arbitrary and unsound rules in making the judgment? or, that no rules, nor force of understanding, can preserve their rectitude in the presence of self-love, as if they softened, melted, and lost their edge, in making their way through that warm, investing, protective passion? Or, again, there may be a reluctance to making a rigorous scrutiny from fear, and thus men remain in ignorance. There may be some apprehension of finding the state of the case less satisfactory than the man is allowing himself to assume it. This may seem like expressing an inconsistency-that a man will not know what he does know. But it is too real and common a case; intimations of something not right are unwillingly perceived; apprehension of what there may be beneath is felt; a man would rather not be sure of the whole truth; would wilfully hope for the best, and so pass off from the doubtful subject, afraid to go too far inward.

But here is a most remarkable and strange spectacle! A soul afraid of itself!-afraid of being deeply intimate with itself; of knowing itself; of seeing itself. It is easily apprehended how a human spirit might be afraid of another being, of another spirit in a human body; apprehensive in being near it,—within reach of its disposition, qualities, and action,-afraid to see and meet the corporeal person it is in; alarmed at what there may be, or is suspected to be, in that spirit; shrink from approach, communication, or any lure to confidence. "I have a perception of evil omen; a silent warning of danger; there is possible ruin to me in that spirit."

It is easy to apprehend that a human soul might be afraid of a disembodied spirit, evincing its presence by voice or appearance; if it seemed to attend a man in his solitary walk, or to be a temporary visitant in his apartment. It