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upon their own lees,' and banish the sense of duty, and remembrance of morality. The screen between their souls and religion becomes too thick for the light to penetrate. In this state of mind, like the gluttonous Israelites, with the flesh of the quails yet unchewed between their teeth, death seizes them, and requires these pampered souls at their hands.

If matters are examined by the light of the gospel, the rich will be found to be only the trustees and stewards of their fortunes, which were not given them by the just God to revel while others pine, and surfeit while thousands starve. We do not perceive, that the rich man in the gospel was charged with any other crime, than making this selfish application of his wealth; and yet we find him soon after in a place of torment, miserably suing for the assistance of that beggar, whom, a little before, he thought scarcely good enough company for his dogs.

However, the sin of luxury does not only consist in this, that the food and clothing of many is by oppression collected, and gluttonously poured into one throat, or ostentatiously spread out upon one back; but more especially in the violent passions and detestable lusts, that are either raised or inflamed by luxury, as if by the mouth of hell. What a figure does this monster make, with its horrid spawn, when viewed by the light of God's word!

Another work of darkness is fraud and treachery. This vice requires a great degree of darkness, both within and about the wretch that is guilty of it; for where there is any light within, it is too ugly to be admitted; and where there is any without, it cannot be executed. Notwithstanding all that is said against it in Scripture, what infinite swarms of people are there, who build their hopes and fortunes on no other foundation! insomuch that the most prudent man in his dealings knows not whom to trust. The word or promise of a man passes for nothing; nay, the long formalities of deeds, and the most wary precautions of bonds, with all the infinite volumes of the law, are, on many occasions, found too weak preservatives of justice, often become the very instruments of fraud. One could hardly imagine human nature capable of contracting a fondness for so base a vice; and yet we every day see those, who could more easily and

certainly attain their ends by honest means, choosing to trust to the success of some pitiful trick, or low evasion; and what is still more surprising, we sometimes find this sort of people, for lack of others to impose on, actually cheating themselves, as if they were afraid of losing the goodly knack for want of practice.

He who is intent on raising and enriching himself, at the expense of others, by indirect means, as he takes his measures in the dark, observes not the risk he himself runs, by walking without light. He is but a more decent sort of thief, who is generally betrayed, by that very night, to which he trusts the success of his crime. With all his cunning, he will find at last, perhaps indeed a little too late, that one, more artful than himself, hath been all the time practising upon him; and hath, while he was cheating others out of worldly trifles, cheated him out of his soul; so that he is caught in the crafty wiliness which he imagined, and in the net which he hid privily for others are his own feet taken;' so true it is, that the knave is always a fool.

Another work of darkness, and one of the blackest, is perjury; which, in order to be guilty of, a man must shut out God from his thoughts, at the very instant he is appealing to him by his words, in the most solemn manner; for it is not to be supposed, that a man, who is guilty of so great injustice and impiety, can have either God or religion before his eyes at the time. So nice a peculiarity cannot fail of making it extremely difficult to place one's mind in such a degree of darkness, as is necessary for the committal of this crime. Yet so great, and so frequent is the call for this horrible instrument of iniquity, and so ready are the illprincipled part of mankind to answer this infernal call for gain, that an oath may be had at a cheap rate, for any purpose, though ever so enormous. So common are perjuries grown, that the most insignificant jobs, which gross folly, low knavery, or trifling spite, can have to do, find themselves immediately furnished with affidavits. It is a short and easy method to carry any little point by an affidavit or two. It is only scoring on the conscience, and so there is nothing to be feared, till the day of judgment. Recourse is therefore had to it on all occasions, whence proceeds the surprising fruitfulness of the commodity.

A lie is, in itself, a work of darkness, sufficiently base and scandalous, a sin, which, in holy Scripture, stands distinguished among other sins, by being peculiarly ascribed to the devil, as its author. But when God is solemnly called upon to bear witness to the truth of a lie, which is applied to the establishing some grievous piece of injustice, it then sets before us one work of darkness enclosed within another, and that within a third, so bold and impious, as hardly to admit of a comparison.

These distinguished works of darkness make their approaches to our minds by others, equally mischievous in their consequences, but not branded by vulgar repute with so black a name. It is impossible to be particular in so great a crowd. I shall therefore only lay down some general rules, by the observation of which, the springs of all that is vile and wicked may be discovered and avoided by you, who, perhaps, are not furnished already with a more particular and perfect knowledge of these things.

That which helps you to impose on yourself, to cloak or lessen your sins, to raise your opinion of your own worth, to make you partial to yourself, or indulgent to your own weak-nesses, is an instrument of darkness.

That which blunts reflection, by either stupifying the mind, or amusing it with vain entertainments, with idle hopes or fears, is an instrument of darkness.

That which hinders you from attending to, and pursuing your greatest interest, and leads you off to the pursuit of small or false interests, such as the flesh or the world set before you, is an instrument of darkness.

That which renders you deaf, or averse to good advice, particularly that of your spiritual guide, is an instrument of darkness.

That which hinders the mind from attending to the truths of religion, and, by making its arguments seem weak and disagreeable, enfeebles and staggers its faith, is an instrument of darkness.

That which renders the mind cold and careless in attending the service of God, in visiting and conversing with him at his house, and by his word, in keeping the Sabbath, according to the nature and end of its institution, in celebrating the sacrament of the Lord's supper; inasmuch as

these are the great inlets of Christian light, you may assure yourself, is an instrument of gross and dangerous darkness.

As a Christian, by the light of your religion, you may easily take a view, from one end to the other, of that road which is filled with works of darkness. You may clearly see, that, although it is wide and easy at the entrance, yet, at some distance, it grows more narrow and craggy, and that those unhappy people who travel on it, grow blacker and uglier every step they advance; till, by degrees, they contract a shocking resemblance to certain frightful beings, that stand at the lower end of it to receive them. Is it possible you can see such a road as this, and perceive the dreadful place it ends in, and yet choose to enter into it, or continue on it? Does your religion afford you its light for no other purpose, but to expose the blindness and extravagance of your ways, while you seek what it were better you should never find; and shun what you ought to pursue? Unthinking wretch! you search for happiness, as if it were not placed directly before your eyes; and although it is recommended to your desires by all that is great and glorious, you knock at riches, and ask, is it here? You inquire of honour, whether it be there? You apply to power, but it cannot command it. You search for it in sensual pleasures, but cannot find it. You ransack all the vices, but meet with no footsteps of it. What can you hope for, after so many disappointments, from these 'unfruitful works of darkness,' the pursuit of which is only vanity and vexation, and 'the wages death?' Wherefore, Awake thou that sleepest, and arise from the dead, and Christ shall give thee light.' And, 'See that you walk circumspectly, not as a fool, but as wise, redeeming the time.'

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And now may God be graciously pleased to put away from us all works of darkness;' may he put on us the armour of light;' may he raise us out of our sleep of sin, and enable us to walk honestly, as in the day,' through Jesus Christ our Saviour; to whom, with God the Father of lights, and God the blessed Comforter, be all might, majesty, and honour, now, and for evermore. Amen.

VOL. II.

DISCOURSE XXXV.

WOE TO THE DRUNKARD.

ISAIAH V. 22.

Woe unto them that are mighty to drink wine, and men of strength to mingle strong drink.

THERE are certain vices, which, considered in themselves, can by no means be ranked among crimes of the deepest die, and which therefore, common opinion, and the customs of particular countries, seem to place only in the number of human infirmities, and mere misdemeanors. And yet, if these vices are judiciously weighed by the multitude of their unhappy effects, they will be found, perhaps, to look as black and frightful, as those sins, that call for the severest punishments from men, and the most terrible judgments from God.

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That drunkenness is one, or rather the chief of these, I hope the present discourse will fully prove, by shewing, that it is the source of innumerable other vices; that the woe denounced in my text, against those who distinguish themselves for an uncommon ability in this vice, is made up the unavoidable effects it produces; and that this woe, or these effects, are too dear a price to be paid by a reasonable creature for all the sensual pleasures of this life, did they accompany this single sin.

But, before we proceed to disclose this woe in all the variety of misery it contains, it may not be amiss to remove out of our way those excuses, the drunkard usually brings in his defence, that, when his punishment comes to be laid open, his understanding, so dark and unthinking in itself, may not have these also to blind its sight, and throw a veil over the gloomy and horrible prospect.

The drunkard's first excuse is charged to the account of good fellowship: he drinks, if we believe him, not that he loves the liquor, but that he may promote friendship, and give a greater gaiety to conversation.

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