1

mighty hopes. Behold him when he rises,—a wretch, haggard and forlorn, cursing his fate, and, from despair of retrieving his ruined fortune, driven perhaps to entertain the horrid thought of ending his own existence ! Dismissing so melancholy a

theme, let us,

In the third place, attend to the disquieting sensations which are apt to intrude upon the men of pleasure, even in the midst of their enjoyments. Not only is the end of their mirth heaviness, but in laughter, as it is expressed in the text, the heart is sorrowful. Often is laughter affected when the heart is galled within. A show of mirth is put on to cover some secret disquiet. When you enter into a gay and festive assembly, you behold every appearance of sparkling felicity. Alas! could you look into the breasts of this seemingly happy company, how inconsiderable would the proportion be found of those who are truly happy! how great the proportion of those who, either in their minds, were entirely vacant and languid; or who fled to scenes of gaiety in order to fly from themselves, from domestic uneasiness, or corroding cares, and in the tumult of company and forced mirth, to drown their sorrows! best, the flashes of joy, which burst from the dissipated and careless, are of a transient and broken kind, interrupted by reflections which they cannot altogether avoid. For at the bottom of the hearts of most men, even amidst an irregular life, there lies a secret feeling of propriety, a sense of right and wrong in conduct. This inward sense is frequently so much borne down by appetites and passions, as to lose its power of guiding men to what is right, while yet it

At the

retains as much influence as to make them sensible that they have been doing wrong; that they have not acted that part in life which they ought to have acted, and which their friends, and the world, had a title to expect from them. Though conscience be not strong enough to guide, it still has strength to dart a sting. Together with this consciousness of ill desert, there will be at some times joined a humbling sense of their own insignificancy, when they behold others meeting with esteem and honour for having acted a manly and worthy part in life. Their superiority they are obliged to acknowledge, and to look up to them with respect; while the retrospect of their own life affords nothing but shame, and the bitter remembrance of time they have mis-spent, and opportunities they have thrown away. In the midst too of mortifying reflections of this kind, it will not be in their power to escape altogether from a dread of certain consequences which are in hazard of befalling from their careless conduct. Scarcely is any fortune so stable as to be beyond the reach of accidents that will diminish it. To none so readily as to the men of pleasure, are such accidents likely to happen; and fond as they are of their present superb train of living, the dread that it may not be in their power always to continue it, will, in spite of all their endeavours to avoid such thoughts, occasionally force itself upon them, and cast a cloud over many a scene of projected merriment.

Can you reckon that to be sincere joy, which is liable to be interrupted and mingled with so many sensations of the most disagreeable nature? In the cup of intemperance, or in the tumult of loose society, the man of pleasure studies to drown them. But often his efforts are vain. When he pushes to

·

the utmost his scenes of criminal revelry, they will carry the resemblance of Belshazzar's feast; at which, while the impious monarch was drinking amongst his lords and concubines, he beheld the fingers of a man's hand writing in unknown characters on the wall over against him; and his countenance changed, and his heart sunk within him.* Thus, in the midst of riot, imagined spectres have been known to haunt the man of guilty pleasure. He sees hands coming forth to write on the wall against him. The very portraits of his ancestors, which hang in his hall, appear to him to look with frowning aspect, and to upbraid him with wasting in licentious pleasures the fortune which their honourable labours or virtuous industry had acquired. - Of all the classes of sinners, it has been found, that none are so liable, in some period of their lives, or at least when life is drawing to its close, to be smitten with severe remorse, as those who have sacrificed to pleasure all the calls of conscience and of duty.

LET us consider, in the last place, how unsuitable a life of dissipation and pleasure is to the condition of man in this world, and how injurious to the interests of society. In the world we are surrounded with scenes of distress. We behold the greatest part of the human race doomed to hard labour and penurious subsistence. We hear the cries of indigence. We know that every day thousands are yielding up their breath, and thousands are attending their dying friends. Our own lives are fleeting fast away. Flourishing as our state may at present seem, we know there is but a step between us and

* Daniel, v. 5.

death. The youngest and the healthiest cannot tell whether they may not, within the space of a few days, be called to undergo the judgment of God. — Is this a time, is this a place, where no other thing is to be pursued but giddy amusement and perpetual pleasure? Have you, my friends, who are spending your days in this wanton abuse of prosperity, no sense of the unsuitableness of such conduct to the condition of mortal man? Do you see nothing in the state of human life to chasten and temper your mirth; to bring serious reflections home to your bosom; to admonish you that it is better to go sometimes to the house of mourning, than to dwell always in the house of feasting? - Do you feel no compunction at the thought that, by your luxury and extravagance, you are adding to the scenes of sorrow which already abound in this afflicted world? For you, and your follies, the aged parent or the respectable relation mourn. To supply the oppressive demands of your pleasures, families are driven from their habitations, and left to poverty and want. Your mirth forces the widow and the fatherless to weep. -At the same time, you are scattering poison in society around you. You are corrupting the public manners by the life which you lead. You are propagating follies and vices; and by the example which you set are ensnaring many to follow you into ruin.

- Consider with how much discontent and indignation the poorer classes of men, all the while, behold you. Especially, if in times of scarcity and of war, such as those in which I now write, they see you indulging in wastefulness and thoughtless profusion, when they and their families are not able to earn their bread. As long as wealth is properly employed,

persons in low situations naturally look up to their superiors with respect. They rest contented in their station. They are even disposed to bless the hand which furnishes them with employment on reasonable terms, and occasionally dispenses seasonable relief. But if they feel themselves oppressed, merely that a few may be enabled to squander at pleasure, and to revel in wasteful excess, their discontents are not easily suppressed. With sullen murmurs they issue from their impoverished habitations, prepared for every evil work.

SUCH are some of the consequences which flow from dissipation and the intemperate love of pleasure. Let not the effect of what has been said be frustrated by this evasion, that although the descriptions which have been given be just and true, yet they are applicable only to such as have carried their pursuit of pleasure to the most criminal excess; a class, in which few, if any, will admit that they deserve to be ranked. They who are only beginning the course of vicious pleasure, and who sin within prescribed bounds, may reckon with certainty on their bearing a share of the evils and miseries which I have described. Not only so, but having once entered on an irregular course, they cannot tell where they are to stop. They have drunk from the cup of the enchantress; and being fairly brought within the magic circle, their powers of reflection are laid asleep, and to make an escape may not be in their power.

To some, it may perhaps appear, that the whole strain of this discourse refers only to the rich and the great; and that persons of moderate fortune, and of the middle ranks of life, who form the great body of