"If you have any respect for my judgment," &c. &c. So that the great point with him is not so much that you should be convinced, as that he should have the credit of convincing you.

Once more,—the teller of unpleasing truths should watch to select favourable times and occasions ("mollia tempora fandi");—when an inquisitive or docile disposition is most apparent ;—when some circumstance or topic naturally leads without formality or abruptness;-when there appears to be in the way the least to put him (the person reproved) in the attitude of pride and hostile self-defence.

It is an unhappy fact, that even among friends, the very reverse of this discreet and benevolent policy very generally prevails. Of all times, it is just in that when something has made them angry,—when the state of amicable feeling is for the time broken up, that they speak out the most of the ungracious truth which they have thought at other times. They have thought of it, and wished to say it, but did not know how; they have waited for a favourable occasion, but it never seemed to come; the subject has therefore been brooded over in silence, and perhaps created many an unamicable and unamiable mood, which was not explained. Till at length -! So that "the truth," (for we will suppose that there is much truth uttered in this explosion,) instead of doing any of the good which it might in a certain manner of communication, records itself, as it were, in deep and lasting mischief. What might, by wisdom and benevolence, have been made to fall as a salutary shower, is gradually collected and darkened till it bursts forth in a violent and destructive tempest. One great mischief of thus ແ "telling the truth" is, that it can hardly ever afterwards be said in a conciliating and persuasive manner. That subject is thenceforward to be avoided, or but reserved for another storm.

How much it is to be wished that all this could be mended; among friends especially. One thinks that, among them, it should be possible that the system of social communication might be constituted on such high principles, that it should be understood as their mutual wish and claim to have the advantage of one another's faithful friendly animadversions. Or that, at least, more particular friends might expressly recognize this as a right and obligation. Think, if this were practicable, what a benefit it might be! Consider, how many thoughts there are, in their separate minds, concerning one another, which would be beneficially corrective, if they could come by some intuition into the other's mind respectively. How often it has occurred to you;-" This that is in my thoughts when I think of him-I do wish it could be in his-for I am sure it would have some good effect; that is to say if it could be in his mind, without being suggested from mine; but, as so suggested, I cannot be sure it would be at all efficacious." The fear of what our text expresses, still hangs over the mind, and shuts it up from the desired communication. And no wonder, when this has so often been the experience of the most genuine friends, in presenting salutary truth; so often the experience of the worthiest instructors, parents, ministers, philanthropists; of prophets and apostles, of Moses and Paul; nay, of our divine Lord, and Master, and Redeemer himself!

But still, let not the sincere friend suffer himself altogether to despond. And that this task and service of telling the truth may not be in vain, and worse, we cannot, in conclusion, too strongly insist on the duty with respect to hearing it. Men should be aware, that it is an unfavourable symptom of the state of the mind, when there is an excessive and irritable delicacy as to hearing things which are the contrary of flattery. Is it a wise self-love that would thus draw a

protective and inviolable line round everything that is ours; round all the defects and faults we may have, which are our closest and most mischievous enemies? As if a garrison should make a point of most sacredly protecting the very traitors it knows or suspects it has within, because they belong to their town!

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The right disposition of mind is, that which desires earnestly THE TRUTH!”—“ THE TRUTH!" in whatever manner it may come to us. Not that the manner of its being conveyed is quite indifferent; far from it; but " THE TRUTH," howsoever it come, has its own intrinsic eternal value. And what a fool I am, if I will not take it, and apply it to its use, just because the manner of its coming to me has not pleased me! Even from an avowed enemy, as it has often been said, we ought to be willing to learn; but surely then, when it is from a friend, a Christian friend!

Recollect the disposition of the psalmist, "Let the righteous smite me, it shall be a kindness; let him reprove me, it shall be an excellent oil, which shall not break my head." Let it be remembered, that there have been many instances in which a friend, silent when he should have spoken, has himself afterwards received the reproof, in serious and pathetic terms, for not having done so, from the person whom he declined to admonish.

Finally, if there be those who are of a temperament so painfully and irritably susceptible, that they really can no way bring themselves to be willing to hear corrective truth from others, how strong is the obligation that they should look so much the more severely to themselves.

February 28, 1822.

LECTURE V.

ON COMBINING WATCHFULNESS AND PRAYER.

MATTHEW xxvi. 41.

"Watch and pray that ye enter not into temptation."

THIS is one of the last sentences uttered by our Lord to his disciples before his death. All he appears to have said to them the remainder of that dreadful night, would fill but very few moments. And this circumstance of being nearly the last, would seem to give it a peculiar and solemn emphasis. The last, the end of any prolonged series, if at all important, has some peculiar relation to our most serious feelings; how it finds them out, moves them into exercise,- -even men of mirth are somewhat graver!

If the last in an important series is considered with respect to prospect, it is regarded like coming to the brink of a gulf;-if with regard to retrospect, it seems as it were to collect, and stand representative of the importance of all the preceding, as if it had a voice and said, "They all speak this once more by me, that speak the last." In the case of a revered friend and instructor, speaking nearly for the last time, it would seem as if his spirit, before it departed, went back to re-animate, repeat, re-apply all his preceding instructions. It is as if he said, "My spirit cannot come to yours in any new words, any more words; let it henceforward be felt as coming to you in those I have spoken before." And also the sentences which he deliberately chose to utter last, would be felt as being instead of, and in some sense having the virtue of, all the other valuable things that he cannot now say.

But in the instance of our Lord, there were other most solemn and affecting circumstances, to give emphasis to his last expressions to his disciples. They were uttered under the pressure of a mental agony, unparalleled in nature and degree in all time;-in the near anticipation of a corporeal anguish, the severest that malignity could devise to inflict; and all this inflicted on perfect goodness, and (as far as men were concerned) inflicted because of that goodness; because he was in perfect antipathy to that moral evil which reigned triumphant, and raged at his interference. And all this was voluntarily encountered, not only by an original act of determination, but by an act of determination at each step renewed, and at each step in one sense revocable; that is to say, if it had been morally possible for him to abandon the object. He said the case was such, and the whole grand design still so depending on his present determination, that myriads of angels would instantly have come at his requisition. And then with a sublime, and awful, and justly vindictive triumph, he could have left the world to destruction! But what had then become of the great purpose on which he came to redeem it? Now all this would afterwards in the minds of his disciples, and should in ours, be associated with his last admonitions. To think how he watched, and prayed, and suffered, and cared for his disciples and mankind, in the hour in which he said it!

The first word of the admonition was pointed at that immediate circumstance that they slept; even those three whom he had selected to go further with him in the melancholy garden for the purpose of their watching with him, even they fell asleep, once and again,-notwithstanding the awful character of the crisis. As if through an overruling appointment to show how completely he was placed, by his nature and his work, out of sympathy and cooperation;-to show that HE was a person, and that his was