Some, again, want excitement, want object; and duty and religion would fill their hearts with constant peace, and with a plenitude of happy thoughts. Others want restraint, want the power to deny themselves, and want to know that such self-denial is blessed; and true piety would teach them this lofty knowledge; true piety would gently and strongly control all their passions. In short, ennui and excess, intemperance, slander, variance, rivalship, pride, and envy,-these are the miseries of society, and they are all miseries that exist in the mind. Where would our account end, if we were to enumerate all the things that awaken our fears in the progress and movements of the social world around us? Good men differ and reject each other's light and countenance, and bad men, alas! agree but too well; wise men dispute, and fools laugh; the selfish grasp; the ambitious strive; the sensual indulge themselves; and it seems, at times, as if the world were going surely, if not swiftly, to destruction! And why? Only, and always, and everywhere, because the mind is not right. Put holy truth in every false heart, instil a sacred piety into (every worldly mind, and a blessed virtue into every fountain of corrupt desires; and the anxieties of philanthropy might be hushed, and the tears of benevolent prayer and faith might be dried up, and patriotism and piety might gaze upon the scene and the prospect with unmingled joy. Surely, then, the great interests of society are emphatically the interests of religion and virtue.

And if we estimate the condition of society upon the great scale of its national interests, we shall find that intellectual and moral character marks every degree upon that scale, Why is it that the present

grand era of promise in the world is so perilous too? Why is it that Europe, with her struggling multitude of states, and her struggling multitude of people, cannot safely work out that great political reform, to which the eyes of her thousands and her millions are anxiously and eagerly looking? Why is the bright and broad pathway before her darkened to the vision of the philosophic and wise-darkened with doubt and apprehension? Only, I repeat, and always, and everywhere, because the mind is not right. Put sound wisdom and sobriety and mutual good-will into the hearts of all rulers and people, and the way would be plain, and easy, and certain, and glorious.

But let us contract again the circle of our observation. Gather any circle of society to its evening assembly. And what is the evil there? He must think but little who imagines there is none. I confess that there are few scenes that more strongly dispose me to reflection than this. I see great and signal advantages, fair and fascinating opportunities for happiness. The ordinary, or rather the ordinarily recognized evils of life have no place in the throng of social entertainment. They are abroad, indeed, in many a hovel and hospital, and by many a wayside; but from those brilliant and gay apartments they are, for the time, excluded. The gathering is of youth, and lightness of heart, and prosperous fortune. The manly brow flushed with the beauty of its early day, the fair form of outward loveliness, the refined understanding, the accom plished manner, the glad parent's heart, and confiding filial love, and music, and feasting are there; and yet beneath many a soft raiment and many a silken fold, I know that hearts are beating which are full of dis

quietude and pain. The selfishness of parental anxiety, the desire of admiration, the pride of success, the mortification of failure, the vanity that is flattered, the illconcealed jealousy, the miserable affectation, the distrustful embarrassment,—that comprehensive difficulty which proceeds to some extent indeed from the fault of the individual, but much more from the general fault of society-these are the evils from which the gayest circles of the social world need to be reformed; and these too are evils in the mind. They are evils which nothing but religion and virtue can ever correct. The remedy must be applied where the disease is, and that is to the soul.

But now follow society to its homes. There is, indeed, and eminently, the scene of our happiness or of our misery. And it is too plain to be insisted on, that domestic happiness depends, ordinarily and chiefly, upon domestic honour and fidelity, upon disinterestedness, generosity, kindness, forbearance; and the vices opposite to these are the evils that embitter the peace and joy of domestic life. Men in general are sufficiently sensible to this part of their welfare. Thousands all around us are labouring by day, and meditating by night upon the means of building up, in comfort and honour, the families with whose fortunes. and fate their own is identified. Here, then, if anywhere-here in these homes of our affection, are interests. And surely, I speak not to discourage a generous self-devotion to them, or a reasonable care of their worldly condition. But I say, that this condition is not the main thing, though it is commonly made so. I say that there is something of more consequence to the happiness of a family than the apartments it

occupies, or the furniture that adorns them; something of dearer and more vital concernment than costly équipage, or vast estates, or coveted honours. I say, that if its members have anything within them that is worthy to be called a mind, their main interests are their thoughts and their virtues. Vague and shadowy things they may appear to some; but let a man be ever so worldly, and this is true; and it is a truth which he cannot help and all the struggle of family ambition, and all the pride of its vaunted consequence and cherished luxury, will only the more demonstrate it to be true.

Choose, then, what scene of social life you will, and it can be shown, beyond all reasonable doubt, that the main concern, the great interest there, is the state of the mind.

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What is it that makes dull and weary services at church;-if, alas! we must admit that they sometimes are so? A living piety in the congregation, a fervent love of God, and truth, and goodness, would communicate life, I had almost said, to the dullest service that ever passed in the house of God: and if destitute of that piety, the preaching of an angel would awaken in us only a temporary enthusiasm. A right and holy feeling would make the house of God the place for devout meditation, a place more profoundly, more keenly interesting, than the thronged mart, or the canvassing hall, or the tribunal that is to pass judgment on a portion of our property. Do you say that the preacher is sometimes dull, and that is all the difficulty? No, it is not all the difficulty; for the dullest haranguer that ever addressed an infuriated' mob, when speaking their sentiments, is received with shouts

of applause. Suppose that a company were assem bled to consider and discuss some grand method to be proposed for acquiring fortunes for themselves-some South-sea scheme, or project for acquiring the mines of Potosi; and suppose that some one should rise to speak to that company, who could not speak eloquently, nor in an interesting manner: grant all that— but suppose this dull speaker could say something, could state some fact or consideration, to help on the great inquiry; would the company say that they could not listen to him? Would the people say that they would not come to hear him again? No, the speaker might be as awkward and as prosaic as he pleased; he might be some humble observer, some young engineer-but he would have attentive and crowded auditories. A feeling in the hearers would supply all other deficiencies.

Shall this be so in worldly affairs, and shall there be nothing like it in religious affairs? Grant that the speaker on religion is not the most interesting; grant that he is dull; grant that his emotions are constitutionally less earnest than yours are yet I say, what business have you to come to church to be passive in the service, to be acted on, and not yourselves to act? And yet more, what warrant have you to let your affections to your God depend on the infirmity of any mortal being? Is that awful presence that filleth the sanctuary, though no cloud of incense be there is the vital and never-dying interest which you have in your own mind—is the wide scene of living mercies that surrounds you, and which you have come to meditate upon-is it all indifferent to you, because one poor erring mortal is cold and dead to it? I do not ask