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to our graves and images their complaint or their benediction. Who but must wish, that for himself it might be the last of these? We look our names as parts of us. We guard them while we live, and we look forward to what they will be when we can guard them no longer. We would have them last, at least for a short generation, and shine while they last. We would attach to them some measures of love and honour. We would keep them as free from every deserved crimination, as if we were to be here to bear its rebuke. Nay, more. For death is a solemn seal, and there is something unusually affecting in the appeal that we silently address to days and judgments to come. They who make the least account of posthumous fame would be pained to think that they should be remembered unkindly, or not remembered at all. And they, who have most distinguished themselves by a noble defiance of opinion, have been sustained by the hope that opinion would at some time do them justice.

There is nothing in this at variance with those precepts of the gospel, which enjoin upon us to give less attention to our repute than to our deeds, and less to our deeds than to the dispositions and principles from which they flow. We are not departing from the spirit of that true law, which

would have us make the outside sightly by preserving the inside uncorrupt. For we are not

speaking of any pretenders to uprightness, but of "the just ;"-the just, contemplating their conduct with all its motives, walking in the light of a clear conscience and the strength of a solid character, and thus seeking to live in the respect of those they act with, and in the affections of those from whom they must part;—to live, after their life is spent, in the example that needs no retouching to keep it fresh, and in the services that they shall put their hand to no more. We know that noth

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ing should be done through vain-glory. know that it is a base thing to labour and contrive for appearances only. But there is an honest pride which the most unpretending may cherish, and there is a generous ambition which no proper construction of Christian humility, and disinterestedness, and self-denying reserves, forbids or discountenances. It is the pride of an unassailable fidelity endeavouring to do its best. It is the ambition to be appreciated in our feelings and purposes; to be attended by kind regards on the way we are going; and to leave the gratitude of those to whom we seemed deserving, and the regrets of those to whom we were dear, to stand in our place when we shall have departed.

"A good name," says the book of Proverbs in another place, "is rather to be chosen than great riches, and loving favour rather than silver and gold." And indeed, if it be a weakness to covet such a treasure, it is a weakness, of which only the best minds are capable, and of which a saint need not be ashamed. It is elevated far above the aims of any ordinary selfishness. Selfishness it in no sense is; for it looks for the regard of others, and it means the service of others. It craves no sordid delights. It consents to none of the grosser remunerations. It is content to dwell in that shadowy region of loving remembrances and unheard commendations, where the senses take no part in the enjoyment, and mere wealth can buy no inheritance,

"A good name," we read in another part of the scriptures, "is better than precious balsams." They poured such upon guests as they sat crowned at the feast, and they poured such upon the dead as they lay ready for their burial. But what is the utmost joy of a transient festival to that of a well-earned repute? And how vain is all that can be done for the inanimate form of man, compared with the embalming of what he was and what he wrought, in the beating hearts of his brethren!

"The memory of the just," says the text, speaking in the same spirit but with a further meaning, "is blessed." It speaks in the same spirit, for what is the "memory" which it praises but a prolonged reputation? But it speaks with a further meaning, because it leaves every consideration of present favour, and looks forward to what shall survive us. "Memory" implies something past

may

and gone. It is an inscription upon a monument. The dead are underneath. There is something sacred about this. It wears an unchangeable face. It cannot be sought from any interested motive, and cannot be granted unless from a cordial sensibility. Many a man is extolled from adulation or the hope of reward, while he sits in place, or may hold others in expectancy. Many a one cov-. ets to be extolled, in order that he may so sit and be enabled, that he be looked upon and applauded, that he may improve his condition, or at least gratify his pride. But they pass away, both one and the other, and their commendation passes with them. Oblivion, or something worse, creeps over their names. Their seeming shall never take the stamp of reality. Time will not sanction a falsehood. The selfish tribute and the selfish ambition perish together. But the true soul hands over its worth to the new generations. Men are most sensible of its value, when only its remem

brance is left among them. They count its services after they are done. They set up its example, like a permanent statue, when the form that it once walked in has gone back to the earth. They look upon what it accomplished, and ask, who will do the same for us now? They record the manifestations of itself that it made, heightening them perhaps by their private attachment and sorrow, and it seems lovelier in idea than when it was moving before their eyes. They contrast it with what they observe of meaner spirits, and with what strikes them now more than ever,-the surrounding falseness and self-seeking of the world. Thus, while it is "received up" into that other sphere, which the Divine Providence has prepared for it, and the divine word assured to it, it bequeaths to this a testimony that will not easily be effaced, and a still living influence.

"The memory of the just is blessed." For them is that distinction reserved, to them confined. More imposing qualities cannot attain to that, whatever else they may win. Learning may heap up the fruits of its researches, and heroism the trophies of its conquests, for coming times. The inventors of useful arts will write their applause on what they have invented, and, be their characters what they will, that writing will stand.