divide them; they flourish and fade; they live and die together. Whatsoever is joined together upon temporal considerations, may be, by the same, again dissolved; but that league which deduces its original from heaven, by earth can never be severed. Tyrants shall sooner want invention for torments, than Christians by tortures be made treacherous. Who can separate the conjunctions of a Deity? Nor is it in kindness only, but in reproof also, that the fidelity of the Christian shews itself. However he conceals his friend's faults from the eye of the world, yet, if he offends, his being a David and a king, shall not free him from this Nathan's reprehension. He scorns to be so base as to flatter, and hates to be so currish as to bite ;-so his reproof is kindness, and the wounds he makes are not without a balsam to heal to it. These qualifications make a Christian, of all other men, the best companion. An enemy he never is; if, at any time, he seems so, it is but that he may be a friend; for he is averse to evil only. He would kill the disease, but would do it, to preserve the patient; so that it would be my fault, not his, if he be not a friend to me: and when he is so, he is a sure one, without private interest, fear or malice; and affords me a security, which I cannot well expect from any other.

OF LOSSES.

If we scan things rightly, we have no reason to be grieved for those worldly goods that we lose for

what is it we can lose that, properly, we can call ours? Job goes further; he blesses Him that takes away, as well as Him that gives;-and by a question, concludes his contentment with both these conditions:-Shall we receive good at the hands of the Lord, and not evil? If he did afterwards fly out, it was the provocations of his misguided friends, not his being stripped of all, which made him do so. If one lend me a jewel to wear, shall I, because I use it, say, it is my own; or, when my friend requires it again, shall I say, I have lost it? No, I will rather restore it. Though we are pleased that we are trusted with the borrowed things of this life, we ought not to be displeased when the Great Creator calls for what he had only lent us. He does us no injury, who takes no more than his own: and he pleads an unjust title against heaven, who repines at what the God of heaven resumes. It was doubtless this consideration which led Zeno, when shipwrecked, to applaud Fortune, and to say, she had acted in no other way than honestly, in reducing him to his coat. Shall God afford us, all our life long, not only food, but feasting, not for use but ornament, not for necessity alone, but for pleasure; and when, at last, he withdraws these things from us, shall we be angry and melancholy?

In all losses, I would have a double prospect. I would consider what I have lost, and I would have regard to what I have left. It may be, in my loss, I may find a benefit. I may be rid with it, of a trouble, a snare, or a danger. If it be wealth, perhaps there was

If

a time when I had it not. Let me think, if then I lived not well without it. And what then should hinder, that I should not do so, now? Have I lost my riches? It is a thousand to one but some other did lose them, before they were mine. I found them, when another lost them; and now, it is likely, some one else will find them; and though, perhaps, I may have lost a benefit, yet, thereby I may also be eased of a load of care. In most things of this nature, it is the opinion of the loss, more than the loss itself, that vexes. the only prop of my life were gone, my wonder ought to be, that in so many storms, I rode so long with that one single anchor, which has at last failed me. When war had deprived Stilpo of all his temporal goods, and Demetrius asked him, how he could brook so great a desolation? he replied, that he had lost nothing. The goods he had, he still enjoyed; his virtue, prudence, justice, still were with him; these were matters permanent and immortal: as for the other, it was no wonder, that what was perishable, should perish.

In the next place, let me look to what I have left. He who miscarries once, will the better husband what is left. If the die of fortune has thrown me an ill chance, let me strive to mend it by my good play. What I have, is made more precious, by my want of what I once possessed. If I have lost but little, let me be thankful that I have lost no more, seeing the remainder was as flitting as that which is gone. He who in a battle is but slightly wounded, rather rejoices that he has got off so well, than grieves that he

R

has been hurt.

But, admit that all is gone; a man hath hope still left;- and he may as well hope to recover the things he hath lost, as that he did acquire them, when he had them not. This, will lead him to a new resource, where he cannot deny but he may be supplied with advantage;-God, will be left still. And who can be poor, who hath Him for his friend, that hath all? In penury, a Christian can be rich: and it is a kind of paradox to think he can be poor, who is destined to be a kingdom's heir.

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OF LONG AND SHORT LIFE.

He that lives long, does often outlive his happiness. Youth, like the sun, oft rises clear and dancing; while the afternoon of life is cloudy, thick, and turbulent. Had Priamus not lived so long, he would not have seen his fifty children slain, nor Troy destroyed, nor himself, after a reign of two-and-fifty years, made captive, and by Pyrrhus killed. Sylla got, the name of Happy; Pompey, the name of Great; yet by living long, they both of them lost those titles. The high fortune of Augustus was not sweetened, by his long extended life:-it could be no great pleasure to him to want an issue male; to see his adopted sons untimely lost; his daughter's looseness staining the honour of his house; and, at last, rather by necessity than choice, to fix upon a successor neither worthy of himself nor Rome. How much more blest had Nero been, if he had not out-lived his first five years

of empire! What is past with us, we know: but who can pry into the womb of futurity? Though Seneca had only tasted the disposition, not felt the anger of Nero; yet he found enough to make him exclaim, Heu quàm multa pœnitenda occurrunt, diu vivendo! Age, like a tired horse, rides dull towards his journey's end; while every new setter-out gallops away, and leaves the other to his melancholy trot. In youth, untamed blood goads us on to folly; and, till experience reins us, we ride unbitted, wild; and, in a wanton fling, disturb ourselves, and all that come but near us. In age, ourselves are with ourselves, displeased. We are looked upon by others as things to be endured, not courted, or applied to. Who is it will be fond of `gathering fading flowers?

On the other hand, what is it that we lose by dying? If, as Job says, our life be a warfare, who will be angry that it ends betimes? Life is but a play, upon this world's stage;—and if a man were to choose his part, in discretion, he would not take it for the length, but for the ease and goodness of it. The short life has the shorter account to render. And if it be one of the greatest felicities man can enjoy, to lead such a life, as is not displeasing to God; those who so live, cannot enter upon death too soon. It is true, I may by living, be instrumental to God's glory, the good of others, and my own benefit; but if I weigh my own corruptions, the world's temptations, and the malice of my enemies, the odds are on the other side. Death to a righteous man, whether it cometh soon or late, is the beginning of a certain happiness; and, the