springs and motives which in general have directed the actions of his life; he may hang out false colours and deceive the world, but how can a man deceive himself? That a man can, is evident, because he daily does so. Scripture tells us, and gives us many historical proofs of it, besides this to which the text refers: That the heart of man is treacherous to itself, and deceitful above all things;' and experience and every hour's commerce with the world confirm the truth of this seeming paradox,-'That though man is the only creature endowed with reflection, and consequently qualified to know the most of himself; yet so it happens, that he generally knows the least; and with all the power which God has given him of turning his eyes inward upon himself, and taking notice of the chain of his own thoughts and desires, yet in fact is | generally so inattentive, but always so partial, an observer of what passes, that he is as much, nay often a much greater, stranger to his own disposition and true character, than all the world besides!' By what means he is brought under so manifest a delusion, and how he suffers himself to be so grossly imposed upon in a point which he is capable of knowing so much better than others, is not hard to give an account of; nor need we seek further for it than amongst the causes which are every day perverting his reason and misleading him. We are deceived in judging of ourselves, just as we are in judging of other things, when our passions and inclinations are called in as counsellors, and we suffer ourselves to see and reason just so far and no further than they give us leave. How hard do we find it to pass an equitable and sound judgment in a matter where our interest is deeply concerned! and even where there is the remotest consideration of SELF connected with the point before us, what a strange bias does it hang upon our minds, and how difficult it is to disengage our judgments entirely from it! With what reluctance are we brought to think evil of a friend whom we have long loved and esteemed and though there happen to be strong appearances against him, how apt are we to overlook or put favourable constructions upon them, and even sometimes, when our zeal and friendship transport us, to assign the best and kindest motives for the worst and most unjustifiable parts of his conduct! We are still worse casuists; and the deceit is proportionably stronger with a man when he is going to judge of himself,-that dearest of all parties, so closely connected with him,-so much and so long beloved,-of whom he has so early conceived the highest opinion and esteem, and with whose merit he has all along, no doubt, found so much reason to be contented. It is not an easy matter to be severe where there is such an impulse to be kind; or to efface at once all the tender impressions in favour of so old a friend, which disabled us from thinking of him as he is, and seeing him in the light, may be, in which every one else sees him. So that, however easy this knowledge of one's self may appear at first sight, it is otherwise when we come to examine; since not only in practice, but even in speculation and theory, we find it one of the hardest and most painful lessons. Some of the earliest instructors of mankind no doubt found it so too; and, for that reason, soon saw the necessity of laying such a stress upon this great precept of selfknowledge, which, for its excellent wisdom and usefulness, many of them supposed to be a divine direction; that it came down from Heaven, and comprehended the whole circle both of the knowledge and the duty of man. And indeed their zeal might easily be allowed in so high an encomium upon the attainment of a virtue, the want of which so often baffled their instructions, and rendered their endeavours of reforming the heart vain and useless. For who could think of a reformation of the faults without him, who knew not where they lay, or could set about correcting, till he had first come to a sense of the defects which required it? But this was a point always much easier recommended by public instructors than shown how to be put in practice; and therefore others, who equally sought the reformation of mankind, observing that this direct road which led to it was guarded on all sides by self-love, and conscquently very difficult to open access, soon found out that a different and more artful course was requisite: as they had not strength to remove this flattering passion which stood in their way and blocked up all the passages to the heart, they endeavoured by stratagem to get beyond it, and by a skilful address, if possible, to deceive it. This gave rise to the early manner of conveying their instructions in parables, fables, and such sort of indirect applications; which, though they could not conquer this principle of self-love, yet often laid it asleep, or at least over-reached it for a few moments, till a just judgment could be procured. The prophet Nathan seems to have been a great master in this way of address. David had greatly displeased God by two grievous sins which he had committed; and the prophet's commission was to go and bring him to a conviction of them, and touch his heart with a sense of guilt for what he had done against the honour and life of Uriah. The holy man knew that, was it any one's case but David's own, no man would have been so quick-sighted in discerning the nature of the injury,-more ready to have redressed it,-or who would have felt more compassion for the party who had suffered it, than he himself. Instead, therefore, of declaring the real inten tion of his errand, by a direct accusation and reproof of the crimes he had committed, he comes to him with a fictitious complaint of a cruel act of injustice done by another, and accordingly he frames a case, not so parallel to David's as he supposed would awaken his suspicion, and prevent a patient and candid hearing; and yet not so void of resemblance, in the main circumstances, as to fail of striking him when shown in a proper light. And Nathan came and said unto him, 'There were two men in one city; the one rich and the other poor. The rich man had exceeding many flocks and herds; but the poor man had nothing, save one little ewe lamb, which he had bought and nourished up; and it grew up together with him and his children; it did eat of his own meat, and drink of his own cup, and lay in his bosom, and was unto him as a daughter. And there came a traveller unto the rich man; and he spared to take of his own flock, and of his own herd, to dress for the wayfaring man that was come unto him; but took the poor man's lamb, and dressed it for the man that was come unto him.' The case was drawn up with great judgment and beauty; the several minute circumstances which heightened the injury truly affecting, and so strongly urged that it would have been impossible for any, man, with a previous sense of guilt upon his mind, to have defended himself from some degree of remorse, which it must naturally have excited. The story, though it spoke only of the injustice and oppressive act of another man, yet it pointed to what he had lately done himself, with all the circumstances of its aggravation; and withal, the whole was so tenderly addressed to the heart and passions as to kindle at once the utmost horror and indignation. And so it did; but not against the proper person. In his transport he forgot himself; his anger greatly kindled against the man; and he said unto Nathan, 'As the Lord liveth, the man that hath done this thing shall surely die: and he shall restore the lamb fourfold, because he did this thing, and because he had no pity.' It can scarce be doubted here but that David's anger was real, and that he was, what he appeared to be, greatly provoked and exasperated against the offender; and indeed his sentence against him proves he was so, above measure. For to punish the man with death, and oblige him to restore fourfold besides, was highly unequitable, and not only disproportioned to the offence, but far above the utmost rigour and severity of the law, which allowed a much softer atonement; requiring, in such a case, no more than an ample restitution and recompense in kind. The judgment, however, seems to have been truly sincere and well meant, and bespoke rather the honest rashness of an unsuspicious judge than the cool determination of a conscious and guilty man, who knew he was going to pass sentence upon himself. I take notice of this particular, because it places this instance of self-deceit, which is the subject of the discourse, in the strongest light, and fully demonstrates the truth of a fact in this great man, which happens every day among ourselves, namely, that a man may be guilty of very bad and dishonest actions, and yet reflect so little, or so partially, upon what he has done, as to keep his conscience free, not only from guilt, but even the remotest suspicions that he is the man, which in truth he is, and what the tenor and evidence of his life demonstrate. If we look into the world-David's is no uncommon case-we see some one or other perpetually copying this bad original, sitting in judgment upon himself, hearing his own cause, and not knowing what he is doing; hasty in passing sentence, and even executing it too with wrath upon the person of another, when, in the language of the prophet, one might say to him with justice, 'Thou art the man.' Of the many revengeful, covetous, false, and ill-natured persons which we complain of in the world, though we all join in the cry against them, what man amongst us singles out himself as a criminal, or ever once takes it into his head that he adds to the number? or where is there a man so bad, who would not think it the hardest and most unfair imputation, to have any of those particular vices laid to his charge? If he has the symptoms ever so strong upon him, which he would pronounce infallible in another, they are indications of no such malady in himself. He sees what no one else sees, some secret and flattering circumstances in his favour, which no doubt make a wide difference betwixt his case and the party's which he condemns. What other man speaks so often and vehemently against the vice of pride, sets the weakness of it in a more odious light, or is more hurt with it in another, than the proud man himself? It is the same with the passionate, the designing, the ambitious, and some other common characters in life; and being a consequence of the nature of such vices, and almost inseparable from them, the effects of it are generally so gross and absurd, that where pity does not forbid, it is pleasant to observe and trace the cheat through the several turnings and windings of the heart, and detect it through all the shapes and appearances which it puts on. Next to these instances of self-deceit and utter ignorance of our true disposition and character, which appear in not seeing that in ourselves which shocks us in another man, there is another species still more dangerous and delusive, and which the more guarded perpetually fall into, from the judgments they make of different vices, according to their age and complexion, and the various ebbs and flows of their passions and desires. Thus we are nice in grains and scruples, but knaves in matters of a pound weight; every day straining at gnats, yet swallowing camels; miserably cheating ourselves, and torturing our reason to bring us in such a report of the sin as suits the present appetite and inclination. Most of us are aware of, and pretend to detest, the barefaced instances of that hypocrisy by which men deceive others; but few of us are upon our guard to see that more fatal hypocrisy by which we deceive and overreach our own hearts! It is a flattering and dangerous distemper, which has undone thousands. We bring the seeds of it along with us into the world; they insensibly grow up with us from our childhood; they lie along concealed and undisturbed, and have generally got such deep root in our natures, by the time we are come to years of understanding and reflection, that it requires all we have got to defend ourselves from their effects. To conceive this, let any man look into his own heart, and observe in how different a degree of detestation numbers of actions stand there, though equally bad and vicious in themselves: he will soon find that such of them as strong inclination or custom has prompted him to commit, are generally dressed out, and painted with all the false beauties which a soft and flattering hand can give them; and that the others, to which he feels no propensity, appear at once naked and deformed, surrounded with all the true circumstances of their folly and dishonour. When David suprised Saul sleeping in the cave, and cut off the skirt of his robe, we read, his heart smote him for what he had done: strange, it smote him not in this matter of Uriah, where it had so much stronger reason to take the alarm ! A whole year had almost passed, from the first commission of this injustice, to the time the prophet was sent to reprove him; and we read not once of any remorse or compunction of heart for what he had done : and it is not to be doubted, had the same prophet met him when he was returning up out of the cave, and told him that, scrupulous and conscientious as he then seemed and thought himself to be, he was deceiving himself, and was capable of committing the foulest and most dishonourable actions; that he should one day murder a faithful and a valiant servant, whom he ought in justice to have loved and honoured; that he should without pity first wound him in the tenderest part, by taking away his dearest possession, and then unmercifully and treacherously rob him of his life :-had Nathan, in a prophetic spirit, foretold to David that he was capable of this, and that he should one day actually do it, and from no other motive but the momentary gratification of a base and unworthy passion, he would have received the prediction with horror, and said possibly, with Hazael upon just such another occasion, and with the same ignorance of himself,- What! is thy servant a dog, that he should do this great thing?' And yet, in all likelihood, at that very time, there wanted nothing but the same degree of temptation, and the same opportunity, to induce him to the sin which afterwards over-partial eye, he will quickly find the fruits of it came him. Thus the case stands with us still. When the passions are warmed, and the sin which presents itself exactly tallies to the desire, observe how impetuously a man will rush into it, and act against all principles of honour, justice, and mercy! Talk to him the moment after upon the nature of another vice to which he is not addicted, and from which perhaps his age, his temper, or rank in life secure him, take notice how well he reasons-with what equity he determines-what an honest indignation and sharpness he expresses against it, and how insensibly his anger kindles against the man who hath done this thing! To make the case still worse on our sides, 'tis with this as with every grievous distemper of the body, -the remedies are dangerous and doubtful, in proportion to our mistakes and ignorance of the cause; for in the instances of self-deceit, though the head is sick, and the whole heart faint, the patient seldom knows what he ails. Of all the things we know and learn, this necessary knowledge comes to us the last. Upon what principle it happens thus, I have endeavoured to lay open in the first part of this discourse; which I conclude with a serious exhortation to struggle against them; which we can only hope to do by conversing more and oftener with ourselves than the business and diversions of the world generally give us leave. We have a chain of thoughts, desires, engagements, and idlenesses, which perpetually return upon us in their proper time and order. Let us, I beseech you, assign and set apart some small portion of the day for this purpose, of retiring into ourselves, and searching into the dark corners and recesses of the heart, and taking notice of what is passing there. If a man can bring himself to do this task with a curious and im will more than recompense his time and labour. He will see several irregularities and unsuspected passions within him which he never was aware of; he will discover in his progress many secret turnings and windings in his heart to which he was a stranger, which now gradually open, and disclose themselves to him upon a nearer view. In these labyrinths, he will trace out such hidden springs and motives for many of his most applauded actions, as will make him rather sorry and ashamed of himself than proud. In a word, he will understand his errors, and then see the necessity, with David, of imploring God to cleanse him from his secret faults; and with some hope and confidence to say, with this great man after his conviction,- Try me, O God, and seek the ground of my heart; prove me, and examine my thoughts; look well if there be any way of wickedness in me,and lead me in the way everlasting.' Now to God the Father, etc. etc. ΤΟ THE VERY REVEREND RICHARD OSBALDISTON, D.D., DEAN OF YORK. SIR, I have taken the liberty to inscribe this Discourse to you, in testimony of the great respect which I owe to your character in general, and from a sense of what is due to it, in particular, from every member of the Church of York. I wish I had as good a reason for doing that, which has given me the opportunity of making so public and just an acknowledgment: being afraid there can be little left to be said upon the subject of Charity, which has not been often thought, and much better expressed, by many who have gone before: and, indeed, it seems so beaten and common a path, that it is not an easy matter for a new-comer to distinguish himself in it, by anything except the novelty of his V. THE CASE OF ELIJAH AND THE WIDOW OF ZAREPHATH CONSIDERED. And the barrel of meal wasted not, neither did the cruse of oil fail, according to the word of the Lord which he spake by the prophet Elijah.'-1 KINGS XVII. 16. THE words of the text are the record of a miracle wrought in behalf of the widow of Zarephath, who had charitably taken Elijah under her roof, and administered unto him in a time of great scarcity and distress. There is something very interesting and affectionate in the manner this story is related in holy writ; and as it concludes with a second still more remark able proof of God's favour to the same person, in the restoration of her dead son to life, one cannot but consider both miracles as rewards of that act of piety, wrought by Infinite power, and left upon record in Scripture, not merely as testimonies of the prophet's divine mission, but likewise as two encouraging instances of God Almighty's blessing upon works of charity and benevolence. In this view I have made choice of this piece of sacred history, which I shall beg leave to make use of as the groundwork for an exhortation to charity in general; and, that it may better answer the particular purpose of this solemnity, I will endeavour to enlarge upon it with such reflections as, I trust in God, will excite some sentiments of compassion, which may be profitable to so pious a design. Elijah had fled from two dreadful evils; the approach of a famine, and the persecution of Ahab-an enraged enemy; and, in obedience to the command of God, had hid himself in the brook Cherith that is before Jordan. In this safe and peaceful solitude, blessed with daily marks of God's providence, the holy man dwelt, free both from the cares and glories of the world: by miraculous impulse, 'the ravens brought him bread and flesh in the morning, and bread and flesh in the evening; and he drank of the brook;' 'till, by continuance of drought (the windows of heaven being shut up in those days for three years and six months, which was the natural cause likewise of the famine), it came to pass, after a while, that the brook, the great fountain of his support, dried up; and he is again directed, by the word of the Lord, where to betake himself for shelter. He is commanded to arise and go to Zarephath, which belongeth to Zidon, with an assurance that he had disposed the heart of a widow woman there to sustain him. The prophet follows the call of his God; the same hand which brought him to the gate of the city, had led also the poor widow out of her doors, oppressed with sorrow. She had come forth upon a melancholy errand-to make preparation to eat her last meal, and share it with her child. No doubt she had long fenced against this tragical event with all the thrifty management which self-preservation and parental love could inspire; full, no doubt, of cares and many tender apprehensions, lest the slender stock! should fail them before the return of plenty. But as she was a widow, having lost the only faithful friend who would best have assisted her in this virtuous struggle, the present necessity of the times at length overcame her, and she was just falling down an easy prey to it, when Elijah came to the place where she was. 'And he called unto her, and said, Fetch me, I pray thee, a little water in a vessel, that I may drink. And as she was going to fetch it, he called unto her, and said, Bring me, I pray thee, a morsel of bread in thine hand. And she said, As the Lord thy God liveth, I have not a cake, but an handful of meal in a barrel, and a little oil in a cruse: and, behold, I am gathering two sticks, that I may go in and dress it for me and my son, that we may eat and die. And Elijah said unto her, Fear not, but go and do as thou hast said: but make me thereof a little cake first, and bring it unto me, and after make for thee and for thy son: for thus saith the Lord God of Israel, the barrel of meal shall not waste, neither shall the cruse of oil fail, until the day that the Lord sendeth rain upon the earth.' True charity is always unwilling to find excuses, else here was a fair opportunity of pleading many; she might have insisted over again upon her situation, which necessarily tied up her hands; she might have urged the unreasonableness of the request; that she was reduced to the lowest extremity already, and that it was contrary to justice and the first law of nature, to rob herself and child of their last morsel, and give it to a stranger. But, in generous spirits, compassion is sometimes more than a balance for self-preservation; for, as God certainly interwove that friendly softness in our nature to be a check upon too great a propensity towards self-love, so it seemed to operate here. For it is observable that, though the prophet backed his request with the promise of an immediate recompense in multiplying her stock, yet it is not evident she was influenced at all by that temptation; for, if she had, doubtless it must have wrought such a mixture of self-interest into the motive of her compliance as must greatly have allayed the merit of the action. But this, I say, does not appear, but rather the contrary, from the reflection she makes upon the whole, in the last verse of the chapter: 'Now by this I know that thou art a man of God, and that the word of the Lord in thy mouth is truth.' Besides, as she was an inhabitant of Zarephath (or, as it is called by St. Luke, Sarepta, subject to Zidon, the metropolis of Phoenicia, without the bounds of God's people), she had been brought up in gross darkness and idolatry, in utter ignorance of the Lord God of Israel; or, if she had heard of his name, which is all that seems probable, she had been taught to disbelieve the mighty wonders of his hand, and was still less likely to believe his prophet. partner almost in the same affliction with herself; she considered he had come a weary pilgrimage, in a sultry climate, through an exhausted country, where neither bread nor water were to be had but by acts of liberality; that he had come, too, an unknown traveller; and as a hard heart never wants a pretence, that this circumstance, which should rather have befriended, might have helped to oppress him. She considered-for charity is ever fruitful in kind reasons-that he was now far from his own country, and had strayed out of the reach of the tender offices of some one who affectionately mourned his absence; her heart was touched with pity; she turned in silence, and went and did according as he had said. And behold, both she, and he, and her house, did eat many days;' or, as in the margin, one whole year. 'And the barrel of meal wasted not, neither did the cruse of oil fail, until the day that God sent rain upon the earth.' Though it may not seem necessary to raise conjectures here upon this event, yet it is natural to suppose, the danger of the famine being thus unexpectedly got over, that the mother began to look hopefully forwards upon the rest of her days. There were many widows | in Israel at that time when the heavens were shut up for three years and six months, yet, as St. Luke observes, 'to none of them was the prophet sent, save to the widow of Sarepta.' In all likelihood she would not be the last in making the same observation, and drawing from it some flattering conclusion in favour of her son. Many a parent would build high upon a worse foundation. Since the God of Israel has thus sent his own messenger to us in our distress, to pass by so many houses of his own people, and stop at mine, to save it in so miraculous a manner from destruction, doubtless this is but an earnest of his future kind intentions to us: at least his goodness has decreed to comfort my old age by the long life and health of my son. But perhaps he has something greater still in store for him; and I shall live to see the same hand hereafter crown his head with glory and honour.' We may naturally suppose her innocently carried away with such thoughts, when she is called back by an unexpected distemper, which surprises her son, and in one moment brings down all her hopes; 'for his sickness was so sore that there was no breath left in him.' The expostulations of immoderate grief are seldom just. For, though Elijah had already preserved her son, as well as herself, from Moreover, she might argue, If this man, by some secret mystery of his own, or through the power of his God, is able to procure so preter-immediate death, and was the last cause to be natural a supply for me, whence comes it to pass that he now stands in want himself, oppressed both with hunger and thirst? It appears, therefore, that she must have been wrought upon by an unmixed principle of humanity. She looked upon him as a fellow suspected of so sad an accident, yet the passionate mother, in the first transport, challenges him as the author of her misfortune; as if he had brought down sorrow upon a house which had so hospitably sheltered him. The prophet was too full of compassion to make reply to so |