winter and summer, unless urgent occasion prevent. 2. To begin the day on my knees wherever I am, and whatever I have to do. 3. To read some portion of Scripture, and if possible to write some of my Family Expositor every morning. 4. To read something of a book of practical devotion. 5. To despatch at least one letter every day, and to be more careful in answering my correspondents. 6. To talk at least to one pupil a day, when with them, about the affairs of his soul, more or less publicly or privately. 7. To visit as often as I can, especially from three in the afternoon, beyond which I would seldom be at home without great necessity. 8. To keep a more exact account of my expenses, and to lay out as much as I can in charity. 9. To eat more moderately, especially at supper, than I have for some time of late done, and to be less solicitous about the kind of my food. 10. To promote religious discourse, more. 11. To read some Latin and Greek, if possible, every day. 12. To read the Scriptures in an evening, at least what I had wrote in the morning. 13. To examine myself. 14. To keep memorandums. 15. To lie down in a good frame, and endeavour to rise with God. 16. To endeavour, as much as I can, to live by rule. 17. To expect death every day.

January 1, 1737.

MEDITATIONS ON THE EIGHTY-FIRST SACRAMENT.

AFTER Some comfortable communion with God in the preceding duties of the day; I opened the ordinance with these words, strongly impressed as I was with them when approaching to the table, “ I will go the altar of God, to God my exceeding great joy." I considered an approach to this ordinance as coming to God, and also as being a commemoration of the great sacrifice! Let us own we needed a sacrifice. Let us own the sufficiency of this which God has provided; and let us by faith apply to it,

and apply it to our souls, and so draw near to God by it, to God as seated on a mercy seat, therefore, to God our joy, our great joy, our exceeding great joy! to God, whose mercy is our hope and confidence, whose attributes are now ours, and what can we wish for more. Let not any affliction and sorrow prevent it. Return to thy rest, O my soul, for the Lord has dealt bountifully with thee. In breaking the bread, I considered Christ as broken to be the food of our souls; and told the story of Ignatius being ground in the teeth of the wild beasts to be flour for Christ's table. The enemies of Christ beset him around to make him food for us. Before taking the cup, I mentioned entire self-dedication, saying, I beseech you, brethren, by the mercies of God, especially in Christ, his incarnation, life, death, resurrection, ascension, glorification, and sending of the Spirit, that ye yield your bodies, your whole selves entirely to him. If you are not willing to do this, do not receive the cup, pass it by to a fitter hand. You receive not Christ if you are not willing to give all to him; not a part, but the whole of ourselves, all we are, and all we have. I concluded with strongly enforcing charity. Would we not be glad if God would direct us how to lay out every farthing of our possessions? How much more then should we obey him in this instance?

January 2, 1737.

MEDITATIONS ON THE EIGHTY-SECOND SACRAMENT.

I OPENED the ordinance with some reflections on those words, "Come, see the place where the Lord lay." Look into the grave of Christ. See how low the justice of God laid him! Amazing sight, that the Lord of Life should thus become a dead corpse. Think how he lay in the abasement of the tomb. This his lowest humiliation; this the lowest state in which the human creature ever appears till putrefaction takes place. To this an eye of sense would have thought he had been tending; but see from whence

the faithfulness of God exalted him. He broke the bonds of death, by which it was impossible that he should long be held. Vain were the impotent attempts of sealing the sepulchre, and setting a watch. The angel broke the tomb, and dissipated the astonished guard, the sleeping conqueror arose! Arose to return no more to death. Not like Lazarus, therefore, coming forth in the dress of the dead; but, on the contrary, clothed with immortal life and vigour. He lives! He reigns! and has the keys of death and of the unseen world. Delightful thought! See the place where we must lie. Be it so. Death has no terror. The grave has lost its darkest gloom since Christ was laid in it. He left a perfume behind him, which instead of the prison of the divine justice, makes it an easy bed to the believer. Well may we be willing to lie down in it, for he will surely bring us up again. He rose as a public signal ; and when we have lain refining a while in it, he will surely bring us up again. This table has often changed its guests; many are fallen asleep in Christ, but they are not therefore perished. God is their God, though they lie in the dust, and will appear to be so. O blessed assembly and congregation! Thus shall the risen saint look down upon the grave like Israel on the red sea.

Come, see the place See how entirely all the

where the people of Christ lay. spoils are recovered, and not a fragment left behind. In breaking the bread, I mentioned those words, "He has abolished death." He has made it as nothing. Compare the death of the saint, and the sinner. See the sinner trembling like Cardinal Beaufort, who when he died did not lift up his hand to express any hope;-with what we have seen, and I hope shall feel of the saints' triumphing over death, and rejoicing in Christ, when breathing out their souls into his hands, and saying, "Lord, now lettest thou thy servant depart in peace, for mine eyes have seen thy salvation."

February 6, 1737.

ON THE EIGHTY-THIRD SACRAMENT.

THE subject of my discourse was, " I, if I be lifted up, will draw all men unto me." and the subject of my meditation at the Lord's table was, "Gather my saints unto me, even those that have made a covenant with me by sacrifice." I observed, that the people of God are represented as saints. This is an instructive thought; they are separated from the pollutions and vanities of the world, and entirely set apart to God, that they may be for him alone, and not for another; they are consecrated to him. They have made a covenant with him; a covenant in which they take him for their covenant God, give up other expectations and dependencies, and give themselves to him as his covenant people. They make a covenant with him by sacrifice; that is, they join themselves to him by the sacrifice of his Son. It is their very business at the table of the Lord, which is to be considered as a feast on a sacrifice. God will gather us together. He does it now; and it is a comfort much greater than to eat and drink these elements in secret would be. But then it is to be remembered, that there is another general assembly. Lord, gather not my soul with sinners. There a particular scrutiny will be made. May our souls be bound up in the bundle of life. With what joy shall we then appear together, when not one soul will be wanting. In breaking the bread, I observed, Draw me, that I may run after thee. May the Spirit sanctify, and support us. On the whole, I found my heart too dead in much of this service. And I said few things in it which I can recollect as deserving a place here. Lord, forgive me. Lord, reform me. Lord, raise me to thyself; and fit me for thy ordinances on the earth, and for a state above the want of them!

A remarkable accident happened the other day. Wills told me that she was afraid I was out of the

Mary of

way

my duty in some thing about a child's picture, discovered to her about two months ago. She then thought she said to me, The grave is a forgetful place. These things are pleasant, but bury them out of sight. What amazing correspondence! For here was a secret of my life utterly unknown to her, relating to the image of my dear Betsey. I look upon this in two united views. The one as a rebuke of Providence for the too great tenderness with which I have viewed and adored that image. The other as a confirmation of the truth of some strange stories which I have heard from that good woman.

May 8, 1737.

BRIEF MEDITATIONS ON MY BIRTHDAY.

GOD has now brought me to a day which I never expected to have seen, the conclusion of my thirty-fifth year, which I thought would have been my last. Most awful things he has shown me since my last birthday; such indeed as that all the years of my life can hardly equal it. Four such deaths, that I question whether the whole sum of my remaining comforts could furnish out such another field of slaughter, all things considered. First, good Mr. Saunders died on the 31st of last July; then on the 1st of September Lady Russell; on the 1st of October my dear and long lamented Betsey; and, to close the sad scene, on the 30th of last May, my most honoured and beloved friend, Mr. Some, than whom I had none upon the earth more dear and more useful. My hands are indeed weak this day, and have long been so. God has pulled down the pillars of the building. How soon he may add me to the number of fathers and brethren, and mingle my dust with that of my dear child, he only knows! I thankfully own, that I am not solicitous about it. I trust, through his grace, that I have in the sincerity of my soul devoted myself and my labours to him. Him do I honour and love above all, and

my