with his receding ray the autumn of the year, will again arise in his brightness, and bring along with him the promise of the spring and all the magnificence of summer. Under such convictions, hope dawns upon the sadness of the heart. The melancholy of decay becomes the very herald of renewal ;—the magnificent circle of nature opens upon our view we anticipate the analogous resurrection of our being;-we see beyond the grave a greater spring, and we people it with those who have given joy to that which is passed. With such final impressions, we submit ourselves gladly to the destiny of our being. While the sun of mortality sinks, we hail the rising of the Sun of Righteousness, and, in the hours that all the honours of nature are perishing around us, we prostrate ourselves in deeper adoration before Him who "sitteth upon its throne."

Such, my brethren, are the sentiments to which the scenes of nature we now witness insensibly lead us, aud such the final conclusion of that train of thought which they naturally occasion ;-sentiments solemn indeed, (as I have said) but sublime, which remove us for a time from life, only to make us anticipate something greater ;-and which lead us, as if by some mysterious charm, from the bo som of melancholy, to the highest hopes and consolations of our being. If, then, "day unto day "uttereth speech, and year unto year teacheth "knowledge," let not the follies or the gayeties of life withdraw us from these kind and salutary ad

monitions. Whatever may be our age or condition, nature, in these hours, has its lessons to us all;-lessons which all may read, and all can feel ;-and which come to us with that gentle and unreproaching voice, which delights while it instructs us, and which marks the fine education of Him who is the Father of our spirits.

Let then the young go out, in these hours, under the descending sun of the year, into the fields of nature. Their hearts are now ardent with hope, with the hopes of fame, of honour, or of happiness; and in the long perspective which is before them, their imagination creates a world where all may be enjoyed. Let the scenes which they now may witness, moderate, but not extinguish their ambition :-while they see the yearly desolation of nature, let them see it as the emblem of mortal hope ;—while they feel the disproportion between the powers they possess, and the time they are to be employed, let them carry their ambitious eye beyond the world;-and while, in these saered solitudes, a voice in their own bosom corresponds to the voice of decaying nature, let them take that high decision which becomes those who feel themselves the inhabitants of a greater world, and who look to a being incapable of decay.

Let the busy and the active go out, and pause for a time amid the scenes which surround them, and learn the high lesson which nature teaches in the hours of its fall. They are now ardent with all the desires of mortality ;-and fame, and inter

est, and pleasure, are displaying to them their shadowy promises ;-and, in the vulgar race of life, many weak and many worthless passions are too naturally engendered. Let them withdraw themselves for a time from the agitations of the world ;-let them mark the desolation of summer, and listen to the winds of winter, which begin to murmur above their heads. It is a scene which, with all its power, has yet no reproach ;—it tells them, that such is also the fate to which they must come;-that the pulse of passion must one day beat low-that the illusions of time must pass ;and that the spirit must return to Him who gave "it." It reminds them, with gentle voice, of that innocence in which life was begun, and for which no prosperity of vice can make any compensation; -and that angel who is one day to stand upon the earth, and to "swear that time shall be no "more," seems now to whisper to them, amid the hollow winds of the year, what manner of men ought they to be, who must meet that decisive hour.

There is yet another description among those who hear me ;-there is an even-tide in human life, a season when the eye becomes dim, and the strength decays, and when the winter of age begins to shed upon the human head its prophetick snow. It is the season of life to which the present is most analogous; and much it becomes, and much it would profit you, my elder brethren, to mark the instructions which the season brings. The spring and the summer of your days are gone, and with

them, not only the joys they knew, but many of the friends who gave them. You have entered upon the autumn of your being, and whatever may have been the profusion of your spring, or the warm intemperance of your summer, there is yet a season of stillness and of solitude which the beneficence of Heaven affords you, in which you may meditate upon the past and the future, and prepare yourselves for the mighty change which you are soon to undergo.

If it be thus, my elder brethren, you have the wisdom to use the decaying season of nature, it brings with it consolations more valuable than all the enjoyments of former days. In the long retrospect of your journey, you have seen every day the shades of the evening fall, and every year the clouds of winter gather. But you have seen also, every succeeding day, the morning arise in its brightness, and in every succeeding year, the spring return to renovate the winter of nature. It is now you may understand the magnificent language of Heaven,-it mingles its voice with that of revelation,-it summons you, in these hours when the leaves fall, and the winter is gathering, to that evening study which the mercy of Heaven has provided in the book of salvation: And, while the shadowy valley opens which leads to the abode of death, it speaks of that hand which can comfort and can save, and which can conduct to those 66 green pastures, and those still waters," where there is an eternal spring for the children of God.

SERMON XVII.

ON THE JUBILEE, APPOINTED FOR THE 50th ANNIVERSARY OF THE KING'S ACCESSION, OCTOBER 25, 1809.

GENESIS xliii. 27, 28.

And Joseph asked them of their welfare, and said, Is your father well? The old man of whom ye spake, is he yet alive? And they answered, Our father is yet alive. And they bowed down their heads, and made obeisance."

THESE were the words of the patriarch Joseph, one of the most distinguished personages whom we meet with in the early history of the world, and from whose pathetick story the infant mind receives its first impressions of genuine greatness. In the preceding part of the narrative, we feel all the interests which arise from adventure and success. We rejoice in that event by which the inhumanity of his brethren is leading to the ринishment it deserves; and while we contemplate, with satisfaction, the hand of Providence which is conducting this interesting story, we yet tremble as we proceed, lest the conceptions we had formed of the character of Joseph, may be lost in