XXXIV.

MISERY ATTENDANT ON VICE.*

JOB, XX., 12–16: Though wickedness be sweet in his mouth,' though he hide it under his tongue; though he spare it, and forsake it not, but keep it still within his mouth; yet his meat in his bowels is turned, it is the gall of asps within him. He hath swallowed down riches, and he shall vomit them up again; God shall cast them out of his belly. He shall suck the poison of asps; the viper's tongue shall slay him.

[This sermon, delivered at Cambridge, in April, 1802, was occasioned by the execution of two men, who lived in the neighbourhood of that town, for uttering forged Bank of England notes. Some of these were paid away at several shops in the town; but in attempting to pass one of the notes in a draper's shop suspicion was raised, and while the master was in the act of sending it to a bank to ascertain its genuineness, one of these men snatched it out of his hand and swallowed it. They were immediately taken into custody. The solicitor of the Bank of England coming down, and finding it difficult to convict the prisoners, offered a free pardon to the man who had actually forged the notes, and who had employed these two men to utter a number of them. The greatest criminal saved himself by turning king's evidence, and thus convicted these two men whom he had associated in his guilt: hence the peculiar adaptation of the words of the text: "He hath swallowed down riches, and he shall vomit them up again; God shall cast them out of his belly." "And a viper's tongue shall slay him." Mr. Hall visited the unhappy men in prison, but he entertained very little hope of the sincerity of their repentance. It having been understood that Mr. Hall intended to improve the event by way of caution and warning, many of their acquaintances and neighbours from the surrounding villages attended on the occasion.-GREENE.]

WHENEVER we attempt to deviate from the path of duty, it almost entirely arises from taking narrow views of our present condition, and the end of our actions. God has so formed man, and so arranged the system of human life, that an attention to our interest, our real interest, and an attention to our virtue, is almost invariably the same thing. And if we take into account a future world, and a state of rewards and punishments, piety itself will appear but as a sort of sublime prudence, making our piety, our duty, and our happiness, to correspond with each other. It is with this view that wickedness, and the absence of the fear of God from before our eyes, are so much adverted to and condemned, particularly in the Psalms, and in the prophetical parts of Scripture. There are seasons, my brethren, when each of us has need to be established in virtue and the paths of innocence, and fortified by every possible form and means.

A consideration of the misery inseparably attendant upon a vicious and criminal course of conduct will form the subject of the present discourse. We shall consider a vicious course,

1st In its commencement.

2dly. In its progress.

3dly. Its completion and final issue, from which it will the path of vice is the path of misery.

appear that

First. We are to consider a vicious course with respect to its commencement. It is impossible to understand this aright, unless we take into account some of the avenues through which a man enters upon it.

From the notes of John Greene, Esq.

1st. It usually begins by discontentedness with his situation in life; thus, from an over-valuation of the advantages arising from some other imaginary situation, he becomes dissatisfied with his own lot. For example, a man that is doomed to constant labour by the sweat of his brow, views, with a longing eye, the indolence, the ease, and the selfindulgence of that person who lives without the necessity of labour. He fancies he should be completely happy were he to attain to such a condition. He does not know or consider that there is no greater misery than having nothing to do, except not doing any thing. He does not consider the sweetness of that rest which springs from labour. He does not consider that, unless the mind has some employment, or scope outward, it will spring inward. The ambitious, the selfish, or the aspiring man, thinks if he could gain one object more, he should then be happy. He does not reflect upon the tenour of his happiness, which is his virtue and innocency. He does not consider that the different degrees of satisfaction and happiness are not absolute, but only comparative, arising from their tendencies, and how one and another state of life is formed by the habits and turn of mind a person acquires from being accustomed to that state. Take a person of eminent station, and place him at once in a more simple condition, and you might perhaps think that, by his becoming a poor man, he would be a happy one. The habit of expecting certain gratifications and attentions would prevent it, and it is very evident such a change would not be attended with satisfaction. It must be the same with a poor man. He would be agitated and distressed by that very attendance which high rank excites and requires. These, however, are some of the delusions to which a man yields himself, and discontent is one of the many avenues at which he enters into a vicious and criminal course. A poor man first loses his relish for a life of industry and sobriety, and when he loses this, he soon loses his probity and respectability; for he can only subsist by industry, or by theft, or rapine, and the destruction of his honesty is usually the destruction of all sober habits. Let us see, in the next place, by what steps a person advances till he comes to the commission of great crimes, and where they frequently end. It is a very trite remark, but upon that account certainly not less true, "Man does not become wicked all at once, but by degrees." We find he begins with little tricking and pilfering before he ventures upon some great crime. He lies upon the watch for opportunities of little theft, which do not expose him to the lash of human justice; but, by increasing embarrassment in his circumstances, he ventures upon some crime with which is connected a condign punishment. You may easily conceive, my friends, the agony of his mind the moment he has committed a crime which makes him amenable to the laws of the land. Detected, and, perhaps, imprisoned, all objects are new to him; now he cannot reflect upon him. self but as an outcast from all his fellow-creatures, as a being without rights; before this disgraceful event, he possessed claims to respect, now to contempt; before he felt the vanity to display his moral qualities, now the anxiety to conceal them. He feels as a being that be

longs neither to God nor man all intelligent creation appears at war against him. This is the state of a man conscious of some great crime, having violated the laws of justice. Can any thing be more miserable than such a condition as this? When the poets, in quest of similitudes, have searched all the realms of nature for a figure of wretchedness and misery, they have gained nothing more than what guilt has furnished to their hands; nor could you wish a man a greater evil than to be doomed to the accusations of his own conscience, than to be imprisoned in his own wretched existence: "the way of transgressors is hard ;" and "a wounded spirit who can bear?" Again, the difficulties, also, in which such a man becomes involved by vicious company and evil courses, make the temptations to sin greater than those which first prompted him to commence his guilty career, each of which will be naturally attended with less remorse than the foregoing one, till he becomes audacious in crime; for the degree of moral compunction lessens under every stage of his progress. The commission of one great crime generally hardens the heart, and leads to the commission of others, as the necessary consequence that results from it: "the wicked is hurried away in his wickedness." Again, the longer a man persists, the more he is racked with the fear of detection and punishment. It is impossible for a person, living in the breach of the laws, not to fear detection; and this increases the farther he advances; for what can possibly prevent detection when there are so many circumstances that lead to it? The part he is necessitated to act is one of dissimulation. If open and communicative, he is ruined at once. If wrapped in closeness and reserve, this makes him suspected; a hurried step, an averted eye, a downcast look, these are all sufficient to betray him; hence you will find, that the instant such a person is detected, his character has been long known. Suspicion has long hung about him, and it only wanted the turn of proof to lead to his final apprehension and imprisonment. Suspicion usually precedes detection. What, then, is the consequence of a blasted character? He has no friends, he is cut off completely from the pleasures of intercourse, familiarity, and confidence; the rich fearing for their property, the good for their characters, the timid for their lives; thus all mankind avoid him as a pestilence. The effect of this is to betray the guilty man into greater crimes. Anxious to snatch the opportunity, some accomplice or companion, to save himself, will betray him-—like "the viper's tongue, will slay him." Losing all taste for delicate and refined pleasures, he is frequently hurried into intoxication, and riots in expenditure in the society of persons peculiarly devoted to noise and uproar. He is confined to those gratifications which are in common with him and the brutes. He flies from the dignity of reason to the lowest stage of corruption and debauchery.

Another circumstance which follows is, he is a stranger to that tranquillity which springs from a reasonable foresight in the affairs of life. There is, it is true, a great uncertainty about all human pursuits and events. The best of men are conscious of this, and know not "what a day will bring forth;" but they feel themselves under the

management and control of a supreme hand. Every wise and good man, however, has a certain plan of proceeding. Having chosen and fixed his station in society, he regulates his purposes accordingly, and, making due allowance for contingencies, he knows in part how they will proceed. Reason sits at the helm, and experience is his chart and compass. Though storms arise, and he may be ruffled with care, disappointment, or calamity, yet, in general, he knows which way he is going; and, looking forward without presumption, his object will be possessed according to the settled plan formed in his own mind, and according to the usual course of events, under the guiding hand of Providence. This, my brethren, is a great source of tranquillity; but how contrary to this is the conduct of a wicked man, and what a great stranger must he be to calmness who has no settled plan of life! He becomes involved in constant perplexity and perpetual obliquity. His course is made up of shifts and expedients, and having committed crimes which expose him to public justice, and make life more and more complicated, he must either sit still, or contemplate God as his enemy, and run all risks.

What is he to do in solitude? The evening will return, and spread its shade, but what reflections must be endured? His very sleep is the image of death in its most distressing form. He knows that men equal to himself can crush him to atoms, when united against him; and above is Omnipotence, as his judge and greatest enemy. It is impossible for him to drown the feelings of conscience; having involved himself in great crimes, the less he fears God the more he fears man. Whoever considers this will perceive how impossible it is for such a man to enjoy any repose. "His meat in his bowels is turned, it is the gall of asps within him." How justly may it be said of such, "Misery and destruction are in their paths, the way of peace they have not known."

Thirdly. The final issue and completion of such a course of wickedness in the prospect of death and eternity. That is a point for us all to consider. Death is an event absolutely certain for the virtuous and the wicked; and the best of men have sufficient room to be anxious and deeply concerned when they anticipate the approach of that last enemy. When we are, about to pass from an imbodied to a disimbodied state of existence, all the objects of the future world will then be strange and new to us; hence, to meet death with calmness and fortitude, has always been the subject of panegyric, and added to the other virtues. The best of men have sufficient to excite jealousy in themselves at that period. So many sins brought to their recollection, so many duties and opportunities neglected, so many evil tempers indulged, when brought into connexion with the judgment to come, cause painful emotions and feelings of mind in the very best of These things will then appear in a very different light when coupled with the purity of that God "whose name is Holy," at whose bar they are about to appear. Through what variety of untried be ing" we are to pass no one knows; and this might awaken fear and amazement even in a good man; but we are informed that "angels

men.

are ministering spirits, sent forth to minister to those who shall be heirs of salvation," and it may be conceived that it will form part of their ministration to soften and make familiar to us the scenes of grandeur and the glories of that awful world, from which our littleness, as well as guilt, seem to force us back.

Again, the natural afflictions that attend death, the languor and disease of the body, the agonies of expiring nature, in addition to the other circumstances, make death very terrible, so that we shall need all the infallible promises of the religion of Christ, all the strength of faith, and all the hopes set before us in the gospel, to conquer this last enemy. What, then, has the guilty offender to fear? How must he feel in the prospect of that great and awful change, when, leaving the company of men that have disgraced nature, and offended God and man with their crimes, he exchanges the elements of vice and disorder for the rules of eternal justice and purity? When the secrets of his heart will all be made manifest; when the vices that were effaced from his mind will again be made present to him; when he has passed from the sentence and execution of one judge to the final sentence of the Judge Eternal; when, in the past, he sees nothing but the realities of crimes, and in the future, nothing but the images of terror and despair; when earth heaves to expel him from her bosom ; when hell from beneath is moved to meet him at his coming; and when angels stand ready to prevent his entrance into heaven? This is nothing more, my friends, than a description of the course of conduct and feelings, we may conceive, of those two unhappy men who were executed yesterday. You may imagine, had they known of this result, or reflected on the consequences of their crimes, they would never have passed the borders of innocence. Had they known this, how would they have lingered upon the confines of that peace they were about to quit forever? But they were seduced by the prospect of riches; they fancied "wickedness would be sweet in their mouth ;" they did not recollect that the cup they were about to drink was "full of the poison of asps." When exposing themselves to the company of wicked men, and joining hand in hand with them, they little imagined "that the viper's tongue should slay them;" that "they should swallow down riches and vomit them up again," that "God would cast them out of their belly."

What would those unhappy men have given, my friends, when the first scene of detection burst upon them, never to have offended? How low and contemptible that gain, how detestable, how hellish that company, would then appear? It is true, you will say, they were convinced of this, but in such situations there is room for repentance. If sincere, there is always room to hope; but there is great reason to doubt of the sincerity of the repentance of persons placed suddenly in such circumstances. There is very little ground to suppose that they can have any well-founded convictions of sin, and any knowledge of real repentance, if not learned before. They must see every reason for fear and apprehension in their peculiar situation, which may be mistaken for genuine repentance. When they find God and man uni