THE author of this epiſtle, with many better qualities, poſſeſſed in a great degree what we at this day call a knowledge of the world. He knew, that although age and honours, authority of ſtation and ſplendor of appearance, uſually command the veneration of mankind, unleſs coun⯑teracted by ſome degrading vice, or egregious impropriety of behaviour; yet, that where theſe advantages are want⯑ing, where no diſtinction can be claimed from rank, im⯑portance from power, or dignity from years; in ſuch cir⯑cumſtances, and under the inevitable depreſſion of narrow fortunes, to procure and preſerve reſpect requires both care and merit. The apoſtle alſo knew, and in the text taught his beloved convert, that to obtain the reſpect of thoſe amongſt whom he exerciſed his miniſtry, was an object de⯑ſerving the ambition of a Chriſtian teacher, not indeed for his own ſake, but for theirs, there being little reaſon to hope that any would profit by his inſtruction who deſpiſed his perſon.

[4] If St. Paul thought an admonition of this ſort worthy of a place in his epiſtle to Timothy, it cannot ſurely be deemed either beſide or beneath the ſolemnity of this occaſion, to deliver a few practicable rules of life and behavior, which may recommend you to the eſteem of the people, to whoſe ſervice and ſalvation you are now about to dedicate your lives and labours.

In the firſt place, the ſtations which you are likely, for ſome time at leaſt, to occupy in the church, although not capable of all the means of rendering ſervice and challen⯑ging reſpect, which fall within the power of your ſuperiors, are free from many prejudices that attend upon higher pre⯑ferments. Interfering intereſts and diſputed rights; or where there is no place for diſpute, the very claim and re⯑ception of legal dues, ſo long as what is received by the miniſter is taken from the pariſhioner, form oftentimes an almoſt inſuperable obſtruction to the beſt endeavours that can be uſed to conciliate the good will of a neighbourhood. Theſe difficulties perplex not you. In whatever conteſts with his pariſhioners the principal may be engaged, the curate has neither diſpute nor demand to ſtand between him and the affections of his congregation.

Another, and a ſtill more favourable circumſtance in your ſituation is this; being upon a level with the greateſt part of your pariſhioners, you gain an acceſs to their converſation and confidence, which is rarely granted to the ſuperior clergy, without extraordinary addreſs and the moſt inſinuating [5] advances on their parts. And this is a valuable pri⯑viledge; for it enables you to inform yourſelves of the mo⯑ral and religious ſtate of your flocks, of their wants and weakneſſes, their habits and opinions, of the vices which prevail, and the principles from which they proceed: in a word, it enables you to ſtudy the diſtemper before you apply the remedy; and not only ſo, but to apply the re⯑medy in the moſt commodious form, and with the beſt ef⯑fect; by private perſuaſion and reproof, by gentle and un⯑ſuſpected conveyances in the intimacy of friendſhip and op⯑portunities of converſation. To this muſt be added the many occaſions, which the living in habits of ſociety with your pariſhioners affords you of reconciling diſſentions, healing animoſities, adminiſtring advice to the young and inexperienced, and conſolation to age and miſery. I put you in mind of this advantage, becauſe the right uſe of it conſtitutes one of the moſt reſpectable employments not only of our order, but of human nature: and leaves you, believe me, little to envy in the condition of your ſuperiors, or to regret in your own. It is true, that this deſcription ſuppoſes you to reſide ſo conſtantly, and to continue ſo long in the ſame pariſh, as to have formed ſome acquaintance with the perſons and characters of your pariſhioners; and what ſcheme of doing good in your profeſſion, or even of doing your duty, does not ſuppoſe this?

But whilſt I recommend a juſt concern for our reputa⯑tion, and a proper deſire of public eſteem, I would by no means flatter that paſſion for praiſe and popularity, which [6] ſeizes oftentimes the minds of young clergymen, eſpecially when their firſt appearance in their profeſſion has been re⯑ceived with more than common approbation. Unfortunate ſucceſs! if it incite them to ſeek fame by affectation and hypocriſy, or lead, as vanity ſometimes does, to enthuſiaſm and extravagance. This is not the taſte or character I am holding out to your imitation. The popular preacher courts fame for its own ſake, or for what he can make of it; the ſincerely pious miniſter of Chriſt modeſtly invites eſteem, only or principally, that it may lend efficacy to his inſtruction, and weight to his reproofs; the one ſeeks to be known and proclaimed abroad, the other is content with the ſilent reſpect of his neighbourhood, ſenſible that that is the theatre upon which alone his good name can aſſiſt him in the diſ⯑charge of his duty.

It may be neceſſary likewiſe to caution you againſt ſome awkward endeavours to lift themselves into importance, which young clergymen not unfrequently fall upon; ſuch as a conceited way of ſpeaking, new airs and geſtures, af⯑fected manners, a mimicry of the faſhions, language, and diverſions, or even of the follies and vices of higher life; a hunting after the acquaintance of the great, a cold and diſ⯑tant behaviour towards their former equals, and a contemp⯑tuous neglect of their ſociety Nothing was ever gained by theſe arts, if they deſerve the name of arts, but deriſion and diſlike—Poſſibly they may not offend againſt any rule of moral probity; but if they diſguſt thoſe with whom you are to live, and upon whom the good you do muſt be done, [7] they defeat not only their own end, but, in a great meaſure, the very deſign and uſe of your vocation.

Having premiſed theſe few obſervations, I proceed to deſcribe the qualities which principally conduce to the end we have at preſent in view, the poſſeſſion of a fair and re⯑ſpected character.

And the firſt virtue (for ſo I will call it) which appears to me of importance for this purpoſe, is frugality. If there be a ſituation in the world in which profuſion is without excuſe, it is in that of a young clergyman who has little beſide his profeſſion to depend upon for his ſupport. It is folly—it is ruin—Folly, for whether it aim at luxury, or ſhow, it muſt fall miſerably ſhort of its deſign. In theſe competitions we are outdone by every rival. The proviſion which clergymen meet with upon their entrance into the church is adequate in moſt caſes to the wants and decencies of their ſituation, but to nothing more.—To pretend to more, is to ſet up our poverty not only as the ſubject of con⯑ſtant obſervation, but as a laughing ſtock to every obſerver. Profuſion is ruin: for it ends, and ſoon too, in debt, in in⯑juſtice, and inſolvency. You well know how meanly, in the country more eſpecially, every man is thought of who cannot pay his credit; in what terms he is ſpoken of—in what light he is viewed, what a deduction this is from his good qualities, what an aggravation of his bad ones—what inſults he is expoſed to from his creditors, what con⯑tempt from all. Nor is this judgement far amiſs. Let him [8] not ſpeak of honeſty, who is daily practicing deceit; for every man who is not paid is deceived. Let him not talk of liberality, who puts it out of his power to perform one act of it.—Let him not boaſt of ſpirit, of honour, of in⯑dependence, who fears the face of his creditors, and who meets a creditor in every ſtreet. There is no meanneſs in frugality: the meanneſs is in thoſe ſhifts and expedients, to which extravagance is ſure to bring men. Profuſion is a very equivocal proof of generoſity. The proper diſtinction is not between him who ſpends and him who ſaves; for they may be equally ſelfiſh; but between him who ſpends upon himſelf, and him who ſpends, upon others. When I extol frugality, it is not to praiſe that minute parſimony which ſerves for little but to vex ourſelves and teize thoſe about us; but to perſuade you to oeconomy upon a plan, and that plan deliberately adjuſted to your circumſtances and expectations. Set out with it, and it is eaſy; to retrieve, out of a ſmall income, is only not impoſſiible. Frugality in this ſenſe, we preach not only as an article of prudence, but as a leſſon of virtue. Of this frugality it has been truly ſaid, that it is the parent of liberty, of independence, of generoſity.

A ſecond eſſential part of a clergyman's character, is ſo⯑briety. In the ſcale of human vices there may be ſome more criminal than drunkeneſs, but none ſo humiliating. A clergyman cannot, without infinite confuſion, produce himſelf in the pulpit before thoſe who have been witneſſes to his intemperance. The folly and extravagance, the rage [9] and ribaldry, the boaſts and quarrels, the idiotiſm and bru⯑tality of that condition, will riſe up in their imaginations in full colours. To diſcourſe of temperance, to touch in the remoteſt degree upon the ſubject, is but to revive his own ſhame. For you will ſoon have occaſion to obſerve, that thoſe who are the ſloweſt in taking any part of a ſermon to themſelves, are ſurprizingly acute in applying it to the preacher.

Another vice, which there is the ſame together with many additional reaſons for guarding you againſt, is diſſolute⯑neſs. In my judgement, the crying ſin and calamity of this country at preſent, is licentiouſneſs in the intercourſe of the ſexes. It is a vice which hardly admits of argument or diſſuaſion. It can only be encountered by the cenſures of the good, and the diſcouragement it receives from the moſt reſpected orders of the community. What then ſhall we ſay, when they who ought to cure the malady, propagate the contagion. Upon this ſubject bear away one obſervation, that when you ſuffer yourſelves to be engaged in any un⯑chaſte connexion, you not only corrupt an individual by your ſollicitations, but debauch a whole neighbourhood by the profligacy of your example.

The habit I will next recommend as the foundation of almoſt all other good ones, is retirement. Were I required to comprize my advice to young clergymen in one ſentence it ſhould be in this, learn to live alone. Half of your faults originate from the want of this faculty. It is impatience of [10] ſolitude which carries you continually from your pariſhes, your home, and your duty; makes you foremoſt in every party of pleaſure and place of diverſion; diſſipates your thoughts, diſtracts your ſtudies, leads you into expence, keeps you in diſtreſs, puts you out of humour with your profeſ⯑ſion, cauſes you to place yourſelves at the head of ſome low company, or to faſten yourſelves as deſpicable retainers to the houſes and ſociety of the rich. Whatever may be the caſe with thoſe, whoſe fortunes and opportunities can command a conſtant ſucceſſion of company, in ſituations like ours to be able to paſs our time with ſatisfaction alone, and at home, is not only a preſervative of character, but the very ſecret of happineſs. Do what we will, we muſt be much and often by ourſelves; if this be irkſome, the main portions of life will be unhappy. Beſides which, we are not the leſs qualified for ſociety, becauſe we are able to live without it. Our company will be the more welcome for being never obtruded. It is with this, as with many pleaſures, he meets with it the ofteneſt, and enjoys it the beſt, who can moſt eaſily diſpenſe with the want of it.

But what, you ſay, ſhall I do alone? reading is my pro⯑per occupation and my pleaſure, but books are out of my reach, and beyond my purchaſe. They who make this com⯑plaint are ſuch as ſeek nothing from books but amuſement, and find amuſement in none but works of narrative or imagina⯑tion. This taſte, I allow, cannot be ſupplied by any mo⯑derate expence or ordinary opportunities: but apply your⯑ſelves to ſtudy; take in hand any branch of uſeful ſcience, [11] eſpecially of thoſe parts of it which are ſubſidiary to the knowledge of religion, and a few books will ſuffice; for inſtance, a commentary upon the new teſtament read ſo as to be remembred, will employ a great deal of leiſure, very profitably. There is likewiſe another reſource, which you have forgot, I mean the compoſition of ſermons. I am far from refuſing you the benefit of other men's la⯑bours; I only require that they be called in not to flatter lazineſs, but to aſſiſt induſtry. You find yourſelf unable to furniſh a ſermon every week, try to compoſe one every month: depend upon it you will conſult your own ſatsfaction, as well as the edification of your hearers; and that however inſerior your compoſitions may be to thoſe of others in ſome reſpects, they will be better delivered, and better received; they will compenſate for many defects by a cloſer appli⯑cation to the ways and manners, the actual thoughts, reaſon⯑ing and language, the errors, doubts, prejudices and vices, the habits, characters, and propenſities of your congregation, than can be expected from borrowed diſcourſes—at any rate you are paſſing your time virtuouſly and honourably.

With retirement, I connect reſerve; by which I mean, in the firſt place, ſome degree of delicacy in the choice of your company, and of refinement in your pleaſures. Above all things keep out of public houſes—you have no buſineſs there—your being ſeen to go in and out of them is diſ⯑graceful—your preſence in theſe places entitles every man who meets you there, to affront you by coarſe jeſts, by indecent or opprobrious topics of converſation—Neither be [12] ſeen at drunken feaſts, boiſterous ſports, late hours, or bar⯑barous diverſions—Let your amuſements, like every thing about you, be ſtill and quiet and unoffending. Carry the ſame reſerve into your correſpondence with your ſu⯑periors. Purſue preferment, if any proſpects of it preſent themſelves, not only by honourable means, but with mo⯑derate anxiety. It is not eſſential to happineſs, perhaps not very conducive—were it of greater importance than it is, no more ſucceſsful rule could be given you, than to do your duty quietly and contentedly, and to let things take their courſe. You may have been brought up with different notions, but be aſſured, that for once that preferment is for⯑feited by modeſty, it is ten times loſt by intruſion and im⯑portunity—Every one ſympathiſes with neglected merit, but who ſhall lament over repulſed impudence?

The laſt expedient I ſhall mention, and in conjunction with the others a very efficacious one towards engaging re⯑ſpect, is ſeriouſneſs in your deportment, eſpecially in diſ⯑charging the offices of your profeſſion. Salvation, is ſo awful a concern, that no human being, one would think, could be pleaſed with ſeeing it, or any thing belonging to it, treated with levity. For a moment, in a certain ſtate of the ſpirits, men may divert themſelves, or affect to be di⯑verted, by ſporting with their moſt ſacred intereſts; but no one in his heart derides religion long—what are we—any of us?—religion will ſoon be our only care and friend. Se⯑riouſneſs therefore in a clergyman is agreeable, not only to the ſerious, but to men of all tempers and deſcriptions. And [13] ſeriouſneſs is enough: a prepoſſeſſing appearance, a melo⯑dious voice, a graceful delivery, are indeed enviable ac⯑compliſhments; but much we apprehend, may be done without them. The great point is to be thought in ear⯑neſt. Seem not then to be brought to any part of your duty by conſtraint, to perform it with reluctance, to go through it in haſte, or to quit it with ſymptoms of delight. In reading the ſervices of the church, provided you mani⯑feſt a conſcienciouſneſs of the meaning and importance of what you are about, and betray no contempt of your duty, or of your congregation, your manner cannot be too plain and ſimple. Your common method of ſpeaking, if it be not too low, or too rapid, do not alter, or only ſo much as to be heard diſtinctly. I mention this, becauſe your elocu⯑tion is more apt to offend by ſtraining and ſtiffneſs, than on the ſide of eaſe and familiarity. The ſame plainneſs and ſimplicity which I recommend in the delivery, prefer alſo in the ſtyle and compoſition of your ſermons. Ornaments, or even accuracy of language, coſt the writer much trouble, and produce ſmall advantage to the hearer. Let the cha⯑racter of your ſermons be truth and information and a de⯑cent particularity—Propoſe one point in one diſcourſe, and ſtick to it; a hearer never carries away more than one im⯑preſſion—diſdain not the old faſhion of dividing your ſer⯑mons into heads—in the hands of a maſter, this may be diſpenſed with; in yours, a ſermon which rejects theſe helps to perſpicuity, will turn out a bewildered rhapſody, without aim or effect, order or concluſion. In a word, ſtrive to make your diſcourſes uſeful, and they who profit [14] by your preaching, will ſoon learn, and long continue to be pleaſed with it.

I have now finiſhed the enumeration of thoſe qualities which are required in the clerical character; and which wherever they meet make even youth venerable, and po⯑verty reſpected; which will ſecure eſteem under every diſ⯑advantage of fortune, perſon, and ſituation, and notwith⯑ſtanding great defects of abilities and attainments. But I muſt not ſtop here: a good name, fragrant and precious as it is, is by us only valued in ſubſerviency to our duty, in ſubordination to a higher reward. If we are more tender of our reputation, if we are more ſtudious of eſteem than others, it is from a perſuaſion, that by firſt obtaining the re⯑ſpect of our congregation, and next by availing ourſelves of that reſpect, to promote amongſt them peace and virtue, uſeful knowlege and benevolent diſpoſitions, we are pur⯑chaſing to ourſelves a reverſion and inheritance valuable above all price, important beyond every other intereſt or ſucceſs.

Go then into the vineyard of the goſpel, and may the grace of God go with you. The religion you preach is true. Diſpenſe its ordinances with ſeriouſneſs, its doctrines with ſincerity—urge its precepts, diſplay its hopes, produce its terrors—"be ſober, be vigilant"—"have a good re⯑port"—confirm the faith of others, teſtify and adorn your own, by the virtues of your life and the ſanctity of your re⯑putation—Be peaceable, be courteous; condeſcending to [15] men of the loweſt condition—"apt to teach, willing to communicate," ſo far as the immutable laws of truth and probity will permit, "be every thing unto all men, that ye may gain ſome."

The world will requite you with its eſteem. The awak⯑ed ſinner, the enlightened ſaint—the young whom you have trained to virtue, the old whom you have viſited with the conſolations of Chriſtianity, ſhall purſue you with pre⯑vailing bleſſings, and effectual prayers. You will cloſe your lives and miniſtry with conſciences void of offence, and full of hope.—To preſent at the laſt day even one recovered ſoul, reflect how grateful an offering it will be to him, whoſe commiſſion was to ſave a world—infinitely, no doubt, but ſtill only in degree, does our office differ from his—himſelf the firſt born, it was the buſineſs of his life, the merit of his death, the council of his father's love, the exerciſe and conſummation of his own, "to bring many brethren unto glory."