But, follow Belshazzar to his banquet. See him seated at the head of his convivial assembly. The sumptuous feast is prepared; and his lords sit down to share in the entertainment. The charms of beauty, and the harmony of music, are called in, to heighten the repast. Every face shines with mirth, and every heart overflows with joy. The richest juice of the vine contributes, in abundance, to the festivity of the scene. And, to the heart of an epicure, or in the eye of a bacchanalian, there never was a more pleasing object than Belshazzar, at the head of his lords and concubines, laughing at religion, toasting his favorite gods, drinking destruction (as it is probable he did) to the poor captive Jews, and getting drunk out of the hallowed cups that once adorned their temple. But, should any really think this jovial assembly a happy one, let them remember the _text_, and the _hand_ that wrote it. Look from the festive board to the _lettered wall_. What is written there? Then turn to Belshazzar. See, he looks aghast, and trembles! Whither is his mirth fled? Why are his lords astonished? What will his riches and the glory of his kingdom do for him now? See him falling under the sword of a victorious adversary; and, after death, falling into the hands of the living God; and then say, who would have been in his case, for his crown and empire? or, for a thousand worlds? From hence it is manifest, that, in order to judge aright of happiness, we must look deeper than the surface, and farther than the passing moment. The completest misery is, often, permitted to assume a smiling countenance; and it is only the event of things that is to throw light on the mysteries that veil present dispensations. A fallacious outside deceives and deludes the world in general. And were our judgment to be guided by the opinions, or our practice modelled by the lives of many, we should conclude, that the rich man “clothed in purple and fine linen, and faring sumptuously every day,” had the best pretensions to happiness, and Lazarus at his gate, full of sores, was misery itself; till we heard, that the one was translated to Abraham’s bosom, and that the other was lifting up his eyes in the torments of hell. With a view, therefore, to detect the fallacy and danger of such conclusions, and to brush the vermilion from the cheek of painted misery or gilded error, I go on, as proposed, to II. Accommodate the images in our text to the purpose of forming a scrutiny into the hearts and lives, the principles and pretensions, of sinners of various complexions.