II. But are we such? What are we in the respects above named? It is a melancholy, but necessary consideration. It is true, many have wrote upon this subject; and some of them admirably well. Yet few, if any, at least in our nation, have carried their enquiry through all these particulars. Neither have they always spoken so plain and home, as the nature of the thing required. But why did they not? Was it because they were unwilling to give pain to those whom they loved? Or were they hindered by fear of disobliging? Or of incurring any temporal inconvenience? Miserable fear! Is any temporal inconvenience whatever to be laid in the ballance with the souls of our brethren? Or were they prevented by shame, arising from a consciousness of their own many and great defects? Undoubtedly this might extenuate the fault, but not altogether remove it. For is it not a wise advice, _Be not ashamed when it concerneth thy soul_? Especially, when it concerns the souls of thousands also? In such a case may God “Set as a flint our steady face, “Harden to adamant our brow!” But is there not another hindrance? Should not compassion, should not tenderness hinder us from giving pain? Yes, from giving unnecessary pain. But what manner of tenderness is this? It is like that of a surgeon who lets his patient be lost, because he is too compassionate to probe his wounds. Cruel compassion! Let me give pain, so I may save life. Let me probe, that God may heal. (1.) Are we then such as we are sensible we should be, _1st_, With regard to natural endowments? I am afraid not. If we were, how many stumbling-blocks would be removed out of the way of serious infidels? Alas, what terrible effects do we continually see of that common, tho’ senseless imagination, “The boy, if he is fit for nothing else, will do well enough for a parson?” Hence it is, that we see (I would to God there were no such instance in all _Great-Britain_, or _Ireland_) dull, heavy, blockish ministers; men of no life, no spirit; no _readiness_ of _thought_; who are consequently the jest of every pert fool, every lively, airy coxcomb they meet. We see others whose _memory_ can retain nothing: therefore they can never be men of considerable knowledge. They can never know much even of those things which they are more nearly concerned to know. Alas they are pouring the water into a leaky vessel; and the broken cistern can hold no water. I do not say, with _Plato_, That “all human knowledge is nothing but _remembring._” Yet certain it is, that without _remembring_, we can have but a small share of knowledge. And even those who enjoy the most retentive memory, find great reason still to complain, “Skill comes so slow, and life so fast does fly; “We learn so little, and forget so much.”