though it may extenuate, it cannot justify them, unless it could be proved (which I hope it never can be) that in order to be possessed of real integrity, a man must be destitute of civility. Say, ye advocates for this rude sincerity, what are the reasons why honesty and virtue should appear in so peculiar and forbidding a light. Is this calculated to secure their reception in the world? or rather has it not a tendency entirely to banish them from it, especially in times when fashion is too much the rule of life. Modesty, good humour, and civility of manners may properly be considered as a sort of polish, which sets off piety and virtue to the greatest advantage. Let Sincerity, then, have every engaging appearance consistent with innocence and itself, to recommend it to mankind; let it have every thing which tends to adorn it, but at the same time, nothing to alter its nature, or diminish its excellence.

Once more, it has been reckoned by

some a proof of sincerity to speak indiscriminately every thing which a person thinks. But (although no doubt the contrary extreme is much the more common and the more fatal) should not this also be understood with some qualification? Otherwise may it not lead us to the most absurd and mischievous practices? To have an inviolable regard to truth in our whole conversation, so as never, never in one single instance, to violate it, is indeed that rare accomplishment, to which we should always direct our chief endeavours. But unnecessarily to obtrude our sentiments, which perhaps may be founded in ignorance or prejudice, upon all persons, and on all subjects, is the ready way to disturb the peace of society, and to banish tranquillity from our own breasts. What I mean What I mean upon this subject is, that Sincerity does not require that every weak person should be always talking; or that this virtue should be considered as a cloak for loquacity, rudeness or impertinence. A sincere man

will, upon no occasion whatever, not even to secure to himself the greatest worldly advantage, say a thing which he does not believe. But certainly there is a medium between speaking what we do not think, and upon all occasions, and in all companies speaking all we think. Again, a sincere man will, if he be firmly convinced that the good of his fellowcreatures, and the interests of Religion require it, boldly declare all the sentiments of his heart, utterly regardless of any consequences which may affect himself. His prudence will be a principle superior to that which has self-interest for its object it will be a prudence founded upon a thorough knowledge of the human heart, which will teach him the true value of ends, and the best means of obtaining them. Such a principle of prudence as this should always go hand in hand with sincerity; they should, at all times, act in concert; the one employing itself in suggesting truth, and

the other teaching us when openly to declare it, and when to be silent.

I now proceed more directly, to explain and recommend the virtue of Sincerity. And I shall consider it as referring to ourselves, our fellow-creatures, and our Maker.

In the first place, there is such a thing as sincerity to ourselves. One would imagine that there was little need of arguments to persuade us to the practice of this part of Sincerity. Can it be supposed that any persons are, as it were, of a party against their own best interest? Surely if false to all the world, they will be true to themselves. Experience alas! teaches us far otherwise. Crafty knaves and sly hypocrites, in order to compass some bad end, use many arts to impose upon God and man; but there are no impositions so constantly used, as those which men practise upon their own hearts. Every

wicked person, who has not cast off all sense of shame, and all hope of the favour of God, is of this character. He would divide himself between his Maker and his lusts; or rather, he would give to his God a few external tokens of respect, and to his Lusts he would give his Heart. He would, if possible, have the present gains and pleasures of wickedness, without being thought, either by himself or others, to be wicked. This leads him, either to invent arguments to satisfy himself that those practices of which he is guilty, are not so criminal as is generally supposed, or else to give false names to several vices, as if thereby he could alter their nature. Thus, for instance, a person who is addicted to drunkenness, lying, sensuality, or the like, will endeavour to silence the remonstrances which conscience makes against his conduct, by such methods as these; he will at first, perhaps, endeavour to persuade himself, that he is guilty of these vices only in a trifling degree; that others of his acquaintance