kind, but he endured all this in order to deliver his followers and true disciples from the greatest evil that can assail them, the soul-destroying evil of sin; and to confer upon them the purest and the most blessed gift that even Almighty Love can impart to its best beloved and chosen,-a mind ennobled by virtue, a "conscience void of offence." It is the efficacy of Christianity in affording to sinners the means of procuring this most precious of all the gifts which it is in the power of Heaven to bestow, that makes it be called "the gospel," "the glad message," "the joyful sound." And joyful would its tidings sound in the ear of every son and daughter of Adam, were not their hearts and souls so much held in captivity by the enslaving power of sin and evil habit, that they have, in alas far too many instances, lost the power to appreciate the greatness of the proffered boon, the sensibility to be touched by the condescension which the offer displays, the capacity to perceive their want of the blessing which is thus placed within their reach, the ability even to discern the misery of their own condition. It must occur to every one who thinks, that this sad loss of consciousness and right feeling is the most striking of all the evidences of the miserable condition to which sin reduces her votaries,—or, let me call them aright, her victims.

Viewing sin in this light, our Lord, by a free impulse of his own nature, pursued the needful and appointed means for remedying the evil of sin and the evils which it occasions. This was his life; that for which he lived: his meat; that by which he lived. He went about doing good. His whole history was one of beneficence; but to give to the soul of man the victory over sin was the chief of all the benefits which he sought to confer; that to which all the others tended; that in which they were all concentrated. Filled with the idea of the greatness of the office confided to him, he attributes the same interest which he himself felt in the work in which he was engaged, to those pure spirits and celestial intelligences

which surround the throne of God. Blissful as is their condition, their happiness, as he depicts it,-admits of increase. It is augmented by the generous sympathy which they feel in the welfare of us weak mortals; by the delight which they experience on beholding the triumph of virtue,-the exertions of self-sacrificing and self-devoting benevolence,—and, above all, by the recovery of the soul from the snares and the chains of sin. "There is joy in heaven over one sinner that repenteth!" The serene light of angelic countenances becomes radiant with a glow of unwonted rapture,-their warbled hallelujahs swell to a burst of more ecstatic transport,-when they behold the feet of one who long has travelled in the paths of sin, now treading, though with upward steps and slow, the arduous track of holiness and peace: arduous at first, and painful, and difficult; but afterwards all smooth, and easy, and delightful. They love to behold the first faint glimmer of the kindling flame of devotion,-the first feeble essays of returning charity, -the first weak efforts of the soul awakened to the love of purity and virtue. They rejoice over the sinner that repenteth, and hail with glad acclamations his accession to the ranks of the pious and upright upon earth, and the omen and the prospect of his future accession to the ranks of the blessed in heaven. And these are feelings such as we should of our own accord have attributed to those purer, holier and loftier intelligences of whom our Saviour speaks. I have read of a vessel navigating the Pacific Ocean, which was caught by one of its currents and drifted towards a reef which rose precipitously from the deep water to its very surface. There was a dead calm; the idle sails hung useless on the yards. The helm had lost its power. The anchors were let go, but found no bottom. The islanders were clustered on the shore, within the reef, to witness in silence and in gloom the fate of the hapless ship, rapidly hastening to a destruction which they could do nothing to avert. The crew were seen taking leave

of each other. There were husbands there and wives,-fathers and their children,-brothers and dear relatives,—parting ; and with tears and cries they were seen commending each other to the mercy of Him whom they were all about to meet in judgment. And now the ship, fraught with her load of misery, was whirled by a billow that had caught her, right towards the reef, when-O what tongue can tell the feelings of that moment !—a breeze caught the sails,—she resists the impetus of the current,-she obeys once more the helm,—she is saved! And I have read that when this was witnessed from the land, there broke from the assembled crowd a shout of joy such as had never before re-echoed through those winding shores; a cheer which was heard by the crew of the rescued ship across the roar of the breakers that rolled between them and that perilous beach. And if such joy is felt by imperfect and sinful mortals on the deliverance of their fellowbeings from a pain which would only last for a few moments, and a destruction which could only kill the body, far more intense and far holier must be the thrill of delight that runs through every breast in the celestial host on the conversion of one sinner unto God. Nor let us pause at this link, though a lofty one, in the scale of beings. There are some feelings which, on the ground both of reason and scripture, we are warranted in attributing to the Eternal Father of all; for his nature is the perfection of all the best feelings of humanity. In the parable of the Prodigal, which comes immediately after the words of my text, the character of the amiable and forgiving Parent is set forth to us as a type of God's dealings and dispositions towards his erring offspring; and so surely as we are told that that Father, when he saw the prodigal returning, had compassion and ran and fell upon his neck and kissed him, and clothed him in the best robe, and made a feast to welcome him to his home and to assure him of his free forgiveness, so surely may we rely on the mercy and forgiving love of our

Father who is in heaven, when we abandon our sins and return in penitence to Him. This feeling, therefore, we are warranted in extending to a higher nature than that of the highest created being that ever trod the precincts of this earth, that ever swelled the harmonies of the heavenly choir,—even to the Eternal and Almighty Father of all, the Fountain of unchanging and boundless Love.

And this is the consideration which gives to this subject all its interest and practical efficiency. Angelic natures we may admire and love; but our destiny depends in no degree upon their dispositions. Their emotions are only of personal interest to us when they are put forth as models of excellence towards which human beings should aspire, or as purer types than the character of mortals can exhibit of the perfections which belong to our Almighty Friend. If it is matter of interest to us to know that "there is joy in the presence of the angels of God over one sinner that repenteth," it is so because that assurance gives us a firmer warrant for believing that God himself partakes the feeling and shares the gladness which such an event occasions.

And is it not matter of deep, serious, personal importance to us all to know that the Supreme Governor of the universe is not merely the friend of virtue,-of pure, absolute, sinless, stainless virtue,-but the friend likewise of the penitent and contrite one, who from his wanderings in sin and vice turns to his Maker in shame and sorrow for his disobedience, prays for forgiveness and mercy, renounces his sins in the sincerity of contrition, and commences a new life of purity, holiness and love? I speak not of this disposition of God as a manifestation of his character in which we are interested only by the love for the Most High which it awakens, and by our sympathy for others to whom such benignity affords the only hope they can find of acceptance and eternal life. Important

as these considerations are, surely we shall be penetrated by the far more touching and more deeply interesting view that we must take of the bearing of this revelation of God's mercifulness on our own condition and future prospects. If God be not, as these reflections present his character, "the Lord God merciful and gracious, slow to anger, forgiving iniquity, transgression and sin," then we are without hope! For which of us is there whose own conscience does not accuse him of deviations from the laws of conscience, of holiness, and of known and acknowledged duty? Which of us has pursued with unwavering perseverance that great end for which we have been placed in this lower world, and furnished with all the various and complicated aids of moral discipline that have surrounded us from our birth,—namely, the elevation of our nature, the perfection of our character as men and Christians, the formation of Christ within us, our assimilation to the Divinity? How often have we fallen short even in our desires and aims of this great end! How much more frequently have we failed to realize it in practice! How often, alas! have we acted as if our whole plan and object in life had been of a very different nature! How frequently have we pursued not only a totally different, but an entirely opposite aim! It needs no words to answer these inquiries. Conscience will speak to those who will hear her still small voice, and she will tell a mournful tale of time mispent, of opportunities thrown away, of talents wasted, perverted and abused; she will speak of virtues which were found wanting in the hour when they were required, and of guilt incurred too lightly in the hour of temptation,—perhaps never repaired, nor even thought of with due remorse. Thus we are or have been subject to the dominion of sin, and in that subjection have incurred the greatest of all the evils that can possibly befal us here or hereafter. But is our case hopeless? Is there no