of beginning a repentance which should have been completed-of setting about a peace which should have been concluded-of sueing for a pardon which should have been obtained ;—all these complicated concerns, without strength, without time, without hope, with a clouded memory, a disjointed reason, a wounded spirit, undefined terrors, remembered sins, anticipated punishment, an angry God, an accusing conscience-altogether, intolerably augment the sufferings of a body which stands in little need of the insupportable burden of a distracted mind to aggravate its tor

ments.

DANGER OF THE SELF-RIGHTEOUS.

THERE is no man's case so dangerous as his whom Satan hath persuaded that his own righteousness shall present him pure and blameless in the sight of God. If we could say, we were not guilty of any thing at all in our consciences, (we know ourselves far from this innocency- -we cannot say we know nothing by ourselves-but if we could,) should we therefore plead not guilty before the presence of our Judge, that sees further into our hearts than we ourselves can do? If our hands did never offer violence to our brethren, a bloody thought doth prove us murderers before him: If we had never opened our mouth to utter any scandalous, offensive, or hurtful word, the cry of our secret cogitations is heard in the ear of God: If we did not commit the sins which daily and hourly, either in deed, word, or thought we do commit; yet in the good things which we do, how many defects are there inter

mingled! God, in that which is done, respecteth the mind and intention of the doer. Cut off then all those things wherein we have regarded our own glory-those things which men do to please men, and to satisfy our own liking-those things which we do for any by-respect, not sincerely and purely for the love of God; and a small score will serve for the number of our righteous deeds. Let the holiest and best things we do be considered, we are never better affected unto God than when we pray; yet when we pray, how are our affections many times distracted! How little reverence do we show unto the grand Majesty of God, unto whom we speak! How little remorse of our own miseries! How little taste of the sweet influence of his tender mercies do we feel! Are we not as unwilling many times to begin, and as glad to make an end; as if in saying, Call upon me, he had set us a very burdensome task?

THE RESPONSIBILITY ATTACHED TO SUPERIOR TALENTS.

IT is doubtless an honour to be favoured with many talents; but he on whom they have been conferred, does well to recollect the benevolent purposes for which they have been given, and the heavy load of duty which they impose. Are any blessed, then, with mental energies capable of ministering, in various ways, to the good of others? Let them know that perverted intellect and genius, reduce men to the nearest possible resemblance to infernal spirits. I would not have the moral responsibility of a Voltaire, or a Hume,

or a Byron, resting on me, for thousands of worlds! On the other hand, when talents of a superior description are properly directed, and warmly engaged on the side of truth and religion, they prove essential blessings to the world. Wealth, too, is a talent, in its capabilities of a very high order. He who possesses it, without knowing how to use it for the glory of God and the good of men, has need to take care lest it prove a curse to him at last.

ON UNITING TALENTS WITH RELIGION.

GREAT talents are the gifts of God, and are, therefore, highly to be valued; but the pride with which they too often inspire their possessors, is extremely dangerous. It would be much better for you to be poor and ignorant, and satisfied with those around you, than to have superior abilities, and to look down with scorn on those whose merits and talents you think inferior to your own. Your qualifications, however extraordinary, are not your own work; and if you pervert them, they will only turn to your own condemnation, and double your guilt in the sight of God. Think less of your learning, your wit, your taste, your science, and your attractions, and pray to God to add humility, and all the Christian virtues, to your character; for, without these, your brightest talents can only serve to dazzle the world, but will avail nothing to your own salvation.

A SIGN OF AN UNRENEWED HEART

IF you have any known sin which you do not hate, and had not rather leave it than keep it, and do not pray, and strive, and watch against it, as far as you know and observe it, but rather excuse it, plead for it, desire it, and are loath to part with it, so that your will is habitually more for it than against it, it is a sign of an impenitent and unrenewed heart.

GENUINE REFORMATION OF CONDUCT.

Ax unrenewed man may reform. Under the influence of shame, or remorse, or terror, or interest, he may improve his conversation, his temper, his manners; and this change may be gradual, and the result of much thought, strong resolution, and vigorous effort—and we see no reason to doubt that in some cases it may be permancnt. But if this change has not sprung from the interference of Him who alone sets men free from sin-if it does not spring from a knowledge and faith of his mediation, and from those principles which this acknowledgment of his mediation involves-and if the change be not more radical and deep than we have now supposed,— the soul is as really under the dominion of evil as it was before. In that soul the reign of God is established no more than ever. It owns a law above his law-the law of its own inclinations and interests. And the struggle, to use a figure, is only a contest for precedency among the various bands of the enemy,-not a contest betwixt the interests of the enemy and those of God. It

is the conflict of corruption with corruption; not of corruption with grace. It is an effort to give a new form to the old government, whilst all its worst corruptions are retained, not to subvert and abolish that government, and to substitute a new and holy one in its place.

PRODIGAL SON.

OVERWHELMED with grief, the prodigal son exclaimed, sighing, What have I abandoned, and what have I found! O my father's house! habitation of abundance, peace, and liberty, when shall I see thee again? Far from thee, an unhappy slave, tormented by the recollection of my sins, devoured by remorse, covered with shame, I languish, I droop, I die: here "I perish with hunger." Ah! "I will arise." Behold here the language of penitence; behold the first expression of the new heart which grace has just created in him. I will arise, I will deceive the vigilance of the cruel master who tyrannizes over me; I will go out of this strange land, which is desolated by famine and death. "I will arise," in spite of the railleries of libertines, in spite of the revolt of my senses, in spite of the repugnancy of nature, in spite of the ascendency of my passions. "I will arise," whatever it may cost me: and what will it cost? What more have I to sacrifice? Alas! I have given every thing to the world; sin has deprived me of all: I have now nothing to offer but my tears, my griefs, and the confession of my crimes. Be it so; full of confidence, "I will arise and go." But where shall this unfortunate son, this afflicted sinner, take refuge? Does an