should, at length, become a good parent. Would you say that you had sent him from your house that day, a good parent? If you did so, I am sure that your sober neighbours would hold your language to be very strange, and would not a little suspect you of being no better than a credulous enthusiast. Or, suppose once more, that having a friend who was devoid of all taste, you should suddenly open a gallery of pictures and statues to him, and thus rouse the dormant faculty. Would you say, on the strength of that first impulse to improvement, he had become a man of taste? Why, then, shall it be said, that a bad man, in bare virtue of one single hour of religious impressions, has become a good man? Religious affections have no growth peculiar to themselves, -no other growth than all other affections.

The phrase most frequently used to describe the suddenness of conversion is that of obtaining religion. It is said that, at a certain time, a man has "obtained religion." Now I am persuaded that, if we should separate religion into its parts, or view it under its practical aspects, no such phrase could be found, at any given moment, to apply to it. What would be thought of it, if it were said that, at any one moment, a man had obtained devotion, or a gentle disposition! Let a man undertake the contest with his anger; and how long will it take to subdue that passion to gentleness and meekness! How long will it be, before he will stand calm and unmoved, when the word of insult breaks upon his ear, or the storm of provocation beats upon his head! Or, let him endeavour to acquire a habit of devotion: and how many times will he have occasion bitterly to lament that his thoughts of God are so few and cold; that he is so slow of heart to commune with the all-pervading presence that fills heaven and earth! Perhaps years will pass on, and he will feel that he is yet but beginning to learn this great wisdom, and to partake of this unspeakable joy. Or, to take a word still more practical, what would you think of a man who should say, that, at a certain time, he had obtained virtue? "What idea," you would exclaim, "has this man of virtue? Some strange and visionary idea surely, you would say, "something different from the notion which all other men have of virtue." I cannot help thinking that this instance detects and lays open the whole peculiarity of the common impression about a religious conversion. Virtue implies a habit of feeling and a course of life. It is the complexion of a man's whole character, and not one particular and constrained posture of the feelings. Virtue is not a thing that walks the stage for an hour, with a crowd around it; it walks in the quiet and often lonely paths of real life. Virtue, in short, is a rational, habitual, long-continued course of feelings and actions. And just as much is religion all this. Religion is just as rational, habitual, abiding. What do I say? Religion and virtue are the same thing in principle. Religion involves virtue as a part of itself. And in that part of it which relates to God, it is still just as rational surely, and habitual and permanent in the mind, as in that part of it which relates to man. That is to say, piety is just as much so as virtue. And it is therefore as great and strange a mistake, for a man to say, that he obtained religion at a certain time, as it would be to say, that at a certain time he obtained virtue. Neither of them can be obtained so suddenly.

To sum up what I have said, -conversion originally meant two

things, an outward proselytism, and an inward change. It was the former of these only that was, or could be sudden and instantaneous. An idolater came into the Christian assembly, and professed his faith in the true God, and in Jesus, as his messenger. This, of course, was done at a particular time. But this meaning of the term has no application to Christian communities at the present day. Or there was a certain time, when the Pagan or the Jew became convinced of the truth of the Christian religion, and therefore embraced it as his own. And hence it was that faith, rather than love, became the grand representative and denomination of Christian piety. This faith, like every result in mere reasoning, might have its birth and its complete existence on a given and assignable day, when some miracle was performed before its eyes, or some extraordinary evidence was presented. But these ideas evidently cannot apply to nations brought up in the forms and faith of Christianity.

Anciently, then, conversion was sudden. It was so from the very necessity of the case. But from the same necessity of the case it cannot be so now. That which was sudden in conversion, the change of ceremonies, of faith, of worship, of religion, as a system, fails in its application to us: while that which remains, the spiritual renovation of the heart, is the very reverse of sudden - it is the slowest of all processes.

The notice of one or two objections, that may be made to the views now stated, will, I think, clear up all further difficulties with the subject; and with this, I shall conclude my discourse.

In the first place, if the bad man, when he resolves and begins to be a good man, is not a good man and a Christian, it may be asked, what is he? and what is to become of him, if he dies in this neutral state? That is to say, if as a bad man he is not to be condemned to misery, nor as a good man to be raised to happiness, what is the disposition to be made of his future state?

To the first question, what is he? I answer, that he is just a man who resolves and begins to be good, and that is all that he is. And to the second question, I reply, that he shall be disposed of, not according to our technical distinctions, but according to the exact measure of the good or evil that is in him. Let us bring these questions to the test of common sense. If an ignorant man, who resolves and begins to learn, is not a learned man, what is he, and what will be his fate? If a passionate man, resolving and beginning to be meek, is not a meek man, what is he, and what is to become of him, in the great and just retribution of character? Do not these questions present and solve all the difficulties involved in the objection? They are difficulties that belong to a system of theology, which regards all mankind as either totally evil and unregenerate, or essentially regenerate and good; a system which appears to me as much at war with common sense and common experience, as would be that system of practical philosophy, which should account all men to be either poor or rich, either weak or strong, either miserable or happy, and admit of no transition states from one to the other.

In the next place, it may possibly be objected, that the views which I have advanced of a change of heart as slow and gradual, are lax and dangerous. Men, it may be said, upon this ground will reason thus:

"Since religion is the work of life, we need not concern ourselves. The days and years of life are before us, and we can attend to religion by and by." But because religion is the work of a whole life, is that a reason for wasting a fair portion of the precious and precarious season? Because religion is the work of every instant, is that a reason for letting many of them pass unimproved? Because the work of religion cannot be done at once, because it requires the long progress of days and years, because life is all too short for it-is that a reason for never beginning? Because, in fine, the promise of heaven depends upon a character which it takes a long time to form, is that holding out a lure to ease and negligence? I know of no doctrine more alarming to the negligent than this; that the Christian virtue, on which the hope of heaven depends, must be the work, not of a moment, but, at the least, of a considerable period of time.

Furthermore; that which is never commenced, can never be done; that which is never begun, can never be accomplished. Be it urged upon every one, then, that he should begin. Be it urged, with most solemn admonition, upon the negligent and delaying. I care not with how much zeal and earnestness he enters upon the work, if he will but remember, that in any given week or month he can only begin. I speak not against a sober and awakened solicitude, against the most solemn convictions, against the most anxious fears, the most serious resolutions, the most earnest and unwearied prayers. It is a work of infinite moment that we have to do. It is an infinite welfare that is at stake. It is as true now as it ever was, that " except a man be born again, born from a sensual to a spiritual life, born from moral indolence and sloth, to sacred effort, and watchfulness, and faith, born from a worldly to a heavenly hope, he cannot see the kingdom of God. No matter what we call it, conversion, regeneration, or amendment,-it is the great thing. It is the burden of all religious instruction. Let no one be so absurd or so childish, as to say, that conversion is not preached among us, because the words, regeneration,' new creation," "born again," are not continually upon our lips. We use these words sparingly, because they are constantly misapprehended. the thing, the turning from sin to holiness, the forsaking of all evil ways by repentance, the necessity of being pure, in order to being happy here and hereafter, what else is our preaching, and your faith? What, but this, is the object of every religious institution, and precept, and doctrine? What, but this, is every dictate of conscience, and every command of God, and every admonition of providence? For what, but this, did Jesus die, and for what else is the spirit of God given? What, but this, in fine, is the interest of life, and the hope of eternity?

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But

My friends, if I can understand any distinctions, the difference between the prevailing ideas of conversion, and those which I now preach to you, is, that the latter are out of all comparison the most solemn, awakening, and alarming. If the work of preparing for heaven could be done in a moment, then might it be done at any moment, at the last moment; and the most negligent might always hope. I cannot conceive of any doctrine more gratifying and quieting to negligence or vice, than this. If, in candour, we were not obliged to think otherwise, it would seem as if it had been invented on purpose to relieve the fears of a guilty, procrastinating conscience. But our doc

trine, on the contrary, preaches nothing but alarm to a self-indulgent and sinful life. It warns the bad man that the time may come, when, though he may most earnestly desire to prepare for heaven, it will be all too late. It tells him that no work of a moment can save him. As we tell the student preparing for a strict examination, that he must study long before he can be ready; that no momentary struggle or agony will do it; so we tell him who proposes to be examined as a disciple of Christ, a pupil of Christianity, that the preparation must be the work of years, the work of life. My friends, I beg of you to ponder this comparison. It presents to you the naked truth. He who would rationally hope for heaven, must found that hope, not on the work of moments, but on the work of years; not on any suddenly acquired frame of mind, but on its enduring habit; not on a momentary good resolution, but on its abiding result; not on the beginning of his faith, but on its end, its completion, its perfection.

DISCOURSE III

LUKE Xxii. 32: "And when thou art converted, strengthen thy brethren."

I AM to discourse, this evening, on the methods of obtaining and of exhibiting religious and virtuous affections. In selecting the text, I do not mean to say that it covers the whole ground of this two-fold subject; but I have chosen it, partly because I wish to connect the first topic before us directly with my last discourse, and because the second topic, the methods of exhibiting religion, is distinctly presented, though not fully embraced by the injunction, "strengthen thy brethren."

Let us now proceed to these topics-how are we to become religious -and how are we to show that we are so. On each of these questions, it is true that a volume might be written; and you will easily infer that I should not have brought them into the same discourse, if I had any other object than to survey them in a single point of view. That point, you are apprised, is the analogy of religion to other subjects, or to other states of mind.

To the question, then, how are we to obtain religious and virtuous affections and habits?-the answer is, just as we obtain any affections and habits, which require attention and effort in order to their acquisition. They ought to be cultivated in childhood, just as the love of nature, or the habit of study, or any other proper affection or state of mind is cultivated. But if they are not; if, as is too often the case, a man grows up an irreligious or vicious man, then the first step towards a change of heart is serious reflection, and the next step is vigorous effort. The man must meditate, and pray, and watch, and strive. There is no other way to become good and pious, than this. There is no easier way.

And this is the point at which I wished to connect the topic under consideration with my last discourse. For it is not only true, that the demand for long-continued effort, for a series of patient endeavours, as the passport to heaven is more strict than the demand for a momentary change; but the practical results of the difference are likely to have the most direct and serious bearing on the question before us. The question is, how is a man to become religious and good? To this question, there are two answers. One is, that a man is to become religious and good by passing through a sudden change, a change, which, if not miraculous, has no precedent nor parallel in all other human experience. The other answer is, that a man is to become religious and good, just as he is to become wise in learning, or skilful in art, so far as the mode is concerned; that is, by the regular and faithful application of his powers to that end, by the repetition of humble endeavours,