young persons, who complain of the rigour of human prohibitions, and declare," they meet with no such strictness in the gospel," by asking them, with the most affectionate earnestness, if they can conscientiously reconcile their nightly attendance at every public place which they frequent, with such precepts as the following: "Redeeming the time"- "Watch and pray"-"Watch, for ye know not at what time your Lord cometh""Abstain from all appearance of evil"-"Set your affections on things above"- 66 Be ye spiritually minded"-" Crucify the flesh with its affections and lusts?" And I would venture to offer one criterion, by which the persons in question may be enabled to decide on the positive innocence and safety of such diversions; I mean, provided they are sincere in their scrutiny, and honest in their avowal. If, on their return at night from those places, they find they can retire, and "commune with their own hearts;" if they find the love of God operating with undiminished force on their minds; if they can "bring every thought into subjection," and concentrate every wandering imagination; if they can soberly examine into their own state of mind; I do not say if they can do all this perfectly and without distraction; (for who almost can do this at any time?) but if they can do it with the same degree of seriousness, pray with the same degree of fervour, and renounce the world in as great a measure as at other times; and if they can lie down with a peaceful consciousness of having avoided in the evening " that temptation" which they had prayed not to be "led into" in the morning, they may then more reasonably hope that all is well, and that they are not speaking false peace to their hearts.— Again, if we cannot beg the blessing of our Maker on whatever we are going to do or to enjoy, is it not an unequivocal proof that the thing ought not to be done or enjoyed? On all the rational enjoyments of society, on all healthful and temperate exercise, on the delights of friendship, arts, and polished letters, on the exquisite pleasures resulting from the enjoyment of rural scenery, and the beauties of nature; on the innocent participation of these, we may ask the Divine favour-for the sober enjoyment of these, we may thank the Divine beneficence: but do we feel equally disposed to invoke blessings or return praises for gratifications found (to say no worse) in levity, in vanity, and waste of time? If these tests were fairly used; if these experiments were honestly tried; if these examinations were conscientiously made, may we not, without offence, presume to ask-could our numerous places of public resort, could our ever-multiplying scenes of more select, but not less dangerous diversion, nightly overflow with an excess hitherto unparalleled in the annals of pleasure?*

* If I might presume to recommend a book which of all others exposes the insignificance, vanity, littleness, and emptiness of the world, I should not hesitate to name Mr. Law's "Serious Call to a Devout and Holy Life." Few writers, except Pascal, have directed so much acuteness of reasoning and so much pointed wit to this object. He not only makes the reader afraid of a worldly life on account of its sinfulness, but ashamed of it on account of its folly. Few men perhaps have had a deeper insight into the human heart, or have more skil. fally probed its corruptions, yet on points of doctrine his views do not seem to be just; and his disquisitions are often unsound and fanciful, so that a general perusal of his works would neither be profitable or intelligible. To a fashionable woman, immersed in the vanities of life, or to a busy man overwhelmed with its cares, I know no book so applicable, or likely to exhibit with equal force the vanity of the shadows they are pursuing. But, even in this work, Law is not a safe guide to evangelical light; and, in many of his others, he is highly visionary and

CHAPTER XIX.

A worldly spirit incompatible with the spirit of Christianity.

Is it not whimsical to hear such complaints against the strictness of religion as we are frequently hearing, from beings who are voluntarily pursuing, as has been shown in the preceding chapters, a course of life which fashion makes infinitely more severe? How really burdensome would Christianity be, if she enjoined such sedulous application, such unremitting labours, such a succession of fatigues! If religion commanded such hardships and self-denial, such days of hurry, such evenings of exertion, such nights of broken rest, such perpetual sacrifices of quiet, such exile from family delights, as fashion imposes; then, indeed, the service of Christianity would no longer merit its present appellation of being a "reasonable service;" then the name of perfect slavery might be justly applied to that which we are told, in the beautiful language of our church, is " a service of perfect freedom :" a service, the great object of which is "to deliver us from the bondage of corruption into the glorious liberty of the children of God."

A worldly temper, by which I mean a disposition to prefer worldly pleasures, worldly satisfactions, and worldly advantages, to the immortal interests of the soul; and to let worldly considerations actuate us instead of the dictates of religion in the concerns of ordinary life; a worldly temper, I say, is not, like almost any other fault, the effect of passion, or the consequence of surprise, when the heart is off its guard. It is not excited incidentally by the operation of external circumstances on the infirmity of nature; but it is the vital spirit, the essential soul, the living principle of evil. It is not so much an act, as a state of being; not so much an occasional complaint, as a tainted constitution of mind. If it does not always show itself in extraordinary excesses, it has no perfect intermission. Even when it is not immediately tempted to break out into overt and specific acts, it is at work within, stirring up the heart to disaffection against holiness, and infusing a kind of moral disability to whatever is intrinsically right. It infects and depraves all the powers and faculties of the soul; for it operates on the understanding, by blinding it to whatever is spiritually good; on the will, by making it averse from God; on the affections, by disordering and sensualizing them; so that one may almost say to those who are under the supreme dominion of this spirit, what was said to the hosts of Joshua, "Ye cannot serve the Lord."

This worldliness of mind is not at all commonly understood, and for the following reason-people suppose that in this world our chief business whimsical and I have known some excellent persons, who were first led by this admirable genius to see the wants of their own hearts, and the utter insufficiency of the world to fill up the craving void, who, though they became eminent for piety and self-denial, have had their usefulness abridged, and whose minds have contracted something of a monastic severity by an unqualified perusal of Mr. Law. True Christianity does not call on us to starve our bodies, but our corruptions. As the mortified apostle of the holy and self-denying Baptist, preaching repentance because the kingdom of heaven is at hand, Mr. Law has no superior. As a preacher of salvation on scriptural grounds, I would follow other guides.

is with the things of this world, and that to conduct the business of this world well, that is, conformably to moral principles, is the chief substance of moral and true goodness. Religion, if introduced at all into the system, only makes its occasional, and, if I may so speak, its holiday appearance. To bring religion into everything, is thought incompatible with the due attention to the things of this life. And so it would be, if by religion were meant talking about religion. The phrase, therefore, is, "We cannot always be praying; we must mind our business and our social duties as well as our devotion." Worldly business being thus subjected to worldly, though in some degree moral, maxims, the mind during the conduct of business grows worldly; and a continually increasing worldly spirit dims the sight, and relaxes the moral principle on which the affairs of the world are conducted, as well as indisposes the mind for all the exercises of devotion.

But this temper, as far as relates to business, so much assumes the semblance of goodness, that those who have not right views are apt to mistake the carrying on the affairs of life on a tolerably moral principle, for religion. They do not see that the evil lies not in their so carrying on business, but in their not carrying on the things of this life in subserviency to the things of eternity; in their not carrying them on with the unintermitting idea of responsibility. The evil does not lie in their not being always on their knees, but in their not bringing their religion from the closet into the world; in their not bringing the spirit of the Sunday's devotions into the transactions of the week; in not transforming their religion from a dry and speculative, and inoperative system into a lively, and influential, and unceasing principle of action.

Though there are, blessed be God! in the most exalted stations women who adorn their Christian profession by a consistent conduct; yet are there not others who are labouring hard to unite the irreconcileable interests of earth and heaven? who, while they will not relinquish one jot of what this world has to bestow, yet by no means renounce their hopes of a better? who do not think it unreasonable that their indulging in the fullest possession of present pleasures should interfere with the most certain reversion of future glory? who, after living in the most unbounded gratification of ease, vanity, and luxury, fancy that heaven must be attached of course to a life of which Christianity is the outward profession, and which has not been stained by any flagrant or dishonourable act of guilt?

Are there not many who, while they entertain a respect for religion, (for I address not the unbelieving or the licentious,) while they believe its truths, observe its forms, and would be shocked not to be thought religious, are yet immersed in this life of disqualifying worldliness? who, though they make a conscience of going to the public worship once on a Sunday, and are scrupulously observant of the other rites of the Church, yet hesitate not to give up all the rest of their time to the very same pursuits and pleasures which occupy the hearts and engross the lives of those looser characters whose enjoyment is not obstructed by any dread of a future account? and who are acting on the wise principle of "the children of this world," in making the most of the present state of being, from the conviction that there is no other to be expected?

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It must be owned, indeed, that faith in unseen things is at times lamentably weak and defective even in the truly pious; and, that it is so, is the subject of their grief and humiliation. O! how does the real Christian take shame in the coldness of his belief, in the lowness of his attainments! How deeply does he lament that, "when he would do good, evil is present with him!"" that the life he now lives in the flesh, is" not, in the degree it ought to be, "by faith in the Son of God!" Yet one thing is clear however weak his belief may seem to be, it is evident that his actions are principally governed by it; he evinces his sincerity to others, by a life in some good degree analogous to the doctrines he professes: while to himself he has at least this conviction, that, faint as his confidence may be at times, low as may be his hope, and feeble as his faith may seem, yet, at the worst of times he would not exchange that faint measure of trust and hope for all the actual pleasures and possessions of his most splendid acquaintance; and, what is a proof of his sincerity, he never seeks the cure of his dejection, where they seek theirs, in the world, but in God.

But, as to the faith of worldly persons, however strong it may be in speculation, however orthodox their creed, however stout their profession, we cannot help fearing that it is a little defective in sincerity: for, if there were in their minds a full persuasion of the truth of revelation, and of the eternal bliss it promises, would it not be obvious to them that there must be more diligence for its attainment? We discover great ardour in carrying on worldly projects, because we believe the good which we are pursuing is real, and will reward the trouble of the pursuit; we believe that good is to be attained by diligence, and we prudently proportion our earnestness to this conviction; when, therefore, we see persons professing a lively faith in a better world, yet labouring little to obtain an interest in it, can we forbear suspecting that their belief, not only of their own title to eternal happiness, but of eternal happiness itself, is not well grounded; and that, if they were to "examine themselves truly," and to produce the principle of such a relaxed morality, the faith would be found to be much of a piece with the practice?

The objections which disincline the world to make present sacrifices of pleasure, with a view to obtaining eternal happiness, are such as apply to all the ordinary concerns of life. That is, men object chiefly to a religious course as tending to rob them of that actual pleasure which is within their reach, for the sake of a remote enjoyment. They object to giving up the seen good for the unseen. But, do not almost all the transactions of life come under the same description? Do we not give up present ease, and renounce much indulgence, in order to acquire a future? Do we not part with our current money for the reversion of an estate, which we know it will be a long time before we can possess? Nay, do not the most worldly often submit to an immediate inconvenience, by reducing their present income, in order to insure to themselves a larger capital for their future subsistence?

Now "Faith, which is the substance of things hoped for," is meant to furnish the soul with present support, while it satisfies it as to the security on which it has lent itself; just as a man's bonds and mortgages assure him that he is really rich, though he has not all the money in hand ready to spend at the moment. Those who truly believe the Bible, must in the

same manner be content to live on its promises, by which God has as it were pledged himself for their future blessedness.

Even that very spirit of enjoyment which leads the persons in question so studiously to possess themselves of the qualifications necessary for the pleasures of the present scene; that understanding and good sense, which leads them to acquire such talents as may enable them to relish the resorts of gaiety here; that very spirit should induce those who are really looking for a future state of happiness, to wish to acquire something of the taste, and temper, and talents, which may be considered as qualifications for the enjoyment of that happiness. The neglect of doing this must proceed from one of these two causes; either they must think their present course a safe and proper course, or they must think that death is to produce some sudden and surprising alteration in the human character.. But the office of death is to transport us to a new state, not to transform us to a new nature; the stroke of death is intended to effect our deliverance out of this world, and our introduction into another; but it is not likely to effect any sudden and wonderful, much less a total change in our hearts or our tastes: so far from this, that we are assured in Scripture, "that he that is filthy will be filthy still, and he that is holy will be holy still." Though we believe that death will completely cleanse the holy soul from its remaining pollutions, that it will exchange defective sanctification ito perfect purity, entangling temptation into complete freedom; suffering and affliction into health and joy; doubts and fears into perfect security, and oppressive weariness into everlasting rest; yet there is no magic in the wand of death, which will convert an unholy soul into a holy one. And it is awful to reflect, that such tempers as have the allowed predominance here will maintain it for ever; that such as the will is when we close our eyes upon the things of time, such it will be when we open them on those of eternity. The mere act of death no more fits us for heaven, than the mere act of the mason who pulls down our old house fits us for a new one. If we die with our hearts running over with the love of the world, there is no promise to lead us to expect that we shall rise with them full of the love of God. Death indeed will show us to ourselves such as we are, but will not make us such as we are not; and it will be too late to be acquiring self-knowledge when we can no longer turn it to any account but that of tormenting ourselves. To illustrate this truth still farther by an allusion familiar to the persons I address: the drawing up the curtain at the theatre, though it serve to introduce us to the entertainments behind it, does not create in us any new faculties to understand or to relish those entertainments: these must have been already acquired; they must have been provided beforehand, and brought with us to the place, if we would relish the pleasures of the place for the entertainment can only operate on that taste we carry to it. It is too late to be acquiring when we ought to be enjoying.

That spirit of prayer and praise, those dispositions of love, meekness, "peace, quietness, and assurance;" that indifference to the fashion of a world which is passing away; that longing after deliverance from sin, that desire of holiness, together with all "the fruits of the Spirit" here, must surely make some part of our qualification for the enjoyment of a world, the pleasures of which are all spiritual. And who can conceive anything