INTRODUCTORY ESSAY.

STUDY and reflection are allowed to be necessary preparatives to all great pursuits. To attempt to gain by hazardous risks, what may be secured by the safe methods of a sober and laborious diligence, is both unwise and dishonest: in the annals of learning a sciolist and an empiric are characters proverbially treated with contempt; and the worth of all those systems by which states are supported, and civilization carried on, consists in their greatest possible freedom from what is empirical or capricious. But if the exercise of thought and sound judgment be thus necessary in the affairs of life, it can scarcely be less so in those which intimately regard the condition and fate of man in his eternal relations: to make him fit for immortality, must, at all events, require as much care as to render him respectable in the world; and the road to heaven is certainly not more easy to be discovered than the well-beaten path to temporal distinction. The exercise therefore of thought, the pursuit of knowledge, the careful employment, in short, of all xthe means by which wisdom can be acquired, is plainly our interest as well as our duty, if a future existence, with its attendant glory, be the object of our hopes and wishes. That state of mind in which truth sheds the brightest of its beams into our hearts, is not to be reached by a few sudden and hasty steps. The thoughts which spring from momentary impulses may gladden for a moment, but it is by those only which have their origin in the depths of the soul, steady and contemplative, that we are carried forward to heaven. A discipline of the most careful kind is necessary to render the mind capable of generating such thoughts: inquiry must be made into all’ the sources of divine knowledge, and the heart summoned to give up the secrets by which it has nourished passion and prejudice. By this method the channels through which the stream of intelligence flows most readily will be kept ever open, and we shall grow, at least in our intellectual nature, up to the stature of the fulness of men.

Wisdom is the knowledge of truth combined with a disposition to obey it. It has its beginning in the head, and its confirmation in the heart. It observes, and from observation gains skill in judgment: experience teaches it prudence, and prudence gives it safety. By the familiarity which it acquires with the objects in which goodness resides, it learns to love goodness xiitself: and so with truth,—till, possessed by these gracious principles, it expands and strengthens, and grows up into an image of that sublime attribute of the Deity, by which, it is said, ‘He founded the earth, and established the heavens.’ Wisdom is, therefore, the grandest quality after which we can strive. It is more than prudence, more than knowledge, more than a habit of observation, more even than the love of goodness,—it is all these virtues blended together by the consent of the willing spirit; and each imparting to the rest a portion of its own nature, it is thereby fitted to inspire peace, yet promote activity; to induce caution, but establish faith; to teach judgment, and yet nourish love.

A principle by which the human soul is so highly exalted above its ordinary condition, is surely worth any exertion we can snake as the price of its acquisition. Let us, therefore, consider the position in which we stand for commencing the work, and what are the principal points at which we must aim in its progress.

It is not difficult to prove that the world itself offers few excitements to the pursuit of wisdom, or that there is less freedom, less knowledge, less in short of every thing that forms the foundation of happiness, than either a wise or a good man would desire. In vast tracts of the globe, and where the human race leaves not a plain or valley unpeopledxiiwith its dense masses, tyranny, vice, and superstition reign in undisputed strength. When we pass the boundaries which separate them from lands that lie under a brighter sun, and expect to find civilization, and its accompanying refinements, producing corresponding additions of tranquillity and good, the first lesson which reason, careful in its examinations, teaches us is, that a little, a very little below the surface, the state of mankind, in these favoured countries, is but in a small degree essentially better than it is in those where the arts of life have advanced with few and slower steps. True it is, that the passions will be seen curbed, and the necessities of existence supplied with greater regularity; that men will be found less daring in their attacks on each others lives and liberties; and the dark, tormenting fears, and gloomy vices which mark the dominion of ignorance, less strong in their hold on the minds of the multitude. But how little is this to what we might reasonably look for from high civilization—a civilization supported and advanced on all sides by the substantial increase of every species of knowledge, and having ever at hand a ready supply of strength, and regenerating influences from the widely-opened Gospel? What ought we not to have expected from a civilization like this? Should we have looked for too much had we desired to see governments receive as maxims of state the xiiiplain rule of Christian benevolence? Should we have been extravagant visionaries had we thought that no crooked, no sophistical reasonings of politicians would have been allowed to nullify the great maxims of heavenly charity? Should we have been prepared to hear the necessity which gross error, and even grosser corruptions have produced, set up to silence the calls of suffering nature, and much injured humanity? Or might we not have supposed that where a strong sense of the advantages of order prevails; where justice is figured out by all the crossings and recrossings of positive law; where the right ordering of cities and communities is the subject of perpetual study and consideration, might we not have supposed that where such is the case, few instances would occur of misery produced by the ill-managed resources of wealth, power, influence, or any other of the mighty results of far-advanced civilization, and long-received Christianity? But what is the actual state of things? Is there a single advantage conferred by civilization, to which united wickedness and perverseness has not appended some crying ill? Is accumulating wealth made to produce its hoped for good? Is power employed for its legitimate purposes? Are the talents, the interests, the dispersed forces of the civilized nations at large ever combined together in the resolve to effect some high and noble object? Rather xivis not the contrary true? Is not wealth, in most instances, the mere instrument of selfish, enervating enjoyment, or the minister of a vain pomp? Is not power perpetually converted into an engine for ambition to work with—to shake things which should remain fixed on their basis—to controvert, and make despised the plainest of natural principles? And what does the multiplying of foolish fashions—the existence of innumerable pernicious customs declare, but that, with all the light and knowledge spread around us, mankind will willingly combine to enslave and debase their reason?

Now what may we deduce from this? Can we hesitate to conclude, that though we have passed over the boundary line, both in respect to the country and the age in which we live, there is, even on this side of it, much confusion, many evils, and a still wide and open space left for their increase? And when we bear this in mind, while we picture to our thoughts the scenes where truth hath not yet set her hallowed foot—where no light hath fallen on men’s hearts to soften and direct them—what is the prospect which the world presents, but a series of vast, ill-cultivated tracks, where wisdom hath to struggle hard for a spot of ground to stand on, and her efforts are perpetually resisted by the untoward dispositions of those who should worship and obey her? And what have we to counterbalance these xvdiscouraging circumstances? ‘Look unto me, and be ye saved, all the ends of the earth,’ said the Almighty, in an age long since past. Beholding the misery which mankind were bringing upon themselves, he thus recalled them to a sense of their condition. The voice of the prophet by whom he spoke could be heard only by the people among whom he dwelt; but his providential dispensations—the signs which he set in the heavens and the earth—were revelations of his will to every portion of the universe; and wherever the human mind awoke to what was passing around, there the voice of the Eternal might be heard proclaiming this sublime truth, that a return to him would be a return to nature and to happiness. We have seen that the state of the world is not yet such as to warrant us in supposing, that during the period which has passed away since the call was first made, the value of the summons has become less. We have also an equal certainty that it has lost nothing of its force. Providence and nature never grow old; their proclamations of God’s power can never become obscured by change or time; they have lost none of their power to instruct mankind in the lapse of ages: and he who when the world was young read of the glory of God in the starry heavens, or heard the voice of his omnipotence in the swell of the awful sea, might, if he lived now, still read and hear the same solemn mysteries, in xvithe same workings of nature. The progress of knowledge of another kind dims not the light of natural truth; but while to many a region of the earth this is the only light vouchsafed from heaven, nation after nation has been blessed with the effulgent revelation of the Saviour of the world: the veil which hung from generation to generation before the sanctuary of divine glory has been drawn aside; the Son of God is seen sitting on his everlasting throne—himself the substantial truth of heavenly mysteries—and through him it is that the Almighty now speaks to his creatures, and calls them to salvation. And how hath Christ conveyed the message of his Father? how doth he continue to repeat it in the ears of mankind? First he delivered it in the simple, severe, but affectionate language of true wisdom, only employing his authority to substantiate his right to exercise the office of a teacher: next he delivered it as a bleeding sacrifice from the cross; then as a triumphant conqueror rising from the grave; and lastly as the King of glory, ascending in the fulness of his power to the throne prepared for him in heaven: and now he proclaims that sacred truth of his Father’s love, not only by the language of his gospel, or by the recollection of what he suffered, but by the Holy Ghost—by that. mighty Being who hath made himself by a most sublime mystery—by a mystery, reader, which I know not how sufficiently to xviiexpress my awe, or my delight at, obedient to the will of the Son, because the Son humbled himself to re-establish that truth and righteousness in the souls of men, of which he, the Holy Spirit, is the blessed source.

It is through this great interpreter of heavenly wonders that Christ still publishes the message of his Father, ‘Look unto me, and be ye saved, all the ends of the earth.’ Men’s hearts are drawn by his influence to desire truth: their consciences are awakened, and being awakened, are taught where to seek for peace: attention thus secured, the voice of God is heard clear and distinct above all the clamour of the world. On some souls the call produces great and conspicuous effects: they live deeply and solemnly impressed with holy convictions of the divine power and mercy; and these convictions are accompanied with strivings after good, with open declarations of devotion to the cause of God, and manifold instances of piety, both by word and action, the true development of holy principle. On the rest the impression is less vivid, and the effects far less remarkable; but the words of God are heard: it is known that he calls men unto him, and while they pursue their course, neglectful of righteousness, contradicting and despising the laws of the gospel, there is a general consciousness that the Almighty is calling to repentance, that a system is in action which xviiishall crush the spirit, and crumble into ashes the substance of the world through its resistance. to its progress; and this feeling gives a character to our age full of singular contradictions, all demonstrating that the world hears the call of God, but refuses to recognize and obey it.

Thus our birth into the world gives us an existence in which we have a great capacity for happiness, and possess faculties for performing works of equal wonder and utility; but it places us at the same time in the midst of evil, and leaves us at the beginning the prey of evil. In the midst of all those elements of good and of greatness which form the proper groundwork of human nature, corruption has commenced its operations, and in the very core of the precious fruit, in the very heart and blood, we see the original of evil transplanted from Adam to ourselves, as it was transfused in the beginning from the devil into Adam. And a great point for our consideration is the universality of the ill. Go where we may, do what we may; be sunk in poverty and distress, be elevated to the highest pinnacle of grandeur, it is still present to us, still infests our nature, still poisons every draught we take of life. At the first mention of this fact the human mind naturally resists its admission: it recoils from the idea of inborn corruption; it cannot endure to have a mirror placed before it, which so clearly manifests its deformity; xixand it strives, from the beginning, to argue itself out of the feeling which lies so deeply ingrafted in the very consciousness of the soul. Success, to a great degree, attends this endeavour; for though the sense of evil cannot be got rid of, it can be concealed, it can be clothed in the garb of speciousness, of natural passions and sentiment; and the world, with all its bustle and its fashions, can be so brought to bear upon the subject, as to prevent its being heard of in the thronged mart of public life: so that, greatly as every human heart is polluted by original sin, and closely as it is held in bondage by the guilt which has grown and multiplied out of that fruitful source of offences, it is no easy matter to convince a man that he is truly under the power of sin, or that his nature is in its very root and human origin thoroughly corrupt. But can any good ever come from the concealment of a truth from ourselves which so greatly concerns us? Can we expect to make any advancement towards good, if we altogether mistake our condition at the beginning, and consequently the principles on which we ought to proceed? Certainly not: and, therefore, let us pray God to enable us to look with a deeply humbled spirit on our inborn wickedness, and to lament the guilt that attaches therefrom to all which, in the natural man, we have done throughout life.

If we succeed in acquiring this first view of our xxcondition, we shall see that our danger is fully proportionable to our corruption. The powers of the mind will be found to have contracted their share of the evil, and to have lost strength and activity accordingly: while the body has its passions leagued with evil, as their subsidiary, that has its love of false devices, its pride, its envy, its jealousies and its prejudices. In every point of view our nature will give signs of the darkness which has come upon it through sin; and when the question is put, Why do you allow your bad passions so to get the better of you—why do you indulge yourselves in those sudden bursts of wrath —how is it that you take not a greater delight in truth? The answer is direct and explicit. Sin has got so strong a hold upon all the energies of our being, that it impels us where it will, and forbids our viewing things in their fair light. And this answer, which Christians have given in all ages of the church, contains the first great reason for the solemn apostolic exhortation, ‘Pass the time of your sojourning here with fear:’ for since we are thus in bondage to sin, and sin so darkens the light of the mind, and weakens all those powers which ought 4 to guide and protect us from its influences, what have we not to fear? How can we he secure from sorrows and afflictions of the darkest kind? Where are we to find help, seeing that the enemy is not simply on the way towards us—is not merely xxi standing at the door, but is tabernacled in our very hearts?

But this condition of sin is not one of simple danger, resulting from the errors into which it may lead us. Were there no God, the violation of the proper laws of our being, and of the relations which belong to its in social existence, would be attended with the most terrible consequences; but seeing that sin is not only a breaking of the rules by which alone good can be attained, but an open defiance of the Almighty, it necessarily brings upon us not only that vast class of ills which result from gross errors of conduct—from headstrong passion—from blindness of heart and mind; but exposes us to the wrath of the Most High God, which, as his creatures, we have incomparably greater reason to dread than any other evil of which it is possible to form a conception; for not only are life and death dependent on his will, but all that can make life happy, or death terrible. It is therefore not simply because he can with one sweep of his lightning cut off myriads of his creatures, or that he can, whenever he will, bury us in darkness, that we have reason to tremble at the idea of his anger; but because the withdrawal of his mercy must necessarily be the extinction of every gleam of hope, and must leave us a prey to deep and perpetual despair; and, because the punishments which he will inflict on sin will be according to xxiithe intended immortality of our being; so that while we are left, by the refusal of his light, to walk on in darkness—while, by the withdrawal of his mercy, we must bend beneath the load of accumulating fears and sorrows, and at last by the execution of his decrees on all that move upon the earth, shall be borne on the wings of that fearful blast which sweeps through the valley of the shadow of death, even to the innermost darkness of the grave, we shall, yet further, be pursued even into that gloomy receptacle of spirits, by the ministers of his justice; and our guilt shall even there involve the soul in a darkness deeper than the darkness of death, and shall teach us the terrible things of God’s right-hand, working his mighty wonders, and bringing against us the artillery of his wrath in the realms of darkness and shadows.

And is not the hare imagination of such a sequel to all the cares, the toils and troubles of this life, sufficient to make us tremble with horror? Is it not beyond conception dreadful to think, that after having passed through the world labouring to gain wealth, to possess the smiles of our fellow-creatures, to make a name for ourselves; and after having perhaps succeeded, and been allowed to enjoy for a succession of years something like a satisfied ambition, or to have lived in comfort and quiet on the fruits of our industry; is it not terrible to think that we may, in the midst of our xxiiisatisfaction, be by one fell stroke of disease, not simply bowed in feebleness to the earth, not merely sent to the grave—for the mind might soothe itself, were that all, by the thought of weeping friends still bearing us in remembrance—but that we may be carried thereby to regions of pale, substantial horror, which the Maker of all things, even the wicked for the day of wrath, hath shut out by fathomless and everlasting gulfs from all contact with the lightsome universe, where life keeps alternate change with death, and decay is more than counterbalanced by the sweet mystery of regeneration?

The strongest proof, indeed, that we can have of men’s blindness is the little and partial impression which the thought of these things makes upon their minds: but what, if touched with some anxiety respecting our personal fate; what, if now trembling lest when the thread of life is cut, our own spirits should feel themselves borne away into that region of endless sorrow—what comfort must we not derive from that precious doctrine which accompanies the warning, and which tells us, that while we must pass the time of our sojourning here in fear, from the consideration just stated, so we ought to do so from the remembrance of God’s wonderful mercy; inasmuch as those very souls which we have in our keeping, and the fate of which depends upon the manner in which we pass the time of our sojourning xxivhere, have been redeemed, purchased from the condemnation they had incurred by the precious blood of Christ? Silver and gold could not buy off a single spirit from the claims of sin and death. Had all the treasures of the earth been gathered together in a heap, and offered for the redemption of the poorest or the youngest sinner that ever died, it could have effected nothing in his favour: nay, if multitudes had come forward, and offered to shed their blood to save him, the price, however great to those who offered it, would have had no value for the purchase; for that blood would have had impurity, the essential spirit of guilt within itself: nay, further, if angels in heaven had supplicated to suffer some diminution of their glory to deliver that one poor guilty wretch from torment, their tears, their sacrifice would have been unavailing, for their glory, their own purity, their happiness, their life in heaven, are all but the gift of God’s mercy, the result of his free grace to them; and as they are but creatures they have nothing to offer to redeem a creature. But Christ had. He could unite himself, everlasting as he was in purity and glory, to the nature of man: he could take upon him our form and all the principles of humanity: he could become our perfect representative without sin; and thus, God in man, could offer up himself to the Eternal Father—could shed blood that had no possible taint of sin—could xxvmake an atonement out of his own free-will for sinful creatures, the whole efficacy of which should belong to them. For he had no guilt in himself to atone for, and the life which he had be had in himself, like his Father; and the glory which he possessed was a glory which he might veil when he chose, for he had it from the Father, not as a creature, but as a Son. And the price which Christ could by his nature and condition pay he did pay. He refused not to humble himself to the lowest grade of human poverty, in order that, while by his royal descent he was equal to the highest as a man, there might be no one on the earth, however low, that could fear to look at him as a brother. Nor did he refuse to undergo any of the ills which can attend human existence: he suffered hunger and thirst; he walked the highways at all times and seasons, frequently without a shelter; his body was bowed with weariness and hardships endured scarcely by the most friendless of mankind; and what sickness can we have to hear—what pain, equal to that agony which he suffered in Gethsemane? Nor, lastly, did he refuse to (lie in our stead, but willingly poured out his blood to cleanse us from the pollution of sin on the one hand, and on the other to free us from its penalties. This is a cursory view of the work of our redemption; but the great question to our consciences is, shall we lightly treat so vast a mercy? xxviShall we be contented with the dim and imperfect view of it caught through the medium of worldly minds and worldly sentiments?

The world forms its plans on the notion of its perpetuity and independence. It takes into account none of those modifying influences which should spring from the expectation of a futurity, in which its whole system must be lost in one of infinitely greater magnitude. Pursuing the course which would be wise, or consistent only, were it assured of the unchangeable continuance of things as they now exist, it expends all its forces upon the present; contemplates the power it possesses in relation only to immediate necessities; and in its boldest attempts to pursue, or seize upon the means of good, looks not beyond the narrow limit which the voice of some popular experimentalist has marked out for the struggle. With this notion of the all-sufficiency of the present is combined that of its self-power and independence. It concludes, that it can effect what is essential to its happiness; that it sees and can put in motion the various springs of life, so as to make them produce the required result; and that having attained the object immediately sought, reflection and foresight may remain unexercised till some other purpose of present importance require their employment. But what is the real state of things, while the world is thus confining its thoughts to temporal affairs, and xxviithus regarding itself as an independent power, which rightly exerting its strength, is sufficient for all its attempts and projects? Why, there is, we have seen, a mighty system in operation for the glorifying of man, to which, however small be the number of those who take advantage of it, every circumstance and event in this introductory system is in reality made subservient by the great Governor of the universe. When mankind, in the happier moments of reasonable resolve, allow their actions and determinations to work in harmony with the decrees of this Eternal Ruler, a positive addition is made to the good they enjoy; and it is wholly owing to these occasional brightenings of thought, to the few discoveries which men have made of this grand secret, that the world has any of those cultured spots in the wilderness, where wisdom and charity raise their tabernacles. But, for the most part, the existence of any system which connects the present with eternity is unrecognized in the world: it is not allowed that the Almighty Spirit is the sovereign source of life, of power, of wisdom: it is not remembered, that lying under condemnation, it has been redeemed by the sacrifice of Christ, in order, that beginning a new course, it may become perfected in righteousness; or that, if it do not become thus sanctified, the original curse remains in full force against it. Did it remember these things, it could never be in the state in which we xxviiisee it: the decrees of governments would more plainly acknowledge that the Lord is the head and chief of all Christian communities: there would be an evident, a palpable recognition of his presence, even where the business of the day only was spoken of. Though there might be varieties of opinion as to the method of worship, there would be no hesitation in allowing that it should be the first and most sacred of a nation’s cares to see it well established:—though there might be difference of opinion as to some of the outworks of the system, the voice of both people and rulers would be heard uniting in the confession of the power, the goodness, and the majesty of God. But resting in the observance of present occurrences, men of the world never get beyond the mere agents of our good or ill, to look at Him who sets those agents in operation; they are content to know that it is the sun and the fertilizing dew which clothes the earth with plenty; they care not to think of that power which, on the other side of the veil that envelops them, works the primal wonder, gives life and action to the principles by which the light and the dew penetrate the bosom of the earth, and awakens the hidden elements of life: they are content to learn, from the experience of the day, that if they employ labour and diligence, if they obtain powerful friends, and omit to use no caution by which their first successes may be confirmed, that xxixthey will, in all probability, go prosperously forward: they therefore never examine by what other means they are enabled to acquire influence in the world—by what secret source of power they are urged forward in their strength; it is enough for them to see that a particular set of circumstances lead to this or that result, and they rest contented with observing those circumstances; or, if they are tempted to go a step further, they ascribe their occurrence to their good or ill fortune. This is the way in which the power and providence of God are forgotten; and it requires a positive study, a thorough tuition of the mind and heart, to overcome that effect which the long habit of ascribing every thing which occurs to the causes which we see with our eyes, and hear with our ears to be in operation, must have upon the feelings. But what is the awful consequence of men’s thus forgetting God in the events of the world? Why, it leads to positive atheism; it leads to the practical denial of the Almighty; and, whatever may be the professions they make—by whatever name they may be called —those who do thus neglect to recognize his hand are, to all intents and purposes, living without God.

There is, on the other hand, a very numerous class, who do often speak of the mercy of God, who refuse not to acknowledge the influence of his benignity in the production of the good which they xxxsee around them; and what are the nature of these acknowledgments? Are they the result of a careful consideration of the Almighty’s bounty? Do they spring from long-cherished feelings of dependence on his power, and from those assurances which follow the exercise of deep and grateful devotion? No such thing: they are the fruit of the lips, not of the heart: they are uttered either with the careless, listless feeling which is glad of any common phrase to excuse the want of a thought, or under some momentary excitement, when the heart, overburdened with satisfaction, is ready to ascribe goodness not to God only, but to any thing which may present itself at the moment. There are, however, different degrees in this carelessness; and while some may attach no meaning at all to the phrase they employ when speaking of God’s goodness, others will give it a sufficient colouring of thought to make themselves delighted with the appearance of gratitude to which they have attained. But can this ever become the gratitude of a rational creature and a Christian? Can it ever be made the fruitful source of heart-felt prayers, and comforting convictions? Can it ever be any thing more than the vain expression of a mind, which not having found God, would yet wish to escape the open disgrace of not knowing something of his attributes and his operations?

Unfortunately the youth of both the higher and xxximiddle ranks are fearfully neglected in respect to religious instruction: they are educated as people of the world, not as Christians; and the truths which should be impressed upon their minds, not by some few, quick, impatient snatches at the catechism; but by frequent, calm, steady, and explanatory converse, are not brought within reach even of their hearing. Thus a numerous body of men are ignorant of the gospel because they have really never heard it; because its doctrines have never been distinctly stated to them; and the whole system of grace is as hidden from the eyes of their understanding, as if it formed no part of the decrees of God. This, however, is not wholly the case; and we are to seek for the more common origin of this ignorance of the gospel, in an unwillingness to examine it, as well as in the voluntary allowed indulgence of feelings that oppose and obscure its lustre. In order to avoid the evil ourselves, therefore, we must learn to consider what the system is; and then, by examining what our notions of it are, and whether it have, or have not, produced any effects on our minds corresponding to its power, we shall be enabled to discover in what degree it is hidden from our minds.

Now, look where we will, study what we may, it is almost invariably found that the first and general views we take of things are altogether erroneous. In the natural world, not an object presents itself xxxiito the eye of the ordinary observer, without his passing over something in its composition which the man of science can prove to be essential to its proper nature and condition. In all moral subjects this is equally the case. Not an idea is formed of those great systems of policy by which governments are kept up, by which nations are balanced against nations, and the vast and complicated interests of trade preserved from instantaneous confusion at every change of circumstance. They are, it is true, the subjects of perpetual discussion; every man thinks himself capable of examining them, and giving an opinion on their nature and tendency; but bring in some one to take a part in the inquiry, who is fairly acquainted with the subject, and who knows not but that he will throw an entirely new light upon its bearings? Who doubts but that, if the question be one of politics, the historian, the political economist will regard as absurd the speculations of the ignorant and inexperienced? That, if it be of commerce, the merchant will assure us that ruin would follow, were the systems of the untutored theorist put in practice; that, if it were one of mechanical ingenuity, the common, practical workman would at once show that the resources of his art are capable of effecting objects which the best uninstructed ingenuity could not have touched. And thus in every thing else, the first, or cursory xxxiiiviews which we take, always fall far short of the extent of the subject, always miss some essential feature in its character, and leave us, in fact, as ignorant of its relations and influence as if it were wholly hidden from our understanding. Now this being the case with almost every subject on which the mind can be employed, may we not fairly conclude that it is so in regard to religion? May we not certainly consider that, as no art can be made to reveal its wonders to the unpractised eye; no principle of truth and order, sits efficacious operations to the sudden glance of the boldest curiosity;—that religion cannot be made to do so? For what is there in religion which can lead us to suppose that it may be understood with less attention than any other system of truth? ‘What is there in the nature of any of its doctrines to tempt us into the presumptuous notion that the mind can comprehend them at a glance? From these considerations we may conclude, that where there has not been reflection—where there has not been some adapting of the thoughts to the spirit which reigns through the system, the system cannot be truly comprehended; and did we go no further, we might conclude from this, that the gospel is hid from a large number of those to whom it is even preached—to whom its doctrines are cautiously displayed.

Our next consideration must be, what is the nature xxxivof these doctrines; and why, when so many allow their importance, so few are willing to learn them as they ought. With regard to these enquiries, there are two points which, if always borne in mind, would act as a preservative against innumerable errors. The one is, that as the doctrines of the gospel respect the grandest’ objects of man’s creation, and appeal to the loftiest principles of his being, they must themselves be of the sublimest kind. The other is, that when they are disregarded, or treated lightly, a sure evidence is afforded, that no just idea has been formed of the dignity, or true tendencies of the human soul. For take the principles of the gospel one by one; examine them by all the light which reason gives, or which may be obtained from a higher source, and each will be found so accordant with the noblest characteristics of the mind, that we must needs treat them with profound reverence, or reject the very honours which nature, or rather its great Author, hath put upon us. Look at the doctrine of redemption; what does it teach us? Why, not simply the necessary relation between God and man, as the Creator and the creature; not simply the operation of the divine benignity, in breathing forth the spirit of life; but the positive existence, and operative exercise of a plan, by which we are brought within the circle of the Almighty’s most mysterious decrees. Look at the doctrine of regeneration—of xxxvrenewals by the Holy Spirit; what doth this teach us? Not merely that God hath endowed us with an active principle; not merely that he hath given us reason, with all its capacity of comparing and judging; but that he hath given to the soul a portion of that very power in which reason bad its birth, a portion of that pure, essential spirit of wisdom, truth, and goodness, which inspires, through everlasting ages, the hierarchies of angels, and unites in one shining orb of glorious life the whole mass of rational, sanctified beings. It teaches us, that that frailty and darkness which have so long oppressed us, and held our thoughts in miserable captivity, are not natural to us, but are the corruption of our nature; and that, as the principle of life is hidden, as the workings of the mind are all secret and mysterious, so there is also a secret and mysterious power, by which whatever is deformed or depraved, in that strange empire of the inner man, may be restored to its original perfection. The most general view we can take of these two main doctrines of the Gospel, that is, the doctrine of redemption, and the doctrine of sanctification,—may convince us of the necessity of viewing them with deep and most serious attention, even from the simple principle, that whatever so nearly respects the highest objects, and the noblest tendencies of our being, must certainly demand the steadiest efforts of the soul to comprehend. Let us xxxvifind, then, a man who takes no thought of the lofty arguments of the Gospel—a man who cares not to meditate on the doctrines of grace, on the wondrous mystery of godliness, by which God was manifest in the flesh, justified in the Spirit, and by that mystery reconciling the world unto himself; a man who disregards the doctrine—that sublime, that elevating doctrine which the sages of antiquity would have given a universe to know—the doctrine of regeneration—the doctrine of man’s entire renewal, of his purification and enlightenment by the indwelling of the Spirit of God: let ns find a man who thinks not of these things, and we shall see also that he is blind, totally blind to whatever is brightest and most worthy of admiration in the constitution of his being; that his thoughts want life, his intellect power, his sympathies comprehensiveness.

And how, then, is the mind to obtain that clarifying and enlargement of its faculties which may render it sensible of the truths before, perhaps, wholly unperceived? As truth may be unknown, first, because of the state of the mind, and secondly, because of the nature of the subject; so the fitness by which the mind is made capable of entering the noble circle of universal truth, and divine truth alone forms the bright circumference to that circle, must have a twofold influence; that is, in the one instance, it must purify and strengthen xxxviithe soul; and in the other, it must adapt the faculties, before unfitted for that purpose, to behold and contemplate steadily things which have no outward sign in the visible world— things of which the forms still lie treasured in the secret tabernacle of the Most High, and the beauty and glory of which having not been made a portion of this lower sphere, can only be enjoyed by the spirit of man when he enters into intimate communion with the eternal Son of God. Now, as it cannot for a moment be doubted but that the mind, when full of worldly anxieties, when torn by passion, or occupied with a thousand petty wishes and desires, is not in a fit condition for discovering or enjoying any kind of pure truth whatever, so is it plain that to put itself in a better state for this purpose, it must propose to itself a different class of objects on which to fix its thoughts, and become occupied with pursuits in themselves essentially better, and leading to some more certain good. But what design can be so decidedly and obviously beneficial for a rational being, as the improvement of his condition in respect to God? By what method can he so certainly put himself in a more thoughtful and steady frame of mind, as by beginning with great earnestness and sincerity, to inquire into the will of his Creator, to examine the astonishing plan by which divine mercy keeps so much good and holiness in the world, amid all the conflicting interests xxxviiiof desperate wickedness, and to place himself in such a position that the rays of the Almighty’s love and wisdom, must fall, in his silent hours of meditation, full upon his heart? Let him try the effect of this earnest inquiry into the will of God, and of this devout contemplation of his glory, and he will find every faculty of his soul becoming daily stronger, and fitter for exertion; he will gradually feel less and less interested in the low pursuits of sensual pleasure; the objects on which the world thinks it can scarcely set too high a value, will be reduced in his eyes to their exact and proper standard; and with this better ability to estimate things according to their true worth, those violent views of the questions which agitate society, those bitter prejudices which keep men savages even in the most polished state of civilization, will lose their hold upon his understanding, which thus recovering itself from the deep oppression it hath long suffered from Satan, and the numerous host of error, will become every hour more capable of discerning the sublimity of truth, and the harmony of its revelations.

The general effects of a systematic and patient attention to the exercise of religious thought are infinitely greater and more important than those who have not pursued it are willing to believe. It abridges no power or faculty in its just liberty of action; but, on the contrary, by freeing the mind xxxixfrom the enervating sloth which ever follows sinful indulgences; by gathering around it pure and elevating visions of glory to be revealed in the last time; and, yet more, by preserving it constantly in the calm and even path of duty, where every breath of the moral atmosphere is redolent of health and vigour, it secures to it all that tends most certainly to its purification and advancement.

From general considerations of this kind, the reader may profitably pass to those particular meditations and rules of thought and action contained in the following work. They are founded on the soundest principles of Christian truth; but to be practically useful, they must he read with singleness of heart, and a spirit teachable and quiet. Thus studied, they will, without doubt, conduct him to the full enjoyment of that happiness which is the exclusive possession of the wise and the holy.

The pious and learned author of the valuable Reflections to which we thus allude, was born at Barrow, in Leicestershire, in the year 1638. Having completed the earlier part of his education, he entered St. John’s College, Cambridge, and shortly became distinguished, not only for his general advancement in learning, but for his extensive acquirements in the languages of the East. He was ordained both deacon and priest in the month of January, 1660, and immediately received the living xlof Ealing, in Middlesex. The following year he was presented by the corporation of London to the parish of St. Peter, Cornhill, and he resigned his former preferment. The devout and laborious zeal which characterized this inestimable man as a minister of the gospel, acquired him the honourable title of “The great reviver and restorer of primitive piety.” As a mark of their affection for so valuable a labourer in the vineyard, bishop Hinchman, and his successor, Dr. Compton, successively conferred upon him a stall in St. Paul’s Cathedral, and the archdeaconry of Colchester. In 1684 he was further promoted to a prebendal stall in Canterbury, and became chaplain to king William and queen Mary. This latter appointment led to his elevation to the bench. In 1691, government offered him the see of Bath and Wells, from which the pious bishop Kenn had lately been ejected; but he could not be persuaded to accept a see rendered vacant by mere political considerations; and it was not till 1704, when the bishopric of St. Asaph became vacant, that he obtained the rank to which his learning and piety so richly entitled him. The same holy virtues which had adorned his character as a parish-priest, shone conspicuously forth in all he did as a prelate. But his episcopal labours were of short duration. He died in the month of March, 1707.

Cotemporary writers speak in the strongest and xlimost affectionate terms of this true ornament of the Christian church. Dr. Felton, in his Dissertation on the Study of the Classics, and on the Formation of Style, describes the writings of Beveridge as models of gravity and simplicity. In a paper in the “Guardian.” his Sermon on the Deity is characterized as equalling, “in acuteness of judgment, ornaments of speech, and true sublimity, the choicest writings of the fathers.” Another writer, fully acquainted with his character and habits, has left the following more detailed eulogium on his virtues, and on the value of his productions. “This great and good bishop,” says he, “had very early addicted himself to piety and a religious course of life, of which his ‘Private Thoughts upon Religion’ will be a lasting evidence. They were written in his younger years; and he must, a considerable time before this, have devoted himself to such practices, otherwise he could never have drawn up so judicious and sound a declaration of his faith, nor have formed such excellent resolutions, so agreeable to the Christian life, in all its parts. These things show him to be acquainted with the life and power of religion long before; and that even ‘from a child he knew the Holy Scriptures.’ And as his piety was early, so it was very eminent and conspicuous in all the parts and stations of his life. As he had formed such good resolutions, he made suitable improvements upon xliithem; and they, at length, grew up into such settled habits, that all his actions savoured of nothing but piety and religion. His holy example was a very great ornament to our church; and he honoured his profession and function by zealously discharging all the duties thereof. How remarkable was his piety towards God! What an awful sense of the divine Majesty did he always express! How did he delight in his worship and service, and frequent his house of prayer! How great was his charity to men; how earnestly was he concerned for their welfare, as his pathetic addresses to them in his discourses plainly discover! How did the Christian spirit run through all his actions, and what a wonderful pattern was he of primitive purity, holiness, and devotion! As he was remarkable for his great piety and zeal for religion, so he was highly to be esteemed for his learning, which he wholly applied to promote the interest of his great Master. He was one of extensive and almost of universal reading: he was well skilled in the Oriental languages and the Jewish learning, as may appear from many of his sermons; and, indeed, he was furnished to a very eminent degree with all useful knowledge. He was very much to be admired for his readiness in the Scriptures: he had made it his business to acquaint himself thoroughly with those sacred oracles, whereby he was ‘furnished unto all good works.’ He was able to produce suitable xliii passages from them on all occasions, and was very happy in explaining them to others. Thus, he improved his time and his abilities in serving God, and doing good, till he arrived at a good old age, when it pleased his great Master to give him rest from his labours, and to assign him a place in those mansions of bliss, where he had always laid up his treasure, and to which his heart had been all along devoted through the whole course of his life and actions. He was so highly esteemed among all learned and good men, that when he was dying, one of the chief of his order deservedly said of him, ‘There goes one of the greatest, and one of the best men, that England bred.’”

The character of Bishop Beveridge thus drawn is clearly manifested in his writings. Some things there are in them which may be attributed to the spirit of the age in which he lived; and we lament that so amiable and holy a man should ever have been betrayed into the use of expressions which always savour more of wrath than of the zeal which warms itself before the altar of divine love. There is also an occasional obscurity in his expositions of doctrine; but this is rarely or ever the case except when he endeavours to assist the comprehension of his readers by the false aids of metaphysics or scholastic logic. Few writers, on the whole, can he read with equal profit: still fewer are more earnest or more spiritual.

H.S.

Sept. 22, 1834.