in the prescribed course? Is it too much to believe that the flame of piety, which, under all advantages, is not kept alive without difficulty, would in that case expire, or at least burn faintly in the heart?

Happy, then, is it for the frail children of the dust that the law separates a stated portion of time for solemn and religious offices. It is a valuable privilege, which those who are hastening in earnest towards the celestial Zion will accept with feelings of grateful joy. It supplies a spiritual refreshment to the soul, encumbered as it is, in this stage of existence, by the burden of the flesh, and the traitorous solicitation of the world. While travelling the journey of life, whether the path lie through a bleak and barren waste, or through verdure and flowers, mankind, unless frequently reminded of the end and object of their pursuit, would faint under the difficulties to which they are exposed. On the seventh day they are so reminded; on that day they are cautioned of the danger of loitering in the way; the all-glorious reward of victory is laid before them, and they are exhorted to press forward towards the mark for the prize of their high calling in Christ. On that day they are invited to lay aside the thoughts and cares which distract the mind, to rest from the turmoil of busy life, and to devote the sacred hours to the concerns upon which an eternity

depends. Recalled from the fascinations of what pleases only to betray, they are admonished to raise their contemplations to that which is most worthy of all love, and veneration, and praise,— the Tri-une Deity. In the appointed ordinances of religion, in public worship, in private prayer and meditation, the soul enjoys devout communion with its Creator, and extends its view beyond the limits of visible nature. The exercises of a pure devotion, while they withdraw the affections from earth, cherish the ardour of exalted piety; and, while they animate the holy desires of the heart, teach it to confide in that plan of redemption which, in the councils of eternal mercy, has opened the gates of Heaven to mankind.

The object for which the seventh-day festival was ordained, the associations which it excites, the solemnities with which it is accompanied, are well adapted to disengage the mind from the vanities of the passing scene. "The very rest," says a pagan writer, " withdraws the mind from human occupations, and turns it towards God"." The weekly return of sacred ministrations must have some effect, transient as it unfortunately too often is, in awakening, even in the most careless, sentiments of seriousness and piety. With those

* Ητε γαρ άνεσις τον νουν ἀπαγει ἀπο των ἀνθρωπινων ἀσχολημάτων, τον δε ούτως νουν τρεπει προς τον θείον. Strabo, Geogr. lib. x. P. 717. fol. Amstel. 1707.

who are formed in a softer mould, who are blessed with finer feelings and purer sentiments, it must be greatly influential. How is it possible for those who are endowed with ordinary sensibility, to behold the holy preparations of the sabbath without some serious thoughts arising in the mind? The noise of rustic labour ceases, the din of mercantile tumult is hushed, the shops and marts of business are closed, and the opened gates of the temples of our God invite the multitudes who crowd the streets to assemble in the consecrated precincts. Who can witness so many human beings congregating together for the purpose of divine worship, without feeling a desire to join in paying adoration to the Sovereign Lord? He who can be a cold and unmoved spectator of thousands of his fellow-creatures assembling to celebrate their Creator's praise, must possess a heart but little susceptible of any gentle and virtuous impulse.

"I have often heard it remarked," says an eloquent writer," by Christians of a serious and devout disposition, to whom the sacred day of rest had become, through habit and principle, a season of hallowed delight, that it seemed to their eyes as if, on the sabbath, the sun did shine more bright, the works of God appear more beautiful, the fields more fresh, the flowers more sweet, and all the face of nature to wear an unusual and a

fitting stillness. It is not that the sun does shine more bright, or that the fields are indeed more fresh, or the flowers more sweet upon this than upon any other day. It is only that we are apt to think thus, because our minds are attuned to order, and to piety, and to contemplation. It is because our hearts are harmonized by the general repose and regularity around us. We look upon the joyful countenance of man, we hear no strife, we see no sorrow; labour is at an end, quietness is upon the scene, and our affections are weaned from earthly, and fixed upon heavenly things. The goodness of God and the beauty of holiness force themselves into our thoughts, and in the fulness of the feeling we almost fancy that the inanimate creation has been taught to sympathize with the benevolence of our souls, and to remember, like ourselves, the sabbath of God. This is mere imagination; but then it is a godly imagination, and, God forbid, that by pointing out the cause of the delusion, I should rob the amiable mind of any Christian of a pleasing sentiment which he would wish to cherish, and which cannot possibly be productive of any evil effects "."

These feelings, indeed, depend much upon the strength of imagination, and constitutional sensibility, and cannot, therefore, be laid down as a test whereby it may be known whether the heart Benson, Hulsean Lectures for 1820, Disc. 16.

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has a proper relish of spiritual things. sincere Christians there doubtless are who have never been touched by feelings of this description; yet they are so allied to piety and virtue that the bosom in which they dwell will rarely be a stranger to the sentiments of religion. Permit me, then, to address a few questions to those into whose hands these pages may fall. Have you felt no emotion of delight when present at the consecrated rites of religion? Have you heard the bell's solemn invitation to Church without a wish to unite with your brethren in prayer and thanksgiving? Have you witnessed the quiet of the town, the tranquillity of the village on the sabbath morn, and not felt your bosoms swell with philanthropic joy? Have you beheld the rustics assembling from the scattered hamlets, or the city's throng crowding to the temples of the Lord, and not winged a thought to Heaven? If you have done this, look well into your hearts, for there is some cause to suspect that all is not right within. To be unmoved with what is most calculated to move, to be unaffected with what is best adapted to affect, generally, it must not be said always, bespeaks the callousness of a heart as yet unsoftened by religion. If it be found upon examination to proceed, not from constitutional apathy, but from carnal insensibility to divine things, rouse your dormant powers; awake