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tion of conscience too palpable, to be admitted by a man, who can lay any claim to fairness of character. It would be oftener seen, and oftener acknowledged, were the person, on whom the sight and acknowledgment might have the happy influence under consideration, to converse more frequently, and more intimately, with men of piety. If we were really to walk with wise men; if we were to live by their side; mark their conduct; compare it with that of others; and inquire concerning the principles, from which it was derived; it would be difficult for us to mistake the nature of this subject. We should see the conduct itself to be exceedingly different, nay, in many respects directly opposite, in the two cases. Effects of this diverse and opposite nature we should be compelled to attribute to diverse and opposite causes. One class of them we should, in a word, be obliged to ascribe to religion, and the other to the native character of man. Even in our secret thoughts we should be forced to make this acknowledgment. The understanding could not withdraw itself from conviction; and conscience would not fail to hold up the subject in full view.

2. In the conduct of such men religion also appears solemn, dignified, and superior.

All wicked men, unless when under the influence of violent passion, necessarily feel the superiority of those, who are truly and unaffectedly virtuous. A sense of this superiority, and of their own comparative depression, is the source, in an extensive degree, of that hostility, which they so often manifest towards persons of this character. From these emotions no such man can escape. In the neighbourhood of virtue they are always in the shade; and are not unfrequently shrunk and withered. Milton, after having recited the rebuke of Zephon to Satan, says very justly, as well as very beautifully,

"Abash'd the Devil stood,

And felt how awful goodness is, and saw
Virtue in her shape how lovely."

Such, in multiplied instances, has been the effect of rebukes, administered by virtuous men to those who were wicked.

The awe, the reverence, the consciousness of superiority, inspired in the minds of sinners by virtue, appearing with its own solemn and venerable dignity, are not always accompanied, nor followed, by hatred. If I mistake not, they, in many instances, terminate in a settled respect and admiration for the virtuous persons, by whose conduct they were excited; emotions, not unfrequently productive of the happiest effects on the hearts, and lives, of those, by whom they are entertained. It is unnecessary to prove, that men naturally seek the company of those, whom they respect and admire. As little is it necessary to show, that the sentiments, and opinions, of such persons have, of course, no small

influence over the minds of such as thus seek their company. Between reverencing, and embracing, the sentiments of persons, thus situated, the steps are few, and the transition is easy. There is the utmost reason to believe, that this happy progress has often taken place.

3. In the conduct of such men, also, religion appears lovely.

The consciences of sinful men, perhaps of all such men, when their consciences are permitted to testify at all, testify to the loveliness of Evangelical virtue. In their language, I confess, it is often denied ; and still more frequently, perhaps, is given in a grudging, niggardly manner. By their consciences, it is acknowledged

of course.

Wherever the judgment of the mind is allowed to decide without a bias, it of course pronounces the law of God to require nothing but what is reasonable, excellent, and useful. Of this nature, beyond a question, is piety to its Author, and benevolence to his creatures. In no form can these exercises of mind be manifested, without being seen to be amiable by every unprejudiced eye. Justice, kindness, truth, disinterestedness, forgiveness to enemies, and mercy to the suffering, are always desirable, always lovely. With the same amiableness is the government of our passions and appetites regularly adorned. Meekness, gentleness, sobriety, and temperance, are indispensable to an amiable character and all persons, who wish to be loved by others, are forced, invariably, either to assume, or at least to exhibit, these characteristics to their fellow-men.

The union of these attributes is the consummation of moral excellence to man; and involves whatever is really and eminently lovely. Wherever they are thus united, and are at the same time exhibited in their native light, without the obscuring influence of characteristical passions, prejudices, uncouthness, or vulgarity, the understanding is compelled to acknowledge their excellence, and, secretly at least, to pronounce them lovely. Even gross and hard-hearted men, much more persons possessing dispositions naturally sweet and susceptible, are often greatly affected by the sincere and artless display of these attributes. In many instances, there is good reason to believe, they produce in the minds of unrenewed men a conviction of the reality of religion, which argument has never been able to produce; and a sense of its worth, followed by the happiest consequences.

A man of my acquaintance, who was of a vehement and rigid temper, had, many years since, a dispute with a friend of his, a professor of religion; and had been injured by him. With strong feelings of resentment he made him a visit, for the avowed purpose of quarrelling with him. He accordingly stated to him the nature, and extent, of the injury; and was preparing, as he afterwards confessed, to load him with a train of severe reproaches: when his friend cut him short by acknowledging with the utmost

readiness, and frankness, the injustice, of which he had been guilty; expressing his own regret for the wrong, which he had done; requesting his forgiveness; and proffering him ample compensation. He was compelled to say, that he was satisfied; and withdrew, full of mortification, that he had been precluded from venting his indignation, and wounding his friend with keen and violent reproaches for his conduct. As he was walking homeward, he said to himself to this effect: "There must be something more in religion, than I have hitherto suspected. Were any man to address me in the tone of haughtiness, and provocation, with which I accosted my friend this evening; it would be impossible for me to preserve the equanimity, of which I have been a witness; and especially with so much frankness, humility, and meekness, to acknowledge the wrong, which I had done; so readily ask forgiveness of the man whom I had injured; and so cheerfully promise a satisfactory recompense. I should have met his anger with at least equal resentment; paid him reproach for reproach; and inflicted wound for wound. There is something in this man's disposition, which is not in mine. There is something in the religion, which he professes, and which I am forced to believe, he feels; something, which makes him so superior, so much better, so much more amiable, than I can pretend to be. The subject strikes me in a manner, to which I have hitherto been a stranger. It is high time to examine it more thoroughly, with more candour, and with greater solicitude also, than I have done hitherto."

From this incident, a train of thoughts and emotions commenced in the mind of this man, which terminated in his profession of the Christian religion; his relinquishment of the business, in which he was engaged; and his consecration of himself to the Ministry of the Gospel.

4. The conversation of Religious persons has often great power upon the Consciences of sinners.

None can set the great truths of the Gospel in so strong, or solemn a point of view, as those who feel them. None can speak of sin so justly, so clearly, or so pungently, as those, who, under alarming convictions, have realized their guilt, and their danger, and been roused by a strong sense of their ruin to the most anxious and laborious efforts for their recovery; and who, with an ingenuous contrition of heart, have learned to realize its hateful nature, as well as its dreadful consequences. None can speak of holiness like those, who understand its nature, the delightful tenour of its affections, the peace which accompanies it, and the joy which it inspires, by their own undeceiving, impressive, and happy experience.

Who can present in such strong, affecting, awful colours, the world of perdition, as will naturally be employed by those, who have beheld its transcendent evils with realizing conviction, and VOL. IV.

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deep amazement; who have seen it naked before them; felt their own near approach to its sufferings; and still tremble under a sense of their marvellous escape?

Who can bring Heaven before the eyes, and delineate with a glowing pencil, in living colours, its immortal glory, like those, who have thought long, and often, of that happy world, with the faith, which is the substance of things hoped for, and the evidence of things not seen, and the hope, which entereth into that, within the veil? Who can discourse concerning the Celestial Paradise like those, who with a divine relish, already formed in their minds, are prepared to enjoy the blessings of eternal life; who, conscious that they are pilgrims and strangers here, regard themselves as citizens of the New Jerusalem, and look forward with delightful anticipation to that period, when they shall there be united to all who love them, and to all whom they love.

Who can reprove with such pungency, with such efficacy, with such success, as those, who are believed to be in earnest, to loathe, and shun, the sin which they reprove, and to delight in the holiness which they inculcate? Who can reprove, in so acceptable, or so persuasive a manner, as those who perform this delicate and difficult duty with the meekness and gentleness, the humility and forbearance, of the Gospel; and whose lives, adorning the doctrine of God our Saviour, and to every remonstrance the peculiar weight of an unblemished example?

What is true of these subjects, is equally applicable to all others, which are made the themes of religious conversation. The words of the wise, that is, of religious men, says Solomon, are as goads, and as nails fastened by the Masters of Assemblies. The words of the wise, says Peters, in his translation of this passage, are as goads, or as if planted with briars.

When the Disciples went to Emmaus; they expressed the influence of Christ's conversation in these remarkable terms: Did not our hearts burn within us, while he talked with us by the way, and while he opened to us the Scriptures? The conversation of pious men is not, indeed, that of Christ; but it possesses, in some degree, the same influence; and, wherever it is conformed to the Gospel, and conducted with the prudence which the Gospel requires, cannot fail to leave behind it desirable effects.

the

In revivals of religion, when conversation concerning this subject prevails, and the tidings of conversion are multiplied; when power of of sympathy is awake, and the soul is prepared readily to interest itself in the spiritual affairs of its fellow-men; every thing, pertaining to their religious circumstances, appears to have a peculiar influence upon the minds of others. Their views and affections, their conversation and their conduct, nay, the bare narratives of whatever pertains to their religious interests, appear, through the power of sympathy, to produce great, extensive, and happy effects on those, to whom they are made known. It is a

remark of President Edwards derived from his own observation during an extraordinary revival of religion, that "nothing seemed to produce greater effects on the minds of his own congregation, than recitals of the prevalence of religion in other places."

The more frequent, and the more intimate, our intercourse with such persons is, the greater, and the happier, is its efficacy. The same thing is true, when the persons, with whom we converse, and live, are possessed of characters peculiarly venerable, or of manners and dispositions peculiarly lovely. Amiable companions, near and affectionate relatives, parents, ministers, and rulers, when persons of unaffected piety, contribute more by their conversation and example, than can be easily imagined, to spread religion among mankind, and to preserve the world from profligacy and ruin. The light of these persons so shines before others, that they, beholding their good works, actually glorify their Father, who is in Heaven.*

II. Persons, already religious, will by this intercourse become

more so.

All the observations, made under the preceding head, are applicable to this also; and with additional force. But there are other considerations peculiar to this; and those, of distinguished impor

tance.

1. Persons, already religious, are prepared to realize whatever is communicated to them by others, of the same character.

As face answereth to face in the water, so doth the heart of man to man. This observation may be emphatically applied to the hearts of Christians. Their views are substantially the same: their taste is the same: their character is the same. They have all a common interest; are engaged in common pursuits; and are bound towards a common home. They are all of one family; are children of one Parent; and followers of one Redeemer. All of them discern spiritual things in a spiritual manner; and relish them with a spiritual taste. To the interests of the divine kingdom, and to the concerns of the least individual, who belongs to it, not one of them is indifferent. All are prepared to feel the concerns of all: and by every one, so far as they are communicated, they are actually felt. Every thing, therefore, in the life, and conversation, of one Christian, will easily be transferred to his own circumstances by every other.

It is easy to perceive, that mutual communications among persons of such a character, and in such circumstances, will of course be regarded as the communications of friends and brethren. Every man knows with what a welcome he hears, how readily he believes, how deeply he feels, and how much he is influenced by, the conversation and sentiments of a beloved friend. The importance of this consideration is peculiarly seen in every case of

'Matthew v. 16.

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