appear through the greater part of his life devoted to his friend, who should yet deliberately desert him in his time of need, or betray, when tempted, one only of his most important secrets? Thus no course of religious obedience has any claim to the praise of sincerity, which is not unlimited and without reserve. A religious man will not say, 'I am not guilty of this or of that offence, but I hope God will pardon me for a particular habit, which I find it difficult to relinquish.' Neither will he say, 'I am sensible of the guilt of a particular course of conduct, and if God spares my life I will break off at such a future time.' Oh no! my dear friends, this is the most horrible hypocrisy. It is such trifling as nothing can atone for. The man of this partial obedience, and the man who is continually deferring the day of his repentance, is yet in the gall of wickedness and the bond of iniquity.

Lastly; what appears to you the governing motive of your conduct? In those portions of your character, in which your zeal is most engaged and your exertions most strenuous, what is your object? the promotion of your own interests and the interests of your party, or the benefit of mankind, the glory of God and the cause of virtue? How far is your sense of your duty to God predominant in your life? Does it lead you to sacrifice your property and your reputation and whatever you hold most dear, where you are most evidently pledged, or have you contrived to conceal even from yourself the real motives of your behaviour,

and to avail yourself of the name of religion and of God's honor, when you have nothing of them but the name? In short, is not your reverence for God, your sense of religious obligation, affected by the changes of the age and the character of your cotemporaries? Are you on the Lord's side, even if you stand alone?

My friends, this subject of sincerity is of infinite importance to us. It is the foundation, the grand preliminary of a religious character. It is indispensable to the acceptance of any of our services. Without it our religion is our condemnation, our observances and rites are the records of our sin. Without this, it is impossible to have any satisfaction in duty; religion will be our burden, God our terror, our consciences our stings, and death will overwhelm us with inconceivable dismay. With this only can we assure our hearts before God. For if our hearts condemn us, God is greater than our hearts and knoweth all things. But, beloved, if our hearts condemn us not, then have we confidence toward God. God is greater than our hearts and knoweth all things.

My christian friends, especially you who are now to sit down at the table of the Lord, grace be with you who love our Lord Jesus Christ in sincerity. This, this is that wedding garment without which you cannot be welcome, without which, indeed, you cannot enjoy the feast. Your sincerity here you must test by the disposition with which you celebrate the supper. Have you a sense of

the reason for which it was instituted, and do you observe it because Christ has instituted it? Do no unworthy motives mingle with your conduct? Does this regard for Christ's authority pacify your minds, and give you a happy satisfaction in the discharge of this duty, which the opinion of the world does not interrupt? Do you cherish no secret inclinations to dispense with the rite, or take to yourselves no peculiar merit in the performance? Are you sensible of that goodness and greatness which you commemorate, and do you seek for those benefits and no others which this rite is calculated to give? Have you a sense of the mercy of God in the scheme of human redemption, and are you sincere in your dispositions of love toward your fellow Christians? If so, come forward in full assurance of faith, rejoicing in the testimony of your conscience that in simplicity and godly sincerity and not with fleshly wisdom, you keep the feast. Draw near with a true heart and without dissimulation.

SERMON XVI.

THE PECULIAR BLESSINGS OF OUR SOCIAL CONDITION AS AMERICAN CITIZENS.

MARK, V. 19.

GO HOME TO THY FRIENDS, AND TELL THEM HOW GREAT THINGS THE LORD HATH DONE FOR THEE.

THE poor man to whom this was said, had been cured by Jesus of a most fearful disorder, and so affected was he with gratitude, that he instantly resolved to attach himself to his benefactor, and spend with him the remainder of his life. No,' said our Lord, rather go home to thy family and friends in Decapolis, and tell them what great things God hath done for thee.' We are told that he obeyed, and began to proclaim openly in his native country, and among his domestic friends, the compassion and kindness of Jesus.

I wish, at this time, my friends, to call your attention, not so much to our public advantages, as to our private, personal, and social blessings. If we would awaken our sensibility to the innumerable blessings of our condition, we must not take too wide a range; we must limit our vision to some

near and definite objects, lest, taking too extensive a survey, we should view everything indistinctly, and remember nothing with precision in the boundlessness of God's benevolence.

There is a class of blessings, which, because we have so long enjoyed them, we are tempted to forget that we possess, and to regard as the constant and immutable laws of our condition, rather than as favors no less extraordinary than they are unmerited. I mean the peculiar circumstances of our social and domestic life; circumstances to which no man can say that he has especially contributed, for they are the result of God's good providence, watching over former events and early habits, rather than of any foresight and judgment of our own. I am the more induced to make these the subject of our grateful review, because from their silent, unobtrusive, and permanent nature, they are not apt at any one time to make a peculiarly forcible impression, and they are in danger of being overlooked, because they are so uniform and quiet, except by a mind tenderly and piously alive to the goodness of God. The truth is, that we are very much in the habit of keeping ourselves in ignorance of the real sources of our happiness. The unexpected events of life, and much more those on which we calculate, are far from being those which constitute its real enjoyment. Even events of public good fortune, which call forth the most frequent and audible acknowledgements, are really not those which contribute