SERMON II.

MATTH. xii. part of 45th verse.

And the last state of that Man is worse than the first.*

WHEN Our Saviour wishes to convey an important truth to the minds of his hearers, he has sometimes recourse to parable: in order that, by a relation of supposed facts, the imagination may be more powerfully excited, and the lesson to be inculcated from it more forcibly impressed.

Thus, not to mention all the beautiful parables with which his discourses abound, we need only call to mind those of the Rich Man and Lazarus-the unjust and ungrateful Servant-the good Samaritan-and the narrative from which the text is taken and which has formed the Gospel of the day— namely, that "when the unclean spirit is gone out of a man, he walketh through dry places,

* Preached at St. Mary's, Jan. 18, 1824.

seeking rest, and findeth none. Then he saith, I will return into my house from whence I came out; and when he is come, he findeth it empty, swept, and garnished. Then goeth he and taketh with him seven other spirits more wicked than himself, and they enter in and dwell there: and the last state of that man is worse than the first."

God Almighty has, in his infinite goodness, planted within us, a quick, and, generally speaking, an unerring sense of vice and wickedness; so that no man can plead ignorance of crime when found guilty of its commission. No man is so foolish and extravagant to assert, that it requires long previous study and methodical initiation, in order to be acquainted with what is good and what is bad. Without scriptural revelation, we certainly know the one from the other. Virtue and Vice are so distinctly characterised, that, in the true language of the moralist, they require only to be seen to be beloved or detested.

Having, then, these (I had almost said innate) perceptions of what is virtuous and vicious in the moral world, there can be no colour of excuse for our deviation from the one, and our adoption of the other; especially when it is considered, that although our

uncultivated intellect may be weak, the precepts of education never fail to strengthen it by enforcing a rigid observance of integrity and morality.

We are launched therefore on the ocean of life, with principles that may save us from shipwreck, if we choose to pursue the proper track in the voyage. The Almighty expects fundamental principles of morality, before he vouchsafes to visit us with the consolations of religion. We may be assured that in a first state of sinfulness, these consolations cannot be enjoyed - much less in a state of relapse.

But what, you will say, can be the reason that men, who have tasted of the fruits of a virtuous and religious life, can return to their former sinful habits? If virtue and temperance be of themselves so excellent and profitable, why are they ever abandoned for profligacy and vice? And how, according to this mode of reasoning, is Virtue its own reward?

My brethren, this is the argument, and the sole cause of such conduct. Men return to vice and infamy without really and truly having known what virtue is. They find their passions so controled, their pleasures

so curtailed, their sensual indulgences so restrained--that, uneasy under the rules and commands which virtue must necessarily prescribe, disgusted with the terms on which she alone promises to be their friend-they return precipitately to their former sinful ways, and their last state becomes worse than their first. Men, of this stamp, just know enough of virtue to find that she is a severe prohibitor of the indulgence of criminal passions and pleasures, but they have not the patience or the inclination to wait and enjoy the true, positive, substantial delights that flow from her presence.

Sometimes, however, the relapse into vice is protracted to such a period, that we are difficult to believe the truth when it is told us: for nothing is surely more strange and contemptible, than a character, far advanced in life, and hitherto in the enjoyment of an honest reputation, sliding backward into iniquity and woe. Perhaps a more afflicting, but awfully instructive object is not to be contemplated than that of a human being wavering on the confines of virtue and vice. So nicely is he balanced, so equally do the attractions operate, that, for a time, it is dubious on which side he intends to make

his choice. Here, the dignified form of Virtue appears with her crown of glory, which she tells him can only be worn after unwearied and unceasing toils to subdue carnal lusts. There, Vice, tricked out in her glittering and tinsel attire, scatters roses upon the path in which she urges him to walk- but carefully avoids to warn him of the serpent that lurks beneath the blossoms. The one elevates her eyes towards heaven, and seems absorbed in the contemplation of that bliss which she knows is to await her hereafter. The other lavishes her smiles and her praises on every object below, talks of endless pleasure, and of incalculable wealth.-On whom does the wavering mortal fix his choice? He fixes it on the latter and then insults our understandings, by asserting that he has known, thoroughly known, the former - and is disgusted with her insipid gratifications.

It is only from vain, fickle characters, without head and without heart, that we hear these shallow unmeaning descriptions of virtue. It is only from men who love to associate with spirits more wicked than themselves - revelling in their profligate principles, and exclaiming, "let us eat and drink for to-morrow we die"-it is only from characters of SUCH a cast