for a perishing nature, and that he is bound to do less for a nature that never dies! Look at the contrast. Property, though it is a good, satisfies not the deepest want; satisfies not the enduring and all embracing desire; satisfies not that soul, that spiritual part, which demands an infinity of spiritual good for its portion. A thousand worlds spread out before the mind, could not make a domain wide enough for such a being. With one effort of the imagination he could traverse them all, and when he came to their utmost bounds, he would still stretch out his hands to infinity. Is the want of earthly goods so much to be dreaded? Is there no poverty but that? Are there no poor men, but those whom the world calls poor?-none poor in their meanness, poor in their avarice, poorer still in their vices, poorest of all in their estrangement from the infinite fountain of blessings? Nor let it be said, that there are difficulties and dangers, strifes and straits in business, which require to meet them, peculiar caution, energy, and devotion. The moral exigencies are more severe, the spiritual perils more threatening, the chances in the moral world more justly agitating. They come every hour, did men but see them. Yes, there are chances, on which the salvation and the perdition of the soul hang in awful suspense. There are dangers pressing upon every man beyond all the dangers of loss or failure; the danger of deception and dishonesty, the danger of selfish grasping, hardened avarice, cruel disregard of the feelings and interests of others, danger of forgetting God and conscience, and reason, and immortal hopes, in the press and theory of this world's cares.

And yet while all this is true, what is the scene which human life presents before us? While in the world of business, all is restless activity, invincible perseverance, almost desperate adventure, and ruinous. haste, where is there to be found any corresponding exertion, anxiety, enterprise, and willing impulse in the world of man's spiritual interests? The comparison is enough to strike the thoughtful observer with amazement. Is the world insane, I am ready to ask; or is the writer of these observations, insane? One of these conclusions, I am tempted to say, is inevitable. If there are no interests in the soul, or if they are not superior to those of property, then let us cast away, in one sweeping rejection, morals, religion, and religious institutions, for they are built upon an utter mistake and misapprehension of human nature and capability. But if the interests of the soul are great and transcendent, as we represent them, then is the moral world deranged to a degree that ought to excite the most profound amazement, solicitude, and sorrow.

We talk of martyrdoms in the cause of religion, as wonderful instances of religious constancy and courage. We look upon the missionaries who leave our shores, as exhibiting the most admirable devotedness to the religious welfare of their race. Nor would I diminish aught from the just merit that attaches to either of these sacrifices. But how is it in other things? Why, there is martyrdom every day consummated on the theatre of worldly ambition, gain, and pleasure; martyrdom to study, martyrdom to sense, martyrdoin to fashion. Thousands die yearly in obedience to principles, a thousand times inferior to the lawful energies of christian zeal, and devotedness to

the soul. And men banish themselves from their country, spend half of their lives in unhealthful climates, live among uncivilized barbarians, for no other purpose than to acquire wealth. I say nothing now, to call their conduct in question; but I do say, that while all this is done for an earthly treasure, it is time, in the name and defence of human reason, and of heavenly wisdom, it is time to ask, whether we are doing any thing in comparison with what we ought to do for the heavenly treasure; whether we are laboring and praying in any measure as we ought to pray and labor, for the care and keeping, for the welfare and wealth of the soul!

I have spoken of effort; let me now say a word or two of self-denial in this concern. And to illustrate this point let me make another supposition. You are, let me suppose, an invalid. You know that which few experience you know what it is for the weary spirit to sigh in its shaking and failing tabernacle for months or for years; you are a sick man. You long for health. You would do anything for health. You take journies; or you would do so if it were in your power; you deny your appetites; you call physicians; you consult; you watch symptoms; you catch with eagerness every sign of amendment; you are pressed and weighed down with anxiety about this one great interest.

And is it meet that less should be done for the health of the soul? Sin is a disease in the immortal nature, threatening worse than physical pain or death. No disease in the body is so subtle, deceptive, and fatal. The case, then, is plain, and the comparison easy. Is the soul worth more than the body? Is its

welfare, its strength, beauty, happiness, more valuable-or is it not? Settle that point. In the presence of reason, and conscience and immortality, settle that. If it is more valuable-and it is not a rational creature that can deny it-then shall not a man give more heed, care and watchfulness to the health of the immortal, than to that of the mortal part? Shall he not welcome the means of healing, even though they be the ingredients of a bitter cup? Shall he not resort to sharp remedies, if it be needful-to the cutting off of a right hand, and the plucking out of a right eye? Especially, shall he not submit, firmly and patiently to self-denial? How many constantly, as a matter of course, of principle and habit, deny themselves in the food and drink of every day, when the health of the corruptible part is in question! Shall we do less for the incorruptible part? Shall we think it a great hardship to deny daily that anger or covetousness, that passion, or pride, that worldly competition, allurement or gratification, which threaten to bring disease or destruction into the soul?

?

Many person's are unwilling to have their fears appealed to in religion. But do they not fear, when disease lays its hand upon them, and threatens them with pain and death? Does not the cheek turn pale, and is not the heart smitten with trembling at that danger? Does not everything, business, profit, pleasure, give way before that engrossing solicitude? Would not the man in whose system consumption was sending forth one by one its fatal signals-would he not sometimes pause in the midst of his active pursuits, and think of it, and inwardly tremble at his exposure? And is it too much that we ask him to fear and tremble at his

moral exposure; at those inward vices, those secret sins, those evil indulgences, which threaten to lay waste the immortal nature, which threaten to kill the soul?

There are others who find it difficult to enter into those views of penitence which are taught them. They feel as if there was some extravagance in the language of scripture and of the pulpit on this subject. They can understand what it is to acknowledge in general that they are sinners, and to confess in a general sense that sin is an evil; but deep and painful regret for their moral deficiences, is what they cannot understand. But it is not so when disease assails them. That they can understand, and feel a regret for it that weighs as a burden upon all their thoughts. It is a different regret indeed that is required for sin. But shall the regret be less, because it is guilt, as well as an evil, that calls for lamentation! Shall it be less, when an evil greater than all disease and guilt, worse than all other evil, presses upon the soul and is bearing it down, at once to dishonor and misery?

It will be easy for every reader to carry out these comparisons into many particulars. Let him inquire in a serious view of his life, what he is doing to gain earthly good, or to avoid earthly evil; and then let him ask himself whether he is with an inward and hearty effort, doing as much for his spiritual interests. As he decides this question, is he either a spiritual or a wordly man. This is the strict and serious test. None lower or laxer is to be applied to our experience. The question is not about sentiments or contemplations, about paroxisms of joy, or penitence, but about the actual and earnest doing of God's command

ments.