moved to a distance almost infinite. For either delirium comes, or else sharp, acute pain which dissipates the faculties.

Even looking at it intellectually, it becomes improbable. The dying thief had lived for years with the prejudice that Jesus was an impostor; and then, when racked in torture, was not in a state in which to change his opinions. As he had lived, so he died.

Again, the improbability of this change arises from the fixing of the affections. All life long this man had lived with his affections fixed on earth; this is the secret of that expression with which he taunted his Redeemer, "If thou be Christ, save thyself and us." Life is all he asks; if he could not save his life, all other salvation to him seemed useless. Brethren, grant it for one moment that reason should remain at the last steady to judge of the question then before us, yet this were not enough; even if a man could hear the spade hollowing out his grave, and could look upon the coffin-lid with his own name engraved thereon, with the date of birth and the date of death, there might be much in this to disengage his heart from carth, but would there be in it one element to fasten his soul on holiness?

Lastly, there is an improbability of change in the deadening of the conscience. There was an appeal made to the conscience of the dying thief, but made in vain: "Dost thou not fear God, seeing thou art in the same condemnation?" It was made in vain, because his conscience was in a state of deadness. We find it written that God hardened Pharaoh's heart. It is the greatest evil, and worst penalty of doing wrong, that at last a man ceases to distinguish right from wrong. This was the state in which this man was; and oh! I pray you to remember that towards this state we all are hastening who are hardening our hearts. If there be one among us doing that, putting off the time of repentance to a more convenient season, let him remember that there are two questions to be asked: whether it is likely that the change would come? and whether there is anything in pain that will make holiness more lovely and more dear? And if, in defiance of all experience, he answer in the affirmative, then there is another question-whether God will be trifled with so long, and whether He will suffer a man to go on enjoying life until he has no fresh emotion left, and then will be permitted to give the dregs of a polluted life and a worn-out heart to the God whom he has despised all life long. The ancient prophets spoke emphatically against

offering God services which cost us nothing. The meaning they intended to convey is clearly that God will have our best; Christ gave the best, Himself.

My young brethren, now, while emotion is fresh and your affections are worth the having, before the time comes when you are worn and weary, "remember your Creator in the days of your youth!"

III. We turn now to consider the dying hour of penitence. We have said that repentance at the last is a thing improbable. Blessed be God, it is not a thing impossible. It has been well said that there has been one instance of a late repentance given us in order that none may despair, and but one that none may presume. The penitent thief expressed his sense of guilt in these words: "We suffer justly the due reward of our deeds." We can lay down no rules for the amount of grief and sorrow; to do so would be as absurd and futile as to lay down laws as to how often a forgiving spirit might pardon an offending brother. There can be no law here, for it is decided by many things-by age, by sex, and by constitution.

We believe that the Church of Rome has erred in substituting penance for penitence; and yet here Rome has in her way expressed a truth, that the natural result of great sin will be the expression of great grief. Perhaps we in our Protestantism have erred in making the way to holiness after sin unnaturally easy. We present a few doctrines to the soul, and then, on the acceptance of a few intellectual truths, it is expected that the great sinner will become the great saint without a tear of agony for the past. Great nature refuses to be thus trifled with. In God's dealing with the soul, there is something analogous with the cure of wounds. When the cut is deep and the blood flows freely, its first effect is to close the wound by its coagulation. So it is with grief: if it is allowed to flow freely, the wound may soon be healed; but if, instead of grief and sorrow, we expect a few doctrines to do the work alone, then we shall soon see the blood break forth afresh.

We also remark here the penitent's zeal for Christ; he spoke as if he himself had been offended, "Dost thou not fear God?” We talk much of toleration; if we mean by that a generous sympathy with the different forms of opinion, then it is Christian; if

toleration mean compassion for frailty, and a willingness ever to make a distinction between tempted weakness and deliberate evil, then toleration is nothing more than another name for the mind of Christ. But if it mean that we are to reckon one form of opinion as good as another, and look upon sin merely as a disease against which we cannot feel indignation, then most unquestionably Christianity has in it no toleration. And I remark that zeal, even though it exceed the bounds of righteousness, is a more hopeful thing than lukewarmness; better far to be like the Apostle Paul before he was an apostle, better to be like the Sons of Thunder, better to be like the ancient prophets using the stern language of denunciation, than like Pilate, unconcerned as to the fate of his prisoner so long as he himself was absolved from blame. In the former case, the persecuting Saul became the large-minded Paul, the most liberal and the noblest of all the spirits that have been given to man; and the Son of Thunder became the Apostle of Love. Years and experience will by degrees soften zeal into love, but there is no remedy for lukewarmness.

Moreover, we observe, in the dying hour of the penitent thief, the missionary spirit of doing good. One opportunity only of doing good was given him, and he used it with all his heart.

If we were asked what mark distinguishes Christianity from the world, our reply would be, charity. It is not faith, for the religion of Jesus has faith in common with other religions, but it is charity. "By this," says our Master, "shall all men know that ye are my disciples, if ye have love one to another." The man of love may be guilty of many blunders of doctrine, while cold-hearted men may always be intellectually right; but in the last great day love will be recognized as the one thing needful. The faults of the men of love shall soon disappear in the Redeemer's blood, and leave nothing there, save the love of One who loveth much because much has been forgiven.

In conclusion, we have two remarks to make:

First, that the intermediate state is not a state of unconsciousness. It may be replied, "What signifies this?" this is interfering with things unseen; we can be calm in only knowing that the soul is with God. Our answer is, that if God has revealed it, it is our duty to receive it; and it is by no means unimportant, for though there may be those among men who can leave that matter

undecided, feeling certain of the love of God, and can throw themselves into the arms of God, knowing that they will be with Him; yet there are others who cannot so think, and who feel "all their lifetime subject to bondage" in the thoughts of the long last sleep. Therefore it is that we point to this, and show how far Christianity thus differs from Judaism; for Judaism spake of the grave as dark, the place where the dead praise not God; while the New Testament speaks distinctly of a state of consciousness, for in the parable of Dives and Lazarus the rich man is represented as fully conscious in the world beyond of the condition of his sinful brethren. The Apostle Paul, too, longs to depart that he may be with Christ-another proof that the grave is not unconsciousness. And, in addition, we have the example of the dying thief now before us, to whom our Blessed Lord says, "To-day shalt thou be with me in Paradise."

And, secondly, we learn from this the completeness of the sacrifice of Christ. Some have so mistaken the meaning of their Master's death as to believe that, when the soul has departed from the body, there is still a penal fire to finish the Saviour's work. But look at the dying thief forgiven by his Lord; up to that time he had done nothing to make himself meet for glory, after his conversion he could do nothing; and yet, forgiven and redeemed upon the cross, he passed straight to Paradise.

My Christian brethren, we set this truth before you: "Ye are complete in Christ." He reconciled God to man; our work is therefore to become reconciled to God. To him that is in Christ there remains neither speck nor spot to be imputed.

XVIII.

THE STATE OF NATURE AND THE STATE OF

GRACE.

Brighton, January 26, 1851.

"Among whom also we all had our conversation in times past in the lusts of our flesh, fulfilling the desires of the flesh and of the mind; and were by nature the children of wrath, even as others. But God, who is rich in mercy, for his great love wherewith he loved us, even when we were dead in sins, hath quickened us together with Christ. By grace ye are saved."—Eph. ii. 3-5.

THE prominent point in these verses, manifestly, is the contrast between nature and grace. "By nature," says the apostle, “ye are the children of wrath, by grace ye are saved." Every one of us knows that these words are cardinal points in Christian theology; they have been the cause of bitterest controversies—controversies in which men understanding each other have differed, controversies also in which men really meaning the same thing have expressed it in different words. For example, if one man speaks of the majesty of human nature, it may be that another feels shocked at such an expression; and yet it is more than possible that a man may speak of the majesty of the humanity that God has given us, and still be deeply, intensely, convinced of the reality of his fallen nature. Therefore, in all teaching, more especially in public teaching, in which it is impossible to ask for an explanation, it is important that from time to time terms should be accurately defined. For want of such definition there may seem to be confusion where none really exists. As a proof of this we look to our Redeemer's teaching; let us take the memorable occasion on which He said, "I am the living bread which came down from heaven; if any man eat of this bread, he shall live forever: and the bread which I will give is my flesh, which I will give for the life of the world. The Jews therefore strove among themselves, saying, How can this man give us his flesh to eat?"—they understood in one sense what was spoken in another. And thus