from that great claim. Religious insensibility, then, admits and regrets its deficiency, or acknowledges, at least, that such regret would be proper; religious indifference does not admit so much; it defends itself.

We have not, therefore, as on the former subject, merely to point out causes, but we have now to combat reasons. We have to argue with those who maintain that they have reasons for not taking any deep interest, or decided part, in religion.

What the nature of the reasons is, will appear in making another distinction. For there is a distinction to be made, as between insensibility and indifference, so also between indifference and positive criminality. The plea of crime, or of vice in general, is, that passion is so strong and the temptation so great, that there is hardly power to resist a plea, however, which was never made without the consciousness of guilt, and the strong contradiction of the offender's own mind. But indifference says to the earnest and solemn preaching of the gospel, "I am very well as I am now. I do not need religion; I do not feel the need of it; my mind acknowledges no such want. The world suffices me, life satisfies me, without religion; I am very well as I am now." This may be called, perhaps, the practical apology of indifference; the apology which a man finds, or conceives that he finds, in the state of his mind. But indifference has also a theoretical defence; it shelters itself, sometimes, under the apology of a limited creed. It says to the earnest and solemn preacher of the gospel, "I do not believe as you do; those moral dangers, those fearful doctrines, those dreadful warnings, which are preached to the people, I do not

believe in if I did, I should be bound, I admit, to be aroused to anxiety and earnestness." The neglecters of religion are often found taking advantage of the controversies that prevail, and they say, "We do not know about these things; some hold to one thing, and some to another; even learned men differ; and we do not know, in fact, whether anything is true.”

These are the two classes of reasons for religious indifference, and I intend to consider them in order. But let us dwell a moment longer on the case itself, that, in arguing on this subject, we may fight, not as one that beateth the air.

It is not indifference to certain circumstances in religion to certain creeds, to certain forms, or to certain measures and enterprises in religion, against which I wish now to contend; but it is against that indifference which is vital. It is against indifference to the religious care and improvement of one's self. It is against that indifference which refuses to meditate, or read, or pray, or watch, or strive for the guidance, keeping, restraint and salvation of the soul-an indifference which holds these very terms "keeping and salvation of the soul," to be out of its sphere entirely. It is against that indifference which has put on the almost impenetrable armour of settled habit and professed character; which is untouched by the most solemn appeals of the pulpit, because it says, "these are matters that I do not pretend to be zealous about ;" or it is against the indifference, which, if moved for the moment, immediately relapses into the same old mood of mind, and says the same thing in effect, all the week through, and all the year round. It is against the indifference, whether of philosophy that is too wise or fashion that

is too frivolous, whether of wickedness that is too bold or of worldliness that is too easy, to care for any of these things. Nay, more; it is against that indifference, which is not real; which assumes a garb for the sphere it moves in; which, while there really are deep reflections, and conscious wants, and thrilling solici tudes within, puts on a cold exterior towards religion, and consents to pass the foolish jest and the slighting remark on this subject, because such is the tone of the society in which it moves. Not a little is there of this assumed indifference in the world.

And where the indifference is real, I do not say that it always appears in a very manifest or fully developed and complete form. Moral states of mind seldom are very definite or complete. Religious indifference has many shades and degrees and disguises, and it defends itself by various and sometimes almost unconscious and even contradictory reasonings; that I cannot on any account hold myself responsible for the supposition that it is always one obvious and palpable thing. It is enough to say that there is, and is acknowledged to be, a large class of persons in the Christian world, in whom there are tendencies either to the neglect of all external religion, to forms, to public worship of every kind,—or, what is much more serious, to the neglect of all personal interest, of all vital concern with the subject. They do not consider this as a matter with which they have anything to do. Business belongs to them, or professional labours belong to them; and to think about these things, to inquire, to read, to take an interest about things of a worldly nature,-all this is with them a part of the recognised object, and plan, and pursuit of life. But

religion has no such place in their thoughts-not even in their sabbath thoughts. It is not an object to them any time. It is not an interest with them ever. They care for none of these things.

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The pertinency of my text to this case, I may now observe, and to the course of remark which I contemplate, lies in this; that the demand for a very serious and even anxious concern in religion, is there supported on the ground of a very limited creed. "If ye call on the Father, who without respect of persons judgeth every man's work, pass the time of your sojourning here in fear." My argument with religious indifference then, from the spirit of my text, is to the following effect that which is certainly true in life and in the mind-that which almost every man believes to be true in the creed, or in the Bible and in fine, that which the sceptic denies to be true,-each and all of these are considerations and grounds for the deepest concern about religion.

Our text says, and it says to all without exception, "live in the present world in fear;" i. e. not in slavish dread, of course, but in a just fear, in a pious reverence towards God, and faithful guardianship over the conscience. And it says this concerning the whole of life; "pass the time of your sojourning here" in this wisdom and piety. And then, as an argument for thus living, it lays down these simple positions-undeniable by all but unbelievers, and generally admitted even by them" if ye call on the Father, who without respect of persons judgeth every man's work,” live thus.

Let us then look at this indifference in its strong hold of negations-its pleas, that it does not believe so much as others, or that it does not need religion.

Let us see if what every man must admit, as a matter of experience, and what almost every man does admit as a matter of faith, nay, and if what any man may please to deny as a matter of faith, does not afford an argument for the utmost religious consideration, solicitude, and sensibility.

My first concern is, with what every man must admit as a matter of experience and of fact. Let us then direct our attention to life and to the mind-the scene of events, and the being who experiences them-and let us direct our attention to them first in connexion with each other.

Whenever a man looks around him, there are certain things which he must acknowledge. He is a living man, and there is a scene of life, there are events and ordinances of life for him to pass through-events and ordinances of life which he must pass through, let his character be what it may. It is striking, indeed, to think that every mind, however reckless and trifling, must fall upon all the trials, the allotments, the fates of this mortal and momentous existence. The boast of health is no shield against disease, nor the frivolity of pleasure against sadness and sorrow. Avarice must come to the hour of utter destitution, and pride to the hour of utter prostration. How powerful a call to religion, then, is life itself! How powerfully does it forbid all indifference! Life, I repeat, with all that makes up; with all its great and solemn ordinations of toil, and endurance, and vicissitude, and sickness, and affliction ; with all its periods of glowing youth, and sober manhood, and thoughtful age; life, with its trembling ties of friendship, its holy rites of marriage, its sympathies of kindred, and its homes of affection; with its attend