lican, and generally speaking, virtuous yet we must suppose also that he had his failings and his faults, of which we are to hear nothing. He seems to have no remembrance, to make no acknowledgement of his sins andfrailties-these had no place in the worship of the Pharisee, if it can be called worship; and this was one reason that made it unacceptable to God.

But another part of the Pharisee's behaviour on this occasion is very strongly to be censured; that part is the uncharitableness of it. The Publican stood with him in the Temple, though afar off. This Pharisee could not pass by the opportunity of indulging his vanity, and declaring his superiority; he could not even there refrain from that contempt and hatred with which this order of men was treated. What had this poor Publican done to him? What right had he to insult him? Whatever this Publican was, he was not then, nor at any time, a subject of triumph or contempt to the Pharisee. Most men would have been softened down by such an occasion, and have considered that they, as fellow-creatures and brethren, were kneeling down before their common Parent, imploring the same mercy, in need of the same bounty and protection. The Pharisee, on the contrary, did not only look upon this supposed sinner to cherish his own pride and complacency, but he must even turn intercessor with God against him, and presume to carry his arrogance and invective to the footstool of divine mercy itself. No wonder that God should turn away his ears from prayers which are mingled with malice and presumption.

In our poor Publican we have a model, I take it, of true Christian devotion. He comes with a deep and afflicting sense of his sins, and an earnest concern and contrition for them: he makes no comparisons, he draws

no parallel betwixt himself and others; nor does he fly to those wild and superstitious modes of appeasing an angry God, which grief or dismay is wont to suggest ; but with that true and unaffected simplicity which comes pure from the heart, he casts himself on the compassion of his Maker; "he would not lift up so much as his eyes to heaven, but smote upon his breast, saying, God, be merciful to me a sinner!"

We can never sufficiently admire the meekness and humility, the simplicity and earnestness, of this prayer. I do not mean an affected humility, which is put on for the purpose; but that which is real and undesigned, flowing from a just sense of our own vileness and offences.

The Publican's prayer was agreeable to God; and the more our prayers resemble it in spirit-the more unmixed they come from the heart-the more simple they are in expression--the more we have reason, from this parable, to hope that they will be accepted. "I tell you," says our Saviour, "this man went down to his house justified rather than the other." Our Saviour does not directly say that either was justified, nor was it likely that the Saviour would give countenance to such a doctrine; but so far as depended upon the act of devotion, the Publican was more acceptable to God than the Pharisee..

The application of this parable to ourselves is easy. Do we secretly allow ourselves to say or think we are not so bad as other men are, or even as this or that particular person? Let us remember the parable. Do we profess a strictness in our religion, with a view, not only of pleasing and obeying God, but with a notion that we are surpassing our neighbour, and with a view of triumphing over him? Let us remember the parable.

Does the pleasure and satisfaction we take in performing the duties of our religion arise merely from the thought of obtaining God's approbation, or are we counting upon the applause of the world; feeding and flattering our own consequence? Does our notion of piety lead us to survey others, even bad men, with complacency and compassion, and to behave towards them accordingly? Does it cool or diminish our good-will and benevolence towards our neighbours? Does it make us more curious to find out their faults; more willing to stick to their failings than to seek for virtues; more liberal of our censure; less inclined to forgive; more disposed to hate; more ready to throw others at a distance, in order to indulge our own spleen, and swell out our own importance? then must we remember the parable. Do we bring this conceit of ourselves and contempt of others to church? does it mix with and steal upon our devotions in private? Whenever we find this temper growing upon us, we may be sure that our religion is taking a wrong turn; it does not proceed from a growth of Christianity within us; it is the religion of the Pharisee, and not that which will make us full of gentleness, meek, humble, affectionate, and compassionate; tending to exercise and improve the love of our neighbour, instead of inclining us towards contempt and hatred.

XXV.

SERIOUSNESS OF HEART AS TO RELIGION.

LUKE VIII. 15.

But that on the good ground are they, which in an honest and good heart, having heard the word, keep it, and bring forth fruit with patience.

Ir may be true, that a right religious principle produces corresponding external actions, and yet it may not be true, that external actions are what we should always, or entirely, or principally, look to for the purpose of estimating our religious character; or from whence alone we should draw our assurance and evidence of being in the right way.

External actions must depend upon ability, and must wait for opportunity. From a change in the heart, a visible outward change will ensue from an amendment of disposition, an amended conduct will follow but it may neither be so soon, nor so evident, nor to such a degree, as we may at first sight expect, inasmuch as it will be regulated by occasions and by ability. I do not mean to say (for I do not believe it to be so), that there is any person so forlorn and destitute as to have no good in his power: expensive kindnesses may not; but there is much kindness, which is not expensive: a kindness of temper; a readiness to oblige; a willingness to assist; a constant inclination to promote the comfort and satisfaction of all who are

about us, of all with whom we have concern or connexion, of all with whom we associate or converse.

There is also a concern for the virtue of those over whom, or with whom, we can have any sort of influence, which is a natural concomitant of a radical concern for virtue in ourselves.

But above all, it is undoubtedly in every person's power, whether poor or rich, weak or strong, ill or well endowed by nature or education, it is, I say, in every person's power to avoid sin: if he can do little good, to take care that he do no ill.

Although, therefore, there be no person in the world so circumstanced, but who both can, and will, testify this inward principle by his outward behaviour, in one shape or other; yet, on account of the very great difference of those circumstances in which men are placed, and to which their outward exertions are subjected, outward behaviour is not always a just measure of inward principle.

But there is a second case, and that but too common, in which outward behaviour is no measure of religious principle at all; and that is, when it springs from other and different motives and reasons from those which religion presents. A very bad man may be externally good: a man completely irreligious at the heart may, for the sake of character, for the advantage of having a good character, for the sake of decency, for the sake of being trusted and respected, and well spoken of, from a love of praise and commendation, from a view of carrying his schemes and designs in the world, or of raising himself by strength of character, or at least from a fear lest a tainted character should be an obstacle to his advancement-from these, and a thousand such sort of considerations, which might be reckoned up,