Is it by such deeds as these, my friends, that you can purchase a right to eternal happiness? Is it by a mere abstinence from gross and flagrant sins to which, it may be, you have never been strongly tempted, or from which, at all events, you have been deterred more by the fear of man than by the love of your God and Saviour; or is it by heartlessly walking the formal round of outward devotion, by giving the service of the lips and withholding the inward worship of the spirit, that you hope to please God and open the gate of heaven? You know it cannot be. And yet what better claims have you to offer? More regular in the performance of duty, than at some former period of your life, you may have been; more sincere, more earnest, more pious; but after all, do not the very best services of the very best of you all come infinitely short, and if your deeds of righteousness were weighed against your sins, would they not be as the small dust of the balance? O then is it not vain-is it not impious to trust to these for acceptance and favour in the sight of that God "who is of purer eyes than to behold iniquity?"

bed I have witnessed. The pious sufferer referred to his past life indeed, but it was not to take comfort to himself from the temptations to evil he had resisted, or from the good deeds he had performed, as if these were meritorious in the sight of heaven, and could entitle him to that eternal happiness for which he so earnestly longed. He confessed-and while he made the confession, his whole countenance and manner bore testimony to the depth of his contrition-that he was an unprofitable servant-a sinner whose transgressions against light and warning had been frequent, and aggravated, and without excuse; and he therefore owned, that if the promises of the Gospel had been made to de pend, either in whole or in part, on his own righteousness, there would have remained for him nothing but a fearful looking for of judgment, and ery indignation. But when from his own deservings, he turned to the consideration of what his Saviour had done, and taught, and suffered for sinners, and professing his belief in the all-sufficiency of the salvation which had been accomplished on the cross, appropriated to himself the promises of the Gospel, what a different expression of countenance Think you that any efficacy can be added to marked the changing feelings of his heart! He the merits of the Saviour by such merits as yours ? relied on the merit of labours not his own-he Suppose your sins were blotted out, and you stood looked to the virtue of a sacrifice of which all to be judged only by the talents you had occupied other sacrifices are but the type-and in the fulness -the opportunities you had improved-the piety of his heart exclaimed, "If God spared not his you had cherished-the lessons you had dutifully own Son, but delivered him up for us all, how shail learned under the discipline of providence-let he not with him also freely give us all things?” conscience say if even then your deeds of righteous-"It is God that justifieth, who is he that conness would deserve the blessing of heaven, or could demneth? It is Christ who died, yea, rather who is indeed once be named along with the righteous-risen again." "If, when we were enemies, we were ness of him in whom dwelt the fulness of the God-reconciled to God by the death of his Son, much head. Even the holiness you possess is not the fruit of your own labour, it is the gift of God. What do you call your own, which you have not received; and what have you received which you have not either neglected or misemployed? Alas, the fond dream of human merit, I repeat, is a dangerous delusion, which you must cast away from you, before you can justly glory in the illumination poured on the soul by your Protestant fathers, when they burst from the thraldom of priestcraft, and drew aside the veil which a gloomy superstition had cast over the light of heaven.

How different are the sentiments which Scripture puts into the hearts of those who freely and candidly devote themselves to its study!--how different the language which they employ when they communicate with each other, or with their pastor, on the things which concern their everlasting peace. The death-bed of him whose understanding and heart have been subdued under the teaching of the Gospel, exhibits a scene at once humble and dignified, solemn, and full of peace! It is the consummation of a life spent not unprofitably in the school of God's providence; the last act of discipline to chasten the remaining corruptions of his fallen nature, and restrain and regulate his rebellious passions; the last lesson of knowledge and experience, to enlighten his mind, and train his soul for immortality. Such a death

more being reconciled shall we be saved by his life."

These blessed assurances cheered and elevated his soul. Sometimes, indeed, I have seen him oppressed by a sense of his own worthlessness, and trembling when he thought of the folly and vanity which betrayed his deep remaining corruption; but at other times placid, contented, and joyfulat peace with the world-at peace with his own conscience-at peace with God:---with the world, because, in the spirit of Christian charity, he for gave his enemies, and loved all mankind-with his conscience, because he inwardly felt a growing conformity to the divine will-with God, because he knew that in Christ Jesus he was a reconciled Father to believers, and did not impute unto them their trespasses.

Having mentioned the period of sickness as a time of trial, in which Christian principles are called into peculiar action, and the real charac ter of these principles is exhibited to a discerning eye, I am naturally led to take notice of another circumstance connected with this subject. I allude to the anxiety which is felt by many only when laid on a sick-bed, to see and converse with their spiritual instructor, and to obtain the benefit of his prayers. What I object to is, the spirit too frequently manifested in the time and manner of soliciting these visits, and in the unhappy effects which they are sometimes perverted to produce.

The inefficacy of that attention to religious duties, to which the worldly are driven by the immediate fear of death, is but too fatally proved by the conduct of many, who, under the discipline of this fear, having been induced to apply for spiritual aid, have afterwards been unexpectedly brought back from the verge of the grave, and exhibited the real state of their hearts, the sincerity of their vows, and the fruit of their devotional exercises, in the course of a prolonged life. How frequently do we see individuals of this description, as soon as the immediate terror of death is removed, casting away from them the feelings and impressions of divine things, which for a time they have cherished, returning with redoubled eagerness to their worldly occupations, and displaying, as formerly, all the coldness of unregenerate hearts!

It is instructive, though distressing, to observe | heritance of the saints in light. Thus is the good the usual practices which are too often prevalent seed sown in the beaten wayside or stony soil during the progress of an alarming disease. In of a worldly heart, and either springs not at all, the first period of illness, when the patient is con- or withers as it springs. The dying man is apfined to bed or to the house, neighbours drop in palled and bewildered, but not humble and conafter the hours of labour, and the sick man's cham- trite-he feels that danger is near, the most dreadber becomes a convenient place for retailing all ful of all dangers, but his unprepared mind knows the news and evil reports of the parish. His mind not, and may not now be taught how to avoid it. is led away from the consideration of his spiritual In the days of his health he has slighted the serinterests, and is frequently polluted, or at least vice of God, or walked the round of ordinances unprofitably filled with matters of worldly con- without faith and without edification; and, when cern, and tales of scandal. His family, from a at last the terror of impending destruction leads mistaken kindness, think it necessary to provide him to seek for refuge in unaccustomed acts of for his amusement, often without regard to his devotion, divine grace, long offered in vain, is then edification; and, indeed, nothing is more common denied; there is no avenue open by which his than to find, among those who surround the sick- heart can be penetrated; and all his efforts begin bed of a friend, the utmost anxiety to withdraw and end in a bodily exercise which profiteth little his thoughts from solemn reflection. It is con- -an unhallowed reliance on outward forms, not sidered right to prevent the agitation of his mind, less superstitious nor more availing than the and to avoid alarm, by abstaining from every pompous ritual of the Romish Church. thing which might induce him to think of his spiritual interests. By degrees, however, his malady becomes more serious-symptoms appear which seem to intimate the approach of a fatal crisis. Friends and relations from a greater distance now arrive, and accounts of their good or bad fortune, and of the circumstances of their families, and the events of their neighbourhood, give new employment to the mind of the patient. An elder, meanwhile, or some person fluent in prayer, pays an occasional visit; and for the first time, perhaps, during many days, or, it may be during many years, the voice of pious supplication and praise is heard beneath that roof. Worldly conversation, however, proceeds, and worldly feelings are cherished, interrupted from time to time by short intervals, in which more serious thoughts intrude, and the Bible is opened, and for the first time Of such persons it is impossible not to conclude perused, with some passing anxiety, and sense of that their penitence was hollow, and that, if their its value. Still the disease goes on, and the pa- sickness had been unto death, they would, nottient begins visibly to sink; while the doubtful withstanding all their fair appearances, have peranswers of the medical attendant confirm the ished in their sins. I dare not assert that a deathdaily increasing fears of the family, and the sup-bed repentance is always unavailing; for of such pressed sighs of a wife, a mother, or a child, and the tear wiped away by stealth from the care-worn cheek, open the unwilling eyes, and strike conviction to the heart of the sufferer. He perceives at last that the king of terrors is at hand; nor can he conceal from himself that he is unprepared for his approach. His spiritual instructor is now sent for in haste; and when he arrives, his voice sounds ominously on the ear of the unhappy man, as if the messenger of the Gospel had come to extinguish in his heart the last ray of hope; for that on which he has hitherto rested for support is earthly hope alone. But die he must; and he seeks in this visit a passport to a better world. He listens to his pastor's exhortations and prayers, Father as if they were to open the gate of heaven by the power of enchantment, than as they in reality are, the appointed means of enlightening the darkened understanding, and renewing the depraved will, and, through the operation of the Holy Spirit, rendering the soul meet for the in

a repentance there is one instance on the Scripture record, though only one; but I do say, that on such repentance it is presumptuous to depend; and that those professing Christians who delay the season of serious thought till it is forced upon them at the last hour, are in a state of extreme danger.*

BIOGRAPHICAL SKETCH OF JOHN ELIOT,

THE APOSTLE OF THE INDIANS.

LITTLE is known of the early life of this devoted missionary; he appears to have been a native of England, born in the year 1604. He received his education at the University of Cambridge, where he prosecuted his studies with great success. On leaving the University, he obtained a situation as usher of a school at Little Baddow, superintended by Thomas Hooker, who afof New England. It was while at Little Baddow that Mr Eliot experienced a decided change in his whole sen

terwards became one of the most distinguished divines

From a Series of Letters by Dr DUNCAN, printed and circulated among his Parishioners, but never published,

timents and feelings. An interest in Christ and his salvation was now with him the one thing needful; and so deeply impressed did his mind become with the importance of religion, that he counted it his duty to devote himself to the work of preaching the Gospel to his fellow-men. But as he felt that the views which he entertained were such as would not then be tolerated in the Church of England, he resolved to set out for America; and, accordingly, he embarked for New England in the summer of 1631, and arrived at Boston in November of the same year.

was met by Waban, "a wise and grave Indian," and
several of his friends, who conducted him to a large
wigwam, where he had an opportunity of proclaiming
the Gospel to a considerable number of poor Indians.
His second meeting with them was still more inter-
esting, and during the concluding prayer, an event
occurred which is well worth mentioning. “I cast
my eye on one,' says one of Mr Eliot's friends, who
was hanging down his head weeping.
He held up
his head for a while,-yet such was the power of
the word on his heart, that he hung down his head
again, and covered his eyes, and so fell wiping and

till prayer was ended; after which he presently turrs
from us, and turns his face to a side and corner of the
wigwam, and there falls a weeping more abundantly by
himself; which one of us perceiving, went to him, and
spake to him encouraging words, at the hearing of which
he fell a weeping more and more: so leaving of him, he
who spake to him came unto me, being newly gone out
of the wigwam, and told me of his tears; so we resolved
to go again both of us to him, and speak to him again.
We met him coming out of the wigwam, and there we
spake again to him, and he there fell into a more
abundant renewed weeping, like one deeply and in-
wardly affected indeed, which forced us also to such
bowels of compassion, that we could not forbear weep-
ing over him also,—and so we parted, greatly rejoicing
for such sorrowing.'

Before leaving his native country, Mr Eliot had agreed with a number of his Christian friends who in-wiping of them, weeping abundantly, continuing thus tended to cross the Atlantic, that in the event of their doing so previous to his settlement over any other congregation, he would become their pastor. This engagement he afterwards fulfilled. On their arrival in New England they planted a colony about a mile from Boston, erected a town which they called Roxbury, and formed themselves into a church, of which Mr Eliot was appointed minister. In the discharge of his pastoral duties he was remarkably conscientious and faithful, so that he was at once respected and beloved by his people. "He would sound the trumpet of God," says Dr Mather," against all vice, with a most penetrating liveliness, and make his pulpit another Mount Sinai, for the flashes of lightning therein displayed against the breaches of the law given from that burning mountain. There was usually a special fervour in the rebukes which he bestowed on carnality. When he was to brand the earthly-mindedness of Church-members, and the allowance and indulgence which they often gave themselves in sensual delights, he was a right Boanerges, he spoke as many thunderbolts as words."

In the education of the young, Mr Eliot took a particular delight, establishing schools, superintending them when formed, and composing catechisms of elementary instruction. When he entered a house, he was accustomed to call for the young people that he might lay his hands on them, and bless them. "I cannot forget the ardour," says Dr Mather, "with which I once heard him pray at a Synod held in Boston, Lord, for schools every where among us! That our schools may flourish ! That every member of this assembly may go home to procure a good school to be encouraged in the town where he lives! That before we die we may be happy to see a good school established in every part of the country!" Such was the benevolent spirit by which this pious man was actuated in his endeavours to benefit the community to which he belonged.

The first settlers in New England were placed in circumstances of peculiar difficulty, which called for their utmost exertions to procure a sufficient temporal subsistence, and at the same time to promote their spiritual improvement and edification. While thus struggling, however, for their own preservation, they were by no means regardless of the poor ignorant savages by whom they were surrounded, and whom they saw perishing for lack❘ of knowledge. In their benevolent endeavours to instruct them, they were not a little encouraged by an act passed by the General Court of Massachusetts in 1646, tending to facilitate the propagation of the Gospel among the Indians. It appeared that about the time when this act was passed, Mr Eliot's mind was deeply affected with the deplorable condition of these ignorant heathens, and at length, after much consultation with his brethren, and earnest prayer for the Divine direction, he resolved to dedicate himself to the work of a missionary among them. To qualify himself for this important task, he lost no time in availing himself of every means of acquiring their language; and such was his success, that in a very short time he was able to address them in their own tongue. The place at which he preached his first sermon to them, was situated about four miles from his house, at Roxbury; and when he approached it, he

Before the third interview with them, Mr Eliot found that the Powahs or Indian priests had strictly forbidde the people to listen to the instructions of the English. The interference, however, of these wicked impostos was of no avail. The people still flocked to hear the devoted missionary, and many of them expressed a wish to have their children put under his care, that they might be educated in the knowledge of Christianity. Encouraged by the success which thus attended his labours, Mr Eliot applied to the General Court of the colony in behalf of those who wished to be placed under his tuition. His application was successful; land was granted that they might build a town and enjoy the Christian instruction which they so much desired. From that hour civilization commenced among the l dians. A town was erected, surrounded by a stone wall, and containing a great number of neat comfortable wigwams. The women learned to spin; the men were instructed in husbandry and the more simple mechan cal arts; and, in short, the whole settlement assumed an aspect of industry and activity.

Mr Eliot's exertions were promptly seconded by the local government, who passed several acts for the farther improvement and civilization of the Indians. T change in consequence soon became apparent, even to the most careless observer. Mr Whitfield, who paid a visit to the town which these Indians had reared, was particularly struck with astonishment at their appear ance, and declared that, from their correct behavio and decent clothing, he could scarcely distinguish them from the English people.

Nor were the beneficial effects of Mr Eliot's labours limited to the settlements where they were first begur The Indians in various parts of the country were anxious to enjoy the same advantages. The work Christianization and civilization went hand in hand, ar so rapidly did the desire for instruction spread, that the missionary found it difficult, even with the assistance f some converted Indians, to comply with the numerous invitations which poured in upon him from all quarters, to come and communicate the glad tidings to various tribes of Indians. And in scarcely a single instance was the invitation made in vain. The devoted E

wandered from place to place, scattering the seed of dvine truth with unsparing hand. “I have not been dry night nor day," he writes, "from the third day