Compelled, therefore, to look for an influence, prior to the belief of the truth, we are brought to attribute the first principles of regeneration to an immediate and direct operation of the Holy Spirit upon the heart of the sinner. We say, immediate and direct, because it is not dependent upon the belief of the truth, but, on the contrary, the belief of the truth is dependent upon it. We have the illustration in Acts xvi. 14. It is said of Lydia, "Whose heart the Lord opened, that she attended to the things that were spoken of Paul." The attention of Lydia is here expressly attributed to the work of the Lord upon her heart. The preaching of Paul did not open her heart; for, until her heart was opened, she did not attend to, much less believe, the things spoken by him. The work of the Lord preceded her attention, and, therefore, her faith. I have no objection to saying, that the Gospel preached by Paul converted Lydia, provided it be understood, that by a previous act of grace the Lord induced her to believe the Gospel. In this instructive instance of conversion, three different agents are mentioned. There was the act of the Spirit in opening the heart; there was the act of Paul in preaching the Gospel; and there was the act of Lydia, dependent upon the act of the Spirit as the cause, and upon the act of Paul as the instrument in attending to the truth. The result was, her believing unto life everlasting. With out the previous act of the Spirit, the preaching of Paul would not have gained the attention, much less the confidence of Lydia.

Let us endeavour to distinguish between the act of the Spirit upon the sinner, and the act of the sinner himself in believing the truth. The beart of man, under the influence of sin, is alienated from the truth. He naturally shuns its convictions. He will not come to the light, because he loves darkness rather than light. If coming to the light, or what is the same thing, believing the truth, be his own voluntary act, as it undoubtedly is, he can be brought to the light only by changing his disposition, or producing within him a state of heart in accordance with the truth. If the light shine upon him after such a change, it will no longer be offensive; if the preaching of the Gospel be simultaneous with the operation of the Spirit, the sinner will no longer be indisposed to receive it. On the contrary, like Lydia, he will feel interested in the truth, considered for the first time without the disturbing influence of the

believe it. According to this representation, the work of the Holy Spirit consists in a direct in- ! fluence upon the moral powers; which influence, as the elementary principle of regeneration, by producing new feelings, disposes the man to believe the Gospel unto life eternal. Whether conversion be said to take place on the change of the disposition, or on the actual belief of the Gospel, is only a dispute upon the right use of the word. All we contend for is, that the commencement of conversion, in the work of the Holy Spirit, is inseparable from its completion in the belief of the Gospel.

Let us now attend to the illustration which Scripture abundantly affords of the influence of the heart upon the acts of the understanding, or the influence of our feelings in modifying our faith. This may enable us to perceive more clearly how the willing disposition affects the understanding in receiving the evangelical truth.

We have, in the history of Peter, an instance of the manner in which fear influences faith. Peter said: "Lord, if it be thou, bid me come unto thee on the waters." Jesus said, "Come." However unreasonable might have been the request of Peter, the answer of our Lord afforded sufficient authority for his faith in walking upon the sea. Upon the invitation of Jesus, he rightly believed he could walk on the sea. If he had calmly considered the subject, he would have acknowledged that it was quite as easy and as safe to walk upon the water in a storm as in a calm. The power of Jesus could protect him quite as effectually on the boisterous waves as on the smooth surface. Although his faith was sufficient to induce him to leave the ship and walk upon the sea, yet, "when he saw the wind boisterous he was afraid;” this fear affected his faith, and he began to sink. *0 thou of little faith, wherefore didst thou doubt?"

In Gideon we have an instance of faith affected by anxiety. As this ancient warrior is numbered among the examples of faith in the Epistle to the Hebrews, we may conclude that his faith was especially approved of God; yet, being commissioned to attack the Midianites, he required extraordinary attestations of the divine favour. Had there been no danger of defeat, Gideon would cheerfully have obeyed the divine command, but “the Midianites were as grasshoppers for multitude." Gideon, under the influence of anxiety, could be satisfied only by the extraordinary signs of the fleece wet with dew, when all the field was dry; and even

A LEAF FROM LIFE'S DAY-BOOK.

Man walks in a vain show;
They know, yet will not know;
Sit still when they should go,

But run for shadows;

While they might taste and know
The living streams that flow,
And crop the flowers that grow
In Christ's sweet meadows.
Life's better slept away,

Than as they use it:
In sin and drunken play
Vain men abuse it.

RICHARD BAXTER.

I STOOD on the borders of a very wild and ill-conditioned country. It was varied, like most other regions on the earth's surface, with hill and valley, wood and water; yet it had no beauty of scenery, or rather there was a combination of circumstances which destroyed the effect of these arrangements of form and colour, out of the assemblage of which we are impressed with our notions of order, beauty, sublimity, &c.

The surface of the whole region, for example, was rent in all directions, with deep fissures, like those produced by the extreme drought of summer. In many places it was desolate and wild, as travellers describe the scenery to be amongst the Jokuls, geisers, and lava contortions of Iceland. In other places it was completely a shaking fen, which filled one with the apprehension that, should he venture upon it, he would inevitably drop down from the sun-light and be buried to a great depth in the slime. In the neighbourhood of the mountains, and shooting from right and left, there were shakings of earthquakes, and sudden openings and closings of the earth, which would swallow down multitudes of the people. Overhead the sky was troubled and threatening, and produced an intolerable oppression upon the spirits. These things, I was certainly informed, were foreshadowings of a great calamity which would one day befall that unhappy region, it being devoted to destruction. Its doom is written in the unerring books of Heaven. It only waits the appointed time to be totally destroyed, with all those who shall be found in it. They and it shall go down to bottomless destruction, and be engulfed in utter perdition.

Bordering on this region, and at no great distance, apparently, from it, lay another tract of a very different description. Although too remote from the place where I was to give me opportunity of close observation, yet I could discern, and form an opinion of, many of the features of it. All along the line of separation it was walled in with ramparts of adamant, on which many towers were built at regular distances. Cities of palaces were also to be seen, seemingly constructed of the most precious gems; for they flamed nobly in the distance, and threw across the intervening atmosphere a beautiful light, iridescent with all the hues of the rainbow. Those who walked on these walls, and dwelt in these cities, were clothed in white raiment which glistened like sunlight. Their countenances also shone very brightly. They could not but be perfectly happy, so totally

were their faces free from all marks of care, and so lighted up with the love, and peace, and beauty of God. I was told they were the saints of the Highest, and could have guessed as much without being told. Far away, beyond the line of separation, that fair country stretched itself out, the farther from that line the more glorious, till a place is reached which the King of Glory has chosen as his most approved residence, and where he manifests himself in the fulness of his glory to all his saints. Over the hills and valleys of that blessed land it is permitted to all the inhabitants to wander. No enemy can get in to disturb them. God is their life, their light, and their defence.

I wondered that the poor inhabitants of the first mentioned region did not take counsel and devise means by which they might have themselves transported from the misery-stricken abode where they dwelt to that desirable and happy land, the more as they seemed to be an active and enterprising race. I soon found that this could not be done. Between the two countries there is a deep and impassable gulf. It is as deep as hell. There is no possibility of fording it. To construct a passage across it altogether defies the skill of the wisest of the people, supposing they were ever so much inclined to make the attempt. Nor can any boats or rafts of their own construction serve the purpose. No sooner are such launched upon it than they go down like lead or a stone, carrying with them such as have ventured their lives on such an enterprise. There is no way in which they, by any effort of their own, can get across; nor is there any by which they can escape from that inevitable and eternal destruction which, you have been told, overhangs them, and in which they may all in a very short time be involved. In consideration of these things my heart pitied them. Your heart would have bled for them. I could not refrain from bewailing their condition in words like these:

O hapless and unhappy race,

Shut up in want and woe! Within this melancholy place

Shut out from heaven's love, light, and grace, For you my tears shall flow!

I will take up a deep lament,
Unhappy race! for you;
With anguish is my spirit rent,
And through it pang on pang is sent,
Whilst it broods over you.

And o'er you how can it but brood?
Both bird and beast may fly,
When fire devours their native wood,
To other regions fair and good-

Some happier grove is nigh;

The mariner tossed on the main

Shall yet see sunny weather; Young lovers, parted once in pain, May meet, and live, and love again In happier times together;

'Neath you earth fall'n on trembling hath, It threatens to devour

O who shall shield when that dark wrath Of Heaven bursts down on flaming path, At the appointed hour?

Ah, better land! how fair thy gleam
Shoots 'thwart the lurid air,
Fairer than morn's life-kindling gleam
On mountain, wood, and ocean stream,
But to confirm despair!

I shall weep on until I die,

For each poor outcast one-
Over your evil lot must lie

Some deep and searchless mystery-
Yet, Lord, thy will be done!

Whilst I gave scope to my sorrow, and allowed my meditations to run on, an object which I had not before observed caught and fixed my attention. It turned my thoughts into another and more pleasant direction. I by-and-by discovered that things were not so absolutely and hopelessly bad as I supposed. The object referred to was a bridge, which vaulted across the abyss, and opened up a good and firm roadway between the two countries. It was no slight fabric on which one might hesitate to set his foot, but a most complete and solid erection. Its foundations were securer than the foundations of the mountains. Its piers, going down through the black waters and shaking fens of the gulf, rested upon the solid rock. Every one was made welcome to pass over by it. Its gates stood open day and night. The King of Glory, pitying the misery of the poor creatures in the Land of Despair, built this bridge at immense labour and cost, to the end that it might be for the advantage of every one who would venture upon it, and passing along it arrive in glory at the farther side, and escape perdition. He commissioned his Son upon this great work, who willingly undertook it; for his love had also been set from eternity upon these lost and wretched beings. It would be long to tell all the efforts he put forth, and all he had to suffer before the work was accomplished. The miserable and infatuated wretches for whose benefit he undertook it, opposed him with all their ability. Hell also opposed him resolutely. Matters came to such an extremity that he was arrested, persecuted, and slain. The work, however, was completed. With his dying breath he pronounced it finished. This gave unspeakable joy to the angels of heaven, and filled the devils with despair.

My mind was now filled with pleasanter thoughts. These gave birth to hopeful resolutions. What could be better done than to pass over amongst these poor and perishing beings, many of whom were asleep, and carry to them the glad tidings of a way opened up for their escape? Surely they shall no sooner hear than there shall be an universal stir amongst them. i hastened on this errand, and sang

Guilty sinner! up and flee,
Jesus Christ inviteth thee;
He has borne the wrath and woe,
That thy soul unscathed might go.
Standeth wide the door of hope
Which the Lord of life did ope;
Jesus stands at it, and he
Standeth there to welcome thee.
The black gulf of perdition, see!}
At its bottom lay the key

Of life. O who shall venture down
To fetch it up beneath God's frown?

Jesus Christ alone could do,
Guilty sinners, that for you.
He has done it, and for men
With it unlocked life's gate again.

Come, then, sinner! come away

Delay not, O no more delay;
Close with Jesus-all is won;

Reject his mercy-all's undone !

197

With such words I hastened along. I could not have anticipated what I witnessed. Many were fast asleep. They were not allowed to slumber on without admonition and interruption of their foolish drowsiness. I saw the heralds of the King of Glory passing to and fro with their silver trumpets, warning the perishing to bestir themselves, and flee for their lives. They toiled at their office like those whose hearts go with their employment. Some of them, indeed, had caught the pernicious influences of the place, and slumbered at their post. I saw them busy at their work. In one place one might be seen discoursing of temperance, righteousness, and judgment to come, and thrusting home so directly, that the listeners would shake from head to foot with fear. But an hour after, all would be forgotten. In another place it was no easy matter to stir them up even to such short-lived apprehensions. Some could by no effort be aroused. Others would turn on their sides, and for a moment lift up their drowsy eyelids, and fetching a long breath, sink down again into their fatal slumbers. Every method, topic, and argument was brought forward, applied, and urged by these heralds-everything recorded or suggested in the commission which their Master, in sending them upon this work, had put into their hands; not wholly without success, though that success was comparatively but small. One or two of the delusions under which these wretched people lived and died must be recorded.

In one place was to be seen a great concourse of people, young and old, thronging together into a complete thoroughfare. There was a magnificent gateway built close upon the highway, along which thousands continually passed. The gate itself was magnificent to the sight, and those who looked through its trellis-work could see long vistas of delight. The grounds were skilfully laid out to attract the eye, and bewilder the sense of those who lingered near, pausing for a little to breathe more coolly under the shadow of the stately trees that overhung the lodge. A dangerous enchantress, called Pleasure, held court here. Her countenance was seductive, and still more seductive and insinuating her address. She possessed a rare power of suiting her speech and arguments to the particular tastes and fancies of all that passed along. Those who drank of her cup lost their senses. They rushed through the gate, and lost themselves in carnal delights. Of all who entered, few returned. Throughout her domain there are innumerable trap-doors and side passages to hell. A holy watchman stands at the gate of Pleasure to warn those who seem inclined to enter.

I heard Pleasure thus inviting the multitude :-
Weary wanderers, hither haste!

Ye with woe and care foredone
In the bower of Pleasure taste
What of pleasure may be won