unbend, and no argument approach. John was imprisoned; and if a woman had had her way, he would have been led to the scaffold. When the feebler sex settles down into such a debasement, as to dismiss the sympathies and charities which belong to it, it goes to ten times greater lengths than the other. So in the present case. The degraded wretch, who called herself the wife of Herod, insisted that their prisoner should be put to death. To this, however, her husband, with all his cruelty, would not consent, for one of the strangest reasons in the world, -" because he feared John, knowing that he was a just man and a holy." Strange, did I say? No, it is not strange; there is a something in the lofty purity of real religion which is always feared, even by the most abandoned. It is precisely the principle which made Felix tremble before Paul, when he heard him reason of righteousness, of temperance, and of a judgment to come. The image of God, see it where we will, is awfully grand and impressive; and often, very often, when the worldling is pointing the finger of scorn at the disciples of Christ, a secret awe is moving in his heart, which compels him to do them reverence. But Herod went beyond the emotion of fear. He visited John in his confinement; and, says the evangelist, "heard him gladly." Indeed, he seems to have commended the honesty of his preaching, and if one particular subject had been avoided, the violation of the marriage covenant, he would probably have felt towards him no resentment. But you may inquire how it happens, that men of Herod's character can listen to the alarming truths of the Gospel with composure? And yet it is so. The ability, the address, the elevation of the preacher, may awaken applause, even where his exhortations are disregarded, and his principles denied. Or there may be in the doctrine itself a something of sublimity which overawes, while the entire groundwork of the plan of salvation by Christ is to the Jew

a stumbling-block, and to the Greek foolishness. And thus we find, that hundreds will sit under the announcements of Inspiration with the decency of external respect, but the moment the word of God is pressed home upon their own consciences-the moment they find the declaration of the prophet thundering in their ears, "Thou art the man," then it is, that they seize upon some gilded apology, and bid the subject of religion farewell. But in Herod's case, it was not all, that he admired the preacher. He commenced the formalities of a visible reformation, and, as we are told, did many things which were required of him. Promising, in. deed, was the prospect that such a man should relinquish any of his habits; but Herodias was still retained, and thus every hope of radical amendment was extinguished. Not all the obligations of this world, nor all the solemnities of another, could persuade him to renounce the infamous woman who shared his throne. It was easy for him, as it is for us, to surrender one sin, or another sin for which no very craving propensity called; but to crush at a blow the mighty principle of sin in the heart, is another and a very different work. This is accomplished only by that entire devotedness to God which spontaneously abandons every thing, however trivial, which He has forbidden, and performs every thing, however mortifying, which He has enjoined.

But to return to Herod. If any palliation could be offered for his guilt-any semblance of excuse for retaining his degraded queen, it must be found in the strength of that passion which hurried him on in his career. Well, indeed, has Inspiration said of an unprincipled woman-that "Her house is the way to hell, going down to the chambers of death." What is the sacrifice which deluded man will not offer at this polluted shrine? Interest, health, character, the most endearing ties, and the most solemn engagements; all that binds society together; all that makes us respect ourselves; and all that holds out to us the hope of final salvation. But even this passion, so deadly in its visitations upon the heart, could not drive its sceptred victim to the crime of murder, for which his wretched wife was so anxious. It was reserved for her to decoy when she could not persuade him to the perpetration. And what think you was the method by which she executed her inhuman design? She waited for the birth-day of her husband, which he was accustomed to distinguish by a splendid celebration. After the courtiers and nobles were assembled and heated with wine, she sent in her daughter to dance before them. Herod, inflamed with drink, was delighted at her performance, and, in a moment of rashness, broke forth into an infatuated oath that he would give her whatever she might ask, even to the half of his kingdom. The child returned to her mother with the tidings, and by her was instructed to ask-not wealth, not power, not a magnificent alliance-but the execution of John the Baptist! Herod himself-even Herod, was struck with horror. Gladly would he have recalled his oath, but he had not firmness enough to reflect that the sin was in making and not in breaking it. Gladly would he have revoked his pledge, but his nobility were around him, and he dared not encounter from them the charge of timidity or inconstancy. They had seen him on the ensanguined field of battle unmoved ; they had fought beneath his eagles; and now, that the mere life of an obscure preacher was at stake, could he falsify his word, and that, too, to a female ? Could he, in face of the whole court, compromit his honor by so glaring an outrage upon refined and fashionable life? The struggle was hard, but the bloodthirsty character of the gentler man prevailed, as it commonly does, around the table of revelry and dissipation. An executioner was despatched, and, before the company retired from the palace, the dripping head of the Baptist attested how well a monarch could keep his word.

From this period Herod seems to have been a miserable man; not that any thing like contrition was discovered in his character, but the recollection of his crime haunted him wherever he went. He felt that he had shed innocent blood, and, amidst all the splendors of royalty, conscience coiled around his wretched soul its lash of a thousand scorpions. He fled to the blandishments of his infamous queen, but they could not soothe him. He resorted, with the true spirit of conscious guilt, to infidelity, but that gave him no repose. Like the fallen angels, he " believed and trembled;" so much so, that when Jesus Christ appeared, soon after his venerable precursor was beheaded, Herod hearing of his sanctity, immediately supposed him to be John the Baptist risen from the dead. All his uneasiness, however, produced no reformation. He followed our Lord's steps like a tiger crouching for his prey. Determined to destroy him, he left nothing undone, till at last the Saviour stood before his bar on trial. As might have been expected, he dismissed at once all the decencies of legal proceedings, and rushed on to the long wished-for catastrophe. He collected his men of war around the prisoner, and arrayed him in a gorgeous robe, and set him at nought, and mocked him, till the closing scene of the drama was finally ushered in, and the heights of Calvary were steeped in the blood of a crucified Messiah.

Because sentence against a wicked work is not speedily executed, therefore the hearts of the children of men are fully set in them to do evil. It was so with Herod. But the hour approached for vengeance. The monarch whose daughter he had divorced took the field against him, and after a dreadful battle he was entirely defeated. To add to his distress, the Roman emperor drove him with disgrace from his throne; and, as if Justice were yet unsatis. fied, he was subsequently banished to a secluded place in Gaul, where himself and his abandoned queen died in exile, without a tear to bedew their memories in this world-without a hope to cheer them in the expectation of another. They live now only on the roll of infamy, and every page of the historian, sacred or profane, blushes to bear the name

of Herod.

I am not going to insult you, my hearers, by inquiring if you have characters, even remotely similar, unless in infidelity, to that I have been describing. Let me rather ask you to look at the subject in another light. You see before you one of the enemies of the Church-the great cham. pion of skepticism. You see his end; and is it not the end on which hostility to religion may always calculate? Where is Herod? Where is Nero? Where is Domitian? They survive only in the execrations of posterity. And what, all this time, has become of the Church? Why, she has gone on her way rejoicing. She has blown the clarion of triumph from the centre of the Roman empire to the farthest corner of the earth which human search has explored. The Gospel of Christ has pressed on in its inarch of glory, trampling under foot the altars of Heathenism, and crumbling the pagodas of Idolatry, and shouting victory even over the minarets of the Arabian prophet. It is true, op. position is raised; but it is also true that opposition must fall. The Church of Christ must and will move forward, for "the Lord her God in the midst of her is mighty." Look at history; look at experience; look at the signs of the times. Must not the Church triumph? I hope in God there are none who doubt it-who disbelieve it. It is too late in the day; but if there are, the armies of Christ will walk over them and leave them in the dust. Search the annals of skepticism, from Herod down to us, and they seem like