tible, they think that every one else must be brought in something of the same way. In opposition to this narrow way of judging, let us take the testimony of analogy, of Scripture, and of experience, and we shall find that God does by no means confine himself to slow and progressive methods of bringing souls to the knowledge of the Saviour.

1. All analogy shews, that a total change of mind may occur very suddenly. In solving a mathematical problem, every student knows, that often when the mind has pored over the diagram in vain for a whole night, and nothing but perplexity has been the result, the introduction of one small truth into the mind casts a flood of light over the whole, the truth of the proposition flashes across the mind with the rapidity of lightning, and yet he may require much time and pains, or he may even find it impossible to go slowly over the different steps by which he was led to the truth. But if this be true in mathematics, it is much more true in those cases where the affections as well as the intellect are engaged. In all cases of prejudice, where the understanding is blinded and turned aside by the heart, it often requires but a slight shifting of the affections to rectify the judgment and enlighten the whole mind. Now, this shifting of the affections may take place in the twinkling of an eye. How often have the prejudices that for half a century had been building themselves up in the mind against medicine and medical men, been swept away in the first half-hour of a dangerous illness; so that the judgment has been thoroughly changed simply by the awakening of fear?

2. Now, Scripture shews plainly that there may be, and often is, the same suddenness in the turning of a soul to God. Many of the invitations of the Word are made upon the understanding, that conversion may be sudden: "To-day, if ye will hear his voice, harden not your hearts." "Turn you at my reproof. Behold I will pour out my Spirit upon you." "Behold now is the accepted time. Behold now is the day of salvation.' The Bible would never invite men to turn now, and this very day, if immediate conversion were a thing impossible. Again, we have many Scripture examples of men being brought suddenly from darkness into marvellous light.

In one day 3000 souls, among whom were many who had helped to crucify the Lord of Glory, and many who, but a few minutes before, had mocked the holy apostles, saying, "these men are full of new wine," were thoroughly and lastingly converted. And again, the heathen jailor of Philippi, in the same night in which he had drawn his sword and would have killed himself, "rejoiced, believing with all his house.' In both these cases, though the supernatural power of the Spirit of God was manifested in a way that may well shut the mouths of cavillers, there was no miraculous agency employed, but the simple preaching of the Word was the instrument of conversion.

3. The experience of faithful ministers has treasured up many memorable testimonies of the truth we are maintaining. The following example, from the labours of that blessed Missionary and man of God, David Brainerd, is peculiarly striking.

He had been labouring for more than a year among the American Indians of Pennsylvania and Susquehannah without success. This damped the spirits of the ardent Missionary, and led him to seek new hearers among the Indians of Crossweeksung, in New Jersey. In June 1745, he began his labours among them, and was not long without singular and precious fruits of his ministry. The following account is in his own words, and is dated 8th August in the same year :

"In the afternoon I preached to the Indians; their number was about sixty-five persons, men, women, and chi.aren: I discoursed from Luke xiv. 16-23, and was favoured with uncommon freedom in my discourse.

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And

There was much visible concern among them while 1 was discoursing publicly; but afterwards when I spoke to one and another more particularly, whom I perceived under much concern, the power of God seemed to descend upon the assembly like a rushing mighty wind,' and with an astonishing energy bore down all before it. "I stood amazed at the influence that seized the audience almost universally, and could compare it to nothing more aptly than the irresistible force of a mighty torrent or swelling deluge, that with its insupportable weight and pressure, bears down and sweeps before it whatever is in its way. Almost all persons of all ages were bowed down with concern together, and scarce one was able to withstand the shock of this surprising operation. Old men and women who had been drunken wretches for many years, and some little children not more than six or seven years of age, appeared in distress for their souls, as well as persons of middle age. it was apparent these children (some of them at least) were not merely frighted with seeing the general concern; but were made sensible of their danger, the badness of their hearts, and their misery without Christ, as some of them expressed it. The most stubborn hearts were now obliged to bow. A principal man among the Indians, who before was most secure and self-righteous, and thought his state good because he knew more than the generality of the Indians had formerly done, and who, with a great degree of confidence the day before, told me, he had been a Christian more than ten years, was now brought under solemn concern for his soul, and wept bitterly. Another man advanced in years, who had been a murderer, a powow, (or conjurer,) and a notorious drunkard, was likewise brought now to cry for mercy with many tears, and to complain much that he could be no more concerned when he saw his danger so very great.

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They were almost universally praying and crying for mercy in every part of the house, and many out of doors, and numbers could neither go nor stand. Their concern was so great, each one for himself, that none seemed to take any notice of those about them, but each prayed freely for himself. And, I am led to think, they were to their own apprehension as much retired as if they had been individually by themselves in the thickest desert; or, I believe rather, that they thought nothing about any but themselves and their own states, and so were every one praying apart, although all together.

ON THE CHARACTER OF HEROD,
TETRARCH [OR King] of Galilee.

BY THE REV. K. S. CANDLISH, A.M., Minister of St. George's Parish, Edinburgh. THIS Herod was one of the sons of the king of that name in whose reign Christ was born. On his father's death he became ruler over that part of his dominions called Galilee, and was so during the ministry of John the Baptist and Jesus. It was he who put John to death in so singular a way, with so strange a mixture of levity and cruelty. The details of this black tragedy are given in the sixth chapter of Mark, and the statement of the 26th verse, "And the king was exceeding sorry; yet for his oath's sake, and for their sakes which sat with him, he would not reject her," may be regarded as the explanation of his conduct. It very strikingly illustrates both the general character of the man and his state of mind in regard to the crime he was about to commit. He was sorry, but he thought he could not help it. And as he, in these respects, represents a large class of men, he may form an important and useful study. "The king was exceeding sorry"-Some interpreters have shrewdly suspected that this sorrow was feigned, that the whole scene of this banquet was a preconcerted scheme, to which not only Herodias and her daughter, but Herod himself was privy, to get rid of John the Baptist, who was become alike obnoxious to them all. Herod dared not openly do him wrong for fear of the people, who counted John a prophet. He fell therefore upon the expedient of throwing the guilt of the original suggestion on his accomplices. The feast, the dance, -the sudden admiration, the rash promise, the late repentance, all apparently natural and incidental, were artfully got up, that Herod, to the public eye, might be represented as a reluctant victim rather than a willing actor, as entrapped and surprised. But this view of the matter, though not at all very improbable, is rather too refined; and there are circumstances in the history, and features in the character of Herod, which would incline us to the belief that he was not concerned in any previous arrangement,—that the plot, if there was a plot, was formed between the mother and daughter, without his knowledge,—that the atrocious proposal did come upon him abruptly and unexpectedly, and that he was exceeding sorry. This appears likely from the respect and attachment which we know he previously felt towards the Baptist, and from the remorse of which he afterwards gave proof. The truth is, this man was not by nature blood-thirsty. Weakness rather than violence was very much the characteristic of his mind. He was not prepared to adopt extreme measures. He was rather prone to try temporising expedients, and to seek the accomplishment of his ends by craft and compromise rather than by force. Other historians give him this character, and such he appears in the Bible. There is not much told of him, but the little that is told exhibits him as a man, in some respects, well disposed, yet too selfish and too timid to be consistent; with some good principles, yet too much the slave of passion and the world, to give them fair play and scope;—not firm enough to do right, yet not bold and bad enough, unscrupulously to do Wrong;-neither decidedly good, nor decidedly wicked, neither resolutely honest, nor a reckless ruffian ;-but

one hampered and entangled between good feelings, and desires, and resolutions, on the one hand, and evil inclinations, and evil counsellors on the other. If he could have got rid of the last, he might have been a better man,— if he could even have got rid of the first, he would have been a happier, at least an easier man. As it was, he was perpetually miserable, tossed and bandied to and fro between his sins and his scruples, doing things by halves, and settling the controversy of conscience with temptation by a sort of evasive underhand compromise, which left as much room as ever for a new struggle, a new assault, and a new defeat. Ever as he was disposed to do right, some supposed necessity of doing wrong interfered, and yet ever when the wrong was done, there was reluctance at the time, and regret and remorse afterwards. Hence that appearance of cunning which procured him from our Lord, the name "fox." And hence, too, that wavering and vacillating inconsistency which marked his treatment both of the Baptist and of our Lord. Thus, on the one hand, it is quite plain, he had a high opinion of both. For as to the Baptist we read, (ver. 20.) that Herod much esteemed him, admitted him to his court, made him almost a favourite a friend, listened to him respectfully, treated him with all honour, and even, in many things, gladly followed his counsel. Again, as to our Lord, we are told that when Herod heard of his fame and his wonderful works, he desired to see him-out of curiosity, perhaps, or to atone for the violence done to the Baptist, by some attention to his successor and representative Nor did this desire pass away, for on Jesus being brought before Herod for trial, we are told the prince rejoiced, having now for a long time been anxious to see this wonderful prophet, in the hope of witnessing some miracle. It is quite evident, therefore, that, to a certain extent, Herod had a regard for religion and its ministers. Nay, it seems as if at times, under the Baptist's ministry, on which he waited, he were really under the influence of religious impressions both sincere and deep. He "feared John, knowing him to be a just man and an holy, and observed him; and when he heard him, he did many things, and heard him gladly.” He complied with his instructions, so long as these did not interfere too painfully with his worldly inclinations, and seemed to be living in peace and friendship with the prophet, and even with the prophet's Lord. touch his secret sore too boldly, and the peace is broken, the friendship gone. Let temptation kindle again his favourite lust, his cherished desire; let the world make its demand openly, and religion as openly interpose her authority; let the controversy be brought to a single point, then comes the struggle, then is seen the weakness of merely natural impressions of religion. (ver. 17, 18.) The prince, who seemed to have started so well, in an unlucky hour was tempted to sin. The Baptist fearlessly remonstrated and reproved. Then was the king distracted between the flatteries of the world's easy morals, on the one hand, and religion's uncompromising claims on the other. Need we say which prevailed? The king yielded to his unlawful passion, but not without many apologies to himself, and many prudent resolutions. He was sorry, exceeding sorry, not perhaps " for his sin against God's law, but yet for the severity of God's law against his sin."—(M'Laurin.) He was sorry that the temptation was so strong, and his

But

pleasing dancer's request, expecting probably that he would have to give some costly bauble to gratify her gay and giddy vanity, of which her dancing so publicly, against all custom and the modesty of these days, was a proof and instance. He little dreamed of so bloody a demand upon his faith. Still that faith must be kept, --he bas promised, and he must redeem his promise, he has sworn, and he must perform his vow. Alas, infatuated man!—and is it possible he can really have believed that heaven would register such an oath, or sanction, far less require such a fulfilment of it? Did he not know that it is impossible for man to bind himself to sin, being previously bound by God against it? Herod could not think himself religiously obliged to crime. Rather, now that bis eyes were opened, was he not religiously obliged to stop short and retrace his steps? The very sorrow he felt was it not a proof that it could not be the will of God that he should fulfil his engagement? But it was not God that the prince conceived of as demanding the fulfilment of his vow, but He scrupled about breaking his promise to a mere mortal. Alas, his scruple was not about breaking the law of God! He had sworn to the lewd minion and minister of his pleasure, and he could not in honour, in conscience, draw back. The holy man must fall. And was this then the poor punctilio, the paltry scruple to which a saint and servant of the Most High must be sacrificed? He was sorry he had committed himself deeply and bitterly did he regret his pledge and promise given. O! that he had never seen that day -never sat down at that fatal entertainment-never tasted the intoxicating cup of the syren's flattery and fondness! He Liad begun in sport, alas! now it was too serious earnest. It was pleasure he sought; he little reckoned on the black and bloody villany that was to follow in her train. Would that he had resisted at firstthat he had taken the prophet's advice. But now he is entangled, in volved, committed too far-it is too late. -"for his oath's sake."

man.

"And for their sakes that sat with him." He had publicly sworn, and would be publicly taunted and upbraided, if he did not perform his oath. All his court would cry shame on him. It would be of no use to explain to them his reasons for hesitating. They could not understand his scruples. They would give him no credit for sincerity. After all he had sacrificed, they could not believe him in earnest in hesitating to sacrifice a little more. For in their esteem, it was no great matter after all that was demanded, only the obscure and worthless life of a troublesome captive! What was this that it should be suffered to disturb the festivity of the scene, or break the good understanding that prevailed? The king had acted royally in the munificent pledge he gave. All the company rung with applause of his princely liberality. And was he now, from pretended delicacy of conscience, to fail in redeeming it? It was too late for him to plead religious reasons,—these had long ago been overborne. If he had acted from such reasons, he never would have gone with them so far, and they could not suppose that these were the reasons which prevented him now from going just a little farther. His refusal, would be placed to the account, not of principle, but of falsehood, of meanness, of cowardice; and he dared not incur such an imputation. He "was exceeding sorry, but for their sakes which sat with him, he would not reject her."

And these were the arguments which satisfied this man, who had once been almost persuaded to be religious. He consented with reluctance, yet he felt himself compelled to consent. And what compelled him? -a fanciful point of honour-a false feeling of shameAlas, what a spectacle is here! A man always sinning with regret, yet still always sinning; exceeding sorry to do wrong, yet in spite of his sorrow still always obliged to do it. What a specimen of the deceitfulness of sin! How plausibly it argues, so that the heart of man, aye, even of a seemingly religious man, shall be persuaded to acquiesce in its arguments. How skilfully and cunningly does it contrive to spread the toils and meshes of its net around him, so that he can see no possible way of extricating himself. And the marvel is, it is but a cobweb net after all. A single vigorous effort of honest resolution would burst and break it in ten thousand pieces. But the victim entangled is a weak and half a willing captive. The heart involved in the deceitfulness of sin, is itself deceitful. Still unregenerate, unrenewed, unsanctified, untouched by the mercy, unchanged by the Spirit of God, it has not taken part decidedly with the Lord and his Anointed. Some religion it may have, -a religion of scruples and fears and regrets-but not a religion of faith-something of sorrow for sin, but not the godly sorrow that worketh repentance. Let none be deceived by such sorrow, or rest contented with such a religion as Herod's a religion of continual alternation between sin and sorrow. We know not what ultimately became of him. History tells us, that shortly after this period he lost his kingdom, and spent the latter years of his life in disgrace and solitude in the remote province of Spain, and it is possible that the leisure of exile may have been blessed by God to work a salutary effect; and amid the reflections of adversity, the long controversy carried on in his soul, may have terminated in the decided victory of a spiritual faith over sense and sin. But certain it is, his religion, such as it was at this time, could never save him. It was but leading him on to ruin, and that by no dowery path, but over thorns and painful briars. O! it is a sorrow most unprofitable that men feel under the influence of mere natural regrets and longings. It is but losing the present world without gaining any thing of the next. It is but inflicting needless pain. Better far get rid of the sorrow altogether and then go on to sin. But as this they cannot do, better still get rid of the sorrow by getting rid of the sin. And how is this to be done? Not by a system of half measures, or any delusive compromise with the enemy-not by a religion of impulse, of alarm, of instinctive sensibility-but "by grace are ye saved through faith," Let them come over wholly to the Lord's side. All on his part is full and free. There is no hesita tion,-there are no half measures with him, but full and free forgiveness, full and free reconciliation, full and free expiation of guilt, full and free outpouring of the sanctifying Spirit. On our part, too, let there be the like fulness and freeness. Let God be all and in all. So shall we be preserved from those fluctuations between God and the world, those vicissitudes of compliance and compunction, which embitter the life, which must torture the death of him who, in the vain attempt to serve two masters, sins and is sorry, is exceeding sorry, and yet goes on to sin,