When men first come under the impulse of a religious life, if it be a strong impulse, if it come upon them in connection with their fellow-men, and under such conditions that it amounts to an enthusiasm, they usually do mean not only to make a clean breast, but to maintain the confessing disposition. There are very few persons that enter upon a religious life who do not mean to be good Christians. There are very few men who attain to that which they resolve. The majority fall into conventional ways. They lose moral sensibility. They adopt the moral averages of the society and of the state to which they belong. There is no moral law, high and universal, outside of the household and of the state or party, in practice, which is stronger than these concrete influences; and men, therefore, who begin with enthusiasm, and with high purposes and resolves, very soon fall back, and begin to judge of themselves as their neighbors think of them, and to apply to themselves not the pure law of the Word of God, not the spiritual law, but the opinions of others, the maxims and permissions of human society; and they very soon thus lose all sensibility. And a man who has lost sensibility to sin has lost one of the prime stimulants to righteousness.

Where, however, men attempt to pursue a religious life with a growing tenderness of conscience, how long a conflict they have! And on this very point of honesty in the recognition and confession of sin, how few men there are that have trained themselves to know just the truth about themselves! There is not so much pettifogging in the worst court in the worst city on this continent, as there is in the hearts of men who pass for good men, and who are in some sense good men. There are not anywhere else so many ways of trickery, so many false lights, so many veils, so many guises, so many illusive deceits, as are practiced in every man's conscience in respect to his own motives, his own thoughts and feelings, his own conduct, and, for that matter, his own character. It goes on silently; but at times it intermits. There are days in which the obscurations are greater than the disclosures. There are moments of reaction and consequent better resolutions. But, after all, "the heart is deceitful above all things, and desperately wicked: who can know it?" The more a man looks into his heart, the more acute he is as a moral anatomist, and the more he becomes acquainted with his fellow-men, the more does he become sure of the existence in men of an intense and almost ineradicable tendency to deceive themselves in respect to their actions, their motives, their conduct, and their character.

Now, one of the very first steps which indicate a true moral growth, a real divine nature begun in us, is a childlike simplicity in recognizing just what we are, and just what we have thought, or felt or done: no excuse, no special pleading, no extenuation, no soften

ing language, no glozing sentimentality that weighs against positive Men's faults lie transgression so many supposititious excellences. like reptiles-like toads, like lizards, like serpents; and what if there is over them the evening sky, lit with glory, and all aglow? All the gorgeousness of the departing day, shining down on a reptile, leaves it a reptile still. Men think, "I am generous; I am full of fine feelings; I am endowed with superior taste;" but what of that? Down in the very thicket; down where men do not love often to go-there their faults lie nestling. There are bitter hatreds, there are avenging thoughts, coiled like rattlesnakes-only they do not sound any alarm -to strike with poisoned fangs and wreak their vengeance. There are the up very knotted lies; there are vanities that have sucked of a strong manhood; there are lusts; there are greedy desires; there are intense, longing, yea murdering avarices, that sit like juggling gods of which men are idolaters. There they are; and what do men say? "My feelings are genial. My disposition is amiable. I have some faults, to be sure; but then, I am really generous and kind. I am not living for myself." These sunset emotions, these gorgeous celestial sentiments, shine down upon them as the evening sun shines on toads and snakes. Are they less toads because all is roseate around about them, and because they belong to this state of nature, and are part and parcel of this globe?

marrow

It is well for men to reckon with themselves sternly. If you reckon with yourself half as sternly as you do with your fellow-men, you make a great stride toward the right. For men to reckon with themselves, simply speaking what is, and desiring to speak what is— that of itself is a great step in advance. But to confess these things before God-this requires self-knowledge. It requires a fortitude of introspection, it requires great honesty and honor of nature, to come to so clear a view as to go before God with your experiences in detail from day to day, and make confession of them, laying them down at his feet, and saying, "These are the experiences of this day." Oh! how great is the strife and struggle before one can do that! How our best feelings interfere with it! How the whole mind shows. itself to be a kingdom in disorder under such a course! And, although this duty, as I shall show, is one of the noblest of duties, and is in its results one of transcendent remuneration, yet, the moment a man attempts to be honest with himself in respect to his moral character, and to make confession before God, how every thing that is in him rises up against him!

His reason, suborned by his feelFirst and foremost is reason. ings, refuses to investigate. His reason returns to him false reports. His reason, unlike many dishonest officials who return overcharged bills, returns undercharged bills. If there be a transgression, and the

man looks at it, it is maximum; but reason, suborned and acting under the influence of the feelings, returns minimum. Send out reason to inspect and bring in statistics of wrong. How seldom is it that a man's reason is true to its trust, and reports to him what he really is, and what is the magnitude of that which is wrong in him. Ah! the bank is breaking away. A craw-fish has pierced it. The stream is working, and working, and working. The engineer is sent up to see if all is safe. He sees that a stream is running through the bank, big as his finger. He looks at it, and waits to see if the stream enlarges. Soon it is as big as his two fingers. He waits a little longer, and it is as big as his hand. It is wearing on either side the opening, and the waters are beginning to find it out, and slowly they swirl on the inside toward this point. It will not be many hours before the bank will be so torn that it will give way, and the flood will pour through the crevasse. But the engineer goes But the engineer goes back and says, "Well, there was a little rill there. But it was a very beautiful place: I never saw a prettier bank than that. The trees that grow in the neighborhood are superb; and the shrubbery there is very fragrant and charming; and the moisture which finds its way through the bank seems to nourish all vegetation near it." "Well, but the break! How about that ?" "It was something of a break; but, as I was saying, it is a beautiful spot. And right there is a fine plantation; and the man that owns it—" "But how about the crevasse ?" "Yes, there was a little crevasse; but, as I was saying, all things conspire to make it a lovely scene." What kind of a report is that, of an engineer sent out to investigate, when it is a question of impending ruin? What kind of a report is that, when the elements are at work which will soon launch desolation on the neighborhood?

Send the engineer Reason into a man's soul, and ask it to report concerning the habit of drinking in the man. It comes back and says, "Oh! well, he takes a little for the oft infirmities of his stomach; but he is a good fellow, he is a strong man, and his heart is in the right place." "But what about his habit?" "He takes a little now and then; but, as I was saying, he is a generous fellow. If you had heard of his kindnesses to that family when they were in distress—" "But what about his habit?" "There is a little trickling occasionally; but, as I was saying, he is a noble man. I was very much pleased with his conversation. He is a man that has many excellent things about him." So reason, like the engineer, comes back, putting the best face on things, and telling the most plausible story, hiding, palliating, deceiving. And one of the things that a man must do before he can confess, is to train his understanding to make a fair, clean, white report on the state of facts.

But, when a man's understanding is willing to tell the truth,

and the question comes up, "Will you recognize your sinfulness? will you recognize your wrong in this faculty or that faculty, in this course of business or that, in this ethical dilemma or that?" how is it with his pride? Pride is said to be the corner-stone of honor in a man. Men often say that pride

is a great misfortune in men. Yes, perverted pride is; but pride in its original function, in that for which God created it-without that no man can be a man. It is the sense of that which is noble and just and right in the making up of a man's own self. It is that which gives a man fortitude to stand by his knowledge, though it costs him something to do it. It is that which enlarges continually the sense of what is becoming in a man. It is the vicegerent of God. We are told that conscience is God's vicegerent. Then he has two; because pride is another! It stands to tell him what is Godlike; what will build him up in stature, in strength; and what will make him more and more a man. And yet, pride perverted -how does it dominate for evil in the soul! How, above almost all other feelings, does it resist the recognition of wrong! How, on a proud man, do the evidences of sin beat as hailstones on a slate roof, and never penetrate!

he has done wrong!

How does a strong man refuse to admit that Why, do not many of you know some persons whose pride is of such a nature that when they do a thing, they think their doing it is evidence that it is right? Once let a person do a thing, and it is the "I" of a god. I did it, and therefore it is right -therefore it is not wrong. Pride tends to make people think that

a thing is right, by its own peculiar nature. When reason admits that a thing is wrong, pride is unwilling to admit it. Do you not know a great many proud men? They assert a thing in the morning that is notoriously incorrect; they are expostulated with by the one at the other end of the table (whom God set to correct the faults of men), and they deny but that they are right; and yet, in the course of the day, it comes out that they are wrong. How many men under such circumstances can go back in the evening, and say, quietly, “The thing that I said in the morning, on further knowledge, I found to be incorrect-I was wrong"? A man does a thing that is hard and oppressive, and declares that it is not wrong; and yet, upon after-reflection, he finds that it was wrong. Have you never seen proud men who in cases like this utterly refused to admit that they did wrong Such men will, however, attempt to make it up by extra kindnesses in other things. A proud man has crushed some 'one's feelings. If he is a tender-hearted man, it may be that he will confess, though it is more likely that he will not. But you may expect to have a good time for a week afterwards! He will try to make compensation, as it were, for the wrong he has done you; but he will not confess. Why,

?

the mouth of pride has the lock-jaw when it is a question of confessing wrong!

And so there is this battle with pride. As the understanding has to be subdued by simple honesty and truthfulness, there is this battle of life with men in the matter of pride, which has to be subdued; so that, when a man has done wrong, pride itself shall show, by all that is right and becoming in manhood, that the wrong must have its right name put upon it, and that there must be a confession to God of it.

Then there is that protean influence of vanity. When men have done wrong, they instantly say, "Does any body know it ?" If it is not known, they are not much disturbed; but if men do know it, the question is, "What do they think? What is the impression on the community? What do my friends think?" Vanity teaches men to be more thoughtful of the opinions of their fellow-men than of the opinions of God himself. And there is a lack of confession in many persons whose conscience would lead them to confess, and whose reason would perhaps help them to confess, because there stands vanity, which is wounded so easily, and by so many imaginary things, that they are utterly unwilling to have that which is imperfect in them supposed to be imperfect by others, and are forever resorting to guises and deceits to hide their faults.

Ah! Is there any thing like vanity? Yes, you see it in the world. Does not God create woman bountifully beautiful, adorned most when unadorned? And yet, is it not the study of fashion to make woman execrable in every thing that belongs really to taste? Is it not the study of fashion to disfigure her foot, to abominably disfigure her waist, and to make her head a walking laughing-stock? Is it not the supreme study of fashion to make the wardrobe hide that which is comely, and disfigure that which is beautiful? Fashion is a supreme ass! It is stupid-ineffably stupid. It is hateful, because in the kingdom of beauty whatever mars beauty is hateful. It is continually marring and disfiguring beauty. I am not now on a tirade against fashion. I have long ago given up the expectation of making any impression on that. I only speak of it by way of illustration.

Now, that which fashion is doing outside, vanity is doing inside. It makes homely that which God made beautiful. It distorts that which God made symmetrical. It renders uncomely every thing that God made comely. Inside it is dressing the heart for all the world just as outside fashion is dressing the body. And can any thing be more ridiculous than that? When men have done wrong, and they attempt to confess, here sits vanity obstinately refusing to hel. It is to be fought and subdued before one who has sinned can confess before God simply and truly.