Then, this change is not temporary, but abiding and progressive. Religion is not a single act, but a habit of the mind. When a person becomes the subject of faith and repentance, the question is seriously and sincerely proposed, and repeated, and acted upon, every day and hour of future life: "Lord, what wilt thou have me to do?” Acts ix. 6. The whole life of the Christian is a life of faith on the Son of God, who loved and gave himself for him, Gal. ii. 20; a life of consecration to his service and honour, and a life of humble hope and expectation, founded on his atoning blood, and his free and sovereign mercy; "Looking for the mercy of our Lord Jesus Christ unto eternal life," Jude 21. Are not those persons under a sad mistake who imagine themselves religious, while they are as entire strangers to these exercises of the heart, as if the Bible had never referred to them as essential to religion? Another grand mistake, into which many persons fall, is about the necessity of religion. They admit, perhaps, that it is a good, and needful, and comfortable thing for aged, afflicted, or dying persons; but think they can do very well without it, while health and prosperity last. No: religion is as necessary to live by, as it is to die by. It is "the one thing needful," Luke x. 42; that which we want every day to guide and to support our steps in the path of duty, and to impart strength and consolation for meeting the various trials of life, from which even the most favoured lot is not exempted. It is only vital, spiritual religion that can impart real succour and strength to the soul. A person who merely "says his prayers," and concludes them with a thoughtless mention of the name of Jesus Christ, and does this only from habit, or to pacify conscience, may go on from one year's end to another, deriving no spiritual benefit from his prayers, and a total stranger to anything like oneness of spirit and interest with Christ. As a very simple illustration of the important difference between saying prayers and prayingbetween uttering the name of Christ and having a vital union established between Him and your soul, a reference may be made to your present circumstances. It is very probable that, as a matter of mere form, and compliance with the usages of society, you will send cards of announcement, and exchange a single visit with persons whom you regard with indifference, if not with aversion; you care not if you never meet with them again during the whole course of your life: but there are others—your tender parents, your brothers and sisters, some dear and cherished friend-how different are your feelings towards them! When in their society, you are happy and delighted; you separate from them with regret. In absence, you keep up a correspondence with them; not the mere formal complimentary letter which etiquette requires, but an affectionate interchange of thought and feeling towards them; you pour out your whole heart. You are eager for their communications; the letters are written and received under the full feeling, that whatever affects one party is interesting to the other; advice and assistance are sought, with a full confidence that they will be readily imparted, and suitably adapted. As great a difference subsists between the religion of the formalist and the religion of the heart. The former can be taken up and laid aside, and scarcely any difference felt or experienced; but the latter is the real support of the soul, that to which every day and every hour prompts a reference. The Christian prays because he feels that he has a Father in heaven, and that he cannot live without communion with him. He mentions the name of Jesus with sweet appropriation. "Dear Name! the rock on which I build; My shield, my hiding-place; My never-failing treasury, fill'd With boundless stores of grace." Such a religion is no more a thing to be taken up on extraordinary occasions, but which may habitually be done without, than the heaving of the lungs and the circulation of the blood in the human frame; while they are carried on there is life, if they cease there is death. But the young reader was supposed to imagine, that religion was unsuitable to the present joyful occasion: in other words, she has fallen into the very common error of supposing religion to be a gloomy, melancholy thing; and she shrinks from it as something that would depress her spirits, spoil her present enjoyment, and anticipate sorrows, that might as well be postponed to the latest possible period. Religion is looked upon, by many persons, in the light of a nauseous medicine, to which they fully intend to have recourse in the last extremity; but wish by all means to be spared the bitter draught until it is absolutely indispensable. My dear young friend, where did you imbibe this idea? Surely you have admitted the testimony of irreligious people-of people who know nothing about the matter, or who are interested in misrepresenting the subject, in order to excuse themselves in their neglect of it; and such people are set on by "the father of lies," to speak and write against religion, that the young and the lively may be deterred from embracing it, and even from inquiring into it. But it were easy to adduce proof that the very opposite to these representations is the truth. Permit me to illustrate a great matter by a small one. An accomplished lady of my acquaintance was desirous of engaging herself as private governess in a gentleman's family. She received overtures from several quarters, but her decision seemed to rest between two, apparently equally eligible. As the lady herself had never visited either of the places, she wished to gain some in- · formation as to the comparative localities, in point of scenery, health, and general desirableness. She asked a friend, "Have you ever been at A-?” "Yes.""Oh, "What sort of a place is it?” a most wretched, gloomy, cheerless place; I would not live there on any account." "Have you ever been at B-?" "No; but it must at any rate be better than A-. I should not hesitate a moment in fixing my choice." The lady resolved to act accordingly, and was about to announce her decision to the parties interested, when another friend came in, of whom she asked a similar question. It happened that he was familiar with both places; indeed, had resided a considerable time in each. He described A- as a peculiarly desirable spot; the air, he said, was salubrious, the scenery delightful, the neighbourhood good, the facilities of communication with other towns and with the metropolis very advantageous: on the whole, he strongly recommended the adoption of that as a place of residence, other things being equal; especially as he considered the situation of B- by no means healthy or desirable. He pointed out several serious disadvantages connected with it; in a word, his opinion turned the balance in favour of A—, and thither my friend resorted, and found it a pleasant, cheerful situation, as he had described. It was a matter of surprise how her former adviser had taken such a prejudice against the place. Happening to meet with him, she asked him with what part of the place he had been most acquainted, as she I could not at all account for his dislike. He replied, that he had only once passed through the place, and then it was at midnight and in a thick fog. It seemed to him exceedingly tedious, dangerous, and disagreeable, and led to his making a statement which, on seeing the place by daylight, he was fully convinced was quite a mistake. Such are the misrepresentations of irreligious people, who tell you that religion is a gloomy thing, which tends to abridge the pleasures of life. They speak of things they understand not. Would you ascertain the truth? Ask those who have really tried both; who have lived in a state of irreligion, and who have afterwards become religious, and their uniform testimony will be, "Religion never was design'd |