than by still pressing forward. The hypocrite's hope may be held fast through life: though his negligence and worldliness are manifest to all but himself. But the real Christian, if he becomes careless and slothful, falls into darkness and doubt. He cannot long rest upon his past experience, without the present perfor mance of his duty. His heavenly Father will hold from him the token of his favor, till he returns to penitence and active obedience. To every one I would say then, whether you be an awakened sinner or a hoping convert; whether you be a doubting or a rejeicing Christian; remain not where you are; look not behind thee; neither stay thou in all the plain. Do not suppose that the sum of religion consists in beginning to be religious. From this time forward, with increasing earnestness and firmness of purpose, press into the kingdom of God. Daily, bring eternity nearer and nearer to your view, till you enter upon its unalterable allotments. Never remit your conflict with remaining depravity, till your triumph over sin is complete at death. Advance in the knowledge of God and his works, till you are admitted to the immediate presence of his glory in heaven. Exercise stronger and stronger faith in the Saviour, till you see him as he is, on his throne of universal dominion. Stay not in your course till your feet stand on the hill of the heavenly Zion; and you join in the song of victory and eternal salvation.

HYMN.

Ye who despise the Saviour's grace,
And scorn his gospel, here,-
How can you meet his angry face,
Or at his bar appear?

When every earthly hope shall fail,—
When storms of wrath are nigh,
How will your souls affrighted quail,
Beneath his burning eye!

Why will you madly rush on death,
And force your way to woe?
Why tempt the God, that holds your
To strike the fatal blow?

Ti trn, guilty sinners! quickly turn;
Oh! come to Jesus now ;-

Ere the fierce flames around you burn,

breath,

To your Redeemer bow.-H. K. W. BEMAN.

SERMON DCCVIII.

BY REV. EBER CARPENTER,

NEW YORK.

THE ANGELS' VISIT TO LOT.

"And there came two angels to Sodom at even."—GENESIS Xix. 1.

ONE can hardly restrain the desire in reading this narrative, to know something more of those angelic beings whose visible ministry was the privilege of the righteous in olden times. There is something so enchanting in the idea of angels-their form and mien; their light and airy motion; their purity and serenity; their intimacy with the spirit-world, and the benefits of their friendships, that we deem ourselves almost suffering a bereavement in their concealment from our open vision! We have an aching sense of our fallen state, while shut out from paradise, and feel ourselves to be cut off from that visible communion that might have been the prerogative of a sinless state. It It may be no mere fancy of his, who sung of "Paradise Lost" that

"Millions of spiritual creatures walk the earth,
Unseen, both when we wake and when we sleep!"

but because we are no longer innocent and holy, they are "hidden from our eyes!" We cannot say, as Adam to Eve

"How often from steep

Of echoing hill or thicket have we heard
Celestial voices to the midnight air,
Sole, or responsive each to other's note,
Singing their great Creator? Oft in bands

While they keep watch, or nightly rounding walk,
With heavenly touch of instrumental sounds

In full harmonic number joined, their songs

Divide the night, and lift our thoughts to heaven."

How unlike that primitive communion was this sudden and startling visit to Lot! Now, they come, not because the scene is paradisiacal, and they would re-create themselves among the abodes of earthly bliss, but their errand is one of alarm. They come to separate" the precious from the vile"-to drive out the old man from the home of his love, and bid him flee for his life. And yet there is benignity in their address. It is compassion for that righteous man who had been so long vexed with the filthy conversation of the wicked, that led them at even-tide to the gate of Sodom.

Let us draw, if we can, some practical instruction from the narrative which our text introduces-" And there came two angels to Sodom at even."-And

I. The danger attendant upon a good man in whatever condition.

There is an appalling interest connected with the judgments of God in olden times, growing out of the fact that some good man for a while seems about to be involved in the common doom. At least we see him in such an atmosphere of wickedness, that nothing but a divine interposition can save him. One righteous man dwelt in Sodom. We cannot say he was wise in going there. Whatever of worldly advantage he gained by pitching his tent toward Sodom, it was offset by a fearful increase of temptation, and the exposure of those he loved to all the pollutions of the place. There is proof indeed that Lot maintained his integrity, and did what he could to stem the tide of iniquity which came in like a flood. "He sat in the gate of Sodom," perhaps as a magistrate, and rebuked the impious crew who neither feared God, nor regarded man. But still he was in peril. He was cut off in a great measure from communion with the good. There were none but his own family that sympathised with him in his godly sorrow, and even they were of too easy virtue to encourage him in his fidelity to God. The event proved how hardly he escaped the common ruin. He was "saved so as by fire." I know not but that horrible tempest was as necessary to save Lot as to burn out and engulf the infernal abominations of Sodom. Well, we call this an extreme case of spiritual peril. It would be the prayer of all our hearts, "lead us not into such a temptation." Are we quite sure that the style of our temptation is an improvement on the grosser and more palpable enticements that beset Lot? The very heinousness and un-disguise of wickedness in some of our modern Sodoms might affect us with an intense repulsion, and shock us into the keeping of our hearts with all diligence. But we much mistake our own virtue, if we deem it a thing of easy growth in any climate. Whatever of refinement may have softened the hideousness of depravity in most Christian communities, though it may measurably serve as a barrier to open abomination, becomes nevertheless to an unguarded heart the witchery which ensnares. A decent regard to public opinion may keep a man from known haunts of vice, when yet he is yielding every day to softer beguilements, and suffering his soul to be led captive by a silken chain. The sad declensions of some, perhaps good men, have had their beginning generally within the circle of refinement, where impurity asked us no more than easy compliances-a wanton look, or a double meaning, or a hidden lewdness.

"Should vicious pleasure take an angel form,

And at a distance rise by slow degrees,

Treacherous to wind herself into your heart,
Stand firm aloof, nor let the gaudy phantom
Too long allure your gaze nor tempt your thoughts,
In slavery to sense.'

It cannot be too much considered by any one of us, that we are most in spiritual peril, when a pleasant prosperity suffers us to let down the strictness of our watch. Any condition of life is dangerous to the soul that does not awaken a vigorous resistance to temptation. The world may let us alone in our piety, and demand of us no crying apostasy from Christ; but if this beguiles us into an easy sense of security, we are more fatally tempted than though Apollyon met us in his proper fiendship. If I were to name what seems to me the peculiar peril of Christians of our own day, and in our own land, it would be something corresponding to Bunyan's picture of "the enchanted ground." "I then saw in my dream, that they went on until they came into a certain country whose air naturally tended to make one drowsy, if he came a stranger into it. And here Hopeful began to be very dull, and heavy to sleep; wherefore he said unto Christian, I do now begin to grow so drowsy that I can scarcely hold open mine eyes; let us lie down here and take one nap." What is that state of easy drowsy security which so often beguiles us, but the fatal air of the world so dangerous to Christian souls. What but the lulling breeze and sweet, bewitching radiance of that scene where Lot sat at even tide in the gate of Sodom. Perchance our dearest friends sporting in that glow of the setting sun, and they and we so happy, there cannot be so great a peril. And yet what latent danger is hidden under that soft tranquillity-who knows? I tell thee, happy Lot, thou art slumbering on a spot where the fire shall fall, and thou must awake, or sleep the sleep of death.

II. Religious contemplation as a security to the soul. It was evening when the angels came to Sodom, and Lot sat in the gate. There might have been a double purpose in his frequenting that spot at such a time. It was, perhaps, to see if any stranger needed his hospitality, and to refresh his spirit in that calm hour of Nature's repose. He would get away from the giddy throng of worldlings, and the stifled air of the city, and sitting where he could look out over the plain of Jordan and drink in the fragrance of Nature's distilling, lift up his soul to God and a purer world. Weary and heart-sick, doubtless he was, with the pollutions of the guilty city, and gladly would he have welcomed under his roof any way-faring man in whom he might find a kindred spirit. It was when thus " on hospitable thoughts intent," and musing upon a final release from vile society, that the two illustrious strangers drew near. There was no indication who they were, or why they came. They were doubtless two of the three who appeared unto Abraham in the heat of the day, with one of

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whom, as the angel of the covenant, he made that remarkable intercession. But I know not that Lot apprehended their heavenly birth; however with majestic mien they drew near. This is the happy thought, however, that in his pious and pressing hospitality he was entertaining angels unawares." Others saw them beside Lot, but as though their sensual hearts had sealed their eyes to the beauty and dignity of the noble strangers, they gave them no welcome. Hell was stirring them up rather to a baser crime, and "unawares" they were preparing to insult celestial spirits. It was the terrible necessity to which Lust compelled them, that they should commit the last sin, which (as Foster says) "breaks through into eternity, with all the past sins rushing after it." Shall we not then be justified in suggesting that we are safe from our spiritual enemies only as we give ourselves much to religious contemplation, and entertain with an urgent hospitality all holy influences? It was not a mere accident that the angels went in under Lot's roof. Though God designed his deliverance, He carried the miracle no farther than the necessity demanded. As if to try the faith of the good man, the angels seem at first to decline his invitation-"Nay, but we will abide in the street all night. And he pressed upon them greatly." What have we here, my brethren, but an encouragement to fervor and importunity in the approaches we make to the mercy-seat, and in the entertainment we offer to our spiritual guests. We do know by actual experience what one little season of holy musing often does to purify and elevate our souls-how the calm and worship of the Sabbath not seldom carries us away from all our distractions and sorrows into the sweet sunlight of our eternal home. We have gone out perhaps at even-tide, and in the communings of our hearts with God, forgotten the meaner things that had too often led us astray. It was then we felt, with a sad repulsion, what sordid pleasures were beguiling the wicked to ruin.

"On what a slippery steep

The thoughtless wretches go;
And Oh! that dreadful fiery deep
That waits their fall below."

But if there be a saving power in the occasional retirements of the soul to religious musing, how much more shall we wall about with fire, and keep off the contagion of the world, by an habitual seclusion of the heart in the domain of faith! If a man's home and family are his safeguard from the temptations of vice and crime, by giving him something better to love; what shall be the divine protection of that man, who finds at nightfall, by holy instinct, that other home, where the dear household of christian affection gathers, and immortal guests beguile his weariness, and invisible minstrels charm his spirit to rest? I love that term of the Quietists, "Interior Life," and I cannot but think it would be