not a breach of Christianity) must fall short of the pious Jew in the spiritual frame of his mind on that day; and as far as the exercises of that day have influence, in the general spirituality of his disposi tion. The Christian will not, indeed, neglect the publick services of religion, which the laws and customs of his country may have appointed for the day; but then, one will go to his farm, and another to his merchandize; or, at least, his thoughts and conversation will be engaged by these subjects, or his time spent in some unprofitable amusement, unless he performs what he must conceive to be a work of supererogation.

Every one, however, who has made the trial, must be sensible of the advantage which his mind derives from the employment of himself in religious exercises, of one kind or other, during the whole of the Sabbath-day. The influence of such conduct on the temper of our minds, during the remainder of the week, is not small. On the contrary, a total neglect of the peculiar duties of the day, seems, from experience, to be inconsistent with a state of religion. How forcibly do these considerations point out the value of this institution, and show, that we ought to regard as a favour, the permission to spend one day in seven as a Sabbath to the Lord, even if this had not been made a subject of command! W. H.

[To be continued.]

From the Utica Christian Repository. THE PILGRIM'S PROGRESS IN THE NINETEENTH CENTURY.-BY BUNYANUS.

CHAPTER VI.

Then said the Interpreter, I will show you one thing more. So he took them to a prison, and

showed them a prisoner who had been sentenced to solitary confinement at hard labour for a certain time, which was specified in the law, which time had now expired. And as the keeper of the prison came to the door, the prisoner called to him, and said, my time is out-I have suffered all the punishment which the law required-I demand my discharge. So the keeper unlocked the door, and set him at liberty.

Then said the pilgrims, what means this.

In. Do you understand the ground on which this man was discharged? Was it on the ground of justice, or on the ground of mercy?

Th. I think I understand it. It was on the ground that he had suffered all the punishment which the law required. He was discharged on the ground of justice. I see no mercy in the case.

In. Did he ask his discharge of the keeper as a favour, or thank the keeper for granting it?

right.

Th. No; he demanded it as his He gave no thanks. In. Could the keeper have retained him any longer without being guilty of injustice?

Th. No; for having suffered all that the law required, if the keeper had retained him longer, it would have been the same as punishing one who had committed no offence.

In. The infliction of suffering upon one who has committed no offence would not be a true and proper punishment. It would be an act of oppression, however, to have detained the prisoner any longer against his will. But did the keeper say any thing about pardon?

Th. No; there was no pardon' in the case.

In. No; there was not. Pardon, or forgiveness, is the remission of a punishment which the law has denounced. But where that punishment is fully inflicted, there is nothing remitted; and of course there is no pardon or for giveness in the case.

Th. What is the application of this?

In. It shows the absurdity of what some teach; that men suffer all the punishment their sins deserve, either before or after death; and yet are pardoned, forgiven, or made the subjects of mercy. If any suffer the whole of the punishment which the law denounces for their sins, they are not saved by Christ-they are not subjects of mercy-they have nothing forgiven them-they are not treated with grace-they have no occasion to ask for their discharge as a favour-they may demand it as their right—their discharge is an act of justicethey have no thanks to give for it.

This transaction also shows the absurdity of what some teach; that the sins of men were punished in the person of Christ, and yet are forgiven. The same sin cannot be both fully punished, and freely pardoned or forgiven. Forgiveness is the remission of that punishment which might justly be inflicted. But a crime cannot be justly punished twice over. Therefore, if the sins of men had been punished in the person of Christ, they could not be justly punished again in them; and consequently, they must be discharged on the ground of justice. They might be under great obligations to him for suffering their punishment for them, and to the Father for giving his son to do this; but they could be under no obligations to him for their dis

charge itself, after this was done. Their discharge could not be an act of grace-it could not be a pardon-it could not with propriety be asked as a favour, but challenged as a right-and no thanks need be rendered for merely granting what is justly due.

Th. If the death of Christ was not a punishment of the sins of men, how does it have any efficacy in procuring their discharge?

In. It is an expedient, devised by infinite wisdom to answer the end of punishment, without the actual infliction of that punishment, so that mercy may be exercised in remitting that punishment by a true and proper forgiveness.

Th. How does it answer that end?

In. When Christ voluntarily submitted to die on the cross for sinners, he thereby magnified the law and made it honorable; inasmuch as his death shows the evil of sin, and how God feels towards it, in as clear a light, (considering the dignity of his person,) as the execution of the penalty of the law upon the sinner could have shown it. It thus answers the end of punishment, and opens a door of mercy to a perishing world.

Then I perceived that the Interpreter bid the pilgrims remember the things they had seen and heard. So he gave them refreshments, and lodged them all night; and in the morning, he questioned them in many words, out of the King's book, and further instructed them in his statutes, that they might know their Master's will, and do it, and be found faithful unto the end. So he dismissed them to go on their way, after having given them a caution to beware of the arts of three sisters, Hypocrisy, Carnal

Policy, and Heresy, with whom he told them they would be likely to meet in some part of their journey. So they gave him many thanks for his instructions and counsels, and departed.

Now I perceived that they had not gone far from the Interpreter's house, before they saw a stile over the wall, on the right hand, on which was inscribed, "THE HYPOCRITE'S HOPE." And while they stood looking, behold three men came along to that stile, and came over the wall by it into the King's highway, of whom Thoughtful and Ardent had some knowledge in the city of Destruction, and whose names were Feel-well, Love-self, and Nolaw. Then Feel-well came forward to shake them by the hand, and said,

F.w. How do you do, neighbours? you are going on pilgrimage I see. And so am I. I rejoice to meet you. The pilgrim's life is a happy one. I know it is. I wish the whole world would only try it.

Th. I believe that pilgrims have their comforts, and their sorrows; and both peculiar to themselves.

F. w. That they have their comforts, I know. But that is too cold a word, they have their joys.

But that pilgrims should have any sorrows, I do not understand. If they do, it must be because they have so little faith.

Th. I am sensible that if I had more faith in God, more true confidence in him, and were more willing to be at his entire disposal, I should have less trouble of mind. But when I have the clearest views of God, I have also the clearest discovery of my own vileness; and that fills me with the deepest sorrow for my sins. I loathe and abhor myself,

and grieve that I have dishonoured my Lord and King.

F. w. I perceive that you do not understand me. I mean by faith, the belief that my sins are pardoned, and that I shall be received at the gate of the Celestial City. I know this by my own feelings. And therefore I am full of joy.

Th. You seem to be very confident that you shall be received at the Celestial gate. But I am afraid you will be disappointed; for I perceive you did not come in by the door, but climbed up some other way. You have come over the stile of the hypocrite's hope; and I apprehend your end will be according to your beginning.

F. w. If we are in the way, we are in it; and it matters not how we came in. I therefore cordially embrace you as a brother pilgrim, though you feel so uncharitable towards me. But I doubt not that the way we came is as good, if not better than yours. I am certain it was much more agreeable. For, though we heard Evangelist as well as you, we did not like his preaching, and we could not bear his directions. And if we had heard no other, we should never have been persuaded to set out on pilgrimage. But we chose to hear every one that we could. I liked Doctor Smoothman pretty well; but he had not zeal enough. I did not like Doctor Soothing, because he would have me wait the King's time, and I was for doing something at once. I did not like Mr. Save-all, because he would have us all stay in the city till it was burned, and then go by a short way to the Celestial country, in a chariot of fire. I did not like the mode of conveyance. But I disliked Evangelist more than all the rest; and I have no doubt that he hin

ders more from going on pilgrimage, than even Mr. Save-all himself. But I liked the man they nick-name Mr. Blind-guide, but whose true name he told me, is Guide-to-the-blind. He pleased me exactly. He told me of this way into the way, by which we have come. And he furnished us with a conductor called Repentance, who accompanied us as long as we had need of him, even to the house of Mr. Self-confidence, in the village of Peace-in-believing, which we entered by the gate of Experience, and where we lodged one night, and saw glorious things. From that place to this stile, over which we have come, the way has been smooth and pleasant.

Here Ardent sighed deeply, and shook his head. Then Feelwell said to him;

F. w. What is the matter, brother Ardent?

Ard. I remember Mr. Blindguide, to my sorrow. I disliked Evangelist's instructions at first, as you did, and went to Mr. Blindguide for directions. He sent me, as he did you, to the village of False-peace, where I abode with Mr. Self-confidence a considerable time, and having returned to our city, I was well nigh lost forever.

F. w.

Aye, true indeed. You fell away you turned back. Had you only kept on as I have, all had been well. Hold on, and hold out, is my maxim; and that I am determined to do, till I reach the Celestial City, and shout hosannas to the King of Glory.

Love-self. If I only get through at last, I shall be satisfied; though I confess I have not always the same confidence of it that brother Feel-well has. I have my doubts occasionally, which make me very unhappy while they last.

But I feel better since I have got over this stile, and find myself safe in the King's Highway.

No-law. I have no doubts, and never have had, since we got to the village of Peace-in-believing. It was there revealed to me in a dream, the night we lodged with Mr. Self-confidence, that the Prince Immanuel had taken all my sins, and given me all his righteousness. If I step occasionally out of the way, it never troubles me any, since I know that the Prince Immanuel bore the punishment of it all.

By this time, I perceived that the company drew near to the cross, and had a view of Him who bled thereon. And I thought they all appeared to be more or less moved at the sight, but expressed their feelings in different ways. Feel-well jumped up and down, and clapped his hands, and shouted aloud. Love-self sat down and contemplated the sight with a cheerful countenance. Nolaw stood and looked attentively, but without much emotion. dent wept aloud; and Thoughtful stood apart, looking intensely at the cross, with a countenance of deep solemnity, while a few tears trickled down his cheeks.

I

Ar

Oh, (said Feel-well,) how can express my joy at this sight? It fills my soul with ecstacy. I see here the assurance of my acceptance at the Celestial gate. There hangs the man who died for me. How can I help loving him for his great love to me; let those hold their peace who cannot feel. I want a religion that I can feel. And I thank the King that I do feel his love shed abroad in my heart. Glory to the King! Glory to the Prince who died for me! Glory! Glory !

Now, (said Love-self,) I see my title clear, I see my sins re

moved. He bore them all for me. By his obedience to the law in my room, I am justified and accepted. I will doubt no more. Here, (said No-law,) I see how unnecessary are good works. The finished righteousness of the Prince Immanuel does not need any additions of ours. I read that he justifies the ungodly; and I come to be justified as ungodly. I make no pretences to any righteousness of my own.

I see here, (said Ardent,) the effect of my sins. They pierced the hands and feet of the Prince of Life. They inflicted those cruel wounds which seem to bleed afresh, as I look upon them. In view of this scene, how vile and hateful my sins appear! Oh that my head were waters, and mine eyes were fountains of tears, that I might weep day and night for my base ingratitude. How vile I am! How loathsome I appear to myself!

Here, (said Thoughtful,) appears the great evil of sin. It occasioned the death of the King of Glory. Here I see the great love of God to a sinful world, in giving his only begotten Son to die for them. Here I see the infinite condescention of the Prince Immanuel, who, though he was rich, yet for our sakes became poor, that we, through his ty, might be rich. Here I see God's regard for his law, the honour of which was maintained at such an expense. From this scene, we may draw motives for a holy life; for how shall we who are dead to sin, by the cross, live any longer therein.

INSPIRATION.

pover

BUNYANUS.

If we should suppose that it were as uncommon for men to see, as it is to be born blind; would

not the few who had this rare gift appear as prophets and inspired teachers to the many? We conceive inspiration to give a man no new faculty, but to communicate to him in a new way and by extraordinary means, what the faculties common to mankind can apprehend, and what he can communicate to others by ordinary means. On the supposition we have made, sight would appear to the blind very similar to this; for the few who had this gift would communicate the knowledge acquired by it to those who had it not. They could not, indeed, convey to the blind any distinct notion of the manner in which they acquired this knowledge. A ball and socket would seem to a blind man, in this case, as improper an instrument for acquiring such a variety and extent of knowledge, as a dream or a vision. The manner in which a man who sees, discerns so many things by means of the eye, is as unintelligible to the blind, as the manner in which a man may bę inspired with knowledge by the Almighty, is to us. Ought the blind man, therefore, without examination, to treat all pretences to the gift of seeing, as imposture? Might he not, if he were candid and tractable, find reasonable evidence of the reality of this gift in others, and draw great advantages from it to himself?

ANECDOTE.

Reid.

The late Rev. WILLIAM ROMAINE, of London, in crossing the Black Friar's bridge, came up with a man who, in a style of unusual and fearful impiety, called upon God to damn his soul for CHRIST's sake!" Mr. Romaine,