courses, or it must be a state infinitely worse; that is, it must be a state of entire surrender of himself to a life of sin, which will be followed by a death of despair, by ruin final and eternal; by the wrath of God; by the pains of hell.

But, secondly, in what manner, and by what methods are sins to be broken off? for although the maxim which we have delivered be perfectly and certainly true, namely, that it is ease and happiness to preserve innocence entirely, compared with what it is to recover our innocence, or even to set bounds to guilt, yet it is a truth which all cannot receive. I do not mean that all will not acknowledge it, for I believe that those will be most ready to give their assent to it, who feel themselves bound and entangled by the chain of their sin. But it is not applicable to every man's case; because many having already fallen into vicious courses, have no longer to consider how much better, how much happier it would have been for them, to have adhered closely to the laws of virtue and religion at first, but how to extricate

themselves from the bad condition in which they are placed at present. Now to expect to break off sin in any manner, without pain and difficulty, is a vain expectation. It is to expect a moral impossibility. Such expectations ought not to be held out, because they are sure to deceive; and because they who act under such encouragement, finding themselves deceived, will never persist in their endeavours to any purpose of actual reformation. All mankind feel a reluctance to part with their sins. It must be so. It arises from the very nature of temptation, by which they are drawn into sin. Feeling then this strong reluctance, it is very natural for men to do what great numbers do, namely, propose to themselves to part with their sins by degrees; thinking that they can more easily do it in this way than in any other. It presents to their view a kind of compromise; a temporary hope of enjoying, for the present at least, the criminal pleasures to which they have addicted themselves, or the criminal advantages they are making, together with the expectation of a final reform. I believe, as I have already

said, that this is a course into which great numbers fall; and therefore it becomes a question of very great importance whether it be a safe and successful course or not. What I am speaking of is the trying to break off our sins by degrees. Now, in the first place, it is contrary to principle. A man is supposed to feel the guilt and danger of the practices which he follows. He must be supposed to perceive this, because he is supposed to resolve to quit them. His resolution is founded upon, springs from, this perception. Wherefore

I

say, that it is in contradiction to principle, to allow ourselves even once more to sin, after we have truly become sensible of the guilt, the danger, and the consequences of it. It is, from that time, known and wilful sin. I own I do not see how the plan of gradually diminishing a sinful habit can be consistent with, or can proceed from, sincere religious principles: for, as to what remains of the habit, it implies an express allowance of ourselves in sin, which is utterly inconsistent with sincerity. Whoever continues in the practice of any one known sin, in defiance of God's commands,

cannot, so continuing, hope to find mercy: but with respect to so much of the habit as is yet allowed by him to remain, he is so continuing, and his continuance is part of his plan. These attempts, therefore, at gradual reformation, do not proceed from a true vital religious principle: which principle, succoured by God's grace, is the only thing that that can stand against sin strengthened by habit.

So I should reason upon the case, looking at it in its own nature. The next question is, How is it in fact? Is it in fact better? Is it in experience more successful than from its nature we should expect it to be? Now I am much afraid, that all the proof which can be drawn either from observation, or consciousness, is against it. Of other men we must judge by observation, of ourselves by consciousness. What happens then to gradual reformation? Perpetual relapses, perpetually defeated and weakened resolutions. The principle of resist ance is weakened by every relapse. Did the mortification of a defeat incite and quicken men to stronger efforts, it would

be well. But it has a contrary effect; it renders every succeeding exertion more feeble. The checked indulgences, which, in the progress of our fancied amendment, we allow ourselves, are more than sufficient to feed desire, to keep up the force and strength of temptation: nay, perhaps, the temptation acquires more force from the partial curb which we impose upon it. Then while the temptation remains with unabated, or perhaps augmented, strength, our resolution is suffering continual relaxation; our endeavours become unsatisfactory even to ourselves. This miserable struggle cannot be maintained long. Although nothing but persevering in it could save us, we do not perse vere. Finding not ease, but difficulty, increased and increasing difficulty, men give up the cause: that is, they try to settle themselves into some mode of thinking which may quiet their consciences and their fears. They fall back to their sins: and when they find their consciences easier, they think their guilt less, whereas it is only their conscience that is become more insensible, their reasoning more treacherous and deceitful. The danger is what it was, or greater; the guilt is so too.