not a Christian? Do you answer, My sins are so many, so great, so grievous, that I cannot hope they will be forgiven. If this be so, it is a good reason; but what does God say? Come now and let us reason together, saith the Lord; though your sins be as scarlet, they shall be as white as snow; though they be red like crimson, they shall be as wool." The blood of Jesus Christ cleanseth from all sin." Or is this your reason, that the pleasures of the world are sweeter and better than the prospects of eternity? Then make the experiment; try it, and you will soon learn. that the pleasures of sin are not without their alloy; that they are at best but for a moment; and that they are not worthy to be compared with the glory that shall be revealed. And when you make the experiment, carry with you this conviction, "What shall it profit a man, if he gain the whole world and lose his own soul?" There is no reason in fact, nor in the Bible, nor on God's part, why every man that reads these pages should not be this day at peace with God through Jesus Christ. Lost sheep, the Shepherd seeks thee! Poor prodigal, feeding upon husks, thy Father is looking out for thee: so little reluctance will he have to welcome thee, that all heaven will ring with joy when one lost sinner is found, and one stray prodigal is restored to his Father.

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LECTURE XIX.

THE END OF THE YEAR 1848.

And he answering said unto him, Lord, let it alone this year also, till I shall dig about it, and dung it: and if it bear fruit, well: and if not, then after that thou shalt cut it down.-LUKE xiii. 8, 9.

I INTRODUCED my remarks upon the parable of the figtree, by an allusion to the historical incidents recorded in the commencement of the chapter, namely, the slaughter of the Galileans in the midst of their sacrifices, and the destruction of the eighteen by the fall of the tower of Siloam. And I showed in what respect we are prone to form conclusions about such events in the providence of God. The Jews thought the destruction of the Galileans was evidence of their sin, and that the sparing of the Jews was a testimony from God, that those Jews were innocent. Our Lord meets this untrue, but not uncommon supposition, by telling them that God's providential dealings are not the true criteria of guilt, but God's written word. I am not to judge one man to be specially guilty, because he is suddenly cut off. Nor am I to judge this man to be specially excellent, because wonderfully spared. I am not to determine either my own moral state, or the moral state of others, by the providential arrangements of Heaven, but by the plain prescriptions of God's revealed will; and perhaps if there were less mistaken construction of God's providence, and more simple appeal to God's word, there would be less of uncharitable judgment in the minds of mankind. Our Lord, to illustrate the various

points they brought before him, tells these Jews a parable; a parable evidently meant to instruct and teach them-the parable of the fig-tree. A tree represents man in his personal, social, or national state; fruit is the representation or symbol of good works-not benevolence, which means wishing well, but beneficence, which means doing well. He showed that this tree was planted-for what purpose? to produce fruit. Does not that teach us another lesson? What is the best fig-tree? the tree that produces the best and choicest figs. What is the best church? the church that cleaves most closely to Christ, and does Christ's work most effectually. And if men would apply common sense to God's word, in determining some of those great controverted ecclesiastical disputes of the day, they would come more speedily and delightfully to a conclusion. And who is the best Christian? Not he that wears the most sombre face, or that pronounces the Shibboleth of the sect with the greatest elegance, but he that brings forth the most good fruit. He is the best that does the best; and wherever there is Christianity in the heart, there will be sunshine in the countenance, and holiness in the life. Lord says, that the husbandman came seeking fruit from the tree, which was the end of its planting. He was disappointed; he found none; then he said, "Cut it down." What was the fault of this tree? It is not said that he found bad fruit, the apples of Sodom, but that he found no fruit. In this lies a very important lesson. Many men are quite satisfied with doing no harm; and if one speak a word strongly to them, they will say, "I do no harm to anybody." That is just their biography. But the judgment pronounced on the fig-tree was not because it did harm, but because it did no good; and therefore, in the sight of God, to pass through the world a thorough blank, is next in guilt to passing through the world a disgraceful

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blot. If we are afraid of being blots, let us also be afraid of being blanks. Let it be recorded in the world's biography, that it has been better for one man, at least, that has passed through it. Let it be felt by some one behind. us, that we lived for something in the world; that we were not satisfied to monopolize all the sunshine and dew-drops of the skies, that is, all the blessings and privileges of the gospel, and to wrap round us the mantle of salvation, and be satisfied that we ourselves were safe, and did no harm; but let us feel the responsibilities of the servant; let us feel that we are made Christians, not for ourselves, for that is a low and miserable view, but for the good of men and for the glory of God; and it will ever be found, that where Christianity is lodged deepest in the human heart, there philanthropy and beneficence will develop themselves with the greatest splendour in the human life. The intercessory petition was lifted up, "Let it alone this year also." These are the words on which I will comment in this lecture, having already explained the rest of the parable; I view it now, standing all of us by the death-bed of a departing year, and nearly at the cradle of a coming year, and if there be one petition that becomes us more suitable than another, it is what the old Covenanters prayed upon the field of Drumclog-a party with which I have no sympathy beyond what is due to the piety of the men that were in it-"Lord, spare the green-take the ripe." This is the prayer that becomes us. If we are ripe for glory, then we need not pray, "let it alone this year;" if we are unripe for glory-dead in sins, then the prayer that becomes us is, "let every such barren tree— every such unproductive tree-every such dead tree-alone for another year. Give it another chance, another opportunity; leave it a little longer beneath prayers and praise, and reading and preaching; and then, if it bring forth no

fruit, cut it down." The words "another year" remind us of the divisions of time. I think it most important that time is divided just as it is; the earth and the sky seem to meet as great phenomena; whether we like it or not, they divide time into spaces. We have years which we cannot help seeing, months which we cannot help noticing, days which we cannot help counting. The autumn regularly puts out the year, the twilight regularly quenches the day; and, whether man like it or not, he must feel that time is passing away, just by the marks, as it were, that stand upon the margin of the stream and prove to him that it sweeps past. This day then reminds us that one year has passed away, with the exception of a few hours, and that another year is about to begin. Let us look at it: let us take a retrospect of the past. In all, that year has produced change. It has made less bounding hearts to some, and more gray hairs to others. Not a year passes that leaves not fresh snow upon our heads, and weightier responsibilities upon our hearts. To some the year that is passed has been a year, I am sure,

of affliction. Has that affliction been sanctified? This is the great inquiry. Has it been sanctified, has it loosened the affections from things that perish in the using, and lifted those affections to glorious things that endure for ever? Have the furrows of the soil that trials have ploughed received into their bosom the good seed, that groweth up, and beareth in some thirty, in some sixty, and some an hundred fold. There are two kinds of affliction, just as there are two kinds of storms. There is the winter storm, and there is the summer storm. When the winter

storm comes, we know that it has passed by the traces that it leaves behind, and the wreck and ruin with which it strews every part. But when the summer storm passes, we find that it has been by the sun looking out again