nor jails, nor penitentiaries, nor any thing of the kind?-that man would become as an angel, or earth as a paradise? I think not. In the providence of God infidelity did once prevail—where? In revolutionary France-when? During that period so properly called "the reign of terror." Yes, infidelity did then prevail, for at that time the National Convention decreed that there was no God. The Sabbath was abolished; churches were turned into temples of reason; death was declared to be an eternal sleep; and the Bible was dragged along the streets of Lyons in a way of derision and contempt. Yes, I repeat it, infidelity then prévailed, and verily its fruits were the fruits of Sodom, and its clusters the clusters of Gomorrah. Infidelity then reigned, and most frightful was its reign. Its crown was terror, its throne, the guillotine; its sceptre, the battleaxe; its palace-yard, a field of blood; and its royal robes dripped, and dripped, and dripped with human gore. All France was, as it were, one vast slaughter-house, and the rulers of France, as demons from the bottomless pit. "O, my soul, come not thou into their secret; unto their assembly, mine honour, be not thou united." "Their rock is not as our Rock, even our enemies themselves being judges." But,

III. The supreme excellence, and decided superiority of the Christian religion appears in reference to the happiness of man. What has a favourable influence upon human charac

ter, must also have a favourable influence upon human happiness, for these things are linked together like the balloon and its ear: the ascent of the one, necessarily leads to the elevation of the other. That the Christian religion is favourable to human happiness, is, I believe, the secret conviction, even of many who may not openly confess it; hence it is no uncommon thing to hear even the openly wicked say, "I believe that the real Christian is the happiest man in the world:" and I recollect the remark of a certain sceptic, made to myself, (it was in the hour of affliction), "O sir, you Christians have the advantage of us!" I think I may venture then to affirm, that general sentiment is on our side; and I think I can show that this general sentiment is well based, for what does the Christian religion do? It subdues the boisterous passions of the soul; converts the lion into a lamb; the vulture into a dove: must not this be favourable to human happiness? What does the Christian religion do? It gives exercise to gracious affections. Instead of encouraging anger; wrath, malice, revenge, and other hateful and soul-tormenting passions, it disposes its subject to be kind, gentle, affectionate, and forgiving; and must not this be favourable to human happiness? What does the Christian religion do? It sheds abroad a Saviour's love in the heart; gives the sweet assurance that our sins are all forgiven

for Jesus' sake; that the eternal God is our Father; that heaven is our home; and that, if the earthly house of this our tabernacle were dissolved, we should have a building of God, a house not made with hands, eternal and on high. O, it is a blessed thing to be a Christian; even "if it be a delusion," as one remarks, "it is a sweet delusion," and, "if false, no truth so precious as the lie." O see the young convert, whose evidences are bright and clear; how happy! and see the dying Christian, who leaves the world in the full hope of glory, how triumphant! The Pentecostal converts, we are told, did eat their meat with gladness and singleness of heart, praising God. And when many believed in Samaria, we also learn, that there was great joy in that city. And the beauty of the thing is this, that when afflictions come, and comforts are most needed, then the consolations of religion are strongest and most abundant; for religion teaches every child of God, that afflictions are all ordered in mercy; and are but the sterner voice of God's parental love. Yes! and in the darkest hour,

"Here speaks the comforter, in God's name saying,
Earth has no sorrows that Heaven cannot cure."

This, my brethren, is certainly a great thing for man in this vale of tears; in this land of trials, troubles, disappointments, sickness, sorrow, and death. Ah! how many sad scenes of

mourning are presented in this sorrowful world of ours! Here some venerated father cries out, with the patriarch of old, my Joseph is no more! and my grey hairs must go down with sorrow to the grave! There, some. tender mother weeps over the darling of her bosom, as she commits its clay cold form to its narrow house. Here, some affectionate husband laments the untimely death of the wife of his bosom, the jewel of his heart; and there, some devoted wife mingles bitter tears with the clods which rest upon the bosom of the dear man she loved, her husband. How distressing! But perhaps this is not all, she is made the widowed mother of poor fatherless children' who look up to her for comfort and support, and look in vain. The prop, the only support of the family, is taken away! and they, what shall they do? The heart, bursting with grief, vents its complaints, it murmurs and repines, "Where is the compassion of my God? where are the tender mercies of my heavenly Father? my affliction is too much for my wounded spirit! it is more than I can bear! would God I had never been born! or would God I were with my beloved, sleeping with him in his silent grave!" Cease mourner! cease thy. complaints! says our religion-It is God, why weepest thou? Remember he is a God of unerring wisdom, and boundless compassion. Know this; enough for thee to know, God

does not willingly afflict the children of men, but chastens and rebukes, in covenant love. Cease mourner! cease thy complaints! thy heavenly Father speaks to thee: "Silence my child! what I do, thou knowest not now, but thou shalt know hereafter." O how does this sooth the smitten heart, and wipe away the falling tears! Verily the consolations of religion are sweet and strong, fulfilling the words of the psalmist: "God is our refuge and strength, a very present help in time of trouble."

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How do you find yourself this morning?" said a certain pastor, to a beloved female member of his church, who was near her end. Grasping the hand of her pastor, she replied, "I am in great pain, but O! I am happy! very happy!" How different was it with Hume's mother, who, when in deep affliction, said to her son, "My son, you have taken away my religion, and now tell me something to comfort me:" but no comfort could he give, and none could she receive. "God of Queen Clotilda," cried out the infidel Clovis I., of France, when in trouble on the field of battle, "God of Queen Clotilda! grant, me the victory!" Why did he not call upon his own God? Saunderson, who was a great admirer of Sir Isaac Newton's talents, and who made light of his religion in health, was, nevertheless, heard to say in dismal accents on a dying bed, "God of Sir