through all their conversations. It destroys all the blessings of grace and of nature. Oh! what a wretched spectacle does man afford when thus wallowing in the filth of beastly sensuality!

Not only does this shameful vice become the torment of the sinner, by degrading his whole being, and robbing him of all the precious gifts, which he has received from heaven, but also by the trouble, the anguish and remorse, which always succeeds it. Ah! the beginnings of passion offer nothing but what is smiling and agreeable. The first steps we take in the way of iniquity, we seem to walk upon flowers and our ideas of the gratification are all flattering and delightful. The language which is used corresponds with these ideas. The criminal parties talk of elevated sentiments, goodness of heart, discretion, honour, unalterable attachment, ardent affection, eternal fidelity. Yes but very soon, when the passion is cool, the unlawful pleasure enjoyed, and become indifferent from satiety; then come forward to the attention the distressing rumours spread abroad among the public, the peace of a family destroyed, friends estranged, affairs ruined, opportunities of advancement irrecoverably lost, suspicions, jealousies, disgusts, rage and fury. Oh! when a woman, forgetting the native dignity of her sex, confides

her honour to the discretion of a libertine, what can she expect, from trusting to an inconstant and proud wretch, who will think, that, if his victory be concealed, a portion of his glory is lost: trusting to one, who, in the excesses of the table, will entertain his debauched companions with recounting the history of her weakness and shame? Ah she never after can taste any real comfort. She will compare her present and former condition. Once in her presence the libertine was abashed and confounded. Once the wise and the good courted her society, and respected and admired her modesty and her amiable endowments. Now the shame of her family, a foul blot among her relations, the scandal of the earth, she must be avoided as a pestilence, and dare not shew her face, in the presence of those whose characters are pure and unsullied.

To these bitter reflections conscience unites its excruciating stings. After the crime has been committed, and the infatuation which attended it has begun to abate, then all the sweets of pleasure are changed into gall, then, where they gathered roses, they find nothing but thorns: then in the silence of the passions eternity opens itself before the criminal's view and all the infernal horrors rise up in dreadful prospect. Even if they escape the notice of

men, they know there is an eye, though to them invisible, an eye which penetrates through the thickest darkness, in which they have endeavoured to hide their guilt. Oh! when they think on the awful moment of dissolution the moment in which they must appear before the judgment-seat of God, and present to him a soul which he formed for himself, but which has prostituted itself to the vilest of his creatures a soul without regard for his matchless, unfading beauty, but captivated by that beauty, which will soon be preyed on, by worms, and dissolved in corruption; a chilling horror must freeze their blood. They see the arm of God. extended against them, and the sword of his justice uplifted to strike, and hear that dreadful sentence: As much as she hath glorified herself and hath been in delicacies, so much torment and sorrow give ye to her. (Rev. i. 37.) This is indeed a state of indescribable calamity.

You therefore, my beloved friends, who have happily hitherto escaped the dreadful infection, constantly watch over your senses with the utmost care, and crush every inordinate desire in its early bud. The smallest spark neglected may produce, and often does produce, a general conflagration. If the destruction of your peace, if blasted hopes, if a ruined cha

racter, if an emaciated constitution, a despairing heart and a miserable eternity be formidable evils, it is more than probable, that in the gratification of this passion you will find them all assembled together.

And you, who like the prodigal have left. the house of your loving father, and reduced yourselves so low as to feed on the husks that are given to swine-you, who have long been abandoned to your own concupiscence: behold, there is yet comfort, there is yet salvation for you; if you will now return home, and cast yourselves into his arms, which with the utmost tenderness he opens to receive you. Can you think of any farther delay? He hath borne with you, and spared you, during all the disorders of youth: waited till age and experience should bring you back. That time is come. Your years pass rapidly on. The most precious season of life has now passed by. The depredations, which time has made on your countenance, and the grey hairs that begin to shew themselves, admonish you, that life is on the decline, and that, unless you reject the world and its follies, they will soon reject you with contempt and scorn. What is it then you wait for, before you will begin the work of reformation? Your life is filled with pains and sorrows; without the solace of religion; with

out the aids and consolations of the sacraments; without the power to commune with the Divine Being, in any degree of confidence; till repentance fit you for approaching to his altar.

We are now in a time of propitiation. The whole church of Christ is soliciting your conversion and will you carry your impurity and your ignominy even to the solemnity of the resurrection of Jesus? Will you then remain an anathema in the midst of your brethren, separated from the altar and its sacrifices, while they feed on the heavenly bread and joyfully celebrate the day of the Lord? No: you will not be thus lost to every worthy principle. Enter this day into sentiments of compunction, and effectually determine to address yourselves to some discreet minister of Christ, and thus lay at the feet of Jesus the weight of iniquity, which now presses so painfully upon you. Let us, at the approaching festival, see you seated at the table of your heavenly Father. How greatly shall we be delighted to be able to say: Our brother was lost; but now he is found: was dead, but he is risen again? What abundant consolations will then come flowing into your soul? your repentance will restore to you all your forfeited rights: and from being the outcast of heaven, you will display in yourselves