ber what they have heard, oftentimes not even the text; and this, too, from persons who can repeat all the particulars of a long story to which they have listened, or a longer conversation in which they have taken part. Why this difference? Partly because they attended with greater interest to the story and the conversation, partly because these are more easily remembered than a formal discourse, but principally because these are matters that they are accustomed to recall to mind and repeat, which they have not been accustomed to do in regard to sermons. The want of practice is the principal difficulty. Make it an object always to remember, and be in the habit of going over again in your mind, the principal topics, and you will not be troubled with want of memory.

I should do wrong, however, if I did not here speak a word of comfort to those humble and sincere Christians, whose advantages in early life were not such as to enable them to form any habits of intellectual exertion, and who are, in consequence, subject to a weakness of memory which they have struggled against in vain, and which is a source

of constant unhappiness to them. Every thing they hear from the pulpit slips from their minds, even if it have highly moved and delighted them; and they fear that this is a sign of unprofitableness and sin. To such it may be well to recommend the reply of John Newton to one who came to him sorrowing with the same complaint. You forget, said he, what was preached to you. So, too, you forget upon what food you dined a week or a month ago; yet you are none the less sure that you received nourishment from it and no doubt, also, that your spiritual food nourished you, though you have forgotten in what it consisted. So long as you received it with pleasure and a healthy digestion, and it has kept you a living and growing soul, it can be of no consequence whether you can particularly remember it or not.

Finally, preaching, however ineffectual it may often prove, is one of the chief means of grace, and is capable of being made, by every individual, a principal agent in his religious advancement. Let it be so to you. It will be so if you attend on it in a right spirit, and faithfully strive to gain nourishment from it.

Do not let it be your shame and guilt, that you sit year after year within hearing of the preacher's voice, and yet are none the better. Do not suffer it to be with yourself, as it is with many, that preaching grows less interesting as they advance. This, it is true, is in part owing to the nature of the mind, which finds a delight in what is new and fresh, which it does not perceive in what has been long familiar. There is a charm in listening to the word preached, when the soul is first awakened to an interest in the concerns of its salvation, and devours every sentence as a hungry man his food, which cannot be fully retained in cooler and maturer years. But if the charm be entirely gone, if the relish be altogether lost, it must be through your own fault. It must be because you have not watched over the tastes and susceptibility of your mind, but have, through neglect, suffered it to become hardened. Be but faithful to yourself, cherish your tenderness of spirit, take pains to keep alive the ardor and interest of your younger days, and you will find that your feelings will not become wholly dead to the voice of the

preacher, nor will time and age be able to rob you of this source of your enjoyment. The ancient philosopher, on whom has been well bestowed the title of Rome's least mortal mind,' in writing beautifully of old age, tells us, that the great reason why the faculties of men are impaired in the declining years of a long life, is, that they cease to use and exercise them; and that any man, by continuing vigorously to exert them as in earlier life, may hope to retain them to the last, in something of their original power. The remark may be applied to the old age of the Christian. By faithfully watching over and exercising his feelings and emotions, he may retain them in some good degree of liveliness and vigor to the latest period. And although the zest with which he hung on the ministration of the word, in the first ardor of his youthful faith, may be gone, he will maintain a sober interest, and find a tranquil delight, suited to the serenity of his fading days, and to the peacefulness of the expectation with which he waits the summons to go home.

V. THE LORD'S SUPPER.

This interesting rite is the last in the series of Christian means which I shall mention. It is that to which the young disciple is accustomed to look forward with intense feeling, and the arrival at which constitutes an era in his progress fondly expected and fondly remembered. Sometimes it appears to be regarded too much as the limit of improvement, the goal of the course, the prize of the victory, after which the believer is to sit down and enjoy in security the attainments he has made, exempt from the necessity of further watchfulness and combat. It is owing, in no small degree, to the prevalence of this opinion, that so many make no actual or perceptible progress after their arrival at the Lord's table. They esteem it less as the means and incitement of greater improvement, than as the end and completion of the work they had undertaken; not so much a refreshment to their weakness in the trying journey of duty, as the festival which rewards its termination. Be on your guard against this erroneous feeling. Habitually remember, that your vigilance and labor are to end only at