shipwreck, say the saints, it is the happy plank which alone can conduct us into port; there is no other mean of salvation for us. Be whom you may, prince or subject, great or low, penitence alone can save you. Now, permit me to ask,—Where are the penitent? You will find more, says a holy father, who have never fallen, than who, after their fall, have raised themselves by true repentance. This is a terrible saying; but do not let us carry things too far: the truth is sufficiently dreadful, without adding new terrors to it by vain declamation.
Let us only examine if the majority of us have a right, through penitence, to salvation. What is a penitent? According to Tertullian, a penitent is a believer, who feels every moment the unhappiness which he formerly had, to forget and lose his God: who has his guilt incessantly before his eyes; who finds every where the traces and remembrance of it.
A penitent is a man, intrusted by God with judgment against himself; who refuses himself the most innocent pleasures, because he had formerly indulged in the most criminal; who puts up with the most necessary ones with pain; who now regards his body as an enemy, whom it is necessary to conquer,—as an unclean vessel which must be purified,—as an unfaithful debtor, of whom it is proper to exact to the last farthing. A penitent regards himself as a criminal condemned to death, because he no longer is worthy of life. In the loss of riches or health, he sees only a privation of favours that he had formerly abused; in the humiliations which happen to him, but the pains of his guilt; in the agonies with which he is racked, but the commencement of those punishments he has justly merited: such is a penitent. But I again ask you,—Where amongst us are penitents of this description? Now, look around you. I do not tell you to judge your brethren, but to examine what are the maimers and morals of those who surround you; nor do I speak of those open and avowed sinners, who have thrown off even the appearance of virtue; I speak only of those who, like yourselves, live like the generality, and whose actions present nothing to the public view particularly shameful or depraved. They are sinners, and they admit of it: you are not innocent, and you confess it yourselves. Now, are they penitent; or are you? Age, avocations, more serious employments, may perhaps have checked the sallies of youth: even the bitterness which the Almighty has made attendant on our passions: the deceits, the treacheries of the world; an injured fortune, with ruined constitution, may have cooled the ardour, and confined the irregular desires of your heart: crimes may have disgusted you even with crimes; for passions gradually extinguish themselves. Time, and the natural inconstancy of the heart, will bring these about; yet nevertheless, though detached from sin by incapability, you are no nearer your God. According to the world you are become more prudent, more regular, more what it calls men of probity; more exact in fulfilling your public or private duties; but you are not penitent. You have ceased from your disorders, but you have not
