sions; we labour for eternal possessions, as if we toiled for frivolous riches.

Yes, my brethren, our cares for this world are always animated; obstacles, fatigues, disapointments, nothing can repulse us: Our cares for this world are always prudent; dangers, snares, perplexities, competitions, nothing can make us mistake our aim: whereas, our cares for salvation bear a very different character; nothing can be more languid, or less interesting to us, although obstacles and dislike are there so much to be dreaded; nothing can be more inconsiderate, although the multiplicity of ways, and the number of dangers, render mistakes in it so familiar and common.

We must labour, therefore, towards its accomplishment, with fervour and prudence; with fervour, in order not to be repulsed; with prudence, in order not to be mistaken.

PART. I.-Undoubtedly nothing in this life ought to interest us more than the care of our eternal salvation; independent of this being the grand affair upon which our ALL depends, we even have not, properly speaking, any other upon the earth; and the infinite and diverse occupations attached to our places, to our rank, to our situations in life, ought to be only different modes of labouring towards our salvation.

Nevertheless, this care, so glorious, to which every thing we do, and whatever we are, relate, is of all others the most despised; this chief care, which should be at the head of all our other pursuits, gives place to them all in the detail of our actions; this care, so amiable, and to which the promises of faith, and the consolations of grace, attach so much sweetness, is of all others become for us

the most disgusting, and the most melancholy. And, behold, my brethren, whence springs this want of fervour in the business of our eternal salvation; we pursue it without esteem, without preference, and without inclination. Let us investigate and illustrate these ideas.

It is a very deplorable error, that mankind has attached the most pompous names to all the enterprises of the passions; and that the labours of our salvation have not, in the opinions of men, been capable of meriting the same honour and the same esteem. Military toils are regarded by us as the path of reputation and glory; the intrigues and the commotions which contribute to our advancement in the world, are looked upon as the secrets of a profound wisdom; schemes and negociations which arm mankind against each other, and which frequently make the ambition of an individual the source of public calamities, pass for extent of genius and superiority of talents; the art of raising from an obscure patrimony, a monstrous and overgrown fortune, at the expense often of justice and probity, is the science of business, and individual good management. In a word, the world has found out the secret of setting off by honourable titles, all the cares which are connected with the things of this earth: The actions of faith alone, which shall endure eternally, which shall form the history of the age to come, and shall be engraven during all eternity upon the immortal columns of the heavenly Jerusalem, are accounted idle and obscure occupations, the lot of weak and limited souls, and have nothing which exalt them in the eyes of men. Such, my brethren, is the first cause of our indifference towards the business of our salvation: We do not sufficiently esteem that holy undertaking, to labour at it with fervour.

Now, I do not think it necessary to stop here, and combat an illusion so much at variance with reason. For what is it that can render a work glorious to the person who undertakes it? Is it the duration and the immortality which it promises in the memory of man? Alas! all the monuments of pride will perish with the world which has raised them; whatever we do for the earth, will experience the same destiny which it will one day undergo: Victories and conquests, the most splendid enterprises, and all the history of the sinners whose names adorn the present age, will be effaced from the remembrance of men; the works of the just alone will be immortal, and, written for ever in the book of life, will survive the entire ruin of the universe. Is it the recompense which is held out to us for it? But whoever is unable to render us happy, is consequently unable to recompense us; and there is no other who has that power but God himself. Is it the dignity of the occupations in which they engage you? But the most honourable occupations of the world are merely games, on which our error and absurdity have bestowed serious and pompous names: Here, on the contrary, every thing is great; we love the Author of our existence alone; we adore the Sovereign of the universe; we serve an Almighty Master; we covet only eternal riches; we form projects for heaven alone; we labour for an immortal crown.

What is there then upon the earth, more glorious or more worthy of man, than the cares of eternity? Prosperities are honourable anxieties; splendid employments an illustrious servitude; reputation is frequently a public error; titles and dignities are rarely the fruit of virtue, and, at the most, serve only to adorn our tombs, and embellish

our ashes; great talents, if faith does not regulate their use, are only great temptations; deep knowledge, a wind which inflates and corrupts, if faith does not correct its poison; all these are only grand, by the use which may be made of them towards salvation: Virtue alore is estimable for itself.

Nevertheless, if our competitors are more successful, and more elevated than we in the world, we view their sitnation with envious eyes, and their aggrandisement, in humbling our pride, re-animates the fervour of our designs, and gives new life to our expectations; but it happens sometimes, that the companions of our pleasures change suddenly into new men, nobly break all the shameful bonds of the passions, and, borne upon the wings of grace, enter, in our sight, into the path of salvation, whilst they leave us behind them, to wander still at the pleasure of our illicit desires. We view with a tranquil eye the prodigy of their change; and their lot, far from exciting our envy, and awaking in us any weak desires of salvation, only induces us, perhaps, to think of filling up the void which their retreat has made in the world, of elevating ourselves to those dangerous posts from which they have just descended through motives of religion and faith: What shall I say? We become, perhaps, the censurers of their virtues: We seek elsewhere than in the infinite treasures of grace, the secret motives of their change; to the work of God we give views entirely worldly; and our deplorable censures become the most dangerous trials of their repentance. It is thus, O my God! that thou sheddest avenging darkness over iniquitous passions! Whence comes this? We want esteem for the holy undertaking of salvation: This is the first cause of our indifference.

In the second place, We labour in it with indolence, because we do not make a principal object of its attainment, and because we never give a preference to it over our other pursuits. In truth my brethren, we all wish to be saved; the most deplorable sinners do not renounce this hope; we even wish, that amongst our actions there may always be found some which relate to our salvation; for none deceive themselves so far as to believe, that they shall be entitled to the glory of the holy, without having ever made a single exertion towards rendering themselves worthy of it; but the point in which we commonly deceive ourselves is, the rank which we give to those works, amidst the other occupations which divide our life.

The trifles, the attentions which we lavish so profusely in our intercourse with society, the duties of an office, domestic arrangements, passions and pleasures, have their times and their moments marked in our days. Where do we place the work of salvation? What rank do we give to this special care, above our other cares? Do we even make a business of it? And, to enter into the particulars of your conduct, What do you perform for eternity, which you do not for the world an hundred-fold? You sometimes employ a small portion of your wealth in religious charities; but what are these when compared to the sums which you sacrifice every day to your pleasures, to your passions, and to your caprices? In the morning you, perhaps, elevate your mind to the Lord in prayer; bnt does not the world, in a moment, resume its place in your heart, and is not the remainder of the day devoted to it? You regularly attend, perhaps, in order to fulfil the external duties of religion; but, without entering into the motives which frequently carry you there, this indi