made to understand the difference of the customs which have obtained in the church at different times. In the newly formed Christian church, the Catechumens, that is, those who are offered for baptism, were instructed before the rite was conferred; and they were not admitted to it, till after full instruction in the mysteries of religion; till after penitence for their former life; till after a great measure of knowledge, of the grandeur and excellence of a profession of the Christian faith and obedience, on which they desire to enter forever; till after some eminent marks of real conversion of heart, and an extreme desire for baptism. These facts being made known to the whole church, they then conferred upon them the sacrament of incorporation or initiation, by which they became members of the church.* But now, since baptism has been, for many very important reasons, permitted to infants before the dawn of reason, we find, through the negligence of parents that nominal Christians grow old without any knowledge of our religion.

When teaching preceded baptism, all were instructed; but now, that baptism precedes instruction, that teaching which was then made necessary for the sacrament, is become merely voluntary, and is consequently neglected, and almost abolished. Reason then shewed the necessity of instruction; and when instruction went before baptism, the necessity of the one,compelled men necessarily to have recourse to the other. But in these days, when baptism precedes instruction,. as men are made Christians, in the first instance, without instruction, so they believe that they may remain Christians without being instructed; and instead of its being the case, that the primitive Christians expressed the warmest gratitude for a grace which the church only granted after reiterated petitions-the Christians

*This was the case with converted heath ens; but if M. Pascal conceived it to be the case with the children of baptized believers, he is in error; and the whole tenor of the history of the church will prove him to be so.

of these days, manifest nothing but ingratitude for this same blessing conferred upon them, before they were in a state to ask it. If the chrnch so decidedly abhorred the occasional, though extremely rare instances o backsliding among the primitive Christians, how ought she to hold in abhorrence, the falling again and again of modern Christians, notwithstanding the far higher degree in which they stand indebted to the church, for having so speedily and liberally removed them from that state of curse, in which, by their natural birth, they were involved. She cannot see without bitter lamentation, this abuse of her richest blessings; and the course which she has adopted for her childrens' safety, becomes the almost certain occasion of their ruin; for her spirit is not changed, though the primiitive custom is.*

* These views of M. Pascal, evidently originate in the difficulty presented to a believing mind, by the formal and irreligious state of the Christian churches. The thought will occur to a considerate mind, lately awakened to feel the power of true religion, after a youth of nominal religion and realcarelessness, "Whence does this evil arise ?" And this reference to the mode of admitting converts from heathenism, in earlier days, is one way of settling the point, to which young Christians frequently have recourse. Yet this is cutting the knot, instead of untying it. It is an error which originates in an unfounded and imaginary notion of the state of the Christian church at any time. A little patience and experience— a little practical knowledge of how the Christian system works, would give a very different view of the matter. It is, however, on this summary mode of settling the difficulty, to which the inexperienced mind resorts-that the Anabaptist Churches found their peculiar notions, and justify their separation; and it is in the ready application of this notion to meet the difficulty when it first arises, that they find their success. Pascal, after mature deliberation on the facts of the case, did not at all see the necessity of renouncing the custom of Infant Baptism. He could distinguish between an evil that casually accompanied, and an evil that originated in that custom.

CHAPTER XXV.

ON THE CONVERSION OF A SINNER.

THE first thing which God imparts to a soul that he has really touched, is a degree of knowledge and perception, altogether extraordinary, by which the soul regards both itself, and the other things in a totally novel manner.

This new light excites fear, and imparts to the soul a restlessness which thwarts the repose that it had formerly found in the wonted sources of indulgence.

The man can no longer relish, with tranquillity, the objects by which he had been previously charmed. A perpetual scrupulousness haunts him in his enjoyments: and this interior perception will not allow him any longer to find the wonted sweetness in those things to which he had yielded with all melting fulness of

the heart.

But he finds yet more bitterness in the exercises of piety, than in the vanities of the world. On one side, the vanity of the things that are seen, is felt more deeply than the hope of the things that are not seen; and on the other, the reality of invisible things affects him more than the vanity of the things which are seen. And thus the presence of the one, and the absence of the other, excite his disgust, so that there arise within him a disorder and confusion which he can scarcely correct, but which is the result of ancient impressions long experienced, and new impressions now first communicated.

He considers perishable things as perishing, and even as already perished; and, in the certain conviction of the annihilation of all that he has loved, he trembles at the thought; whilst he sees, that every moment goes to rob him of the enjoyment of happiness, and that that which is dearest to him, is perpetu

ally gliding away; and, that at length, a day will come in which he will find himself bereft of all on which he had built his hope. So that he sees clearly, that as his heart is devoted only to things in themselves fragile and vain, his soul must, at the exit from this life, find itself solitary and destitute, since he has taken no care to unite himself to a real and self-subsistent good, which could support him in, and subsequently to, this present existence.

And hence he begins to consider as a nonentity, every thing which returns to nothingness,-the heavens, the earth, his body, his relations, his friends, his enemies, wealth or poverty, humiliation or prosperity, honor or ignominy, esteem or contempt, authority or insignificance, health or sickness, and even life itself. In fact, whatever is shorter in duration than his soul, is incapable of satisfying the desires of that soul, which earnestly seeks to establish itself on a basis of felicity as durable as itself.

He begins to regard with astonishment, the blindness in which he has been plunged; and when he considers on the one hand, the length of time that he has lived without any such thoughts, and the great number of persons who live with equal thoughtlessness; and, on the other, how clear it is that the soul being immortal, cannot find happiness in the things that perish, and which must, at all events, be taken from him by death; then there comes upon him a holy anxiety and astonishment which give rise to salutary sorrow.

For he considers that however great may be the number of those who grow old in the ways of the world, and whatever authority may be in the multitude of examples, of those who place their happiness in this world, it is nevertheless certain, that even if the things of this world had in them some substantial delight,an assumption which is falsified by the fatal and continual experience of an infinite number of persons,— the loss of these things is certain, at the moment when death separates us from them.

So that, if the soul has amassed a treasure of tempo

ral good, whether of gold, of science, or of reputation, it is inevitably necessary, that it must one day find itself denuded of all the objects of its felicity; and hence it appears, that though many objects have had in them that which ministered satisfaction, they had not that which would have satisfied him permanently; and that even if they procured him a happiness that was real, they could not procure a happiness that was lasting, because it must be terminated by the limits of human life.

Then by a holy humility, which God has exalted above pride, the man begins to rise above the common' habits of men in general. He condemns their conduct; he detests their maxims; he laments their blindness; he devotes himself to the search for that which is truly good; he arrives at the conviction, that it must possess these two qualities, the one, that it must be as durable as himself,-the other, that it must be more worthy of love than any thing else.

He sees that in the love which he has cherished towards the world, he has found in it, owing to his blindness, the second quality of these two, for he had discovered nothing more worthy of his love, but now as he sees not in it the former quality also, he knows that it is not the sovereign good. He seeks it then elsewhere; and knowing by an illumination altogether pure, that it does not exist in the things which are within him, or around him, or before him, he begins to seek for it in those things which are above.

This elevation of soul is so lofty and transcendant, that it'stops not at the heavens; they have not what would satisfy him; nor at the things above the heavéns, nor at the angels, nor at the most perfect of created beings. It darts through universal creation, and cannot pause till it has reached the very throne of God; there the soul begins to find repose, and grasps that real good which is such, that there is nothing more truly worthy of love, and that it cannot be taken from him but by his own consent.

For though he does not yet taste those enjoyments