Heartless confession.

An experiment.

we were sitting at the fire, a little boy came in and did some wanton, wilful mischief.

66

Why, my child," said the mother, "see what you have done. That was very wrong;-but you are sorry

for it, I suppose. Are you not?"

"Yes, Ma," said the boy carelessly, running away at the same time to play.

"Yes," said the mother, "he is sorry. He does wrong sometimes, but then he is always sorry for it and acknowledges it. You are sorry now, are you not, my son?" "Yes, Ma" said the boy, as he ran capering about the room, striking the furniture and his little sister with his whip.

My friend thought there was some danger that this sort of confession might be made. And it is undoubtedly often made. But it does no good. Confession must come from the heart, or it will not relieve or improve the heart.

This anecdote shows the necessity of some punishment in all governments. If a father forgives the disobedience of his children simply upon their confessing it—I mean if he makes this his settled and regular course-his children will often disobey, expecting to make peace by con. fession as a matter of course; and the confession will thus not only become an useless form, but will become the very lure which tempts them to sin.

A teacher once made a rule, that if any irregularity occurred in any of the classes, the assistant who heard the classes was to send the person in fault to him. At first the pupils felt this very much. One and another would come with tears in their eyes to acknowledge some fault, although it was perhaps only a very slight one. The teacher inflicted no punishment, but asked them to be careful in future, and sent them away kindly. Soon, however, they began to feel less penitent when they had done wrong. They came more and more as a matter of

Sincere confession.

Story of the dulled tool.

form, until at last they would come and state their fault as carelessly as if they were merely giving their teacher a piece of indifferent information. No;-confession must never be understood as making any atonement for sin. Whenever you acknowledge that you have done wrong, do it with sincere penitence, and with a spirit which would lead you to make all the reparation in your power, if it is a case which admits of reparation,—to submit to the just punishment, if any is inflicted,—and always to resolve most firmly that you will sin no more.

Let all my readers, then, whether old or young, look at once around them, and seek diligently for every thing wrong which they have done toward their fellows, and try the experiment of acknowledging the wrong in every case, that they may see how much such a course will bring peace and happiness to their hearts. When, however, I say that every thing wrong ought to be acknowledged, I do not mean that it is, in every case, necessary to make a formal confession in language. Acknowledgments may be made by actions, as distinctly and as cordially as by words. An example will best illustrate this.

A journeyman in a carpenter's shop borrowed a plane of his comrade, and in giving it back to him, it was accidentally dropped and dulled. The lender maintained that the borrower ought to sharpen it, while the borrower said that it was not his fault, and an angry controversy arose between them. It would have taken but a few minutes to have sharpened the instrument, but after having once contended about it, each was determined not to yield. The plane was laid down in its damaged state, each declaring that he would not sharpen it.

The borrower however did not feel easy, and as he lay down that night to rest, the thought of his foolish contention made him unhappy. He reflected too, that since his friend had been willing to lend him his instru

Story continued.

Confession to God.

ment, he ought to have borne, himself, all the risk of its return. He regretted that he nad refused to do what now, on cool reflection, he saw was clearly his duty.

On the following morning, therefore, he went half an hour earlier than usual to the shop, and while alone there, with the help of grindstone and hone, he put the unfortunate plane in the best possible order,-laid it in its proper place—and when his companion came in, he said to him pleasantly,

"I wish you would try your plane, and see how it cuts this morning."

Now was not this a most full and complete acknowledgment of having been wrong? And yet there is not a syllable of confession in language. Any way by which you can openly manifest your conviction that you have done wrong, and your determination to do so no more, is sufficient. The mode best for the purpose will vary with circumstances.-Sometimes by words, sometimes by writing, and sometimes by action. The only thing that is essential is, that the heart should feel what in these various ways it attempts to express.

I doubt not now, but that many of my readers, who have taken up this book with a desire to find religious instruction in it, have been for some time wishing to have me come to the subject of the confession of sin to God. You feel that the greatest of all your transgressions have been against him; and that you can have no true peace of mind until he has forgiven you. I have no doubt that this is the state of mind of very many of those who will read this chapter. But confession of sin is the same in its nature and tendency when made to God as when made to your fellow man. When you have finished this chapter then, shut the book, and go alone before your Maker, and acknowledge all your sins. Acknowledge them frankly and fully, and try to see and feel the worst not by merely calling your offences by harsh names, but

Anxiety unnecessary.

Common mistakes.

by calmly looking at the aggravating circumstances. While you do this, do not spend your strength in trying to feel strong emotion. You cannot feel emotion by merely trying to feel it. There is no necessity of prolonged terror, no need of agony of body or of mind,— no need of gloom of countenance. Just go and sincerely acknowledge your sins to God, and ask him to forgive you through Jesus Christ, and he will.

But perhaps some of you will say, "I am surprised to hear you say that there is no need of strong agitation of mind, before we can be forgiven for sin. I am sure tha there often is very strong feeling of this kind. There is terror and agony of mind, and afterward the individual becomes a sincere Christian."

It is true, there is sometimes strong and continued agitation, but it is only because those who suffer it are unwilling to yield to God and confess their sins to him. As soon as this unwillingness is gone, and they come to their God and Savior with all their hearts, the mental suffering vanishes. I said that if you were willing now to confess your sins to God with sincere penitence, you may at once be happy. Of course, if you are unwilling,— if you see that you are sinning against him, and will not come and make peace, you then have indeed cause to tremble.

There is a great mistake prevalent on this subject, especially among the young, though the subject is often clearly enough explained, both from the press and the pulpit. God's command is, repent at once, and believe on the Lord Jesus Christ, and you shall have peace. I have, in this chapter, used the word confess, instead of repent, for sincere confession is only a manifestation of penitence. Now I do not find that the Bible requires any thing previous to repentance. It does not say that we must be miserable a week or a day or an hour. I never heard any minister urge upon his hearers the duty

Immediate repentance.

Salvation by Christ.

of suffering anguish of mind, and all the horrors of remorse, a single moment, in order to prepare the soul for Christ. It is doubtless true, that persons do often thus suffer, and are perhaps led by it in the end to fly to the refuge. But they ought to have fled to the refuge with out this suffering in the beginning. The truth is, that God commands "men every where to repent." It is a notorious fact, that they will not comply. When the duty of humbly confessing their sins to God is clearly brought before them, there is often so great a desire to continue in sin, that a very painful struggle continues for some time. Now this struggle is all our own fault,— it is something that we add altogether;-God does not require it. He says come to me at once. Ministers in the pulpit do not urge this continued struggle, while sin is cherished in the heart; so far from desiring it are they, that they urge their hearers to come at once to the Savior and be happy ;—and when any of their hearers are suffering in consequence of their indecision, the pastor, so far from wishing them to continue in this state as a part of their duty, urges them with all his power to terminate it at once, by giving up their hearts to God and to happiness. And yet so reluctant are men to give up their hearts to God, and so exceedingly common is this guilty struggle, that by the young it is often considered as a painful part of duty. They think they cannot become Christians without it. Some try to awaken it and continue it, and are sad because they cannot succeed. Others, who are serving their Maker, and endeavoring to grow in grace and to prepare for heaven, feel but little confidence in his sympathy or affection for them, because just before they concluded to yield to God sin did not make such violent and desperate efforts in their hearts, as in some others, to retain its hold.

No, my reader, there is no necessity of any prolonged struggle, or suffering. If this chapter has led you to be