ports
with the customs and manners of that portion of the community, who
have no higher principle of action than to be considered respectable
among men.

Though we come before the public to defend the doctrines of Christ,
yet, my friends, you will bear in mind that it is also our duty to
enforce his precepts, and exhort to the obedience of the gospel. That
we should point out the road of sin, error and misery, and also
endeavor to throw the light of heavenly truth on the pathway of human
life.

We will begin with the murderer, who wantonly embrues his hands in the
blood of his fellow. So far as he has violated the laws of his
country, he is a subject for public execution, and has nothing to hope
for, at the tribunal of human justice. His misery, whether it arise
from the contemplation of an ignominious death, from the fear of
detection, or from the consciousness of having violated the moral
principles of his nature, is alike insupportable, as well as
indescribable.

Is he detected? Shut out from the world and confined in his loathsome
cell, he is left to his own reflections, and to all the horrors of the
gathering storm. But even admitting that he should escape detection,
and be left to his own meditations on his deed of blood, he would,
like Cain, breathe out in agony of soul, "my punishment is greater
than I can bear!" He might, indeed, mingle with the busy throng--he
might even smile, and wear a face of pleasure, but behind this mantled
mask he would conceal a heart of pain. He might, indeed, gaze upon the
landscape, listen to the songs of the grove, and contemplate the
glories of nature, but the charm, that once gave him ecstatic delight
and solid joy, is vanished from his sight; and all, that once was fair
and lovely, wears the frown of darkness and indignation. He gazes upon
little children, and hears their artless and innocent prattle,
reflects what he once was, and every joy, that sparkles in their eyes,
sends a dagger to his heart. The rustling of a leaf strikes him with
terror and alarm, and every passing breeze bears to his tormented soul
the groans of the dying man, and conscience forces him to listen to
the heart-rending tale of wo. Fain would he fly from himself, and
enjoy one hour's repose; but alas! That God, who rules in the kingdom
of men, has written a law in his heart, where he reads and feels his
condemnation, and where conscience sits on the judgment seat,
constantly holds him arraigned at her