Lectures to Young People

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Lectures to Young People

William B. Sprague, 1830
 

IMPORTANCE OF THE PERIOD OF YOUTH

"Hear, O my son, and receive my sayings." Proverbs 4:10
 

It can hardly have escaped the observation of any reader of the Bible, that a large part of the writings of Solomon, and especially of his proverbs, have a peculiar adaptation to the circumstances of the young. From this fact it is doubtless a legitimate inference, that he attached a peculiar importance to the period of youth; and as he was unrivalled for practical wisdom, and wrote under the inspiration of God—we may fairly conclude that his opinion on this subject is correct. It is, moreover, an opinion which has been held by the wise and good of every age; and it requires but a moment's reflection to perceive that it is built on a correct view of the principles of human nature, and of the connection between man's character and destiny.

YOUTH IS A PERIOD OF GREAT IMPORTANCE. To illustrate this truth is the object of the present chapter.

I. The importance of the period of youth is manifest from the consideration that youth is the commencement of a rational and immortal existence, the condition of which is, in some important respects, concealed from us.

Youth is the commencement of a rational existence. There are orders of being below us, which we contemplate with various degrees of interest, according to their different properties. We look, for instance, with higher emotions upon the operations of vegetable life in the flower unfolding its beauties, or the tree stretching forth its boughs towards heaven, than we do upon the clods of the valley. In the brute creation, we discover evidences of a still higher creating agency; for they are endued with animal life and instinct; with a capacity for enjoyment and suffering. But man, though only next above the brutes in the scale of being, leaves them, in respect to his capacities, at an immense distance.

Superadded to his animal nature, is the gift of REASON; a principle which is capable of an indefinite expansion; by which, standing on this earth, he can measure the heavens, and explore the distant parts of creation. Moreover, he has not only an intellectual, but a MORAL nature; he has a conscience, which recognizes God as a moral Governor, and his law as the rule of duty; and which more than intimates the fact of an approaching retribution. He is susceptible of enjoyment and suffering, not merely as an animal—but as an intellectual and moral being; and it is in these higher departments of his nature, that he is capable of enjoying the bliss of a seraph, or of being tortured with the agony of a fiend. However lightly man may think of himself as a creature of God, or however he may abuse his own powers, he is gifted in a manner which evidently points to some mighty result.

But it were a supposable case, that man might be endowed with the very powers which he now has, and yet, by an annihilating act of the Being who created him, his existence might, at some future period, be blotted out; and in this case, even the mighty capacities of the soul would, in a great measure, lose their importance. But man is not only gifted with reason—but is destined to IMMORTALITY. Time was, when he had no existence; but in all future time, he will be a living, intelligent, active being. When the foundations of the earth were laid, and the heavens spread out as a curtain, he did not exist to witness that exhibition of Almighty power; but when the heavens shall be rolled together as a scroll, and the elements shall melt with fervent heat, he will exist, not only as a spectator—but a sharer in those amazing scenes. And farther and still farther onward in the progress of ages, even to an interminable duration, his existence will be protracted: it is not at his option whether it shall be continued or not; for immortality is entailed upon him; and though by his conduct he may affect the condition of his being, he can never accomplish the extinction of it.

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But though it is certain that man is destined to an endless existence, there is much in respect to the character of it, which, at its commencement, cannot be known, except by the Creator. This is true even in respect to the present life. No one can predict with certainty what his condition will be, even during the brief period of his sojourning here: whether he is to be signally blessed by the smiles of God, or to be unusually buffeted by the storms of adversity, is an mystery which no present circumstances can enable him to solve. And so in regard to a  future existence—we cannot decide in respect to any one, at his entrance into life, whether he is hereafter to be an heir of glory or an heir of woe—a companion of fiends or a companion of angels. Such is the mutability of the world, the treachery of the heart, the sovereignty of God, that the condition of our being, both in the present and future life, must be, in a great measure, concealed from us, until we learn it by actual experience.

Collect now the several circumstances which have been mentioned under this article, and tell me whether they do not invest the morning of human life with peculiar interest. It is the period in which a rational soul commences a career as unlimited as the existence of Jehovah; and attended by joy or woe which imagination in its boldest flights never conceived. And over the whole path of the soul's existence, there hangs, at present, a fearful uncertainty. No one can say, in what manner these unfolding faculties are hereafter to be employed; whether in serving God—or in opposing him; whether in bringing upon the soul a perpetual shower of blessings—or an everlasting torrent of wrath. Is that an interesting moment, when the inexperienced adventurer steps from the shores of his native country, and trusts himself to the mighty deep, to be borne to some far distant region? How much more interesting the period, in which an immortal soul commences the voyage of life, not knowing how much he may be tempest-tossed during his passage, or whether he may not even be wrecked on the dark coast of eternity! If, in the former case, the eyes of anxious friends follow the mariner as he goes off into the deep—is it not reasonable to suppose, in the latter, that the watchful regards of angels are attracted by the condition of a young immortal, whose character is yet to be formed, and whose destiny is yet to be revealed?

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II. The importance of the period of youth is farther evident from the consideration, that  probably, in most cases, youth gives a complexion to the whole future existence. Every moral action, no doubt, exerts an influence on the prevailing disposition of the person by whom it is performed; and  if we could subject the character of an individual, at any given period, to a rigid analysis, we would find that it was precisely that which might be expected from the combined influence of all his previous moral actions. There are instances in which a single action, and that in itself apparently an unimportant one—has manifestly decided the character and the destiny for life. One wrong decision has frequently been the means of clothing the prospects of an individual with gloom and disgrace; while one good purpose, one victory gained over temptation, has often proved the seed which has yielded a rich harvest of reputation and virtue.

But if the influence of a single action, whether good or bad, has often such a decisive and visible bearing upon future character, what shall be said of the combined influence of all the actions which an individual performs, during a considerable period of life, and especially in the season of youth? It is at this period that the habits of thought, and feeling, and action, are formed; that the inclinations usually become fixed; and the whole character assumes a definite complexion. It would seem probable, therefore, antecedently to experience, that, in general, the first impulse given to the mind and heart would be the decisive one. But what reason teaches, experience abundantly confirms.

If we look abroad into the world, some indeed we shall find who have disappointed the hopes which they early awakened in respect to usefulness and piety; and others, whose early life was a scene of profligacy, who have afterwards been plucked as brands from the burning. But in the great majority of instances, it will appear that the direction which the character received in youth, is retained in every succeeding period of life. In far the greater number of cases in which you see old age cheered by the hopes and comforts of true religion, you will find that the foundation of this tranquility was laid in the morning of life; and on the other hand, where you see hoary headed vice shuddering in despair on the borders of eternity, it will usually be safe to conclude that the agony which you witness is to be referred especially to the early neglect of true religion.

Hitherto I have spoken only of the influence which the period of youth exerts upon the subsequent periods of the present life: but its influence is equally decisive upon our whole future eternal existence. In many cases, indeed, the season of youth constitutes the whole period of life, and of course, the whole period of probation: in all such instances, none can doubt that it must be decisive of the soul's everlasting destiny. Nor is the case materially different, where life is continued even to old age; for if our condition in a future world depends upon our character at death—and if our character in the later periods of the present life usually takes its complexion from the period of youth—then it follows that the influence of this period reaches onward to eternity—that it is emphatically the seed-time for eternal life—or eternal death!

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III. Another consideration which still farther illustrates the importance of the period of youth is, that youth furnishes peculiar advantages for rendering the whole future existence happy; or for becoming practically pious.

There is a general susceptibility of character attending this period, which is favorable to the cultivation of true religion. I mean not to imply that the human heart is not originally the seat of corrupt inclinations; for that were to call in question not only the decision of the oracles of God—but the results of every day's experience. But this melancholy truth notwithstanding, it admits of no question—that there is something in the very state of the soul during the period of youth, which may be said in a comparative sense, to favor the work of its own sanctification. The understanding, not having been brought under the dominion of prejudice, is open to the reception of truth. The conscience, not having had its dictates frequently opposed and trifled with, is ready faithfully to discharge its office. The various affections of the heart are easily excited; and more easily than at any subsequent period, may receive a right direction. Who will not say that there is in all this, a most desirable preparation for becoming truly pious; especially when the state of the soul to which I have here referred, is contrasted with that almost invincible prejudice, that deep moral insensibility, which often results from long continued familiarity with the world.

Another advantage for embracing true religion connected with this period, is, that it is a season of comparative leisure. Then the cares of the world which cluster upon manhood, are comparatively unknown. The more active scenes of life—the strife of business, the din of worldly enterprise, are seen and heard only at a distance. Not as in subsequent life, is there a family to be provided for, and a thousand domestic cares pressing upon the heart, and putting in their requisitions. There is much leisure for serious reading; especially for reading the volume of inspired truth, which is given to be a light to our feet, and a lamp to our paths. There is much leisure for serious reflection, and self-examination; for applying the truths of God's word to the regulation of the heart and life. There is much leisure for private communion with God; for Christian fellowship; for attendance on the various means of true religion—in short, for everything which may be instrumental either of the renovation of the soul, or of its growth in grace. The season of youth, however it may be employed, is emphatically the leisure season of life; and he who does not find time to become pious then, has no reason to expect that he shall ever find it afterwards.

It is another favorable circumstance in respect to the period of which I am speaking, that the efforts which are then made towards a life of true religion, meet a peculiarly ready and cordial cooperation from Christian friends. When the Christian looks upon the veteran in sin, who has reached an old age of carelessness, though his eye may affect his heart, as he reflects upon his character and his doom, yet the hopelessness of the case seems to dampen resolution, and discourage effort; and even when he discovers in him some relentings in view of the past, or some anxiety in respect to the future, it is difficult for him to regard even these as symptoms of thorough reformation. But in regard to the young it is far otherwise. So much is there in their circumstances to favor pious impressions, that Christians are peculiarly encouraged to be faithful towards them.

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This is true especially of pious parents. They look upon their children, in the morning of life, with a mixture of concern and hope; and they are prompted not only by Christian feeling—but by parental affection, to do everything in their power to secure their salvation. Hence they often warn them of the danger of a life of sin, and urge them to enter immediately on a life of true religion. Hence, every indication of serious feeling on the part of their children is regarded by them as a signal to double their diligence, in pressing upon them their obligations, and in endeavoring to bring them to repentance. Hence too, they make them the objects of daily prayer, and not only bring them around the domestic altar—but earnestly intercede for them in the closet. Nor are these efforts for the young confined to parents; but Christians in general feel themselves especially called upon to labor and strive for their salvation; and whenever they show any symptoms of concern, there are many around them who stand ready to second every effort they make to escape from the wrath to come.

And is it not a privilege, my young friends, thus to be wrestled for by Christian parents—thus to be borne on the hearts of God's people—thus to be counseled, and exhorted, and aided by those who are walking in the path to heaven? Let repentance be delayed to old age, if indeed old age should ever arrive—and where then will be the pious mother to embalm her supplications with her tears; or where will be the companion in years to encourage and accompany you in the rugged path of self-denial; or where will the Christians be found who will have hope enough in respect to you to come, while your last sands are running out, and plead you with the earnestness which they now manifest, to prepare for heaven?

As the last and perhaps the most important advantage for becoming pious, which belongs to the season of youth, I would say that the Spirit of God then, more frequently than at any other period, exerts his gracious influences. These influences he does indeed exert at every period; and sometimes even when the heart has become encrusted with the mildew of spiritual death. But experience proves that the young are far more likely to be the subjects of them than people at a more advanced period of life. To youth he speaks most frequently through the dispensations of Providence, the preaching of the word, the operations of conscience, and even the vanities of the world, and charges them to make true religion the object of their immediate and supreme regard.

And I may appeal to the fact that his efficacious influences actually are exerted during this period far more frequently than in any subsequent one; that much the larger part of all who embrace true religion, do it in the morning of life. Let revivals of true religion be brought to testify on this subject; and if I mistake not, you will find that, while a multitude of youth, during these scenes of divine mercy, are seen pressing into the kingdom; there are comparatively few who have reached the period of middle life, and only here and there an individual from the ranks of old age. What does this fact prove, my young friends, other than that the Holy Spirit is peculiarly ready to exert his influences in bringing you to repentance?

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IV. My last general remark illustrative of the importance of the period of youth, is, that  youth is fraught with peculiar dangers.

In illustrating this article, I shall take for granted the fact that man is naturally inclined to evil—a fact which, you will readily perceive, must invest with much additional importance the several sources of danger to which I shall refer.

There is danger resulting from that very susceptibility of character, which has already been mentioned as favorable to early piety. For if the mind is then peculiarly susceptible of truth, it is also proportionably susceptible of error. If the conscience possesses all its native sensibility, opposition to its dictates must exert a peculiarly hardening influence. If the feelings may be excited, with comparative ease, in favor of true religion, they may even more readily be enlisted against it. And hence the melancholy fact is, that in a multitude of instances, the understanding, the conscience, the affections—the whole man, has become enslaved to a life of sin, at the very period when he was most susceptible of the influences of piety. Let no young person then repose in the conviction that his mountain stands strong, and that he is in no danger of becoming a hardened transgressor, merely because he is occasionally roused, or melted, or agitated, under the exhibition of divine truth. Let him take heed lest the enemy comes, and avails himself of that very susceptibility—to bind him hand and foot with the cords of depravity and error—and consign him over to a most fearful destruction.

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        Moreover, youth is a season of  inexperience; and this constitutes another source of danger. Everyone knows that our most valuable knowledge is derived from experience; that it is far more accurate, more deep, more practical than any other. But of this the young, from the nature of the case, cannot, in a great degree, avail themselves; as it is the exclusive prerogative of riper years. They have had but little experience of their own hearts; but little opportunity of tracing out the sources of human conduct, of becoming acquainted with the evil principles which lurk within them—the treachery, perverseness, rebellion, which constitute the elements of man's depraved nature. They have had but limited experience of the world, and are very inadequate judges of its true character. They have ordinarily seen only its bright side; have not often been pierced by its ingratitude, or betrayed by its faithlessness, or stung by its neglect. Of its temptations  too, of the stratagems of the wicked, of the serpentine influence of worldly pleasure, they know comparatively little. How manifestly does this lack of experience give the world which they are entering, a powerful advantage over them!

        With but a slight knowledge of themselves, they are liable to misjudge in respect to the circumstances in which they shall be safe, and to put character and happiness in jeopardy, from a wrong estimate of their strength to resist temptation. With but a slight knowledge of the world, they are in danger of trusting it where it intends to betray; and of being carried headlong by its influence into the vortex of pleasure and vice, while yet they have scarcely suspected that they were beyond the limits of virtue and safety. Many a youth has gone into the haunts of sin, and finally into the eternal world of woe, because at the commencement of his course, he did not suspect the danger.

        Again: the world has its thousand snares; and here is another source of danger to the young. There are scenes of pleasure, which are misnamed innocent; which, while they avoid the grossness of dissipation, wear a bright and fascinating aspect to the young, and strongly tempt them to the neglect of true religion. There are scenes of profane and intemperate riot, which, though enough to sicken the heart of piety, hold out a powerful temptation to many who have given a few of their first years to what is called innocent pleasure. There is the stage, with all its splendid apparatus for destroying immortal souls. The most burning strains of eloquence, and the most melting strains of music; the exquisite efforts of the pencil and of the chisel, are all prostituted to make an appeal to the youthful heart in favor of irreligion and licentiousness. There are evil books, written with a pen dipped in the poison of asps, for the very purpose of carrying to the youthful bosom the elements of pollution and death. There are evil men, yes, and evil women, too, who go about preaching the doctrine that true religion is a dream, and death an eternal sleep; who encircle the unwary youth, in his down-sitting and his uprising, with the snares of death; and who are prepared to celebrate the wreck of his principles and of his hopes, with a shout of fiendlike exultation. In these circumstances, who will not say that the most appalling dangers hang around his path?

        And now, in view of all that has been said, is it not manifest that youth is a period of great importance? I ask you, my young friends, whether, as the commencement of a rational and immortal existence, and as the period which is probably to give a complexion to that existence, it is not too important to be devoted to any other purposes than those for which it was designed? Is it not too important to be wasted in careless levity, in vain amusement; in any of the unfruitful works of darkness? Are not its advantages for becoming pious too important to be neglected; its dangers too serious to be regarded with unconcern?

        This critical and deeply interesting season will soon have passed away, and the period of manhood will follow. The period of manhood, did I say? Ah, it may be the period of retribution; that in which the soul shall be mingling in the hosannas of the redeemed—or the wailing of the lost! But wherever, or in whatever circumstances, future years may find you, rely on it, the period of youth will have contributed much to make you what you will then be, both in respect to your character and condition. Regard each moment then as a price put into your hands to gain wisdom; and remember that now, now, emphatically in respect to you, is the accepted time. Now is the day of salvation!

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DANGER OF EVIL COMPANY
 

"Do not be misled—Bad company corrupts
 good character." 1 Corinthians 15:33


Nothing is so valuable to man as his character. This is proverbial even in regard to the present life. Strip him of everything else, and leave him with a good conscience, and what will probably attend it, a fair reputation—and all that you do will be comparatively harmless. You may have wounded his sensibility, or overcome his resolution, or clouded his worldly prospects; but he has that which, in the end, will be likely to place him above the power of malice. His character is a broad shield, which the arrows of adversity, and even the sting of detraction, can never effectually penetrate. Be his circumstances what they may, the fact that he has a good conscience and a good character, may justly render him contented and fearless.

But if the character which is formed here, be important in its relation to our present existence, it is infinitely more so, as it stands connected with eternity. This present life is the only period of our probation. It is a school in which we are training for an immortal existence. Every moral action of our lives will exert an influence upon us—either in heaven or hell; and the sum of these actions will decide the complexion of our characters, and of course, our eternal destiny.

If these remarks are just, then it clearly follows that there is no part of our conduct which ought to be considered unimportant. The least departure from duty, the least violation of conscience, may be a seed which will produce a harvest of everlasting woe. It may be the germ of a sinful habit. It may be the first of a progressive series of wicked actions which will extend through eternity. It may prove the outer door to the temple of vice; and he who enters it, may reasonably expect to be led on, until he has explored all its scenes of pollution and darkness—until he finally sacrifices his immortal soul on the altar of confirmed profligacy.

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Perhaps there is no influence so uniform and so powerful in the formation of character, as that of example. This results from the fact that we are creatures of imitation: there is a principle in our nature which leads us instinctively, and from our earliest childhood, to copy the manners of those with whom we associate. This, to a great extent, is involuntary; insomuch that people have often unconsciously contracted peculiarities of character, which, when they were reminded of them, they could instantly trace to the example of some friend. I do not here inquire whether we are more likely, from our constitution, to imitate good or bad examples; but only speak of the general influence of example, of whatever kind, founded on the fact that we are naturally imitative beings.

The considerations at which I have now just hinted, namely, that with the characters which we form here, must be connected not only our present, but eternal condition; and that there is no influence more powerful in forming these characters than that of example. These considerations, I think, must prepare you suitably to estimate the subject to which I am about to call your attention; I mean the DANGER OF EVIL COMPANY. I wish each one of you to hear for himself; and to let conscience make a faithful and honest application; and it is my earnest prayer to God, and I doubt not that it is the prayer of your parents who are here among you, that you may so listen, and so apply—that this discourse shall prove the means of making you better and happier through eternity.

That evil company has a corrupting and dangerous effect, is a fact so well understood, and so universally acknowledged, that it would be quite superfluous to enter into any direct proof of it. The wisest man in the world has long ago said that "a companion of fools shall be destroyed!" And who has not seen the assertion verified in instances almost innumerable? It will be more to our purpose, therefore, to show you the process by which evil example operates; or to notice the different principles which it brings into action, in corrupting the morals, degrading the character, and ruining the soul.

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I. The danger of associating with wicked companions commences in the fact that  it renders vice familiar. I know it has been fashionable to say, in the language of a distinguished poet, that
"Vice is a monster of so frightful mein,
That to be hated, needs but to be seen;"
and on this principle some have gone so far as to justify the most profane and licentious exhibitions of the stage; and have gravely contended that those splendid scenes of impiety, decked out with all that is most attractive and provoking to the sensual appetites, are fitted indirectly to nourish good affections, and lead to a virtuous life. The fundamental error of this kind of philosophy is, that it overlooks the melancholy fact that man is a being of depraved inclinations; and the moment you bring him in contact with vice, you place by his side a companion to whom his arms and his heart involuntarily fly open.

However you will account for the fact, all experience proves that there is a tendency in human nature to go astray; and that while nothing more than the absence of restraint is necessary to the formation of evil habits; a habit of virtue and piety is always the result of fixed resolution and severe effort. If then, the state of the heart naturally is such as to render it most sensible to the solicitations of vice, you will easily perceive how this consideration operates to invest all needless fellowship with evil company with great danger. You may apply fire to materials which are exposed to the frost and damps of winter, and you will find it difficult to produce a flame; but if you bring it in contact with some highly inflammable substance, you will see a blaze, or hear an explosion, in an instant. In like manner, if all our inclinations were originally on the side of virtue, the danger from being familiar with vice might be comparatively small; but the case becomes greatly changed, when it is recollected that we have within us evil propensities, which are ready to kindle as soon as the torch of temptation is applied to them!

I am aware that the circumstances of our present condition sometimes necessarily lead us to witness scenes of wickedness; but this, so far as it is unavoidable, is to be considered as constituting part of our trial, and as making a loud demand for our vigilant activity and resistance. But in a large part of the instances in which young people are the witnesses of vice, it is not because Providence places them in the way of it in the course of their duty—but because they are prompted by inclination. Now let me say that those of you who have yielded so far to curiosity, or any other principle, as to place yourselves deliberately and unnecessarily in the way of vice—I care not what kind it is—have unconsciously entered into a league with it. The fatal poison is already in your hand, and unless you cast it from you without delay, in all probability, you are ruined.

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II. It is the tendency of mixing with bad associates, to benumb and finally destroy the moral sense.

By the moral sense, you will understand me to mean that faculty or principle of action, partly of an intellectual, and partly of a moral character, by which we discern the difference between right and wrong, and approve the one and condemn the other. In some, I suppose, this faculty is originally more active and delicate than in others; but in all, it is an essential part of the human constitution, and is indispensable to moral agency. It is easy to see that in the formation of character, much will depend on cultivating or neglecting to cultivate the moral sense. And of course, whatever contributes to render our moral perception less accurate, or our moral sensibility less keen, must proportionably put in jeopardy our virtue. Now let me ask whether the voice of universal experience does not decide that mingling in evil company, and witnessing evil examples, has this unhappy tendency? Have not even people of an established principle of piety, who have been called, in the course of providence, to mingle in scenes of wickedness, found it exceedingly difficult to maintain that high and solemn sense of the evil of sin, which they wished to cultivate; and have they not been obliged to fortify themselves against this deadening influence, by a double degree of watchfulness and prayer? But perhaps there are some before me who can bear testimony on this subject from experience. Can you not remember the time when some particular vice, say that of profane swearing, or gaming, or drunkenness, excited in you emotions of disgust and even horror—when you could hardly look upon its miserable victim without an aching heart? But it may be, that you have since frequently been in wicked company; and the sounds of blasphemy and the riot and loathsomeness of intemperance have become familiar to you; and has not this familiarity rendered you insensible, in a great degree, to the odiousness of these vices?

Nay, are there not some among you who can now commit, without much remorse, sins, the very thought of which would once have made you tremble? Look back, O young man, and see how far you have already fallen towards the gulf of profligacy and ruin; and then, in the light of your past experience, and over the ruins of a good conscience, look forward and prophecy concerning your future doom!

The extinction of the moral sense is usually very gradual, and the progress of its decline is often marked, with great accuracy, by the conduct. Everyone knows that conscience is originally one of the most active and powerful of all the inhabitants of the human bosom; and that she will never yield up her authority until she has sustained a severe struggle. There is nothing, perhaps, in which this conflict is more clearly marked, than in the progress of a young man, who has had a pious education—towards a habit of profaneness. Though he has been accustomed occasionally to hear the language of cursing from others, the impressions of his childhood are too strong, to allow him immediately to copy it.

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At length, in an evil hour, he summons resolution enough to make the awful experiment of uttering an oath; but his faltering tongue and blushing cheek proclaim, that there is a commotion and a remonstrance within. Conscience rouses up all her energies, and thunders out a rebuke, which almost puts him into the attitude of consternation. Perhaps his early resolutions to reverence the name and authority of God, come thronging upon his remembrance—or perhaps the instructions of other days, enforced by parental affection, rise up before him—or it may be, that the image of a departed parent, who had trained him up in the way that he should go, haunts his busy and agitated mind, and reproaches him with filial ingratitude. He resolves that the dreadful privilege of taking the name of God in vain, has been purchased at too great expense; and that he will not venture to repeat an experiment that has been so fruitful in remorse end agony. But presently he is heard to drop another oath, and another; and in each successive instance, the conflict with conscience becomes less severe, until, at length, this faithful reprover is silenced, and he blasphemes his Maker's name without remorse, and almost without his own observation.

When I see an ingenuous youth taking the first steps in this path of death—when I see his countenance change, and hear his voice falter, and the embarrassment and awkwardness of his manner tell me that conscience is uttering her remonstrance at the very moment when the language of profaneness is upon his lips, I say to myself—'Poor young man, little do you know what disgrace and wretchedness you are treasuring up for yourself!' I regard him as having set his face like a flint towards perdition; and I read on his character, in dark and ominous letters—"The glory has departed!"

It is important here to be observed, that the effect of any particular vice in destroying the moral sense, is universal. That is, by being familiar with any one sin, the mind gradually contracts a degree of insensibility to all others. For instance, if you indulge in profaneness, the sin of licentiousness, or drunkenness, as an offence against God, will not appear to you in its native odiousness; for this plain reason, that, by indulging in sin of any kind, you lose your regard for God's authority. There is also such an intimate connection between different vices, that it is exceedingly difficult to be devoted to one, without being, in a greater or less degree, the slave of more. Remember, therefore, that, in frequenting the company of the wicked, you expose yourselves not only to the particular vices which you may happen to witness in them—but to any others to which subsequent temptations may invite you; because, when you have once cast off the fear of God, your heart will be open to every bad impression, and will be a soil in which every kind of sin will flourish luxuriantly.

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III. It is another effect of associating with evil company, that it checks the operation of the principle of shame.

This too is part of our original constitution; and is so essential and active a principle, that the absence of it is always taken as a decisive indication of confirmed profligacy; insomuch that there is hardly a more striking epitome of a thoroughly depraved character, than that he is without shame before others. Though some higher principle than a regard to the opinion of others is necessary to constitute an action good in the sight of God, or to be the foundation of a pious life; and though this principle, like every other, is liable to abuse, and needs to be properly restrained and regulated; still, no doubt it was intended by Providence to impose a check upon our wicked inclinations. And so essential is the operation of shame, to the welfare, and I may say, the existence of society, that if all those evil propensities which are now kept in check by a regard to the opinion of the world, were allowed to operate freely, it is probable that all the opposition which human laws could make to the vices of men, would be no more than the weakest mound of earth set to defy the angry torrent, as it comes rushing from the mountains.

If, then, this principle of shame, is so important to the preservation of virtue in the community, and, of course, to the virtue of each individual—surely anything which has a tendency to extinguish it is greatly to be deprecated; and that this is the direct tendency of evil company, must be obvious to everyone.

Here again, I appeal directly to the consciences of those, if there be any such before me, whose experience renders them the most competent judges. When you first associated with those who took the name of God in vain, would not the thought of your ever being heard to utter the same language have crimsoned your cheek with shame? But after a while, did not this peculiar sensibility to the opinion of others, so far wear off, that when none but your sinful companions were present, you ventured a profane expression; and even after you could swear fearlessly in their presence, was it not a considerable time before you could feel willing to hazard an oath in the hearing of your serious friends? And when, after taking the name of God in vain, you have sometimes turned your face, and been unexpectedly met by the reproving countenance of some pious friend, have you not been awed into confusion by the majesty of virtue; and felt that you had done an act which, in the estimation of that good man, would cover you with disgrace? But you may, for ought I know, have long since bid adieu to all such scruples; and you may be congratulating yourselves upon the victory you have gained over a prejudice of pious education; and you may have become so shockingly familiar with the dialect of hell, that even the presence of the virtuous and good cannot restrain you from it: for all this may be calculated upon as a legitimate consequence of being often found in the way of sinners.

Just so it is with the sin of intoxication. Probably the greatest drunkard in the community can remember the time when he would have shuddered at the thought of thus foolishly sacrificing his reputation; and perhaps there was hardly ever an instance in which a man yielded to this kind of temptation for the first time, that he was not thoroughly ashamed of it, and would turn his face from you when you met him in the street, lest your countenance should reveal to him your pity or contempt. But by frequently resorting to the company of drunkards, and by repeating a few times the brutish experiment, the flush of shame faded from his cheek, and made way for a still deeper hue of crimson, which proclaims that he is a shameless sot.

And so it is with respect to every other bad habit. By frequenting the society of the wicked, a person soon comes practically to regard them as the most important part of the world; and consequently, his regard for the opinion of the godly, and his fear of losing it, are gradually diminished and destroyed.

[airIam2worship]

IV. Another sentiment which is brought into operation in aid of a wicked habit, by associating with wicked companions, is the dread of being singular.

There is nothing that goes to the heart of a young man like "the world's dread laugh;" or the idea of standing alone; or of being charged with superstitious scruples of conscience: and this is a principle of which the abettors of vice are always sure to avail themselves, in regard to those who are inexperienced. When a young man, whose mind has been stored with good sentiments through the influence of education, falls into their company, it is astonishing to observe how their invention is quickened for devising means for his destruction. They take care not to display to him all the mysteries of iniquity at once, lest it should produce a shock which should drive him from their society. At first, perhaps, he discovers in them nothing more than an excessive cheerfulness; and so far, he thinks they may be imitated without much danger. But it is not long before he must take another step; and if he hesitates and falters now, he sees on one side, a reproachful frown, and on the other, a contemptuous smile. One, perhaps, charges him with unmanly superstition, and another with the lack of independence; or it may be, the whole fraternity of them send up one general shout of ridicule. At such a moment, I look upon a young man as suspended between life and death; and as the experiment which is now going forward may result, I expect his eternal destiny will be decided. If I could look into his heart at this awful crisis, I would expect to find it in a state of fearful agitation; and if the power of reflection had not deserted him, to find him proposing to himself some such questions as these—"What step is this which I am now tempted to take? Where will it conduct me? May it not ruin my character, and ruin my soul? What mean these counsels and warnings of my early youth, that now come knocking at the door of my heart? If I yield, will not the hearts of my pious friends bleed with tenfold deeper sorrow than if I were to die—nay, will it not almost send a pang of agony down into the graves of my departed parents, who dedicated me to God, and with their dying breath charged me to beware of a life of sin? But how can I sustain the anguish of being singular? How can I bear to be thought cowardly and spiritless; to hear these shouts of ridicule, and witness these expressions of contempt? No, I will not submit to this intolerable burden: I will rush headlong into the haunts of sin, and endeavor to stifle conscience and drown reflection. Cease, then, to trouble me, you recollections of my early days. You pious friends, who have followed me all my life with affectionate wishes and good offices, I can heed you no longer. I will sooner pierce all your hearts with anguish, than to stand alone and try to stem this torrent of ridicule. And you too, departed parents, even if I knew I should disturb the repose of your graves, and plant a thorn in that pillow which sustains your head in yonder lonely mansion—I could not bear to be singular. Leave me therefore, friends; leave me, conscience; leave me, every tender and endearing recollection; leave me too, you gloomy forebodings of future misery; and let me sacrifice my soul as quietly as I can! I can hazard anything else, even the eternal burnings of hell; but I cannot, I will not, hazard the odium of being singular!"

I do believe, my hearers, that many a young man, who now sits in the seat of the scoffer, if he would honestly tell you his whole experience, would be obliged to relate the story of some such conflict as this which I have here supposed; and it may be that there are young people before me, who can recollect something like it in their own experience. But if I knew there were such a case, I should hardly think it premature to call upon you to begin even now to mourn for the death of an immortal soul.

[airIam2worship]

V. I shall close the illustration of this subject with one more remark; and that is, that it is  the tendency of evil company to separate a person from the means of grace.

What though he may live in the midst of Christian privileges, and almost at the very threshold of the sanctuary—will he enter those hallowed courts, where everything betokens reverence and purity—when his heart loathes the service of his Maker? Will he deliberately place himself in the way of reproof for those very vices to which he has deliberately resolved to yield? Or will he be likely to read the word of God, when he meets his own sentence of condemnation on every page? I do not say indeed that the whole extent of this evil will ordinarily be realized in the early stages of vice; on the contrary, I well know that its progress, for the most part, is gradual. But I do say—and I appeal to the heart of every profligate for the truth of it—that the tendency of wicked company is, finally, to form a complete separation from all the means of true religion. If he is entirely devoted to the service of sin, it were an absurdity to suppose that he should have either time or relish for the service of God; and even if he attends upon it with external formality for a while, it will soon become too irksome to be continued. And when the means of grace are once abandoned, I know not where we are to look for a more decisive symptom of a hard heart and a reprobate mind. We must not indeed venture to limit the power of the Most High God; but if there ever be a case which, upon all the principles of human probability, we may pronounce hopeless, and in which our most awful apprehensions may reasonably cluster around the destiny of a fallen mortal—surely it is the case of him who has voluntarily cut himself off from the means of salvation.