a God are low and earthly. We conceive of Him as of an earthly parent, watching over our sleep with bodily eyes, furnishing our food with a bodily hand, and following us from place to place with a material presence. As infancy passes away, our conceptions become less gross. We think of Him as omnipresent and invisible; but, deriving our notions from our experience, we conceive of him as subject to emotions and passions. We believe in the real existence—if not of his smiles and frowns—of his joy, sorrow and anger, pleasure and pain. We can then imagine his knowing and remembering all that has ever taken place, but can scarcely conceive of his unlimited presence. Our childish obedience is then yielded as to our parents,—partly through fear, partly through a desire of approbation, and partly with the hope of of giving pleasure. All the qualities or attributes which we ascribe to God have their origin and counterparts in our parents, or those who supply their place to us: and in no other way can the conception of Deity be originated. No mind can arrive at the recognition of a general principle, but through an observation of its particular applications; nor can a conception be formed, otherwise than by the gradual reception of its elements; or enlarged, but by adding to their number. From the watchfulness of its parent in satisfying its wants and defending it from injury, the child forms its first notion of Providence; and from the visitings of parental approbation and displeasure, of a moral governor. When the presence of Deity is thus recognised, some more abstract qualities are by degrees attributed to him. Instances of the strength, foresight, and knowledge of the parent are daily witnessed; and these, somewhat magnified, are transferred to Deity;—and the moral attributes have the same origin. Steadiness in awarding recompence, tenderness in inflicting punishment, or readiness in remitting it on repentance, gradually communicate the abstract ideas of justice, compassion, and mercy. Our first low notions of holiness are formed by putting together all the best qualities we have observed in the persons around us, and supposing them to be unimpaired by the faults we are conscious of in ourselves. All these attributes are ascribed to one Being; and the conception, already more exalted than any we have formed of any other individual being, is further improved by the richer elements of a more extended experience. The imagination becoming stronger as the materials supplied to its activity become more abundant, the conception of Deity perpetually grows in grandeur and beauty, till it absorbs the intellect of a Newton and engrosses the affections of a Fenelon. Still, this notion of a Being whom we know and feel to be infinite, is formed from the results of our finite experience; and the conception, however improved in degree, is unchanged in kind. Let it be magnified to the utmost extent, it is still only magnified, not metamorphosed. As there is a strict analogy between the moral attributes of God and of men, there is also a strict analogy between their natural modes of being. Justice in God is the same quality as justice in men, however perfected and enlarged; and Unity in God is the same as individuality in men, though ascribed to an almighty and omnipresent Being.

A perpetual and perfect concentration of attributes is essential to our notion of one God. We can conceive of his manifesting one attribute in an especial manner on one occasion, and another on another; we can imagine him conferring power analogous to his own on an inferior being; but we cannot conceive of his laying aside, of his depriving himself of any of the attributes of his nature, or of delegating his power,—if by such delegation be implied any diminution or inactivity of it in Himself. It is conceivable that he might employ some superior intelligence in creating the material world (though we have no authority to suppose that he did so;) but it is not conceivable that the work was not, at the same time, wholly his own. It is conceivable that he might send—it is certain that he did send—a being divinely furnished for the work, to institute a dispensation of grace, and to offer pardon and peace to sinful men. But it is not conceivable that the divine attribute of mercy could previously, or subsequently, or ever, be laid aside, or transferred, or suspended; that his unalterable purposes could be changed, his compassion roused, his sympathies moved by any act of any being, human or angelic. To suppose so, is supposing his purposes mutable, and his compassion dormant; that is, divesting him of Deity. We can, in accordance with our conception of Deity, understand how the dispensation of grace may be committed, as it was committed, to a finite being. But to suppose it the indefeasible prerogative of any eternal Being but God, is clearly to suppose two Gods: and if the office of sanctification be appropriated in a similar manner, we must suppose three Gods. However long and deeply we may reflect and strive to reconcile contradictions, we shall find at length that it is essential to our belief in One God, that we ascribe creation, redemption and sanctification, ultimately wholly to Him 'of whom, and through whom, and to whom are all things.'

This unalterable decision of the reason is confirmed in every possible way by revelation. It is needless to adduce proof from the Scriptures of the Old Testament, as it is universally known that the Jews held, as the fundamental doctrine of their religion, the strict Unity of Jehovah, in nature, person, and attributes. There is not the slightest intimation, in the records of the new dispensation, that any change took place in the opinions of the Apostles, or of any other Jewish converts, respecting the nature or person of God. They speak and write of Him as One, ordaining the salvation of the world through Christ, and Himself sanctifying those who were appointed to assist in the work. Jesus ever spoke of himself as the servant of the Most High, deriving his purposes and his powers from on high, and ascribing his achievements to the grace manifested thence: 'I do nothing of myself; but as my Father hath taught me I speak these things. And he that sent me is with me: the Father hath not left me alone; for I do always those things that please him.' (John viii. 28, 29.) 'My doctrine is not mine, but his that sent me. If any man will do his will, he shall know of the doctrine (whether it be of God, or whether I speak of myself.' John vii. 16, 17.) Again, in intimating the share which should be apportioned to his disciples in publishing the new dispensation, he says, 'Ye are they who have continued with me in my trials. And I appoint unto you a kingdom, as my Father hath appointed unto me; that ye may eat and drink at my table in my kingdom, and sit on thrones, judging the twelve tribes of Israel.' (Luke xxii. 28, 29, 30.) It is not conceivable that, anxious as he ever was to attract the attention of men to the nature of his mission, and to magnify the importance of the new covenant, he should have concealed the most wonderful and important circumstance belonging to it, and have not only left men in ignorance of his highest claims to their homage and obedience, but have led them into it. That even his immediate followers and the primitive Church had no suspicion of the Christ being more than the most exalted of God's messengers, we have already declared our conviction; a conviction which is confirmed by every page of their writings. Paul was careful to declare 'the whole counsel of God.' Yet in the passage of his writings in which, above all others he exalts the Saviour, he tells how, for the meekness with which he bore the honors which constituted in him a