their meat sitting upon the ground, with their legs | across like tailors." On the 8th of August they arrived at Joppa, but did not till the next day receive permission to land from the great pasha, who sat upon a hill to see us sent away." Aldersey had mounted before the rest, which greatly displeased his highness, who sent a servant to pull him from the saddle and beat him; " whereupon I made a long leg, saying, Grand mercy, Seignior." This timely submission seems to have secured forgiveness; and, accordingly, "being horsed upon little asses," they commenced their journey towards Jerusalem. Rama he describes as so "ruinated, that he took it to be rather a heap of stones than a town;" finding no house to receive them, but such a one as they were compelled to enter by creeping upon their knees. The party were exposed to the usual violence and extortion of the Arabs; "they that should have rescued us stood still, and durst do nothing, which was to our cost." On reaching the holy city they knelt down and gave thanks; after which they were obliged to enter the gate on foot, no Christian at that period being allowed to appear within the walls mounted. The superior of the convent received the pilgrims courteously into his humble establishment, where, Aldersey tells us, "they were dieted of free cost, and fared reasonable well."

Palestine is usually approached either from the sea at the port of Jalla, the ancient Joppa, or from Egypt by way of the intervening desert. In both cases the principal object is to obtain a safe and easy route to the capital, which, even at the present hour, cannot be reached without much danger, unless under the special protection of the native authorities. The power of Mohammed Ali, it is true, extends almost to the very walls of Gaza; and wherever his government is acknowledged, no violence can be committed with impunity on European travellers. But the Syrian pashas, equally deficient in inclination and vigour, still permit the grossest extortion, and sometimes connive at the most savage atrocities. Besides, there is a class of lawless Arabs, who scour the borders of the wilderness, holding at defiance all the restrictions which a civilised people impose or respect. Sir Frederick Henniker, who followed the unwonted track which leads from Mount Sinai to the southern shore of the Dead Sea, narrowly escaped with his life, after having been severely wounded, and repeatedly robbed, by one of the most savage hordes of Bedouins.

At a short distance from this celebrated port the pilgrim enters the plain of Sharon, celebrated in Scripture for its beautiful roses. The monk Neret informs us, that in his time it was covered with tulips, the variety of whose colours formed a lovely parterre. At present, the eye of the traveller is delighted with a profusion of roses, white and red, the narcissus, the white and orange lily, the carnation, and a highly fragrant species of everlasting flower. This plain stretches along the coast, from Gaza in the south to Mount Carmel on the north, being bounded towards the east by the hills of Judea and Samaria. The whole of it is not upon the same level; it consists of four platforms, separated from each other by a wall of naked stones. The soil is composed of very fine sand, which, though mixed with gravel, appears extremely fertile; but, owing to the desolating spirit of Mohammedan despotism, nothing is seen in some of the richest fields except thistles and withered grass. Here and there, indeed, are scanty plantations of cotton, with a few patches of doura, barley, and wheat. The villages, which are commonly surrounded with olivetrees and sycamores, are for the most part in ruins; exhibiting a melancholy proof, that, under a bad government, even the bounty of Heaven ceases to be a blessing.

The path by which the hilly barrier is penetrated is difficult, and in some places dangerous. But, before you reach it, turning towards the east, you perceive

Rama, or Ramla, the ancient Arimathæa, distinguished by its charming situation, and well known as the residence of a Christian community. The convent, it is true, had been plundered five years before it was visited by Chateaubriand; and it was not without the most urgent solicitation that the friars were permitted to repair their building; as if it were a maxim among the Turks, who by their domination continue to afflict and disgrace the finest parts of Palestine, that the progress of ruin and decay should never be arrested. Volney tells us, that when he was at Ramla, a commander resided there in a serai, the walls and floors of which were on the point of tumbling down. The Frenchman asked one of the inferior officers why his master did not at least pay some attention to his own apartment. The reply was, "If another shall obtain his place next year, who will repay the expense?" A ride of two hours (from Ramla) brings the traveller to the verge of the mountains, when the road opens through a rugged ravine, and is formed in the dry channel of a torrent. A scene of affecting solitude and desolation surrounds his steps as he pursues his journey, in what is so simply described in the Gospel as the hill-country of Judea." Before him opens the Vale of St. Jeremiah; and in the same direction, on the top of a rock, appears in the distance an ancient fortress called the Castle of the Maccabees. It is conjectured that the author of the Lamentations was born in the village which still retains his name, amidst these sombre mountains: so much is certain, at least, that the melancholy of this desolate scene appears to pervade the compositions of the prophet of sorrows. This was the pastoral country into which the mother of the Redeemer came to salute her cousin Elizabeth.

The traveller towards Zion soon arrives at the brook where the youthful David picked up the five smooth stones, with one of which he slew the gigantic Goliath. He pursues his way through a dreary region to the summit of an elevated hill, after which he proceeds across a naked plain strewed with loose stones. All at once, at the extremity of this plain, he perceives a line of Gothic walls flanked with square towers, and the tops of a few buildings peeping above them;-he beholds Jerusalem, once the joy of the whole earth!

Biography.

THE LIFE OF THE REV. JOHN SARGENT.*

JOHN SARGENT, the eldest son of John Sargent, Esq. of Lavington, in Sussex, and Charlotte his wife, was born Oct. 8, 1780. He was educated at Eton; and was there remarkable amongst his contemporaries for uniting a decided superiority in the manly sports of the play-ground with high classical attainments. From Eton he removed to King's College, Cambridge, where, through God's blessing, the Rev. C. Simeon was made the instrument of first leading him to serious views of religion. Under his guidance, and that of the late Rev. Thomas Lloyd, he was gradually nurtured and strengthened in the ways of God. For both of them he preserved, through life, a reverend affection, maintaining with the one an unbroken friendship, and cherishing a grateful veneration for the memory of the other. He quitted Cambridge in the

See "Journals and Letters of the Rev. Henry Martyn," edited by the Rev. S. Wilberforce, rector of Brighstone. 2 vols. Svo. Seeley and Burnside, 1837. These are volumes of remarkable interest, to which we shall take various opportunities of directing our readers' attention, and of recommending their perusal, especially to those who are preparing for missionary labour. At present, we extract some parts of the account given in the introduction of Mr. Sargent, Martyn's biographer.-ED.

year 1802, and, entering at the Temple, set out in that path which appeared to be marked out for him by the providence of God.

As the heir of the family estate, and its future representative in his native county, it was the desire of those to whose wishes he deemed it a duty to yield, that he should follow the profession of the law. His own heart longed for a more entire dedication of his powers to the Redeemer's work than was possible in a course of life mainly conversant with earthly things. Yet having judged, upon mature reflection, that such was at the time his duty, in the true spirit of Christian submission, he set himself resolutely to its performance. It was not, indeed, without many painful struggles that he arrived at this conclusion.

The bent of his soul towards the sacrcd profession was peculiarly strong. How far was he bound to listen in it for a "call from God?"

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How far to submit these holy desires to the wishes of parental authority? He weighed the apparently conflicting claims of day, and acted without hesitation upon his matured enviction. In a letter written at this time to an intimate friend, he thus describes what had been passing in his mind. "I do not wonder at your wishing that I had chosen decidedly to enter the Church, But what could I do? Could I indeed have been atsured that it was God's will that I should serve him as a minister, were it to preach to the wild Indians, thing should stand in the way. But I thought Mr. Simeon's observations just: You are certain that you are acting according to your duty in obeying the wishes of your father.' Whereas I could not say so in the other case. What painful fluctuations of mind I have suffered upon this occasion, is not to be described: under pain of body, or loss of friends, we clearly see that resignation is our duty; but here I was tossed about for a long time without being able to satisfy myself upon a point of such importance what was my duty. Yet, under this disquietude, I committed my way unto the Lord, and I have not a doubt but that he will be with me, and somehow or other make me in some little degree instrumental in promoting his glory. Indeed, you have no idea what I have felt. No one who has not been in a similar situation can form any notion of it. My decision will, I trust, be approved of by my heavenly Father. My one desire has been, if my heart has not deceived me, to do his will, and to devote myself entirely to his honour and glory. I shall be happy, wherever I am, if I can assure myself that I am serving him in the way which he ordained me to walk in. Do not forget, I beseech you, to pray for me, that the love of Jesus may attend me, and his right hand lead me through the perils of the profession I am entering. When I look at the corruption and weakness of my own heart, I tremble; when I behold the power and willingness to save all to the uttermost who come to him, which is in Jesus, I rejoice."

Worldly business undertaken in this spirit, and conducted on these principles, was not likely to endanger the spirituality of his soul. The ungenial atmosphere which hangs over the seats of legal strife, and the bustling scenes of earthly business, could infist little injury on him who had such a talisman within. The state of mind evinced by his letters at

this time justifies a record of this date in the journal of Henry Martyn: "Sargent seems to be outstripping us all."

At no very distant period, however, it pleased God, who had thus tried the submissive faith of his servant, by calling upon him to give up those desires which were the strongest in his soul, to open to him the path which he longed to tread. The objections of those to whose wishes he thought it a duty to yield, were removed by altered circumstances; he quitted that profession upon which, in obedience to their desires, he had entered, and prepared himself for undertaking that holy office to which his own inclinations had always been so strongly directed. In the years 1805 and 1806 he was successively ordained deacon and priest. He entered upon his ministry with the cure of Graffham, in Sussex; which, with the small contiguous parish of Lavington, formed to the end the scene of his ministerial labours. Here, with patient perseverance, he continued for years "to do the work of an evangelist" amongst those whom God had committed to him. His whole heart was given up to that ministry wherewith he had been entrusted. His lot was cast amongst the ignorant and unpolished. Nor were there wanting peculiar ministerial trials in this secluded situation. There was a false spirit of religion prevalent amongst his people, which was, through the whole of his ministry, a source of continual rebuke and suffering to his godly soul. Antinomian on principle and in practice, they withstood continually the word of life, perverted unstable souls, and, with all the insolence of spiritual pride, continually wounded his naturally sensitive heart.

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He gives the following account of this section of his flock. "Some few are fanatical disciples of Huntingdon: they came to hear me the first time I preached; whether they will continue, I cannot say. The preacher amongst them, who makes my shoes, upon being asked his opinion of me, said, that he thought I should be enabled to declare the truth; that is, he thinks me a promising young man. One of them the other day, speaking of Mr. the curate, said, he had no particular fault to find with the man, but he did not think him quite free in the liberty.' Upon my desiring an explanation of that expression, he simplified the assertion by affirming that he was rather in bondage,' rather under the yoke.' They have a jargon and cant of their own; to be ignorant of which, in their estimation, is to be carnally minded and unregenerate. God alone can enable me to be useful, either to these deluded people or the other part of my flock. I am sensible that the grace of our Saviour can alone give that singleness of heart and spirituality of mind, which characterises his people at all times. I should wish to be more sensible of my weakness in myself, and of my strength in Jesus."

Such was the character of the flock to which the great Head of the Church confined those labours, for which human wisdom would have selected a very different sphere. And such, in its general features, it continued through a period of twenty-five years which he spent amongst them. He was, indeed, cheered by witnessing amongst his people many individual instances of altered conduct and renewed affections; but his discouragements were never intermitted; the care

less sinfulness of some, and the delusive profession of others, were always a burden to his soul; still they were the object of his unwearied solicitude. The health of different members of his family took him often from home for a season, and led to the exercise of his ministry in more populous and instructed places. In these he was always courted and admired; and yet, from these more inviting occupations, he returned always readily and cheerfully to his own appointed task -neither envying the charge of others, nor slumbering in his own. To know that such a man continued with such effects the unintermitted labours of a holy life, may give encouragement to many who are pressed down with the apparent fruitlessness of their ministerial work. It displays most strikingly the submissive activity which is the true frame for Christian usefulness; as far apart from slothfulness as from that bustling love of action, which will scarcely suffer good to be effected by another's efforts.

The same sound and sober habit of mind was evinced in the whole complexion of his ministerial character. Deep and reverend was his affection for that branch of Christ's Church from which in infancy he had received the sacred mystery of baptism, and with whose holy orders he was now invested. There was a marked difference on this point between his judgment and feelings and those of some whose ardent piety he most highly esteemed, and with whom he was constantly connected in active efforts for the spread of God's word and kingdom. Never, in this age of various and unbounded religious excitement, was he led astray from the path of Christian sobriety; and this sobriety of judgment was seen in his whole system of practical divinity. Whilst, on the one hand, the eminent spirituality of his soul kept him at the greatest distance from a formal regard to the externals of religion, he was equally free from a slight or irreverend estimation of any of those outward observances which have been appointed or sanctioned as the means of good to Christ's Church. The foundation of this habit of mind was laid in that deep humility which formed so striking a feature in his ministerial character. Closely allied with this was his patience as a minister of Christ. Day after day would he visit the sick-bed of his poorest cottager, and continue, in spite of dulness of intellect and coldness of heart, to watch for any opening by which he might win souls to Christ; year after year, with undiminished energy, did he patiently preach to his little flock the glad tidings of salvation, and without ceasing were his prayers poured out to God for them.

Great, too, was his ministerial tenderness: his holy condemnation of sin was never mingled with any of the harshness of invective. When compelled to wield the sword of the Spirit for the conviction of sinners, it was "even weeping" that he taught them what it was "to be the enemies of the cross of Christ." He could scarcely speak of the concerns of immortal souls without tears. None ever came to heal the wounds of souls who possessed a softer touch, a more exquisite sensibility of spirit; he was the chosen comforter of sorrow, the " son of consolation" to wounded hearts. Though he always spoke out in condemning sin, though he dared not hide the holiness of God under a meretricious representation of his mercy, yet it was

his especial delight to be, in his Master's hands, the means of gently kindling to a flame the smoking flax, or raising tenderly the bruised reed. Indeed, it might have been said, that this was the peculiar feature of his ministerial character, if there had not been another in which all the rest seemed to be merged. The grace of God had wrought, in an unusual degree, within his soul that which was the distinguishing character of Herbert's "Pastor." "Holiness to the Lord" was imprinted upon all his conduct: he could not bear sin; he viewed it with holy indignation; its struggles in himself, and its frequent prevalence in his people, were the causes of his deepest sorrow. All attempts to make light of its defilement, to lower down the standard of God to the debased conceptions of fallen man, excited within him a vehement indignation and a holy zeal for God, which might have been deemed, by those who witnessed them alone, as almost incompatible with that deep and abiding tenderness which had been breathed over his soul. It was, indeed, the union of these two qualities which distinguished his ministerial character. But let it not be supposed that the habitual holiness of his soul was shewn in gloom or moroseness. There was in him a heartiness of affection, which ministered to the purest happiness. There was the gaiety of a mind too much refined to be ever boisterous; too manly to be ever frivolous; too entirely given up to God to be ever unseasonably mirthful; a perpetual spring of holy, guileless gaiety, gladdening and purifying the hearts of all those to whom God, in his mercy, had given him as a companion in this world of sorrows. Like most others of quick feelings, his temper was naturally hasty. Every succeeding year brought it under more entire control. By God's grace it was kept entirely free from asperity, while it possessed, in a large measure, the frank and sparkling quality which was its appropriate charm. The largest liberality was the natural overflow of his generous soul. He had nothing for himself.

It must not be supposed that this child of God passed through life without receiving at his Father's hands those "loving corrections" of which all are partakers. The same temper which ministered in ordinary seasons to unusual happiness, rendered him also peculiarly alive to the bitterness of the cup of afHiction. He knew, indeed, too well the hand which smote him to yield to hopeless or repining sorrow. But while he justified God for all his dealings, the iron entered oftentimes into his soul. "A pilgrim," he says, in a letter to a friend in 1805, "will always long most for his journey's end when the inns and road are bad and uncomfortable. Besides, even temporal good is much endeared to us by a short suspension of it; so that God, by his providence, makes us enjoy it more, and, at the same time, be less riveted to it. Such a paradox is the Christian life! Affliction comes not from the dust, but from His hand, who would not send it were it not necessary, but chastens us in mercy." In this spirit did he always receive the chastening of the Lord. He came out of the furnace evidently refined by its fires. Affliction lent wings to the strong desires of his soul, with which they soared to greater heights of communing with God. It pleased God [in 1829] to take from him his

eldest sona son endeared to his heart by every peculiarity of character, and every circumstance of education. He had never exchanged a father's care for the instruction of any other teacher; and between such a pupil, and such a preceptor, the task had grown insensibly into a delight. He had entered upon life at the University of Cambridge; withstood the strong temptations of opening manhood, and the ensuaring seductions of early independence; and had given intimation of no inconsiderable intellectual acquirements, when, from watching with delight this course of promise, his parents were called upon, by a sudden attack of pulmonary disease, to see the object of their hope and affection waste upon a bed of sicknets, and at last to yield him up again into the hands of the God who had given him to them for a while. That bed of unseasonable decay was cheered by the calm and holy light of Christian hope; it was surrounded by hearts deeply wounded, but entirely subsive to the will of God, and supported therefore by his presence.

Very shortly before his own most unexpected summs into the presence of his Master, he was again ced upon to endure extreme affliction. His remaining son, who had inherited, besides his own peculiar share, the love which had been his brother's portion, was seized with dangerous sickness. His father's anguish was intense. But in his bitterest struggles not a thought but of the holiness and love of his God ever entered into his mind. The dispensation was dark to all who witnessed it. So entirely was the beart which was stricken in accordance with the will of God, that it was a sore trial of faith to believe that it was needed.

Such was the habit of his soul, when, as he said, “I Lave not the shadow of a doubt that within six weeks we shall have laid that dear boy in yonder churchyard." Within six weeks the ground was broken up, and the earth received her dead into her keeping til the great day; but it was the father who was taken, and the child who wept over his grave: for His ways are past finding out." On April 26 [1833], he had engaged to visit the Isle of Wight. He did not arrive; but we heard that he was detained at home by a slight indisposition. Saturday, the 27th, is illness increased. Medical assistance was called It was supposed to be a relapse of the influenza, and no sort of danger was apprehended. Such was the course of each succeeding day; there were some distressing symptoms, but none which spoke of immediate alarm. On Thursday, May 2, an eminent surgeon, well acquainted with his constitution, was summoned from London, and pronounced him free from any symptoms of immediate danger; yet that very night was the work of death begun; and on the next mornEz, peacefully, and without a struggle, he resigned Es spirit into the hands of the God who gave it. During the course of his illness it was necessary to administer repeated opiates. In the feverish slumber which resulted from them his mind wandered, until recalled by the voice of another; and his lips spoke without the exact rein of reason. Yet even then his xpressions were of the same holy nature as those which he uttered in more collected moments. From Lis fall soul there poured forth unceasingly the pure

streams of a renewed spirit. "I have the greatest fear," he said, "of saying something in delirium which may dishonour my God. I have heard of some good people who have been permitted to do so; and I have a horror of it." This was his fear; but so far from its accomplishment, when his reason wandered, his mouth was filled with praises: he was reasoning with sinners, or speaking with unusual clearness and beauty of the deep things of God. When he was first laid upon that bed, from which he never rose, he said to one near him, "Now from this bed to glory, or else to live more than I have ever lived to the glory of my God." His humility of soul was strikingly exhibited in the course of this last struggle. "Look

at me," he said to those around him; "look at me, the vilest of sinners, but saved by grace! Amazing, that I can be saved!" And this was heard to be his continual language, exalting the grace of God, which was able to save even him. He thought too at this time of the welfare of those around him. He desired that an especial message might be delivered from him to all his people. "I would have you," he said, "seek out every drunkard, swearer, and sinner, in this place, and warn them of God's wrath against their sins. Tell them that all I have said to them is true that on a bed of death I more than ever felt its truththat a deathbed is no place for repentance." "Tell," said he, "the children of this place, from me, to hate sin, to strive against it, and, above all things, to beware of putting off the time of beginning to serve God." Throughout the whole of this time his soul appeared to be eminently "athirst for God."

"Wrestle for me," said he in broken accents, but with deep earnestness, to a Christian friend who stood by his bed," wrestle for me, that I may go hence to glory, or else live more like the saints in glory;" and at another time, when speaking of his earnest affection to his family, and his great happiness in them, he added with emphasis, "but to be holy, to be perfectly holy, how gladly would I leave all of you, to be holy!" Nor were there wanting in his case some of those unusual supports with which the Lord at times upholds the goings of his servants when they enter upon the dark valley of the shadow of death. His exceeding self-suspicion, and his habitual sobriety of feeling, might not unnaturally have prevented the expression of any lively emotions of assured joy at the apprehension of the near approach of eternity. He had moreover a nervous shrinking from the act of dying; yet it pleased God to pour at this season a flood of heavenly light upon his soul; he passed the streams well-nigh dry shod. "I am safe," was his rejoicing testimony, "though a miserable sinner,- saved by grace, I have not a doubt;" and calling to him one eminently beloved, he said, "You know that I have always had a horror of superstition-I believe that I inherited it; but I wish to tell you of the extraordinary revelation of himself which it has pleased God to make to my soul;" and then," do not misunderstand me, I do not mean by any vision, but by unusual spiritual communion with himself." The words "glory, glory," were heard breaking from his lips as his countenance kindled into holy fervour; and his lips spoke of " that bright light," which, when asked, "what light?" he explained to be "the bright light of the Sun of righteousness."

No less than four times during the last night which he spent upon earth was he heard repeating to himself in solemn ascriptions of praise to God," Glory be to the Father, and to the Son, and to the Holy Ghost. Amen." And when, just before the last struggle, one said to him, "The everlasting arms are under you," he answered with eager joy, "I know they are-I feel them that is enough."

It was "enough" for him: he had been found faithful. His Lord, on whom he relied, was able to deliver him; he forsook not his servant who trusted in him, but even as he passed through the waters which separate this world from the next, he put a new song into his mouth, and filled his tongue with the praises of his Lord. And now he rests with him: that pure

soul has attained the sinless state for which he panted; he is with that Saviour whom he loved; he has tried the promise of the Lord, and found his word true: "Be thou faithful unto death, and I will give thee a crown of life."

THE FAITH ONCE DELIVERED TO THE

SAINTS: A Sermon,*

BY THE REV. JOHN BULL, M.A.

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men, it appears from his further description of them, were abominable" in their lives, "and disobedient; and unto every good work reprobate." They were like "raging waves of the sea, foaming out their own shame;" wandering stars, to whom was reserved the blackness of darkness for ever." The apostle thus draws their character, and sets forth their future doom in the most awful colours, that he might warn the faithful against their seductive arts, "lest they should fall under the same condemnation." His language might seem severe towards these lawless deceivers, these destructive heretics; but it was necessarily severe, and he wrote under the inspiration of the Holy Spirit. Towards his believing brethren, the humble and faithful disciples of Christ, his words are full of tenderness and divine benevolence.

Thus he begins his epistle: "Jude, the servant of Jesus Christ, and brother of James" of James who wrote the epistle which forms a part of the New Testament, the brother, or cousin-germain of our Lord, and the first bishop of Jerusalem—“ to them that are sanctified by God the Father, and

Northamptonshire.

ST. JUDE, 3.

"Beloved, when I gave all diligence to write unto you of the common salvation, it was needful for me to write unto you, and exhort you, that ye should carnestly contend for the faith which was once delivered unto the saints."

Ar the time when St. Jude wrote this short but admirable epistle to his Christian brethren, which was in the latter age of the apostles, many false teachers had sprung up, who grievously molested the Church. These he describes in the words which follow our text: "For there are certain men," he

unto you, and peace, and love, be multiplied." How striking and clear is this description. of their Christian privileges and character! how sweet and encouraging is the prayer which he offers up on their behalf! What is more needful for us in the present world than the "mercy of God," our heavenly

Father? What can be more desirable than that "peace and love" may be continually multiplied," and abound in the Church of Christ?

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"Beloved," he goes on to say, "exercising all diligence and care to write unto you con

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of old ordained to this condemnation" --- not "ordained" to act in that impious mannerbut "ordained to that condemnation," on account of their wickedness; "ungodly men, turning the grace of our God into lasciviousness, and denying the only Lord God, and our Lord Jesus Christ." These men shame

fully abused the Gospel of Christ, and "turned the grace of God into wantonness," to gratify their own corrupt desires and worldly objects, and "denied," by their words and works, "both the Father and the Son," "the only Lord God, and our Lord Jesus Christ." They denied the divinity of Jesus Christ, and cast aside his yoke, and followed licentious courses, being filthy dreamers, who defiled the flesh, and despised dominion, and spake evil of dignities." These

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• Preached on behalf of the Incorporated Society for the Building and Enlarging of Churches and Chapels in England and Wales.

it needful to write to you, in order to exhort you earnestly to contend for the faith which was once delivered unto the saints."

That which was so needful in the times of the apostles has been found needful in every age of the Church, and is still needful in our own days, when dangerous errors and bewildering systems spring up around us, and are industriously cherished by "men of corrupt. minds." We are now called upon, my brethren, earnestly to contend for the faith which was once delivered to the saints-to the holy disciples of Jesus Christ.

Let us, then, consider,

I. What is the faith which was once delivered to the saints; and,

II. How we are to contend for it. I. What is the faith for which we must strenuously contend? The word faith here must be understood as meaning the objects of faith all the great doctrines of the Gospel