this moment lift up their voices in wo, exclaiming, "The harvest is past, the summer is ended, and we are not saved."

And is it so? Have thousands of years already elapsed, while they still continue the victims of sin? So says unerring truth. They wearied out the long suffering of God, and grieved away his Spirit. And shall eternity still roll on while they remain in their abode of sorrow? Nothing can be more sure. Their own hand has planted thorns in the pillow upon which they will for ever in vain seek repose.

And is this our danger? Are we exposed to so fearful a doom! "Verily," saith the Scripture to us, "unless ye repent, ye shall all likewise perish." Yes, very soon the graves, in which our bodies have mouldered to the dust, will disappear under the influence of time. Centuries will pass away, and not an individual shall know our names; not a vestige shall remain of our ever having existed. The world shall be busy; the hum of business and the notes of pleasure shall be heard. The sun shall shine; the rain shall fall; the storm shall rage; but we shall be far, far away; the veteran souls of many centuries. Oh! what is life, when we look forward to explore those regions where we must for ever dwell? What are earth's joys, when we think of heaven's undying glory? What are earth's trials, when we think of banishment eternal from the presence of God? But Heaven's gates are now open wide. Heaven's smiling fields now invite our steps. The angels' cordial welcome now bids us enter. The Father pleads; the Saviour invites; the Spirit strives. Oh! let us all hear, and accept, and live."

NEARNESS OF DEATH.

WE sometimes seem to be nearer death than at others, but the whole progress of life is in the closest proximity to it. We are not merely tending towards a brink, over which ultimately, when we arrive at it, we must plunge. Even then, our condition would be fearful. But, in all our progress, we are travelling upon that brink. Our way winds along the perilous edge of the precipice. This makes our condition more fearful-this perpetual insecurity-this ever present and imminent peril. It is not the certainty of the fact in regard to death, that is so very appalling to the soul. It is the uncertainty of the time. It is not that ultimately we must die, but that presently we may. It is the thought of being always near to that last great evil, always adjacent to the judgment, always close upon the borders of eternity, and always within a little of our everlasting abode-the journey from every point of our path so short, a single stage, a single step! now here and anon there; this hour with men, the next with God. To-day, only a candidate for immortality, to-morrow its incumbent. To-day on trial for eternity, to-morrow, tried, and the case decided irreversibly and for ever. To-day on earth, to-morrow in heaven or in hell-nor yet the interval so great as a day. What a change awaits us both in body and soul! How fearful it would be, even if it were gradually brought about, if, one by one, the objects of earth faded from our view, and the novelties of eternity were slowly and separately unfolded to our vision, and if, one by one, the mysterious ligaments of life were sundered; if the summons of death designated a distant day for our appearance at the bar of God, and our way to it was long and difficult. But how much more fearful, when the change is as sudden as it is great, the familiar scenes of one world all vanishing at once, and the unimagined realities of the other all at once appearing; the summons of death requiring immediate attendance at the bar of God, and the way but a step. And there is no period of life that Death respects, no sanctuary into which he dare not enter, no citadel that he is afraid to attack. Nor will he ever depart from us more than the space of a step, though he may long maintain that distance from us. How solemn, that to

morrow thou mayest have to give account to God for the deeds of today; or to-day, for the deeds of yesterday! How many accounts are closed every day! how many cases decided at that court of final judicature! how many characters become unchangeably fixed in righteousness or unrighteousness! How many souls daily go to their last, long abodes! And, as death and judgment are so near, retribution is also at hand. The trial of your case will not occupy much time, and then immediately will ensue retribution. And, if retribution is so near to all, how near is perdition to some! There is but a step between the impenitent and hell! And, for the same reason, is the Christian near "Your redemption draweth nigh."-NEVINS.

heaven!

"A wise son maketh a glad father; but a foolish son is the heaviness of his mother."-Proverbs, x. 1.

WISDOM and folly, like sweet and bitter, sickness and health, light and darkness, are irreconcileable opposites. Wisdom comprehends whatsoever things are true, honest, just, pure, lovely and of good report. A wise son is a young man of correct habits and sound moral and religious principles. He is temperate, chaste, frugal and industrious. He loves and reverences his parents, submits himself cheerfully to their authority, treasures up their counsels, consults their wishes, and strives in every way to promote their happiness. His talents may, or may not be of the first order. But he must be amiable, dutiful, affectionate and unblameable, or he is not a wise son. No intellectual brilliancy or affluence can make him so, without the filial virtues. Those children, and those only, make glad parents, who are obedient, sober, conscientious and diligent in study or in business-who as they grow in stature and years, grow also in wisdom and in favor with God and man, and give fair promise of future usefulness.

Let us inquire then why and how it is that a wise son maketh a glad father.

1. The father of a wise son feels richly rewarded for all the care and expense of bringing him up. It may have cost him years of toil and self-denial. He may have been obliged to " rise early and sit up late," and eat the bread of carefulness to earn the price of his son's education. Or, however easy may have been his circumstances, he cannot but have felt great solicitude when he saw the dear boy shooting up rapidly into manhood, and thought of the thousand temptations to which he would soon be exposed, and the wayward propensities of the youthful heart, which give all these temptations such terrible facilities to beguile and destroy. Many an anxious hour he must have passed when his child first went from home; perhaps many a sleepless night, when he went to the boarding school or entered the public seminary. What mighty issues were then at stake! "O what if my beloved Joseph, now so obedient, so affectionate, so promising, so happy, should be snared and taken by those who lie in wait to destroy? What if his principles should

be debauched and his heart hardened? What if he should become idle and dissipated in his habits, ruin his character and sacrifice his health and lose his soul? How could I survive it?"

Thus has many an anxious father soliloquised, when the great question was considered whether his darling son would "walk with wise men," or with fools, would "enter into the path of the wicked," or walk in the way of the just. And what a relief it is, when a parent finds that his prayers are answered, that his child is safe that he has chosen virtuous companions-that his good principles and habits are gaining strength-that his letters are full of affection and duty-that his character is delightfully unfolding in the broad sunshine-that he is gaining the confidence of the wise and good-and, in one word, that, having passed through the ordeal, he has come forth as gold.

Now the happy parent forgets all his toils, all his struggles with adverse fortune, and all his anxieties. He feels himself repaid a hundred fold for all that he has done and all that he has felt. The dear image of his child is every day before him, and beams perpetual gladness upon his heart.

2. The father of a wise and virtuous son is happy in the reflection, that should he be taken away suddenly from his family, his place would be in some good measure filled by one so dear to him and to them.

There is no one to whom he can look with so much confidence and satisfaction to be his representative in the dear bereaved circle; for no one but a child can be bound to it by so many endearing ties. And when the anticipated hour of separation comes, with what joy can the dying father say, Behold thy mother-behold thy brother and thy sister!

3. The father of a wise son rejoices in the hope that should he live to need a prop, he shall have a vigorous and willing arm to lean upon, as he goes down into the vale of years. What must be the feelings of a parent, as old age creeps on, and "the grogshop is a curse, and then strong men bow themselves," what must be his emotions when he thinks of a son, once the joy of his heart, but now in the reprobate's grave; or a miserable prodigal, living not to solace him in his declining years, but to "bring down his grey hairs with sorrow to the grave!" And so on the other hand, how happy must that father be, who can look to a dutiful and pious child, with a full assurance, that should the time of need ever come, there will be one at least to support his tottering steps and smoothe his passage to the tomb!

4. The father of a wise and virtuous son is exceedingly happy in the prospect of leaving such a representative behind him, to bear up his name and sustain the reputation of his family. This at least is natural, and who will say that it is wrong? Can it be doubted, that the thought of leaving such a son as Isaac was, gladdened Abraham's heart, when he gave up the ghost and died in " a good old age, an old man and full of years, and was gathered to his people," or that Jacob had a similar feeling, when "he blessed the sons of Joseph, leaning upon the top of his staff!" What a tide of utter desolation must roll over the heart of a dying father, as he looks upon a profligate son, on whom he had once

doated, and realizes that when he is gone the prodigal will be a disgrace to the name he bears and a curse to his family! And so on the other hand, as I have already intimated, how must the heart of any pious father be cheered, who can leave the world with the well grounded hope, that the son of his love will more than fill his place in the church and in the community; and will bear up the honor of his house long after his own departure! If children's children are "a crown of glory" to the patriarch while he lives, how can he help blessing God when he is permitted to indulge the fond hope, that he shall live in a pious and virtuous posterity, long after his body has moulded back to dust?

5. A wise and affectionate son exceedingly gladdens the heart of a pious father, by the promise which his talents and virtues give, that he will become a useful member of society. It is the happiness of some parents, not only to see their children rising to posts of honor and influence, and doing much good in their own life-time, but to leave them still advancing in their bright career. When this is the case he must be more or less than a father, who does not feel the gushings of joy from his own full heart. How delightful must it be, when a young man is advancing successively through the various stages of education, for his father to hear nothing but commendations from his teachers, and to see nothing but what he certainly approves himself! How gratifying to know, that his son is accumulating an ample capital of wisdom and knowledge, to be expended in promoting the temporal and eternal well being of mankind! With what joy does such a father anticipate the time, when his son may put the impress of his wisdom upon the legislation of his country, or interpret her laws from the bench of justice, or guide the youthful mind in her seminaries of learning, or when he may become an able and successful minister of the Gospel at home, or preach "the unsearchable riches of Christ" in a foreign land!

Who can bear to look at the reverse of this bright vision—to think of a father who has done everything to prepare his son for an honorable and useful life, mourning over the wreck of his hopes, and going out of the world with the heart-breaking reflection that the child on whom so much property and so many affections and so many tears have been lavished, is to live after him, if he lives at all, a burning curse to the community, which he was born to adorn and to bless?

6. Every pious parent, in the anxiety which he feels for his child, looks beyond this fleeting and transitory world, and is infinitely more solicitous about his eternal well-being, than about any or all of his temporal interests. To see a beloved child taking the broad way to destruction, the victim of habitual or occasional intemperance; stopping his ears and hardening his heart against the tenderest expostulationsto read the evidence of his midnight revels in his pallid cheek and swollen eyes, and to witness his downward career as he rushes madly on "treasuring up wrath against the day of wrath," is overwhelming. To see a son of high promise, wallowing in the kennel and ruining all his fair prospects for this world, were there nothing beyond, would be agony almost insupportable to a pious and doating parent. But O the soul