that never dies! O the blackness of darkness for ever! O the worm that never dies! How can a tender father endure the thought, that his child should be ruined for eternity?

Nothing, on the other hand, gives pious parents so much joy, as the developments of virtue and piety in the children of their hopes and their prayers. If such a child is taken away from them in early life, their hearts are comforted with the thought that he is in heaven-that great as the loss is to them, it is gain to him; and that he is gone before them to await their coming, in the world of glory; or if the Christian parent is first called home, as will ordinarily be the case, when he leans his dying head upon the bosom of his child, O how does his heart rejoice in the hope that in a few years at most they shall meet and be for ever with the Lord! Thus in whatever light we view the subject, we see that a wise son maketh a glad father; we see why it is that Christian parents rejoice so exceedingly, in the virtues and piety of their children.

But in our text there is a dark as well as a bright side to the picture. If, as we have seen, a wise son maketh a glad father, it is equally true, that a foolish son is the heaviness of his mother.

As folly is everywhere in the book of Proverbs synonymous with wickedness, a foolish son is a young man, who turns a deaf ear to parental counsels, and breaks away from parental restraints-who chooses the idle and the vicious for his associates-yields himself up to the rule of depraved passions and appetites-casts off the fear of God, and cares not whose heart is broken by his waywardness; but is determined to have his own way, and even acts more undutifully than he otherwise would, just to show his independence, and to let the world see that he knows how to take care of himself.. In a word, a foolish son is one, in the more desperate cases of prodigality," whose eye mocketh at his father, and scorneth to obey his mother." In the emphatical language of our text, he is "THE HEAVINESS OF HIS MOTHER." He is a heavy burden upon her heart, which she cannot throw off, and which no one can bear a part of, so as to lighten it. There it is, day and night, evening and morning, pressing her down to the dust. It is not one of her great trials, but the great trial of her life. A living, corroding, wasting affliction. She could bear sickness, could bear poverty, bear hunger, bear to be turned out by a remorseless creditor into the street, bear anything-but O, to have her darling son become a prodigal and a reprobate-how can she endure the thought; and yet she can no more drive it from her agonized bosom, than she can annihilate every vestige of consciousness that pertains to her being. O that foolish, that undutiful, that dissipated son, he is the heaviness of his mother-yes, of his mother, of the friend who has done and suffered more for him than any other friend in the world. It is heaviness itself:-not as if some one burden too grievous to be borne were laid upon her, but it is like accumulated and ever accumulating weight of all that is most crushing. Mark the phraseology: the heaviness. It is made to stand out, as if no other trial of her life was worthy of being mentioned or thought of. And is there any other like it; any afflic

tion which so pierces the maternal heart, and leaves it bleeding and festering and aching till the last throb in death? The desertion of a hundred summer-day friends she could sustain-the scorn of a thousand she could bear-under a falling mountain she could sink down and die in peace, and go to her everlasting rest. Here is the burden which her gentle, stricken spirit, cannot bear; but which, unless the prodigal repents, she must carry, heavier and heavier though it be to her dying day.

What were her emotions, when she caught the first smile of her darling boy and clasped him to her bosom? What bright visions of hope flitted across her fond heart, as every day some new beam of intelligence shot forth from his opening mind! When he was perfectly helpless, with what matchless patience and tenderness did she watch over him! When he was sick, with what gentleness did she cradle him in her arms with what cheerfulness did she deprive herself of rest during many a long and anxious night! When she thought he would die, how would her heart sink within her, and how fervently did she pray that he might be spared! When he recovered, O how did she rejoice over him! He was born, she fondly hoped, for some high purpose, and would be spared to make her heart glad all the days of her life. He was her jewel, perhaps her only jewel; and O how precious in her eyes! When, as years rolled on, and he became the brightest boy in the school and every eye was turned upon him, what a thrill of joy did it carry to her inmost soul; and when he left her for the higher seminary, all ruddy and artless and dutiful, how did her eager hopes run before him, and climb up the steeps which in her fond imagination he was to ascend! She rejoiced, it may be with trembling, but still she rejoiced.

Her recollection of what had befallen other youths equally promising told her, that he was in peril and might fall, but her heart said, No:-it must not, it cannot be. I am sure he loves me. He will not forget my counsels. If temptations assail him, he will remember his mother and put them behind. He will distinguish himself as a scholar. He will gain the confidence of his guardians and teachers. In his usefulness and rising fortunes I shall rejoice. In sickness I shall be comforted by his tender solicitude. In old age I shall lean upon his manly arm. When I die and leave him, he will be a sincere mourner. I shall live in his memory. He will serve God and his generation faithfully. The wicked will shrink away from the sunshine of his example. He will live honorably-he will die happy. Many will rise up and call him blessed, and I shall meet him in Heaven.

But no-doating mother! This is all a dream. Alas, she wakes up and finds it so, when in one short year, perhaps, the character of her child has undergone a most disastrous change. He is now a foolish, wicked son; she sees it; is obliged to believe it; realizes it. O such a heaviness, she never felt before. She cannot describe it, but there it is, pressing upon her heart, and almost to suffocation, and all the sympathy in the world cannot take off the load. She tries to bear up un

der it; but her heart-strings break-and her own reprobate child, her murderer, wonders what secret and strange disease has destroyed his mother.

CONCLUSION. But it is time to draw to a close, and the following are some of the reflections which the subject suggests.

1. What abundant cause have the parents of virtuous and pious children, to lift up their hearts in continual thanksgiving to God! O how rich, how precious the gift! What is wealth, what is honor, what is the highest worldly prosperity, compared with that perennial stream of gladness, which flows into their hearts when they see their sons and daughters "walking in the truth;"" searching for wisdom as for silver, and digging for it as for hid treasure." You may take away everything from such parents-their goods, their lands, their homesbut so long as their children are virtuous and dutiful and of "good report," they are rich; and if pious themselves, will bless God every day, as long as they live, for giving and sparing to them such an offspring. The man who would exchange this treasure for a throne "is a fool."

2. If a wise son is so great a blessing to his father, and if a foolish son is such an insupportable heaviness to his mother, then how aggravated is the guilt, how refined the cruelty of seducing him from the path of virtue? What punishment would not that wretch deserve, who should insinuate himself into the confidence of a happy family, and then, at midnight, steal away the sleeping babe from its mother's bosom and dash it out of the window upon the pavement? But the bereavement would not be half so afflictive as the seduction, which charms the sense and undermines the principles and debauches the heart of a confiding, inexperienced youth, when placed beyond the reach of parental warning and protection. The wily seducer of a sober and piously educated youth, may bear the shape and name of a man, but his relationship is with devils. He may be transformed into an angel of light," the more surely to accomplish his purpose, but he has the fang of a serpent and the heart of a demon.

3. If a wise and virtuous son is so great a blessing to his parents and family, then too much pains cannot be taken, to imbue the minds of the rising generation everywhere, with that divine love, which is "the fulfilling of the law." Those who fear God, will best discharge all the relative duties of life. Who then can estimate the good that is done, when a promising young man is saved by the vigilance of a companion from falling into the snares which are so artfully set for him by the wicked, or who is rescued from their entanglements and brought back to his father's house? The joy is more than that house can hold. "His feet had well nigh slipped," or he had actually begun to reel along the broad way in company with those who had seduced him from the paths of virtue and peace. But kind and strong hands have delivered him. There is now a bright career of usefulness before him, and who can tell what multitudes may yet rise up and call him blessed? What more shall I say? Would that I could make every one of the

millions of young men in America hear-especially all the sons of pious parents! To make a kind and affectionate father glad, all the days of his lite, by walking in the paths of wisdom and peace, and to pour a tide of perennial joy into the bosom of a doating mother, O what motives to a virtuous and useful life! On the contrary, to dry up the sources of all this gladness and joy, and to pour gall and wormwood through every domestic channel, who can help me to a name for such black ingratitude, such extreme folly and wickedness!

SERMON CCCLXVIII.

BY REV. MARK TUCKER, D.D.,

PROVIDENCE, RHODE ISLAND.

THE GUILT OF CONTINUED IMPENITENCE.

"Wo unto thee, Chorazin! wo unto thee, Bethsaida! for if the mighty works which were done in you had been done in Tyre and Sidon, they would have repented long ago in sackcloth and ashes.-Matthew, xi. 21.

THE reason for the wo denounced in the text is given in the preceding verse; "then began he to upbraid the cities wherin most of his mighty works were done, because they repented not." The cities referred to were those which lay on the borders of the sea of Tiberias, three of which are named in connection with his denunciations, viz., Chorazin, Bethsaida and Capernaum. In these cities a large part of the early ministry of our Lord was spent, and most of his mighty works were done. The Evangelist Matthew is particular in giving an account of the circumstances under which he entered upon his public labors.

"Now when Jesus had heard that John was cast into prison, he departed into Galilee. And leaving Nazareth, he came and dwelt in Capernaum, which is upon the sea coast. From that time Jesus began to preach, and to say, Repent; for the kingdom of Heaven is at hand." As soon as John had retired who was his forerunner, his ministry began. He preached in the same places, that he might follow up the impressions that had been made, and that he might avail himself of the attention which had been awakened. "And Jesus went about all Galilee, teaching in their synagogues, and preaching the Gospel of the kingdom, and healing all manner of sickness, and all manner of disease among the people. And his fame went throughout all Syria." As John wrought no miracle, less interest was felt in his ministry; the signs and wonders which Jesus performed led great multitudes from the adjacent regions to resort to him and he preached the Gospel unto them. These multitudes heard his sermon on the Mount.

Now when John had heard in the prison the works of Christ, he sent two of his disciples to make inquiry in relation to his claims to the Messiahship. In his answer he referred to the miracles he had wrought, as the seal of Heaven to his credentials. After the disciples of John had departed he explained to the great assembly, the nature and design of his mission. He gave him a high character, and to him was committed a peculiar dispensation. He took rank above the ancient prophets. Still he was below the least disciple under the Gospel. The transition from the light and splendor of the reign of Christ to the guilt