smile of a Saviour's love, be then felt to be worth all the gratifications this world ever gave ?

The hour of death will come! What will you do then? When the world is giving way under your feet,-eternity opening on your view, -your body tortured with pain, or sinking in decay,—your soul hovering on the brink of a dark and fearful abyss, unillumined by one ray of light from heaven, down which it dare not look, yet must plunge into its blackness of darkness for ever, when all that meets your view is an angry God, a dissolving frame, a departing world, a yawning hell,-what, oh, what will you do then?

The day of Judgment will come! And what will you do then? "Behold, He cometh with clouds, and every eye shall see Him." How soon, who can tell? For we know not now the day nor the hour when He may come! But we do know that ere long "the trumpet shall sound, and the dead shall be raised." The Lord Jesus Christ, the Crucified One of Calvary, will be revealed from heaven in flaming fire, with ten thousand times ten thousand angels! "Then shall He sit upon the throne of His glory, the judgment shall be set, and the books opened," and you shall stand before His judgment-seat! You, if you persevere and perish in your present state, you, in that day, shall find that "it will be more tolerable for Sodom and Gomorrah than for you!"

But even this is not the worst. sorrows.

Even this is only the beginning of

And what a thought! To you Oh, to be everlastingly tormented To feel the everlasting To be plunged deeper bottomless abyss of in

The ages of eternity will come! they will be ages of eternal woe! in that flame that never can be quenched! gnawings of that worm that can never die ! and deeper, throughout eternity, into the dark conceivable despair! To endure, without a moment's mitigation, throughout endless ages, anguish most bitter, a full appreciation of what has been rejected, and an agonizing consciousness of what is incurred, the total absence of hope,-"the blackness of darkness" be known and felt "for ever and ever."

to

It is too horrible to think of what will it be to endure? The very idea is too dreadful-what will be the reality? The mere vision of hell is intolerable-what a home will hell itself be, to dwell in for eternity! Are you resolved to make the fearful experiment? God in His infinite mercy forbid ! It is this which stamps such madness on your choice, reader, in preferring Satan to God as a master, and hell to heaven as a home! It is this appalling consideration, that you cannot give up the prospect of being eternally happy with God in heaven, without incurring the penalty of being eternally miserable with Satan in hell! There is no intermediate state-God or Satan must be your master, heaven or hell must be your home. Say, which will you choose?

Narratives, Anecdotes, &c.

THE SCEPTIC'S CONVERSION.

The subject of the following sketch, who died only a few months since, was a confirmed sceptic. Consumption had laid its wasting hand upon his frail frame, and domestic griefs began to prey upon his heart; but his afflictions, instead of leading him to repentance, only drove him further from God. If his thoughts were directed to the subject of religion, he would fix his mind on the inconsistencies of professed christians around him, endeavouring to flatter himself and persuade others that there was no reality in christian experience, and that there was no need of being troubled about retribution after death.

In the spring before his decease, an interesting revival of religion occurred in the town. His mind was somewhat agitated, and his scepticism seemed to stagger amid the display of God's spirit; but he cavilled and opposed, and at the close of the work seemed more hardened and confirmed in unbelief. He avoided the ministers of Christ, when they sought to converse and pray with him, and frequented the society of the vain and thoughtless.

During the summer his disease grew worse, and the iron of domestic affliction seemed to enter deeper and deeper into his soul. But he did not turn to God for comfort, nay, he longed to die, fancying that death would put a period to his miseries. He said that while standing by a railroad engine, he sometimes wished that it would explode and kill him on the spot, or, when in the cars, that they would run off the track and instantly crush him in the ruins!

In the autumn, I learned that his disease had taken a stronger hold upon him, confining him mostly to his room, and that he would probably be pleased to see me. I went. Never shall I forget that visit. He told me that he did not expect to live long, and that he felt unprepared to die. It was now plain to him that religion was a reality, that the Bible was true! The eloquence of death had scattered all his sceptical sophistry to the winds, and God seemed to be frowning upon him, and the judgment just before him. But while he saw his impending doom, he seemed unable to make any effort to escape it. He appeared to me like one who in a dream feels himself rushing down a precipice with eyes wide open, with nerveless hands, and a passive will. And his greatest anxiety about himself seemed to be that he was not more anxious. He might have applied to himself the words of the poet,

"Lo, on a narrow neck of land,

'Twixt two unbounded seas, I stand,

Yet how insensible !"

"Do you not see that you are a sinner?" I enquired. His reply substantially was, "Yes, I see it, but I do not feel it. My heart lies like a stone within my bosom. Confession for sin is easy, but contrition for sin is another matter. I would, but can't repent. I know I ought to believe on Christ, and cleave to him with all my heart; but my heart refuses to move towards him, or to melt before him."

Poor young man! I scarce knew what to say. But with gushing tears and broken accents, I tried to urge him to lay hold on the hope set before him. I told him it seemed to me that he was the subject of the strivings of the Spirit, and this was a good evidence that God had thoughts of mercy towards him. I urged him, therefore, to go with his hard, unbelieving heart to his long-despised, insulted Redeemer, and, in the agony and impotency of his spirit, to say, “Lord, I believe, help thou mine unbelief!" "Lord, save, or I perish."

But while I exhorted him and wept over him with a breaking heart, his countenance was placid, and his eyes tearless! I prayed with him, and left him. In a few days I called again. But I found the young man very much as at the first. He complained as before of his instability, and, moreover, of the difficulty he had in confining his thoughts to the subject of religion for any length of time. This complaint he repeated on subsequent visits. He complained, too, of some who visited him. He said that after an interview with one of the ministers, his mind felt somewhat solemn and tender, but others came in and talked on worldly subjects, and thus his religious impressions were destroyed. He said he sometimes tried to pray; but it seemed as if God was a great way off, and that he could not or would not hear him. He said he was sometimes tempted to think all further efforts would be fruitless, and so to abandon himself to despair. And I will not conceal that I often felt inclined to despair for him.

But in one of my last visits to him in the beautiful and bracing weather of autumn, he seemed less prostrated by his disease than usual, and appeared more deeply concerned about his soul. He was much affected in view of his guilty life, yet he now thought there might be mercy for him, and was resolved to knock till the door of acceptance should be opened. In going with him to the throne of grace I felt new confidence, and left him hoping that on my next visit I should find him a christian.

The next week, as I called, his mother came to the door with noiseless steps, and said to me, in agitated whispers, that Stephen was very low, and could bear but little conversation. As I entered the room, I saw the poor consumptive bolstered up on his bed, so pale and haggard as I never had seen him before. I softly but earnestly enquired what his religious feelings had been since I conversed with him last. "Oh," said he, "I have been in such intense suffering by day and by night, that it has been impossible to think on religion at all." How like lead did those words sink down on my heart! He seemed evi

dently near his end, and so weak, and so unlikely to gain much respite from his sufferings, that, as I looked upon him, all hope of his conversion died within me; I felt that his doom was sealed!

But though any further effort appeared quite superfluous, yet in a few gently-spoken sentences, I exhorted him, as for the last time, to strive for salvation. I assured him that even now, on the brink of eternity, there was mercy for him if he would apply in faith; and I urged him to make one more effort ere death had quite seized him and his soul was lost.

But though I might have seemed to himself and friends to address him and pray for him earnestly and tenderly, the emotions that wrought upon me were inspired by the overwhelming conviction that all was lost that all the efforts which had been made for his salvation were speedily to meet an utter failure, and that the dying man was just about to sink into an undone eternity!

In a short time, however, I went to see him again. But it was with a heavy heart and melancholy thoughts that I dragged myself to his residence. How sad it was to think of another interview like the last! Judge then of my surprise, of my perplexity of hope and fear, when the young man told me that since our last interview he had obtained an interest in Christ. Could it be possible? I asked when the change occurred. He told me that on the night of the day when I last saw him, amid his sleeplessness and pain, he resolved to make a full surrender of himself to God; and though a great sinner, he had found Jesus Christ to be a great Saviour. "I have had some happy seasons since then," said he, "and now I do not fear to die."

After having been in such complete despair respecting his case, such intelligence was almost too good to believe. But the facts elicited on this and subsequent visits, were such as afforded good evidence of his conversion.

He seemed entirely resigned to God's will; and God chose no sufferings for him, but he seemed to choose them for himself. He who before had striven to prevent others from being converted, was now most anxious for their conversion.

He now loved christians, though once he had shunned them. His former unbelief and despondency seemed to be exchanged for a holy confidence in God; he believed that his sins had been forgiven for Christ's sake, and that he was sure of salvation through him. his " peace was like a river," "-a river whose deep, strong current was scarcely retarded or obstructed by his physical sufferings.

Thus

One night his mother, worn out with incessant watchings, had left him in charge of friends, to obtain a few hours' sleep. As she entered his room in the morning, she enquired if he had had any rest. "Oh, no, mother, I have had a dreadful night; but I am happy; I am going to heaven! Jesus stands ready to conduct me through the dark valley! I shall there meet little Charley" (his infant son who had died

a year before);" I shall there see Jesus my Saviour, who died for me!" As his mother wept, he exclaimed, "Dear mother, why do you weep when I am going to heaven? You have more reason to rejoice! There is nothing here that I wish to live for, and at death I shall be free from sin." Such were his sentiments in view of the great exchange of worlds, which in a few hours he was called to make. His death was a protracted and painful one, but he died at length without a struggle or a groan.

"So fades the summer cloud away,

So sinks the gále when storms are o'er,

So gently shuts the eye of day,

So dies a wave along the shore."

In view of the young sceptic's death-bed conversion, we are led to reflect how different a thing it is to despise religion, and call the bible in question, in the midst of worldly excitement and pleasures, and to do so in the hour of death. It is hard to live a caviller, but harder still to die one. What an argument for christianity is here! True, if christians abandoned religion on their death-beds for scepticism, then the death-bed conversion of sceptics would prove but little. But it is Death often drives unbelievers to the gospel, but he never drives believers from it. When men's minds cease to be blinded by the false glare of the world, or clouded by selfish prejudices and passions, then reason and conscience proclaim the value of religion, and give their last and most honest verdict in favour of divine revelation. It was so in the case of the deceased; it is so in the case of thousands.

not so.

But, oh, how important is it not to put off the work of preparation for eternity until the hour of sickness and death. The dying consumptive was, I hope, saved by divine grace; but he was one of those who are "scarcely saved," one of those who are "saved so as by fire." He himself clearly saw the perils he had escaped, and he was deeply anxious that others should not run the awful hazard which he had run. He left a dying charge to the young men of the village to this effect:-"Tell them not to put off the concerns of eternity till a sickbed. It is no time, no place for repentance. I FOUND IT SO HARD -here his voice faltered; but the reader of the sketch will have no difficulty in completing the sentence. Yes, he did find it "HARD." His escape was like that of a ship going through a narrow strait, and just saved from being drawn into a whirlpool on one side, and being dashed upon a rock on the other! It was thus he entered "the kingdom of heaven." He was rescued where most others make shipwreck of their souls. God forbid that any of my readers who enjoy health, should jeopardize their eternal interests on the slender probability of having a death-bed conversion like his! Oh, take the Saviour at his word when he says, "Behold, now is the accepted time, and now is the day of salvation!"