you. "Thy word have I hid in my heart, that I might

not sin against thee."

"Precious Book, of books the best;

Dearest gift of God but One,

That surpasses all the rest

Gift of God's beloved Son.

"Blessed Spirit, heavenly dove!

Thee I'd slight not, thee I love:
By thy power and thine alone,

The value of these gifts I've known."

She

The encouragement which Elizabeth's early conversion affords to the young to seek the Lord, and to walk in His ways, is great. Elizabeth was a sinner. knew it intelligently, she felt it deeply, she acknowledged it humbly. The Holy Spirit of God, the convincer of sin, had taught her this humiliating but needed truth. "He shall reprove (or convince) the world of sin." She had learned, not theoretically, but experimentally, that by nature she was fallen, sinful, and under the divine curse. The knowledge of this truth led her to renounce all dependence upon her own righteousness, to disclaim all merit in her own performances, and to rest her only hope of acceptance with God, and the joys of heaven, upon the sacrificial death and atoning work of her divine and adorable Redeemer. In the matter of her salvation, Christ had become everything. All her merit was in Him, all her justification was in Him, all her pardon was in Him, all her happiness was in Him, all her hope of glory was in Him. Is

it surprising, then, that Christ should be "all in all" to her? That there should be no object in heaven or on earth so lovely, so worthy, so dear in her esteem as Jesus? O no! She loved the Saviour. To her He was "altogether lovely," the "chief among ten thousand." No name to her was so melodious or so fragrant as His. She had tasted the sweetness, and proved the truth, of that animating promise, "I love them that love me, and they that seek me early shall find me." There was another inspired declaration to which, in concert with the saints in all ages, she could set her seal: "Unto you, therefore, which believe, He is precious." Jesus was precious to her soul. His person was precious-His work was precious-His blood was precious-His righteousness was precious-His name was precious-His precepts were precious-yea, He was altogether precious; and His preciousness was a theme which never failed to dwell with peculiar sweetness upon her lips. And now to that same precious Saviour you are invited, my reader. Will you come to Him? I do not only invite you: Christ himself invites you. The invitation is from Him who is able to shut you up in hell, or take you up to heaven. It is at your soul's peril that you disregard it. There must be no procrastination-no demur-no hesitation. -no indecision-no delay. The invitation is too great, and the consequences of its acceptance or its rejection too momentous, to admit of this. While you are de

bating the question, whether you will accept of Christ or the creature, whether you will give your heart to God or to the world, whether you will repent now or at some future period, in time or in eternity-you may drop into hell! And Hell!—oh, it is a dreadful place! Have you given it a serious reflection? Have you thought of its remote distance from heaven-separated by a great and impassable gulf? Have you thought of its society-the devil, his angels, and wicked men? Have you thought of its sufferings-the fire, the worm, and the darkness? Have you thought of its employments-blaspheming God, tormenting one another, the weeping of remorse, and the gnawing of the chains?— and all this for ever and ever! Surely you cannot, or would you not have sought a refuge from the wrath to come? To Jesus the Refuge and the Hiding-Place, I invite you. Repair to Him now, and just as you are. Not a moment is to be lost. Upon the very next breath which you draw your destiny hangs. Oh, how alarming, how perilous your condition, you who have no union with Jesus, you who are out of Christ! and yet, how appalling your indifference, and how profound your insensibility! What is your intent gaze upon the tinselled glories of the world that is passing away but the wild stare of idiocy? And what your loud laugh of joy but the senseless ravings of madness? But the ader, whose eye traces this page, may have upon his embling lips the greatest of all questions, "What

must I do to be saved?" And is it so? Dear soul! Welcome, oh, welcome to the Saviour! You are just the one He died to save and lives to receive. He died to redeem sinners-He liveth to receive the penitent, the broken-hearted, and the poor. Listen to the music of His words-"Him that cometh unto me I will in nowise cast out." And again, to the precious promise -"Believe in the Lord Jesus Christ, and thou shalt be saved." Oh, that I could allure you to Christ! Oh, that I could win your heart to the Saviour! Never did an Object so glorious-so lovely-so loving-so worthy, stand and ask your love, as He. He deserves the first, the best, the chiefest. Give, then, your heart to Jesus. Disentwine it from the creatureloosen it from the world-divorce it from self-wrench it from sin and just as it is, surrender it willingly and supremely, decidedly and irrevocably to Jesus.

The reader has perhaps just arrived at that interesting era of a young lady's history-her introduction into public society. It cannot be concealed, that if this is an interesting, it is also a critical period of your life. It is perhaps the most serious step you have hitherto taken. Viewed in some points of light, it must be so. To your eye it may assume quite a different aspect. Brighter visions than have yet floated before you may dawn upon the view; scenes more inviting than any that have preceded them are stretching themselves onward in far-reaching and gladsome per

spective. But how can we suppress the sad feeling that, verdant with promise and sunny with hope as that path may be, it lies amidst the remoteness and the uncertainty of the future-through days that may never arrive, and events that may only be as the phantoms of a dream. Nor this alone. You are about to enter upon a new and an advanced stage of your existence-a new world, as it were, is opening upon younew friendships will be formed, new springs of feeling will be unlocked, new pleasures will be tasted, new temptations will be encountered, and joys and sorrows, hopes and disappointments, hitherto strangers to your young heart, wait to throw their light and shade upon your path.

At this critical moment a question presents itself for your consideration of the utmost importance. It is a question of choice, upon the decision of which all your future destiny may depend. That question is-" Christ, or the world, for my portion?" Upon this question are suspended precious and deathless interests. It is before you, standing yet, as you are, upon the threshold of a new, untried, and uncertain existence, and it cannot be evaded-it will be heard, it must be decided, and decided now, and decided, perhaps, for ever! Christ, or the world-which shall it be? Both unveil their beauties and present their attractions-both urge their claims and invite your acceptance. The question must be decided, not by sense, but by faith. The eye of sense sees the present only, the eye of faith looks