sirable scenes of life, to all the works of the hands of men, with all the glories and excellencies of animal nature, and all that is made of flesh and blood. Let us not dote upon any thing here below, for heaven hath inscribed vanity upon it. The moment is hastening when the decree of heaven shall be uttered, and Providence shall pronounce upon every glory of the earth, "Its time shall be no longer."

DEATH.

DEATH is, in itself, a most serious and distressful event. It is nature's supreme evil-the abhorrence of God's creation-a monster from whose touch every living thing recoils. So that to shrink from its ravages upon ourselves or upon those whom we love, is not an argument of weakness, but an act of obedience to the first law of being a tribute to the value of that life which is our Maker's gift.

The disregard which some of old affected to whatever goes by the name of evil; the insensibility of others who yield up their souls to the power of fatalism; and the artificial gaiety which has occasionally played the comedian about the dying bed of "philosophy falsely so called," are outrages upon decency and nature. Death destroys both action and enjoyment-mocks at wisdom, strength, and beauty-disarranges our plans -robs us of our treasure-desolates our bosoms -breaks our heart-strings-blasts our hope. Death extinguishes the glow of kindness-abolishes the most tender relations of man-severs him from all that he knows and loves-subjects

him to an ordeal which thousands of millions have passed, but none can explain; and which will be as new to the last who gives up the ghost, as it was to murdered Abel-flings him, in fine, without an avail from the experience of others, into a state of untried being. No wonder that nature trembles before it. Reason justifies the fear. Religion never makes light of it; and he who does, instead of ranking with heroes, can hardly deserve to rank with a brute.

THE MISERY OF A DYING INFIDEL.

Of

-To his anguish no end appears. such an end no arguments can be furnished by his mind, no tidings have reached his ear; and no hopes can rationally arise in his heart. Death, with all the gloomy scenes attendant upon a dying bed, is to him merely the commencement of doubt, fear, and sorrow. The grave, to him, is the entrance into a world of absolute and eternal darkness. That world, hung round with fear, amazement, and despair, overcast with midnight, melancholy with solitude, desolate of every hope of real good, opens to him through the dreary passage of the grave. Beyond this entrance he sees nothing, he knows nothing, he can conjecture nothing, but what must fill his heart with alarm, and make his death-bed a couch of thorns. With a suspense, scarcely less terrible than the miseries of damnation itself, his soul lingers over the vast and desolate abyss; when, compelled by an unseen and irresistible hand, plunges into this uncertain and irreversible doom, to learn by

experience what is the measure of woe, destined to reward those who "obey not God," and reject the salvation proffered by his Son.

FRAILTY OF MAN.

I HAVE seen a rose newly springing from the clefts of its hood; and at first it was fair as the morning, and full with the dew of heaven, as a lamb's fleece. But when a rude breath had forced open its virgin modesty, and dismantled its too youthful and unripe retirement, it began to put on darkness, and to decline to softness, and the symptoms of a sickly age: it bowed the head, and broke its stalk, and at night, having lost some of its leaves, and all its beauty, it fell into the portion of weeds and worn-out faces. The same is the portion of every man and every woman: the heritage of worms and serpents, rottenness and cold dishonour, and our beauty so changed, that our acquaintance knows us not; and that change mingled with so much horror, or else meets so with our fears and weak discoursings, that they who six hours ago tended upon us, either with charitable or ambitious services, cannot, without some regret, stay in the room alone where the body lies stript of its life and honours.

There is indeed a great deal of seeming difference betwixt the outward condition of life amongst men. Shall the rich, and honourable, and beautiful, and healthful, go in together, under the same name, with the baser and unhappier part-the poor, wretched sort of the world, that seem to be born for nothing but sufferings and

miseries? at least, hath the wise no advantage beyond fools? is all grass? make you no distinction? No; all is grass; or, if you will have some other name, be it so, since this is true, that all flesh is grass; and if that glory that shines so much in your eyes must have a difference, then this is all it can have-it is but the flower of that same grass, somewhat above the common grass in gayness, a little comelier, and better apparelled than it, but partaker of its frail and fading nature; hath no privilege nor immunity that way; yea, of the two, the less durable, and usually short-lived; at the best, it decays with it, "the grass withereth, and the flower thereof falleth away."

He who, in one respect, is associated with angels and archangels, who may look upon a Being of infinite perfection as his Father, and the highest order of spirits as his brethren, may, in another sense, say to corruption, "Thou art my father, and to the worm, thou art my mother and my sister."

How often is the life of man, even in its fairest and loveliest, its most splendid, most admired, and most flattering appearances, suddenly and prematurely cut down, like the expanding flower of the morning, in all its vigorous freshness, and all its glittering pride and beauty, falling before the scythe.

HOW TO DIE LIKE SAINTS.

you would have your portion with the saints in your death, you must resolve to spend your lives with them, and to become, while you are in this world, faithful to the Spirit, and to the hope which is given them, accounting it your greatest distinction among men, "that ye are called to be saints," and that ye are not ashamed of the Gospel of Christ, by means of which ye have in any degree obtained that high character. You must live the life of the righteous, if you would wish your last end to be like his.

Hear this admonition while it can avail you. This day is salvation sounded in your ears, if ye are not determined to be for ever associated with them, who, far from being saints, give themselves up to the perdition of ungodly men, and reject the counsel of God against themselves. They that are far from God shall perish. But blessed are the dead who die in the Lord. In their graves is the place of rest. Them who sleep in Jesus will God bring with him; and they shall reign with him for ever and ever.

History showeth the weak and contemptible efficacy of the sublimest philosophy of the heathens, when it is encountered with inveterate corruptions, or violent temptations; how many of them that spake of virtue like angels, yet lived in a manner like brutes: whereas in all ages, poor Christian plebeians, unpolished by learning, but earnest in prayer, and depending upon grace, have, in comparison of these others, lived rather like angels than men; and shown such an invincible steadfastness in the practice of virtue, as