acknowledged it with apparent regret, and prayed that I would afford them an opportunity of showing their sincerity by their reformation; and when they found that I would not help them any longer, stung with remorse for the past, and terrified with the thought of the future, they groaned and expired. Some of them, like yourselves, were young, and they charged me with cruelty for leaving them so soon; though frequently, when I have been seeking to befriend them, they have told me to depart. I have also seen the righteous die; and can set my seal to the truth of that book which asserts, their end is peace. They were assisted to reflect on their days of piety with pleasure, and thankfulness to God, who had granted them grace to live in his fear and walk in his will; and they could anticipate, with confidence, a blessed eternity through the good hope they possessed in Christ. I have likewise seen the last days and final hour of many who were young in years; and that you may be warned of the folly of neglecting religion, and instructed respecting its inestimable worth in early life, you shall have the history of a few from the many whom I saw dismissed from your state of being.* I was present when Dilator expired. He was a youth of gentle manners, and of great gravity. He was blessed with pious parents, and was a child of many prayers. At a considerable expense, he was educated for an honourable profession; and had passed through the period of his apprenticeship with credit to himself, and with the approbation of his master. So far as morality of conduct, application to study, and fair promise of excelling in his profession, could yield satisfaction, he was every thing his aged father could wish him to be. Nor was he an opposer of religion he admitted its worth; he admired its beauty; he was sensible of its necessity; and if he felt no peculiar delight in its ordinances, he expressed no reluctance to attend them. But there he rested: familiar with certain duties, assenting to Christian doctrines, a mere hearer of : The characters which follow, are not fictitious. The cases really occurred; but for reasons which may easily be conjectured, the names of the individuals are withheld. the Gospel of God. In this state of mind, he left his father's house to prosecute his studies at the University. There he entered upon them with all the intenseness of youthful ardour, and full of laudable hope and desire respecting future eminence. But uncertain are the expectations of mortals. Scarcely had he commenced his beloved pursuits, when he became a subject of a disease which baffled all the remedies prescribed by the most eminent physicians. He returned to his paternal abode, and for a season remained the same approving, yet indifferent, observer of religion. It lived before him; it was pressed on his attention; but whether he trusted, as too many do, to the prayers of his pious relations and Christian friends, or concluded, that not being profanely immoral, he stood in no need of repentance, or hoped that he might regain health and live many days, he seemed careless about his everlasting welfare. His friends saw with deep concern the rapid progress of the last enemy, and sought to im press his mind with the importance of personal salvation. They finally succeeded. His eyes were opened to a dis covery of his state and danger; he became sensible of neglected advantages, of undervalued privileges; and in bitterness of spirit he mourned before God. Prayer was made for him, and by him; and a few moments before he teased to breathe, mercy was manifested to his guilty spirit. Were the young who, like him, are blessed with religious friends and opportunities, seriously to reflect on the feelings of his closing scene, and the narrow escape he had from the yawning pit of destruction, surely they would avoid that indifference which so nearly proved fatal to Dilator. I also witnessed the last moments of Superba. She was much admired for the gaiety of her disposition, the gracefulness of her person, and the comeliness of her features. Of the homage paid to her beauty, she was not insensible; and more time was spent by her in outward adorning, than in the improvement of her mind, or in prayer to the God of her mercies. Dress was her idol; the newest fashion was the dearest object of her pursuit. Her reading was of the worst kind; it chiefly consisted of novels and plays, which inflame the passions, and give to vice a ས deceitful and dangerous charm. Hence, her understanding was not expanded, nor useful knowledge obtained. Her parents were not totally unconcerned about her spiritual interests; the thought that she possessed an immortal soul would occasionally obtrude upon them; but their fondness, and fear of giving her pain, or marring her beauty, pre vented them from saying anything to her in a pointed manner respecting the vanity of the world, and solemnities of eternity. They hoped, as many do, and rested in that hope, that when married, and settled in life, she would be disposed to direct her thoughts to subjects of a But those circumstances she was not al serious nature. lowed to see. "Dire Sickness blasted youthful hopes and bloom, His approach was unexpected; his progress was rapid; and the transition from the gaieties of worldly pursuits, to the cold stillness of the grave, was sudden. I shall follow her spirit to the bar of God; but under what circumstances we shall meet there, is not for me to reveal. From her brief life is displayed the folly of sacrificing me to the enjoyment of fleeting pleasures, and to the vanity of fashionable dress. The sudden termination of her mortal being admonishes all parents of the dangers consequent on delaying to impress the minds of their children with the pre-eminent importance of religion; and of satisfying themselves with the intention of doing so at some distant period. Optima was a different character. Her parents were truly pious, and to train her up in the fear of the Lord was their first care concerning her. The blessing of God attended their efforts. Very early she gave her heart to God; and her love to her Saviour was manifested by her delight in the duties of prayer and praise, obedience to her parents, and the pleasure which she took in reading the Holy Scriptures. When visited by that affliction which terminated in her death, she found the blessedness of that training to which she had yielded, and the supports of that religion she had embraced. Hence, she was not the subject of a reproaching conscience for the past, nor of terrifying fear respecting the future; but knew in whom she had be lieved and when it became evident that her sickness would be unto death, she was not appalled by the intimation; for the sting of death was removed. Her affliction was endured with patience and resignation; and she recommended, by her meek and cheerful deportment, early piety to all her young visiters. The sorrow of her parents in having to part with the daughter of their love, was soothed by the satisfactory testimonies which she gave that she was dying in the Lord; and that they should meet her again where death is unknown, and the inhabitants no more say they are sick. Her last moments were truly blessed, gloriously manifesting the power of saving grace. “Happy, happy!" she exclaimed; and her spirit took its flight to God. Other examples could be selected from the multitudes who departed from your life during my existence, calculated to illustrate the fatal consequences of neglecting to serve God in youth, and the advantages of being early devoted to his fear. But these are sufficient. The conduct of Dilator teaches us that a mere approval of religion will avail nothing; that it must be experimentally known, to be personally profitable. The end of Superba clearly proves the emptiness of all sublunary things, when contrasted with the one thing needful. Optima adds to the numerous and indisputable evidences of the advantages attendant on remembering the Creator in the days of youth. Now, my young friends,—for such I call you, not that you all treated me friendly, for many of you acted towards me with great unkindness, not to say, with cruelty,—many were the blessings I brought to you. I am willing to allow, that it does not become the living to speak of their generous deeds; but this liberty may be granted to the departed—especially when done with the design of promoting your good. But where shall I begin? for so numerous were my favours, and all of them so valuable, that it is difficult to make a selection; and to name them all might be deemed tedious and egotistical. Were your minds cultivated by reading and education, and the acquirement of useful knowledge? To me you were indebted for days, weeks, and months, devoted to your improvement. Were you fed, and clothed? I was the medium God employed to put you in possession of these valuable favours. I brought the fruitful shower, the maturing sun, and appointed harvest. But for me, the flocks would not have been shorn, nor the labours of the husbandman have met with their merited reward. I brought you morning mercies, and evening comforts; refreshing sleep, and all the seasons of your innocent pleasures. Were you afflicted? I continued with you through all your sufferings; to my being, and to my presence, you owe your recovery. Had I taken my departure, neither the tears of your friends, nor the prayers of your pastors, nor all the skill and attention of your medical attendants, could have prevented you from being numbered with the dead. I was with you when you so anxiously inquired, "Shall I die ?” I was with you when you so fervently prayed to be spared, and raised up to health; and when you promised, if God would continue you in the world, you would consecrate to him your future days: and permit me to remind you, that it is your interest to pay that which you have vowed. With opportunities of doing so, I frequently favoured you before I left you; for to me you were indebted for many holy sabbaths, gracious ordinances of religion, and the numerous Gospel sermons which you heard,-sermons which strongly recommended to your regard the salvation bought with the Saviour's blood, and urged upon you an immediate reception of his light and easy yoke. Such, indeed, were the number and nature of mygifts, that had you rightly valued them, and diligently improved them, you would have found the advantage of so doing through the ages of eternity. Some of you were wise to discern my worth, and sought to profit by my being; but against others of you, I have serious charges. I might take up the language of complaint, and reproach you with cold indifference, with base ingratitude, and with the perversion of my mercies into sources of misery. I could upbraid you with consuming my hours in unnecessary sleep, in disgraceful idleness, in vain mirth, and even in wanton mischief. But I forbear; and as you will never see me again in the world in which you live, this address closes by making one more and final request of you. If you will comply with it, you may, in a great measure, redeem the loss you VOL. XIV. C |