of mercy; that the blood of Christ cleanseth from all sin; that whosoever cometh unto him, he will in no wise cast out; that he is able to save to the uttermost all that come unto him.

"Uttermost!" the dying man exclaimed, "uttermost! Then there is a gleam of hope, even for me, if I had time! but, even now, I feel that stage approaching which will absorb my faculties, and terminate my sad life. O what would I give for one week!-one day! O, precious time! how have I wasted it! O, my dear pastor, pity me! pray for me! My thoughts grow confused, I cannot pray myself." I then knelt down and prayed with him, in which he most fervently joined, summoning all his strength to keep awake. I shall never forget the grasp of his hand, when I alluded to the fulness and sufficiency of Divine grace. I left him with feelings which it is impossible to describe, and returned, according to my promise, in a few hours. I found him still sensible, but evidently sinking under the power of slumber from which he would never awake.

17. A RICH MAN.

"Where now my frenzy's pompous furniture?
The cobweb'd cottage, with its rugged wall
Of mouldering mud, is royalty to me!
The spider's most attenuated thread

Is cord, is cable, to man's tender tie

On earthly bliss: it breaks at every breeze."-YOUNG.

A RICH man was dying, and when the physician had exhausted his skill in fruitless attempts to arrest the violence of his disease, the sufferer asked, "Shall I never recover ?"

"You are quite sick," answered the doctor, "and should prepare for the worst."

"No; you will probably continue but a little while." Say not so," said the dying man, “I will give you a hundred thousand dollars if you will prolong my life three days."

"I could not do it, my dear sir, for three hours," said the doctor, and the man was dead in less than an hour.

18. LOUISA.

"Resolves, and re-resolves; then dies the same."-YOUNG.

"SHORTLY after my settlement in the ministry," says Rev. Jacob Abbott, "I observed in the congregation a young lady, whose blooming countenance and cheerful air showed perfect health and high elation of spirits. Her appearance satisfied me that she was amiable and thoughtless. To her eye the world seemed bright, and she often said she wished to enjoy more of it before she became a Christian. Louisa (for by that name I shall call her) manifested no particular hostility to religion, but wished to live a gay and merry life till just before her death, and then to become pious, and die happy. She was a constant attendant at church; but while others seemed moved by an exhibition of the Saviour's love, she appeared entirely unaffected. The same easy smile played upon her features, whether sin or death, or heaven or hell, was the theme of discourse.

One evening I invited a few of the young ladies of my society to meet at my house. She came with her companions. I had sought the interview, that I might more directly urge upon them the importance of religion. All in the room were affected, and she, though evidently moved, endeavoured to conceal her feelings.

"I informed them I would meet in a week from that time any who wished for personal conversation; and at

the appointed time was delighted to see Louisa, with two or three others, enter my house. Louisa,' said I, I am happy to see you here this evening; particularly so, as you have come interested in the subject of religion.' She made no reply. 'Have you been long thinking upon this subject, Louisa ?'

"I always thought the subject important, sir; but have not attended to it as I suppose I ought.'

"Do you now feel the subject more important than you have previously?'

"I don't know, sir. I want to be a Christian.'

"Do you feel that you are a sinner, Louisa?'

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'I know I am a sinner, for the Bible says so; but I suppose I do not feel it enough.'

"What would you think, Louisa, of a child whose kind and affectionate parents had done everything in their power to make her happy, and who, though every day disobeying her parents, and never manifesting any gratitude, should yet not feel that she had done anything wrong? You, Louisa, would abhor such a child; and yet this is the way you have been treating your heavenly Father. And he has heard you say this evening, that you do not feel that you have done wrong. You must repent of your sin, and humbly and earnestly ask forgiveness. And why will you not? You know Christ has died to atone for sin, and that God will forgive, for his Son's sake, if you are penitent.' To this she made no reply. She did not appear displeased, neither did her feelings appear subdued.

"At our interview on the succeeding week, Louisa appeared much more deeply impressed.

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'Well,' said I, as in turn I came to her, 'I was afraid I should not see you here this evening.'

"I feel, sir,' said she, 'that it is time for me to attend to my immortal soul. I have neglected it too long.'

"Do you feel that you are a sinner, Louisa?' "Yes, sir, I do.'

"Do you think, Louisa, you have any claim upon God to forgive you?'

"No sir; it would be just in God to leave me to perish, I think. I want to repent, but I cannot. I want to love God, but do not know how I can.'

"Well, Louisa, now count the cost. Are you ready to give up all for Christ? Are you ready to turn from your gay companions, and lay aside your frivolous pleasures, and acknowledge the Saviour publicly, and be derided, as perhaps you will be, by your former friends, and live a life of prayer and of effort to do good?'

"She hesitated a moment, and then replied, I am afraid not.'

"Well, Louisa, the terms of acceptance with God are plain, and there is no altering them. If you will be a Christian, you must renounce all sin, and with a broken heart surrender yourself to the Saviour.'

"The interview closed with prayer, and a similar appointment was made for the next week. Some of the young ladies present, I had reason to believe, had accepted the terms of salvation. The next week a slight cold detained Louisa from the meeting, but the week following she again appeared. To my great disappointment, I found her interest diminishing. She seemed far less anxious than at our last interview; the Spirit was grieved. This was the last time she called to

see me.

"Two or three months passed away, when one day, as I was making parochial visits, I was informed that Louisa was quite unwell, and desired to see me. In a few moments I was in her sick-chamber. She had taken a violent cold, and it had settled into a fever. She seemed agitated when I entered the room; and when I inquired how she did, she covered her face with both hands, and

burst into tears. Her sister turned to me and said: 'Sir, she is in great distress of mind; mental agony has kept her awake nearly all night. She has wanted very much to see you, that you might converse with her.'

"I feared her agitation might seriously injure her health, and did all I consistently could to soothe and quiet her. But,' said Louisa, 'I am sick, and may die. I know I am not a Christian; and, O! if I die in this state of mind, what will become of me? burst into tears.

And again she

"What could I say? Every word she said was true. Her eyes were opened to her danger. There was cause for alarm. Delirium might soon ensue. Death might be near, and she was unprepared to appear before God. She saw it all, she felt it all. Fever was burning in her veins; but she forgot her pains in view of the terrors of approaching judgment.

"I told her God was good; that he was more ready to forgive than we to ask forgiveness. But, sir,' said she, 'I have known my duty long, and have not done it. I have been ashamed of the Saviour, and grieved away the Spirit, and now I am upon a sick-bed, and perhaps must die. O, if I were but a Christian, I should be willing to die!'

"I told her of the Saviour's love. I pointed to many of God's precious promises to the penitent. I endeavoured to induce her to resign her soul calmly to the Saviour. But all seemed in vain. Trembling and agitated, she was looking forward to the dark future. The Spirit of the Lord had opened her eyes. I knelt by her bed-side, and fervently prayed that the Holy Spirit would guide her, and that the Saviour would speak peace to her troubled soul. O, could they who are postponing repentance to a sick-bed, have witnessed the sufferings of this once merry girl, they would shudder at the thought of trusting to a dying hour!