great work will be done amidst restless days and sleepless nights, the languors of disease, the agony of pain, and the incoherence of delirium? Now is the accepted time, now is the day of salvation. Every thing but the spirit of procrastination in man says—Now: the word of God repeatedly and emphatically says-NOW: the dispensations of Providence say--Now; the uncertainty of life as illustrated in the deaths of the young and the healthy, says -NOW; the voice of reason and conscience says-Now; the affectionate advice of parents, friends, and ministers says-Now; the infinite value of the soul, says-Now; the transcendent worth of salvation saysNOW; the present happiness of religion says-Now; the vanity of the world says -NOW; the discomfort, and in many cases the misery of a life of sin, says-NOW; in short, every thing but Satan, the adversary and destroyer of souls, says-Now. God

says, "To-day, if ye will hear my voice, harden not your hearts;" and "remember Now your Creator in the days of your youth,"—and it is only the suggestion of the Wicked One to put it off to a more convenient season.

The noted Cæsar Borgia said, in his last moments, "I had provided in the course of my life for every thing except death, and now alas! I am to die, though entirely unprepared."

Begin at once, and without delay, to attend to the just and paramount claims of religion. Make it your next, as well as your great business. Time is short-life is uncertain-death is at hand-judgment is approaching and eternity is to follow. If you are impressed by reading this memoir and the subjoined reflections; if a serious thoughtfulness come over you, and you feel inclined to give to religion the attention it deserves and demands, cherish

such emotions; they form a crisis in your moral history; they are the disturbance of a dangerous slumber, and will issue either in your awakening to the pursuit of salvation, or in your settling down again to a deeper sleep of death. It is a dangerous thing to neglect such admonitions, and to extinguish convictions. Take the following facts in illustration of this sentiment.

"I once," said a pious minister of America, "knew a youth of sixteen, the son and hope of pious parents, and the favourite of a large circle of associates. He was my friend. We went together to the schoolroom, to the play-ground, to our chamber. I have seen him, while listening to the pleadings of parental faithfulness, urging him to immediate repentance, and warning him, by a brother's recent grave, of the danger of delay. He listened in silence and respectful attention, but the alluring pleasures of youth dazzled him, and he resolved to leave religion for a future day.

"One evening he met a circle of youthful acquaintance. It was a gay circle, and a thoughtless one. In the midst of their mirth, his eye fell on a hymn-book. He opened it and read,

'And must this body die,

This mortal frame decay?

And must these active limbs of mine
Lie mould'ring in the clay?'

He laid down the book, and forgot its warning voice.

"Late that evening he came to my chamber, breathing short, like one who had been walking fast, and lay down by my side. After some time he turned to me, and said, 'Will you get up and give me a glass of water? I feel unwell.' I arose, and called the family. He was manifestly ill, but not apparently in immediate danger. The next morning he was worse. A physician was called, but did not understand his case. Search was at length made, and it was

found, that by mistake, he had taken a dose of deadly poison. The hand of death was then upon him. For three hours his body was writhing in agony, but that was forgotten in the more excruciating agonies of his soul. I heard his minister tell him of a merciful Saviour. I heard his father, kneeling by his bed-side, pour out to God the most agonizing prayer for him that language could express. I heard his mother exclaim, 'O! my son! my son!' till she swooned, and sunk upon the floor. heard him, as he tossed from side to side, cry out, ‘O Lord, have mercy on my soul! O my God, have mercy on me! mercy! mercy! mercy!' and then, reaching out his hands toward his father, he exclaimed, I am lost! I am lost! am I not, father?'

I

His breath grew shorter, and his voice fainter, until raising his hands as if he would cry 'mercy' once more, he expired. Fifteen years have rolled away since I