and neat appearance, with that poor shivering lad's ragged jacket, and bare feet, he felt ashamed of having squandered many an idle shilling, that would have done so much good here, on trifling gratifications for himself. "And there are thousands," thought he, "besides these, enduring the same want and hardship." He immediately emptied his pockets for their relief; and, when he returned home to a blazing fire and good dinner, he hoped he should never again be unmindful of the miseries of the poor. But amid other scenes, the wretched cottage was soon forgotten; and his next month's allowance was spent as it had usually been.

It was the sunday after new-year's day; and Theodore went in the evening, with his brothers and sisters, to hear a sermon to young people. The text was, "Remember thy Creator in the days of thy youth." The minister spoke in a very impressive, affectionate manner; he made the most searching address to their consciences, -the most lively appeal to their feelings. The place was crowded; the prayers, the hymns, were suitable and affecting; attention was excited; tears were shed; and Theodore's flowed among the rest. The service closed, and he secretly exclaimed, "The Lord shall be the guide of my youth, and my portion for ever." He returned home; wept, prayed; called to mind his conduct in the past year; how his resolutions had failed; how impressions had worn off: he thought again of his deceased friend; and felt thankful that, although a cumberer of the ground, he had been spared yet another year. He thought of the "sins and follies of his childhood

and youth:" then of the swift passage of life; how short a time it seemed since the last newyear; and how one after another would thus pass away, and bring him certainly and soon to the end of life ; "Let me then redeem the precious time," said Theodore, "now before those evil days come! Let me begin this new year well; let it be spent better than the last!" Thus, he retired to rest in a serious spirit.

it

He arose briskly the next day. It was a fine, bright, cheerful Monday morning, and Theodore, in high spirits, ran off to skate on the river. Thus the morning was spent, and in the evening he went to meet a large party of young people. Several days passed in similar diversions, till, by the time he returned to his usual pursuits, when he thought to have put his good resolutions in practice, he had almost forgotten that it was a new year. There was nothing that made it appear to differ from the old one: things therefore went on with Theodore much as usual; nor does seem very probable that the present year will afford him less painful reflections than the last. Now, should any reader be surprised at this recital, and consider it as an extraordinary instance of levity and thoughtlessness, we would request him to pause for a moment; to examine his own heart; and to recollect his own experience. To whom have not some similar events occurred? On whom have not some similar impressions been made? Few are so young, but that they also have been alarmed by the death of some associate; few so insensible, as not to have felt it as a solemn warning. Who among them has not been stimulated, at times, to unusual ex

ertions in their pursuits, by the animating example of others; or by some quickening motive? Have not many of them, upon the sickness or death of some dear relation, felt the pangs of remorse at not having fulfilled "the law of kindness" toward them? Who has not felt occasional self-reproach when witnessing the sufferings of the poor, and formed fresh resolutions to assist them? Who, on those returning seasons, which more particularly remind us of the flight of time, and of the brevity of life, has not resolved to commence a new course, and to walk thence-forward in the pleasant and peaceful paths of heavenly wisdom! And oh which of our readers has not many, many a time, felt lively convictions under the preaching of their faithful ministers, and felt their word to be "quick and powerful?" But have these impressions, in every instance, been lasting? This is the question which each must answer satisfactorily for himself before he should cast one stone of censure at Theodore. Alas! how many Monday mornings witness such fading impressions! How often does it happen that before the grass begins to spring,-before a single flower blooms on the grave where we wept, and resolved,-that the eye that wept, and the heart that promised, are again fixed upon a vain world!

But now, let us inquire, why is it so? At the distance of two or three months from some painful bereavement, some solemn warning, are those considerations which then so deeply impressed us less true, less momentous? No: while" the cares and the pleasures of this life" spring up like weeds, and cause those impressions to die

away, all these great realities remain unchanged. There lie the dead in their silent graves! Their spirits, whose flight we at first attempted, in thought, to pursue, still exist in that unknown world: at this at every moment-whatever trifle is enagaging us, they, at that same instant, are feeling, thinking,-conscious either of unspeakable pleasure, or inconceivable regret. We may be trifling, we may be running into temptation, and eager in the pursuit of sin; but, in the mean time, it is as true as when we are most disposed to remember it, that, "There is a heaven above," and that, "There is a dreadful hell.'

The

Our Bible may remain unopen for days, for weeks; but during those days and weeks, the words therein written are as true, as important, as when we are reading them attentively. Let it be but opened, and at all times we shall meet the reproof, the exhortation, the promise. Bible never ceases to say, (whether we hear or forbear,) "What will it profit a man to gain the whole world and lose his own soul?" And thus, every motive that urges us to what is right, remains, in itself, equally forcible and persuasive, when we have forgotten, as when we remember

it.

Now, what is the course of wisdom? Are we, then, some may perhaps inquire, to feel habitually that gloom, and dread, and sorrow, which we experience when surrounding a death-bed, or are weeping over a grave? Are these impressions never to wear off? And is our return to the cheerful engagements of life, and of our age forbidden? It can be scarcely needful to reply, that this is not the lesson to be conveyed.

Gloom and sorrow, will indeed, occasionally overwhelm the mind in this dying world; and "the house of mourning is better than the house of mirth;" yet melancholy is far from being the feeling natural to a good man. Cheerfulness and serenity in the diligent discharge of the duties of life, characterise the true Christian. But our moral is this, that wisdom consists in being habitually influenced by those considera tions which are more powerfully suggested on particular occasions. If we feel in the chamber of sickness, and by the side of the grave, that life is uncertain, death inevitable, and that heaven or hell must be our certain destination; let us ever after act upon that conviction. And let it be thus with every other impression that we know to be just. If our hearts have melted at the occasional sight of poverty and misery, let us not go away and forget that the destitute and the miserable are still suffering: "the poor ye have always with you;" let us then always remember them.

Consider what a happy state of energy and diligence, of zeal, and of charity, we should maintain, if the accumulated force of every motive, of every impression we have received, were constantly pressing upon our minds. The same sense of the value of life,-the same motives to diligence and activity, to affection, and to benevolence, to the improvement of time, to the preparation for eternity. And then remember, that these inducements are, in themselves, every moment as strong, and the things to which they relate as true as if they were so. We could not, indeed, constantly sustain so powerful a stimu