they exist. When we examine ourselves, on the other hand, we require no such open and glaring evidence of guilt to enable us to come to a true knowledge of our danger. We can only judge of others by appearances; but we can judge of ourselves by what we know to be realities, though they may be realities concealed from every eye but the eye of God. Conscience may lift up its awful voice and pass most righteous sentence, and say to us, "Not saved!" when no human voice dare say this of us. We may gather such evidence, from the daily and habitual doings and neglects of the inner man, as may justify us in most truly condemning ourselves, at a time when the doings of the outer man would not justify others in condemning us. Our profession and practice may deceive the charitable, but they are not able to deceive ourselves; they may defy the scrutiny of the world, but their hollowness and want of principle can be speedily detected by the searching eye of our own minds during a few minutes passed in honest self-examination.

Were I, for instance, to say of any of you that you do not love God; that you do not love Christ; that you are never constrained by love and grati

tude to do their will; that you do not love Christians because they are Christians; that you do not "strive," or "fight," or "labour," or do anything like this to save your soul; that you do not pray in secret; that you are not conscious of ever having gone, as a lost sinner, and pled with God, for Christ's sake, to pardon you, and to help you with his Spirit to lead a holy life ;—were I to say this, you would, possibly, admit that I was speaking the truth. Nay, if I went farther, and charged you with specific acts of sin, habitually committed, while you know that "they who do such things cannot inherit the kingdom of God," it is possible that conscience would plead guilty to this, as well as to the other charges; and, if so, then it is certain that you are not saved. Open the Word of God, and see if every page does not stamp your outer and inner life as that of one who has not yet known God, who is not yet saved. The conclusion is a very sad and serious one to arrive at; it is not easy for the proud heart to admit it: but, if it is the truth, you are safer with truth the most alarming, than with lies the most pleasing. It is surely much better to know the truth, however painful, in time, than to know it

only in eternity. It is surely safer to hear it told you by the ambassador of peace before the throne of grace, than to hear it before the throne of judgment, where your destruction is certain, and your salvation impossible. It is wiser to listen to conscience condemning you before a throne of grace than before the throne of judgment.

Let each of us then, in the secresy of his own heart, or in the silent watches of the night, think on these words "not saved," and try to realise their meaning. I know, indeed, that they speak of a loss the full meaning of which none living can yet understand. But, nevertheless, by solemn thought, accompanied by prayer for light, and for an upright heart, you may by faith in God's Word, obtain such a sense of wrong-being towards God, and of consequent danger, as will make you ask in deepest earnestness, "What shall I do to be saved?" It saddens and softens your heart, when you hear of a noble ship, with all her crew, perishing in the hurricane whose wild and fitful howlings hardly disturbed your sleep of peace. And when some accident has laid an acquaintance suddenly with the dead, and you look with pity on the

mangled corse, and gaze with a shudder upon the pale and well-known countenance, you cannot choose but feel the death of the body to be a solemn thing. Yet what is this to the death of the soul? The loss of the whole material universe is nothing to the loss of the soul of the poorest man who totters in rags through life's weary pilgrimage. What is the death of the body to the spectacle of a man in prison-a convicted felon, a thief, a swindler, or a murderer? And how awful is the thought of sin continued beyond the grave! How can we measure such a loss as this, the loss of what is immortal; how get even a glimpse of an evil so vast, so inconceivable! That loss must be dreadful which is the loss to us of God, whose name is love, and of Jesus Christ His Son, and of the Holy Spirit the Comforter; and of all the good and the living in God's universe! That loss is dreadful which is the loss of whatever is most worthy of being possessed by ourselves, and capable of attracting to us the love of others. That loss must be dreadful, to prevent which, the Son of God Himself left heaven; dwelt on earth as a man of sorrows; endured sore agony in Gethsemane; submitted to cruel scourgings and mockings before

Pilate; and bled, and died on the cross, while the sun was darkened, and the rocks were rent, as He cried, "My God, why hast Thou forsaken me!" Yet all this Jesus did to save souls from being lost! You cannot think that any deliverance, but a great and wonderful one, would make - not the whole inhabitants of the earth, poor worms of the dust— but the mighty angels in heaven, rejoice? Yet they do rejoice, when the news spreads through heaven, that one soul is saved! Do not such considerations as these even, when seriously entertained, help to make you perceive how frightful a calamity it is to be "not saved;" although men themselves, who are most concerned in the matter, may in many cases care little whether they are saved or not!

"The harvest is past, the summer is ended, and we are not saved!" Do these words allude to the change of seasons merely? Then, they may remind you, that spring with its buds and blossoms, summer with its fruits and flowers, harvest with its crops, and winter with its storms, have in rapid succession come and gone,—that much precious time has passed for ever away, without its being redeemed by you-for you are not saved! Are