far better, that he should be as "one crying in the wilderness," and getting no response but the echo of empty walls, than that he should fail in proclaiming "the whole counsel of God." Apart from your interests, and looking only at my own, how could I otherwise hold up these hands, and say, "They are clean from the blood of all men?" How otherwise could the preacher turn from his unhappy head the Bible's closing curse—"If any man shall take any man shall take away from the words of this book, God shall take away his part out of the book of life." Regard to myself, to you—regard to a gracious God, to a blessed Saviour-regard to all that is precious, solemn, sacred, eternal-these now compel me, although with trembling hands, to lift the vail.

If any are living without God, and hope, and Christ, and prayer, I implore them to look here: turn to this dreadful pit. How it gleams with fire! How it resounds with woeful groans! Now, when we stand together on its margin, or rather shrink back with horror, look there, and say, "Who can lie down in everlasting burnings?"

It is alleged by travelers, that the ostrich, when pursued by its hunters, will thrust its head into a bush, and, without further attempt either at flight or resistance, quietly submit to the stroke of death. Men say that, having thus succeeded in shutting the pursuers out of its own sight, the bird is stupid enough to fancy that it has shut itself out of theirs, and that the danger, which it has concealed from its eyes, has ceased to exist. We doubt that. God makes no mistakes; and, guided as the lower animals are in all their instincts by infinite Wisdom, I fancy that a more correct knowledge of that creature would show, that whatever stu

pidity there may be in the matter, lies not in the poor bird, but in man's rash conclusion regarding it. Man trusts to hopes which fail him: the spider never; she commits her weight to no thread which she has spun, till she has pulled on it with her arms, and proved its strength. Misfortune overtakes man unprovided and unprepared for it: not winter the busy bee. Amid the blaze of gospel light, man misses his road to heaven: without any light whatever, in the darkest night, the swallows cleave their way through the pathless air, returning to the window-nook where they were nestled; and through the depths of ocean the fish steer their course back to the river where they were spawned. If we would find folly, Solomon tells us where to seek it:-"Folly," says the wise man, "is bound up in the heart of a child :" and what is folded up there, like leaves in their bud, blows out in the deeds and habits of men. This poor bird, which has thrust its head into the bush, and stands quietly to receive the shot, has been hunted to death. hours the cry of its pursuers has rung in its startled ear; for hours their feet have been on its weary track; it has exhausted strength, and breath, and craft, and cunning, to escape; and even yet, give it time to breathe-give it another chance-and it is away with the wind; and with wings outspread, on rapid feet it spurns the burning sand. It is because escape is hopeless and death is certain that it has buried its head in that bush, and shut its eyes to a fate which it cannot avert. To man-rational and responsible man— belongs the folly of closing his eyes to a fate which he may avert, and thrusting his head into the bush while escape is possible; and, because he can put death, and judgment, and eternity out of mind, living as if

For

there were neither a bed of death nor bar of judg ment. Be wise: be men. Look your danger in the face. Anticipate the day when you shall behold a God in judgment and a world in flames; and now flee to Jesus from the wrath to come. To come! In a sense wrath has already come. The fire has caught, it has seized your garments; you are in flames. Oh! away then, and cast yourselves into that fountain which has power to quench these fires, and cleanse you from all your sins.

God's punitive Justice.

Wherefore I poured my fury upon them, and I scattered them among

the heathen, and they were dispersed through the countries: according to their way, and according to their doings, I judged them.-EZEKIEL XXXVi. 18, 19.

THE dank mossy sward is deceitful: its fresh and glossy carpet invites the traveler to leave the rough moorland track; and, at the first step, horse and rider are buried in the morass. The sea is deceitful. What rage, what furious passions sleep in that placid bosom! and how often-as Vice serves her used-up victims-does she throw the bark that she received into her wanton arms, a wreck upon the shore. The morning is oft deceitful. With bright promise of a brilliant day it lures us from home; ere noon the sky begins to thicken, the sun looks sickly, the sluggish, heavilyladen clouds gather upon the hill-tops, the landscape all around closes in; the lark drops songless into her nest; the wind rises, blowing cold and chill; and at length-like adversities gathering round the grey head of age-tempests, storm, and rain, thicken on the dying day. The desert is deceitful: it mocks the traveler with its mirage. How life kindles in his drooping eye, as he sees the playful waves chase each other to the shore, and the plumes of the palm waving in the watery mirror! Faint, weary, perishing with thirst, he turns to bathe and drink; and, exhausting his remaining strength in pursuit of a phantom, finds, unhappy man! that he has turned to die.

Deceitful above sward, or sea, or sky, or enchanted desert, is the heart of man; nor do I know a more marked or melancholy proof of this than that which our light treatment of such weighty matters as sin and judgment affords. There is no exaggeration in the prophet's language-"The heart is deceitful above all things, and desperately wicked.” Put a case:-The flames have broken out in some house, and the fire spreads fast; at midnight the roll of the drum wakens the sleeping streets-a fearful sound! soon followed by the hurried yet measured tramp of armed men, and the rush of a crowd, who, guided by a glare that illumines the sky, and turns night into ruddy day, pour on the scene of danger; and where the flames, bursting out from cellar to roof, shed their lurid light on glancing bayonets, strong arms below are working as for life, and daring men above, ever and anon lost among clouds of smoke, turn the stream upon the hissing fire. In this stirring scene, where is the tenant of the house? How is he engaged? They thunder at the door; they call his name; they rear the ladder against the window; and now they shout to him to wake, and haste, and flee, leaving house and furniture to the flames. They listen, but no answer. Alas! he has perished? Help has come too late? No; he lives: he has heard all that horrid din. He smells the smoke; he feels the floor grow hot, and hotter, beneath his feet; and amid the thick and suffocating air the man gasps for breath. He has heard the cries of kindly neighbors; the glass of the window, as a strong hand dashes it in, falls at his feet, and he sees the very ladder resting on its sill. Well; has some ruffian hand bound him neck and heel, that he does not move? or gagged him, that he