who is seated thereon! The books are opened-the trial proceeds—and then think of the inexpressible solemnity of the moment when you and I shall hear Him addressing us, either "BLESSED" or "CURSED." Then, as the holy enter within the pearly gates, triumphant choruses burst from their lips, while, with convulsive wailings, the lost plunge into the bottomless pit, from whence the smoke of their torment ariseth forever. How is it with you, reader? are you a Christian? Then rejoice and say with the beloved disciple, "Even so, come Lord Jesus, come quickly!" When a few more suns have risen and set, and a few moons have waxed and waned, you will be called for to receive your reward.

But my impenitent friend, as you now are treading the shore of that vast ocean, you must sail so soon, and are sensible of the vanity of all earthly splendor, what will you do without a hope in Christ, and. an anchor cast within the vail? Oh give no slumber to your eyes till you have submitted to God, lest you sleep, to wake-in ETERNITY!

THE WIDOW'S SON;

OR,

THE DANGER OF DELAY.

Ar the close of a mild afternoon in the spring of 1852, you might have seen George P— seated by the window of his mother's residence in B-Street, watching the gentle approach of evening as it gradually deepened into night, and the stars, one by one, were appearing in the cloudless vault of heaven.

The hand of consumption was on him, yet he listened to her syren song, which promised fair, and lulled his fears. Soon, very soon, he expected to return to his business, and to the enjoyment of all the pleasures his youthful heart had coveted. His wid owed mother too, could not believe that he, the solace of her bereaved heart, was to leave her side-no, it could not be so!

As he slowly retired from the apartment, her heart yearned for him, and that night dim forebodings robbed her of sleep.

All without was quiet; the crowded streets of the great metropolis were deserted, and not a sound was heard, save the solitary tread of the watchman, going his appointed rounds. Mrs. P— slept not, for her heart was not at rest. She felt not the sustaining hope and faith of the Christian in this hour of need, nor could she point her son the way to a happy immortality.

During his sickness, I used frequently to visit him, but he never gave up the hope that he soon would be well, and seemed indisposed to engage in the work of preparation for death. To the Holy Spirit, that strove with him, he said, "Go thy way for this time, and when I have a convenient season I will call for thee." As George was comfortably sick, I did not apprehend his sudden dissolution; the last time I saw him he was dressed, and seated by the window, as he was wont. One Sabbath I called, and as I entered his room, the first object that met my eye, was the long, white, winding sheet that enveloped in solemn drapery all that remained of the Widow's Son!

In a moment, when he least expected it, the silvery cord, that had been long loosening, was suddenly cut, and his disembodied spirit was ushered into eternity.

The fond mother sat by her dead, and wept! The chiming bells from a neighboring church-tower were ringing forth their welcome invitation to the sanctuary, but their tones were unheeded by the dreamless sleeper. His last invitation had been neglected, and now the Angel of Death had placed his seal upon his brow, and beckoned him away. The summer's breeze stole softly in at the window where, a few hours before, he was seated; now it fanned a cheek of icy coldness!

I turned from the dead to comfort the living, and found that in her cup of grief God had mingled mercy, and though sorely chastened, she had been blest; now the language of her heart was, " He doeth all things well." "Even so, Father, for so seemeth it good in thy sight."

Thus lived and died the Widow's Son; and on his tombstone well may be inscribed, in mute eloquence,

THE RETURNING PRODIGAL.

"I will arise and go to my Father, and I will say unto him, Father, I have sinned against heaven and before thee, and am no more worthy to be called thy son; make me as one of thy hired servants. And he arose and came to his Father. But when he was yet a great way off, his Father saw him, and had compassion on him, and ran and fell on his neck and kissed him."

If ever there was a noble resolve formed in the heart, 'twas that of the returning prodigal;-and if ever there. was an affectionate welcome given to a long-lost son, that was one.

This person, we are informed, was a younger son, bred in affluence, and surrounded by every thing a kind father's heart could devise.

Still he was restless, and despised the restraints of home. Having secured his patrimony, indifferent to a father's entreaties, he journeys into a far country, where he may indulge his lusts without restraint. Awhile he revels in joyous delight, is courted by those who feed on his extravagance, and fancies himself happy. In a kind of delirium, he drains the cup of pleasure, and finds its dregs bitter indeed. Soon things begin to lose their glaring brillancy, and something warns him of approaching evil. He awakens! gazing about, wildly exclaims,-"Is this a dream that haunts my memory? Where are those golden hours of pleasure, my gay companions, where? How came I