greedy, would strike its fangs into his soul. But although this is true, though it is a fact that it is only the presence of God that prevents the first transgression hurling the soul to destruction,-it is, nevertheless, a startling thought that God is near, aye, close to the drunkard when his oaths are loudest, that He sits, as it were, beside the couch of the voluptuary at his illicit excesses, that He is present at the birth of every foul desire, that He watches it as it is nursed in the cradle of an evil heart, and that He sees it grow into a monster under the united tutelage of the world, the flesh, and the devil. Yes, God is there when the evil seed strikes root,- He is there when the green and cankering blade shoots forth,—He is there when the enemy, comes to see how the tares that he has sown are flourishing,— He is there when Satan gathers in his harvest, in the shape of the hundred sins that mildew every human life on each succeeding day. Yes, sinner! Don't think that because your conscience is seared with the red-hot iron of a long impunity, you have evaded the scrutiny of God; don't fancy that because you have skulked from beneath the spells of remorse, you have fled from His spirit, or escaped His presence. It is because His eye is on you, it is because He has followed you so closely, it is because He has been present at the execution of every evil purpose, that you have enjoyed this impunity so long; for He knows your frame and remembers that you are but dust, and, therefore, He holds back awhile the keen-edged sword of justice while He points to Calvary, and cries, "Let the wicked man forsake his way, and the unrighteous man his thoughts: and let him return unto the Lord, and He will have mercy upon and to our God, for He will abundantly pardon him."

him ;

There is a strange blending of consolation and solemnity in this thought. It is a thought well calculated to shew the sinfulness of sin in its most hellish and demoniac glare, and which may well enkindle the intense resolve to touch no more the unclean thing. But Oh! how trebly fearful must the damnation of that man be who, with this thought still patent to his mind,

still goes on to grieve the Spirit against whose pleadings he shuts up his ears, and to trample under foot the blood which surges at his feet. To him how frightful will be the lashings of his reanimated conscience, wakened by the clashing of the last trumpet from the sleep into which he had drugged her, when standing on the purlieus of the eternal pit, he hears the jeering voice of a once crucified Saviour, when the Lord shall have him in derision, "Because I have called and ye refused, because I have stretched out. my hand and no man regarded, I will also laugh at your calamity, I will mock when your fear cometh." With what an altered emphasis, with what a different significance, will such a sinner take up the language of the Whither shall I go from thy Spirit, and whither shall I flee from thy presence. With what a changed and grim revulsion will he raise his hands to shut out the vision of the judgment throne as he turns from the burning splendours of the great tribunal, to the charred and fevered earth, and yells in his despair to the reeling mountains and the glowing peaks staggering to their mighty basement in the omnipotent embrace of the last great fires. Rocks fall on me, hills cover me, and hide me from the face of Him that sitteth on the throne, and from the wrath of the Lamb.

text.

Well, my fellow-sinner, if you cannot escape the presence of this all-seeing and all-pervading God, why not give up the attempt? Why not seek to escape from your sins? No man can derive any satisfaction from the contemplation of the omnipresence of God, but for the glorious doctrine of the atonement of Jesus Christ. And no man can entertain the idea, for a moment, without shuddering to the very core of his soul, until he has realised his own personal interest in Christ's death. But once realise that, once become convinced that you are in Christ Jesus, once trace, through the witness of the Spirit, bearing witness with your spirit, the family resemblance and relationship to your great Elder Brother, and this remembrance of the presence of the Eternal Father in all places of His

“A Short Life and a Merry Une."

You all know what this maxim means. It means taking a first-class ticket to Perdition by express train, and beguiling the journey with a sleep, and song, and a cigar. There are various routes to this destination; and the competition between the different railway companies which undertake to land the passengers safely at the terminus, is even keener and more obstinate than the late rivalry between the London and NorthWestern and Great Northern directors. For example, there is the Folly and Dissipation Company, most desirous, by cheap fares and the promise of a speedy transit, to take the traffic from the Cant and Swindle Branch line. Then there has been an amalgamation of the Brandy and Water Junction with the Tom and Jerry Company; and an agreement has also been arrived at between the Gay Lady and the Late Hour Union directors. Now, notwithstanding the number of routes, and the rivalry amongst the directors, each company gets its fair share of patronage, and must, doubtless, pay a handsome dividend to the shareholders. Perdition appears to be such a popular place of resort, that every train on every one of these various lines is sure to be invariably crammed with passengers. The eagerness of the travellers is by no means abated by bad weather. Spring, Summer, Autumn, and. Winter, cold weather and hot,-windy or calm, it matters not, the traffic

never abates. Strange to say, moreover, the midnight trains appear to be always the most crowded. There are some few individuals who prefer driving in their own private vehicles to this most popular resort. They drive slowly and carefully, but steadily, along; but they are, nevertheless, bent upon the same errand with the more impetuous travellers. But our title this afternoon brings us more into contact with those who travel by the fastest express trains along the various lines of railway we have mentioned. They know there is no danger of a collision, because there are no return trains. They may be overtaken by another train, but they cannot be met by an engine coming in an opposite direction, for no one ever returns who once goes to the city of Perdition,―he invariably makes it the place of his perpetual residence.

Now let us look at a specimen of the fast travellers by a midnight train. He is a young man, gaily dressed, very brisk and important in appearance, and evidently on the best of terms with himself. He got into the train at the Fuddle station on the Brandy and Water Junction line. Smoking is not prohibited by the company, so he sticks a Manilla cheroot into his mouth and keeps it there until he becomes unable to retain it between his lips; for, when the train stops to take in spirits and water at the Roaring-drunk station, his head rolls upon his breast and the cigar tumbles from his mouth. When he started on his journey he was in capital health and tip-top spirits. He looked well and happy. His eye was brilliant and his complexion clear; but the pace is beginning to tell upon him. His cheek is pale and worn, and his eye has lost its lustre; and, though he soon wakes up from his sodden sleep and roars out the chorus of a noisy song, his merriment is less natural and more constrained than it used to be in the time gone by. As he draws nearer to the end of his journey he wishes he had never set out, and longs to retrace the road. But the speed is quickening; the heavy train is steaming down a steep incline and whirling him along too fast for him to be