Chapter I: KNOW thou art gone to thy home of rest;

Then why should my soul be sad?
I know thou art gone where the weary are blest,
And the mourner looks up and is glad;

Where Love has put off, in the land of its birth,
The stain it had gathered in this,
And Hope, the sweet singer that gladdened the earth,
Lies asleep on the bosom of bliss.

HERVEY.

“THE LAST NIGHT OF THE SEASON.”

“HASTEN, O sinner, to return,
And stay not for to-morrow’s sun,
For fear thy lamp should cease to burn
Before the needful work is done.”

“THE LAST NIGHT OF THE SEASON,” stood forth in bold prominence from mammoth posters at every prominent place in the city.

“_The Last Night of the Season_” headed an advertisement in every daily paper.

“The Last Night of the Season,” was echoed by thousands of handbills.

“The Last Night of the Season,” lingered on the lips of nearly every passer-by.

At night, thronging crowds, with hurried step and anxious heart, pressed earnestly into the accustomed entrance—then too narrow to admit the greatly increased numbers—of a large and brilliantly illumined building.

Do you know, breathed in quick succession from one to another, it is “The Last Night of the Season?”

Fellow traveller to the bar of God, “I have somewhat to say unto _thee_.”

Has not this sentence already gone, like an arrow, to your heart? Do you not feel that perhaps you have seen the last night of the season of salvation?

Oh! it is an awful thought. Yet, thanks be to God, there is still another opportunity of being saved. I now present you that opportunity. Will you, can you, refuse? It may be the last night of the season. God only knows.

“Delay not, delay not, O sinner, to come,
For mercy still lingers and calls thee to-day,
Her voice is not heard in the vale of the tomb;
Her message unheeded will soon pass away.”

Fathers, mothers, friends, relatives, brothers, sisters, those that love you tenderly, dearly, Christian ministers, the writer of this little article, all join in the earnest entreaty, “COME TO JESUS!”

He is a precious Saviour.

He is a loving Saviour.

He is a willing Saviour.

He is an able Saviour.

Then, will you not come and cast your burden upon _Him?_

He has never turned away _one_ soul.

The thief on the cross,—poor, weeping Peter—Mary Magdalene, with her seven devils,—all found Him such a Saviour as I have described.

Young man, in the morning of life, you whose brow no cloud of sorrow has ever darkened, will _you_ not come to that Saviour?

Young lady, will _you_ not come to that Saviour? Will _you_, whose sex was the last at the cross, the first at the sepulchre, stay away from that Saviour? The daughters of Jerusalem found Him an all-sufficient Saviour, and will _you_ not come, like Mary, and

“——fall at His feet,
And the story repeat,
And the lover of sinners adore?”

* * * * *

MARY AT JESUS’ FEET.

TO hear the Saviour’s word
The gentle Mary came;
Low at His feet she sat and heard
Sweet mention of her name.

She chose the better part,
The one bright pearl she found:
May we, with Mary’s constant heart,
In Mary’s grace abound.

Like her, we look above,
To learn our Saviour’s will;
The droppings of His lips we love,
And would His word fulfil.

Speak, as to Mary Thou
Didst speak in Galilee;
Call us by name, our hearts shall bow,
And melting, flow to Thee.

E. M. C.

HUGH MILLER AND THE PRECIPICE.

“HEAVEN above and hell below,
Pleasure, pain, and joy and woe,
Repeat the words in accents slow,
_Stop and think!_”

THE celebrated Hugh Miller, when a boy, was in the habit of scaling giddy precipices, either in search of some peculiar specimen of rock, or some unknown species of bird.

On one occasion he saw a raven’s nest far above the ground, snugly fixed on a very high cliff, which had never been scaled by the foot of man. From below it was a matter of impossibility to reach it, for it was more than a hundred feet above the level of the sea. He therefore determined to make an attempt from above. Creeping carefully along, now holding by some protruding rock, now clinging to some slender shrub, he at last found himself within six or eight feet of the desired prize. There he stopped and hesitated. Beneath, the raging surf roamed and boiled. One misstep would launch him into eternity.

His foot was stretched out to take the first step, when he observed, as the sun burst suddenly from behind a cloud, the light glisten on a smooth surface of chlorite, slippery as glass. He at once saw the consequences of such an attempt, retraced his steps, and was, in God’s providence, spared to exert an influence for good, the extent of which will never be fully known.

Reader, have you ever attempted to perform some act which no one else was able to accomplish, and been on the very brink of destruction, when the Sun of Righteousness shone on your pathway and revealed to your darkened understanding the imminent danger of your position?

Young man, you that are anxious to write your name high above that of your fellow-man, beware how you step. The ocean of a never-ending eternity is roaring beneath you. You, perhaps, do not see your danger, yet it is there. If you are seeking only the riches of this world, which perish with their using, and endeavoring to do what no one else has done, pray that God will show you the peril of your position, retrace your steps, and remember the sad end of him “who layeth up treasure for himself and is not rich toward God.” Luke 12: 21.

The sequel to this little sketch is very, very heart-rending.

Not long after the above occurrence a youth named Mackay made a similar attempt; paused even for a longer time; then trusting himself to the treacherous chlorite, his foot slipped, and he fell headlong over the precipice. His head striking violently against a projecting rock, his brains were scattered over a space of ten or twelve square yards in extent.

The rock doubtless yet remains—a lasting monument of the sinful folly of man.

* * * * *

A FEW SHORT YEARS—AND THEN.—

“A FEW short years—and then
Our young hearts may be reft
Of every hope, and find no gleam
Of childhood’s sunshine left!

“A few short years—and then,
Impatient of its bliss,
The weary soul shall seek on high
A better home than this!

“A few short years—and then
The dream of life will be
Like shadows of a morning cloud,
In its reality!

“A few short years—and then
The idols loved the best
Will pass in all their pride away,
As sinks the sun to rest!”

THE HOME OF ST. PAUL.