be born as he was born, to live as he lived, to suffer and enjoy as he did, and to die as he died, who would accept the boon? It may be doubted whether the most worldly being who ever visited the earth, if he could see his whole bargain, would willingly agree to the undertaking. This present life is rendered worth living only by the continual hope of a better, without which, cui bono? would be a fatal question, and would take all energy from our occupations and pleasures. Certainly those who have once reached a state of glory would never consent to live in this world of temptation and sorrow again, or be contentedly degraded to a mere animal life of sensual comfort, or sensual gratification; but for the elevating accompaniment of knowing that our one short life on earth is the passage to our one eternal life in heaven.

Solemn as our last hour in this world must be to every individual, it is generally more so to the Christian than to those who have reflected less maturely, and realised less clearly the importance of the change. Just as to an enlightened man who approaches the presence of his sovereign, there is a sentiment of awe, which a heedless child, if summoned to accompany him, could scarcely be capable of; and while his thoughtless companion rushes with careless ease into the royal court, the unthinking stranger would observe, perhaps,

Y

with a sense of wondering superiority, the agitation and backwardness of his more reverential companion. Every believer should attempt, however, for the comfort of his own soul, and for the immeasurable consolation of surviving friends, to look at futurity with calm resignation and dignified composure.

Some years ago, a dying Christian said to her afflicted friends, attending in sorrow around her bed, "Always associate me with your happiest hours never think of me in sorrow or gloom. I trust I am going to the full enjoyment of my Saviour's purchased blessings.

how happy we have been."

Remember always

Life, take thy chance; but oh! for such an end!

CHAP. XXV.

DUTY OF LEAVING A FINAL TESTIMONY FOR THE BENEFIT OF SURVIVORS.

We watch'd her breathing through the night,

Her breathing soft and low,

As in her breast the wave of life

Kept heaving to and fro.

So silently we seem'd to speak,
So slowly moved about,

As we had lent her half our powers,
To eke her living out.

Our very hopes belied our fears,
Our fears our hopes belied-

We thought her dying when she slept,
And sleeping when she died.

For when the morn came dim and sad,
And chill with early showers,
Her quiet eyelids closed-she had
Another morn than ours.

HOOD.

MEN who have derided the strictness of a Christian's general habits, and would not attend to admonitions from the living, will listen to the final words of an expiring friend as of one almost returned from the grave. The best and wisest of

mortal men have not as much authority in what they say, as the dying obtain, because their last words bear the stamp of undoubted sincerity, and therefore carry a weight of conviction which no other circumstances could afford.

They breathe the truth who breathe their words in pain.

What a treasury of comfort has been found on such an occasion among weeping relatives in a few last sentences of cheerful and affectionate farewell from a beloved friend before his going to that world where we all wish finally to be assembled! Under ordinary circumstances, those very words might perhaps have been passed over as insignificant; but the lowest whisper of a sick bed has more eloquence than the loudest thunders of oratory.

Words of admonition, after the lips that uttered them are sealed in death, acquire almost the sacredness of inspiration, seeing that the Christian friends who so lately taught us how to live have now shown us how to die, while we, in the anguish of our riven hearts, are ready to exclaim

Oh! wait thy heav'n, till we have learn'd the way.

We may and must believe that the dying man is what he seems, for in such circumstances few could wear a mask, and certainly not the Christian, who feels himself already in the very anti-chamber

of heaven, and nearly in the visible presence of his all-seeing God. It was at such a moment of departing life that the excellent Dr. R, hearing one of his attendants say, "I believe at this instant he enjoys the vision of God," exclaimed, with a dying effort, "Yes!"

A believer speaking thus, with the consciousness that he hovers between both worlds, already seems elevated above the earth, as if he had almost winged his way to heaven. Like the splendid picture of our Lord's transfiguration, the dying man seems mentally raised above this visible scene, while he leaves his last blessing and his parting prayers among survivors.

Strange and mournful it is when we listen to the last accents of a voice never more to be heard in this world throughout all its future ages! An eloquent author has beautifully observed, that on the approach of death sometimes "the spirit seems to perforate the shut gates of sense with sudden light, and to gush with lustre to the eye and love and reason to the speech, as if to make it evident that death may be nativity, as if the traveller who had fallen asleep with the fatigues of the way, conscious that he drew near his journey's end, and, warned by the happy note of arrival, looked out, refreshed and eager, through the morning air, for the fields and streams of his new abode."

In the farewell letter of an American clergyman