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dangers are for the most part unseen. But the Bible reveals them, and, making that the man of your counsel and the lamp of your feet, it shall preserve you safe amidst the numberless snares that are laid to entrap you, and which, if complied with, will end in your ruin. You will often meet with circumstances to grieve you; but the Bible is a never-failing source of consolation. David found it So, and thus we find him saying of it, Ps. cxix. 50. "This is my comfort in my affliction." If I may refer to my own experience, I can testify to the consoling and supporting influence of the truths of the Bible, in a period of sickness, and prospect of death.

Above all things I would most earnestly recommend to you, my dear youth, to

"Make an immediate and unreserved surrender of your heart to Christ."

You are indeed highly favoured in having godly parents, religious instruction, and the public means of grace. Blessed are your eyes, for they see, and your ears, for they hear things which many righteous men desired, but did not possess; tijings which thousands of your fellow-creatures do not enjoy, and through ignorance of which millions of immortal beings are constantly perishing. But remember, I beseech you, my dearest James, that "it will advantage you nothing in another world to have been blessed with the means of grace, unless you arc made a partaker of the grace of the means."

You, like the rest of our fallen race, were born in sin, and have been led captive by Satan at his will; and unless you renounce the service of sin and Satan, and render allegiance to your rightful Lord and Master, the King of kings, and Lord of lords, he will visit you with the rod of his wrath, and consign you to the place prepared for the punishment of his foes.

Though you have rebelled against Him, and rendered yourself justly obnoxious to his displeasure, and unworthy of his regard, yet he most kindly, in the offers of his Gospel, invites you to return to his service (Hosea xiv. 1.) promising to forgive you for the past, and to do you good, even as though you never had forsaken him, nor taken a part with his enemies. This is the language of the invitation which he sends you (does it not display the most astonishing kindness and condescension ?) "My sou, give me thine heart," Pro v. xxiii. 26. Surely He who made us; He who clothes and feeds us; He who hath preserved us through innumerable dangers, deserves to have the powers of our bodies, and the faculties of our minds devoted to his blessed service. And what reply do you give to this demand? Do you consent? Are you willing to renounce the servitude of Satan, the bondage of lust, and to turn your back upon the vanities of this wicked world? I hope you are. Remember, that if you do give Christ your heart, he will love you—(Prov. viii. 17); or in other words, if you arc his willing and obedient subject, he will be your gracious and bountiful Sovereign, and all his perfections will be engaged for your good. His power to protect; his \ wisdom to guide; his love to comfort you.

But perhaps you say, " "Lis time enough yet," to put on his yoke. O! listen to the important advice and solemn warning of the patriarch David, " Kiss the Son, lest he be I angry, and ye perish from the way, when his wrath is kindled but n little—(Ps. ii. 12.) Rejection of the autho- I rity, and refusal to submit to the sceptre of Jesus, is tho certain prelude to destruction. Have you not served bis enemies long enough—for ten, or twelve, or fifteen years? Will you be so ungrateful as to refuse to love and serve Him, whose air it is you breathe, whose power formed you, and whose goodness keeps you alive? Why! if you now refuse to receive Him as your sovereign, that he may reign over you with the sceptre of his love, there is a day coming when he will punish you with the rod of his wratft. Be wise, be wise then, O my dear fellow sinner, and surrender your heart, and dedicate your life to Him. Let your best, your youngest days, he employed in his service, and depend on it, that on the bed of sickness, in the valley of death, and through the ages of eternity, it will bo a source of purest satisfaction that you were enabled to choose such a step. In conclusion, I recommend you

"To live for the good of others."

Life is short, and short as it is, it is the only season of usefulness. In heaven there will he no misery to alleviate, no tear to wipe, no ignorance to counteract. It affords rac much pleasure to observe, that you have entered among the honourable rank of Sunday-school Teachers. The instruction of poor ignorant children is a work of benevolence, for which your age and circumstances peculiarly fit you. Having taken the plough into your hands, lay it not down again, but let the example and approbation of Him who said," Suffer little children to come unto me, and forbid them not," stimulate you to persevere, notwithstanding every discouragement.

I wish you to give these topics a serious and attentive consideration. May you decide on the side of God and religion, for it is my firm conviction, that both as regards this world and the next, godliness is real, great, and everlasting gain.

Believe me, my dear young friend, your's, truly,

Youth's Magazine. H. H.

EVIL EFFECTS OF BAD COMPANY.

When your uncle John and I were little boys, we lifed in

the town of . There was a very wicked boy in the

same place ; and your grandpa and grandma told us we must not associate with him.

T. Associate! Father, what does that mean?

F, Associate means—to keep company with. Your grandpa and grandma knew that Jack would swear and lir, and that sometimes he would get drunk. He was older than your uncle and I, and was a very naughty boy.

One day, your grandfather told your uncle that if he would pick up all the stones on a piece of ground, which he marked out for him, then he might go and play. He had told him, a great many times that he must not play with Jack, and did not suppose he would. So your uncle went out to pick up stones.

About ten o'clock.in the forenoon, as John was very hard at work, who should come along but Jack! He lived with

Mr. S , the blacksmith, and Mr. S. was burning coal

at a pit, up on a high hill, about a mile and a half from the village. Jack said to your uncle John, "How many stones have you got to pick up?"

So uncle John showed him where the line was.

"Well," said Jack, "I will help you pick them up, if you will go with me up the hill where the coalpit is."

Your uncle was glad to get help, and was anxious to see them make coke, and he told Jack he would go. He knew that your grandpa had told him he must not go with Jack, but Jack assured him he would never know it; so they made haste and picked up the stones; and then uncle John, for fear his father would know that he had gone with Jack, went a great distance round, and Jack waited for him at a place out of the village. Jack had a bottle of whiskey with him, for in those days almost everybody used to drink intoxicating liquors. And when he saw that your uncle seemed to feel bad, he told him to drink a little whiskey, and this would make him feel better. So he drank some, and went on, up for the coalpit. But instead of feeling better, he felt worse and he drank a little more; and he felt more wretched still. He had no dinner to eat—and as he kept drinking whiskey every little while, before night he got so that he could not walk without staggering. It began to grow dark, and by that time he could not walk straight. lie wished he was at home, but he was afraid to go alone; and he could not walk home, even if he tried. So he finally crawled in among some straw, and laid down and was soon sound asleep. This was on Saturday night, and your grandpa asked every one he saw where your uncle was; but he could find no one that had seen him, till, after dark, a man came into the store,

who said he had seen him with Jack R , and said he

guessed that he was up where Mr. S. was burning coal.

So your grandpa hired a couple of men to go after him. When they got to the coalpit, they found your uncle in among the straw, sound asleep. They awoke him up; and after a great while made him understand where he was, and who they were, and what they wanted. They lifted him up, and made him stand on his feet; and finally started for the Tillage, one on each side of him to support him.

I can well remember how bad your uncle felt when he came home- Pretty soon, your grandpa came into the house, and he said, "John, where have you been to-day?"

John. "I have been up to the coalpit."

Grandpa. "But, have I not told you that you must not go away without my leave?"

John. "Yes, sir; but I did not think."

Grandpa. "Well, I will teach you to think. Who went with you t"

John. "Jack R . He came and teased me to go."

Grandpa. "And have I not told you that you must not associate wiih him?"

John. "Yes, sir, but I forgot what you said."

Grandpa. "Well, sir, we shall see if you can't be made to remember. One thing more. Have you been drinking lo-day r

John. "I have drank nothing but water, sir."

Grandpa. "Are you sure, John?"

John. "Yes, sir, I am sure I have not."

Grandpa. "Oh, John, how can you tell such a lie as this? Your very countenance shows that you have been drinking: and when you go to meeting to-morrow, everybody will look at you, for all the people in the village know that you have been drunk. Now, John, here are several things, for which I am going to punish you. First, for running away without leave; second, forgoing with Jack R;

third, for getting drunk; and, fourth, for telling several lies. I am very sorry; it seems to me that the lying is the worst of all, for I should not have punished you so severely, if you had confessed all. I am afraid I can never put any confidence in anything you say."

After having said this, your grandpa told John to take off his coat and jacket; and then he whipped him very bad, and told him to go to bed, adding, "I shall whip you in the morning for telling lies."

The next morning, after breakfast, he took John into a room by himself, and punished him very severely. Your

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