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how unreasonable, how anomalous is your conduct! You acknowledge the necessity of active and persevering industry to supply your daily wants-you admit the propriety of making a provision for old age, and even so that your bodies may be decently interred when life shall cease,-yet, strange to say, evince no care for your soul-the precious soul-the most valuable part of your nature, and which must live for ever. You look forward, at times, to the closing scenes of your life, with considerable anxiety, and you feel desirous of laying something up in store, to alleviate the sorrows and meet the demands of those years, when (should your life be protracted so long) you imagine "days of darkness," and years wherein there is no pleasure," must be endured; and yet you have no dread of the eternal night-that dense, sepulchral night-unmitigated, unending, unalterable night"where there is weeping, and wailing, and gnashing of teeth"


"where the worm dieth not, and where the fire is not quenched." Oh! should you perish everlastingly, how will you exclaim with Saul-"I have played the fool, and erred exceedingly!"

Mistaken being! let me have another word with you. O that I could awaken and persuade you to five minutes' serious reflection, and solemn consideration of your perilous state. Just think;-what if some unseen being followed you on your homeward way, and whispered in your ear, "the night cometh;" and entered with you your dwelling, and on the threshold uttered, with doleful cry,-"the night cometh;" and again, at midnight, roused you, as with the voice of thunder, exclaiming "the night cometh;" and if, on the morrow, when you rose-and at your morning, and mid-day, and evening meal-at your employment-at each interval of leisure-when you journeyed, and when you rested :—still, and again, and yet again, in deep and unearthly tones, assailed you with the terrific words, "the night cometh," would you not feel, and tremble, and seek some means to dismiss the dreaded and unwelcome visitor-to still your conscience, and secure peace of mind?

Remember, then, the truth remains-the night is coming. Before it comes, be persuaded immediately to seek the God of salvation;--before it is too late, bow your knees, and beseech him to give you the grace of repentance. Say to him, "Create in me, O God, a clean heart, and renew a right spirit within me.” Pardon of sin for the most guilty is provided, through the Lord Jesus Christ. He died on the cross, "that whosoever believeth in him should not perish, but have


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everlasting life." Without repentance for sin, and faith in this Saviour, you, and every sinner, must perish for ever. "There is no other name given under heaven whereby you can be saved;" but "he is able to save to the uttermost all who come to God by him." _Sinner! delay not. A voice from heaven calls to you, "To-day, if ye will come unto me.' To-day, then, determine, in the strength of almighty grace, to seek for mercy-to-day, cast yourself, as a guilty sinner, at the footstool of the throne-to-day, resolve you will escape eternal woe, and "flee from the wrath to come "-to-day, surrender your heart to God, and be his willing subjectto-day, implore the Holy Spirit's aid, to teach you and guide you. Oh! do this, and you will be happy in life, in death, in eternity. Refuse these offers-despise these exhortations, and you will perish-yes, eternally perish-for, "THE NIGHT COMETH!"

The night steals on!-it is the watchman's cry;
Life's happy morn is gone, its visions fled;
Its hopes, like rainbow painted in the sky,
Are quenched in darkness,—all its pleasures dead.

The night has come! I hear the watchman's cry!
And I am passing, like my hopes, away;
Death chills my heart, and closes fast my eye,
And longer on this earth I must not stay.

"Tis night! 'tis night! I hear the Judge proclaim-
Which has no morn beyond;-far, far from God,
My soul removed must sink in endless shame,
With spirits lost, into their last abode.

"Tis night!-'tis night!-I'm shrouded in its gloom;
Yet oft a ray reveals some fearful form.

'Tis night! 'tis death!-'tis hell! Tremendous sight!
Above-beneath—within me—all is night!



London: J. & W. Rider, Printers, 14, Bartholomew Close.




BARON CUVIER, the subject of the following memoir, was a protestant Peer of France, who by the force of genius, diligence, and virtue, rose from a comparatively obscure origin to be one of the most distinguished men of modern times. combined, as he ascended in life, the seemingly incompatible characters of a profound philosopher, and an active statesman. Such were the powers of his mind, and so great was the versatility of his genius, that in whatsoever situation he was placed, his superiority was soon acknowledged by his associates and competitors. His great celebrity was derived from his extensive researches, valuable discoveries, and immortal works in the department of natural history, comparative anatomy, and especially in the subject of fossil geology. As a statesman, it is a striking proof of his abilities and his moderation, and some think of his somewhat too great flexibility of politics, that he made himself acceptable to the despotic Napoleon, to the weak and bigoted Bourbons, and the liberal government of Louis Philippe; by all of whom he was engaged in official functions for his country. "Those who have known this great man," says a writer in the Edinburgh Review, "and have followed him through his brilliant and diversified career, will not charge us with overstrained panegyric, when we say that in all the lists of fame we have enumerated, he not only attained a pre-eminent distinction, but acquired reputation in each, which might have gratified the ambition of any common aspirant for fame.

"In the splendid museum of natural history and comparative anatomy which he almost created, we shall see him in the character of an indefatigable collector, a judicious classifier, and a skilful anatomist. As a lecturer on the same subject in the Jardin des Plantes, and in the College of France, he shone as a successful teacher, and enchanted crowded audiences by the magic of his eloquence. As a

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secretary to the Institute, he acquired by his Eloges the reputation of the most learned and eloquent and powerful writer of his day. As a systematic author, his unwearied research, his lucid arrangement, and his pleasing, perspicuous, and nervous style, placed him above the philosophical naturalists of every age. As an original inquirer, his discoveries in fossil geology have raised him to the highest distinction, and given birth to new trains of research, which are fast disclosing to us the structure of our planet, and the nature of the convulsions with which it has been so often shaken. As Minister of Public Instruction, as Chancellor of the University, and Inspector General of Education, he conferred on the colleges of France and on her schools, on her religious and charitable establishments, the richest and most enduring benefits; and as a statesman charged with high legislative functions, he obtained for the French people many valuable ameliorations of their laws, and many solid improvements in their political institutions.

"In 1818, Cuvier was elected a member of the French Academy, an honour which he owed to the eloquent Eloges he had read in the Institute; and in the same year, he was offered the Ministry of the Interior, but upon political considerations to which he could not accede. In 1819, he was appointed president of the Comité de l'Intérieur, belonging to the Council of State, and he was soon after created a Baron, by Louis XVIII. who repeatedly summoned him to assist in the cabinet councils. He was appointed in 1822, Grand Master of the Faculties of Protestant Theology in the University; and in the Committee of the Interior, he was soon after charged with the management of the affairs of all the different religions in France except the Catholic. At the coronation of Charles X. he officiated as one of the presidents of the Council of State; and in 1826, he received the decoration of Grand Officer of the Legion of Honour.

"These and other trophies of distinction, which now almost overburthened him, were far from being a suitable preparation for the heavy blow which was about to strike him at the heart. His only daughter, Clementine Cuvier, now his only child, after surmounting the dangers of a sickly infancy, had been reinstated in the bloom of health, and had reached the winter of her twenty-second year. Her acquirements in profound studies were adorned with every accomplishment of her sex; and she united, in a singular degree, all the charms of physical, intellectual, and moral beauty. The loveliness of her person, and the elegance of her manners, were enchased

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