even that small portion of it he seemed to posBess, was leaving his heart. He now lives without prayer, and stands exposed to the ten thousand snares and temptations of the world, without a single defence. Yet he fills up his place in the house of God; for he cannot throw off a certain kind of reverence for the sabbath, and a still lingering attachment to the sanctuary. In the same house in which he lives there is one, or there are several, who have no taste for sacred things, but who are worldly and sensual. He hears their scoffs

at piety, which at first shock him, and he rebukes them, or expostulates with them; for he is not

ued some years, according as my conscience was more or less alarmed. But this I can testify, that as soon as I neglected prayer, my fear of God began to decline, and my reverence for his name and house decreased. I have always considered this as the first step to ruin; and happy shall I be if any, who may be disposed to act the same part, should consider, and take the alarm, before they restrain prayer on their knees before God. Well has a pious writer remarked with reference to prayer, 'If neglected once, another and another excuse will arise for neglecting it again and again; a chain with one link broken no longer binds, and a habit of duty once broken, may cease to be a habit.' Such I have found it, and such doubtless have many others. True, my prayers were not of much value as a spiritual offering; but they constantly kept up an awe of God upon my mind, and were a restraint upon me in committing flagrant sins."

yet reconciled to profanity: he goes further, by pointing out the impropriety of their conduct in other things, and warning them of the consequences. By degrees, however, he becomes more tolerant of their sins, and less offended by their dissipation. They rally him, ridicule him, and flatter him by turns, and on some fine sabbath evening persuade him to accompany them in a ramble into the country. After a little hesitation, he consents, enjoys himself and is merry, though not altogether without the smiting of conscience. In a sabbath or two the Sunday party is again formed, and the authority of God again resisted and despised. Once a day is now thought quite enough for public worship, and the morning being given to God, the evening may be given to pleasure, especially by one who is all the week shut up in a close town, and who has no opportunity except on a Sunday, to see the country, or breathe fresh air. The same argument, once admitted to be valid, is soon applied to the morning service, and the whole sabbath is at length given to recreation.

Conscience, however, has not suffered him to go thus far without frequent stings and warnings. A letter from home occasionally disturbs him. His father has been informed of his altered conduct, and, in grief of heart, expostulates, entreats, and warns. First he is sorrowful, then he is angry, then inwardly uneasy; but the jest of a sinful companion scatters every better thought, and he is de

termined to go on. He is now the constant associate of evil doers, who have gained an ascendency over him, and are leading him further and further astray. To calm the apprehensions of his parents, and to silence the remonstrances from home, he writes a penitential letter, and gives promises of amendment. Lying and hypocrisy are now added to his other sing, and are dreadful auxiliaries to benumb the conscience and harden the heart. A celebrated actor comes to the town, or is to appear at one of the theatres, and he is solicited to go to the performance; he is now prepared for this, and readily assents. Every thing fascinates him. His senses, imagination, heart, taste, are all carried away captive. His soul is in a state of mental in toxication. He acquires a passion for the stage, and as often as his means and opportunity will allow, he is at the theatre. Intelligence again reaches home, and again his shocked and heartstricken parents write, and entreat him to alter his conduct, or return to them: but he can now treat a father's advice with contempt, and a mother's tears with cruel indifference. The theatre, as we have already shown, is the resort of those unhappy women, of whom the wise man says, "their house is the way to hell, going down to the chambers of death." He is caught in the snare, and ruined. He is horror struck when reflection comes, and in an agony of expiring virtue exclaims, "What have I done?" Conscience is not quite dead, nor shame quite extinguished. To still the remonstrances of

the troublesome monitor within, he revisits the scene where so many are assembled like himself, to drown their sorrows, or to blunt remorse. The death of a friend or relative occurs, which renders it necessary that he should attend a funeral, perhaps hear a funeral sermon. The Book of God, and his faithful servant, now proclaim the sinfulness of sin and the sinner's everlasting doom. He trembles, but repents not. Revelation now haunts him like a spectre, and disturbs him in his course. If he persist in sinning, he must get rid of this troublesome interference. Is the Bible true? Some one of his companions is a sceptic, and now labours for his conversion to infidelity. Byron's poetry prepares the way for Hume's subtleties, Paine's ribaldry, or Owen's absurdities. Christianity is now called a fable; man's accountability a mere dogma of cunning priests; and hell only the picture of a gloomy superstition, to hold the mind of man in bondage. He throws off the yoke of religion; exults in his liberty; yields his members servants to uncleanness, adds iniquity unto iniquity, and runs to every excess of riot. But whence come the funds to support his lusts? His father cannot supply them, nor his wages; but secret pilfering can, and does. If he can escape detection, what has he to fear? "Man is the creature of circumstances," and his circumstances compel him to rob his master and as to a hereafter, it is all a dream. Gambling is now added to his other crimes. Shame is lost, nay he glories in his shame and

commences the trade of ruining others,-corrupting the principles of one sex, and the morals of the other. With a character composed of every darkest shade of human depravity, let his closing scene be narrated in the next chapter, which, by a melancholy fact, confirms the representation here given. Not that I mean to assert that all who go astray in youth reach this climax; but many do, and all are in danger of it.

What, then, are the maxims arising out of this representation, which every young man should always bear in mind?

1. That sin is the most deceitful thing in the universe, as manifested by the insidious manner in which it leads on the transgressor in his way; and the excuses with which at every stage of his progress it furnishes him.

2. Those who would not be found walking in the path of sin, should not take the first step in it. Avoid first sins: they always, or nearly so, lead on to others. It is far easier to abstain from the first sin than the second. No temptation of Satan has been more successful than the suggestion, ONLY THIS ONCE." That once may be your ruin for ever. Acts may be repeated, and come to habits. No sin comes alone, but stands in close connexion with others which they teach us to commit, and often afford us an opportunity to commit.

3. Carefully avoid little sins, for they usually lead on to greater ones. No sin is abstractly little,