late, and of the human or angelic mind to grasp. Eternity is an idea which can find no room to expand to all its height, and depth, and length, and breadth, but in the infinite mind of Him, who only in the full sense of the term is ETERNAL ; or from everlasting to everlasting. The future eternity, if we may be allowed the paradox of thus speaking of what has no relation to time, belongs to man, and is the measure of his existence. What do I look round upon, in surveying the audience which is before me? Not the ephemeral beings, the flitting shadows, which, as dying creatures, they may appear to be. No, there is upon every man the stamp of immortality: there is a spirit which shall fly beyond the flaming bounds of space and time : "The stars shall fade away, ths sun himself Grow dim with age, and Nature sink in years; The wreck of matter, and the crash of worlds." This is not merely the noble effusion of poetry, but the decision of that precious volume which abolishes death and brings life and immortality to light: a decision which raises the subject of immortality above the dreams of imagination. the speculations of philosophy, and the yearnings after existence inseparable from the nature of man, to place it among the realities of truth, the objects of faith, and the anticipations of hope. Such is the glorious possession, young men, of which infidelity and false philosophy would rob you; and by this dreadful felony would reduce you to its own miserable beggary, with no prospect but the grave, and no object of hope but annihilation. Such the dignity from which it would cast you down to the degradation of dying like a dog, after living like a man. Eternal God, on what are thine enemies and the foes of our race intent! How insane a project! How parricidal a zeal! To cover thy throne and our grave with the funereal pall of perpetual death-to bury thy Divinity and our humanity together in one everlasting grave-and hush thy Name and our praises of it in the unbroken silence of eternal night. Vain attempt! let them endeavour to extinguish the sun, and annihilate the planets: this were an easy task compared with their endeavour to tear from the soul of man his convictions of the existence of a God, and his hope of his own immortality Now through eternity there must be some character. No one can be negative there, any more than here. We are always to be rational creatures, and of course are for ever to partake of some moral qualities; and these qualities are acquired in this world. All the positive information we can acquire upon this subject must be obtained from Revelation: yet even reason suggests the probability of an eternity of character; or in other words, the perpetuity through eternity of the character we acquire in this world. We should entertain a presumption of this, if we reasoned only from analogy. It is true, that death separates the two states, and some may think will make a considerable and radical difference in the condition of the soul. But why? Death is wholly a physical change, operating only, as far as we know, upon the material part of our nature-the throwing down of the walls of the prison to let the captive escape. Disease of itself effects no moral change, and why should death? The moral consciousness remains in continuous and unchanged existence. Not only the same faculties continue, but the same moral qualities. But what reason renders probable, Revelation renders certain: every part of the sacred volume represents this world as a state of discipline and probation for the next-as bearing the same relation to a future world that boyhood and youth do to manhood. God has sent us here to acquire an eternal moral character. And he gives us the opportunity to do so. And we in reality do it. We may, if we so choose, obtain a bad one: there are incentives and temptations which will lead to it if we yield to them. But there are also opportunities and facilities, if we will avail ourselves of them, of an opposite nature. Time decides for eternity. The probation ends with life, and death sets the seal not only on destiny, but on character. From that moment the good are good, and the bad are bad for ever. The one are removed, as they are, into a state where moral excellence will have no more check to its development, nor any more temptations to corrupt it: and in the case of those who are bad, where sin will have no means for its resistance or suppression. All then pass under the sentence, "He that is unjust, let him be unjust still; and he that is filthy, let him be filthy still; and he that is righteous, let him be righteous still; and he that is holy, let him be holy still." The image of the heavenly is thus stamped upon the soul on earth, and the likeness of the eternal in time. The ultimate moral purpose of Christianity is to produce an everlasting character, and for that end to confer the elements of it in this world,-to originate in each man's history and moral being an infinite series of moral actions; to commence an endless progression in holy conduct, and an eternal practice and enjoyment of all that is true, and beautiful, and good. The present is thus the parent of the future: character on earth is the bud of character in heaven. All the moral elements of eternity are acquired and found in the soul during its temporary sojourn here. Each man walks the earth an incipient seraph, or a premonitory fiend. Every moral thing we do stretches far beyond the sphere of its doing: it is a causation for eternity. Eternal issues are the result of every action, the embodiment of every thought, the echo of every word. What we are now is the certain prediction of what we shall be for ever. Every action partaking of moral quality, whether of a good or a bad man, leaves upon the tablet of the soul a mark which will be legible there, millions of ages hence. Moral character works out its own issues-digs its own hell, or builds its own heaven. In each case it is in another world, the natural and necessary consummation of man's present self in this. He puts off the mortal and puts on the immortal-but as is the mortal, such also is the immortal. Man is called a shadow as to his transient existence, but as to his character, he is the shadow which a coming eternity casts before it. How much is there in man's history that is not eternal-gifts, wealth, rank, fame, connections, are all of the earth, earthly, and perish in the using: they form part of the fashion of this world, that gay and glittering pageant which passeth away; but character remaineth. Whatever is not eternal, character is. Whatever else we may drop on the borders of the grave, this we shall carry with us, in us, into whatever state we then enter. It cannot be separated from ourselves, for it is ourselves. If we love and respect it, we shall retain the object of our affection for ever: and if we loathe and despise it, we must still retain it for ever. How instructive and impressive is this to every man, of every age and every condition of life; but especially to the young for as it is in youth that character is formed for manhood and all future life, so of course youth is the period of forming it for eternity. Happy will it be for you, my young friends, if this night your attention should be drawn to this momentous subject. Character, as regards this world, is of unspeakable importance to yourself. Can you possess any self-respect without it? How terrible is it to be self-despised-to be vile in our own estimation-to be the object of scorn to ourselves. But, on the other hand, how delightful is it to possess that self-esteem which is as far from pride and self-conceit on the one side, as it is from a spurious and affected modesty on the other. It is not humility, but ignorance, which deprives a man of the enjoyment of conscious rectitude: true humility consists in thinking of ourselves neither higher nor lower than we ought to do: nor is it necessary to the exercise of this virtue that we should deprive ourselves of all the enjoyments of a good conscience. Character will be a shield in some instances against temptation, for where it is very eminent, the seducer will think it too high to reach, or too impregnable to be stormed. In other cases, it has constituted a defence against slander, by placing its possessor above suspicion. Oftentimes it is taken at once as a guarantee for innocence against imputation. A man of well-established reputation is safe in the confidence of those who know him. They acquit him without a trial, and believe his innocence without the judgment of a court. Slander may, indeed, fix its fangs for a moment upon a spotless character; but such a character has within itself an antidote to the poison, and rises from the temporary wound with invigorated strength and brightened beauty. Character secures the esteem of the wise and the good, and even bad men pay it the tribute of their admiration, and the compliment of their envy. An inordinate craving after applause is a morbid condition of the soul, the feverish thirst of disease; but a just appreciation of the unsought esteem of those whose discriminating and judicious praise is never bestowed but upon what deserves it, is at once an exercise and reward of virtue. Character will aid you in your endeavour to do good, and to obtain your proper standing in society. "Character is power: character is influence.' Men are moved not only by what is said, but by who says it. Reputation gives weight to advice, inspires confidence, and attracts co-operation. Success in life depends upon it. Character, if not capital, often supplies the place of it. It is one of the ladders of ascent to wealth and respectability. It is not only a benefit to yourselves, but to others. It is a rich contribution to domestic comfort-an essential to the smooth and easy working of the great commercial system-the breakwater which resists the tidal waves and ocean-storms of moral evil, that are ever threatening to inundate the interests of society-a rebuke to the bad, an encouragement to the good-a model for imitation to the present generation-and a rich legacy and a posthumous benefit to the generation to come. A man's character outlives himself, and lasts as long as his name: it is his most enduring monument and his truest history and therefore every one is under solemn obligation to consult his posthumous power to do good or harm. The reminiscences of his virtues or his vices may be withering or fostering the interests of society when he is sleeping in his grave. But to return, in conclusion, to the eternal aspect of character. How anxious, how careful, and how laborious have been some men to build up a reputation which posterity shall know and admire! When the poet was reproached for the slowness of his verses, how impressive and dignified was his reply: "I write for immortality." Young men, you are living, speaking, acting for immortalityalways and everywhere building up a character that is to last through eternity. It is an awful thought, under the weight of which the strongest mind might stagger in the contemplation of which the boldest might tremble-and in the comprehension of which the most ambitious might find a boundless scope for its aspirations and its pursuits. Is it not wise sometimes to ask ourselves the question, "What we shall be hereafter?" How soon is it spoken, but who shall reply? Think how profoundly this question, this mystery concerns us-in comparison with this, what are all the other questions which curiosity or science may ask? What to us the future career of events or the progress of states and empires-or the history of our globe-or of our whole material universe? What we shall be-we ourselves is the matter of infinite and surpassing interest. How overpowered are we in attempts to realize to thought, what nevertheless will be so!" I that am man-that am here that am thus-what shall I be and where-and howwhen this vast system of Nature has passed away?" What, after ages more than there are leaves or blades of grass on the whole surface of this globe, or atoms in its enormous mass, shall have expired? Through all that inconceivable period, that infinite, eternal duration, there will still be the conscious I am. Can it be possible, then, we should not now ask, What shall I be? What character shall I bear? Man, thou shalt never die !" Celestial voices The song of our great immortality: THE WIDOW'S SON. Scripture Cabinet. IN order to form a correct idea of this affecting scene of the widow's son at Nain, we must recollect that the mode of burial among the Jews was not precisely the same as among ourselves. The dead were not shut out from sight when they were carried to the tomb. Their bodies were carefully wrapped in linen, and then laid on an open bier. Thus, after the resurrection of our Lord, we are told of the linen clothes and napkin that were left in his forsaken sepulchre, but not a word is said of any coffin. There was none. And it is of importance, in the instance before us, to bear this circumstance in mind. It proves this young man to be actually dead. The multitude saw him dead. His restoration to life was therefore a real, and not a pretended miracle. Behold the Saviour, then, turning from the weeping mother to the corpse of her son: "He came and touched the bier." Awed by that countenance before which the earth and the heavens will one day flee away, "they that bare him stood still." For a moment all is suspense and wonder; and then this compassionate Man takes on himself the majesty and authority of God. "By His word the heavens were made," and now by the breath of His mouth He controls the dead. The silent multitude hear the command go forth, "Young man, I say unto thee, Arise;" and before their wondering eyes the dead obeys. Whence the spirit came, we know not; in a moment it was there, entering and animating its former clay: "He that was dead sat up, and began to speak." And what were his words? It is useless to ask. Let us rather inquire what ought to be our own. Are they not these, "Verily this Man was the Son of God?" 1. We have before us a signal proof of the Redeemer's Godhead. Others have raised the dead; but they have done so by means which plainly declared that the power they exercised was not their own. Elijah, we are told, "cried unto the Lord" at Zarephath; Elisha "prayed unto the Lord" when he restored to the Shunamite her son. Peter "kneeled down and prayed," before he said to Tabitha, "Arise." Our Lord, on the contrary, acts like one who needs no assistance, who knows no limits to His power. He commands, and is obeyed; He speaks, and it is done. A word brings Lazarus from his sepulchre; a word raises this widow's son from his bier. Where is the mortal man who could thus perform such a work as this? Where is the angel who would dare attempt it? The power which accomplished it is the same which breathed into man at first the breath of life. The Being who exercised it is the mighty God. And what follows? 2. A second fact of which this miracle reminds us the ability of Christ to raise all the dead. Nothing but omnipotence could restore life to one dead body; omnipotence can quicken whom it will. He who raised one can raise a thousand-can raise a world. He can raise us. Look forward. When a few more years are gone, we shall all be in the situation of this young man; we shall be dead. Not a man of us will breathe the air or see the sun. Our friends will carry us out of the houses we now inhabit. We shall be left alone in the ground. And what will become of us there? We shall see corruption. This breathing clay, these bodies which we love so well, will be as the clods which cover them-vile earth and dust. And what if it be so? He that said to a sorrowful mother, "Weep not," says to His dying saints, "Fear not:-I am He that liveth, and was dead; and, behold, I am alive for evermore, Amen; and have the keys of hell and of death." If, when we die, we "die in the Lord," this is the promise He gives us to take with us to our graves: "He that believeth in Me, though he were dead, yet shall he live. I will raise him up at the last day." The same voice that reached the widow's son on his bier can reach us in our beds of dust. It will be as powerful around this church as in the gate of Nain. We ourselves shall hear it. We shall come forth and live. 3. We may discover, also, here the power of Christ over the human soul. When it has left the body, He can recall it at His will from its unknown abode. He can therefore reach it and control it while in the flesh. If He can by a word restore natural life, He can surely with as much ease restore spiritual life also. Our souls are dead, Brethren. Their spiritual and better life is gone; they are "alienated from the life of God;" they "are dead in trespasses and sins." The Scripture tells us so. It discovers to us also the evil and danger of this state. It assures us that before we can see God, we must be raised out of it; we must experience with in us a change as real and great as the reanimation of a corpse. And how is this great change to be accomplished? Only by "the working of that mighty power" which can raise the dead. If, then, any of you are mourning over your own dead souls, Christ is your life. Neither men or angels can help you; but this is your consolation, that He who said to this young man, Arise," can work in you "both to will and to do of His good pleasure." But you are mourning, perhaps, over the souls of others. While the sons and daughters of your neighbours go down to the grave, your own live before you, but they are not alive unto God. Their state is a grief and terror to you. Often does it force from you the cry of the supplicating patriarch, "O that Ishmael might live before Thee!" This miracle shows you in whom your hope lies. And in whom would you wish it to lie, rather than in Him? Send your thoughts round all the beings you have ever seen or heard of-is there one among them all of whom you would seek spiritual life for your child, rather than of this compassionate, this mighty restorer of the dead? Invoke His aid. Expect it. Disquiet not yourselves because it is delayed. "At evening time it shall be light." In an unexpected hour the prodigal may come to himself. He may fill your house and your heart with joy. You may say concerning him, "It is meet that we should make merry and be glad for this my son was dead, and is alive again; he was lost, and is found."-Bradley. APPII FORUM AND THE THREE TAVERNS. (Acts xxviii. 15.) After leaving Anxur, the traveller observes the highland retreating again from the coast, and presently finds himself in a wide and remarkable plain, inclosed towards the interior by the sweep of the blue Volscian Mountains, and separated by a belt of forest from the sea. Here are the Pontine marshes-"the only marshes ever dignified by classic celebrity." The descriptive lines of the Roman satirist have wonderfully concurred with the continued unhealthiness of the half-drained morass, in preserving a living commentary on that fifteenth verse in the last chapter of the Acts which exhibits to us one of the most touching passages in the apostle's life. A few miles beyond Terracina, where a fountain, grateful to travellers, welled up near the sanctuary of Feronia, was the termination of a canal, which was formed by Augustus for the purpose of draining the marshes, and which continued for twenty miles by the side of the road. Over this distance travellers had their choice, whether to proceed by barges dragged by mules, or on the pavement of the way itself. It is impossible to know which plan was adopted by Julius and his prisoners. If we suppose the former to have been chosen, we have the aid of Horace's Epistle to enable us to imagine the incidents and the company in the midst of which the apostle came, unknown and unfriended, to the corrupt metropolis of the world. And yet he was not so unfriended as he may possibly have thought himself that day, in his progress from Anxur across the watery, unhealthy plain. On the arrival of the party at Appii Forum; which was the town where the mules were unfastened, at the other end of the canal, and is described by the satirist as full of low tavern-keepers and bargemen,—at that meeting-place where travellers from all parts of the empire had often crossed one another's path,- -on that day, in the motley and vulgar crowd, some of the few Christians who were then in the world suddenly recognized one another, and emotions of holy joy and thanksgiving sanctified the place of coarse vice and vulgar traffic. The disciples at Rome had heard of the apostle's arrival at Puteoli, and hastened to meet him on the way; and the prisoner was startled to recognize some of those among whom he had laboured, and whom he had loved in the distant cities of the East. Whether Aquila and Priscilla were there, it is needless to speculate. Whoever might be the persons, they were brethren in Christ, and their presence would be an instantaneous source of comfort and strength. We have already seen, on other occasions of his life, how the apostle's heart was lightened by the presence of his friends. About ten miles farther he received a second welcome from a similar group of Christian brethren. Two independent companies had gone to meet him, or the zeal and strength of one party had outstripped the other. At a place called the Three Taverns, where a cross-road from the coast at Antium came in from the left, another party of Christians was waiting to welcome and to honour "the ambassador in bonds." With a lighter heart, and a more cheerful countenance, he travelled the remaining seventeen miles, which brought him along the base of the Alban Hills, in the midst of places well-known and famous in early Roman legends, to the town of Aricia. The great apostle had the sympathies of human nature; he was dejected and encouraged by the same causes which act on our spirits; he, too, saw all outward objects in "hues borrowed from |