Sources of Danger Continued

BAD COMPANIONS a re a source of danger. Perhaps more young men are ruined by this than by any other means that could be mentioned. Many who have left home with a character unsullied, and a mind not only comparatively pure, but really ignorant of the crooked ways of vice, — who, simple, artless, and without guile, would have shuddered at the temptation to any of the grossest acts of sin, have at length fallen sacrifices to the powerful influence of evil associates. Man is a social being, and the propensity is peculiarly strong in youth, a season when it requires to be watched with greater care than at any other, because of the greater force which it exerts in the formation of character. Now and then we meet with a youth who is so engrossed with business, so intent on cultivating his mind, or so reserved in disposition, as to have no desire for companions; but by far the greater number are fond of society, and eager to enjoy it, and, if not extremely careful in the selection of their friends, are in imminent peril of choosing such as will do them harm. It is next to impossible, young man, for you to remain virtuous in vicious society. Good morals cannot long be retained in habitual intercourse with those who are gay and dissipated; it is like carrying money into the company of thieves, who will be sure to rob you of it. Your good conduct would render them uneasy: it would reprove them, accuse them, and exasperate them; and they will never cease till they have made you as bad as themselves. The more agreeable, amiable, and intelligent they are, the more dangerous and ensnaring is their influence. A youthful profligate, of elegant manners, lively humour, amiable temper, and intelligent mind, is Satan’s most polished instrument for ruining immortal souls. Once give your company to such an associate, and you are in the coils of a serpent, or at any rate in the spell of the basilisk’s deadly gaze, from which nothing but Omnipotence can pluck you. You may for some time be kept from imitating him in his excess of riot, and prevented by the last efforts of a yet surviving conscience, from going his lengths in sin, but you are in the track of his footsteps, following at a distance, while he is perpetually looking back, and by smiles and beckonings rallying your courage, and cheering onward your yet timid and reluctant feet.

No evil companions are to be so much d readed as those who dwell under the same roof; and how frequently is it the unhappy lot of young men piously brought up, and in every respect hopeful as to morality, and perhaps as to piety also, to be fixed in the same house, to eat at the same table, to sleep in the same room, perhaps in the same bed, as some youths of vicious and infidel principles. They are thus brought into immediate contact with sin, and exposed at once to all the virulence of its contagion; and what strength of moral constitution does it require to resist the danger! They breathe an infected atmosphere, and continually touch a pestilential person. Take the testimony of one who left his father’s house strictly moral, and with much veneration for religion, but whose dark and winding course led him at last into the vicinity of the gallows. “In my master’s house,” says he,” there were three young men employed besides myself. One of them, a gay, respectable youth, was a great favourite with my employer. He was my bedfellow. Of course this led to intimacy, and from him I received the first disposition to extravagance and dress, which laid the foundation of my ruin. He was extremely prodigal in his habits; but from the respectability of his connexions, no suspicion was excited that bis supplies were not equal to his expenses. By him I became gradually familiarized to scenes of pleasure and dissipation, which soon exceeded my means of support; but I never dreamed of having recourse to dishonest means to meet expensive indulgences. I soon found that I should be involved in great difficulties, and began to withdraw from his company, and associated as much as possible with my brother and a cousin of mine in the city.

“A circumstance, however, soon occurred, which threw the forbidden fruit in my way, and my integrity could not resist the temptation. After being about two years in my situation, I was sent, on one occasion, with a parcel to a gentleman, for which I was to receive the money, about two pounds. Such parts of the business had often fallen to my lot. On this occasion, however, in the hurry of business, without the least dishonesty of intention, I forgot to give the money to my employer, and did not discover the note in my pocket till some time afterwards, several weeks at least. I was much alarmed at the circumstance, and knew not how to act. I was afraid to mention the matter to any one. I determined to let the note remain where it was, and if no inquiry was made, at length to appropriate the money to my self. Thus I fell into the snare.” And thus he commenced a career of dishonesty, the end of which will be related in the sequel, and to which he was introduced by a bad companion.

I might mention another case, illustrative of the same fact, of the danger of a bad companion in the house; but happily the danger was escaped in this instance. I knew a youth, whose parents felt the greatest solicitude for their child, whom they were about to place from home. He had been carefully educated, from his earliest years, in habits of morality and piety. His school had been selected with special reference to the plan laid down at home, for the formation of his character. But now this lovely youth, for he was most lovely, must leave home, and go out into the world. How anxiously did the father read the advertisements to find one which commanded all the advantages of a pious master and a lively minister! He succeeded, and a most excellent Christian he found, with whom to place his son. The family was what a Christian family should be; and then the other apprentice, he also was supposed to be all that could be wished as a companion for a youth just quitting the parental roof, the son of a minister, and unsuspected as to his principles. Many months, however, had not passed before the minister received a letter from the heart-stricken mother, to say she had heard from her child, stating that his soul was in imminent peril. He had been under religious impressions, and in much concern about his immortal welfare; but his companion proved to be a concealed infidel — concealed, I mean, from his father and his master. Nightly, when they retired to rest, was this deceiver and tempter instilling into the mind of his younger companion his artful objections against Christianity, and endeavouring to poison him with infidelity. As he could bear it, his mind was assailed by one cavil after another, till the poor boy, unable any longer to endure it, yet afraid to disclose it, wrote home to his mother, exclaiming in an agony, “Oh, mother, I am lost, I am lost, unless you pray for me.” Horror-struck, she addressed the minister immediately upon the subject, and by their joint labours, and the blessing of God upon them, this youth was snatched from the fangs of the destroyer. He acted most wisely in making his parents acquainted with his situation, and imploring their counsel and help. A little longer, and he would, in all probability, have been carried off in triumph, and perhaps have been ruined for both worlds.

Oh that I could select words sufficiently emphatic to express my entreaties to you to beware of evil companions out of the house, but especially in it. Oh could you see but a thousandth part of the miserable ghosts that have passed to the regions of unutterable wo by the influence of bad associates, what a comment would their damnation be upon the passage, “A companion of fools shall be destroyed!”

Vicious WOMEN are as much to be dreaded as bad men, and far more so. I have known some who have been in great jeopardy from female servants. It is of the greatest consequence that a young man should be upon his guard against this danger, and not allow himself to take, or receive, the smallest possible liberty, that would intrench upon the most delicate modesty. Profligacy and misery of a vast amount have been the result of a want of caution in this matter. Towards young women of this description, be always kind, but never familiar; never joke with them; keep them at a proper distance, by keeping yourself so. Not a few have been lost to morality, by not watching against this danger. And then, how are our towns infested with those unhappy women, who in many, if not most cases, are the victims of seduction, and horribly avenge themselves upon the sex of their betrayers, by becoming seducers in their turn. Youthful reader, be upon your guard against this peril to your health, your morals, your soul. Go where you will, this snare is spread for your feet. Watch and pray, that ye enter not into temptation. Set a strict guard upon your senses, your imagination, your passions. Once yield to temptation, and you are undone: purity is then lost, and, sunk from self-esteem, you may give yourself up to commit all unclearmess with greediness. Prov. vii.

DRINKING PARTIES, though not so common as they were, or as are some other snares are still sufficiently prevalent to be pointed out as a source of danger. Happily for the morals of our country, a hard drinker is no longer regarded with eclat in the better classes of society. Still it is an object of ambition with some misguided youths, to be able to use the bottle with freedom, and drink the bumper and the toast with convivial grace and manly firmness. What a low and sensual aim! Young man, as you would not lie down in the grave of a drunkard, worn out by disease, and closing your miserable career in poverty and wretchedness, beware of the filthy, degrading, and destructive habit of drinking. Remember the words of the wisest of men:” Who hath wo? who hath sorrow? who hath contentions? who hath babbling? who hath wounds without cause? who hath redness of

38 t DANGER.

eyes? They that tarry long at the wine; they that go to seek mixed wine. Look not thou upon the wine when it is red, when it giveth his colour in the cup, when it moveth itself aright; at the last it biteth like a serpent, and stingeth like an adder. Thine eyes shall behold strange women, and thy heart shall utter perverse things. Yea, thou shalt be as he that lieth down in the midst of the sea, or as he that lieth upon the top of a mast. They have stricken me, shalt thou say, and I was not sick; they have beaten me, and I felt it not: when shall I awake? I will seek it yet again,” Prov. xxiii. 29 — 35. Study this inimitable and graphic picture of drinking and its consequences, and begin life with a horror of drunkenness; acquire an Oinophobia, — a. dread of wine. It is calculated that fifty thousand drunkards die yearly in this country, and that one half of the insanity, two thirds of the pauperism, and three fourths of the crimes of the land, are the consequences of drunkenness. A large proportion of drunkards, begin this dreadful habit in youth. It is a most fatal thing for morality, that drinking usages are so interwoven with all our habits. Drinking is the symbol of hospitality; the pledge of friendship; the sign of conviviality; the ratification of bargains. It is the accompaniment of weddings, baptisms, and burials. The bottle meets us every where. Fifty millions sterling are annually spent by these united kingdoms in intoxicating liquors, in promoting disease, insanity, pauperism, and crime: in ruining men’s bodies, and damning their souls. I do not say that this is strictly applicable to the whole of what is thus spent: because many drink only in moderation, and some invalids actually for health; but I fear by far the larger portion of it is drank with no other result. I again say, and with all possible emphasis, Begin life with a horror of drunkenness. Watch against a love of wine. As one who has practised total abstinence for three years, I can, and do recommend it tt’/all persons in health, and especially to youth. It may seem like a truism, and mere puerility, but it is an impressive truism, which amidst the fearful desolations of intemperance is not without salutary warning. “He that does not drink intoxicating liquors, can never become a drunkard.” The young man who has acquired a relish for wine; who always drinks it when he can get it; who drinks as much as is given him, or he can afford to purchase; who avails himself of the dinner or supper party, to go as far as he can without actual intoxication, — is already an incipient tippler; and if he does not stop at once, and practise total abstinence, or, at any rate, watch his propensity, and lay down rules of the most rigid temperance, will, in all probability, be come a confirmed drunkard.

4. Perhaps, the discomfort of your situation exposes you to perils.

It is not to be expected by any youth who has had the blessing of a comfortable home, that he should find the same degree, or kind of provision, made for his enjoyment in any situation in which, on going out into the world, he may be placed: oftentimes the very reverse occurs, and his new domicil presents a melancholy contrast to the house of his father. Perhaps you, my reader, may be thus circumstanced. Your place of abode is so utterly comfortless, that you can scarcely think of home without tears. It is not only that your fare is coarse, your lodgings mean, and your work hard: you could bear all this, if your- privations were made up by the kindness and sympathy of your employer, and your labors were softened by his obvious and expressed satisfaction: but probably he is a tyrant, whom nothing can satisfy or conciliate, or his wife is a termagant, whom nothing can please. Many a time you retire to your hard bed, and ill-furnished room, with a spirit discouraged, and a heart half broken. Oh what a contrast is this cold, unfeeling, and grinding conduct, to the love of a fond mother, and the solicitude of a kind father. In such a situation, you are in danger of several things likely to be injurious to your moral welfare and future prosperity. Some have been induced by the pressure of their misery to abscond. In an unhappy hour, they have listened to the voice of temptation, and have suddenly burst the bonds which they could not loose, and cast off the yoke which they felt to be intolerable, and ran away. This is a desperate and dreadful remedy and has in most cases proved a ruinous one*

Never let such a thought be entertained for a moment. Bear any unkindness, oppression, and misery, rather than do this. A youth who runs away from his place, is usually a blighted character for life. He is sunk in his own estimation, and in that of every one else. What anxiety does such a step bring on his parents if they are living, and on all his other friends! Remain then in your place: the term of apprenticeship will soon expire: it is not a captivity for life. Endeavour to sustain your ill treatment with courage and pa tience. Meekness may vanquish your oppressor. But perhaps you are a clerk, and not an apprentice, and as you do not dwell in the house of your employer, you are not exposed to the same kind of discomfort and annoyance which those suffer who do. You live in private lodgings. Your perils are iherefore of another kind. Instead of being now surrounded with all the dear companions of home, and delighting in that busy scene of genuine love, and tender offices, you dwell solitarily among strangers. When the business of the day is over, you go to a cheerless and silent abode. No mother’s smiling countenance welcomes you to the fireside; no father’s cheerful voice tells, or asks the events of the day; no brother or sister calls you byname, and blithely sports with you. Instead of this, you receive no attention but that which is bought with money. You enter your lonely room, eat your joyless meal, and in sadness think of home, and days gone by. Now there is danger here: danger of seeking companions who may be unmeet; danger of going out to find amusement in places of vicious resort; or of adopting a course of reading that will only pollute the mind. It is impossible to overrate the peril of a young man who has lately left his father’s house, and is set down in solitary lodgings in one of our large provincial towns, and especially in the metropolis. If he has not piety to preserve him, or fixed moral principle, or a love of reading and thirst for knowledge, so as to make books his companions, he is in great temptation. With all the sources of sinful pleasure open around him, and in the midst of a multitude hastening to drink their deleterious waters; with all the seductions near that appeal to every sense, every appetite, and every taste; it is more than probable that he will be drawn from his gloomy abode, to those scenes where blaze all the lights of fashion, folly, and ruin. The first scruples of conscience being subdued, the temptation being once successful, continuance and advance seem almost necessary. In addition to the dreariness of solitude, he has now the pangs of self-reproach to bear. And can he sit there night after night, to hear the accusations of that internal monitor whose indignant rebuke he has provoked, and the sentence of that severe judge whose condemnation he has procured? No. He must go again to the sounds of revelry, to drown the voice, and to the scenes of mirth to lose the sight of his awful reprover. A young man in lodgings, is thus in a situation where nothing but decided piety, or strong moral principle, can be expected to preserve him from temptation.

5. There is another danger to which your new situation may expose you, against which you should be cautioned, and directed to exercise the greatest vigilance: and that is, the violation of the rule of honesty.

If placed in a retail shop, money will be continually passing through your hands, and much uncounted cash will be within your reach. The temptation may, perhaps, in certain circumstances arise, to appropriate a part of this to your own use. It may be, your supply of pocket money is short, and you find yourself below some of your acquaintances in the means of procuring clothes, books, or amusements. When the prospect of concealment presents itself, and the pressure of necessity is urgent, especially if aided by the hope and intention of refunding at some future time what you purloin, you are in imminent peril of the sin of embezzlement. Many, very many, have fallen into the snare, and have had their character and prospects blasted for ever. Enter life determined, by God’s help, to follow whatsoever things are honest, true, lovely, and of good report. Let the fear of God, united with the love of the noble, honourable, and dignified, prevent you from ever appropriating to yourself a farthing of your employer’s property. JEven should you not be detected, how degraded will you feel, if you have in any instance acted the part of a pilferer. It is a painful thing for conscience to cry “thief,” though a man may be spared the degradation of public exposure. On the other hand, how pleasant will be the recollection through life, that though exposed to many and strong temptations, your hands were pure from dishonesty. Be this your prayer, “Let integrity and uprightness preserve me,” Psa. xxv. 21.

An eminent Christian minister, in relating tome the events of his early life, mentioned, with a fervid glow of delight and thankfulness, the victory which he gained in youth over a strong temptation to commit an act of dishonesty. Some circumstances, which need not here be detailed, led him to the resolution of running away from his place where he was serving an apprenticeship. On leaving the house, which he did in the morning, before the family was stirring, he had to pass through a small room in which his master usually sat. On the table lay a small heap of gold, silver, and copper, carelessly mixed together, and from which, as he was quite sure it was uncounted, a small sum abstracted by himself would not be missed. He stopped and looked at it, and as he looked he coveted. The temptation was strong. He was going out upon the wide world, with scarcely anything in his pocket. His stock of clothes was low, all he had was on his back, and in a bundle in his hand. He reasoned with himself about his scanty means, the certainty that anything he took would not be missed, and the probability of his being able to refund, in more prosperous days, what he might now appropriate in the season of his necessity; but his better thoughts prevailed, and, gathering up his remaining principle of virtuous integrity, he exclaimed, “No, I am wronging my master enough in leaving his service; I will not take his money too.” And with only half-a-crown in his pocket he went out to seek his fortune in the world; but still he had the testimony of his conscience, that though a runaway, he was, as far as money was concerned, an honest youth. He assured me, that he had never ceased to reflect upon this triumph over temptation with pleasure and thankfulness. His future destiny, perhaps, hung upon that decision. Had he purloined any of the money, his conscience might have been benumbed, his heart hardened, his self-respect lost, and his future character become profligate and depraved.

Reader you may not, I trust you will not be placed exactly in the circumstances of trial this young man was; but, if disposed to avail yourself of it, an opportunity will often present itself of embezzling your employer’s property, which I hope you will ever have the principle to resist. There is nothing more likely to expose you to this dangeii than habits of extravagance. If you should unhappily acquire a taste for expensive dress, or amusements, or vicious gratifications, you are in peril. Dishonesty often begins in dandyism. A young man thinks he must be genteel, elegant, fashionable; he looks with envy on those whose means are more abundant than his own, and be comes restless and dissatisfied. He must, he will be equal to them in clothes, ornaments, and diversions; but his salary, or his father’s allowance, will not meet his wants, and then comes the temptation to embezzlement. Extravagance must have resources; and if they cannot be found by honest means, they will by dishonest ones. A love of display in dress and diversions has led many to the gallows, or to Botany Bay, by prompting for it to pilfering and then to forgery. Be upon your guard then. Avoid extravagance. Dread all foppery. Determine to live within your income. Begin life with the resolution to be neat and respectable, but not a fine gentleman. Be it your fixed purpose never to have an article till you can pay for it.

6. I close this fearful list of perils, by mentioning the prevalence of infidelity, and the zeal and wily arts of its abettors and propagators, as forming another source of danger to youth.

Not that even home is inaccessible to this pest, and altogether safe from its contagion; but there is greater risk of it abroad than beneath the parental roof. There never was an age when infidelity was more busy than it is now: not that it is now more generally professed by the thinking and intelligent portion of the community; quite the contrary. Literature and science, rank and fashion, pay far more external, though it may not be sincere homage to revelation, than they did in times gone by: infidelity as a profession is no longer the boast of those who occupy the high places of society. Religion is obviously gaming ground among them. But the efforts of infidels to diffuse their principles among the common people, and middling classes, are peculiarly energetic just now. The subtleties of Hume, the pompous deism of Bolingbroke, and the artful insinuations of Gibbon, have given place to the ribaldries of Paine, and the more recent absurdities of Owen. The system, if system it may be called, of the latter, is obtruded upon public notice under the guise of an attractive misnomer, and pushed forward with a zeal which reminds us of the activity of its parent, the father of lies. Absurd in its principles, contradictory to every man’s sound judgment, and repudiated even by the conscience of its abettors, socialism cannot long impose upon the credulity of even the labouring classes, among whom it has yet been chiefly successful. Amidst a jargon of pretended metaphysics, at war with the first principles of sound logic and our moral constitution, it announces as its leading dogma, that man is entirely the creature of circumstances, is in no sense the author of his opinions and volitions, nor the founder or supporter of his own character. If this be correct, he is a mere machine, gifted with faculties which can be of no use to him; without freedom, without responsibility, without conscience; to whom it is useless to offer inducements, and on whom instruction is wasted; so circumstanced by necessity, that he can neither originate, nor sustain any self-improvement; a being, in reference to whom law is mockery, sin impossible, and punishment injustice. As if it were not enough to shock the public mind by a system so monstrous; the public taste, and all our social feelings are outraged, by the unblushing avowal of its author, that it is his design and wish to abolish the institution of marriage, and reconstruct society upon the basis of the unlegalized association of the sexes, and the unrestricted freedom of divorce. Absurd and demoralizing as such a system is, it is popular with many; the reason is obvious, its very immorality proves to them its recommendation. If they can believe it, they feel that, commit what crimes they may, accountability is gone, and remorse is extinguished: the blame rests not on them, for any sin whatever, but on the circumstances which led to it: a short way to be very wicked, and yet very easy!

Young man, can you believe it? No, your rea son revolts from it, and so would your heart too, if you could witness the moral ravages it has committed. “Call it not socialism, call it devilism; for it has made me more a devil than a man,” exclaimed a poor dying man,, in my neighbourhood, to one of our town missionaries who visited him on his death bed. “I got into company that led me to socialism, and to drinking. I rejected the Bible, denied the Saviour, and persuaded myself that there was no hereafter; and as the result, acted the part of a bad father, and a bad husband. I have the testimony of my master, that I was a steady and respectable man until I listened to the Owenites; but since that time I have become a vagabond, and they who formerly knew me, have shunned me in the streets. The system of the Owenites is worse than that of Paine.” Such is the testimony of a dying victim and martyr of socialism, and a similar confession has been made by many others. I have seen the husband, once moral, happy, and useful, so long as he professed religion; and have seen him in his misery, poverty, and ruin, since he has thrown it off: I have heard the impassioned accents of his heart-broken wife, so far as weakness allowed her to be impassioned, exclaiming as she looked at her miserable companion, “Oh sir, he has been a changed man ever since he went among the Owenites!” Such is socialism.

Can you wonder then at the anxiety of your parents on your leaving home, knowing as they do, the prevalence of this dreadful system, and the zeal of its supporters? Beware of this moral poison; for poison it is of the deadliest kind. This, how ever, is not the only kind of infidelity, nor are these the only infidels of whom you should be afraid. Infidels are to be found everywhere, and everywhere, like the great adversary, they go about like a roaring lion, seeking whom they may devour, or like the wily serpent, endeavouring to kill by the arts of subtlety. Young people are chiefly their objects, and their victims. It must be obvious, that between immorality and infidelity there is a close connexion, and a constant re-action going on in some minds. A young man falls into temptation, and commits sin: instead of repenting, as is his duty, and his interest, he in many cases attempts to quiet his conscience by persuading himself that religion is all hypocrisy, and the Bible untrue. His infidelity now prepares him to go greater lengths in sin: thus vice calls in the aid of error, and error strengthens vice, while both together lead their victim to ruin and misery.

To guard yourself against such dangers, study well the evidences of revelation; read Paley, Chalmers, and Watson: but above all, let the power of religion be felt in your heart, as well as the evidence of it perceived by your judgment. Religion in the heart is the only thing to be relied upon as a defence against the attacks of infidels, and the influence of their principles. But this will be insisted upon at greater length in a subsequent chapter.

Such are the most common and pressing dangers, to which youth are exposed on quitting the protection of the parental habitation, and going from beneath the sheltering wing of paternal care. “I send you forth,” said the Saviour to his disciples, “as sheep among wolves;” and the same remark may be made by parents to their children, substituting the term lambs, for sheep, when they place them out in this wicked and ensnaring world. It has been a dark day in the annals of myriads of families, when a son bade adieu to his parents, and commenced his probation and his struggles in the great business of human life. The tears that fell on that occasion, were a sad presage, though unknown at the time, of others that were to flow in long succession over the follies, vices, and miseries of that unhappy youth. The history of ten thou sand prodigal sons; the untimely graves of ten thousand broken-hearted parents; and the deep and heavy woes of ten thousand dishonored families, attest the fact of the dangers that await a youth on leaving home: and he is most in danger, who is ignorant of what awaits him, or who, on being informed, treats the subject with indifference, smiles at the fears of his friends, and feels no fear for himself. Young man, there is hope of you if this representation shall awaken alarm, produce self-distrust, and excite vigilance and caution. Inexperienced, sanguine, and rash, with all your appetites sharpening, and all your passions strengthening, with an imagination lively, a curiosity prurient, and a heart susceptible; eager to act for yourself, panting to try your scarcely fledged wings on leaving the nest, and perhaps ambitious of distinction, you are in imminent peril of the lusts of the flesh, and of the mind. All but your self are anxious. Pause, and consider what you may become, — an ornament of the profession you have chosen, a respectable member of society, a holy professor of religion, a useful citizen of your country, a benefactor of your species, and a light of the world. But according to the height to which you may rise, is the depth to which you may sink: for as the bottom of the ocean is supposed to be proportioned in measurement to the tops of the mountains, so the dark gulfs of sin and perdition into which you may plunge sustain a similar relation to the summits of excellence and happiness to which you may ascend. Your capacity for ruin is equal to what it is for salvation. Survey for a moment the sphere which you may, occupy and fill up with misery, desolation, and ruin. See what opportunities of destruction are within your reach, and to what suicidal and murderous havoc sin may lead you, if you give your self up to its influence and government.

You may destroy your physical constitution by a more slow, but not less sure process, than if you swallowed arsenic, or employed a pistol. There are vices of the flesh that bring their own immediate punishment in the diseases which they entail. The martyrs of licentiousness are far more numerous, and the amount of their sufferings inconceivably grea ter, than the martyrs for religion. Millions die annually, the victims of drunkenness and debauchery, who long before the grave receives them to its dark domain, present a hideous and loathsome mass of corruption.

Your pecuniary interests may be ruined. Many on whom the morning of life dawned with sun shine, and its prospects opened in beauty, have seen their orb suddenly go down, and all the scene covered with clouds, and ravaged with the storms of adversity; not that Providence was against them, not that man was unjust to them, but they were the destroyers of their own interests, by habits of extravagance, indolence, and indulgence, acquired in youth. You can blast your reputation. After building up with great care your good name, for some years, and acquiring respect and esteem from those who knew you, “in one single hour, by yielding to some powerful temptation, you may fix a dark stain upon your character, which no tears can ever wash away, or repentance remove, but which will cause you to be read and known of all men, till the grave receives you out of their sight. You may render yourself an object of the universal disgust and abhorrence of the good, and be the taunt and scorn of the wicked; so that wherever you turn your eyes, you will find none to bestow on you a single smile of complacency. How many in this condition, bitterly realizing that, ’ without a friend, the world is but a wilderness,’ have, in a paroxysm of desperation, committed suicide.” Your intellect, strong by nature, and capable of high cultivation, may, like a fine flower, be suffered to run wild by neglect, be trodden down by brute lusts, or be broken by violence. Your affections, given to be your delight by virtuous exercise on right objects, may be all perverted so as to become like so many demons, possessing and tormenting your soul, because they are set on things forbidden, and indulged to excess. Your conscience, granted to be your monitor, guide, and friend, may be wounded, benumbed, seared, till it is insensible, silent, and deaf, and of no use in warning you against sin, in restraining or reproving you for it. In short, you may destroy your immortal soul, and what ruin is like that of the soul, so immense, so horrible, so irretrievable? Here the matter ends — no, rather never ends with yourself; and it extends to others also: you may break the hearts of your parents, make youi brothers and sisters ashamed to own you, be a nuisance and pest to” society, a bane to your country, the corrupter of youthful morals, the seducet of female virtue, the consumer of the property of your friends, and, to reach the climax of your mischief, you may be the Apollyon of the circle of immortal souls in which you move, sending some to perdition before you reach it yourself, and causing others to follow you to the bottomless pit, where you shall never escape the sight of their torments, nor the sound of their imprecations.*

How great the power of sin, and how malignant its virulence, that can spread its influence so widely, and exert its force with such deadly effect, not only destroying the sinner himself, but involving others in his ruin! No man goes alone to perdition, no one perishes alone in his iniquity; a consideration which every transgressor should regard:

* See two admirable papers in The Visitor for January and February, 1839, entitled, “The Dangers of Young Men.”

he sustains the character not only of a suicide, but of a murderer, and of all murderers the worst, for he is the murderer of souls.

What a critical position you now occupy, between the capability of rising to so much excellence; or sinking to ruin so deep, and misery so intense! Reflect. Oh that you were wise; that you understood this; that you would consider your latter end.