The Connecticut Observer, And New York Congregationalist

THE DYING SINNER.

Every thing changes with this unfortunate being. These changes and the fondness with which he clings to his past pleasures embitter the last moments of his unhappy existence.

There is a change in his influence and authority: from the moment that his death appears inevitable, the unfeeling world begins to forget him; his faithless friends fall off; his flatterers seek out new patrons and other benefactors, and even his domestics, intent upon considering their share of his effects, forget to attend their dying master. He sees no more around him the band of those sycophants who in the days of his prosperity were so lavish of their deceitful blandishments; his future successor receives all their attention, while he is left to writhe on the bed of death unpitied and unheeded.

There is a change in the public esteem; the world which before had been immoderate in its praises now takes no notice of him; the change that his death will make on the scene may form for a while the topic of discourse, but this brief interval passed, his name is mentioned no more, scarcely will it be remembered that he ever existed. He beholds with anguish his impending oblivion, he sees that he must die, that the void caused by his departure from this world will soon be filled up by his heir, that not even a vestige of him will be left, and that they who have seen him surrounded with splendor will ask themselves, 'Where is he now?' 'Whither has fled the applause that his power and wealth gained for him?' This is the state to which the faithless world conducts its deluded votaries, and these are the effects of a criminal love of Mammon.

There is a change in every thing that surrounds him; his eyes strive in vain to repose on some pleasing object, they behold nothing but the gloomy countenance of death. But the recollection of the past the contemplation of the present inflict not the deepest wound on his guilty conscience. He would not be so miserable were these the sole sources of his anguish. It is the thought of the future that throws him into a state of agony and despair. The future! that region of darkness into which he is about to enter, that unknown land from which no mortal ever returns; where he knows not the punishment prepared for him: that boundless infinity of space whither death is about to bear him uncertain of his fate; the tomb, that habitation of the dead, where he must mingle his own dust with that of his ancestors. The future! that unlimited eternity that strikes him with dread the awful moment when he must render account to a justly incensed God of a life, every minute almost of which was spent in crime. Alas! while he saw his dreadful doom from afar he took a frightful pride in being thought to despise it; he piqued himself on his firmness and courage, and derided those who quailed before the arm of an Omnipotent God.—But when the summons from his maker reached him, he became a frail and feeble creature; when he saw death at hand prepared to usher him into that eternity he mocked at, then he tremblingly extended his hands to heaven, supplicating that God for mercy, from whom he could expect naught but condign punishment.

MASSILLON.