in the road of iniquity, from which there was little prospect of return. His once manly and intelligent countenance now bore the red and bloated aspect of intemperance. His business had left him. The most of his property was gone. He spent the greater part of his time in idleness— lounging in bar-rooms, and making merry with a set of companions, who, like himself, had made shipwreck of their character and fortune.

He no longer visited the sanctuary of God. The truths that he there heard troubled him. He no longer read the Bible, for condemnation flashed upon him from its every page.

At this time there was in this village an organized club of skeptics, who styled their body "The Church of Reason." This club was made up of the most profane and profligate in the community-of persons of the most abandoned lives. One common feeling had drawn them together-a desire to find in infidelity, or atheism, or in some other "refuge of lies," a system of belief that would allow them to remain at ease in the gratification of their lusts, and in the indulgence of their favourite sins.

Such was this "Church of Reason." They convened regularly on the Lord's day. Their chief business was to drink to intoxication, to sing songs, to ridicule the Scriptures, and defame religion. With this club Mr. Lindsley connected himself, and in time became its leader and head.

He was no longer the kind and affectionate husband. An utter depravation of moral sentiment seemed to have been wrought in him. In all those points in which his character formerly appeared most amiable, there was now exhibited the most appalling features of fiend-like depravity. That wife whom he had cherished with so much tenderness and love; that daughter whom he had nurtured with so much parental care and kindness, he now seemed perfectly to hate. He took every occasion to wound and mortify their feelings in the presence of company, by uttering the grossest indelicacies and the most heaven-daring

The profligate husband and hardened father.

profanity. He employed every art and expedient that malevolence could devise, to thwart and disturb them in their religious enjoyments. He sought every opportunity to denounce in their hearing, the Bible, religion, and the ministers of religion; and to load them with every vile epithet found in the vocabulary of vulgarity and profaneness.

All this was borne by his amiable wife and daughter with unparalleled meekness and patience. Not one repining or reproachful word was uttered. They had learned in the school of Christ to exercise that " charity which suffereth long and is kind, which beareth all things, hopeth all things, and endureth all things." And daily did they kneel down together before the throne of God, and put up their joint petitions-the one for a profligate husband, and the other for a hardened father.

This meek and patient endurance of evil did not soften, but seemed to exasperate the feelings of Mr. Lindsley. Conscious that he had injured, irreparably injured, the beings who of all others loved him most, he was bent upon provoking them to some act of rashness, that he might seize upon it as a sort of an apology to himself for his conduct. Defeated in this object, he became still more and more desperate. Temporal misfortunes began to thicken around him. Deeply in debt-destitute of credithaving no funds that he could control-he at times awoke to the full perception of the horrors of his situation. And at such times, all these calamities were most irrationally and unjustly charged upon his family. His treatment to them at length became so abusive and alarming, that it was deemed necessary for their personal safety to flee their home, and seek shelter and protection under another roof. One instance, selected from many others of a similar character, will serve to illustrate this remark.

Mrs. Lindsley, naturally of a frail constitution, was now, from the accumulating weight of domestic grief which hung upon her heart, in a wretched state of health. Her pale features, occasionally flushed with an hectic glow, bore

The sorrowful wife.

evident marks that a worm was already at the stem of life.

It was a cold wintry night-the town-clock had already struck twelve. Mrs. Lindsley had just returned from the window, to see if she could catch a glimpse of the returning form of her husband; but no human shape was visible through the dim and shadowy moonlight. All without was still as the repose of the grave, save the creaking of some loose board on the fence, that now and then was swung by the wind. The fire, which had been fed by an economical hand, while the patient wife sat up to watch the return of him, the sound of whose tread, after an evening's absence, once made her heart leap with joy-was reduced to a small bed of coals. She had often set up longer and later to wait his return; but now faintness and fatigue constrained her to think of retiring. Again, with feeble and tottering step, she went to the window, and strained her eye to see if no signs of his approach could be discovered. But he came not! The lonely hours of that evening she had spent in much prayer for her husband. Faith seemed to assure her that there was still hope. She wished to welcome his return with kindness. But he came not! Raking the ashes over the expiring embers, she went to her solitary couch with a sad and sorrowful heart.

That evening was spent far differently by her husband. He was presiding in the atheistical club, and on no previous occasion had he ever gone to such fearful lengths. Having drank deeply, he gave full vent to all the malicious and malignant feelings of his heart. Not content with reviling the piety of men, and the purity of angels, he assailed the throne of God, uttering the most horrid blasphemies, and pouring forth such a torrent of oaths and imprecations, that the whole company were startled, and stood aghast with horror.

It was from such a scene that Mr. Lindsley went to his family about two o'clock in the morning. Finding Mrs. Lindsley had retired, he compelled her to get up and remain

Unkind treatment.

The danger of impenitent men.

in her night dress, in a cold room, where there was no fire, till morning. Having locked the doors of this room, he walked the floor till the day dawned, renewing his strain of blasphemy, and polluting the very atmosphere with incessant profanity.

In vain did the feeble and shivering form of his wife silently appeal to his pity-in vain did she entreat him not to hurl defiance at the throne of God. There was no pity, no feeling in him. His heart was converted into stone. Sin which dragged angels from heaven-sin which desolated paradise-sin which dug hell and kindled its unquenchable fires-sin had transformed this man into a fiend. This is no exaggerated picture. I have most rigidly adhered to a statement of naked facts. And what do these facts show? They show, that there slumbers enough rebellion in the heart of any unconverted sinner to desolate the universe. Mr. Lindsley was once regarded as possessing a most amiable and lovely character. But his heart all the time was unchanged. When once the Spirit of God was withdrawn from him, the evil which lay dormant within was roused to action. Reader! has thy heart been changed? If not, thou canst not say how soon that " carnal mind" which is within thee, and which is "enmity against God," may urge thee on to a brink no less awful and perilous than that on which Mr. Lindsley now stood. He had all the securities to virtue and morality which any one can have, whose heart is not given up to God. There is no safety out of Christ. There is no safety for any human being, over whose head the Eternal Jehovah does not hold his shield. None but those who give themselves up to him have a promise that He will keep them. Let it not be forgotten, that the impenitent-he who resists the strivings of the Holy Spirit, and refuses to submit his heart to God, has no keeper.

THEY who deny the truth and credibility of the Bible, though they often laugh at the weakness and delusion of Christians, and make loud boast of the fearlessness and undisturbed tranquillity with which they can look upon the approach of death, most generally in that dread and trying hour turn cowards. The eagerness which they manifest to unsettle the faith of others, and the reckless and impious air with which they lay their desecrating hand upon all that is holy, are but symptoms of the pangs within-are but wretched shifts to drown that awful voice which the Spirit of God is ringing in the startled ear of conscience.

So it was with Mr. Lindsley. In fleeing from the Spirit of God, he rushed into the pathway of guilt. To still the voice of conscience, that he might travel that path undisturbed, he tried to disbelieve the Bible; but the truth had been graven in such deep and living characters upon his heart, that it could not be thus erased. Whenever he allowed himself to reflect, the burning conviction, in spite of all his avowed infidelity, still clung blistering to his heart, that there was an awful hell, in which God would one day punish him for his sins. Death, therefore, whenever it was brought near, came clothed in tenfold terror.

An event illustrative of this remark occurred while his family still remained with him. In returning on horseback,