SOME years ago, at a large Government establishment, a number of young men were being prepared for future usefulness. One among the number was an especial favorite. Always in the front of every social enterprise, cheerful and intelligent, with a pleasing aptitude for making himself agreeable, J. was unanimously given the first place. Several of these youths belonged to a smart volunteer corps, and, of a selected batch for the next prize meeting, J. was No. 1. Very sanguine of success, the approaching trial of skill was his frequent theme of conversation. A short time before, one of the members of the corps had been buried with military honors, and as J., with a few companions, was recalling the circumstances, in his usual light-hearted way, he exclaimed, “I wish there would be another military funeral: it was so jolly.” I was in the company, and overheard him, and felt pained at his lightness in speaking of so solemn a matter. I had learned some little of the value of a soul, and said to him, “J., you are anxious to see the body buried; but what about the soul if it were lost! What if it were yourself?”
“Oh!” he replied, “you are always croaking, and would never let a fellow have a moment’s pleasure if you could help it. If I always thought like you I should be miserable.” “On the contrary,” said I, “you would be happy, even though at the expense of passing merriment.”
I thought no more of this circumstance, but the following Saturday went some few miles away, as I often did, to visit my friends till Monday. Returning to my lodgings early on that day, as I sat at breakfast my hostess said to me, with a look of deep concern, “Have you heard the sad news?” “No,” said I: “what news?” “J. went to bathe yesterday,” she replied. “He became cramped, and was drowned, and they can’t find the body.”
The funeral, the prize meeting—all rushed into my mind—but, above all, those worth, “You are always croaking.” J.’s body was found during the week. He was buried with military honours, and I was one of the bearers. My reader, his wish, uttered thoughtlessly no doubt, was granted: he went to another military funeral, but as a corpse. Where was the soul? The knowledge that it is within the power and grace of God to save, even al the eleventh hour, was the only thing which could bring hope to his Christian mother in her terrible sorrow. My reader, you may be thoughtless, harmlessly gay—a favorite; of easy manner—you may have many friends—you may think nothing of waiving off a warning; but God is not mocked. Poor J. little thought how true his words might prove himself the victim. “The Lord is not slack, as some men count slackness;” He is full of grace. Yet the moment of His wrath comes. Satan fans you comfortably, death promises to hold off, friends flatter, but God’s word stands sure: “He that believeth on the Son hath everlasting life; but he that believeth not the Son shall not see life, but the wrath of God abideth on him.” Remember, eternity will soon begin with you! To be heedless of Christ is to be lost. To hear and believe the voice of the Lord Jesus is to be saved.
W. G. B