fathomless import, that we are here forming characters for eternity. Forming characters! Whose? Our own, or others'? Both; and in that momentous fact lies the peril and responsibility of our existence. Thousands of our fellowbeings will yearly, and till years shall end, enter eternity with characters differing from those they would have carried thither had we never lived."

When friends come to us for counsel in moments of disappointment and irritation, or for comfort in the time of sorrow or distress; when they look up to us, and say, "What must I do?-How must I act ?-Where shall I seek for peace?" how fearful is our responsibility! How carefully should we weigh every word, and pause and pray, before we utter it. How great is our power at such seasons as these! We may be as beacon lights; or we may only resemble wandering stars. Above all, let us beware of saying to them, "Peace, peace! when there is no peace;" or of leading them to look for it anywhere but in the love and mercy of Jesus Christ, our Lord and Saviour.

We read in the book of Proverbs, that it is the duty of friends to reprove one another; "faithful are the wounds of a friend."* It is

* Prov. xxvii. 6.

where they see cause; and it must be done in all gentleness, and in the spirit of truth and love. They are not our real friends who do not tell us of our faults; neither are we true friends to others when we can behold them doing wrong, and remain silent. The effects of such friendships can be neither purifying nor good.

We can well remember walking through the woods in autumn with a dear friend, since dead. How beautiful they were, and how eagerly we admired together their brown and golden tints. Presently my friend began, as she usually did, to speak of better things, and to "look through nature up to nature's God."

"Earth," said she, "is preaching her annual sermon: 'We all do fade as a leaf, and our iniquities like the wind have carried us away."" And then she spoke of the evil of sin, and of Christ's redeeming love. I shall never forget that evening walk through the woods. Like Isabel, she might be truly said to pass along singing, and the burden of her song was the same that the angels sing in heaven-"Blessing, and honour, and glory, and power, be unto him that sitteth upon the throne, and unto the Lamb for ever and ever."* Before the spring

Rev. v. 13.

flowers bloomed she had passed away; but the falling of the leaf never fails to bring back her memory and her influence.

How natural it is to take an interest in that which interests those we love! Have we a friend who is a botanist ?-With what a different eye we soon begin to regard flowers; and how we long to understand something about them, in order that we may be able to join our friends in this pleasant study. Have we a friend who is musical?-How we love music! Are our friends fond of reading?—What a fresh interest we take in books! Are they religious?-How, in a manner, we even begin to imitate them in this also; although it may be only out of love for them! Oh, how thankful we ought to be if God, at any time, is pleased to make use of us as instruments and magnets to draw the hearts of our dearest friends towards himself. What a privilege to be allowed to help one another forward, if it be but one step, nearer to glory! But we should be ever ready to exclaim, in all humility, "It was not I;" and to give God the

honour.

Many beloved and valued friends may pass away before another year shall have gone by; or we ourselves may be called home. What

has been our influence over others? What effects shall we leave behind? Have we used the power given to us for good or for evil? Are our friends the better or the worse for loving, and trusting, and, it may be, looking up to us? Are they any nearer heaven? If they die first, will they say of us, "Your friendship has been a blessing to me;" or, "Would to God that I had never known you?"

CHAPTER VII.

THE INFLUENCE OF BOOKS.

"Trees yielding all fruit, whose leaves are for the healing of the nations."

CICERO calls a library "the soul of a house:" a solemn thought, and one that should make us very careful. We heard of a gentleman, not long since, refusing a richly-bound copy of a popular but dangerous theological work, which had been offered him for his library. "It is not," said he, "that I fear its effects on my own mind, but only lest it should hurt and unsettle others of the household, who are less fixed and decided in their views."

Seneca terms books "his friends ;" and hints somewhere, that we should be alike careful in our choice of them as in choosing our most intimate companions: while Plutarch tells us, with much quaintness, that "we ought to regard books as we do sweetmeats; not wholly to aim at the pleasantest, but chiefly to respect the wholesomest: not forbidding either, but approving the latter most." Milton has called