are in the main dangerous to the conscience. Those innumerable
concerns, this noise and bustle, entirely dissipate the soul. While so
much engaged on earth, we can not be mindful of heaven. When we have
no leisure we say to St. Paul, "Go thy way for this time; when I have
a convenient season, I will call for thee."

Happy he who, amid the tumult of the most active life, has hours
consecrated to reflection, to the examination of his conscience, and
to insure the "one thing needful." Or, rather, happy he who, in the
repose of the middle classes of society,--places between indigence and
affluence, far from the courts of the great, having neither poverty
nor riches according to Agur's wish,--can in retirement and quietness
see life sweetly glide away, and make salvation, if not the sole, yet
his principal, concern.

Felix not only preferred his business to his salvation, but he
mentions it with evasive disdain. "When I have a convenient season, I
will call for thee." "When I have a convenient season!" Might we not
thence infer that the truths discust by St. Paul were not of serious
importance? Might we not infer that the soul of Felix was created
for the government of Judea; and that the grand doctrines of
righteousness, temperance, and a judgment to come ought to serve
at most but to pass away the time, or merely to engross one's
leisure--"when I have a convenient season?" ...

Yes, Christians, this is the only moment on which we can reckon. It
is, perhaps, the only acceptable time. It is, perhaps, the last day of
our visitation. Let us improve a period so precious. Let us no
longer say by and by--at another time; but let us say to-day--this
moment--even now. Let the pastor say: I have been insipid in my