duty to themselves. How can a man be a social elevator, who is himself
walking in the mire of self-indulgence? How can he teach sobriety or
cleanliness, if he be himself drunken or foul? "Physician, heal
thyself," is the answer of his neighbours.

The sum and substance of our remarks is this: In all the individual
reforms or improvements that we desire, we must begin with ourselves. We
must exhibit our gospel in our own life. We must teach by our own
example. If we would have others elevated, we must elevate ourselves.
Each man can exhibit the results in his own person. He can begin with
self-respect.

The uncertainty of life is a strong inducement to provide against the
evil day. To do this is a moral and social, as well as a religious duty.
"He that provideth not for his own, and especially for those of his own
household, hath denied the faith, and is worse than an infidel."

The uncertainty of life is proverbially true. The strongest and
healthiest man may be stricken down in a moment, by accident or disease.
If we take human life in the mass, we cannot fail to recognize the
uncertainty of life as much as we do the certainty of death.

There is a striking passage in Addison's "Vision of Mirza," in which
life is pictured as a passage over a bridge of about a hundred arches. A
black cloud hangs over each end of the bridge. At the entrance to it
there are hidden pitfalls very thickly set, through which throngs
disappear, so soon as they have placed their feet upon the bridge. They
grow thinner towards the centre; they gradually disappear; until at
length only a few persons reach the further side, and these also having
dropped through the pitfalls, the bridge at its further extremity