Had his life been spared, it would have been his duty to have preached the opening sermon at the ensuing meeting of Synod in the beginning of next month; and, with his usual timely forethought, he had begun, and very nearly finished, the writing of the discourse which he intended to have given. But, alas! his place will be vacant,—another will have to preach in his stead; and may God grant that the sudden and unexpected removal of him, who so efficiently occupied the chair at the last meeting of Synod, may be blessed to all the members, and have a hallowing and quickening influence upon the deliberations of the approaching meeting! What a powerful and impressive commentary does this furnish to the solemn declaration of the Apostle Peter: All flesh is as grass, and all the glory of man as the flower of grass. The grass withereth, and the flower thereof falleth away: but the word of the Lord endureth for And this is the word which by the gospel is preached unto you!' ever. As an illustration of the very general respect in which Mr. Young was held throughout this district, I may remind you of the truly gratifying proof of this that was given in April last year, when the fortieth anniversary of his ordination among you had arrived. The congregation were desirous of presenting to their minister a testimonial of their esteem and affection for himself, and their grateful appreciation of his long and faithful services. The general public of the district requested to be allowed to join in this testimonial, in order to show how Mr. Young was regarded by the whole community. Among the subscribers were persons belonging to all the denominations in the locality. Episcopalians, some of them clergymen, English Presbyterians, and even Roman Catholics, cheerfully contributed to honour the man who had so long lived and laboured among them, and who, by his strict adherence to principle, and his uniformly consistent walk and conversation, had won for himself their respect and esteem. Never shall I forget that 8th of April 1869, when the testimonial was presented. Delighted was I to witness the laurels which, by God's grace, my beloved friend and brother had got wreathed around his brow; but little did I think, when parting with him a day or two after, Though enjoying in general very good health, Mr. Young never had a robust constitution; but his long, arduous, and unremitting labours began, as might be expected, to tell upon him within the last six months. In a letter I had from him about three months ago, he referred to his own feelings on this subject: 'I feel,' he writes, 'that I am not the man I was. My limbs are beginning to fail me, so that I cannot take the long walks I used to take.' Still he was able to do his work, and discharge all his usual duties; and, as you all know, he continued to do so until Sabbath the 28th of last month (August), when he became unwell in church, and was unable to conclude the services. During the following week he so far recovered, that he was able, on the Wednesday and Friday, to go some distance into the country and discharge some pastoral duties. On the following Sabbath-the 4th instant-he was again in the pulpit, and preached from 2 Thess. i. 11, last clause: And fulfil all the good pleasure of His goodness, and the work of faith with power.' I need not characterize the sermon, as most of you heard it; but some of yourselves have told me that it was one of the most earnest, impressive, and affectionate that he ever addressed to you. He officiated with much pain and weakness, so that he was not able to give the discourse so fully as he had written it. No wonder, brethren, that you were touched by it. It was the last you were ever to hear from those lips on which you had so often hung. Ere another Sabbath your venerated pastor was dead, and you, his flock, were bereaved and shepherdless. As Mr. Young's illness was not thought to be of a dangerous nature, no fears were entertained, either by himself or his family. It was hoped that, with their careful and affectionate nursing, it would ere long be overcome. God had otherwise arranged. Death was in the cup. On Friday, about midnight, he became suddenly worse, and sank so rapidly, that at three o'clock in But the morning, he quietly fell asleep in Jesus. He was in the sixty-fifth year of his age, and the forty-second of his ministry. From the nature of our departed friend's illness, and from the fact that no fatal result was anticipated until very shortly before his death, he had no opportunity of leaving behind him a deathbed testimony to the value and power of faith in Christ to sustain in a dying hour. But we do not need such a testimony to assure us of the sterling character of his piety. His long, consistent, godly life is his best memorial; for no one who knew him, or had opportunity of witnessing his conduct and conversation, can have the slightest hesitation in applying to him the character given of Barnabas, viz., that he was a good man, and full of the Holy Ghost and of faith.' I cannot conclude this very hurried and imperfect sketch of the character and course of your late minister, without expressing my deep and sincere sympathy with you as a congregation, under this sudden and heavy bereavement. Greatly were you favoured by enjoying, for so long a time, such an able and faithful ministry. I trust, brethren, that you will all seek to profit by it; for remember, that if your privileges have been great, the greater will And His be your responsibility for them. 6 Home Circle. THE TWO ESTATES. A SERMON TO THE YOUNG. BY THE REV. DR. EDMOND, HIGHBURY, LONDON. 'Remember ye not, that, when I was yet with you, told you these things?'- You know what an isthmus is-a nar- You Now I am going to speak to you to day about two great continents, so vast that I cannot give you the measure of either of them. Indeed, no man ever. was able to reach their bounds-God only knows how far they stretch. But every one of you has an estate in each; and the way in which these estates are taken care of is a thing of great importance. Estates in the country are often taken care of by bailiffs or stewards. You have stewards to take care of yours, and bring you their rents and produce. The two continents where these estates lie are called respectively the Past and the Future. The isthmus between them is the Present. On that you stand, with those two great regions, one on either hand of you. You have possessions in each. Your steward, Memory, looks after those in the one; your steward, Foresight, or Expectation, attends to the other. A curious thing about these two estates is, that the one is always shifting into the other. The things of the future are constantly gliding away into the past. To-morrow is always hasting through the gateway of to-day to become yesterday. Expectation gathers his fruits, and hands them over to Memory. My figure of the isthmus will not suit here; I must give you another. Have you ever stood on a bridge, and looked down on the water flowing beneath? A narrow bridge, such as I well remember, made of a few planks or beams, floored with turf, across some brook or mountain torrent; or such as I saw and trod lately, spanning a rocky cleft where a little division of the waters of Niagara was flowingwill answer best. Stand on such a footbridge and look up. The waters are hasting to meet you, but are no sooner under your feet than they glide away behind, and hurry to the sea. The stream before you is the future; the stream behind you is the past. Only in life you are not merely looking on,you are taking the waters as they pass you, and troubling and darkening them with mire, or lighting them up with sunshine. I speak of these things to-day because my text alludes to both memory of the past, and foresight of the future. 'Remember ye not, when I was yet with you?' Paul was not now in Thessalonica; but he had been, and he could ask the Thessalonians to recollect this. There is memory. But when you inquire what it was that he had told them, you find it was about things that were to happen long after that time. When When I look at the fourth verse, it seems to me that Paul had spoken about things that have happened just last year. For when the Pope got his council to say that he was infallible, and could not err, he was surely showing himself that he is God. There, then, is foresight of the future. But it would be unsuitable to speak to you merely of what is alluded to in the text. I will rather take advantage of the reference, to say some things about what I have called your estates in the past and the future. You look backward and forward; you remember and you expect. Some words then about each of these points. I. ABOUT MEMORY, AND YOUR ESTATE 1. How wonderful it is.—If now you wished to find out where yesterday is, as you could find out France or Palestine, where would you go? East or west? You know it would be of no use to go anywhere. Even if you could travel fast enough to overtake the sun, you could not come up with the day that is past. If you went to meet the sun, you would go only to meet tomorrow. But, sitting still where you are, you can ask memory to guide you, and you are in yesterday at once. You can go over the whole ground you went over then,—what you said, thought, felt, and did. You hold up a mirror, and all comes back again. You do not fancy it, you recall and know it. I said all; but it is not quite all. Yet some think that is only a present weakness. They think memory is a perfect photographer, and keeps all his pictures in store. Or, they say, a perfect writer, only some parts of his writing are in invisible ink, needing the fire to bring them out. We know that nothing in the past is hidden from God; but that it should be all laid up, so that we may read it too, is very wonderful. Then, in a sense, we can go further back than our own estate in the past. We can hear and read what others saw and did, and in some measure live over their past. Have not you often gone down, in thought, with Joseph into Egypt? Have you not followed Jesus from place to place?-from the manger to the new tomb? All your reading in this way widens your estate. Your own proper estate, too, is always widening,-every day adding something not known before. 2. How pleasant it is.-How different would it be if the past closed on us like a blank wall! Some of you, doubtless, have been out in a thick fog. You observed how short a way you could see before you. One step, or at most a few, and then all was hidden. Now our knowledge of the future has been often compared to walking in a mist. But if you happened to turn round in the fog, you would notice that a dark bank had been following close at your heels, and covering from view what was behind you. Now of what delight would we be deprived, if memory were as short-sighted as you were forced to be, if a black curtain were to fall between us and the past! We could not, indeed, grow at all. Improvement would be at an end. For if we forgot all we learned as fast as we learned it, we could no more get fuller of knowledge than a broken cistern could be filled with water. At But I spoke of the pleasantness of memory, and this is remarkable. All things that we found joyous at the time (sin excepted), memory lets us taste over again; and even painful things it softens, almost sweetens. We can remember sickness without being sick; travel long journeys without toil; recall sufferings without the pain. Two eminent living ministers, one of whom told me the story, were once travelling in Switzerland in a very rainy day. They were afoot, trudging painfully along, drenched and dripping. some part of their course the one was a little behind the other, and could see what a figure the first made in his soaked garments. Suddenly the foremost traveller turned round, and cried cheerfully, Never mind, brother; this will all be poetry, in six weeks.' Yes, so it is; the pain of the present becomes the poetry of the past. Many of the soldiers who shall survive the terrible battles of this continental war, will be able to go through them again without renewing their horror; a pleasing halo will rest over even the fields of carnage, just as grass and flowers will grow over the fallen-ones' graves. But 3. It is solemn, too. For memory brings up the thought of past sin. And that is something which cannot become pleasant by gliding into the past. You may avert the eye from it, or what is better, you may have it forgiven; otherwise, it will be dark, shameful, stinging. Ah, the power which memory gives to conscience to scourge for sin! This is the grand lesson here. Take care not to sow the seed of thorns and briers today. They will be sprouting, and spreading, and piercing you, when today becomes yesterday. And, once grown on memory's estate, you cannot get rid of them, except as mercy roots them up, or rather buries them beneath fresh soil of grace. In their estates, some people have pleasant gardens; so have Christians in the estate of the past. These are remembered meetings with Christ, and mercies from His hand. Bethel was in Jacob's-oftentimes, no doubt, he resorted thither; the lion's den was in Daniel's; the well of Jacob was such a spot to the woman of Samaria; and the garden near the sepulchre of Jesus to Mary. After Christ went to heaven, the years of His life among them became such a garden to the disciples. I have known children have miniature garden plots. Have you any such as have now described? May He build one for you to-day! you By and by, dear children, all your life will be yesterday. Oh, see that live now so that it may be pleasant to look back on! All must one day stand on the isthmus between time and eternity. When you come to stand there, may you have no shame in looking behind, no fear in looking before! There are two instances in Scripture, showing what power memory has for weal or woe. But There was a man once sitting in a dungeon, and he knew he was soon to die. He had toiled and suffered much, gone through a thousand dangers, and was now old, and waiting for death by the persecutor's hand. memory came in, and held her mirror up, and, looking at the past, he said, ‘I have fought a good fight;' and then hope came, and showed him, glittering in the eternal future, and waiting for him, a crown of glory. Another there was, whose every earthly day was ease and luxury; but when he had passed the isthmus of death, his lot was torment, and keen was the aggravation of it which came from the past. said Abraham, remember how thou in thy lifetime receivedst thy good things;' and the picture of Lazarus at his gate was torture to him now. Look well to the fields of memory: you may strew them with stars, or with bursting bombs of death. II. THE ESTATE OF THE FUTURE. 'Son,' Expectation is your servant here. He cannot work so certainly as memory; for he can use only the glass of reason or of faith,-concluding as to what will be from what has been, or from what God has said will be. This last, so far as it goes, is as certain as fact; but God in prophecy has spoken only of great things, and of these often dimly. In the absence of certainty, imagination often takes the place of expectation. He draws air pictures on mists. He shows fine castles; but they are in the air, and built on clouds. He presents clear waters; but they turn out to be only heat over the dry sands. He says, To-morrow I will go, and grow rich; and death may be lurking for him that night. Soul,' said the rich man in the parable, thou hast much goods laid up for many years; take thine ease, eat, drink, and be merry,' God said, "Thou fool, this night thy soul shall be required of thee.' I would have you take good heed how you give up your estate in the future to the dreamer. You may, however, have sober and happy expectations. You will 1. If you look for trials.-Whether or no any one ever goes through life untried, God's children never do. I have heard old men say, We never had a headache; I do not remember hearing any one say, I never had a heartache. At all events, all God's people must be tried; and if you would have your eternal future blessed, look for trials here. Prepare for travelling sometimes in the night. Strive not to make trials for yourselves, but welcome them from God's hand. 2. If you look for God's care.- -Whatever else be or be not in the future, God is there there for you. He will be there sustaining you; for you cannot live without Him. He will be there watching you; for He is all-seeing. But you may have Him there to keep you; for He has said, 'I will never leave thee, nor forsake thee:' so that you may count on it. Ah, your estate will prove rich to you, if you fill it up with trust in God. Every year, Solomon's ships brought him treasures; every year will be to you such a fleet of ships of tribute. All things shall work together for good. 3. If you look for Christ's coming. This is what Paul was speaking of, in the context. He was telling the Thessalonians that other things would come first, but that was very sure to come. I once was travelling to a particular place, and I did not know the road. I did not see where it went, after a turning that was a short way before me; but, clear and distinct, I saw it on the brow of the hill where the village stood. So is it with the future. We see not what lies between; but, clear and high before us, there is Christ's coming. Whether it be to each at death, or to all at judgment, that is clear. Happy are they who look and prepare for that! Their future for eternity is rich, who, going forward to it, go to be with Christ. These are the things I thought of saying to you about your estates in the past and the future, and the stewards, Memory and Foresight that attend to them. But notice well, that the stewards do not make the estates. The present sows for the past. Memory only holds what present thoughts and actions give it to keep. In another way, the present sows for the future too. What we are, prepares for what we shall be. Our estate in the future becomes, so to say, real estate-though the pleasures of hope are great-when it ceases to be future, by our going forward to it. It is, then, the hour that now is that will enrich, or darken the hours that come. Mind, then, the present, for the sake both of the past and the future. How One moment, before I close, let me turn to the text verse, and its whole question. I think that, standing on the threshold of a New Year, you might well suppose these words spoken to you, out of the depths of the past. Hush! it is the voice of the year that is gone, calling to you, and saying, Do you not remember how, when I was yet with you, I told you these things? many good words have been spoken to you during the past twelve months,— by parents, by preachers, by books, by God Himself, I may say, in His providence towards you, and within your heart! The year that is gone, has carried away an account of them all. I hope it cannot say to any of you, 'I called, and ye refused." But if so, go, ask forgiveness from God for not minding the things that were told you in 1870; and turn to mind what 1871 will speak, lest it too reproach you when it shall join the past. To-day, oh, hear God's voice! Hush! yet more. Is not that a father's or mother's voice mingling with the call of the past year, and speaking to some of you? They were with you in |