over whom a nation now mourns had, in life and health, accepted of Christ as his Saviour; that he had calmly looked at the great subject of his soul's salvation, and, convinced of his need of mercy through a Divine Redeemer, had, with the simplicity of a child, trusted his eternal interests into the hands of him who was mighty to save, and whose blood cleanseth from all sin. Oh, then, let his death-so sudden, so dreadful as to its circumstances-remind you of the need of immediate preparation for that eternity to which we are all hastening. Christ, and Christ alone, is the hope of the soul. In him we are safe. He who relies upon his death and merits is alone fitted to die. When death comes to him it finds him ready. He can hear unmoved, and fearless, the summons which calls him away to grapple with the last enemy. He alone can see in death a friend that beckons him to come up higher, and can look upon the scenes of earth, as they fade away from his vision, without regret, and go to his dying bed,

"Like one who wraps the drapery of his couch

About him, and lies down to pleasant dreams."

Oh, my hearers!-ye men of business and care! ye children and youth!—will you not to-day listen to the providence of God which calls upon you to seek first the kingdom of God and his righteousness? Christ alone can fit you to live. He alone can prepare you to die; and in that solemn hour, when heart and flesh fail, he will be the strength of your heart and your portion forever.

SERMON XVI.

REV. SAMUEL T. SPEAR, D. D.

I MEET you to-day, my friends and fellow-countrymen, under circumstances of the greatest public grief and sorrow. I had risen early Saturday morning to complete the first of two sermons, having for my theme "Victory and its Duties," and expecting to have preached that sermon to you at this time. I waited for the morning paper, and when it came it brought to me, as it did to you, the intelligence of the most awful event in the history of this country. The carrier greeted me with a tearful and saddened countenance, exclaiming: "Sad news this morning! The President is shot!" I could scarcely believe it true; yet I opened the paper and read the dispatches, and saw that it was so. Ere this the news has spread through all parts of the land, kindling emotions in in the hearts of the nation which no words can describe. But yesterday we were joyous and hopeful, thanking God for his mercies, and congratulating each other upon the bright prospects of the future. Our recent victories gave promise of a speedy and lasting peace. We saw, as we supposed, the end of this terrible war. How suddenly and how awfully have our emotions been changed into those of the deepest sorrow! Who can refuse

to weep? Who can withhold his tears or command his feelings at such a moment? And is it so? Has the President of these United States; the personal representative of the honor, glory, and dignity of this nation; the man of the people's choice; the man who has guided the ship of state with consummate wisdom and unfaltering integrity during these stormy years; the man whom God seems to have raised up and signally qualified for the duties of this great crisis—yes, has Abraham Lincoln, good in his greatness and great in his goodness, fallen the victim of murderous assassination, just in the moment of our triumph? And has his honorable Secretary of State been assailed with the instrument of death for a like purpose? We pause in the profoundest astonishment. Our indignation in one direction, and our sorrow in the other, are past all utterance. The American people never felt this as they do to-day. They never before had such an occasion for feeling. We all feel the dreadful blow. It has fallen upon us like a thunderbolt in the midst of our joys. To the deep and pungent thrill of the national heart no human words can do any adequate justice.

1. Looking towards earth, and at man, one instinctively inquires, why has the assassinating hand sought the life of Abraham Lincoln and that of William H. Seward! Why has the President of these United States been marked for death? The answer is a plain one. It consists in the fact that he was the President, officially entrusted with the executive duty of administering the military power of this government for the suppression of a wanton and wicked rebellion against the constituted authorities of the land. This was Mr. Lincoln's sole of fence. The murderous weapon was not aimed at him as a man, but as the President of these United States-as God's minister for the punishment of evil doers and the

praise of them that do well. It was therefore aimed at you and at me at every man, woman and child living under the protection of this government; at public order,, at the sanctity of law, at the integrity of the Union, and at the God who commands our subjection to the powers that be. This is the true interpretation of the blow sought to be struck; and this it is that gives significance to the act. We look upon Mr. Lincoln as a murdered President, and not as a man falling in the private walks of life, the victim of a purely personal vengeance. The blood that flowed from his lacerated brain was in the circumstances official blood. The pistol-shot that hurried him to his doom was fired into the heart of the nation. I do not wish to stir either your passions or my own to undue violence; yet I think it best in this dreadful hour to look at facts as they are and speak of things as they are. Abraham Lincoln will go down to posterity as a murdered and a martyred President-slain for discharging his duty, honored by God, and trusted by a grateful people. In his death we all feel the pangs of death. Well may the nation bow in grief. Well may all party feeling and rancor subside, while a whole people weep before God under, an oppressive sense of the calamity which has befallen them.

2. Looking at the circumstances attending this sad event, we inquire: Whence came the blow? It was on the evening of the day when the flag of the Union again floated in triumph over the war-scarred walls of Fort Sumter. It was when the nation had flung her proud flag to the breeze in the fulness of grateful joy; when victories had seemingly extinguished the last hope of the rebel insurgents; when Jefferson Davis, the traitor and the tyrant, was fleeing from the hand of avenging justice. It was at a time and in a place when and where our great