I think I feel as the nurse did, in the hospital, with his thumb on the great artery, while a wounded soldier arranged his matters to die.

After a severe battle, a soldier had his limb amputated very near his body. The veins had been taken up, and he seemed to be doing well; but on one occasion, as the nurse was dressing his wounds, the blood began to flow freely. The nurse held the vein with his thumb, and sent for a physician, who, on entering the room, said, "It is well, my brave fellow, that it was not the large artery - I can take this up." A short time after, the blood flowed more freely than before, and the skilful nurse, placing his thumb this time on the large artery, which had broken open, sent again for the physician.

After a careful examination of the whole matter, it was decided that the artery could not be taken up without removing the thumb of the nurse; and if his thumb was removed, the soldier must die immediately.

It only remained for the brave man to make immediate arrangements for death. About three hours were employed in sending messages to loved ones, and in arranging his effects before he left the world. When this was done the nurse still holding the vein, and knowing that death would follow in three minutes after lifting his thumb —

the brave but dying soldier said, "Now, kind nurse, you can take off your thumb: I must go. Farewell to all."

Now came the severe trial to the nurse how could he lift his thumb under such circumstances! The accumulated blood already rendered it difficult to hold the artery; so, turning his eye from the soldier, he lifted his thumb, and in three minutes death had done its work.

fear

I think I feel very much as this nurse did ing, as I do, that with many in this congregation the crisis has come when you are to decide where you will spend eternity. I fear this is for some of you the line

"That marks the destiny of men

For glory or despair."

As the nurse felt that he could not lift his thumb, and yet must, so with me now How can I close this sermon, and end this entreaty, without knowing that you will not grieve the Spirit away this time?

Let me ask the Recording Angel to hold his pen, while each one of you in this hall decides the question whether you will cherish what little desire you have to become Christ's, what little of the Holy Spirit's influence still lingers about your heart, or say, "Go thy way for this time," which may be forever!

But I must not linger. Let me request every person in the hall - whether professor of religion or not who intends to cherish what desire he has to serve God, to rise on his feet.

Thank God, nearly every one present has risen! May God help us all to keep our resolution, for Jesus' sake.

Amen.

At the close of this sermon, a short time was spent in silent prayer, after which it was believed not less than five hundred persons requested us to pray that they might receive forgiveness of sin. As nearly as I can ascertain, not less than five thousand souls have been brought to embrace Christ through the influence of this single sermon.

CHAPTER XI.

FIREMEN'S MEETING.

ON

NE evening, during a series of meetings held with the Second Baptist church in Brooklyn, N. Y., I preached, by special appointment, to the firemen, and have thought it might be interesting and profitable, instead of a general account of the meeting, to quote from the "Daily Eagle" of March 12, 1858, the following report of the

sermon:

"Last evening the members of Neptune Engine Company, No. 7, of Brooklyn, attended in a body the Second Baptist church, on Leonard Street, to listen to a sermon by Rev. A. B. Earle. As the announcement was made public, the attendance at the church was so great that nearly half that came could not get inside.

"The services were opened by prayer, followed by singing, after which Mr. Earle delivered his discourse. He spoke in a plain but earnest manner, engaging the deep attention of his audience.

"The text selected was from Mark ix. 44: Where the worm dieth not, and the fire is not quenched.' He said he should call their attention more particularly to the latter clause of the text. He thought nothing would grieve them more than to meet with a fire which they could not put out; they would go home sorrowful at heart should such an event happen to them. They had often met and subdued this enemy-fire; they had always quenched it; but he should speak to them of a fire which could never be quenched.

"He then divided his text into two parts; first, What the worm is that dieth not, and why it does not die; second, What the fire is that is not quenched, and why it is not quenched.

"The worm that never dies is guilty memory, the remembrance of past guilt. Memory is like a living, gnawing worm, producing a restless pain in the soul, as a gnawing worm would do in the vitals of the body. Impressions once made upon the mind can never be effaced. A name once heard or mentioned, though forgotten for a time, will return in after years when circumstances shall recall it. Incidents of childhood carry their recollection to the grave. Memory is active when all else is still. In moments of peril the memory is more vivid and active, and thoughts of the past crowd upon the brain with inconceivable rapidity.