onate manner, he muttered, "O, it's no use for me to repent;
my sins are too great to be forgiven." He had no sooner uttered these
words, than a voice seemed to say, with strong emphasis, "If thou wilt
forsake thy sins, they shall be forgiven." The poor man started at what
he believed to be real sound, and turned round, but saw no one, and said
to himself, "I have been drinking till I am going mad." He stood
paralyzed, not knowing what to think, till relieved by a flood of tears,
and then exclaimed, "Surely, this is the voice of mercy, once more
calling me to repentance." He fell on his knees, and half suffocated by
his feelings, cried out, "God be merciful to me a sinner." The poor
wretch was broken-hearted; and now his besetting sin appeared more
horrible than ever; but it must be conquered, or he must perish. Then
commenced a contest more terrible than that of conflicting armies; the
soul was at stake; an impetuous torrent was to be turned into an
opposite course. He now began to search the Bible, which he had once
despised. Here he saw that crimson and scarlet sins could be blotted
out, and made white as snow; that the grace of God was sufficient. He
refrained from intemperance, commenced family prayer, and hope again
revived; but his deadly foe still pursued him, and he was again
overcome.

Now his disgrace and sinfulness appeared worse than ever, and with
melancholy feeling he cried out, in anguish of spirit, that he was
doomed to eternal misery, and it was useless to try to avert his fate.
His cruel enemy took this opportunity to suggest to his mind that he had
so disgraced himself, that it would be better to get rid of his life at
once--frequently the end of drunkards. The razor was in his hand; but
the Spirit of the Lord interposed, and the weapon fell to the ground.
Still his enemy pursued him, and seemed to have new power over his sin
of intemperance. He would sometimes refrain for days and weeks, and
then again he was as bad as ever. Hope seemed now to be lost; especially
one day, when, after having been brought into great weakness through
intemperance, death appeared to be very near, and his awful state more
terrific than ever. Not a moment was to be lost; he cast himself once
more at the footstool of his long-insulted Creator, and with an
intensity of agony cried out, "What profit is there in my blood when I
go down to the pit? Shall the dust praise thee? Shall it declare thy
truth? Hear, O Lord, and have