But to come to more obvious and immediate mischief. Judging from the former Exhibition it is not unlikely that, on a fine Sunday, this huge daylight theatre will be visited by not less than 100,000 people. These will require, for the most part, carriages to convey them, meat and drink to refresh them, officials to take their money, policemen to keep them in order. Now, only think what a fearful aggregate of Sabbath labour this will compel. Make as rough a computation as you may, of the time during which each visitor will be using the services of some other person—at a railway office, on the line, in the gardens, at places of refreshment; and remembering that those persons whom the visitor _sees_, are obliged to be assisted by many others whom he does _not see_, and a result will be arrived at, showing that for this large number to take their Sabbath _pleasure_, many thousands must be deprived of their Sabbath _rest_. Nay, as if this work of ruining souls could not be begun soon enough,—as if the promoters of this unchristian scheme had a very appetite for desecration,—the works are going on, there is reason to believe, while I speak. Only last Sunday these British slaves were seen at work by one known to me, who, going up to the house of God to worship, had to hear the noise of axe and hammer making discordant music with the church-inviting bell. {21} Now, brethren, to enable you to appreciate the magnitude of this evil of depriving men of the means of Sabbath instruction, I could wish for you nothing so awfully convincing, as that you should witness what I have witnessed often, both in this and a former incumbency,—the latter end of those who, from their connexion with public conveyances, were uniformly shut out from the sanctuary, because they had to minister to the pleasure-seeker, on God’s holy day. The recreation _to him_, was spiritual and eternal death _to them_. HE found his mirth, but _they_ lost a soul. Such death-beds, I own, present a great mystery. When we see the vacant wonderment with which the dying man listens to the most elementary religious truths, or the judicial hardness which seems proof against the most tender appeals, or the awakened emotion which only lasts long enough to people the chamber of death with the mocking spectres of despair, and then feel how much the blame of all this belonged to _others_ rather than to _him_,—we are, for the moment, amazed. But the answer comes speedily. ‘Be still. The moral law is eternal. My Sabbaths are for a SIGN. He who dishonours them in his life, shall be himself dishonoured in his end; and, grievous as may be the portion of him who has thus offended, to him by whom the offence cometh there is a woe more grievous still.’ Oh! brethren, pray we for these thoughtless speculators that God curse them not in a granted desire; that He lay not at their door the fearful responsibility of having destroyed thousands of undying souls,—yea, that rather than give