of tenderness and of trouble, of pathos and of passion, like other family histories before and since-scenes of similar though surpassing interest; and do not all these scenes derive a new interest and new significance from so solemn an intimation of death at the close? The actors in these scenes, the members of this family, would surely have thought and felt far otherwise than they did, had they reflected always how soon the time would come when, of all their joys and sorrows, their jealousies and heartburnings, their rivalries and resentments, their feuds and reconciliations, their sins and their sufferings-when of all these the simple and solitary record would be, that "Joseph died, and all his brethren." Ah how intimately should this reflection have knit them together in unity of interest, of affection, and of aim! The tie of a common origin is scarcely stronger or closer than the tie of a common doom. That they were all born in the same father's house is an argument of love that is greatly heightened and enhanced by the consideration, that soon may and must be said of them that they are all gone to the same resting-place of the tomb.

it

The graves of a household, as they are dug one by one; the breaches in the little circle of home, made singly and in detail, as one and then another dear member is called away; these are very impressive to you who remain, and stamp with a new character in your estimate all the intercourse which you have been wont to have. When individuals of a family depart, ah! does it not compel the survivors to review the past in a new light, and to think -alas! often in what bitterness of soul-on what terms,

and for what objects and ends, they have for long years been living together? The friend, the beloved brother who has gone, has acquired, by his death, new value in your esteem-a new and sacred claim to your regard. Now for the first time you discover how dear he should have been, how dear he was, to your hearts-dearer far than you had ever thought. How fondly do you dwell on all his attractions and excellencies! How do his faults and failings fade away from your eyes! And oh!. with what a pang, and with what poignancy of grief, does the wounded soul brood over any passages of unkindness, any instances of neglect! How frivolous are all former causes of misunderstanding, all excuses for indifference, now seen to be! Death has stamped upon them all a character of most absolute insignificance; and bitter almost beyond endurance is the idea now, that for the sake of such trifles and vanities as are all the things of earth that breed coldness and suspicion among brethren, you have in any degree lost or wasted the season of friendly and familiar communion, so precious and so soon to close. How cheerfully would you give your all, if you could recall the lost one but for a day, or for an hour, that you might unburden your heavy heart, and exchange anew forgiveness and affection! With what warmth would you now meet, with what fulness of confidence and love would you embrace, him whom but yesterday, perhaps, you carelessly overlooked or cruelly offended! Would that you had known then how soon and how suddenly death was to claim him as its victim! Ah! you would have better improved the time of his remaining with you.

You would not have omitted so many opportunities of cultivating and enjoying his intimacy. You would not have delayed from day to day your purposes of kindness. You would not have been so readily and so frequently estranged from him. You would not have suspected, or envied, or provoked, or wounded him, as you have done. You would not have consulted so habitually your own selfish inclinations, or sought your own selfish ends, or indulged your own selfish passions. And, above all, you would not, in your dealings with him, have so exclusively regarded the things of time, and so grievously neglected the things of eternity. Ah! you would not have met so often, and so often parted, without one sentence or one mutual thought of godliness interchanged between you. You would have spoken more faithfully; you would have conversed and communed on the things that belong to your peace. You would have wept over sin together, and praised the love of the Saviour together, and prayed together, and joined together in works of faith and labours of love. Your reserve would have been far more completely laid aside, and God would have been far more fully acknowledged, and a "word in season" would have been uttered, and something, it may be, perilous to the soul of a dying sinner would have been left unsaid, if, when you last saw and conversed with your brother, you had had the slightest idea that he was so speedily to go to his long home.

And does this consideration lose its force when, by such a sentence as that before us, the members of a family are not, as it were, individually and one by one, but alto

Are they

gether, and in one sweeping summons, called to pass from the shadows of time to the dread realities of the eternal world? Is there not an awful voice to families in this short, solemn note of death-Joseph died, and all his brethren"? With their loves and hatreds, their fears and hopes, their family affections, such as they were, their family sins-they are all gone from this earth, and the place that once knew them knows them no more. And whither are they gone? And what are their views now, and what their feelings, on the matters which formed the subject of their familiar intercourse here? Are they united in the region of blessedness above? formed again into a society in heaven, more happy and more stable than was their household on earth-Joseph and his brethren, the beloved Benjamin and the aged Jacob, all met in joy, to part no more for ever? Or is there a fearful separation, and are there some of their number on the other side of the great gulf,-vainly regretting the time when they would not cast in their lot with those who were faithful to their father's God? We dare not raise the curtain, or gaze even in imagination on the mysterious secrets of the invisible state. It is enough that they are all dead, and have left the many things about which they were careful, and have all now at last learned the lesson-" One thing is needful."

O would to God that the anticipation of the time when, concerning us and those with whom we are dwelling together in families, the final and summary record shall be, that we are dead and all our brethren, were sufficient to teach us that lesson now, ere it be too late! O that

God himself would persuade us now so to cultivate the charities of home, in the spirit and the hope of heaven, that to us and our brethren may be applied, in their highest and holiest and happiest sense, the words of David's lamentation over the father and son who fell together in the fight" They were lovely and pleasant in their lives, and in their death they were not divided!" So "Joseph died, and all his brethren"

III. "And all that generation." The tide of mortality rolls on in a wider stream. It sweeps into the one vast ocean of eternity all the members of a family,—all the families of a race. The distinctions alike of individuals and of households are lost. Every landmark is laid low. The various dates and manners of different departures are merged and overwhelmed in the one universal announcement, that of all who at one given time existed on the earth, not one remains-Joseph is dead, and all his brethren, and all that generation. Some are gone in tender years of childhood, unconscious of life's sins and sufferings—some in grey-headed age, weighed down by many troubles. Some have perished by the hand of violence-some by natural decay. Here is one smitten in an instant to the dust-there is another, the victim of slow and torturing disease. The strong man and the weak -the proud man and the beggar-the king and the subject-whether in prosperity and nursed by friends, or in dreary and desolate destitution, without a friend or brother to close the anxious eye-all are gone. The thousands

have met their doom from a thousand different causes, and