HAVE you ever heard of the great clock of St. Paul's in London? At midday, in the roar of business, when carriages, and carts, and wagons, and omnibuses, go rolling through the streets, how many never hear the great clock strike unless they live very near it! But when the work of the day is over, and the roar of business passed away—when men are gone to sleep, and silence reigns in London—then at twelve, at one, at two, at three, at four, the sound of that clock is heard for miles around. Twelve! one! two! three! four! How that clock is heard by many a sleepless man! That clock is just like the conscience of the impenitent man. While he is in health and strength and goes on in a whirl of business he will not hear his conscience. He drowns and silences its voice plunging into the world. He will not allow the inner man to speak to him. But the day will come when conscience will be heard, whether he likes it or not. The day will come when its voice will sound in his ears and pierce him like a sword. The time will come when he must retire from the world, and lie down on the sick bed, and look death in the face. And then the clock of conscience, that solemn clock, will sound in his heart.—Sel.