“Not the _same_,” replied Willy Thorn; “the boy could not retrace one step of his way. No moment of time can ever be recalled. Every opportunity of doing good once past, whatever others may arise, _that_ opportunity is past for ever!
“‘I shall meet with more maidens,’ said the boy. ‘I see an endless number before me; doubtless they carry vases as precious as those which I have rejected.’ But even as he spoke the words, he came suddenly on a black iron gate, and he could pass on no further. Shuddering, he read on the gate the solemn word, DEATH!
“Then would he gladly have turned round: then would he have earnestly asked for one more _opportunity_ for prayer—one more _opportunity_ of doing what is right; but _the last had been passed_—he had slighted the treasure of the _last_! Nor can we despise opportunities, and not suffer for doing so; if they offer the vase, they also carry the punishment meet for those who neglect its contents. As the boy stood trembling at the gate of Death, a dart came hissing through the air, and inflicted on him a burning wound: then came another and another; every opportunity despised sent its messenger of vengeance, and the wretched boy, writhing with the arrows of conscience in his soul, sank down at the gate, _and perished_!”
“Alas!” cried Harry, “where can I then find safety, for _I_ have neglected more opportunities than I can number of _doing good_ and _receiving good_?”
“Ask the Lord for pardon through the blood of the Saviour!” exclaimed Thorn. “‘_Now is the accepted time, now is the day of salvation_;’ neglect not _this_ opportunity—_it may be your last_! O my young friend! no day leaves you as it found you; every day brings its _opportunities_ of _prayer_, _praise_, _reading the Bible_, and _obeying God’s laws_; every day you have chosen either the vase or the dart.”
Dear reader, to you would I address a few words. If this little story has raised the thought in your heart, “How have _I_ improved my opportunities?” oh, push it not aside and pass on! Let not the day close without prayer; seize the golden prize while yet it is offered to you, or hope not to escape the dart!
As a lady was walking across Hyde Park, rather early in the day, she happened to take her handkerchief out of her pocket, and drew out with it, by accident, a little red case. It fell on the path, and rolled almost to the feet of a poor girl who was standing near. The child was clad in rags, her hair was rough, her face and hands dirty; she was one who had no one to care for her, no one to teach her what was right. Half eager, half afraid, she stretched out her hand to seize the prize, but first turned round to see that she was not observed, and met the eye of the lady.