apply with effect to my wounded heart, after I have rejected the aid of the Almighty Physician? Impose upon me whatever hardships you please; give me nothing but the bread of sorrow to eat; take from me the friends in whom I had placed my confidence; lay me in the cold hut of poverty, and on the thorny bed of disease; set death before me in all its terrors, do all this, only let me trust in my Saviour, and "pillow my head on the bosom of Omnipotence," and I will "fear no evil"-I will rise superior to affliction,-"I will rejoice in my tribulation." But, let infidelity interpose between God and my soul, and draw its impenetrable veil over a future state of existence, and limit all my trust to the creatures of a day, and all my expectations to a few years as uncertain as they are short; and how shall I bear up, with fortitude or with cheerfulness, under the burthen of distress? Or, where shall I find one drop of consolation to put into the bitter draught, which has been given me to drink? I look over the whole range of this wilderness in which I dwell; but I see not one covert from the storm, nor one leaf for the healing of my soul, nor one cup of water to refresh me, in the weariness and the faintings of my pilgrimage.

XI.-ON HAPPINESS.-Sterne.

THE great pursuit of man is Happiness: it is the first and strongest desire of his nature;-in every stage of life, he searches for it as for hidden treasure; courts it under a thousand different shapes, and, though perpetually disappointed, still persists; runs after and inquires for it afresh; asks every passenger that comes in his way, "Who will show me any good? who will assist me in the attainment of it, or direct me to the discovery of this great end of all my wishes?"

He is told by one, to search for it among the more gay and youthful pleasures of life, in scenes of mirth and sprightliness, where Happiness ever presides, and is ever to be known by the joy and laughter painted in her looks. A second, with a graver aspect, points to the costly dwellings which Pride and Extravagance have erected; tells the inquirer, that the object he is in search of inhabits there; that Happiness lives only in company with the great, in the midst of much pomp and outward state; that he will easily find her out by the coat of many colours she has on, and the great luxury and expense of equipage and furniture with which she always sits surrounded. The Miser blesses God!-wonders how any one would mis

lead, and wilfully put him upon so wrong a scent-convinces him that Happiness and Extravagance never inhabited under the same roof; that, if he would not be disappointed in his search, he must look into the plain and thrifty dwellings of the prudent man, who knows and understands the worth of money, and cautiously lays it up against an evil hour: that it is not the prostitution of wealth upon the passions, or the parting with it at all, that constitutes happiness-but that it is the keeping it together, and the having and holding it fast to him and his heirs for ever, which are the chief attributes that form this great idol of human worship, to which so much incense is offered up every day.

The Epicure, though he easily rectifies so gross a mistake, yet, at the same time, he plunges him, if possible, into a greater: for, hearing the object of his pursuit to be Happiness, and knowing of no other happiness than what is seated immediately in the senses-be sends the inquirer there; tells him 'tis vain to search elsewhere for it, than where Nature herself has placed it in the indulgence and gratification of the appetites which are given us for that end; and, in a word— if he will not take his opinion on the matter-he may trust the word of a much wiser man, who has assured us, that there is nothing better in this world, than that a man should eat, and drink, and rejoice in his works, and make his soul enjoy good in his labour; for that is his portion.

To rescue him from this brutal experiment, Ambition takes him by the hand, and carries him into the world—shows him all the kingdoms of the earth, and the glory of them-points out the many ways of advancing his fortune, and raising himself to honour-lays before his eyes all the charms and bewitching temptations of power-and asks, if there can be any happiness in this world like that of being caressed, courted, flattered, and followed?

To close all, the Philosopher meets him, bustling in the full career of his pursuit-stops him-tells him, if he is in search of Happiness, he is gone far out of his way; that this deity has long been banished from noise and tumults, where there was no rest found for her, and was fled into solitude, far from all commerce of the world; and, in a word, if he would find her, he must leave this busy and intriguing scene, and go back to the peaceful scene of retirement and of books.

In this circle, too often does a man run,-tries all experiments, and, generally, sits down wearied and dissatisfied with them all, in utter despair of ever accomplishing what he wants;

not knowing what to trust after so many disappointments, nor where to lay the fault-whether in the incapacity of his own nature, or the insufficiency of the enjoyments themselves.

XII-ON THE APPROACHES OF DEATH.-Logan.

DEATH is called, in Scripture, the land without any order; and, without any order, the king of terrors makes his approaches in the world. The commission given from on high, was, "Go nto the world; strike!-strike so, that the dead may alarm the living!" Hence it is, that we seldom see men running the full career of life; growing old among their children's children, and then falling asleep in the arms of nature, as in the embraces of a kind mother; coming to the grave like a shock of corn fully ripe, like flowers that shut up at the close of day. Death walks through the world without any order. He delights to surprise-to give a shock to mankind. Hence, he leaves the wretched to prolong the line of their sorrows, and cuts off the fortunate in the midst of their career: he suffers the aged to survive himself, to outlive life, to stalk about, the ghost of what he was; and he aims his arrow at the heart of the young, who puts the evil day far from him. He delights to see the feeble carrying the vigorous to the grave, and the father building the tomb of his children. Often, when his approaches are least expected, he bursts at once upon the world, like an earthquake in the dead of night, or thunder in the serenest sky. All ages and conditions he sweeps away without distinction ;-the young man, just entering into life, high in hope, elated with joy, and promising to himself a length of years; the father of a family, from the embraces of his wife and children; the man of the world, when his designs are ripening to execution, and the longexpected crisis of enjoyment seems to approach. These and all others are hurried promiscuously off the stage, and laid without order in the common grave. Every path in the world leads to the tomb, and every hour in life hath been to some the last hour.

Without order, too, is the manner of death's approach. The king of terrors wears a thousand forins. Pains and diseasesa numerous and a direful train-compose his host. Marking out unhappy man for their prey, they attack the seat of life, or the seat of understanding; hurry him off the stage in an instant, or make him pine by slow degrees,-blasting the bloom of life, or waiting till the decline: according to the

pathetic picture of Solomon, "They make the strong men bow themselves, and the keepers of the house tremble; bring the daughters of music low; darken the sun, and the moon, and the stars; scatter fears in the way, and make desire itself to fail,-until the silver chord be loosed, and the golden bowl be broken; when the dust returns to the dust, and the spirit ascends to the God who gave it."

Man was made after the image of God; and the human form divine, the seat of so many heavenly faculties, graces, and virtues, exhibits a temple not unworthy of its Maker. Men, in their collective capacity, and united as nations, have displayed a wide field of exertion and of glory. The globe hath been covered with monuments of their power, and the voice of history transmits their renown from one generation to another. But when we pass from the living world to the dead, what a sad picture do we behold!—the fall and desolation of human nature, the ruins of man, the dust and ashes of many generations scattered over the earth! The high and the low, the mighty and the mean, the king and the cottager, lie blended together, without any order! A few feet of earth contain the ashes of him who conquered the globe; the shadows of the long night stretch over all alike: the monarch of disorder, the great leveller of mankind, lays all on the bed of clay in equal meanness! In the course of time, the land of desolation becomes still more desolate; the things that were, become as if they had never been. Babylon is a ruin, her heroes are dust; not a trace remains of the glory that shone over the earth, and not a stone to tell where the master of the world is laid! Such, in general, is the humiliating aspect of the tomb but let us take a nearer view of the house appointed for all living.

Man sets out in the morning of his day, high in hope, and elated with joy. The most important objects to him, are the companions of his journey. They set out together in the career of life, and, after many mutual endearments, walk hand in hand through the paths of childhood and of youth. It is with a giddy recollection we look back on the past, when we consider the number and nature of those, whom unforeseen disaster and the hand of destiny have swept from our side. The friends whom we knew, and valued, and loved; our companions in the path of life; the partners of our tender hours, with whom we took sweet counsel, and walked in company to the house of God,-have passed to the land of forgetfulness, and have no more connexion with the living world.

Low lies the head that was once crowned with honour. Silent is the tongue to whose accents we surrendered up the soul, and to whose language of friendship and affection we wished to listen for ever. Beamless is the eye, and closed in night, which looked serenity, and sweetness, and love. The face that was to us as the face of an angel, is mangled and deformed. The heart that glowed with the purest fire, and beat with the best affections, is now become a clod of the valley.

But shall it always be so? If a man die, shall he live again? Have the wise and the worthy, the pious and the pure, the generous and the just, the great and the good; the excellent ones of the earth, who, from age to age have shone brighter than the stars of heaven,-withdrawn into the shade of anni. hilation, and set in darkness to rise no more? No:-while the dust returns to the earth as it was, the spirit shall return unto God who gave it.

XIII. THE MOST EXTENSIVE WEALTH NOT PRODUCTIVE OF

ENJOYMENT.-Jeremy Taylor.

SUPPOSE a man gets all the world, what is it that he gets? It is a bubble and a phantasm, and hath no reality beyond a present transient use; a thing that is impossible to be enjoyed, because its fruits and usages are transmitted to us by parts and by succession. He that hath all the world (if we can suppose such a man) cannot have a dish of fresh summer fruits in the midst of winter, not so much as a green fig: and very much of its possessions is so hid, so fugacious, and of so uncertain purchase, that it is like the riches of the sea to the lord of the shore; all the fish and wealth within all its hollownesses are his, but he is never the better for what he cannot get; all the shell-fishes that produce pearls, produce them not for him; and the bowels of the earth hide her treasures in undiscovered retirements; so that it will signify as much to this great proprietor, to be entitled to an inheritance in the upper region of the air: he is so far from possessing all its riches, that he does not so much as know of them, nor understand the philosophy of its minerals.

I consider that he who is the greatest possessor in the world, enjoys its best and most noble parts, and those which are of most excellent perfection, but in common with the inferior persons, and the most despicable of his kingdom. Can the greatest prince enclose the sun, and set one little star in his