feebled by the continued effort to wear a face of pleasure with a heart of pain.

Neither can he derive peace from pursuits of a literary nature. These may enliven his solitude, and cheer his darkest hours, when held in subservience to objects of greater importance. They present a fund of pleasure which will never cloy-an amusement which provides the capacity for its enjoyment, as well as the source whence it is derived; and which is constantly increasing with every fresh acquisition of knowledge. The mind of the man of taste is strengthened and refreshed by reading; and the sources of his pleasure are augmented by a thousand associations of which another is incapable: and the more amply this taste is indulged, the greater will be his sensibility, the more multiplied and lasting will be his gratifications. Yet these pursuits are insufficient; for the time will arrive when they can no longer be enjoyed: the mind becomes fatigued from constant exercise; it loses its elasticity, and consequent power of action, from unremitting exertion, and is no longer capable of receiving pleasure from its appropriate stimuli. A period of rest and relaxation is required, and where now will be found a refuge from the inroads of grief? What can quiet the troubled bosom during the sleepless night? What can give peace to the agitated

heart, through the wearisome days of indisposition, or divert those cares which rob the mind of its power to enjoy literary pleasure? Some other source of comfort must be devised; and yet there is none to which a rational being can resort for certain consolation. When his books fail of affording pleasure, (and they must fail, from the alliance of the powers of the soul with mortality, and its consequent susceptibility of fatigue and exhaustion,) he has no refuge.

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But the mourner may seek for happiness in the domestic pleasures which are still left him. And yet, with the late instructive lesson full in his memory, of the uncertainty of domestic happiness, it would be the extreme of folly to look for comfort from a source so frail, which a moment may destroy. Depending on the continuance of the slender thread of life, which the motion of an atom may divide, and on an absolute freedom, in the social circle, from the slightest cause of infelicity, the foundation of domestic happiness has been undermined: and when the sufferer reflects, that perhaps only yesterday he was gratulating himself on the unclouded sunshine of his days, cheered and animated by that sun to his domestic system, which has now suffered an eternal eclipse, he cannot surely rest in this as a source of consolation. He may indeed rejoice in the comforts

he has left, but he will not seek them for solid peace of mind. Thus is he taught the impossibility of the world's affording him happiness; he learns that the fascinating pursuits of literature will not procure his freedom from the inroads of care; and is guarded from estimating too highly, and placing his affections too intensely, on his yet remaining comforts.

Whither, then, must he flee for rest and peace? He is not left without comfort and without hope, destitute of support and consolation, a prey to hopeless sorrow! For there is a voice, saying, "I am with you always: I will not leave you comfortless. Peace I leave with you, my peace I give unto you: not as the world giveth, give I unto you.' ."* Religion is the only source of solid peace. When, and only when we enjoy these comforts, can we be happy in appealing to Heaven. Without a direct reference to the Holy Spirit, the Comforter, as the author of serenity, we shall be unhappy: but if we trust in him alone for support, we shall be little anxious about coming events, for we shall be possessed of that better part which can never be taken from us. Come, then, to this source of every blessing, and with humble faith implore the Divine Majesty for rest in him; pray for patience

* Matt, xxviii. 20; John xiv. 27.

and resignation to his chastening hand, and entreat deliverance in his time only, and with entire submission to the guidance and disposal of Infinite Wisdom. Leaving yourself in his hands, you will be secure; your mind will be freed from corroding anxieties, and filled with that peace which passeth understanding.

Another important lesson may be derived from this affliction, viz. the folly of placing our dependence on earthly comforts, and seeking happiness from any objects which do not raise our thoughts and affections far beyond the present passing scene. We are feelingly reminded that the comforts we enjoy are not our own, that they belong to God, that they are the product of his bounty; and that as he is almighty to bestow his blessings, so is he all-wise to withdraw them for his own glory, or for our benefit. Mortality is stamped upon every enjoyment. A single moment may dissipate all our fairy scenes of happiness, and leave us without one ray of hope or comfort to be derived from inferior objects. God is our refuge during the storms of sorrow; and since he is likewise the Author of every blessing, would it not be wiser to rejoice in him, as our sun and shield, to protect us from danger during the hours of prosperity, and to guide our wandering feet?

If our affections were but fixed half so ear

nestly on the Author and Giver of every good and perfect gift, as they too frequently are exclusively on the gift itself, we should little fear the cares and troubles of life; and our happiness would be established on a basis which death itself could not impair. But until mortality shall be exchanged for everlasting life, we shall carry about with us the evil tendencies of the heart; and these will incline us from God, and fix our hearts on earthly objects and pursuits. Yet we should learn not to dote too intensely on the comforts we still enjoy, not to love these the more inordinately because we have fewer objects to engage our attention; since this would be to defeat the great end of affliction, which is to wean our hearts from this world and its idols.

The human mind is naturally disposed to expand its feeble powers in the exercise of benevolence to the creature simply, and to rest with delight on the objects which immediately surround it, rather than on God. Nor is this surprising for, to love those with whom reciprocal acts of kindness are exchanged, requires no effort it is natural, as to hunger or thirst; and the mind is restless and uneasy, unless engaged with its favourite pursuit. But to love God, and to prefer him, requires the habitual exercise of a superinduced principle, a principle of faith, a principle totally adverse to the bias