that it bids nobody quit the enjoyment of any one thing that his reason can prove to him ought to be enjoyed. 'Tis confessed, when, through the cross circumstances of a man's temper or condition, the enjoyment of a pleasure would certainly expose him to a greater inconvenience, then religion bids him quit it; that is, it bids him prefer the endurance of a lesser evil before a greater, and nature itself does no less. Religion, therefore, entrenches upon none of our privileges, invades none of our pleasures it may, indeed, sometimes command us to change, but never totally to abjure them.

SUNRISE IN THE WOODS.

[William Gilpin, an English traveller and essay writer, Vicar of Boldre and Prebendary of Salisbury,

born at Carlisle, 1724, died 1804, was the author of the

ological and biographical works, and works on the Picturesque in Landscape Scenery and Gardening, etc.,

in a Series of Tours and Essays, with 187 aquatinta en

gravings, London, 11 vols., comprising the following:

The River Wye, 1782; The Lake Country, 1789; Observations on Picturesque Beauty, 1778, etc.; Forest Scenery, 1791; Essay on Prints and Early Engravings, 1798; West

ern Parts of England and Isle of Wight, 1798; Coasts of

Hampshire, Sussex, and Kent.

"Gilpin has described in several justly-esteemed

tours the Picturesque Beauties of Great Britain. . .

All his works abound with ingenious reflections, proper

to enrich the theory of the arts and to guide the practice of them."-Biog. Universelle.]

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catching lights which touch the summits of every object, and the mistiness in which the rising orb is commonly enveloped.

The effect is often pleasing when the sun rises in unsullied brightness, diffusing its ruddy light over the upper parts of objects, which is contrasted by the deeper shadows below; yet the effect is then only transcendent when he rises accompanied by a train of vapors in a misty atmosphere. Among lakes and mountains this happy accompaniment often forms the most astonishing visions, and yet in the forest it is nearly as great. With what delightful effect do we sometimes see the sun's disk just appear above a woody hill, or, in Shakspeare's language,

Stand tiptoe on the misty mountain's top,

and dart his diverging rays through the rising vapor. The radiance, catching the tops of the trees as they hang midway and there a few other prominent objects, upon the shaggy steep, and touching here imperceptibly mixes its ruddy tint with it were, their upper parts, while their the surrounding mists, setting on fire, as lower skirts are lost in a dark mass of varied confusion, in which trees, and ground, and radiance, and obscurity are all blended together. When the eye is fortunate enough to catch the glowing instant (for it is always a vanishing scene), it furnishes an idea worth treasuring among the choicest appearances of nature. Mistiness alone, we have observed, occasions a confusion in objects which is often picturesque; but the glory of the vision depends on the glowing lights which are mingled with it.

The first dawn of day exhibits a beautiful obscurity. When the east begins just to brighten with the reflections only of effulgence, a pleasing, progressive light, Landscape painters, in general, pay too dubious and amusing, is thrown over the little attention to the discriminations of face of things. A single ray is able to morning and evening. We are often at a assist the picturesque eye, which by such loss to distinguish in pictures the rising slender aid creates a thousand imaginary from the setting sun, though their characforms, if the scene be unknown, and as ters are very different, both in the lights the light steals gradually on, is amused by and shadows. The ruddy lights, indeed, correcting its vague ideas by the real of the evening are more easily distinobjects. What, in the confusion of twi-guished, but it is not perhaps always light, perhaps, seemed a stretch of rising ground, broken into various parts, becomes now vast masses of wood and an extent of forest.

As the sun begins to appear above the horizon, another change takes place. What was before only form, being now enlightened, begins to receive effect. This effect depends on two circumstances-the

sufficiently observed that the shadows of the evening are much less opaque than those of the morning. They may be brightened, perhaps, by the numberless rays floating in the atmosphere, which are incessantly reverberated in every direction, and may continue in action after the sun is set; whereas in the morning the rays of the preceding day having subsided, no