of joy?-warm and open my heart to share it with cordial, unenvying rejoicing! Is it the bitter potion of sorrow?-melt my heart with sincerely sympathetic woe! Above all, do thou give me the manly mind, that resolutely exemplifies, in life and manners, those sentiments which I would wish to be thought to possess! The friend of my soul-there may I never deviate from the firmest fidelity, and most active kindness! There may the most sacred, inviolate honor, the most faithful, kindling constancy, ever watch and animate my every thought and imagination! Did you ever meet with the following lines spoken of religion: " "Tis this, my friend, that streaks our morning bright; ""Tis this, that gilds the horror of our night! "When wealth forsakes us, and when friends are few; "When friends are faithless, or when foes pur sue; ""Tis this that wards the blow, or stills the smart, "Disarms affliction, or repels its dart; "Within the breast bids purest raptures rise, "Bids smiling conscience spread her cloudless skies." I met I met with these verses very early in life, and was so delighted with them, that I have them by me, copied at school. I have heard and read a good deal of philosophy, benevolence, and greatness of soul: and when rounded with the flourish of declamatory periods, or poured in the mellifluence of Parnassian measure, they have a tolerable effect on a musical ear; but when all these high-sounding professions are compared with the very act and deed, as it is usually performed, I do not think there is any thing in or belonging to human nature so badly disproportionate. In fact, were it not for a very few of our kind, among whom an honored friend of mine, whom to you, Sir, I will not name, is a distinguished instance, the very existence of magnanimity, generosity, and all their kindred virtues, would be as much a question with metaphysicians as the existence of witchcraft. There is no time when the conscious, thrilling chords of love and friendship give such delight, as in the pensive hours of what Thomson calls Philosophic 66 Philosophic Melancholy." The family of misfortune, a numerous group of brothers and sisters! They need a resting-place to their souls. Unnoticed, often condemned by the world; in some degree, perhaps, condemned by themselves, they feel the full enjoyment of ardent love, delicate tender endearments, mutual esteem, and mutual reliance. In this light I have often admired religion. In proportion as we are wrung with grief, or distracted with anxiety, the ideas of a compassionate Deity, an Almighty Protector, are doubly dear. I have been, this morning, taking a peep through, as Young finely says, "the dark post 66 ern of time long elapsed;" 'twas a rueful prospect! What a tissue of thoughtlessness, weakness, and folly! My life reminded me of a ruined temple. What strength, what proportion in some parts! what unsightly gaps, what prostrate ruins in others! I kneeled down before the Father of Mercies, and said, "Father, I have sinned against Heaven, and in thy sight, and am no "more worthy to be called thy son." I rose, eased, and strengthened. |