proving heaven, are two most substantial sources of happiness. Give me, my Maker, to remember thee! "Give me to feel another's woe ;" and continue with me that dear-lov'd friend that feels with mine.! Your religious sentiments I revere. If you have, on some suspicious evidence, from some lying oracle, learned that I despise or ridicule so sacredly important a matter as real religion, you have much misconstrued your friend. "I am not mad, most noble Festus!"" Have you ever met a perfect character? Do we not sometimes rather exchange faults than get rid of them? For instance: I am perhaps tired with and shocked at a life, too much the prey of giddy inconsistencies and thoughtless follies; by degrees I grow sober, prudent, and statedly pious; I say statedly, because the most unaffected devotion is not at all inconsistent with my first charset. r. I join the world in congratulating myself on the happy change. But let me pry more narrowly into this affair have I, at bottom, any thing of a secret pride in these endowments and emendations? have I nothing of a presbyterian sourness, a hypercritical severity, when I survey my less regular neighbours? In a word, have I missed all those nameless and numberless modifications of indistinct selfishness, which are so near our own eyes, that we can scarce bring them with in our sphere of vision, and which the known spotless cambric of our character bides from the ordiDary observer? My definition of worth is short: truth and humanity respecting our fellow-creatures reverence and humility in the presence of that Being, my Creator and Preserver, and who, I have every reason to believe, will one day be my Judge. The first part of my definition is the creature of unbi assed instinet; the last is the child of after-refeetion. Where I found these two essentials, I would gently note, and slightly mention, any attendant flaws-flaws, the marks, the consequences of humaan nature. How wretched is the condition of one who is haunted with conscious guilt, and trembling under the idea of dreaded vengeance! and what a placid eal, what a charming secret enjoyment it gives, to bosom the kind feelings of friendship and the fond throes of love! Out upon the tempest of an ger, the acrimonious gall of fretful impatience, the sullen frost of lowering resentment, or the corrod ing poison of withered envy! They eat up the immortal part of man! If they spent their fury only on the unfortunate objects of them, it would be something in their favour; but these miserable passions, like traitor Iscariot, betray their lord and master. Thou, Almighty Author of peace, and goodness, and love! do thou give me the social heart that kindly tastes of every man's cup! Is it a draught of joy--warm and open my heart to share it with eordial, unenvying rejoicing! Is it the bitter po tion of sorrow?-melt my heart with sincerely sympathetic woe! Above all, 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, invielate honour, the most faithful, kindling constaney, ver 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 pursue; "Tis this that wards the blow, or stills the smart, Disarms affliction, or repels its dart; Within the breast bids purest raptures rise, 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 eompared with the very act and deed, as it is usu ally 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 honoured friend of mine, whom to you, sir, I will not name, is a disinguished 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 hour of what Thomson calls "Philosophie 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 postern 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 am no more worthy to be called thy son." I rose, eased and strengthened. |