troversy; and, in a spirit of captious sophistry, which would disgrace the most illiberal of mankind, cavil at every chapter of his life. Instead of being run after by admiring thousands, instead of witnessing a multitude banqueting at his table, instead of being surrounded with obsequious guests, and fawning dependents, he finds himself on a sudden in the dismal company of solitude and contempt. The same gust of adversity, which had made a wreck of his fortune and his peace, had blown away all his friends, connexions and companions too, and on a raging ocean he finds himself joyless, and alone, and on the very gulf of despair.

Like April skies, life is coquetish, capricious, and changeable. Prosperity and adversity often succeed each other, like the vicissitudes of day and night. The unhappy sufferer, whom we have just left in an abyss of misfortunes, suddenly emerges, by the favour of Divine Providence, and his last days are fairer than the first. Having exercised a patience unparalleled, and displayed a conscience void of offence, his integrity is justly and graciously requited by a most magnificent reward. His fortune was doubled, and his family favoured. Honours and gifts

C

await him. But is it necessary for me to record, with the minuteness of an annalist, this second epoch in this good man's history? Is it not already indicated, as it were with a pen of diamond, by the circumstance in the text? Is it not clear, as noontide beams, that our patient hero must have gained his rank in society, and become "a prosperous gentleman," before his brethren and his sisters, and all they that had been of his acquaintance before, would come and eat bread with him, and bemoan him and comfort him? During the gloomy season of his sufferings, we do not hear one syllable of these sunshine friends. Lover and friend were not put far away, but kept far away. No brother nor sister, nor old acquaintance, nor grateful friend, nor pampered guest, nor faithful servant, ever dreamed of visiting Job in poverty and affliction. Suddenly fortune smiles, and who then more smiling than the servile and parasitical followers of Fortune? The indigent Job is alone, the affluent Job is overwhelmed with the civilities of crowds. Not only his family friends and domestic retainers are officious in their visits, but every man gave him a piece of

1

money, and every one an ear-ring of gold. As Jaques in the play finely remarks,

-They made a testament

As worldlings do, giving their sum of more
To that, which had too much-

There was a time, when Job sat down among the ashes, that, so far from receiving money gratuitously, he could not have borrowed a piece of silver, no not on usury. But when his coffers and caskets are once more replenished, all the gold of the Orientals is showered upon

him.

Having incidently alluded to a passage in the immortal Shakspeare, I cannot refrain from recommending to my classical readers, the perusal, in connexion with my text, of that admirable drama, Timon of Athens. The story of this prodigal nobleman, compared with that of the patient Job, deserted by his friends, at his utmost need, and courted by them, during a reverse of fortune, will present such a picture of human nature, as neither Hobbes nor Mandeville would hope to emulate with the hardest pencils and the darkest colouring.

PAUL'S VOYAGE TO ROME.

"Now, when much time was spent, and when sailing was now dangerous, Paul admonished them, and said unto them, Sirs, I perceive that this voyage will be with hurt and much damage, not only of the lading and ship, but also of our lives. Nevertheless, the centurion believed the master and the owner of the ship, more than those things, which were spoken by Paul.”—Acts xvii. 9, 10,

11.

THIS affectionate admonition so modestly, so courteously, so benignantly expressed, claimed and deserved all the centurion's regard. But this appeal, both to the reason and the passions of a Roman soldier was ineffectual. The warning voice of sagacity, the counsel of prudence, and even the silver tones of eloquence itself, neither convinced nor persuaded vulgar obstinacy. Why? "Because the centurion believed the master and the owner of the ship, more than those things, which were spoken by Paul.".

The genius of foreknowledge herself personified by an apostle, rears her aspiring form on the Cretan strand, and darts her eyes of keenness across the Adriatic gulf. She sees, in the gloomy distance, every image of night, and tempest, and terror; she sees the shattered mast, and hears the howl of the tempest, and the shrieks of the mariner. She exclaims in her most friendly voice to the centurion and his companions: Beware, my Julius, beware my brethren, weigh not anchor, winter at Crete, unfurl no sail, till genial spring time come, and south winds softly blow.

Is it possible that men will not listen to such a monitor? Is the deaf adder always an emblem of human perverseness, which will not hearken to the voice of the charmer, charming ever so wisely? Yes, it seems to be a characteristic of our nature,often to treat with contemptuous neglect, advice the most salutary, and prophesyings the most authentic, and to rush with desperate zeal, hoodwinked, to perdition.

But I shall not detain my readers with moralizing, which they may think dulness, when it is in my power to describe a voyage, which I am sure they will pronounce entertaining.