afterward, that he loved a woman in the valley of Sorek, whose name was Delilah. unlucky amours. Let us ponder a little on the history of these A sketch of the wars and vicissitude of passion is of more interest, than the narrative of a battle, or a siege, or the annals of empire. To display a striking, as well as useful contrast, it may be correct to view Sampson, before he entered the gates of Gaza, and after his acquaintance with two bad women. His first was by no means a love adventure. It was in the style of chivalry, without a damsel. Lurking in the vines of a rude territory, a lion roared against our juvenile hero, who, as it is in a lively manner expressed, rent his ferocious adversary, as he would have rent a kid. A bold encounter, but not half so dangerous as the smiles of the lady in the valley of Sorek. Mcre brute force, however, was not the sole attribute of Sampson. For seven days he tortures the ingenuity of thirty friends to resolve an enigma. He has the palm of wit and the chaplets of victory; by his art he destroys the property, and by his arm, the life of his enemies. Not only the family of his father, Manoah, but the whole circumjacent region must have rung with the praises of this youth of promise; and even indifferent men and abstract reasoners, from such imposing premises, would draw the happiest conclusion. But behold. how, in one hour, so great riches come to nought. Thus far, what a tissue of brilliant achievements do we admire. The next scene is madly mortifying. In the very summary of the ensuing page of his story, what are the humiliating particulars of his downfal? Sampson, the valiant, the witty, and the wise, is the dupe of female jugglers; is enticed; is overcome. In the arms of a "twining Lais" of the Philistines, his supernatural strength melts away. He awakes out of this lethargy of pleasure, and hopes to go out, as at other times, rejoicing in his might. But the energy of his soul is no more. He, whom once nothing could restrain, is bound. He grinds in the prison house, and dwindled into a buffoon, is invested with his motley to amuse the rabble. In the life of this extraordinary personage, it is matter of regretful speculation that the field of honour should be exchanged for the valley of Sorek. Hence an abundant crop of evil. It was not the Philistines; it was impure passion, that extinguished the discernment of Sampson. He never saw any object clearly, after he went to Gaza, and saw an harlot. It is true, he saw Delilah, but, probably, through the obscurity of nocturnal hours. Of her arts, of her perils, he surely had but imperfect vision. Hoodwinked by pleasure, he could not see the seven locks of his head, scattered on the toilet of a wanton. The scissors of a gipsey proved sharper than the sword of enemies; and the flowing hair of the hero, once covered with laurel, is now tortured into meretricious ringlets, or periwigs some pimp in Delilah's antichamber. Genius, said the amiable clergyman, with whom I studied divinity, is invariably connected with strong passions. When men, exquisitely organized, indulge pleasure, it is with that species of fervour, noted in the oriental page; it is with all their hearts, and with all their soul, and with all their strength, and with all their mind. The insensible lounger, the self-engrossed coxcomb may sleep upon the knees of Delilah, and wake again to puny life. But of that opiate of joy, of the golden cup of abomination, which the harlot presents, if you sip, man of feeling, you will "drain the chalice to the lowest and foulest dregs." Keep the high and safe ground; beware of sliding down the slope of pleasure. It conducts you to some vale of Sorek, beneath whose roses are the serpent and the dagger. Go up to Parnassus and see the Muse: an excursion to Gaza to see a mortal beauty is not half so exhilarating. ON HOSPITALITY. "And the old man said, peace be with thee; howsoever let all thy wants lie upon me; only lodge not in the street."-Judges xix. 20. In an early epoch in the Jewish history, in those good natured days, when there was no king in Israel, an enamoured Levite undertook a journey to reclaim a wandering concubine. He had better success than lovers in general, when in pursuit of a false fair. For though she proved wanton, and had forsaken her keeper, yet he found her, at length, not in a bagnio, but in her father's house, and, more wonderful still, willing to return to her first love. This ardent youth, who appears to be a genuine son of Adam, remains five days in high spirits at Bethlehem-Judah, drinking with the courteous father, and courting an agreeable girl, without once reflecting upon her infidelity, or her capricious retreat. He found her once more kind, and as charming as ever, and therefore resolves, in the spirit of a most rational philosophy, not to mar |