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changed their course; but tells them over, each in its accustomed place, from morning until night, from his youth to hoary old age. His reason rises but a little above the ox that grazes the field; and so weak is his memory, that he scarcely remembers the name that his mother called him by. And so untaught is his judgment, that what plays fantastically along the swamp at evening, clad in a robe of fiery hue, he thinks to be the devil in disguise, and flies with quivering heart and winged footsteps to his home. Of the word philosophy, or science, he never heard; nor did he ever hear of liberty, necessity, or the laws of gravitation; and he never had an unbelieving doubt. He never looked beyond his native valley; but thinks that the visible line, that girts him round, is the extreme of the world; and thinks that the silver moon, that on each night leads over him her virgin host, is no broader than his father's shield. He lives, lives where his father lived; and will die, where he died. He lives happy, and will die happy, and be saved. Be not surprised. He loves and serves his God.

There is another man, of a large understanding, of an infinite memory, of a deep judgment; one who knows all learning, and knows all science; and who can trace all phenomena, in heaven and in earth, to their causes. He traces the labyrinths of thought, of association, of passion, and of will; and all the subtle and nice affinities of matter, its virtues, its motions, and its laws, he traces; and he talks most familiarly and deeply of things, whether mental, moral, natural, or divine. Leaving the earth at his will, he soars to heaven, and reads the glorious visions of the skies; and listens intelligently to the music of the rolling_spheres; and gazing far back into the awful depths of Deity, he does all that the most assisted mind can do. And yet, this man lives in misery, and in misery will he die; because he wants a holiness of heart.

And now do you again seek the reason of these things? Of this wide disparity of mind and mind in man? I again answer. That in this, a deeper lesson is taught to mortals, and the branches of their pride are nearer cut. That God places excellence, not in mental, but in moral worth ; and only to the good, and to virtue alone, does he grant happiness.

Then let us admire the goodness of Almighty God. He hath given riches, he hath given intellectual strength, to few; and therefore he commands none to be either rich, or learned. Nor doth he promise a reward of peace to these. But on all, he hath bestowed moral worth, and he asks a moral tribute from all. And who is there, that cannot pay? Who is born so poor, or of so mean an intellect, as not to know what seems the best; and when he knows, is not able to do it? As not to know what his God, and his conscience, bid; and what they bid, is not able to obey? And he, who acts thus, fulfils the eternal law, and will reap its promise of peace. He will find peace this way alone. He, who seeks it otherwise, will seek mellow grapes beneath the icy pole; will seek blooming roses on the cheek of death; will seek for substance in a world of fleeting shades.

Thus does it appear, beyond any lingering of a doubt, that God is not delighted, nor is his peace secured, with any degree of natural, or mental wealth. And that in neither natural, nor mental wealth, is found human happiness, or human grandeur. And that the thought were monstrous, and will surely prove vain, to endeavour, with any thing of an earthly sort, with any thing but God, with any thing but moral excellence, and truth, and love, to satisfy and fill the immortal soul.


1. Love God, love truth, love virtue, and be happy. These were the words first uttered in the ear of every being, that was made rational, and made accountable for his thoughts, words, and deeds. And still these terms remain unchanged, and unchangeable; unchanged as God, who in his own essential nature eternally binds happiness to virtue, nor lets them part through all his universe.

The Christian faith, which best knows the heart of man, sends him thither, to his own heart, for peace; and thus declares: Whoever finds it, let him find it there; and whoever finds it not there, let him forever seek it in vain.

True happiness has no localities, no provincial tones, no peculiar garb. Where Duty goes, she goes, and she goes with Justice, with Meekness, with Charity, and with Love. Wherever a tear is dried, a wounded heart bound up, a bruised spirit anointed with the dew of sympathy, or a pang of honest suffering is soothed, or an oft repeated injury as often forgiven by love; wherever an evil passion is subdued, or the feeble embers of virtue are fanned; wherever a sin is heartily abjured and left; wherever a pious act is done, or a pious prayer is breathed, or a pious wish is wished; there is a high and holy place, a spot of sacred light, a most religious temple, where Happiness, descending, will sit and smile.

2. It is, we own, a subject of much debate, and worthy men stand on the opposing sides, Whether the cup of mortal life has in it more of sweet or sour? This is a vain question, when asked in general terms, and worthy to be left unsolved. If the most is sour, the drinker, and not the cup, is to be blamed. Each person in himself possesses the means to turn the bitter into sweet, and the sweet into bitter. Hence, from out of the self-same fountain, one drinks nectar, and another draughts of gall. Hence, from the self-same quarter of the sky, one sees ten thousand angels look and smile; and another sees as many demons frown. One hears discord, where another's ear is inclined to harmony. The sweet is in the taste, the beauty in the eye, and in the ear is the melody; and in the man himself. for God has laid upon no one a necessity of sinning - is the power to form the taste, to purify the eye, and to tune the ear, so that all he tastes, all he sees, and all he hears, may be harmonious, and sweet, and fair. Whoever will, may groan; whoever will, may sing for joy.

3. Another question is not seldom debated, Whether, in the joys and pleasures of this world, the righteous man, or the sinner, has the greatest share, and which relishes them the most? Truth thus gives the answer, and gives it distinctly, without need of long reasoning: The righteous


For what of earthly growth, that is worthy the

name of good, is he denied? Truth answers, Nothing. Has he not appetites, and sense, and will? May he not eat, if Providence allows, the finest of the wheat? May he not drink the choicest wine? True, he is temperate; but is ever temperance a foe to peace? May he not rise, and clothe himself in gold; and ascend, and stand in the palaces of kings? True, he is honest still, and charitable; but are these virtues foes to human peace? May he not do exploits, and gain a name? Most true, he treads not down a fellow's right, nor walks up to a throne on skulls of men; but are justice and mercy ever foes to peace? Has he not friendships, and loves, and smiles, and hopes? Do not there sit around his table sons and daughters? Is not his ear pleased with music? his eye with light? his nostrils with perfumes? and his lips with pleasant relishes? Do not his herds grow? Does not the rain fall upon his meadows? Does he not reap his harvests? And does not his heart revel, at his will, unconfined through all the charities and sympathies of nature? And are not all these sweetened and sanctified by the dews of holiness, which are shed from above? May he not walk through the airy halls of Fancy? May he not survey the ample page of History? May he not, finally, explore the depths of mental, moral, natural, and divine Philosophy? But why thus enumerate? One word is enough. There is no joy in all created things, no drop of sweet, that turns not in the end to sour, of which the righteous man does not partake; and partake, invited by the voice of God, by his Father's voice, who gives him all his heart's desire. And over the sinner, the Christian, whether he be the noble or the peasant, the novice or the philosopher, has still this one more advantage; that when his earthly pleasures fail — and fail they always do to every soul of man - he sends his hopes on high, looks up, and reaches his sickle forth, and reaps the fields of heaven, and plucks the clusters from the vines of God.





IN THE Days of the Kings, there was in Samaria a wicked king, who had a very wicked wife. They lived about nine hundred years before the Messiah's Advent. The king's name was Ahab. The queen's name was Jezebel. And they had a poor, but pious neighbour, whose name was Naboth. Naboth had a little vineyard, in Jezreel, hard by the king's palace. And Ahab spake unto his neighbour Naboth, saying, Give me thy vineyard, that I may have it for a garden of herbs, because it is near unto mine house; and I will give thee for it a better vineyard than it; or, if it seem good to thee, I will give thee the worth of it in money. This vineyard was near Jezebel's palace, and the king, thinking it would be a pretty addition to his grounds, set his heart upon it; he must have it for his own. And he made a fair proposal for it, had it been lawful for Naboth to have sold the vineyard; but the law forbade the Israelites to sell or alienate any ground, except in extraordinary cases, and then only until the year of jubilee. And Naboth said to Ahab, The Lord forbid it me, that I should give the inheritance of my fathers unto thee. He esteemed it to be, not only unlawful, but injurious and dishonourable to his successors, to part with the vineyard. And Ahab went into his house heavy and displeased, because Naboth would

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