God is the Father of the fatherless, the hufband of the widow, the friend of the friendlefs, and the fure guardian of all fuch as have none to help them! An inward ftrength is fupplied to him, who, in the midst of mifery, abounds in faith and indulges hope. True religion poffeffes a power refembling that of oil poured on the troubled fea. It smooths the waves to a glaffy expanse of limpid water. True religion poffeffes a power like that attributed by the antient mythologists to a certain king, by which he was enabled to turn all he touched into folid gold. It is the panacea, the anodyne of woe, the vulnerary, the univerfal medicine of mental disease.

Wife then are thofe parents, who, among the accomplishments which they folicitously seek for their children, forget not to furnish them with a balfam, which they may bear in their own bofoms, and which will gently affuage that pain and anguish to which, like every mortal, they may one day be expofed. How vain and fhort-fighted are others, who, anxiously wishing to promote the future happiness of their offspring, engage their whole attention in cultivating those arts alone, which contribute to the acquifition or fecurity of a little

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little worldly pelf, and the decoration of a perishable body?

We have seen that the pious and faithful Christian finds comfort under extreme misery, in falling down before the God of

mercy; but what shall confole him who lives without God in the world, who has no God to fall down before, under thofe fufferings and misfortunes, which will undoubtedly be his portion at fome period of his life, probably at the laft period when he is least able to bear them? He scorns to bend his ftubborn knee, and to lift up his heart in prayer; for he has been taught to confider all religion as a mode of fuperftition, as prieftcraft, as an engine of ftate, as the folly of dotards. On what then can he depend?

On what? on himself! This poor, fhivering, fhort-lived, helplefs animal called Man, depends upon himself, and defies his Maker. Proud of his own scanty reason, proud of the little fcience he has been able to collect, he doubts not, but that his own fkill will be able to extricate him from every difficulty, and that his own ftrength will fupport him whenever he is affaulted by calamity. Poor mortal, how little does he know of his own na

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ture!

ture! nothing is more wretched and infirm than a man abandoned to his own guidance, without the grace of God. And how, indeed, does this proud boafter fupport himself? After all his arrogant pretenfions, he is like a babe in leading ftrings, forfaken by its nurse. Confult experience. Does he not vent his rage and grief in the bittereft expreffions of refentment, in curfing, and in blafpheming? Is not his heart torn with the conflict of violent paffions, when all should be still and ferene? See him ftretched all pale and languid, on the bed of fickness; horror and dismay mark his bloodless countenance; he loves neither God nor man, he trufts in neither. Does not his fury often end in real madnefs? Do not the piftol, the dagger, or the poifoned cup, too frequently close the melancholy scene of aggravated mifery? He gnashes with his teeth, curfes God, curfes man, dies, and makes no fign of grace!

He falls; but he falls, not ripe like a fhock of corn, or like fruit come to maturity. He falls by his own hand, and hopes for that peace which the world and its vanities could not

bestow, in the grave. To become as though he had never been, is the greatest bleffing to this heroic philofopher, this liberal-minded

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man,

man, this enlightened defpifer of the Holy Trinity, who dares to ftrip our Saviour of all fhare of the divine nature, to blafpheme the Holy Ghoft, his fanctifier, and to caft Jefus, his redeemer, from the throne of heaven! To be as though he had never been, is the ultimate hope of this enlightened, this selfapplauding philofopher! How gloomy, dreary, forlorn, and difmal, are all his views in life! Little does he know of that health of mind, that ferene cheerfulness, that divine complacency, which fooths the refigned Chriftian; who, whenever his foul has a tendency to be difquieted within him, refolves to hope in God; and in confequence of his firm reliance, finds the light of God's countenance beaming upon him with the most animating warmth and the brightest illumination; like the day-spring from on high, chafing away the shades of night. He ftands as a rock in the fea; the waves beat on its bafe, but eternal funshine fettles on its head.

But in what manner do the greater part endeavour to fubdue the fenfe of their afflictions? By eagerly running into amufements and diverfions of every kind, the most puerile and nugatory. Diffipation of mind is their only refource. They refolve not to THINK, they determine

determine not to FEEL; but can they keep their refolution? Dreadful, I fear, are the intervals of their diverfions. They do, indeed, continue to drive away reflection, during the noisy mirth of feftivity, or the dazzling scenes of fashionable gaiety; but neither the noise nor the glitter can continue always without intermiffion. At night, when they lay their heads on their pillows, ferious thoughts will fpontaneously obtrude themfelves, however unwelcome, and become the more importunate as they have been the more. obftinately refifted. Imagination can with difficulty conceive a more diftreffing fituation, than that of him who has spent the whole day in running away from himself, but is obliged, at the close of it, to meet the phantom which has haunted him, and which, by the help of company and diffipation, he has escaped, till the bell announces the midnight hour. Silent is the voice of mirth, which lately re-echoed through the palace of pleafure. The musical inftruments fleep. The wine no longer gives its colour in the cup. The lamps which dazzled him with the brightness of their luftre, and charmed with the variegated colours of the rainbow, are extinguished. All is ftill and dark. And now the miferable

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