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retrospect of life the keenest anguish, and the prospects of futurity the horrors of despair.

The thoughtless and the gay may perhaps think that the views of Lavinia were enthusiastic or chimerical. But there is no ground for the conclusion. For what is the life of a vast majority of the great, but a scene of voluptuousness and dissipation, of vanity and extravagance ? The affairs of another world, and the moral state of the human heart, are considerations that seldom obstruct their pursuits or interrupt their quiet. I ask, and appeal to the experience and the consciences of those whom Providence has elevated to opulence and splendour, whether, from the moment of introduction into public life, the time allotted by heaven for acts of beneficence and virtue, is not generally spent in conformity to the fashions of the day; in attendance at routs, and balls, and card-tables; in frequenting the opera and the play-house, or in ceremonious visits paid and received frequently without pleasure and without friendship.

But are these pursuits worthy of an immortal mind? Is this a life on which a rational being can seriously reflect without the terrors of dismay ?-yet this is the life of thousands—a life in which are to be found no traces of that purity and perfection once connatural to man; no evidence of compunction for the violation of divine precepts, nor yet of thankfulness for the means by which guilt is expiated, and the trembling delinquent rescued from perdition. Nay, there are not only those who, like Gallio, care for none of these things, but some that openly discard them; who, though their sins be as scarlet,' cavil at the mean by which they might be made white as snow; and though their iniquities have been multiplied without number, revile the hand which

alone can blot them from the register of heaven.' These are they that awake but to eat and to drink; to gratify the lust of the flesh, the lust of the eyes, and the pride of life. God is not in all their thoughts: his ways are always grievous; and through the pride of their countenance they will not seek after him.

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Surely it is unworthy of a reasonable being to spend any of the little time allotted us, without some tendency, either direct or oblique, to the end of our existence. And though every moment cannot be laid out on the formal and regular improvement of our knowledge, or in the stated practice of a moral or religious duty, yet none should be so spent as to exclude wisdom or virtue, or pass without possibility of qualifying us more or less for the better employment of those which are to come.

It is scarcely possible to pass an hour in honest conversation, without being able when we rise from it, to please ourselves with having given or received some advantage; but a man may shuffle cards, or rattle dice, from noon to midnight, without tracing any new idea in his mind, or being able to recollect the day by any other token than his gain or his loss, and a confused remembrance of agitated passions, and clamorous altercations.'

The beneficent Author of our existence has, for the best of purposes, graciously interwoven in our nature an insatiable thirst after happiness. In pursuit of this happiness all descriptions of men are anxiously engaged; and were we to act consistently with our high origin, we should see both the wisdom and the goodness of God, not only in the implantation of this ever-active principle, but in the frustration of every hope that centres in terrestrial enjoyment.

For not in vain, but for the noblest end,
Heaven bids a constant sigh for bliss ascend;
'Tis love divine that moves th' inviting prize
Before, and still before us, to the skies;
Led by our foible forward till we know,
The good which satisfies is not below.'

But ever since the introduction of moral evil into the world, men have changed the object of happiness. They have forsaken the Lord, the fountain of living waters, and have loved and served the creature instead of the Creator. The cry of all is indeed, Who will shew us any good? but it is a good which, if not suited merely to the animal nature, is always confined to the present life, and which, when enjoyed, is ever found inadequate both to our desires and our expectations. The truth is, we form a wrong estimate of this good, and expect from fruition that which it was never designed to communicate: so that by raising our hopes too high, we lose the pleasure which might be lawfully indulged, and then complain of disappointment and vexation, without considering that the fault lay not in the object itself, but in the unwarrantable expectations it was intended to gratify. But, though perpetually foiled on every hand,

Yet still for this we pant, on this we trust,
And dream of happiness allied to dust.

Nothing can quench our thirst for earthly good, nor damp the ardour of pursuit. No suspicion is entertained that the means and the end are at variance. Miscarriage is not ascribed to the real, but to other causes. Happiness, though distant, is still thought attainable; we therefore change the scene, contemplate other objects, equally vain, with fresh rapture; resume the chase with redoubled vigour, pant with ardour for the moment of possession, and if divine goodness do not

interpose, go on from stage to stage till death puts an end to the career of hope, the sinner awakes from his delirium, looks round with horror, and expires!-For

Let changing life be varied as it will,

This weakness still attends, affects us still.
Displeas'd for ever with our present lot,
This we possess, as we possess'd it not:
Put earth's whole globe in wild ambitiou's power,
O'er one poor world she'd weep, and wish for more.
To birth add fortune, add to fortune-fame,
Give the desiring soul its utmost claim;
The wish recurs-some object unpossess'd
Corrodes, distastes, and leavens all the rest;
And still to death from being's earliest day,
Th' unknown to-morrow cheats us of to-day.'

If any one of my readers has looked with so little attention on the world about him, as to imagine this representation exaggerated beyond probability, let him reflect a little upon his own life; let him consider what were his hopes and prospects ten years ago, and what additions he then expected to be made by ten years to his happiness: those years are now elapsed; have they made good the promise that was extorted from them, have they advanced his fortune, enlarged his knowledge, or reformed his conduct, to the degree that was once expected? I am afraid, every man that recollects his hopes must confess his disappointment; and own, that day has glided unprofitably after day, and that he is still at the same distance from the point of happiness..

'Such is the general dream in which we all slumber out our time: every man thinks the day coming, in which he shall be gratified with all his wishes, in which he shall leave all those competitors behind, ho are now rejoicing like himself in the expectation of victory; the day is always coming to the servile in which they shall be powerful, to the obscure in which they shall be

eminent, and to the deformed in which they shall be beautiful.'

In the vigour of youth and in the bloom of beauty; surrounded by all that can flatter hope or stimulate to action, Lavinia entered the avenues of sublunary pleasure in quest of happiness; but the lovely enchantress was not to be found in the regions of terrestrial delight. All the sources of felicity were explored in vain emptiness was stamped on every enjoyment. Our young votaress soon discovered that her expectations were fallacious; that many of her pursuits were not only trifling but criminal. A conviction of guilt filled her breast with tumult: terrifying apprehensions agitated her soul: she beheld with astonishment the precipice on which she stood, the imminent danger with which she was surrounded -that there was but a step between her and everlasting ruin: and trembling on this precipice, she first uttered that inexpressibly important query- What shall I do to be saved?'-To answer this inquiry the following Letters were first written.

The question, let it be remembered, is always proper, because it is of infinite importance. Surely it cannot be imagined that the present world is the only residence of man! and if he be to exist in a state yet future, it is highly rational to inquire, whether that existence will be miserable or happy. Men in general are indeed too much engaged in sublunary pursuits to attend to the concerns of another life. But this will not always be the case. The period is approaching in which conscience, if not quite petrified, will be roused from her torpor; in which she will sound the alarm, and the soul, awakened from sleep, feel the vanity of the world and of all its enjoyments. For what is the glitter of wealth, the pomp of greatness, the voice of

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