laughter to mourning, and your joy to heaviness; and how often, even while the full goblet is in your hand, does it bubble up, when you least expect, to embitter the promised gratification of your sweetest draught! DANGER OF CONFORMITY TO FOREIGN CUSTOMS. [JELF.] The danger, which is common to all, is especially formidable in their case who have received vague, and perhaps erroneous impressions as to the nature of national distinctions, and as to the degree of acquiescence which it is our duty to show towards customs varying from our own. The popular doctrine upon this subject is often embodied in a maxim, proverbially expressed in most languages, importing that the traveller should conform to the usages of the country which he visits; a maxim much to be commended under certain limitations, but as a universal rule most mischievous and false—one, in fact, which is sometimes perverted into an excuse for the commission of every sin. The exact limits of our duty may here be determined by the application of the general rule, that the text* does not forbid conformity to the innocent customs of such intercourse with society, as may be compatible with our duty; but that the moment such customs become even questionable, then conformity is to be withheld. The traveller who, in matters of indifference, captiously refuses acquiescence with those amongst whom he is sojourning, acts in a manner as unchristian as it * "And be not conformed to this world, but be ye transformed by the renewing of your mind, that ye may prove what is that good, and acceptable, and perfect, will of God."-Rom. xii. 2. is unwise. Every nation has its innocent peculiarities; anī the wise man will not neglect, and still less despise them, because the origin often lies deep in the national characters, and is, therefore, a really useful subject of study; the Christian will cheerfully conform to them, upon the principle of self-denial, and with the view of extending the charities which bind man to man, and of promoting, by this trifling sacrifice, a community of feeling throughout the whole family of Christ. But here our complaisance must end. If the proverb is construed to extend to such principles, or to such practice, either moral or religious, as are contrary to our profession or hurtful to our souls, then it ceases to be the true Christian's guide. Such conformity would come within the apostle's intention; and no desire of pleasing, no idle curiosity, no fear of ridicule, should induce us to deviate in the slightest degree from the strict rule of our English forefathers, from the apostolical simplicity and truth of our church. This is a fixed point, at which we may safely determine to make a stand. If we once pass it, there is no other assignable limit, and we may go on giving up one principle after another, till we utterly abandon our own character, and adopt the contradictory follies and vices of every climate, and of every class of society, in which we may bappen to be placed. Indeed, if the maxim alluded to is carried to its fullest extent, it must lead to this absurdity, that the same traveíier, during his absence from home, may be obliged to be a pirate among pirates, cr a cannibal among cannibals, to worship the images of saints at Rome, the black stone at Mecca, the sacred cow in India, and the true God only wherever a nation may be found to worship Him in spirit and in truth. Upon this principle, Daniel was wrong in defying the laws of the Medes and Persians, and in "kneeling upon his knees three times a-day, and praying, and giving thanks to God, as he did aforetime” (Daniel vi. 10); and Shadrach, Meshach, and Abednego would have been fully justified in saving themselves from the fiery furnace, by worshipping the golden image which Nebuchadnezzar the king had set up (Daniel ii. 18). This, then, may be regarded as our general rule, that in matters not simply indifferent, we never allow ourselves abroad any license which we should deny ourselves at home, that we remain Englishmen in our moral and religious habits and principles, and that we never permit ourselves to think right or wrong mere conventional terms, which are relative to our own accidental position in the world. We are not here advocating a bigoted adherence to the prejudices of education, though even the eradication of honest prejudices must be attended with caution. If our principles are unfounded or unscriptural, let them be discarded; but do not let us suppose that what is wrong in England is right abroad. UNCERTAINTY OF HUMAN FAME. Let us turn to the desire of posthumous celebrity. "The assuring of a lasting reputation upon earth, a motive so congenial to the vanity of human nature, often served to animate the courage of the martyr." Thus Gibbon. And after the successful establishment of Christianity, when a numerous body enshrined in their recollection, embalmed in their hymns, sanctified the relics, visited the sepulchre of the departed Christian, this feeling might, and unquestionably did, excite the indiscreet, I had almost said unchristian, ardour of those who wantonly provoked the persecutor to the crime of judicial murder, in order that they might secure the palm-crown of the martyr. But when Christianity could scarcely be said to exist, when it had as yet no single record, when there was every human probability that it could not last a century, the mind must indeed have been ardent, which could anticipate an immortality of fame from being the victim of some desultory fray between two parties of Jews in some obscure city, or from being cast, one of a gladiatorial hecatomb, to the beasts of the arena. I cannot indeed but be awestruck at the erring calculations of human ambition. The fate of the early Christians, and their more distinguished contemporaries, preaches a forcible admonition on the uncertainty with which after-ages award their admiration, and disappoint the high-raised expectations of the most celebrated in their own day. Doubtless, when Christianity first appeared, those who considered that their names would be perpetuated, and demand the homage of future generations, were the consuls, the patriots, the favourites, the philosophers, the poets of Rome. The Suetonii and Agricolas who had earned glory, immortal as it was esteemed, by subduing the Parthian, or civilising the Briton. The Helvidii and Thraseas, who kept alive the spirit of the old Roman republic, which, if it could not enable them to live with dignity, taught them to die with intrepidity. The Tigellini and Sejani, whose celebrity, if less honourable, would live in the lasting execration of mankind, arraigned before the bar of posterity by the sententious sarcasm of the historian, or the sublime moral indignation of the satirist. The Senecas and Lucans, who had enriched with their wisdom, and ennobled with their stately verse, the declining days of Roman literature. Among these, as they led the triumph to the Capitol, or toiled through crowding sycophants, were seen stealing about with cautious timidity, lest they should provoke the contemptuous spurn, some poor men of the most despicable race upon earth, dragged per haps to prison, without exciting the commiseration, or even the notice, of the multitude. Yet of the former, how large a portion of the world is entirely ignorant; while the names of Peter and Paul are spoken with signs of the profoundest reverence in regions-rather I would say in worlds-unknown to Rome; hallow the most splendid cdifices, and even cities; while their writings are multiplied into countless languages, and received as the authoritative moral laws of innumerable people. Little did Gallio think, when the destitute and friendless Paul stood before his throne, that the brother of Seneca, and the object of the panegyric of Statius, would be chiefly known to posterity, as connected with the history of that disregarded criminal, whose cause appeared beneath his cognisance. ON THE KEEPING OF THE SOUL. [SYDNEY SMITH.] A question this which excites surprise at first, but which is justified by sad experience of human life, that men do too often set a price upon their souls, a price in avarice, a price in revenge, a price in ambition, a price in any one of those numerous objects of human desire which men foolishly consider to be of more value than their souls. But I will state to you a few of these unhappy contracts, and you will then see better what I mean. A man sells his soul who gives up his honour and his integrity in pursuit of wealth; who becomes one atom more rich than good faith, than the law of the Gospel, and the Give up his soul, dictates of conscience, tell him to be right. in strict language, he cannot, for that is immortal and indestructible; but he gives up all that happiness which the |