satisfy their desires. In their mad career of gain, they will rush forward with the utmost impetuosity, even at the hazard of losing all that they had formerly toiled for and amassed. Marcus Crassus, a celebrated Roman, surnamed the Rich, had above 500 talents left him to begin the world with, and by his excessive covetousness, scraped together vast sums of money. Being desirous to know at a certain period, what his estate amounted to, it was summed up at seven thousand one hundred talents, or about seven millions nine hundred and eighty seven thousands of British pounds. But it appears, this immense treasure was not sufficient to satisfy his avaricious passion; for, casting an evil eye upon the treasure of the Parthians, he marched with a great force against them, and, being defeated, and taken prisoner, the Parthian general gave orders to cut off his head, and pour melted gold down his throat, to upbraid his excessive covetousness, that never thought he had enough. Such are, not unfrequently, the results of excessive avarice, and such the termination of all the desires and passions, the hopes and fears, the anxieties and pursuits, which are engendered by covetousness. Happiness never would have been expected to result from the pursuits and enjoyments of avarice, if man had retained the full exercise of his reason, and had never fallen from his original estate.

The misery and folly of avarice may be illustrated by the following recent occurrence, extracted from the "Sunday Times," of Oct. 4, 1835. "A few days since, an old miser, named Webb, who has, for several years, resided in an obscure lodging in Barrack court, Woolwich, called upon Mr. White, a broker, residing in Powis street, in the same parish, to inquire whether he would allow him to lodge with him, as he had been uncomforta ble for some time past. The request was complied with, and, in the course of the evening, he took possession of his new apartments. He had retired to rest but a very short time before he was taken ill, and at his request, two medical men were sent for. Upon the arrival of Messrs. Mc Donald and Gaul, they pronounced him to be in a

dying state, which was no sooner communicated to the patient, than he ordered an attorney to be sent for, as he wished to make his will. An attorney was speedily in attendance. The old man raising himself upon the bed, bequeathed to his daughter £100, to three nephews £30, £40, and £50 each. Upon being asked if he had a wife, he replied Yes,' but he had been parted from her three times; that she had been in a work-house near Stroud, in Kent, for a number of years, and that he did not intend to leave her a single penny. He had also two brothers and another daughter, who had all (he said) behaved ill towards him, and he would leave them nothing. Upon being asked to whom he left the residue of his property, he replied, To Mr. White for his kindness,' at the same time handing the attorney a paper, which, upon being opened, was found to contain securities for upwards of £800 in the Bank of England, so that Mr. White, (who is sole executor,) will, after paying the respective legacies, clear upwards of £500 for his lodger, who continued to get worse and died on Sunday. It is a remarkable fact, that the deceased (who was 75 years of age) has been frequently seen to pick up bones and rags in the street, and put them in his pocket; and at the time of his death he was in a most filthy condition."

Here we have a picture of a poor wretch, who appears to have spent the greater part of a long life in scraping together £800, and, at last, bestowing the greater part of it upon an entire stranger. We behold him neglecting his own family, and his nearest relatives; and, almost in the very agonies of death, indulging implacable resentment against his own daughter, and the wife of his boson and leaving her to be maintained on public charity, whe he had enough and to spare. He displayed himself to little short of a thief and a robber, as most misers ar He robbed the public in leaving his wife to be maintaine in a poor-house, he robbed his wife and children in de priving them of what they had a natural right to, and` giving it to a stranger: he robbed God of his tithes and offerings, in bestowing no portion of his substance in his service, and he robbed himself, in depriving himself of

the good opinion of his fellow-men, and of those enjoyments which might have rendered him comfortable and happy. It is more than probable, that all his domestic broils and contentions, and the alienation of affection he experienced, were the results of his niggardly and avaricious disposition. Who that enjoyed peace and contentment would envy either the life or the dying hours of such a wretched being? Yet such are the rewards, such the folly and wretchedness of those who surrender themselves to the power and dominion of covetousness. If riches could procure true happiness, even in the present life, there might be some apology for pursuing them with eagerness; but even this, they are inadequate to confer; for experience demonstrates, that their votaries are frequently among the most wretched of the human race—a prey to restless and malignant passions, and despised by their fellow-men.

The folly of covetousness will further appear, if we consider, that the objects which it pursues are not to be compared, in point of grandeur and enjoyment, with those which are within the reach of all. Wealth can command stately buildings, splendid apartments, gorgeous apparel, marble statues, curious pictures, gold and silver vessels, spacious gardens, and other objects which the world calls noble and magnificent. But "what good is there to the owners thereof, saving the beholding of them with their eyes." Every spectator that has a taste for such objects may enjoy the pleasure arising from the sight of them as well as the possessor. Every gardener and labourer on nobleman's estate may participate of the pleasure of siewing his improvements, as well as the owner himself. ut, what are all the gorgeous toys and trappings of art, r the beauties which genius can invent, or riches purchase, compared with the beauties and magnificence of Nature? What are the glitterings of the most pompous procession, or the splendour of a Vauxhall, in comparison of the august spectacle of the vernal sun rising in unclouded majesty, diffusing his beams over surrounding worlds, gladdening the animal tribes, and shedding a ra

diance on every object in our terrestrial sphere? There is not a scene, though finished with the most costly refinements of art, comparable to the splendour and magnificence of the sun rising in his glory. All on earth appears a dreary waste till the aurora brightens up the East, as the harbinger of the orb of day:-then the plains are arrayed in verdure, the flowers put forth their colours, the glittering spires appear, the birds warble from spray to spray, and renewed life, activity, and beauty, appear throughout our lower creation-as if a new world had emerged from chaotic darkness. What are the finest varnishings of art compared with the polishings of the bodies of insects, or of sea-shell-or the most exquisite pieces of machinery to the mechanism of a plant, a gnat, or a microscopic animalcula? Above all, what can be compared to the glories of the unclouded firmament, where suns unnumbered shine, and myriads of mighty worlds run their ample rounds? Yet all such august and splendid scenes, with all the variety of beauty and magnificence, with which the Almighty has adorned his vast creation-which are open to the contemplation of allare overlooked by the worldling as unworthy of his regard.

In short, the folly of covetousness appears in its most striking light, in preferring objects which are seen and temporal to those which are unseen and eternal. We can scarely have an adequate idea of the extreme folly implied in such conduct, unless we could form some adequate conception of what is included in the word ETERNAL. To enable us to form some faint conception on this point, some of our old writers have suggested the following illustration: Suppose the whole earth to be made up of particles of sand, and suppose a bird to come every thousand years to pick up and fly away with one grain, how immense must be the duration before the whole sands which compose the earth, could, by this slow process, be removed! as many thousands of years as there are particles of sand in the whole globe of the earth,which would amount to the following number of years, 30,000,000,000,000,000,000,000,000,000,000,000, or thir

ty thousand septillions of years! Yet this immense period of duration is still but as a point, or a moment, when compared with eternity! On such a supposition, the Schoolmen stated the following question. "Suppose that you had it in your choice to be happy all the while this prodigious mass of sand was consuming, by this slow method, till there was not a grain of it left, on condition you were to be miserable forever after;-or, supposing you might be happy for ever after, on condition you would be miserable, till the whole mass of sand were removed or annihilated, at the rate of one sand in a thousand years which of these two cases would you make your choice?" It must be confessed, that, at first view, considering the extreme length of the period— which, to our limited view, appears like an eternity itself -we should be apt to choose the former in preference to the latter. But our reason tells us, that the latter ought to be our choice, since there is no comparison between the one duration and the other, any more than there is between an unit, and the greatest number of figures or sums we can possibly suppose. What, then, must be the extreme folly of those who for the sake of enjoying a few fleeting baubles, for 20, 30, or 40 years, or at the utmost, for "three score years and ten," will run the risk of experiencing all that is included in the idea of a miserable eternity! How can we sufficiently denounce the stupidity and madness of those who, resolutely and determinately, make so absurd and irrational a choice? especially, when we consider, that even in this life, the path of contentment, and the ways of wisdom and holiness, are ways of pleasantness and peace! To prefer trifles to the most momentous objects, shadows to realities, the toys of time to the treasures of eternity-if any thing may be termed folly and madness-such conduct ought to brand every one who is guilty of it, in whatever sphere he moves, with the appellation of a fool or a maniac.

If then, riches are only valuable in proportion to their use-if they cannot afford solid satisfaction to the mind -if the objects which the worldling pursues are not to be compared in point of grandeur to those which are