and when the intervening wire was removed and the trough attached directly to the ends of the wire round the horse-shoe, it lifted only seven ounces. Hence Professor Henry concluded, "that the magnetic action of a compound battery is at least not diminished by passing through a long wire," a fact "directly applicable to Mr. Barlow's project of forming an electro-magnetic telegraph;" which has since been so successfully acccomplished by Professor Wheatstone in England, and Professor Morse in America, by means of electro-magnets combined with simple and ingenious mechanical arrangements. From these experiments Professor Henry also inferred, that "we may either use one long wire or several shorter ones, as the circumstances of the case may require; in the first case, our galvanic combination must consist of a number of plates, so as to give projectile force; in the second, it must be formed of a single pair.' The effect of increasing the quantity of the battery current is in part shown by some of the above-mentioned experiments in the table, from which it appears that 85, 650, and 750 lbs. are the weights supported by the same horse-shoe, when similarly attached to batteries exposing zinc surfaces of two square inches, two-fifths of a square foot, and one square foot respectively. But when the size of the battery was still further increased, no greater effect was produced; and indeed a calorimeter containing twenty-eight plates of copper and zinc, each eight inches square, did not lift so much as the smaller battery; so that 760 lbs. was apparently the maximum magnetic power which could be developed in the horse-shoe. A series of experiments was separately instituted by Dr. Ten Eyck, to produce a maximum development of magnetism in a small quantity of soft iron. He succeeded in causing a horse-shoe of round iron slightly flattened, one inch long and 06 of an inch in diameter, weighing six grains, and wound with three feet of brass wire, to lift 5 oz. 5 dwt. 4 grs., or 420 times its own weight. The strongest magnet described appears to be one which was worn in a ring by Sir Isaac Newton, which lifted nearly 250 times its own weight. Hence a much more intense degree of magnetism can be developed in soft iron by an electrical current than in steel by the usual methods of making magnets. A number of experiments were also tried by Professor Henry, to determine the best form of the iron for receiving magnetism; but not with very satisfactory results. A hollow iron cylinder, which had formed part of a gun barrel, was found to be capable of receiving more magnetism than the same quantity of metal in a solid cylinder of less diameter, but not as much as a solid bar of the same dimensions; and this fact led him to conclude that "magnetic power resides wholly on the surface of iron bodies, but that a certain thickness of metal is necessary for its complete development." LESSONS IN MORAL SCIENCE-No. XI. THE PHENOMENA OF THE UNIVERSE. LET is now suppose that a Great Intelligent First Cause exists, and has existed from eternity; are not all the appearances of the universe correspondent with the existence of such a being? Again we may demand of an atheist what other evidences of the existence of God he would require? Let him suggest something, which, in the form fevidence, would be more satisfactory to him, and he will not find it easy to fix on any evidence which is stronger or more suitable than what we already possess. It may appear strange to some that we challenge the atheist to demand any clearer or stronger evidence of the existence of a Supreme Being than that which is already before us. But let the attempt be made to conceive of some evidence of this truth which would be more satisfactory, and better adapted to be a standing proof to all nations, and we have mistaken the matter, if the result will not be, that the existing evidence is as good as any which they could ask. It will be worth while to spend a little time in considering this point, for if we cannot satisfy the atheist of the truth of our position, the discussion may be satisfactory to others who have not been accustomed to view the subject in this light. It is true we do not see God, and the reason is, he is a spirit; and a spirit, from the very nature of the case, is invisible. We cannot see the souls of our nearest friends; we know that they exist, not by any direct perception of the intelligent substance, but by the actions which they perform through the instrumentality of the body. If God were not a spirit he could not be an active, intelligent, powerful, and perfect being; but being a spirit he must be invisible. Nothing is visible but material substances, and these only by means of light reflected from them to the eye. It is not forgotten that most atheists, being materialists, deny that there is any such substance as spirit; but they do not and cannot deny, that there is something within us which thinks and feels and wills, and has power to originate bodily motion. Call the substance, of which thought is a property, by what name you please, still it is an invisible substance. Who can pretend to see a thought or a volition? or who would say that he can see the mind, and describe its shape and give its magnitude and dimensions? Let it be supposed, then, that the cause of all intelligence has a nature resembling this intelligent nature of which we are every moment conscious, but far more excellent, as it must be supposed that every excellence exists in a higher degree in the cause than in the effect. spiritual or material, only let him be a being of thought, will, Now supposing such an intelligent being to exist, call him and passion; and that he is necessarily from his nature invisimake himself known to rational minds such as ours? As we ble to eyes of flesh; the question is, how could such a being cannot by any direct perception look into the mind of another, and as such a being cannot make himself visible without assu ming a gross body, we can conceive of no way by which he can make himself known but by performing some act, or exhibiting to us some work which shall contain the impress of his character. For if he should assume a bodily shape, and thus make himself visible, it would not be the intelligent substance which we perceived, but a body, which was no part of his universe as to have no opportunity of contemplating any work If an intelligent creature could be so situated in the of God, such a creature could never arrive at the knowledge of his existence. But the supposition is impossible; for an intelligent creature could not exist without the consciousness of its from all perception of material things, there is sufficient proof own thoughts; and in the mind itself, even if it were cut off of an efficient, intelligent cause. The impress of the divine attributes is as clearly printed on the soul as on any of the works of God to which man has access. essence. As the First Cause, if there is one, must be from his nature invisible, the only way by which he can be conceived to make known his existence, is by setting before us some work, in which his wisdom, power and goodness may be manifested; and by the contemplation of which a rational mind may infer that a being does exist to whom these properties belong. If, then, in the various objects in the world, there is as much evidence of these attributes as we can conceive, and in fact far exceeding our most enlarged conceptions, we have the best proof of the existence of a Great First Cause which we could have. The simple question then is, could there be exhibited stronger evidences of wisdom than we have in the structure of the body of man, and in the constitution of his mind? Could the various species of animals in the earth, air and sea, be formed with more consummate wisdom than they are, in relation to the climate in which they live, and the provision made internally and externally for their subsistence, and the propagation of their kind. Examine also the vegetable world. Call in the aid of glasses to inspect the concealed structure of the vessels; contemplate the leaf, the flower, and the mature fruit, and say whether you can conceive of contrivances more exquisite. If any man thinks that animal and vegetable bodies could have been constructed with more wisdom, let him point out in what respects these works of nature are deficient in wisdom. But even if it were possible to conceive of more perfect works, this could not in the least invalidate the argument from them for the existence of an intelligent cause. If the question were of the degree of perfection in the wisdom exhibited, then the skill manifested in each work would be a proper subject for consideration. An imperfect time-piece proves the existence of an artist as fully as one that is perfect. But there is here no need of this remark, for the atheist may be defied to conceive of any improvement in any of the works of God, in regard to the adaptation of the means used to the end to be accomplished; and these evidences of the wisdom of God are scattered profusely over the whole universe. We cannot turn our eyes to the heaven or the earth, to objects of great magnitude, or so small that they can be seen only by the microscope, but the same admirable perfection of contrivance is manifest in them all. The internal structure of the gnat is as wonderful as that of the elephant; and in the manifestation of wisdom in the creation there is a wonderful variety. No two species are exactly alike; and the difference is exactly such as it should be to accomplish the especial end in view. The more intricate our examination of the contrivance and evident design in the organisation of animal and vegetable bodies, the stronger will be our conviction, and the greater our admiration. The only question then is, could the evidences of intelligence in the cause, if thus innumerable, be exhibited in a clearer and stronger light than they are; if not, then God could not make known his existence as an intelligent being more clearly than he has done. The number of instances in which design appears is far greater than can be examined, and the degree of wisdom in the various contrivances in organised bodies transcends our conception; how, therefore, could we have by new works greater evidence of an intelligent cause than we already possess? But there seems in most minds a lurking suspicion, that the existing evidence is not as convincing as it might have been. Even if this were so, we have no right to complain, when it cannot be denied that we have very strong evidence. God is not obliged to give to his creatures the strongest possible evidence of his own existence. He may choose to leave scope for human industry, and also make the reception of the truth a part of our moral probation; and the pleasure of discovering truth after laborious research, a part of the reward of virtue. No doubt this is the fact in regard to some truths of no small importance. The honest inquirer discovers them, while the proud and prejudiced mind, though more acute, misses them, and embraces in their stead dangerous error. In maintaining, therefore, that the evidence for the being of God is as convincing as it could be to an impartial, rational mind, it is not because such clearness is considered essential, but simply because the fact appears to be as stated. But since many may still suppose that they can imagine much tronger proof than any which exists, let us consider what can e alleged in favour of this opinion. Could not God speak to us in a voice of thunder, and thus make himself known? Undoubtedly he could, and such a voice would doubtless greatly terrify us; but would it be a stronger proof of his wisdom and power than the works of nature which we behold? If this tremendous sound were heard very often, it would at length become familiar, and would cease to produce the same impression as at first. If heard but seldom, it would leave a suspicion that it might have been no more than a disordered imagination. But how could we be sure that the voice proceeded from a being who would not deceive? The mere hearing the noise could give us no certain evidence of the character and veracity of the speaker? But perhaps it may be thought that a glorious visible appearance would place the matter beyond all possibility of doubt. The majestic appearance of a divine person would, it may be alleged, satisfy every one. The same objections may be made to this species of evidence as to the former; how could we know that this visible appearance was that of the Great First Cause? Unnatural appearances prove nothing respecting the character of the person who assumes them. If such apparitions were only occasionally exhibited, we should be prone to doubt of their reality; and if frequently, we should become too much accustomed to them to receive any impression. But whatever impression such appearances might make, considered as evidence of an all-perfect Deity, they would not be comparable to that which we have in the works of nature. But if the Supreme Being exists, why could he not make himself known by working stupendous miracles? Of course, if miracles might be demanded by one, all have the same need; and the same claims and miracles would become so common, that it would be difficult to distinguish them from natural events. And again, miracles require no more power to produce them than is required to produce common events. In many cases they would require no more than a cessation of the power by which natural events are produced. The standing still of the sun, or the stopping of the rotation of the earth, would be nothing else than removing the impulse by which they were originally put in motion. In a miracle, we only see the effect of divine power. We may infer from this, that there is a Being who can change the laws of nature; and a miracle taken by itself can prove nothing more. But in the works of nature, we have innumerable proofs of the wisdom and beneficence of the Author of the Universe. And the number, variety, and wisdom of these works are evident to every person of common sense. The proofs of a great intelligent cause are spread out over the heavens and the earth, the sea and the air. We are little affected by these objects, because they have ever been before our eyes since our earliest infancy. But as evidences of a Divine existence, their force is not diminished by the uniformity of the laws of nature, by which they are continually produced, but greatly increased. The different species of animals and vegetables have successively been reproduced, according to laws that never vary; and this shows that the plan of the Almighty is perfect, and that He can accomplish all his pleasure, and has given uniform laws to every kind of being which his wisdom and power have produced. It is not denied that miraculous displays are a decisive proof of a Great First Cause, who is possessed of omnipotence; but what we maintain is, that the evidence of omnipotence is not greater than in the natural effects which are constantly produced before our eyes. And as to the character and attributes of God, they are far more clearly exhibited in the various productions of nature, than they would be by a miraculous interposition. If another sun were placed in the heavens, which is as great a miracle as we can imagine, it would be a proof of mighty power, but not a stronger proof than the existence of the natural sun; and as to the wisdom and goodness of the Deity, there would be no comparison, for in the former case nothing but the existence of Omnipotence could be inferred from the miracle, for there would be no appearance of wisdom in such a miracle. But in the existence of the natural sun, which gives light, heat, motion, and life to all earthly living things, the wisdom and goodness of the Creator are most illustriously displayed. Who can enumerate the benefits which are derived from the influence of the sun? and the same sun, which communicates so many blessings to our world, dispenses blessings in the same way to other planets. If we saw the dead raised in a thousand instances, it would be a decisive evidence of the existence of a Being of almighty power; but the evidence is fully as strong from the formation and vivification of innumerable animal bodies of many species. And no miracle can be conceived which would furnish stronger evidence of the Divine existence, than the works of creation which are ever before our eyes and our minds. We think, after what has been said, that we cannot wish for more convincing evidence of the existence of a Supreme Being than we already possess in the works of nature spread out before us; and even if we were shut up in a dark dungeon, we have this convincing evidence in our own persons, in the constitution of both our souls and bodies. The only thing which can be alleged further is, that this might have been made a self-evident truth as much as our own existence, or the existence of the world without us; and many formerly entertained the opinion that the idea of God is innate, and that a speculative atheist is a thing impossible. Some very learned and respectable philosophers and theologians have expressly inculcated this opinion in their writings. Now, although we do not believe there are any innate ideas, and although the existence of God can scarcely be said to be self-evident, yet in the proof of it there is but a single step of reasoning. It is a self-evident truth that every effect must have an adequate cause; and when there is evident design in the effect, the cause must be intelligent. The conclusion is so easily drawn from an intuitive truth, that it is not wonderful that it should be classed among self-evident truths. We can scarcely conceive of the state of that mind which, after seriously contemplating the wonderful evidences of design in the human frame, can doubt the existence of an intelligent First Cause, and an intelligent cause producing effects by a wise adaptation of means to a definite end; and the harmonious operation of thousands of parts in the vital functions must, according to every proper definition of the term, be a person. All the arguments by which the being of God is proved, involve the proof of some of his attributes. If the marks of design in creatures prove the existence of a Creator, it is by showing that he must be possessed of wisdom to cause so many wonderful contrivances as we behold in the world. As the operation of any cause is the exertion of power, so the creation of the world is the action of omnipotence. A greater power than that which brings something out of nothing cannot be conceived: this indeed we cannot comprehend, and, therefore, some who admit that the world is the work of God, as far as relates to the organisation and moulding of matter, yet cannot be persuaded that omnipotence itself can give existence where there was none before. But if God did not create the matter that is in the world, whence did it come: There are but two suppositions; one is, that matter existed from eternity, and is, therefore, self-existent and independent; the other, that it is an emanation of the divine essence. The first is inadmissible; it supposes two eternal beings independent of each other, and the latter leads to pantheism, or that all things are a part of God; as whatever emanates from him must be a part of his essence, for this is immutably the same. Though wisdom and power are the attributes which are first observed, they are not the only attributes of which we may learn something by studying the works of nature. For when we attentively consider the nature of the end, to accomplish which the innumerable contrivances are adapted, we cannot but observe that this end is beneficent. All the parts of animals are connected with the vitality, enjoyment and preservation of the animal or species. The goodness of God is, therefore, as manifest in the creation, as his wisdom, There is not a part in any animal body which can be shown to be without its use. Every species is fitted by the bodily structure, and by the instincts and passions with which it is endued, to enjoy in the most perfect degree that kind of life to which it is destined. Even the minutest animalcules have bodies organised with as exquisite skill as those of the larger species. No living creature exists for which food is not provided, suited to the appetite and nourishment of the species, and which it has the means of procuring. So every species is endowed with the instinctive ability to provide for itself and its progeny suitable places of residence; and there are insects which, though they undergo a remarkable metamorphosis and change of appetites, are still able by their instinct to find the nourishment which is agreeable and necessary. And what is still more wonderful and indicative of far-seeing wisdom in the Creator is the fact, that these insects which were once in the chrysalis state, and afterwards assume the form and instincts of butterflies, are led by an invariable propensity to deposit their eggs on plants necessary for the young grubs, but on which they themselves never feed. Were it not for this wise provision for the young, they would all perish. Between the animal and vegetable world there is a beautiful harmony; the latter to a large extent supplies food for the former. It may be thought that the constitution of things by which one animal preys upon another, is an argument against the goodness of God; but these animals are only intended for a transitory existence, and as they must all die, and are tormented with no apprehensions in regard to the future, and the pain is indeed momentary, if they enjoy much more pleasure than pain during their existence, there seems to be no solid objection against this law of nature. It has often been alleged as an atheistical objection against the goodness and, by consequence, against the existence of God, that pain or misery has a place among his works. This perhaps is the most plausible of all objections which infidels have ever produced; and yet it has no certain principles on which to rest. With a system such as at the present, where there is a gradation of sensitive beings, it is impossible for us to conceive how all pain could be excluded. As far as we can see, the susceptibility of pleasure carries with it a liability to some degree of pain. What if the pain which animals endure, arise out of the principle of self-preservation, and from the appetites, in the gratification of which consists their enjoyment? Without desire and appetite there could be no animal enjoyment, and when the safety of the animal requires it, it is wisely ordered that by uneasiness or pain it should be stimulated to seek its necessary food, or flee from danger. And as to man, while in the present world, we cannot conceive how he could have any enjoyment, less he was also subject to such feelings of uneasiness as rendered him capable of relishing his enjoyments. This remark relates to pains which cannot be avoided, such as the pain of hunger and thirst, and the pain arising from contact with some injurious body. The surface of man's body is the chief seat of pain, because danger commonly approaches him from without. It does not appear, therefore, possible that such a system of creatures as exist in the world could be constituted so as to be exempt from all uneasy feelings. To make creatures whose constitutions would exempt them from all liability to pain, would, as far as we can see, exempt them from all susceptibility to pleasure. And as to those evils which men bring upon themselves by imprudence, intemperance, injustice, or by disobeying the voice of conscience within them, they must be attributed to themselves and not to the constitution of the world. And as God is not obliged to make every creature as great and as happy as it could be made, it may seem to exhibit his wisdom and power to produce beings in whose existence there is a mixture of natural good and evil. It appears clear, then, that the Author of this universe is powerful, wise, and beneficent; but how does it appear that he is possessed of a moral character? that he loves moral excellence, and disapproves of moral evil? This appears eviThe law interdently from the moral constitution of man. woven in his constitution proves that his Maker approves of moral excellence. Again, it would be absurd to suppose that the creature could possess an excellence, and one superior to all natural endowments, of which there was no prototype in the Great First Cause. We may lay it down as a maxim, that whatever perfection we can conceive of must exist in the most perfect degree in the Creator, for all our ideas of perfection are derived from the contemplation of creation; and whatever excellence there is in the creation must exist in the Creator. Besides, by the laws of nature, virtuous conduct is generally productive of pleasure and peace of mind, and immoral conduct is generally a source of misery. These laws of nature are the laws of God, and manifest his approbation of virtue and disapprobation of vice. BIOGRAPHY.-No. XVIII. SAMUEL JOHNSON. BY J. R. BEard, D.D. DB. JOHNSON is the ideal of the schoolmaster and the man of letters as they lived, taught, flogged and ruled in the last century. What a crowd of ideas and usages does the very name of Dr. Johnson bring up in the mind, all of which bear the impress of departed things! Though most of them now find favour as little as they find counterparts, yet are they in some way venerable, even as the manes of the dead and the images of the departed. There is an embalment of literature which, like the ancient Egyptian embalment, hallows as well as preserves the memory of the dead; and so men like Johnson, who if living now would be almost intolerable, have around their shades a halo of subdued and almost sacred grandeur, before which it does a student good to bend the knee of reverence. In making these remarks, we have borne in mind that Johnson, besides being a scholar and an able man, was superstitious, dogmatical, imperious and waspish. A ponderous man was the old Litchfield schoolmaster turned literateur. Ponderosity characterises him in every way. A weighty style truly, and rumbling too like other weighty things. A sledge-hammer was the instrument with which he struck blows on the heads of dullards and the hearts of knaves. What a heavy affair is that huge English Dictionary-the work of one man,-truly a "Magnum Opus" in regard both to the process and the result of the labour. The very person of Johnson gives one the idea | poems involved him in sharp controversy with Macpherson, of weight. 's movements, too, were elephantine. A great man their avowed editor, and their aimost author. Johnson's last was Johnson; great in body, great in labour, great in intellect, literary labour was his Lives of the most Eminent English great in learning, great in thought, grandiose in style-in every Poets (London 1779-81). After a long illness, he died in way great except in heart; and yet not little was he in that London, the 15th of December, 1784. His works have been pubfaculty, only less in sentiment and in sympathy than in other lished several times in a collected form. As Don Quixote had respects. Certainly his influence was great, and great does his his Sancho Panza, so Johnson had his Boswell, and never did name still remain after the lapse of a century. Yet, though Scotchman do his following more faithfully than that" Cany unquestionably great, Dr. Johnson is little read. This compara- Scot" has portrayed all he said and all he could see of his laird. tive neglect is attributable to two things: first, the lack of sen- Few biographies are more amusing, nor, in its way, more timent before referred to; and secondly, the artificiality of his instructive, than Boswell's "Life of Samuel Johnson, by James style. The lack of sentiment produced a certain unnaturalness. Boswell" (London, 1791, 2 vols. 4to). We lay before our In his writings the scholar speaks more than the man, and the readers a specimen of Johnson's poetry, and a specimen of his schoolmaster nearly as much as either. Hence those Latinised, prose. elaborate, antithetical, and nicely balanced sentences, that court dress, that man-millinery of style, which makes the worst of his compositions almost as intolerable as the best of those of his imitator and fellow pedagogue, Dr. Parr. It is a happy thing for English literature that these ponderous big-wigs of the last age, and the last but one, have given place to men who, if they possess less learning, have far more heart, and make simplicity the mother of literary virtues. Samuel Johnson, born at Litchfield on the 18th of September, 1709, gained at school in that city and at Stourbridge a varied acquaintance with classical literature. When nineteen years of *ge he went to Oxford in the capacity of a tutor. At the end of two years his pupil left the university, and for want of means Johnson was compelled to do the same, though he had given proof of talent by turning Pope's "Messiah" into Latin hexameters. After the death of his father (1731), being wholly without resources, he descended to the drudgery of an usher in a school at Market Bosworth. Hurrying from so ungrateful a post, he went to Birmingham, where, among other petty fees, he gained five guineas by translating Lobo's "Travels to Abyssinia." At length he tried to mend his condition by the desperate step of marrying a widow no longer in the bloom of life. With the aid of her fortune, which amounted to £800, Johnson opened a boarding-school near Litchfield. The enterprise proved a failure. Johnson, in company with one of his pupils, the celebrated David Garrick, went to seek his fortune in London, where by a series of publications he raised himself to such fame and authority as made him the czar of literature. Like other distinguished men, Johnson was fain to write for bread, and consequently to write in quarters where bread was to be had. The "Gentleman's Magazine was his workshop. Among other contributions, his reports of the proceedings in the Houses of Parliament, under the title of "The Transactions of the Senate of Lilliput," set forth in a good old-fashioned Tory dress, may yet be read with pleasure and instruction. His "London" (1738), a poem in imitation of Juvenal's third satire, was followed by his painfully interesting "Life of Richard Savage" (1744), which bore witness to his powers of observation and the force of his pen in prose. Less acceptable were his "Miscellaneous Observations on the tragedy of Macbeth" (1745). Two years after appeared the plan of that work, his "Dictionary of the English Language," which has proved the pillar of his reputation, and which produced a new epoch in lexicography in Great Britian. During the seven years that he laboured on this gigantic undertaking (2 vols. London, 1755), he published "The Vanity of Human Wishes," in imitation of Juvenal's tenth satire, and began the series of essays entitled "The Rambler" (1750-52), most of which he composed himself. That periodical was followed by an inferior work of the same kind, called "The Idler" (175860). In 1759 he put forth his widely-circulated political romance, the "History of Rasselas, Prince of Abyssinia," written in a very short time in order to obtain wherewith to pay the cost of his mother's interment. Not until the year 1765 did his long-promised edition of Shakespeare make its appearance, which added little to his distinction, as it failed to show a deep insight into his author's spirit and an exact acquaintance with the literature of Shakespeare's times. Under the ministry of Lord Bute, Johnson obtained (1762) a pension of £300 a year, which he earned by his political pamphlets, "The False Alarm (1770), and "Taxation no Tyranny" (1775). A visit to Scotland and the Hebrides (1773) occasioned his work, "A Journey to the Western Isles of Scotland" (1775). The suspicions therein expressed regarding the authenticity of Ossion's THE VANITY OF HUMAN WISHES. Enlarge my life with multitude of days, In health, and sickness, thus the suppliant prays; In vain their gifts the bounteous seasons pour, No sounds, alas! would touch the impervious ear, The still returning tale, and lingering jest, But grant the virtuous of a temperate prime, Yet even on this her load misfortune flings, But few there are whom hours like these await, Where then shall hope and fear their objects find ? Must dull suspense corrupt the stagnant mind? Must helpless man, in ignorance sedate, Roll darkling down the torrent of his fate? Must no dislike aiarm, no wishes rise, No cries invoke the mercies of the skies? Which heaven may hear, nor dream religion vain ; But leave to heaven the measure and the choice. Secure what e'er he gives, he gives the best. For love, which scarce collective man can fill ; THE JOURNEY OF LIFE. "Gbidah, the son of Abensina, left the caravansary early in the morning, and pursued his journey through the plains of Hindostan. He was fresh and vigorous with rest; he was animated with hope; he was incited by desire; he walked swiftly forward over the valleys, and saw the hills gradually rising before him. As he passed along, his ears were delighted with the morning song of the bird of paradise, he was fanned by the last flutters of the sinking breeze, and sprinkled with dew by groves of spices; he sometimes contemplated the towering height of the oak, monarch of the hills; and sometimes caught the gentle fragrance of the primrose, eldest daughter of the spring: all his senses were gratified, and all care was banished from his heart. "Thus he went on till the sun approached his meridian, and the increasing heat preyed upon his strength; he then looked round about him for some more commodious path. He saw, on his right hand, a grove that seemed to wave its shades as a sign of invitation; he entered it, and found the coolness and verdure irresistibly pleasant. "He did not, however, forget whither he was travelling, but found a narrow way bordered with flowers, which appeared to have the same direction with the main road, and was pleased that, by this happy experiment, he had found means to unite pleasure with business, and to gain the rewards of diligence without suffering its fatigues. He therefore still continued to walk for a time, without the least remission of his ardour, except that he was sometimes tempted to stop by the music of the birds, whom the heat had assembled in the shade; and sometimes amused himself with plucking the flowers that covered the banks on either side, or the fruits that hung upon the branches. At last the green path began to decline from its first tendency, and to wind among hills and thickets cooled with fountains, and murmuring with waterfalls. Here Obidah paused for a time, and began to consider whether it were longer safe to forsake the known and common track; but remembering that the heat was now in its greatest violence, and that the plain was dusty and uneven, he resolved to pursue the new path, which he supposed only to make a few meanders, in compliance with the varieties of the ground, and to end at last in the sulted; he lamented the unmanly impatience that prompted him to seek shelter in the grove, and despised the petty curiosity that led him on from trifle to trifle. While he was thus reflecting, the air grew blacker and a clap of thunder broke his meditation. "He now resolved to do what remained yet in his power, to tread back the ground which he had passed, and try to find some issue where the wood might open into the plain. He prostrated himself on the ground, and commended his life to the lord of nature. He rose with confidence and tranquillity, and pressed on with his sabre in his hand, for the beasts of the' desert were in motion, and on every hand were heard the mingled howls of rage and fear, and ravage and expiration; all the horrors of darkness and solitude surrounded him; the winds roared in the woods, and the torrents tumbled from the hills. "Work'd into sudden rage by wintry show'rs, Down the steep hill the roaring torrent pours; The mountain shepherd hears the distant noise. "Thus forlorn and distressed, he wandered through the wil without knowing whither he was going, or whether he was every moment drawing nearer to safety or to destruction. At length not fear but labour began to overcome him; his breath grew short, and his knees trembled, and he was on the point of lying down in resignation to his fate, when he beheld through brambles the glimmer of a taper. He advanced towards the light, and finding that it proceeded from the cottage of a hermit, he called humbly at the door, and obtained admission. The old man set before him such provisions as he had collected for himself, on which Obidah fed with eagerness and gratitude. "When the repast was over, 'Tell me,' said the hermit, 'by what chance thou hast been brought hither? I have been now twenty years an inhabitant of the wilderness, in which I never saw a man before.' Obidah then related the occurrences of his journey, without any concealment or palliation. "Son,' said the hermit, let the errors and follies, the dangers and escapes of this day, sink deep into thy heart. Remember, my son, that human life is the journey of a day. We'rise in the morning of youth, full of vigour and full of expectation we set forward with spirit and hope, with gaiety and with diligence, and travel on a while in the straight road of piety towards the mansions of rest. In a short time we remit our fervour, and endeavour to find some mitigation of our duty, and some more easy means of obtaining the same end. We then relax our vigour, and resolve no longer to be terrified with crimes at a distance, but rely upon our own constancy, and venture to approach what we resolve never to touch. We thus enter the bowers of ease, and repose in the shades of security. Here the heart softens, and vigilance subsides; we are then willing to enquire whether another advance cannot be made, and whether we may not, at least, turn our eyes upon the gardens of pleasure. We approach them with scruple and hesitation; we enter them, but enter timorous and trembling, and always hope to pass through them without losing the road of virtue; which we, for a while, keep in our sight, and to which we propose to return. But temptation succeeds temptation, and one compliance prepares us for another; we in time lose the happiness of innocence, and solace our disquiet with sensual gratifications. By ·Having thus calmed his solicitude, he renewed his pace, degrees we let fall the remembrance of our original intention, though he suspected that he was not gaining ground. The un- and quit the only adequate object of rational desire. We easiness of his mind inclined him to lay hold on every new object, entangle ourselves in business, immerse ourselves in luxury, and give way to every sensation that might soothe or divert and rove through the labyrinths of inconstancy, till the darkhim. He listened to every echo, he mounted every hill for a freshness of old age begins to invade us, and disease and anxiety prospect, he turned aside to every cascade, and pleased himself obstruct our way. We then look back upon our lives with with tracing the course of a gentle river that rolled among the horror, with sorrow, with repentance; and wish, but too trees, and watered a large region with innumerable circumvo- often vainly wish, that we had not forsaken the ways of virtue. lutions. In these amusements the hours passed away un- Happy are they, my son, who shall learn from thy example counted, his deviations had perplexed his memory, and he not to despair, but shall remember, that though the day is knew not towards what point to travel. He stood pensive and past, and their strength is wasted, there yet remains one effort confused, afraid to go forward lest he should go wrong, yet to be made; that reformation is never hopeless, nor sincere conscious that the time of loitering was now past. endeavours ever unassisted, that the wanderer may at length return after all his errors, and that he who implores strength and courage from above, shall find danger and difficulty give way before him. Go now, my son, to thy repose, commit thyself to the care of Omnipotence, and when the morning calls again to toil, begin anew thy journey, and thy life." common road. "While lie was thus tortured with uncertainty, the sky was overspread with clouds, the day vanished from before him, and a sudden tempest gathered round his head. He was now roused by his danger to a quick and painful remembrance of his folly; he now saw how happiness is lost when ease is con |