Where it is so cool as not to occasion sympathetic pains, it is never productive of much pleasure.

The ordinary commerce of the world consists in a circulation of frivolous intercourse, in which the heart has no concern. It is generally insipid, and often soured by the slightest difference in humour, or opposition of interest. We fly to company in order to be relieved from wearisome correspondence with ourselves; and the vexations which we meet with in society frequently drive us back to soli tude. Even among the virtuous dissensions will arise; and disagreement in opinion too often produces alienation. of heart. We form very few connections where somewhat does not occur to disappoint our hopes. The beginnings are often pleasing. We flatter ourselves with having found those who will never give us disgust. But weaknesses are too soon discovered. Suspicions arise; and love waxes cold. We are jealous of one another, and accustomed to live in disguise. A studied civility assumes the naine, without the reality of friendship; and secret animosity and envy are often concealed under the caresses of dissembled affection.

Hence the pleasure of earthly society, like all our other pleasures, is extremely imperfect; and can give us but a very faint conception of the joy that must arise from the society of perfect spirits in a happier world. Here, it is with difficulty that we can select from the corrupted crowd, a few with whom we wish to associate in strict union. There are assembled all the wise, the holy, and the just, who ever existed in the world; without any distress to trouble their mutual bliss, or any source of disagreement to interrupt their perpetual harmony. Artifice and concealment are unknown there. There, no competitors struggle; no factions contend; no rivals supplant each other. The voice of discord never rises, nor does the whisper of suspicion ever circulate among those innocent and blessed spirits. Each happy in himself, participates in the happiness of all the rest; and by reciprocal communications of love and friendship, at once receives from, and adds to, the sum of general felicity.

United to this great assembly, the blessed at the same time renew those ancient connections with virtuous friends which had been dissolved here below by death. The prospect of this awakens in the heart the most pleasing and tender sentiment which perhaps can fill it in this mortal

state; for of all the sorrows which we are subject to in the present world, none is so bitter as that occasioned by the fatal stroke which separates us, in appearance for ever, from those to whom either nature or friendship had intimately joined our hearts. Memory, from time to time, renews the anguish; opens the wound which seemed once to have been closed; and by recalling those joys which are past and gone, touches every spring of painful sensibility.

In these agonizing moments how relieving the thought, that the separation is only temporary, and not eternal! that there is a time to come of re-union with those with whom our happiest days on earth were spent; whose joys and sorrows once were our's; and from whom, after we shall have landed on the peaceful shore where they now dwell, no revolutions of nature shall ever be able to part us more! Such is the society and blessedness of the saints above.

RELIGIOUS BIGOTRY.

ZEAL, undoubtedly, is a very excellent principle when knowledge is its foundation, and charity its support. Without the former, it will be wild and irregular; without the latter, dangerous and pernicious; and to the want of these we trace the origin of all religious bigotry. The innocence of the dove lies at the very root of all true religion, and should be invariably regarded in every attempt to promote and extend its influence. But the wisdom of the serpent ought not to be disregarded in prosecuting the noble design, lest we irritate the disorder we mean to cure, and defeat our intentions by our imprudence.

A person of a precipitate turn of mind, when his heart, inflamed by principles which he conceives of everlasting consequence, hath got the better of his head, will endeavour to propagate them by the most inconsiderate measures, regardless of times, persons, places, and circumstances--the complections of which must necessarily be consulted and attended to, if we would see the good effect of our endeavours. To be ashamed of religion, is absolutely only another form of expression for having no heart for it. To be afraid to defend it, when occasion requires and opportunity suits, is a piece of cowardice beneath a man. But we must not defend it by weapons that will turn upon itself, and instead of conquering its opponents, administer to its own ill success.

It is not every one that talks loudest about doctrines and principles of faith-it is not every one who is ambitious of exalting his character by the cant of a party, who, if a heretic, thinks orthodoxy nonsense; or if orthodox, deems heresy to be worse than immorality-it is not every one who on the most trifling incidents runs on in a strain of spiritualization, giving a sanctimonious turn to every word that is dropped, and every object that is seen, in all sorts of company-it is not every one who is so violently bent on being thought somewhat wonderful in his way, that feels the impressions of real religion, and is most governed by its mild. and steady influence through the trying vicissitudes of life.

The man who drops a tear in private over the follies and vices of his fellow-creatures; who, retired from the eye of the world, pours his ardent wishes into the bosom of his God, and there meekly records the pity of his heart; the man, who really desirous to have the true ends of his admonitions and remonstrances answered, consults the best time and place for administering them; the fittest and most engaging means-who discovers affection in his reproofs, and candour in his advices; such an one, whose uniform example gives force and credit to his lessons, is an ornament to any character, and was lent by Heaven as a blessing to mankind.

A religious bigot, under the influence of rash and unguarded zeal, looking upon prudence as a more passable word for indifference, will break through every restraint as a shackle inconsistent with his duty, either as a zealot for one creed, or against all. He will hack the darling notions of those who differ from him, with unsparing rigour and unblushing insolence. And why is he so precipitate? Why does he not begin with more mildness, and proceed gradually to the correction of their errors and the improvement of their understandings? "No," he will reply, "by no means for this is only temporizing, trimming; it is to be afraid of the faces of men, who must be told what is truth and what is error in the bluntest, plainest, and most resolute language." But what does he get by his bold and forward attack on what he is pleased to call prejudices? He is only laughed at and despised by the more modest and discerning part of mankind for his petulance and vanity.

As to the gross herd of the people, their prejudices perhaps are only rivetted the firmer by his indiscreet methods of opposing them; or should he happen to cure them of some old ones, neither they nor their neighbours will gain

much by his skill, since the expulsion of one foul spirit may only clear the way for the admission of a fouler, who, to give the finishing hand to the work, may probably "take with him seven other devils more wicked than himself; and so the last state of such men will be worse than the first!"

ON THE LOVE OF TRUTH.

ALL truth is from the sempiternal Source
Of light divine. But Egypt, Greece, and Rome,
Drew from the stream below. More favour'd, we
Drink, when we choose it, at the fountain head.
To them it flow'd much mingled and defil'd
With hurtful error, prejudice, and dreams
Illusive of philosophy, so call'd,

But falsely. Sages after sages strove

In vain to filter off a crystal draught

Pure from the lees, which after more enhanc'd
The thirst than slak'd it, and not seldom bred
Intoxication and delirium wild.

In vain they push'd enquiry to the birth

And spring-time of the world; ask'd, whence is man?
Why form'd at all? and wherefore as he is?
Where must he find his Maker? with what rites
Adore him? Will he hear, accept, and bless?
Or does he sit regardless of his works?
Has man within him an immortal seed?
Or does the tomb take all? If he survive
His ashes, where? and in what weal or woe?
Knots worthy of solution, which alone

A Deity could solve. Their answers, vague,
And all at random, fabulous, and dark,

Left them as dark themselves. Their rules of life,
Defective and unsanction'd, prov'd too weak
To bind the roving appetite, and lead
Blind nature to a God not yet reveal'd.
"Tis revelation satisfies all doubts,
Explains all mysteries, except her own,
And so illuminates the path of life,
That fools discover it, and stray no more.
Now tell me, dignified and sapient Sir,
My man of morals, nurtur'd in the shades
Qf Academus-is this false or true?

Is Christ the abler teacher, or the schools?
If Christ, then why resort at ev'ry turn
To Athens or to Rome, for wisdom short
Of man's occasions, when in him reside
Grace, knowledge, comfort-an unfathom'd store?
How oft, when Paul has serv'd us with a text,
Has Epictetus, Plato, Tully, preach'd!
Men that, if now alive, would sit content
And humble learners of a Saviour's worth,

Preach it who might. Such was their love of truth,
Their thirst of knowledge, and their candour too!
The only amaranthine flow'r on earth
Is virtue; th' only lasting treasure, truth.
But what is truth? 'twas Pilate's question, pat
To Truth itself, that deign'd him no reply.
And wherefore? will not God impart his light
To them that ask it?-Truly-'tis his joy,
His glory, and his nature, to impart.
But to the proud, uncandid, insincere,
Or negligent enquirer, not a spark.

What's that which brings contempt upon a book,
And him who writes it; though the style be neat,
The method clear, and argument exact?
That makes a minister in holy things
The joy of many, and the dread of more,
His name a theme for praise and for reproach?
That, while it gives us worth in God's account,
Depreciates and undoes us in our own?
What pearl is it that rich men cannot buy,
That learning is too proud to gather up;
But which the poor, and the despis'd of all,
Seek and obtain, and often find unsought?
Tell me-and I will tell thee what is truth.

CRUELTY PUNISHED.

WHERE England, stretch'd towards the setting sun, Narrow and long, o'erlooks the western wave, Dwelt young Misagathus; a scorner he Of God and goodness, atheist in ostent, Vicious in act, in temper savage-fierce. He journey'd; and his chance was as he went,