to sound in our ears, when the fowls come and devour | the seed so newly sown, or they wither away because they have no root, or thorns spring up and they are choked, and become useless as they had never been! Yet, with a few the case is far otherwise; and in these the zealous preacher finds his rich, his only desired reward, even in those honest and good hearts who, having heard the Word proclaimed from his lips, delight to keep it, and bring forth fruit with patience. When many things are considered, which will be obvious on a moment's reflection, the marvel seems to be, not that the popularity of some preachers is so great, but that the number of popular preachers in Scotland is not tenfold what it really is. It cannot be denied that our Church is well stocked with able and pious men who take pleasure in dedicating their time and talents to others' edification, whose heart is in their office, and whose hands are divinely strengthened for their holy work. Why, then, is it only occasionally that we are startled into acknowledgment of the superior claims to public regard of some mighty master in Israel? Sinful, and thoughtless, and perverse, as human nature is, yet in the majority of minds there appears to lie concealed an involuntary attraction towards whatever is good and great whether in intellect or morality; almost all can admire, though all cannot imitate, excellence. And surely, (even supposing the aid of ecclesiastical agency to be laid aside,) to no man so much as to the preacher are accorded those extraneous advantages for sounding the hidden depths of the heart, which yet must be moved before any right impressions are realized. St. Paul declares that he became all things to all men, that he might save some, constantly varying his discourse so as to suit the motley characters with whom he had to do; that "his heart's desire and prayer to God for Israel was that they might be saved," and that " he could even wish that himself were accursed from Christ, for his brethren according to the flesh." Here was a zeal of the preacher which could not fail of its influence on the hearers. Dare we say that such fervour of interest for their flocks is universal among our pastors? Perhaps they do not sufficiently consider the magnitude of the power they possess, perhaps they are scarcely aware of the great things they might accomplish did they exert that power to the utmost. Something of blame, however, in this matter, must certainly attach to congregations too: and how often, consequently, (if we except the momentary excitement they experience while actually seated in the sacred house,) has the most faithful minister reason to fear for many of his people, that, in as far as they are concerned, he has been as yet "labouring in vain, and spending his strength for nought." What then remains to be said? Just what ought to be the language of one and all, preachers, as well as hearers," Let us search and try our ways;" and do thou, “O God, search us, and know our thoughts;" "give us understanding, that we may keep thy law;" enable us to study the Scriptures with profit, for in them we have eternal life;" "guide us by thine own counsel, and order our steps in thy Word." Before concluding my observations on this subject, it may not be inappropriate to revert, for a few moments, to that extraordinary attachment entertained by many congregations, in these days, for their own individual pastors. The feeling in itself, we admit, is highly honourable to both parties, inasmuch as it evidences the pious industry of the ministers, on the one hand, and a suitable return of gratitude from their hearers, on the other. Sometimes, however, (and we do not hesitate to appeal for the truth of the assertion to the consciences of hundreds,) it would seem matter of doubt whether those lively emotions of regard for the ministers of religion be always based upon that just founda tion by which alone they ought to be upheld. The apostle, it is true, has admonished us to know them that are over us in the Lord," and to "esteem them very highly in love, for their work's sake, seeing that they watch for our souls, as they that must give account, that they may do it with joy, and not with grief." So far, therefore, it is well; and strangely constituted must that mind be, which would refuse to accord to God's faithful minister that tribute of respectful regard to which, by his office, at least, if not still further by his peculiar piety and usefulness, he is so eminently entitled; yet still, we cannot help thinking, that in some instances such very natural and praiseworthy sentiments are carried too far, and that these very feelings which, when kept in moderation, are good and profitable, may be allowed, by over-indulgence, to degenerate into a weak, romantic, foolish, and even unscriptural, enthu siasm. The labour of Christ's teacher among his brethren of mortality, we conceive to be at once the most exalted, because the most disinterested, and though the most arduous, yet the most delightful, of human employments upon earth,-and when performed in the lofty spirit, and with the untiring energy, of a genuine apostle, there is a veneration attached to the name of pastor, which even the ungodly cannot refuse to ac knowledge; notwithstanding all this, however, the Christian must never forget, in his admiration of the man, that the vessel which bears the treasure is only earthen, and that the excellency of the power is alone divine: and if reason and revelation teach us, in one place, a high regard for the ministers of the truth, these also warn us, in another, to beware of excess in our emotions. Into this error, it would appear that the members of the Corinthian Church, no less than our own, had fallen, in the days of St. Paul; for which cause he sees meet to rebuke and exhort them. The same language which they employed would still seem to be the utterance, either secret or avowed, of many hearts in the present time; and "I am of Paul," and "I am of Apollos," are expressions by no means worn out into distaste or disuse. In some families, their favourite preacher has become a very household word, beloved, we had almost said, idolized, beyond the desert of any mere human agent; and when his ministry is not heard, the improvement derived from the Gospel lesson runs imminent hazard of being considerably narrowed. Surely, in such a state of feeling as this, there must be something radically wrong: and Paul himself has given the best argument, which may serve for a corrective and a cure, when he asks, "Who is Paul, and who is Apollos, but ministers by whom ye believed, even as the Lord gave to every man? is Christ divided? Was Paul crucified for you? or were ye baptized in the name of Paul? Be not so carnally minded; for neither is he that planteth any thing, nor he that watereth any thing, seeing it is God alone who giveth the increase." Besides, let us always bear in mind, that if we love our pastors, the best evidence we can give of this love is, to show that we prize the teaching of the Divine Spirit, and not their wisdom, as the chief object of our studious regard; and that, however holy, however ele gant, however useful, we may find the discourses of some particular ministers, it is quite possible for the grace of God to make the sermons of any other teacher just as effectual for establishing and strengthening us in the faith. After all, it is not the manner, but the matter, with which we have to do; and if the truth be dear to us, we shall hear it with reverence and edifica tion, by whatever mouth it is spoken. But, without extending these remarks further, I shall conclude by relating an occurrence in point, which, as falling within my own experience, may tend to illustrate this part of my subject in a stronger light. A lady, eminent for piety, with whom I was privi leged to be acquainted, and who, after a protracted illness, was at length translated, as I doubt not, to that rest which remaineth for the people of God, once told me the following little anecdote. Though narrated merely as characteristic of her own feelings, there is reason to suppose it may be found of pretty general application. As far as I can recollect, I will give it in her own words. We had been talking of the overweening attachment of some persons for the ministers of their choice, when she said,— "This conversation reminds me of something which lately happened to myself. You know my great esteem and veneration for my own clergyman, Dr G CHRISTIAN LOVE. How sweet, how heav'nly is the sight, When each can feel his brother's sigh, And joy from heart to heart. When free from envy, scorn, and pride, Each can his brother's failing hide, When love, in one delightful stream, Love is the golden chain that binds And he's an heir of heaven, that finds SWAINE. THE WISDOM, POWER, AND KINDNESS OF BY THE REV. WILLIAM GRANT, THE laws which regulate the economy of insect com- and how I prize his pulpit addresses above those of all other preachers I ever heard; I have sometimes feared, however, lest these feelings might exert an undue influence over me, and mar the good effects which I ought to derive from the Gospel ministrations of others. That this fear was not wholly groundless, I had not long ago a very strong and a very humbling proof. On the Sabbath of the recent communion season in our church, I rose somewhat earlier than usual, resolved to forward my morning arrangements so as to reach the house of God in such time as would insure me a place at the first sacramental service. My reason for this, as you will suppose, was, that I thus expected to enjoy more immediately the full benefit of Dr G -'s exhortation to his people. 1 arrived too late, however, to effect my object; and, grieved and mortified, was forced to betake myself to my own pew, instead of that seat at the wished-for table, upon which I had set my heart so eagerly. Agitated and annoyed by this circumstance, I remained absorbed for a few minutes in what I must ever consider a very sinful dissatisfaction, when I was roused by the entrance of the clergyman, and the commencement of the solemn duties of the day. Alas! in how many cases is not the saying verified, that we know not the deceit and wickedness of our own hearts, till events call them forth, and conscience palpably confronts us with them! Shall I confess it to you? I may, for I have already confessed and repented of it before God:-My mind was yet brooding over the morning's foolish disappointment,-guide the four hundred thousand species, which is taking occasion to revert to it even during the intervals of praise and prayer,-when Dr G- opened the Bible, and announced the ground of his exposition. It was contained in the language of our risen Lord to the sorrowing Mary, at the sepulchre, Woman, why weepest thou? Whom seekest thou?' It were vain to attempt describing the emphasis with which these words fell upon my ear,-so peculiar as they seemed to me at that moment, and so strangely applicable to my own state of feeling. Instantly my attention was arrested; I was awed into serenity, for I felt as if my heart was literally touched as by a live coal from off. the altar of God. A thousand ideas rushed with the speed of lightning on my mind; I was awakened,-I was saddened, I was humbled,-my sin had found me 'Woman, why weepest thou?' In that one simple sentence was compressed a whole volume of inquiry the most searching; and in the other, Whom seekest thou?' I perceived the instantaneous condemnation of my whole train of emotions. I was overpowered, as by talismanic influence; it was as if the Saviour himself had addressed me, in terms of righteous reproof, yet mingled with mild and compassionate encouragement, Why trust ye so blindly in man's wisdom? Seek my face; incline your ear unto me, and your soul shall live. Cling no longer, with slavish dependence, to the ministrations of an earthly teacher; my grace is sufficient for thee,-and my Spirit is He alone that can guide thee into all truth.' out. "Never," Mrs B- added, “shall I forget the impression of that hour,-nor do I desire ever to lose sight of the lesson then inculcated." undisturbed by one jarring feature, one imperfect adjustment. They are not merely faultless, but the examination of each successively calls forth our warmest admiration. There is one peculiar feature in the laws which regulate the habits of all created things which is widely different from those which were intended to guide the actions of man. They never fail to obtain the object for which they were appointed,-they are always obeyed to the very letter. Whereas the laws of the most potent empires are so subject to transgression that pains and penalties are threatened in order to secure obedience. This is not merely the case with laws of man's devising, or which rest alone on his sanction; but it is pre-eminently true of those laws which our Maker has given to direct us. It is natural for us to inquire whence this difference arises?-how it comes to pass that the lower orders of creation most fully obey their Maker's will, and serve the chief end of their existence, while man so wofully comes short of the intentions and purposes of God regarding him? There is a wide difference in their constitution. The mind of the lower animals (if I may use the expression for want of a better,) is so constructed, that it cannot but obey the impulses and the impressions stamped upon it: this has been called instinct. These instincts, or impressions, are in strict accordance with the laws God hath appointed to regulate their habits. Thus, therefore, they are constrained to fulfil these laws by the constitution of their minds. To man there has been superadded a power of choosing which of these impressions he will obey; and thus liberty is given unto him, either to fulfil or neglect the chief end of his existence. This has been called reason, in opposition to the instinct of animals, which is irresistible. You will observe that I am speaking of man, when he came fresh from the hands of his Maker. It was then, and only then, that he could choose for himself the path in which he was to walk. Since the fall, a new element has been introduced into his condition. He may still have the power of choosing to obey, or to disobey the laws of God, but that choice will inevitably lead to sin in one form or another, for his reason is warped and distorted by sinful passions. He is no longer able to view the comparative merits of different actions with a calm, unprejudiced, and discerning eye. Darkness now fills his soul; God is hid from his view; or, if seen, is an object of fear or hatred. Sin appears, when viewed by itself, "good for food, and much to be desired." In other words, when God was to man the great object of enjoyment,-when His glory was the main purpose of his desires, reason was a sufficient guide, its voice always gave its testimony in favour of the divine laws; but now that "God is not in all our thoughts," since "the imaginations of our hearts are only evil continually," since the heart by nature is "enmity to God," reason no longer is a sufficient guide; its voice no longer points with unvarying precision to the Lord our God, nor cries, "This is the way, walk ye in it." As in nature the magnetic pole is not the same as the real pole, so our desires, if we shape our course by them, will lead us far astray from the end and object of the voyage of life. Thus, therefore, reason itself, by its variations, by its uselessness when we approach the confines where desire and appetite are centred, bears testimony to the saying of Paul, "When I would do good evil is present with me,"-" of ourselves we can do nothing.' But to return from this digression, as to the efficiency of reason to guide fallen and corrupted passions, I remind you of the statement already made, that instinct necessarily fulfils the laws appointed to guide the habits of the lower orders of creation. Some illustrations of this I will afterwards give, but let me now call you to observe how this statement displays "the wisdom, power, and kindness, of God." When we examine an instrument which, by one simple contrivance, is fitted to obtain a useful end, we are convinced that its form was not the result of chance, but that its maker by reflection shaped it in the most commodious form. Thus the difference between the axe and the adze plainly indicates that each was formed for its own peculiar office. In like manner, the difference between the form of the bee and the gnat bears a relation to their different uses. It is obvious that the more manifold and complicated the distinctions are, if each is suited to a corresponding difference in the uses of the individual, the more clearly and undeniably is the wisdom and power of the original Maker displayed. Strong as such an argument may be, when drawn from the distinctions existing between thousands of animals, each fitted for its own duties and these alone, its force is unspeakably increased when we perceive that in all of these, there are manners and modes of life no wise dependent on their outward form, which are yet in perfect and harmonious keeping with their varied shapes. Thus the form of the bee, its wings to carry it from flower to flower, its proboscis to rifle them of their sweets, its stomach fitted to digest such food, all of these show a fitness and harmony one with another which lead us to conclude that they are the result of mature reflection and perfect power. But when we view, in connection with this structure, the habits and economy which guide the bee, we have a corroboration, nay more, a proof of our inference. It is as if turning from the simple tools of the carpenter's workshop we enter the precincts of some vast manufactory, where each part is not only fitted for its office, but where, as it were, life had been breathed into all, where each was in motion, performing with unerring precision its proper function, at the proper time and at the proper place. While standing amidst such a scene, hearing the din of a thousand hammers, the grating of every different instrument, beholding the vast machine of innumerable parts hurrying on without pause or hesitation, we at first think that all is confusion and irregularity, and are glad to escape to the quiet of the open air. Such are the feelings with which the inexperienced view the ceaseless round of nature's machinery; every slight deviation fills them with alarm; the atmosphere when riven by the lightnings, or resounding with the thunders of the sky, convulses them with fear, as if nature were tumbling into ruins; all is to them full of danger and inextricable confusion. But when we examine the machinery, and find every part is fitted for its own purpose, when we see regularity and precision appearing in every motion of what once seemed a Babel, -a chaos of confusion, we begin to wonder at the magnitude of the invention, to admire the skill that planned and executed so complicated a machine. Just so when the student of nature examines the working of nature's endless laws, he falls prostrate before his God, and cries, "Thou, Lord, art the mighty God, great in counsel, mighty in work:" "Wisdom and strength hast thou; counsel and understanding." "Who is like unto thee, O Lord, among the gods; who is like thee, glorious in holiness, fearful in praises, ever doing wonders." To the sinner, to those who know not Christ, the mighty operations of nature are a source of unmitigated fear; for He who rides on the stormy sea, before whose presence the earth trembles to its centre, is a fearful antagonist. But the Christian looks calmly on, for he can say, "My Father made them all;" He is my God, my Saviour, my friend, not a hair of my head shall perish. With regard to the instincts of the lower orders of animals, the first thing that attracts our attention, is the wisdom and kindness that hath appointed them. I speak not of the fitness of the different instincts of different species, but of the gift of instinct itself. From what has been said of the nature of instinct, it is obvi ous that the possession of it determines, beyond the possibility of change, the habits and manners of all crea tion. What they were at first created, they still continue to be. There is no uncertainty; all, without exception, fulfil the purpose for which they were formed at first. Now, if we look around us, and see how dependent we are upon these varied tribes,-if we consider, that all creation is like one vast body, the limbs of which are fitted into each other, as it were by joints, as various, but as nicely formed, as those of the human body; and that these parts are bound together by certain laws, as firmly as the ligaments keep our limbs together, and give them motion,-if we reflect on these things, we will see the wisdom that hath made the continuance of them not dependent upon reason, but upon irresistible and unerring instincts. If all the lower animals, like man, had been left to the freedom of their own will, what a mass of inextricable confusion would this world have been! From our experience of reason, what other conclusion can we draw? Loud panegy rics may be, and have been, written upon reason; but what does experience teach us regarding its steadiness, when compared with instinct? It tells us of a world of sinners, whom God formed upright, but who liked not to retain Him in their hearts, of a world whose wisdom knew not God; it tells us that rational creatures, intended to adorn this world, are the only blot that mars its beauty. Experience tells us of an earth groaning beneath a curse, drawn down upon it for man's disobedience," Cursed is the ground for thy sake, thorns and briers shall it bring forth to thee." Is it not with justice that I ask, What would have been your condition this day, if reason, frail erring reason, had been the guide of those animals which form your protection your help your food itself? Is it not more wisely, more kindly ordered, that by instinct all are preserved from error or mistake? And what shall we say of the power of Him who said, and all things stood fast?" Frailty, decay, and foolishness, are the characteristics which are indelibly engraved on the works of man. Uselessness, irregularity, and change, are the uniform results of chance ;-omnipotence, stability, and perfection, ever proceed from Him alone who is infinite in all his perfections! THE CHIEF HAPPINESS OF MAN IS ONLY TO BE FOUND A DISCOURSE. BY THE REV. ALEXANDER TURNER, Minister of Gorbals, Glasgow. "There be many that say, Who will show us any good? Lord, lift thou up the light of thy countenance upon us."-PSALM iv. 6. in the acquisition of wealth, others of power, others of knowledge, others of fame. These, at least, are the sources from which, practically, they attempt to draw it. But, after their most laborious, and even most successful attempts, are they not all as ready, as when first they began their course, to adopt the sentiment, "Who will show us any good?" Whatever may have been the special reference of these words as they were first employed, there is one view in which, when they are considered, they clearly point to the distinguishing dispositions and circumstances of those whom Paul characterizes under the terms "carnally-minded" and "spiritually-minded." The question which it is here said many adopt is eminently characteristic of the former; and the prayer presented by David, in name of all the faithful, is not less characteristic of the latter. It is chiefly in this light that we propose at present to examine the text. Our design is to endeavour to illustrate these two remarks, which seem to be very obviously suggested by the words before us, viz., first, That true and satisfying enjoyment is not to be found in the pursuit or possession of the things of time; but that, secondly, The chief end of man, in so far as happiness is concerned, is the enjoyment of God himself. Ir is reported of a certain luxurious prince, of ancient times, that he offered a reward to any one who should devise a new pleasure. "Whatsoever his eyes had desired he had not kept from them; he had not withheld his heart from any joy." But alas! he had not been satisfied. Each new enjoyment had discovered itself to be "vanity and vexation of spirit." There was still a longing after the unattained. The favoured child of fortune, with his thousand slaves, each ready to anticipate his every wish, had still as many wants unfulfilled as the meanest of his subjects who toiled in the sweat of his brow for his daily bread. His possessions might be greater far than the mind of the poor man had ever even conceived capable of supplying immeasureably more wants than he had ever fancied it possible that any heart could feel-and yet was this great potentate, with all the pomp of royalty, and the wealth of nations, and unlimited control over all the means of temporal enjoyment, as ready as the most needy of his people, from his very heart, to say, "Whorious are the expedients which the wise men have will show us any good?" Now, this man was just furnishing an example of the general experience of human nature. He was expending his strength on that which could not satisfy, hewing out to himself a broken cistern, drinking at rivers of those pleasures which were never intended to fulfil the longings of an immortal spirit. And there is no man whose experience does not, in some degree, correspond with this; for all the various pleasures which this world affords are unsatisfying in their nature, and transitory in their duration. Happiness is the one object, in pursuit of which all men are engaged. To this they are prompted by the very constitution of their nature. This they can no more cease to desire than they can cease to be. All men agree in this, although they differ most widely as to their views of that in which true happiness consists, and of the means necessary for its attainment. Some would seem to place it I. There are various methods by which the former of these statements might be illustrated. A very brief examination, on the one hand, of the nature of those desires which, from is very constitution, man is fitted to entertain, and, on the other, of the nature of the objects to satisfy these which all the things of time and sense can furnish, would show us that, even after the fullest possession of these objects, dissatisfaction must necessarily be felt. There is an obvious and acknowledged disparity between all the objects and pursuits of time and the capacity of that being which was formed after the image of God. The testimony of actual experience, moreover, gives most decided confirmation to this conclusion. Va recommended for the attainment of happiness, almost all of them, however, betraying the confession that they did themselves put little confidence in their own prescriptions, or that they hoped, at the utmost, for only partial success. One exhorted his followers to gratify, as far as possible, every rising desire; but the very argument which he employed was an admission of his folly. He bade them seize the moments of pleasure, because they were very fleeting, and gather quickly the flowers which so soon must fade; and his miserable victim found, in his own wretched experience, that poor though this argument was, it was withal deceitful, for the cup which sparkled brightest to the eye, he discovered to be but bitterness and death. Another, judging perhaps more wisely, exhorted to cultivate the habit of despising pleasure, and maintaining a calm indifference alike to every object, of keeping the soul unruffled, of scrupulously avoiding whatever might tend either to elevate or to depress. But what, alas! was the happiness which this promised, but, at the least, the mere absence of pain? What was the object proposed, but only the avoiding of disappointment? But let each one make the observation for himself. All are toiling for happiness. They are willing to endure present discomfort in the hope of future enjoyment. Who among them will say that now they have attained? that now they are satisfied? that they have no occasion to adopt the language in the text, "Who will show us any good?" Let each one ask himself, and his own heart will not be backward to reply. Is not this your condition, in so far at least as temporal objects are concerned? And oh! wherefore has not your own experience already convinced you, if you be desiring your chief enjoyment in the things of time, that you look for happiness in the wrong direction? that you seek the living among the dead? The things of time, of which you have become actually possessed, are true specimens of the whole class which they represent, and your experience of the possession of these ought to have convinced you that, although you should gain the whole world, it would only be "vanity and vexation of spirit." every moment's experience strikingly confirms the truth of our statement. He is labouring under a painful and corroding disease, hoarding up that which not only does not satisfy him, but which is every hour adding to his anxiety and pain. By the very means which he adopts to insure happiness, he is cherishing the viper which is stinging him,-feeding the flame by which he is tormented and consumed. You may look in another direction, and you will see men altogether neglectful of such pursuits, and seeking this same object by very different means, but with the like success. These have listened to the delusive voice of Fame, promising to conduct them to that good thing which they so anxiously desire. For this they, perhaps, deny themselves to the indulgences of the sensual, and despise the riches of the avaricious man. They have set themselves to brave all dangers and surmount all difficulties in reaching that perilous height where the treasure is to be found. Ask them, when they have toiled to the uttermost, even as the successful votaries of ambition, if now their hearts are fully satisfied? They may have received the highest honours which the world can bestow. Power and glory and a wide-spread reputation may be theirs. But they will tell you, at least their Or, again, let each one look along the various, conduct will, that, from the loftiest point which and sometimes opposite, paths which different they have ever reached, satisfaction seemed just as men pursue, all in search of that one object, distant as before, nay, that instead of that atmoshappiness. What mean their toil, and anxiety, phere of peace and happiness which they expected, and watchfulness, and care? The voice of each they found themselves in a region of deeper cares of these is, "Who will show us any good ?" and stranger perplexities than before. Yes, and Look to the man of pleasure, as he is called, let fancy conceive the condition of a man, who has though rather, alas! the child of present folly and gained the world, its power, and wealth, and pomp, of future remorse and shame. His happiness is, and glory, and pleasures. These would not reof all things, the most imperfect and disappoint- press the longings of the soul. They are not, in ing. He toils for that which is not. He spends any respect, fitted to do so. They would only his strength for that which does not satisfy. He add fuel to the flame. They are all unsatisfying is ever seeking, but never finds; doing violence in their nature, and brief in their duration. He to the nature which God has given him, pain- who has enjoyed the most of them has been the fully repressing the strivings of that conscience, loudest to proclaim their emptiness. "Vanity of which remonstrates against the indignity done to vanities, all is vanity." They would no more God's intelligent creature, and whose voice is satisfy the desires of the immortal spirit, than the destined yet to burst forth and fill him with bit- empty voice of reputation could satisfy the crav terest remorse. Look to the man intent on wealth ings of hunger. When its children ask bread, the as his chief good. While engaged in his eager world gives them a stone; when they ask a fish, struggle, do not his anxiety, and care, and labour it gives them a serpent. Disease, were it but to proclaim that, as yet at least, he feels that he has seize upon the most insignificant member of the not attained the good on which his happiness de- body, might, in an instant, cover the soul of this pends? At length, perhaps, he retires from the world's possessor with darkness, and make him bustle of life, as if contented with his gain, or weary of his life. Its richest gifts cannot resist, else, it may be, his ruling passion has settled they rather invite, the attack of corroding care. down into the nature of an incurable disease, They cannot steel the heart against the visitations self-fed, and never ceasing to torment him. In of remorse and fear. They cannot save the soul the one case, he soon discovers that he is as far as from misery. The man possessing them all might ever from the possession of that which he had yet be poor, and miserable, and blind, and naked; flattered himself his wealth would secure for him. to-day clothed in purple and faring sumptuously, He must be busy still. He must labour still. He but destined to-morrow to lift up his eyes in tormust still be actively engaged in some new pur-ments. suit, else he is miserable. His enjoyment is as much a thing of futurity as it ever was, and probably his feeling is more distinctly than ever, "Who will show me any good?" In the other, Were we thus to go onward from case to case, and to address our interrogations even to the successful in the various lines of life, the answer would be uniform, the induction altogether con |