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rapture in the soul, | finding in the regions of scepticism | nothing to which it corresponds, droops, and languishes. | In a world which presents a fair spectacle of order, and beauty, I of a vast family, nourished, and supported by an Almighty Parent - 1 in a world which leads the devout mind, step by step, I to the contemplation of the first fair, and the first good, I the sceptic is encompassed with nothing but obscurity, meanness, and disorder. /

When we reflect on the manner in which the idea of Deity is formed, I we must be convinced that such an idea intimately present to the mind, I must have a most powerful effect lin refining the moral taste. Composed of the richest elements, it embraces in the character of a beneficent Parent, and Almighty Ruler, 1 whatever is venerable in wisdom, whatever is awful in author'ity, I whatever is touching in good ness. |

Human excellence is blended with many imperfec'tions, and seen under many limitations. 1 It is beheld only in detached, and separate portions, I nor ever appears in any one character, whole, and entire. So that, when, in imitation of the Stoics, / we wish to form out of these fragments, the notion of a perfectly wise, and good man, / we know it is a mere fiction of the mind, without any real being in whom it is embodied, and realized. | In the belief of a Deity, | these conceptions are reduced to reality - | the scattered rays of an ideal excellence, are concentrated, I and become the real attributes of that Being with whom we stand in the nearest relation - | who sits supreme at the head of the universe, I is armed with infinite pow'er, / and pervades all nature with his presence.

The efficacy of these sentiments, I in producing, and augmenting a virtuous taste, I will indeed be proportioned to the vividness with which they are formed', and the frequency with which they recur. ; 1 yet some


b Ele-mènts; not elurmunts.

c Parént.

benefit will not fail to result from them I even in their low'est degree.

The idea of the Supreme Being, I has this peculiar property — that, as it admits of no substitute, I so, from the first moment it is impressed, it is capable of continual growth, and enlargement. God himself, is immu'table; | but our conception of his character, is continually receiving fresh accessions, is continually growing more extended and refulgent, I by having transferred upon it | new perceptions of beauty, and good ness; l by attracting to itself, as a centre, whatever bears the impress of dig'nity, or'der, or happiness. It borrows splendour from all that is fair, subordinates to itself all that is great', / and sits enthroned on the riches of the universe. |


The tree of deepest root, is found |
Least willing still to quit the ground:|
’T was therefore said by ancient sages, 1

That love of life increas'd with years,
So much, / that, in our latter stages, I
When pains grow sharp, and sickness rages, /

The greatest love of life appears. I
This great affection to believe,
Which all confess, but few perceive, I
If old assertions can't prevail,
Be pleas'd to hear a modern tale. I

When sports went round, and all were gay, |
On neighbour Dodson's wedding-day, |
Death call'd aside the jocund groom!
With him, into another room'; }
And looking grave | “ You must,” says he,
“Quit your sweet bride', / and come with

1 me.”

“With you'!) and quit my Susan's side'!| With you'!” | 'the hapless husband cried, ; |

Young as I am, 't is monstrous hard, ! |
Beside, in truth, I'm not prepar'd : 1
My thoughts on other matters go; |
This is my wedding-day, you know.” |
What more he urg'd, I have not heard',

His reasons could not well be stronger ; |
So Death the poor delinquent spar'd, I

And left to live a little longer. I
Yet, calling up a serious look- - 1
('His hour-glass trembled while he spoke) |
2« Neighbour," he said, “ farewell. | No more,
Shall Death disturb your mirthful houri ; |
And farther, to avoid all blame
Of cruelty upon my name,
To give you time for preparation, |
And fit you for your future station, I
Three several war'nings you shall have, |
Before you 're summond to the grave. I
Willing for once, I'll quit my prey', |

And grant a kind reprieve,
In hopes you 'll have no more to say'; !
But, when I call again this way, |

Well pleas'd the world will leave.” |
To these conditions both consented,
And parted perfectly contented.
What next the hero of our tale befell, |
How long he liv'd', | how wise', | how well,
How roundly he pursued 'his course, !
And smok'd his pipe', / and strok’d his horse', /

The willing muse shall tell. : !
He chaffer'd then, I he bought, I he soldi,
Nor once perceiv'd his growing old', |

Nor thought of Death as near, ; /
His friends not false', 1 his wife no shrew', |
Many his gains', I his children few., |

He pass'd his hours in peace. !
But, while he view'd his wealth increase, I
While thus along Life's dusty road,
The beaten track content he trod, 1
Old Time, | whose haste no mortal spares,
Uncall'd', | unheeded, | unawares,

Brought on his eightieth year. I
And now, one night, / in musing mood,

As all alone he sate, I
The unwelcome messenger of Fate, |

Once more before him stood. I
Half kill'd with anger, and surprise, !
“So soon return'd' !" l 'old Dodson cries,, |
2« So soon, d'ye call it?” | 'Death replies: : |
3« Surely, my friend, | you 're but, in jest ! |

Since I was here before, I
'Tis six-and-thirty years', at least," I

And you are now fourscore.” |
“ So much the worse'," l 'the clown rejoin'di, 1
2. To spare the aged would be kind : 1
However, see your search be legal; !
And your author'ity — | is 't re'gal? |
Else you are come on a fool's' errand, |
With but a sec'retary's warrant.
Beside', you promis'd me Three War'nings, 1
Which I have look'd for nights, and mornings! |
But, for that loss of time, and ease, I
I can recover damages.” |
“I know,” cries Death, 1 “ that, at the best', 1
I seldom am a welcome guest ; )
But don't be captious, friend, at least : 1
I little thought you'd still be able , I
To stump about your farm', and stable; |
Your years have run to a great length'; i

I wish you joy, though, of your strength!” | But in jest; not button jest. bYears at least; not years'at-least.


“ Hold'," says the farmer, “not so fast: ! | I have been lame these four years past." | “ And no great wonder,” | Death replies. :) “ However, you still keep your eyes'; 1 And sure, to see one's loves, and friends, | For legs, and arms, would make amends." | “ Perhaps,” says Dodson, “ so it might', | But latterly, I've lost my sight..” | “ This is a shocking tale, 't is true, But still there's comfort left for you :) Each strives your sadness to amuse I warrant you hear all the news.” | • There's none',” cries he; “ and, if there were, | I'm grown so deaf, I could not hear.” | “Nay', then,” | the spectre stern rejoin'di, |

“ These are unjustifiable yearnings ; | If you are Lame', and Deaf', and Blind',

You 've had' your Three sufficient Warnings.! So, come along', | no more we'll part;" | He said, I and touch'd him with his dart. And now, old Dodson turning pale, | Yields to his fate so ends my tale. I


Oft has it been my lot to mark
A proud, conceited, talking sparkı, |
With eyes that hardly servd at most', |
To guard their master 'gainst a post ; |
Yet round the world the blade has been,
To see whatever could be seen :)
Returning from his finish'd tour,
Grown ten times perter than before ; |
Whatever word you chance to drop,
The travell’d fool your mouth will stop :/

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