can obtain praise unmingled with censure. This endeavour should be constant and uniform. The hearer should never be allowed to suppose that, in appreciating a person's merits, we are indifferent to his faults. It has been complained of one of our principal works of periodical literature, that amongst its many and ardent praises of Shakspeare, it has almost never alluded to his indecencies. The silence is reprehensible: for what is a reader to conclude, but that indecency is a very venial offence? Under such circumstances, not to be with morality is to be against it. Silence is positive mischief. People talk to us of liberality, and of allowances for the aberrations of genius, and for the temptations of greatness. It is well; let the allowances be made. But this is frequently but the affectation of candour; it is not that we are lenient of failings, but that we are indifferent to vice. It is not even enlightened benevolence to genius or greatness itself. The faults and vices with which talented men are chargeable deduct greatly from their own happiness; and it cannot be doubted that their misdeeds have been the more willingly committed, from the consciousness that apologists would be found amongst the admiring world. It is sufficient to make that world knit its brow in anger, to insist upon the moral demerits of Robert Burns. Pathetic and voluble extenuations are instantly urged. There are extenuations of such a man's vices, and they ought to be regarded; but no extenuations can remove the charge of voluntary and intentional violations of morality. Let us not hear of the enthusiasm of poetry.

Men do not write poetry as they chatter with their neighbours; they sit down to a deliberate act; and he who in his verses offends against morals, intentionally and deliberately offends.

IT

It may be said, indeed, with truth, that sorrow in the present state is the sad inheritance of man. "He is born to trouble as the sparks fly upwards." The first intelligence of visible existence is announced by the voice of weeping: and through every stage of life, either his own sufferings or the sufferings of others claim the tear of grief; nor will the claim be remitted, or the tear cease to flow, till it be "dried up in the dust of the grave."

Guide to Domestic Happiness.

LIGHT SHINING OUT OF DARKNESS.

God moves in a mysterious way,
His wonders to perform;
He plants his footsteps in the sea,
And rides upon the storm.

Deep in unfathomable mines
Of never-failing skill,

He treasures up his bright designs,
And works his sov'reign will.

Ye fearful saints, fresh courage take,
The clouds ye so much dread
Are big with mercy, and shall break

In blessings on your head.

Judge not the Lord by feeble sense,
But trust him for his grace;
Behind a frowning providence
He hides a smiling face.

His purposes will ripen fast,
Unfolding every hour;

The bud may have a bitter taste,
But sweet will be the flower.

Blind unbelief is sure to err,
And scan his work in vain,
God is his own interpreter,

And he will make it plain.

WHEN the last hour seems to be approaching, all terrestrial things are viewed with indifference, and the value that we once set upon them is disregarded or forgotten. And if the same thought were always predo minant, we should then find the absurdity of stretching out our arms incessantly, to grasp that which we cannot keep, and wearing out ourselves in endeavours to add new turrets to the fabric of ambition, when the foundation itself is shaking, and the ground on which it stands is mouldering away.

Guide to Domestic Happiness.

THE man, my friend, who imagines that the possession of wealth will complete his happiness, is entirely mistaken. There is no agreement between the means and the end. The mind is too spiritual in its nature

to be satisfied with earthly materials, such as gold and silver, houses and lands; but godliness with contentment is great gain, and it is the want of this contentment that makes us unthankful and dissatisfied. A man under the influence of true religion, will say with joy and gratitude, I have learnt in whatsoever state I am, therewith to be content. In the most trying circumstances, bread shall be given, and water shall be sure, and if I am not favoured with all the comforts or elegancies of life, I know, that the God whom I serve, will afford me such temporary supplies, as shall ultimately be most conducive to my own happiness, and to his glory.

It is not our real wants, but those that are imaginary, we wish to gratify. It is not the necessaries, but the delicacies of life that we covet, and a restless, unwarrantable desire of imitating the grandeur of the great, is the principle by which we are actuated, and after the enjoyment of which, we naturally aspire.

Guide to Domestic Happiness.

It should ever be remembered, that house and riches are the inheritance of fathers, but that a prudent wife is from the Lord: and the man that shall habitually live under the influence of this truth, will see it his duty, and think it a privilege to ask His direction to find one. He will not have to struggle with insuperable difficulties, in attempting to keep his desires within due bounds, nor will he have reason to complain, that the limits prescribed are so narrow, as to

encircle no objects on which choice may deliberate with pleasure. There are, so to speak, in the garden of God, a vast variety of fruits, and his taste must be vitiated indeed, that can find no enjoyment but in eating that which is forbidden.

Guide to Domestic Happiness.

How dangerous to our salvation, how unworthy of God and ourselves, how pernicious even to the peace of our mind is it to wish to linger here. Our whole life is only given us, that we may march with hasty steps towards our heavenly country; the world vanishes as a vain shadow, and eternity advances to receive us. Why do we then delay to march? Whilst the light of the Father of mercies shines upon us, let us hasten to arrive at the heavenly Canaan.

Fenelon.

You daily confide in friends who are weak, in men whose hearts are unknown to you, in servants that are unfaithful, and yet you are afraid to put your trust in God. The seal of a common man sets your mind at ease with respect to your fortune, whereas you have no dependence on the everlasting gospel. The promises of the world you credit, but though God swears to you, you can scarce believe him. What an affront to him! What woe to you! Let us give to everything its proper weight. Let us with moderation do our part, and set no bounds to our dependence on God. Let us repress all eagerness and disquietude, disguised under