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ible, prayer should not surely be lightly rejected by those who contend that moral virtue is the summit of human perfection, nor should it be encumbered with such circumstances as must inevitably render it less easy and less frequent. It should be considered as the wings of the soul, and should be always ready, when a sudden impulse prompts her to spring up to God. We should not think it always necessary to be either in a church or in our closet, to express joy, love, desire, trust, reverence, or complacency, in the fervor of a silent ejaculation. Adoration, hope, and even a petition, may be conceived in a moment; and the desire of the heart may ascend, without words, to 'Him by whom our thoughts are known afar off." He, who considers himself as perpetually in the presence of the Almighty, need not fear that gratitude or homage can ever be ill timed, or that it is profane thus to worship in any ciscumstances that are not criminal.
There is no preservative from vice equal to this habitual and constant intercourse with God; neither does any thing equally alleviate distress, or heighten prosperity. In distress it sustains us with hope, and in prosperity it adds to every other enjoyment the delight of gratitude.
Let those, therefore, who have rejected religion, as they have given up incontestable advantages, try whether they cannot yet be recovered; let
them review the arguments by which their judgment has been determined, and see whether they compel the assent of reason; and let those who, upon this recollection, perceive that, though they have professed infidelity, they do indeed believe and tremble, no longer sacrifice happiness to folly, but pursue that wisdom 'whose ways are pleasantness and peace.'
ADDRESS TO LIGHT.
HAIL holy Light! offspring of Heaven, firstborn, Or of th' Eternal coeternal beam
May I express thee unblamed? since God is light,
The rising world of waters dark and deep,
Escaped the Stygian pool, though long detained
Taught by the heavenly muse to venture down
Cease I to wander where the muses haunt
Of nature's works, to me expunged and rased,
ON SOCIAL AFFECTION.
Suck, little wretch, whilst yet thy mother lives,
THE exquisite and pathetic little picture of maternal tenderness exhibited in the motto of this sketch, is a lively proof of that intensity of feeling which binds our race in tenderness together. The same sweet sensations that glow through the closer ties of society, which pant in the bosom of the busband and the father, pervade likewise the whole mass of being; and, though weaker in proportion to the distance of propinquity, yet he cannot be called wretched, who receives or communicates the smallest portion of influence. From the impassioned feelings of the mother, to him who stands joyless on the verge of apathy, the tide of affection flows in a long devious course; clear, full, and vehement, it descends into the vale of life, where, after a short time, becoming tranquil and serene, it separates into many branches; and these, again dividing, wander in a thousand streams, dispensing, as they move along, the sweets of health and happiness. That no felicity exists independent of a susceptibility for these emotions, is a certain