■ 
 
 i 1 1 
 
 1 1 
 
 ■ I ■ ' v^v 
 

 DOBELL COLLECTION 
 
ERRATA, 
 
 Paqre 2 line 20 the word, of, to be omitted. 
 
 Ditto 19 do. 5 for added to his sorrow of woe, read 
 
 to his weight of sorrow and woe. 
 Ditto 20 line 2 for ever, read were. 
 Ditto 25 do. 19 omission of the word through. 
 Ditto 28 verse 3 line 4 for thine, read mine. 
 Ditto 29 verse 1 for betaken, read betoken. 
 Dirto 29 do. 3 for sent, read lurk. 
 T kto 33 line 4 for where, read when. 
 Ditto 38 sonnet line 8 for ere, read e'en. 
 Ditto 51 line 10 for solitude, read solicitude. 
 Ditto 51 line 14 for lenda^e, read bondage. 
 Ditto 72 do. 1 for those, read thou. 
 Ditto 72 do. 9 for kin, read ken. 
 Ditto 76 do. 1 for court, read course. 
 Ditto 76 do. 14 omission of the word, lot; and for 
 
 there, read their. 
 Ditto 89 line 9 for or, read on. 
 Ditto 155 do. 2 in poetry for light, read bright 
 Ditto 158 bottom line for afflictions, read affections. 
 Ditto 160 line 5 the word, ttiat, to be omitted. 
 Ditto loO do, 12 for serves, read only serves. 
 Ditto 174 do. 5 in stanzas omission of the word, my. 
 Ditto 197 do. 15 for then, read thou. 
 Ditto 213 verse 3 line 1 omission of the word? it, 
 
THE 
 SORROWS 
 
 OF 
 
 HERBERT, 
 
 OR 
 
 THE CHANGES OF LIFE 
 
 Ax\D 
 
 FRIENDSHIP'S 
 
 CONSOLATION 
 
 IS ..-, 
 
 DISTRESS. 
 
 FROST EN DEN. 
 
 Printed for the author, by W. Harper, 
 
 HALES WORTH, 
 1821. 
 

 205449 
 1 13 
 
 
PREFACE. 
 
 In presenting this little yolume to the eye of pri- 
 vate Friendship, I shall positively assert that my 
 views and motives are entirely different, and varied 
 from those of a public author, therefore I hope to rest 
 Secure from every mark of criticism, which a pub- 
 lic production is liable to. Guided by the maxims 
 of truth, I hope to ensure the favour and protection 
 of its advocates : resting securely in the society of 
 a pure and exalted circle of Friends, I hope to en- 
 joy calmly the sweets that flow from its source. 
 
 I beg leave to assure my Friends that disinterested 
 views alone, give rise to the presentation of the 
 fallowing pa^es. In drawing the line of equity, 
 I have not laboured to present superfluity or fineness 
 of language: the former I consider can never with 
 propriety be added in the delineation of truths, the 
 latter I perceive to be a great obstruction to the 
 opeuuess and candour of a disinterested and humbie 
 mind. 
 
 If I have not studied to present superfluity of 
 language in the following pages, why should 1 at- 
 tempt it here ? I shall altogether decline it, and pro- 
 ceed to give information of the character which grace 
 
IT 
 
 tliis volume. My readers may rest assured, that the* 
 subject is founded upon a fart, and to many of my 
 Friends, it may in all probability, be more immedi- 
 ately known, and to tiiose, it will prove more inte- 
 resting. 
 
 As a delineator of the records of Truth, every 
 circumstance which leads to its inexhaustable foun- 
 tain will dawn upon the view of honour and virtue. 
 
 It is my intention to insert each principal c\ent 
 that occurred in the life and character of Herbert : 
 and shall as far as reason and prudence extend, vin- 
 dicate his wrongs, and endeavour to alleviate his 
 sorrows. I cannot but in justice admit that the 
 sorrows and distresses of man, are too often of thtir 
 own procuring, and generally arise from the most 
 trivial causes : but I can confidently affirm, that this 
 was not the case of Herbert, I mean to say, that 
 they were not altogether of his own seeking or in- 
 vention, and I hope my readers will agree with me, 
 in this opinion when they shall have passed through 
 this volume. 
 
A SKETCH 
 OF THE 
 
 %\tt of Herfcett* 
 
 The pursuit of happiness, is the aim of 
 Man, it is a passion which reigns predom- 
 inant in the human breast, and for the en- 
 joyment of it, individuals of every des- 
 cription, are anxiously concerned. 
 
 To say in what happiness consists, or 
 how it is to be possessed, is an invidious 
 task ; because men of different tastes, dis- 
 positions, and capacities, not only view 
 the subject in different lights, but adopt 
 opposite means to obtain it. There can I 
 may venture to affirm, be no censure cast 
 upon him, who doth assert, that whate- 
 ver has a natural tendency to irradiate 
 
 B. 
 
the mind,, to regulate the affections, and 
 to meliorate the conduct, must be a sure 
 guide to happiness. 
 
 Great is the wisdom, and great the 
 goodness of that supreme power, who has 
 proyided sources of pleasure, exactly suit- 
 ed to the different natures of man. But it 
 is the indelible opprobrium of our species, 
 that those enjoyments, which are merely 
 sensual, and of which, in subserviency to 
 higher ends, we might lawfully partake, 
 engross too frequently the whole of our 
 attention; while those of a refined and 
 exquisite nature, and in which felicity 
 might be more reasonably expected, are 
 entirely neglected or forgotten. This is 
 the effect of a vitiated taste which has 
 precipitated thousands into inextricable 
 difficulties, and into which it had nearly 
 hurried my young Friend, of whom I am 
 now about to picture. 
 
 / 
 
Herbert was the Son of a respectable 
 
 family in S k, whose situation in life. 
 
 though not of the highest class ; jet they 
 possessed every comfort and convenience,, 
 that can make life dear or desirable. Blest 
 continually with the favours of Heaven, 
 they beheld with a pleasing serenity, a 
 long succession of happy days, and on 
 Herbert they depended for comfort and 
 consolation in their latter years, when the 
 pleasures of the world, would by age and 
 infirmity, be rendered less sweet and at- 
 tractive. As soon as reason began to ex- 
 pand itself in the mind of Herbert, they 
 with reluctance parted from him, in order 
 that he might attain that useful know- 
 ledge, which is requisite to a promising 
 genius; he was accordingly placed at a 
 distinguished academy, of one of the prin- 
 cipal towns in the County, where he gave 
 ample proof of possesing a great share of 
 high and dignified abilities, for he made 
 
 b2. 
 
such rapid progress in all the branches of 
 literature,, as rendered him the pattern of 
 all who aspired to excellence. 
 
 The parents of Herbert, looked for- 
 ward with anxious hopes, of his one day 
 becoming a bright ornament in society* 
 and an honour to the station he was about 
 to fill ; they could not long defer the 
 happiness they so fully expected to anti- 
 cipate, when the world should first wit- 
 ness the dawning of his fine and exalted 
 genius, which they beheld with enraptur- 
 ed delight. Having passed through the 
 various stages of polite and useful litera- 
 ture, he was removed from the confine- 
 ment of study, to the circles of gaiety and 
 pleasure where he received many flatter- 
 ing tokens of praise and admiration. Nor 
 was the marked attention paid him in all 
 companies ungratefully received ; for 
 who can be deaf to the voice of praise ? 
 
or unwilling to believe that it may be 
 heard without vanity, and received as a 
 just tribute to excellence, which, if hid- 
 den to ourselves and the vulgar, others 
 possessed of keen discernment, refined 
 taste, and impartial judgement, have 
 not only discovered, but kindly endea- 
 voured to appreciate ? 
 
 We now behold my young Friend, 
 partaking and enjoying, the scenes of de- 
 light, which naturally springs, in the cir- 
 cles of gaiety, and few were the resorts 
 of pleasure at which he was not the rival 
 of his sex. He was surrounded by men of 
 wisdom and understanding : and he re- 
 ceived from every hand those tokens of 
 respect, a moderate share of which, would 
 have transported the hearts of thousands. 
 
 Surely from the situation of Herbert, 
 we might have justly concluded ; that on 
 
 b3. 
 
him, felicity must have fixed her resi- 
 dence ; we might have thought that he 
 could only have known the changes of 
 more vivid or more gentle joys, and that 
 his life must always have moved either 
 to the slow or sprightly melody of the 
 lyre of gladness, and that he could never 
 but have arose to pleasure, or retired to 
 peace. 
 
 Such might have been our conclusion 
 of the life of Herbert. But experience 
 will soon shew how easily the scene is 
 shifted, and how very apt, disgust is to 
 possess the hearts of those, who have been 
 made nice by plenty and indulgence. We 
 shall soon see to how many dangers pow- 
 er is exposed, which has no other guard 
 than youth, and how easily that tranqui- 
 lity is molested which can only be sooth- 
 ed with the songs of flattery. It is im- 
 possible to supply wants as fast as an idle 
 
imagination may be able to form them, or 
 to remove all inconveniences by which 
 gaiety, refined into impatience, may be 
 offended. None are so hard to please as 
 those whom satiety of pleasure makes 
 weary of themselves ; nor any so readily 
 provoked as those who have been always 
 courted with an emulation of civility. 
 
 In the midst of exuberant delight, of 
 pleasures and of praise, Herbert found 
 that solid happiness was absent. The hour 
 of solitude could not be endured without 
 painful emotions ; Something seemed- 
 to be wanting which the world, with 
 all its fascinations and complaisance, had 
 not yet conferred. New expedients were 
 therefore daily invented to regain his 
 wonted vivacity. But alas ! the felicity of 
 which he was in pursuit of, still eluded 
 his eager grasp. Every day witnessed 
 new scenes of vexation and disappoint- 
 ment. The wakeful hours of night were 
 
8 
 
 spent in tracing the causes of miscar- 
 riage; in contriving inventions by which 
 to preclude a recurrence of the same,, 
 or similar impediments., and in devising 
 schemes to ensure felicity on the morrow. 
 Inauspicious was the morning in which 
 the breast of Herbert was not transported 
 with the recollection of some new en- 
 gagement to renew those scenes of delight 
 which had captivated his heart. 
 
 Alas ! those fancied scenes of peace 
 andjoywereno more to be found, the 
 return of night, but renewed disgust. 
 Every amusement was insipid; the charms 
 of novelty were forgotten ; emptiness 
 and vanity were stamped on every enjoy- 
 ment ; for in whatever amusement he ap- 
 peared to enter with seeming vivacity, 
 conscience would be heard. "Lovers of 
 pleasure more than lovers of God" ; was 
 reiterated in every place, and in accents so 
 distinct, that the meaning could not be 
 
mistaken. Fruitless were all attempts to 
 shun the admonitory intelligence, or to 
 blunt the pain frequently occasioned. 
 Reflection produced remorse ; the plea- 
 sures of the world, satiety and aversion ; 
 the retrospect of life, the keenest anguish, 
 and the prospects of futurity, the horrors 
 of despair. 
 
 Varied opinion may surmise that the 
 views of Herbert were enthusiastic or im- 
 aginary. But reflection will soon disco- 
 ver, that there is no ground for the con- 
 clusion. What is the life of the vain and 
 the giddy ? Is it not a scene of folly and 
 dissipation? The affairs of another world 
 and the moral state of the human heart, 
 are considerations which seldom obstruct 
 their pursuits or disturb their quiet. I 
 ask, and appeal to the experience and the 
 consciences of those whom providence has 
 elevated to opulence and splendour, whe- 
 
10 
 
 ther from the moment of introduction in- 
 to public life,, the time allotted by hea- 
 \en for acts of beneficence and piety, is 
 not generally spent in conformity to the 
 fashions of the day ; in ceremonious visits 
 paid and received, frequently without 
 pleasure, or the smallest degree of pure 
 and disinterested Friendship ? 
 
 But is this train of life worthy of an 
 immortal mind ? Is this a life on which a 
 rational being can seriously reflect, with- 
 out the terror of dismay ? yet this is the 
 life of thousands, a life in which are to 
 be found no traces of that purity and per- 
 fection, once connatural in man; no e- 
 vidence of compunction for the violation 
 of divine precepts, nor yet of thankful- 
 ness for the means by which guilt is ex- 
 piated, and the trembling offender rescu- 
 ed from perdition. Nay, there are those 
 who care for none of those things ; who, 
 
11 
 
 ''though their sins be as scarlet/' cavil at 
 the means by which they might be made 
 as white as snow., and though their ini- 
 quities have been multiplied without 
 number, revile the hand which alone can 
 blot them from the register of Heaven. 
 
 While picturing this sad character 
 which man too often assumes, I cannot 
 but congratulate my readers on the re- 
 verse of my young friend's character. 
 From various causes it appears that Her- 
 bert gave himself up to sensual pleasures 
 and heedlesly pursued the path of de- 
 struction from whence, he never thought 
 of returning ; for in the vigour of youth 
 surrounded by all that can flatter hope 
 or stimulate to action, he entered the a- 
 venues of sublunary pleasure in quest of 
 happiness ; but it was not to be found in 
 the regions of terrestrial delight. All the 
 sources of felicity were explored in vain 
 
12 
 
 emptiness was stamped on every enjoy- 
 ment. My young friend soon discovered 
 that his expectations were fallacious ; 
 that many of his pursuits were not only 
 trifling, but criminal. A conviction of 
 guilt filled his heart with tumult ; terri- 
 fying apprehensions agitated his soul ; he 
 beheld with astonishment the precipice 
 on which he stood, the imminent danger 
 with which he was surrounded — that 
 there was but a step between him and 
 everlasting ruin : trembling on this pre- 
 cipice he first uttered that inexpressibly 
 important question — "What can I do to 
 be saved" ? In answer to this enquiry ( as 
 a consoling friend ) I have addressed my- 
 self to him from facts given in the sacred 
 writings. 
 
 Hard is the heart of that man who can 
 view the distresses of his fellow creatures 
 without casting an eye of pity, or shed- 
 
13 
 
 ing the beams of consolation : I hope 
 there are but few but what can look 
 with commiseration on the sorrows of a 
 wounded spirit ; I trust, there are none 
 but who are ready to stretch forth the 
 hand of Compassion, to the tortured 
 breast. Acts of compassion are recorded 
 in the sacred volume, as highly becom- 
 ing the duty and character of a Chris- 
 tian. 
 
 Nothing can be more offensive to the 
 Supreme Being, than obduracy and hard- 
 ness of heart : Nothing is more pleasing 
 in his sight, than tenderness and sympa- 
 thy : he that feels for the distress of his 
 brother, shall also obtain commiseration 
 of his God. Since sympathy is commend- 
 ed by him, who knows the secrets of all 
 hearts, and understands the thoughts of 
 man long before they are made, it must 
 be also productive of good, in this pre- 
 sent state of trouble and trial. In my 
 
14 
 
 opinion,, of all the passions which occupy 
 the mind of man, there is no one more 
 grateful in itself, or more useful to man- 
 kind than Sympathy. 
 
 The distress, which naturally arises 
 from the evils of life, ought to attract 
 and excite commiseration. To the tender 
 and feeling heart, the sufferings of others 
 are witnessed with emotions of the most 
 painful nature, emotions, which it can- 
 not suppress or diminish, and instead of 
 shunning the scene of woe, it takes plea- 
 sure in approaching it. The ear is open to 
 the cry of calamity, the tale of distress is 
 heard with melting tenderness, and is 
 anxious to alleviate if it cannot remove 
 the cause of inquietude. To sympathy it 
 belongs to govern and combine . all the 
 endearments of social life, it is the sure 
 and steady bond of society; we feel our- 
 selves interested in the general good it 
 
15 
 
 diffuses : we feel more pleasure in com- 
 municating, than in receiving the means 
 of happiness ; and, in contemplating its 
 benign influence, perceive both the pro- 
 priety and the excellence of the divine 
 sentiment, — [' It is more blessed to give 
 than to receive." 
 
 But though such be the general ten- 
 dency of this benevolent affection, yet 
 there are objects of wretchedness, on 
 which the world has no compassion to be- 
 stow. Men whose consciences are bur- 
 thened with guilt, and harrassed with 
 painful apprehensions respecting futurity, 
 seldom meet with sympathetic tenderness, 
 
 But how are we to account for the de- 
 reliction of human nature in this case ? 
 Is not the anguish arising from a consci- 
 ousness of moral turpitude equally pun- 
 gent with that which the loss of terrestri- 
 al comforts may incidentally occasion ? 
 
16 
 
 Surely the cause of sorrow in the former, 
 as far exceeds the latter, as the perpe- 
 tual favour of Heaven transcends the 
 momentary calamities of life ! "The spirit 
 of a man will sustain his infirmity but a 
 wounded spirit who can bear" ? 
 
 It maybe said in answer to this enqui- 
 ry, that pain of conscience has relation 
 to guilt, and is the effect of sin opera- 
 ting against a known rule prescribed for 
 the regulation of moral conduct. In 
 order therefore to sympathise with the 
 contrite sufferer, we must entertain the 
 same ideas respecting the equity of God's 
 government, the detestable nature of sin, 
 and the justice of that punishment con- 
 nected with it. 
 
 But too frequently is it the case of 
 the men of this world, that in viewing 
 things in a different light, they lose 
 themselves in darkness, and will not listen 
 
17 
 
 to the voice of sympathy, their hearts 
 are lost to every gleam of pity and sooth- 
 ing tenderness, their consciences are 
 not under the authority of God, no beau- 
 ty can they behold in the divine precepts, 
 nor do they really believe that the com- 
 mission of moral evil will be attended 
 with those dreadful consequences which 
 the scriptures constantly affirm. It is 
 therefore impossible in the very nature 
 of the case, that men of these idea s 
 should feel for a soul tortured with 
 guilt; the distress endured will be con- 
 sidered rather as imaginary than real, or 
 at least as the effect of superstitious cre- 
 dulity, and as deserving railery more 
 than commiseration, or severe rebuke 
 rather than serious and gentle expostu- 
 lation. 
 
 That men generally and frequently 
 act on this principle in giving advice to 
 c. 
 
18 
 
 persons under religious impressions, need 
 no proof. What more common than to 
 hear the disconsolate mourner exhorted 
 to shun the haunts of solitude, to rouse 
 from the torpor of dejection, to look for 
 tranquility and pleasure in the circles of 
 gaiety, where every eye sparkles with 
 joy : where the ear is charmed with 
 sprightly sallies of wit, where novelty 
 gives perpetual delight, and the mind 
 released from the gloom of reflection, is 
 restored to freedom and to happiness. 
 
 As from the source of serious medi- 
 tation, sacred reason springs, and shine 
 in meridian splendour in the virtuous 
 and pious mind : so on the other hand, 
 will the above method of rousing the 
 dejected soul prove to be, but a pre- 
 lude, to an eternal weight of sorrow and 
 misery, and add ten fold horror, to the 
 prospects of futurity. The throbs of 
 
19 
 
 guilt are not to be lulled by the sound 
 of the tabret and the pipe, the harp or 
 the viol ; the deluded patient who shall 
 try the experiment will find, that he has 
 not expelled, but added to his sorrow of 
 woe. 
 
 I cannot but agree in the opinion of 
 all the sacred writers ; that sin was not 
 in any measure instituted in the laws of 
 Heaven : In the beginning of this vast 
 creation, the Almighty founder, formed 
 Man out of the dust, pure and unspot- 
 ted, he made him after his own image, 
 only difference in nature reigned be- 
 tween them. He formed the work and 
 saw that it was good. He made man 
 erect, and blest him with inexpressible 
 gifts of his goodness, he crowned him 
 lord over a vast multitude of living crea- 
 tures, all which bowed obsequious to 
 his will ; he had nothing to rule or do- 
 mineer over him ; every thing that was 
 c2. 
 
20 
 
 pleasant to his taste, delightful to his eye 
 ever granted him, by his supreme Lord, 
 and in short the bowers of innocence and 
 ease were his appointed abode. 
 
 Surely thus stationed in the midst of 
 those delightful scenes, Man might have 
 rested contented, and made himself a 
 stranger to sorrow and woe. Nothing 
 but the debt of gratitude, and just obe- 
 dience, to pay his Almighty Lord ; and 
 yet could not perform this trivial re- 
 quest ; Oh vain, worthless, and ungrate- 
 ful Man, what is it that hardened thy 
 heart ? Why couldst thou not learn pi- 
 ous submission, and cheerful obedience, 
 why not accept the tree of life, and in 
 meekness tread the path allotted thee ? 
 
 To give full scope to this important 
 subject, would closely fill a large and 
 extensive volume. I must therefore 
 abruptly finish the delineation in order 
 
21 
 
 to pursue the subject of these pages. 
 
 I need not state to my readers the im- 
 perfection, which since the fate of our 
 first parents, have possessed mankind. 
 The annals of history afford us only one 
 instance of purity and perfection since 
 the loss of paradise, this single instance 
 my readers are no doubt well acquaint- 
 ed with, this consideration denies my 
 stating here its contents. 
 
 By our first Parents' transgression, was 
 forfeited the happiness of Heaven ; by 
 the atonement of our blessed Redeemer, 
 and on conditional terms, we may all ar- 
 rive at the mansion of eternal Glory, 
 This state of trial is onlv momentary in 
 comparison with Eternity. 
 
 Sin intrudes upon us in various forms, 
 in one particular form it intiuded upon 
 Herbert, he drank deep of the cup of 
 woe. 
 
 c3. 
 
22 
 
 I cannot but injustice, admit that the 
 sorrows and distresses of Man, are ge- 
 nerally, entirely of his own seeking, and 
 frequently arise from the most trivial 
 causes But in truth I may confidently 
 affirm, that the sorrows of Herbert were 
 not altogether of his own invention, in 
 order to confirm this assertion I shall 
 add the following: instances which have 
 occurred in his life. 
 
 It appears, since his retreat from folly 
 and dissipation, from the scenes of sensu- 
 al delights, and unprofitable pleasures, 
 that sorrows and distresses incompassed 
 him continually; he found it as difficult 
 to retreat from mournful scenes, as it 
 was to regain his wonted vivacity in hours 
 of past gaity and jollity; the means 
 which he sought to remove sorrow and 
 despair, were various. 
 
 After wading through many struggles 
 
23 
 
 and difficulties, he sought for peace and 
 serenity in the bosom of retirement and 
 solitude, the thought of fleeing from the 
 unpleasing scenes of his unhappiness, in 
 seeking a partner for life, in resting on the 
 honor of female virtue and affection, he 
 thought of being in some degree restor- 
 ed to tranquility. With those thoughts 
 in view, he seriously entered the bowers 
 of love ; offered his hand and heart to 
 Leonora, the daughter of a respectable 
 family in the neighbourhood ; he found 
 acceptance ; promises where made on 
 both sides, to be true and faithful to 
 each other in the varied changes of hu- 
 man affairs. Content with the plighted 
 affection of his Leonora, he passed a 
 short succession of tranquil days, in 
 which he hoped to enjoy, through the 
 remaining stages of life, the sweets of 
 retirement; for many were the scenes 
 which led him to justly suppose, that 
 
 ci 
 
24 
 
 sorrow had taken her flight, and made 
 room for the abode of pleasure and com- 
 fort. 
 
 While Herbert was thus,, as he ima- 
 gined, enjoying the long continued sweets 
 of calm repose, sorrow with redoubled 
 force burst upon his head, and left him 
 a prey to utter despair. It may be truly 
 asserted, that our sorrows are never so 
 great, but what they may be subjected 
 to an increase ; for alas ! this was the 
 case of my unfortunate friend, for no 
 sooner then its reappearance dawned up- 
 on the devoted head of Herbert, than 
 the plighted love of his Leonora, vanish- 
 ed and sunk into nothing, the bright rays 
 of affection vanished from his sight, and 
 plunged him into the regions of horror 
 and distraction. 
 
 Due? not this sketch alone, shew the 
 instability of human affairs, and the in- 
 constancy of the world ? This question, 
 
25 
 
 may in truth and justice be answered in 
 the affirmative. 
 
 Many were the vows and promises of 
 Herbert to his Leonora, his protection 
 and honour were offered her, and would 
 for ever have been offered her, would 
 she but have proved faithful to her 
 plighted vows; would she but have 
 deigned to share with him the joys and 
 ills of life, he would have been her faith- 
 ful partner in prosperity, and her con- 
 stant supporter in adversity ; he reques- 
 ted nothing from her, but what was 
 fully in her power to give, viz the en- 
 joyment which arises from the source of 
 a pure and never changing affection : 
 but Alas ! she failed in her truth, and 
 left her faithful Herbert, to wade alone 
 the tide of sorrow and misery. 
 
 During the period of their attachment, 
 vows of honor were often exchanged ; 
 
26 
 
 when in retirement they would call on 
 Heaven to witness the source of their af- 
 fection, and pray to its Eternal King, 
 that nothing but Death might separate 
 them ; such was the strength of conjugal 
 affection reigning between them. 
 When in the course of a pleasing con- 
 versation they would often interrupt each 
 other, and innocently strive to perplex 
 each other, in order to excite a trial of 
 their love ; and often did Herbert retire 
 from his Leonora, with unfeigned heart- 
 felt sorrow, and in the haunts of solitude 
 meditate on the spring which gave rise 
 to his troubled mind. 
 
 His fine exalted genius often employ- 
 ed itself in musing on his beloved Leo- 
 nora, and his faithful muse would often 
 address her on the important subject of 
 life and death, of happiness and misery. 
 
 The following lines which make a 
 part of his writings presented to me, be- 
 
27 
 
 speak the anguish of mind he often en 
 dured. 
 
 Herbert to Leonora. 
 
 Ah ! sunk in despair are the hopes I once cherish'd, 
 No longer my bosom they cheer with their ray; 
 
 With the object that rais'd them, alas they all perish, 
 And sadly the moments now wander away. 
 
 Where is fled the fair prospect whose lovely illusion. 
 My mind once pervaded with extacy's thrill, 
 
 That joy which admitted not sorrow's intrusion ? 
 Ah ! past days of bliss I must mourn for ye still. 
 
28 
 
 Gone, gone is the time when with Leonora I wan- 
 
 [der'd 
 
 Our arms fondly circled ado/n the deep glade, 
 
 By the side of the streamlet which softly meander'd, 
 
 Whilst love smil'd secure 'mid the groves friend- 
 fly shade. 
 
 Yes fled, and for ever those joys without measure, 
 
 But remembrance will silently doat on them still; 
 
 And the mind oft reverts to scenes of past pleasure, 
 
 Though the heart with regret the remembrance 
 
 [must fill. 
 
 Blest friend of my love, thou whose tender caresses, 
 Once soothed every care my fond bosom knew, 
 
 Bitter grief for thy loss my fond heart still oppresses, 
 And thine are the tears that now silently flow. 
 
 Oh ! oft in the regions of fashion and splendour. 
 Where reason is lost in gay luxury's round ; 
 
 The allurements of pleasure how glad I'd surrender, 
 And flee from the circles where follies abound. 
 
29 
 
 For still 'tieath the smile which might seem to be 
 
 [taken, 
 
 A bosom serene and a stranger to care ; 
 
 Sent the torments of hell in a heart that is broken, 
 
 And the smiling alas ! is the smile of despair. 
 
 How oft in the visions of midnight's dark hour. 
 
 When the deep shade of silence the world overcast; 
 
 Thy form has seem'd rais'd by some magical pow'r, 
 
 And thy sighs met mine ear 'mid the moan of the 
 
 [blast. 
 
 Yet 'midst my bosom's fell sorrow and sadness, 
 One consolation remains to me still, 
 
 One sparkling of joy, one sweet ray of gladness; 
 One dawning of hope which despair cannot chill. 
 
 Tis the thought that ere long in death's welcome em- 
 braces, 
 
 My spirit may once more encounter thine own ; 
 
 When rapture eternal shall banish care's traces, 
 
 And our souls now disjoined be united as one. 
 
so 
 
 In order to direct the views of Her- 
 bert to their proper source, it is requisite 
 to illustrate the purport of the above 
 lines. Their natural tendency expresses 
 the most unfeigned sorrow of heart and 
 the greatest discomposure of mind. 
 What more likely to create sorrow and 
 dejection, than the deception of the 
 world, and the failure of a long subsist- 
 ed friendship ? The heart that experiences 
 those two maladies, may justly exclaim 
 in its anguish — O! world what is it 
 thou hast done unto me ? Why hast 
 thou betrayed me, and led me into the 
 vale of misery ? 
 
 When beset with the calamities of 
 life, there is no better way in surmount- 
 ing them, then by arming ourselves with 
 christian fortitude and pious resignation 
 to the will of Heaven. 
 
 Many instances have occurred in the 
 common course of human affairs, where 
 
 
31 
 
 oppression has made the wisest man mad? 
 
 What will it do then,, to a tender and 
 feeling heart, which feels itself neglect- 
 ed, — too full of reverence for the author 
 of its wrongs to complain ? — see, it sets 
 down in silence, robbed by discourage- 
 ments, of all its natural powers to please, 
 — born to see others loaded with caresses, 
 in some sequestered corner, it nourishes 
 its uneasiness, — and with a weight upon 
 its spirits, which its little stock of forti- 
 tude is not able to withstand, — it droops 
 and pines away. 
 
 Thus, was it with this child of sor- 
 row, which I am now addressing, his 
 fortitude was shaken, with the incessant 
 flow of sorrow. O Herbert! where is 
 that prophetic spirit which adorned thy 
 heart, — where is it fled that it could not 
 aid thee to look a little forward and view 
 the vanity of that world, on which thou 
 placedst so much confidence ? 1 shall 
 
32 
 
 now proceed to present ray readers with 
 the writings of Herbert, and without 
 casting any particular reflections upon 
 them, shall leave my readers to form 
 their judgement upon them, but at the 
 same time, I cannot forbear to caution 
 them against misconstruing them. It 
 will be found in many of the subjects, 
 which compose his writings, that he be- 
 came a real lover of solitude, and often 
 retired from the scene of worldly busi- 
 ness, to partake of its sweets. 
 
33 
 
 Eijc pleasures of Bettrement* 
 
 &&<fr&Q>^ 
 
 Sweet is the soft and silent hour. 
 That steals with every soothing pow'r, 
 
 Across the throbbing breast ; 
 Where heavy hours of mental toil, 
 Have long suppress'd the pleasing smile, 
 
 That speaks the heart at rest. 
 
 And such an hour is this to me ; 
 
 From worldly bustle once more free, 
 
 And every noisy care; 
 I woo again the muse's aid ; 
 Oh ! let me now, too timid maid, 
 
 Thy kindest influence share. 
 
 O. 
 
84 
 
 My mind at peace, that heav'n of rest : 
 My head reclin'd on beauty's breast 
 
 Leonora's breast so bright : 
 My heart awake to friendship's joys ; 
 Oh ! world I envy not thy noise, 
 
 But taste of pure delight. 
 
 Love is the poet's purest theme, 
 
 For love with sweet beguiling dream. 
 
 Can smooth rough anger's brow : 
 But friendship's bright unsullied name 
 As much the poet's aid must claim, 
 
 As love's divines t vow. 
 
 Be their blest names in union found, 
 Long as the world performs its round, 
 
 Amidst the orbs of light : 
 Love ! be thy power to lighten care ; 
 Friendship ! be thine to sooth despair* 
 
 And brighten woe's dark night. 
 
35 
 
 Oh ! best united friends of life ! 
 
 When from this world's unwearied strife, 
 
 'Tis in my power to flee 
 May all your sweetly soothing pow'rs 
 That brighter makes man's brightest hours, 
 
 Be then bestow'd on me. 
 
 3Ltm» ontije oft Hear, 
 
 1816. 
 
 The year is past, but whither fled ? 
 E'en to the regions of the dead. 
 How like a midnight dream 'tis gone, 
 Only in memory's record known ! 
 Each day on day, like rippling wave, 
 That doth upon the former heave, 
 In quick succession always passing. 
 Always here, yet never lasting : 
 
 d2. 
 
36 
 
 Like the unsullied snow from heav'n, 
 
 Each day to mortal man is giv'n 
 
 Without impression on its face, 
 
 But what his own right hand shall trace. 
 
 Unlike the snow of winter's morn, 
 
 That with the frosty air is gone, 
 
 Man's works remain, his crimes shall last, 
 
 E*en when the hour of life is past; 
 
 Shall rise in judgement in an after day, 
 
 When time and death alike have pass'd away, 
 
 The year is past — how short the span, 
 
 How fatal to the joys of man ! 
 
 The brightest moments of his way, 
 
 Like sun-beams on a stormy day. 
 
 Serve but to darken, darkest hours, 
 
 And aid afflictions' gloomy povv'rs 
 
 As death, ere tender flowers he crush, 
 
 Calls on the cheek a hectic flush, 
 
 And decks his victim with a blush, 
 
 What a frail bark is man, to sail 
 
 Before life's ever varying gale ! 
 
 Now, by his stormy passions toss'd 
 
 Now, by misfortune's tempests' cross'd ; 
 
 Ire's buffetted on every side, 
 
 By every turn of fortune's tide : 
 
37 
 
 The grave, the port he makes at last, 
 
 When all his toils and cares are past ; 
 
 There all his troubles calmly cease — 
 
 His bark in safety rides at peace. 
 
 Alas ! how many in this space 
 
 Have found their home — their resting place 
 
 How many tears have vainly fell, 
 
 O'er the dear forms they lov'd too well : 
 
 And many a myrtle wreath lies wither'd, 
 
 Before its lovely fruit was gather'd : 
 
 And willow boughs are lowly weeping, 
 
 O'er the tomb where beauty's sleeping: 
 
 While faded flower's are waving there, 
 
 That once bloom'd sweetly in her hair: 
 
 And on her urn a gem doth shine — 
 
 A diamond from affection's mine, 
 
 So sweet, so tender, and so dear — 
 
 Death's greatest prize, a falling tear. 
 
 How many orphans' pray'rs have ris'n, 
 
 Upon the breathing winds to heav'n, 
 
 How many a parent's lowly moan, 
 
 Have passing breezes onward borne ! 
 
 Is there no lamp — no feeble ray -*■ 
 
 To light us on this dreary way ? 
 
 Oh yes ! there is a lamp, a beacon found 
 
 That beams above, below, around : 
 
 d3. 
 
38 
 
 That robs the grave of all its gloom, 
 And makes a palace of the tomb : 
 Religion is the glorious light 
 That deepest darkness puts to flight : 
 And, pointing to the skies its rays, 
 Shews brighter worlds and ceaseless days. 
 Where halcyon hours shall ever reign, 
 Nor pain, nor grief be known again : — 
 Then shall man own, and fear his God, 
 And bowing, kiss his chastening rod. 
 
 Great God ! thy judgements all are good and wise, 
 
 Thou wouldst that man in happiness shouldst live, 
 But my vast sin for vengeance loudly cries 
 
 And justice, Lord, forbids thee to forgive. 
 Innumerous are my crimes, nor leave to thee 
 
 Ought but the choice of various forms of woe, 
 Thy laws immutable my death decree, 
 
 And ere thy mercy says it must be so. 
 'Tis to thy Glory ; O ! then have thy will, 
 
 Nor heed the tears that trickle from my eyes, 
 Now thunder, strike, 'tis time, give ill for ill, 
 
39 
 
 In dying I will say the deed is wise : 
 But where shall the avenging thunder fall ? 
 The shielding blood of Jesus covers all ! 
 
 HYMN. 
 
 Bright ev'ning beams of living gold, 
 The western gates of heav'n unfold, 
 
 Whilst night's imperial star : 
 Joins the pure glories of the hour 
 That mark bright day's declining pow'r 
 
 And leads the thoughts afar. 
 
 Such be the calm of life's last close, 
 When I, and all my earthly woes, 
 
 To death's dark night are giv'n : 
 Lord ! let the light of my last day, 
 Illume my soul with vivid ray, 
 
 And lead it up to heaven. 
 
 d4. 
 
*S0NNET. 
 
 Weep not for me nor shed the briny tear, — 
 Soon the bleak winds will whistle o'er my head. 
 
 Where the green mossy turf shall be my bed : — 
 Nor lady ! sigh, the woes I cannot hear, 
 
 Chase from thy cheek sorrow's recording gloom r 
 Nor dim those eyes so radiantly bright 
 But ah] recall their beauteous beaming light^ 
 
 And on thy lip restore the roses' bloom. 
 
 For lady, say, when sunk in sleep profound, 
 
 What joys are here that I should wish to rise? 
 Save that to meet, "when the last trump shall sound" 
 
 My Lord and Saviour in the eternal skies ! 
 I, like the leaves, that widely scattered lie, — 
 
 Lady, must drop, and like them fade and die ! 
 
 * Which suggested itself whilst wandering in a Country 
 Church yard, the author's desired haven of rest, where 
 contemplation was heightened by the solemnity of the scene. 
 
41 
 
 To Ambition. 
 
 'Tis not thy charms to share, 
 
 O stern ambition ! that I bend; 
 I court thee not, capricious fair. 
 
 Or ask of thee one boon to send; 
 Could'st thou indeed stay pleasures wing^ 
 
 And but prolong life's fleeting hour, 
 Or to the mind soft comfort bring ; 
 
 Then might I own thy boundless pow'r. 
 
 But since I know thy wavering state, 
 
 Thy fancied joys, how vain they be 
 What sorrows on thy smiles await, 
 
 Shall I bestow one thought on thee ? 
 Haste then, to tinsell'd folly, haste ! 
 
 And round her brows thy chaplet twine, 
 Whilst I retire— an humble guest, 
 
 To quaff more grateful sweets than thine. 
 
42 
 
 For let but prudence o'er me sway, 
 
 And bid each sordid hope subside \ 
 Let virtue steer me on the way, 
 
 As on contentment's stream I glide. 
 I seek no more ! ... for these will give 
 
 Those dear delights 1 justly prize, 
 Through life they'll teach me how to live, 
 
 And every worthless care despise. 
 
 On Ambition. 
 
 Ambition to excel in Virtue, to acquire 
 knowledge, and to do good, must ever 
 be laudable, and seldom fails to be 
 crowned with success : to be great in 
 every excellence that serves to improve, 
 enlarge, and enoble the mind, is desira- 
 ble ; but when it degenerates to the 
 mere aggrandizement of name, or the 
 
43 
 
 acquiring wealth by unlawful or disho- 
 nest means ; when it can trample on all 
 laws, divine and human, destroying the 
 lives and properties of our fellow crea- 
 tures, who are already enslaved by its 
 cruel fetters ■ His then, indeed a mon- 
 ster, armed at all points, and truly de- 
 testable. 
 
 Wealth procured by rapine or injus- 
 tice ; — fame purchased by cruelty, dig- 
 nity bought by dishonorable practices, or 
 a defalcation of principles, are vague 
 and unsubstantial enjoyments : they will 
 neither buy off repentance, nor bribe re- 
 morse to be silent ; the means by which 
 they gained their points prevent the ef- 
 fect they promised themselves from the 
 acquirement ; and they lose the blessing, 
 in the recollection of the method by 
 which it was obtained. 
 
 The ambitious man, who has dared to 
 sacrifice his integrity to this his ruling 
 
44 
 
 passion, may be assured, that the virtue 
 he has given up, will haunt him with 
 unceasing regret, and that he will find 
 even a bed of down, though decorated 
 with the labours of the silk-worm, as 
 the straw was to those poor victims his 
 ambition sent to languish in the dungeon. 
 
 The Almighty, from his throne, on earth surveys 
 Nought greater than an honest humble heart ; 
 An humble heart his residence ! pronounc'd 
 His second seat : and rival to the skies. 
 The private path, the secret acts of men, 
 If noble^ far the noblest of our lives. 
 
 To confine our wishes, and set bounds 
 to our desires, is the province of true un- 
 assuming wisdom ; to give way to them, 
 or let them become our rulers, is to in- 
 vest them with authority to lead us from 
 
45 
 
 that secure and peaceful path, which a- 
 lone can guide us to happiness. By so 
 doing, we become the voluntary slaves 
 of our own follies and ambitious desires, 
 and are in a much worse and more peril- 
 ous situation than the blind beggar, 
 whose only guide, whose only friend, is 
 his poor but faithful dog : he will stop 
 at the first appearance of danger, and 
 prevent his helpless master from running 
 into mischief. Our passions, our ambi- 
 tious desires, are far more dangerous 
 guides, they will hold out a tempting 
 bait, and we eagerly run into the snare ; 
 in vain does prudence admonish, or con- 
 science by its silent reproaches, endea- 
 vour to restrain us, when once we have 
 given the reins, of justice and virtue out 
 of our hands, and placed them in those 
 of our enemies : we are driven furiously 
 along, without either discretion, fear, or 
 judgement. The precipice appears in 
 
46 
 
 view ; but to stop would be cowardly ; 
 we go on rapidly/ regardless of conse- 
 quences,, till we are left in the gloomy 
 regions of despair, and unavailing repen- 
 tance. 
 
 Oh ! sweetness of content ! seraphic joy ! 
 That wanting nothing, nothing can destroy : 
 Where dwells this peace, this freedom of the mind ? 
 Where but in shades remote from human kind; 
 Inflow'ry Tales, where nymphs and shepherds meet. 
 But seldom comes within the palace gate. 
 
 'Hear the words of prudence, give 
 'heed unto her counsels, and store them 
 'in thine heart ; her maxims are univer- 
 sal, and all the virtues lean upon her ; 
 'she is the guide and mistress of human 
 'life. 
 
 'From the experience of others do 
 'thou learn wisdom ; and from their 
 
47 
 
 'failings correct thine own faults. 
 
 'The fool is not always unfortunate, 
 r nor the wise man always successful ; 
 'yet never had a fool a thorough enjoy- 
 r ment ; never was a wise man wholly un- 
 happy. 
 
 Oh ! wild Ambition to thy lures we owe 
 All the great ills that mortals bear below ! 
 Mourn'd by the hind when to the spoil he yields. 
 His years support, and vainly ripen'd fields : 
 Mourn'd by the maid, torn from her lover's side, 
 When left a widow tho' not yet a bride : 
 By mothers mourn'd, when floods of tears they shed, 
 And scatter useless roses on the dead. 
 
48 
 
 MEDITATION IK 
 
 A 
 
 Here is the last stage of life's itinera- 
 ry : here she throws off the weight of 
 many years. The infinity of paths she 
 trod in time,, here find a termination : 
 the various passions,, thoughts and inti- 
 mations, which drove her bark into dan- 
 gerous eddies,, subside in calm, and leave 
 her in the haven. Here is the collec- 
 tive rendezvous of suffering militants, 
 the kind receiver from the hard-fought 
 field, a safe retreat from the barbed 
 shafts of malice, from pointed perils, and 
 from misery's rod. 
 
49 
 
 The heavy-burthened, sore-afflicted 
 traveller, who long before he had reach* 
 ed this destined gaol, inclining low to- 
 wards parent earth, surcharged with 
 ills, in languid accents of exhausted na- 
 ture had begged the fiat of admission, is 
 now emancipated from all his labours. 
 
 The eye, long intimate with constant 
 streams, forgets to weep ; the heart once 
 pregnant with convulsive throbs, no lon- 
 ger keeps its agonizing beat, her trial is 
 over, her pulsation is ceased. 
 
 Here after contests multiform in kind, 
 enmities implacable, inexorable hates, 
 reigns general amity. 
 
 Here is concord's undisturbed empori- 
 um ; no murmur breaks the solemn si- 
 lence, nor echoes heard within the con- 
 fines of her dark domain. Here after 
 noble, and ignoble views, here, after e- 
 verv ardent, mundane wish, after her 
 every flattering object has been pursued, 
 
 E. 
 
50 
 
 here is found aggregate issue of them 
 alL Here posthumous Eloquence cries — 
 Behold the final, temporal ultimatum ; 
 remember Man, the transient vision of 
 terrestrial greatness; know the fruition 
 of jour hopes obtained, led to the sum- 
 mit, and in plenitude possessed — the 
 loan is momentary, and on the applicati- 
 on, momentous is the decision of Hea- 
 ven's great lender 1 — Here prostrate in 
 dust lay the degraded relics of soaring 
 mortals ; here ambition's restless climax 
 sinks beneath his sod, nor murmurs at 
 indignity ; empire, too little for its vast 
 desires, the mundane system subject to 
 its rule, yet inefficient both for magni- 
 tude of soul. 
 
 What a contrast is here ! Humble and 
 low, and mixing with plebian ashes, 
 now the contented occupant of its length 
 in earth. What magic power overrules 
 the silent cemetry ! for it is here that we 
 
5i 
 
 are reconciled to unanimity the strange 
 extremes in human life. Here blended 
 lie,, in peaceful league, nature's sons of 
 warring principles ; here in acquiescence 
 sleep the meanly-saving and riotous pro- 
 fuse, through life at variance ; yet Death, 
 the arbitrator Death, qualifies repug- 
 nancy, and leaves them mutual, — 
 Ah ! what avails the more than needful 
 solitude and care for earth's bright ore, 
 when he whose amassed, and he whose 
 excess wasted and impaired, are now, 
 both bankrupts ! — Here from servile 
 lendage, and oppression's iron hand, is 
 perfect liberation ; here the wretch whom 
 chance had made the slave of fortune's 
 insolents, forgets his galling state, and 
 with his lordly tyrant sleeps equally ac- 
 commodated. Here, the oppressor and 
 the injured suffering victim, in content 
 moulder ; the ozier bound hillock cano- 
 pies them both and kind oblivion sheds 
 
 e2. 
 
52 
 
 her influence over them. Here lie the 
 infracted links of affection's binding 
 chain ; here asunder severed, congenial 
 hearts, once knit bv love's soft ties,— 
 sympathy which formed their vital lux- 
 ury, is chilled in its ardent glow : the 
 breast inhumed, no longer feels the 
 bliss which warmed it late, but leaves 
 the whole sad feast to more than dead 
 survivors. 
 
 Here mingling with native earth, are 
 found the ashes of once darling objects ; 
 here the doting mother's future hopes 
 are blasted in the bloom of expectation ; 
 and here the father's manly fortitude 
 owns the conquest over human nature 
 by gushing tears ! Here too, is found re- 
 versed, the cause of heart felt sorrow, 
 the urns of kind indulgent parents, wa- 
 tered by flowing streams from filial 
 eyes ! — Here within the marble recepta- 
 cle's dreary gloom, lie the efficient means 
 
53 
 
 of their existence,, in them is lost the cor- 
 dial mentor of their future years, their 
 guide through all the dangerous tracts 
 of life. Here from the tomb the voice 
 of Silence cries — view the drawn esti- 
 mate of human nature, balance her im- 
 port with her sure conclusions ; judge of 
 her worth by her versatility ; esteem her 
 as the pilot only of the soul's terrestrial 
 transit, — mere automaton, which moved 
 a few short years : the acting springs lose 
 their power, and mortal passiveness sits 
 sovereign victrix ! 
 
 Oh ! make her final catastrophe, in 
 time, the lucid eyes to everlasting day, ! 
 Oh ! make the hour when death shall 
 meet her, the natal period of her eter- 
 nal joys, cease to behold in him the king 
 of terrors, but the kind harbinger to 
 your destined rest ! = then shall the 
 gloom prevailing over your sepulchral 
 beds change its terrestrial aspect, the 
 
 e3. 
 
54 
 
 portal shunned shall then become inviting. 
 Death with a friendly guiding hand, 
 shall lead you through the momentary 
 passage, diffuse a cheering brightness 
 through the dreadful shade. The con- 
 flict passed, celestial scenes will then 
 commence of endless bliss, their ever- 
 lasting round. 
 
 ®i)e ^antts of %\Xz. 
 
 How swiftly pass our years away, 
 Our joys how swiftly they decay, 
 
 Just like a transient flow'r we bloom 
 Quickly we run o'er 1 ife's short stage, 
 We fly from infancy to age; 
 
 Then rest forgotten in the tomb. 
 
55 
 
 The things of time engross onr care, 
 The pleasures of the world we share, 
 
 While joyful hope the soul inspires : 
 We seek for riches, titles, fame, 
 To immortalize an empty name, 
 
 And satisfy our vain desires. 
 
 We seldom look beyond the grave, 
 Where come the tim'rous and the brave, 
 
 To lay their heavy burthens down : 
 Where safe from storms the weary rest, 
 Where anguish gnaws no troubled breast,- 
 
 Where all mankind shall find a home. 
 
 Religion can alone bestow 
 True happiness on man below, 
 
 O ! give admission to the skies ; 
 'Tis this can save him when his breath 
 Is fled away, and ghastly death 
 
 Has closed with heavy sleep his eyes* 
 
 e4. 
 
56 
 
 This can support him in that day. 
 When earth and skies shall pass away, 
 
 And be dissolved in liquid fire : 
 Safe shall he stand upon a rock 
 And with composure hear the shock 
 
 That bids the universe expire. 
 
 ©n JBtgappomtmcnt 
 
 Alas ! how inconstant the pleasures 
 That fancy pour trays to the mind ; 
 
 We grasp at the shadowy treasures, 
 And nought but deception we find. 
 
 Gay hope like a gentle deceiver, 
 Bewitches the world with her smile 
 
 By flattery lull'd we believe her, 
 Nor once think of sorrow or guile. 
 
57 
 
 But ah ! these fair scenes are soon ended, 
 Disorder'd and clouded by care ; 
 
 Our joys with our troubles soon blended, 
 And nothing remains but despair. 
 
 Where, where, is felicity's dwelling? 
 
 Can I find the blest mansion below ? 
 From my bosom with grief sadly swelling, 
 
 A voice gently whispers, — ah no ! 
 
 Misfortune our prospects oft blasting, 
 For bliss we must look up to heav'n. 
 
 There joys will be found everlasting, 
 There rest to the wearied is gi\ 'n 
 
58 
 
 <©n ffli^otttrta) <&njo£mmt!S* 
 
 
 Every thing passes away ; every thing 
 in this world is fugitive. We are carried 
 away by the rapid whirlwind of time ; 
 and the moment which sees us enter on 
 the stage, is but a few instants distant 
 from that in which we make our exit, to 
 appear no more. 
 
 During this short space, we are per- 
 petually in motion, we are agitated by 
 vain pleasures, vain hopes, vain disquiets, 
 and vain apprehensions ; ambition, love, 
 avarice, envy, pride, voluptuousness, 
 idleness, What more ? innumerable pas- 
 sions tyrannize over, and prey upon our 
 minds ; disgust, indisposition, the various 
 maladies from which even youth is not 
 exempt, and which are inseparable from 
 
59 
 
 an advanced age ; cause us to pass in 
 succession through all the several de- 
 grees of pain. Death comes at last, to 
 restore to earth the possession of that 
 part of us which it had only lent us ; 
 scarcely has it re-entered on its proper- 
 ty, when those with whom we have had 
 the closest connexions entirely forget us. 
 After this, what are we to think of 
 our life ? Does it deserve that attach- 
 ment which we shew to it ? Consider 
 what I have said, and then decide. 
 
u Man is born to trouble " 
 
 It is the opinion of almost every one, 
 that youth is the time in which we enjoy 
 the greatest share of happiness ; but if 
 we take a clear and unprejudiced view 
 of this period, supposed to be so free 
 from care and trouble, we shall find that 
 even in this first stage of innocence and 
 apparent pleasure, the heart is not free 
 
 from disturbances which poison happi- 
 ness. To prove the truth of this opini- 
 on needs but a small compass of argu- 
 ment. First, let us consider the motives 
 which induce us to think this the most 
 happy part of our lives 
 
 Men when advanced in life, are fre- 
 
61 
 
 quently immersed in business, worn with 
 cares and disappointed by the failure of 
 their plans ; they are anxious in search- 
 ing for gain, a prey to fears and doubts, 
 and disturbed by the importance of their 
 concerns ; they behold their children 
 sporting around them, and enjoying ap- 
 parent happiness, unclouded by care ; 
 they reflect npou the time when they 
 themselves were as happy ; when their 
 griefs were momentary ; when they were 
 fed and clothed without the exertion of 
 their faculties, and when the extent of 
 their wishes was a top, a ball,or an apple. 
 The state of youth more advanced 
 appears also to be made up of joys and 
 pleasures ; but if any one will take the 
 trouble to recollect his own feelings, 
 when he was a young man of fifteen or 
 sixteen vears of aoe, he will remember 
 that he was far from being contented. 
 Let those who j;lace the height of earth- 
 
62 
 
 ly felicity in the condition of childhood, 
 reflect, that at this period their faculties 
 are not matured : they have no idea of 
 greater gain than the possession of tri- 
 fles : they have no value for titles or gold : 
 they prefer a toy of the meanest kind to 
 the best landed estates. If then they 
 feel such pleasure in their baubles, to 
 disappoint their desires must be to cast 
 sorrow in their hearts: we all must agree 
 in thinking, that it is often necessary to 
 forbid them their numerous wants. If 
 then children feel the pangs of disap- 
 pointment every hour of the day, they 
 cannot be completely happy ; if they 
 have no real troubles, their confined, un- 
 ripened faculties every hour produce 
 those which are imaginary. We have 
 doubtless in every age our portion of sor- 
 row ; and it is given to us with an equal 
 hand. I mean not, that we have all an 
 equal potion of misery ; alas ! it is too 
 
63 
 
 clear, that one man's cup overflows, 
 whilst another's contain but a few 
 drops ; but of the four ages of man, all 
 are equally subject to distress : the 
 young man from fifteen to twenty, has 
 troubles unknown to any but himself. 
 To the common observer, he appears 
 surrounded with happiness, rosy health 
 attends his footsteps : he has the intellect 
 and pleasures of a man without his cares 
 he has nothing to do but obey his master, 
 and preserve a virtuous course. Who 
 amongst them, when told by his parents 
 that these are his happiest days, believes 
 them ? No ! he pants for the time 
 when he shall be freed from restraint of 
 learning, and mingle with the world. 
 
 Behold him now released from 
 school, and entering upon his career; 
 he has attained his wishes but is still 
 discontented : he mixes with men, but 
 
61 
 
 finds himself neglected ; he endeavours 
 to account for this want of attention,, and 
 finds it is because he has not reached his 
 twentv-first vear : he is yet considered 
 a blank in society, and he meets not with 
 that deference to \*hich he thinks his ta- 
 lents and acquirements entitle him. 
 
 He now finds himself unhappy for 
 want of a companion : he seeks the com- 
 pany of young men of his own age : — 
 this is the critical period of his life ; there 
 are many chances to one that he meets 
 with young persons devoid of good prin- 
 ciples; his passions are subdued, and 
 in giving way to their unbridled im- 
 pulse, he is led by his companions into 
 the paths of vice : he is at first delighted 
 with her seducing manners : involves 
 himself in difficulties, but when he 
 wishes to return to virtue, he becomes 
 the prey of remorse, and finds the truth 
 of the subsequent lines. 
 
65 
 
 u The path to H — is open night and day, 
 a Broad is the descent, and easy is the way : 
 <4 But to return and view the cheerful skies, 
 " In this the task and mighty labour lies. 
 
 This is the probable consequence of 
 treating youth with neglect ; and I think 
 if age would condescend to be the com- 
 panion of jouth, many a young man 
 would be enamoured of their company ; 
 and escape the snares of bad example, 
 and improper society. Even if youth es- 
 cape this charybdis, he is not so happy 
 as he appears. During his minority, he 
 feels he is a slave ; he has the same 
 passions as his elders, but is restrained 
 from following their bent ; this is un- 
 doubtedly necessary ; for the passions of 
 youth if they were not subsided would 
 lead them into utter ruin. 
 
 A young man, at the age of seventeen 
 
 F. 
 
66 
 
 or eighteen, forms a connexion with a 
 female of his own age ; he believes her 
 to be all his fancy has formed of woman, 
 and feeds his imagination with ideas of 
 future happiness ; he burns for an oppor- 
 tunity of exerting his abilities, that he 
 may be happy with her whom he loves ; 
 he wishes to do something for support, 
 and maintain a spirit of independence ; 
 this is denied him, 'till a certain time has 
 elapsed ; and even if his parents should 
 approve his choice, long has he to endure 
 the tortures of suspense, and a thousand 
 other cares which disturb his breast. 
 
 ►®< 
 
67 
 
 ON 
 
 TRANQUILITY. 
 
 Tranquility is the wish of all ; the 
 good, while pursuing the track of virtue; 
 the great, while following the star of glo- 
 ry; and the little, while creeping in the 
 styes of dissipation, sigh for tranquility, 
 and make it the great object which they 
 ultimately hope to obtain. How anxious- 
 ly does the sailor, on the high and giddy 
 mast, when rolling through tempestuous 
 seas, cast his eyes over the foaming bil- 
 lows, and anticipate the calm security 
 he hopes to enjoy when he reaches the 
 wished-for shore ! Even kins;s grow 
 weary of their splendid slavery, and no- 
 bles sicken under increasing dignities. 
 
 All in short, feel less delight in the ac- 
 tual enjoyment of worldly pursuits, ho,v 
 
68 
 
 ever great and honorable they may be, 
 than in the idea of their being able to 
 relinquish them, and retire to, 
 
 a 
 
 •some calm sequestered spot ; 
 
 cc The world for getting^ by the world forgot." 
 
 Atoning* 
 
 A FRAGMENT, 
 
 Now nature's hush'd — and not a breeze, 
 Nor murmur whispers in the trees. 
 >Tis stillness all — the golden grain, 
 One level seems across the plain, 
 The lark has ceas'd his latest song, 
 And cow' ring, creeps the grass among, 
 While scarce a note attunes the gale, 
 Save in the dim discover'd vale 
 Lone Philomela breathes her tale, 
 To sooth the minstrel's bosom-throes, 
 Who greets this hour of calm repose, 
 
69 
 
 Where melancholy lore to stray, 
 
 u To hear of heaven and learn the way : ,5 
 
 And virtue of transcendent birth, 
 
 Makes solitude her home on earth ! 
 
 From tow'ring elms the cawing rook 
 
 Reflects its shadow in the brook ; 
 
 The grazing sheep together dwell 
 
 In order by the tinkling bell ; 
 
 The hind whose labour now is o'er. 
 
 Hies wearily across the moor; 
 
 With scythe upon his shoulder laid, 
 
 The joyful tenant of the shade : 
 
 At distance, resting on the style, 
 
 Looks on his cot with tender smile, 
 
 Where prattling infants, all his care, 
 
 Envious wait, the kiss to share : 
 
 And now those fond endearments past, 
 
 The cheerful supper clos'd at last, 
 
 The pious prayer devoutly said 
 
 He sleeps upon his tranquil bed, 
 
 'Till bright Aurora streaks the dawn, 
 
 That wakes him to another morn. 
 
 f3. 
 
70 
 
 SKfomw to $tctjj* 
 
 Come beauteous maid, offspring of heaTen 5 
 To whom the cross of faith was given ? 
 
 With truth to guide mankind ; 
 Creation's best and faithful friend^ 
 To me thy genial influence lend 
 
 And modulate my mind. 
 
 Th' unletter'd Indian in his way, 
 With idol gods still owns thy sway ; 
 
 Withhold not that from me ; 
 But keep my heart in thy controul ; 
 With moderation guide my sonl. 
 
 Frjam superstition free. 
 
71 
 
 How oft for thee with phrenzied jars, 
 Have nations clash'd in sanguine wars. 
 
 And myriads laid in dust ! 
 And ah ! what martyrs have there been 
 For thee — whilst those who slew theni, e'en 
 
 Declar'd themselves were just. 
 
 Oh ! teach me then to judge aright 
 Between the false and real light , 
 
 That I may henceforth know : — 
 And fortify my mind to bear 
 The various scenes in life's career. 
 
 Of fortune and of woe. 
 
 ®o dunpltcttji* 
 
 Sweet nymph ! of ever placid mien, 
 
 Who shunn'st the lures of sordid pride. 
 Who loves the valley's humble scene, 
 Come o'er my votive muse preside : 
 
 e4. 
 
72 
 
 For those in rustic garb canst please. 
 Whilst pomp and pow'r soon will cloy : 
 
 Canst boast more bliss, and lasting ease. 
 Than fortune's minions e'er enjoy. 
 
 Lead me then to thy happy vale. 
 
 Where no corroding cares molest, 
 Where mild content trips o'er the dale 
 
 With dimpled cheeks and modest vest * s 
 There far retired from fashion's kin, 
 
 How happy will we pass our life ! 
 Well will we mark the care of men 
 
 And smile at their discordant strife. 
 
 As thought directs, our path we'll chuse, 
 
 What time the morning spreads her wings 
 To cull the flow'r of simple hues, 
 
 Or scent the sweets that zephyrs bring. 
 Or if beneath some oak reclin'd 
 
 The lark's aerial thrilling note 
 Shall soothe to peace, the musing mind, 
 
 And o'er the raptured senses float. 
 
73 
 
 5 Tis thus thou shalt, enchanting maid ! 
 
 Where'er I stray, morn, noon, or night. 
 Each pleasure strew'd path pervade, 
 
 And e'er create some new delight. 
 For thou wilt every joy encrease, 
 
 And glad each hour that's spent with thee 
 Spread o'er each scene thy smiles of peace, 
 
 O meek eyed maid ! Simplicity, 
 
 ON RURAL LIFE. 
 
 Life's but a flower that greets the orient dawn : 
 To morrow comes, — the fragile flow'r is crush'd ! 
 
 The leaves that sparkle in the tears of morn, 
 At noon decay and are the evening dust. 
 
 It is only in rural life that a man 
 can enjoy the treasures of the heart, 
 himself, his wife, his children, and 
 friends. The country possesses in eve- 
 ry respect, superior advantages to the 
 
74 
 
 town ; pure air,, smiling prospects, plea- 
 sant walks, wholesome food, simple man- 
 ners, and virtuous minds ; the bosom feels 
 the freedom it enjoys, and rests on hea- 
 ven alone. The miser mav be satisfied 
 from the abundant pleasures which the 
 liberal hand of nature is incessantly 
 pouring into his lap ; the warrior may 
 follow the image of war, the chace, the 
 luxurious may cultivate the richest fruits 
 of the earth, and the philosopher may 
 indulge his contemplation in silence and 
 in ease. 
 
 llamas* 
 
 I sigh not for the charms of pow'r, 
 Nor glitt' ring stores of wealth 
 
 I sigh for peace in some lone bow'r. 
 
 With competence and health. 
 
75 
 
 I love to wander unconfin'd, 
 Where noise can never come, 
 
 Nor envy's weak and narrow mind, 
 Disturb my humble home. 
 
 Yet think not that by purling stream, 
 
 I'll muse my hours away ; 
 Or waste as in some useless dream, 
 
 Life's transitory day. 
 
 Oh ! rather let my active soul, 
 
 My active hands employ : 
 And teach my lips where'er I stroll. 
 
 To greet the poor with joy. 
 
 That so my thoughts may still ascend, 
 
 And all-adoring rise, 
 To him who lives my God, and friend, 
 
 My Saviour in the skies. 
 
76 
 
 bonnet to i^e ^afcfcati). 
 
 Revolving slow its tranquil court once more, 
 
 The sabbath dawns, blest harbinger of peace : 
 Again it bids the lab'rers toil be o'er, 
 
 And gives to wearied industry release : 
 What mild benignity salutes the scene. 
 
 Where sits devotion clad in simplest guise ! 
 'Till gentle evening, placid and serene, 
 
 Faint, and more faint, in varying splendour dies, 
 Again from distant spire, ivi'd tower, 
 
 The curfew lingers on the slumb'ring breeze, 
 Warning around the holy day's departing hour, 
 
 Closing a reign of innocence and ease, 
 Now sleep once more steals o'er each careless breast 
 Tho' grandeur spurns there, oh ! it might envy them 
 
 their rest. 
 
 &a Sorroto* 
 
 Come I will woo thee, Sorrow ! pale thou art, 
 And from thy colorless and sunken eye 
 
 The big tears stream — and thy poor aching heart, 
 Doth frequent heave the deep and mournful sigh 
 
 
77 
 
 In saddest cadence with the wintry wind, 
 
 That sullen sweeps the dark and leafless vale * 
 Yet I will abide with thee — nor trust me, find 
 
 Thy converse wearisome, nor dull thy tale. 
 For oft I mark thine eye uplift to heaven— 
 
 In sweet abstractedness — and then a smile 
 Radiant as hope, to thy pale lip is given, 
 
 And thou wilt point, with chastened woe the while 
 To that delightful world where tears shall cease, 
 And virtue pines no more, and all is peace. 
 
 JWoonttfl&t &feetrf)* 
 
 The winds of heaven are hush'd — and mild- 
 E'en as the breath of slumb'ring child ! 
 The western breezes' balmy sigh, 
 Breaks not the mist -wreaths as they fly, 
 Veiling the tall cliff's rugged brow, 
 Nor dimples the green waves below. 
 Such stillness round — such silence deep- 
 That nature seems herself to sleep ! 
 The full moon mounted in the sky, 
 Looks from her cloudless place on high; 
 
78 
 
 And trembling stars like fairy gleams. 
 Twinkle their many colored beams ; 
 Spangling the world of waters o'er 
 With mimic gems from shore to shore, 
 'Till ocean burning on the view, 
 Grows like another heaven of blue, 
 And its broad bosom as a mirror bright, 
 Reflects their lucid path and all the fields of light. 
 
 ®o tfje getting <Sum 
 
 Bright orb of day, as thy declining beam, 
 In clouds of glory hasten from my view, 
 
 How do I love to catch the last faint gleam, 
 
 Thy setting splendour round the landscape strew, 
 
 All nature sinking to a soft repose, 
 
 In farewell accents greets thy parting ray, 
 
 And the rich tints thy glowing radiance throws, 
 Endear the prospect of the close of day. 
 
79 
 
 Oh ! when my setting sun of life draws near 
 Its final close, may I like thee decline : 
 
 And the last rays of my existence here, 
 
 Be bright, unclouded, and as pure as thine. 
 
 Oh Sun ! 
 Soul of surrounding worlds, in whom best seen, 
 Shine out thy maker, may I sing of thee ! 
 
 Thompson, 
 
 O thou glorious and stupendous ve- 
 hicle of light ! the wondrous effect of 
 Almighty wisdom and eternal energy; 
 whose inexhaustible and magnific foun- 
 tain of unsullied radiance, has from the 
 earliest traces of time, illumined the azure 
 concave of heaven, and gladdened with 
 undiminished splendour, this terrestrial 
 universe. 
 
 When the Deity was borne by milli- 
 ons of mighty cherubims through the 
 
80 
 
 dark and unessential propensity of chaos, 
 it was then, thy resplendent and beautiful 
 orb, first obedient to the will of the divine 
 architect, began its amazing progress 
 through immeasurable wilds of sether. 
 
 O sun ! thou art the grand conductor, 
 the faithful parent of seasons ! thy fervid 
 influence accelerates the dew-dropping 
 hours of spring ; at thy renovating touch 
 every particle of nature rekindles into 
 life, the fields resume their cheerful ver- 
 dure and the thick branching forest 
 stands replete with new foliage, while 
 the plumy nations welcome thy presence 
 with strains of gratitude. It is by thy 
 timely assistance that the liberal hand of 
 summer empties her treasured horn for 
 the benefit of mankind, and unfolds her 
 crouded beauties to the philosophical 
 observer ; by thy congenial warmth 
 the odorous and variegated assemblage 
 of flowers adorn the mossy borders of 
 

 81 
 
 meandering streams. Thou ripenest the 
 golding produce of Ceres into maturity ; 
 all the animal creation are indebted to 
 thee for their existence ; and when the 
 declining season of autumn presents its 
 fading foliage to our view, when the 
 trees embrowned by thy spreading lus- 
 tre, disperse their shrivelled and leafy 
 honours beneath the feet of the tra- 
 veller, and the playful zephyrs no more 
 expand their silken pinions, to pilfer 
 the sweets of unfolding roses thy fos- 
 tering power is prominently confessed 
 in the juicy grape, that descends 
 from its twining tendrills, ripened to 
 perfection. 
 
 O Sun ! fair and dazzling offspring of 
 night! let my intellectual faculties be ex- 
 panded with thoughts of thy maker ; let 
 my knees bend with holy reverence, and 
 my head do homage to the infinite dis- 
 poser of all things, whose incomprehensi- 
 on 
 
82 
 
 ble fiat modelled thv shinins: circle, to 
 comfort me through the valley of life. 
 
 Be my soul attuned to devout adorati- 
 on while my feet pursue the path of moral 
 rectitude; that when death that insatiate 
 monster, whose appetite is foreign to all 
 restraint, bids me attend the awful tri- 
 bunal of the most high, the sacred bar of 
 Eternal Majesty, my conscience may be 
 as untarnished as thy glowing circumfe- 
 rence, and my exit from this fragile the- 
 atre of existence, be amply concordant 
 with thy setting splendour. 
 
 Written on the first Day of January 1820. 
 
 A Year is past ! Time in his rapid but 
 steady flight, has performed another entire 
 revolution round his own axis, and com- 
 pleted one series of his destined course ; 
 
83 
 
 while without resting, he is hurl'd again 
 by the unwearied hand of inevitable fate. 
 A year is past ! a link is cut off from the 
 frail chain of our short li\ed existence; 
 the tide of our revolving year is thus 
 gradually receding from the shore, and 
 flowing back to the source from whence 
 it first ebbed ! 
 
 It is always useful to reflect on the ra- 
 pidity of time ; but never more so than at 
 those periods which, as it were limiting 
 his vast career., and bringing to closer 
 observation the great importance of his 
 use, and the awfulnes of his desolating 
 power ; to oppose him, mighty seas would 
 in vain swell their threatening waves, 
 and huge mountains present their lofty 
 summits, and ponderous weight ; — the 
 most elegant productions of art, and the 
 most stupendous works of nature are e- 
 qually subject to his sway, and doomed 
 to fall by his conquering scythe, even man 
 
 g2. 
 
84 
 
 who carried on the wings of his soaring 
 genius, either boldly explores the far- 
 thest regions of the air, or fearlessly plun- 
 ges into the roaring abyss of the deep, 
 and daringly scans the most profound 
 works of his Creator. =Even man must 
 yield to the influence of all-desolating 
 time : outrageous decrepitude furrows 
 his majestic front, bends with feebleness 
 his erect and commanding form, and 
 sweeps him away in the common mass of 
 earthly destruction 
 
 Time is an instructor both awful and 
 sublime : his lessons written on the dust 
 of passing generations, and engraved on 
 the tombs of the dearest objects of our 
 affections, speak a language so eminent 
 in wisdom and truth, they so impress our 
 feelings with great and melancholy 
 thoughts, that we thus look to consoling 
 religion with a tender hope, and pay to 
 immutable virtue a higher reverence. 
 
85 
 
 Associated with the counsels of the 
 Almighty , and charged to execute the 
 decrees of his absolute will, to time it is 
 given to unfold the profound designs of 
 an inscrutable providence in the moral 
 administration of this vast universe : 
 to bring forth from behind the thick veil 
 of future ages, those innumerable and 
 astonishing changes which so eminently 
 mark the checquered course of all hu- 
 man affairs. To Time it belongs to curb 
 and confound the insulting audacity of 
 the wicked, and to exalt and reward the 
 humble submission of the just. 
 
 Time is not only a rigid monitor, but 
 also an incorruptible witness : he is not 
 seen, he is not heard ; yet he sees and 
 hears every thing : notices the most mi- 
 nute deeds of good and evil ; and the tes- 
 timony of his voice thrown into the scale 
 that shall weigh our last destinies, shall 
 make it rise either to the state of immor- 
 
 g3. 
 
86 
 
 tal blessedness, or sink into an endless, 
 hopeless woe. 
 
 Though Time be so precious we seem- 
 ingly attach but little value to it : hurri- 
 ed away in the bustle of this empty noisy 
 world, we seldom think on the swiftness 
 of its flight, or the uncertainty of its 
 possession, we gaily sail down the rapid 
 torrent, nor do we heed the numerous 
 wrecks scattered up and down. That 
 treasure which providence has gracious- 
 ly bestowed on us to purchase unfading 
 crowns and everlasting kingdoms, we 
 throw away in paltry perishable things ; 
 — we scatter on the barren desart that 
 seed of a glorious immortality, so that 
 we can expect to reap nothing from it 
 but vain regrets, and bitter remorse. 
 
 The year that is past opens to that 
 which follows a fruitfuTfield of instruc- 
 tion. So many hopes, which we know 
 to have been broken, — so many deep laid 
 
87 
 
 plans for future aggrandizement and 
 prosperity, which have ended in vexation 
 and not seldom in ruin, must make us 
 less confident in our own powers ; they 
 shew to ambition the \anily of her lofty 
 aims, and to avarice the uncertainty of 
 her sordid speculation. 
 
 We have seen death under so many 
 forms, from decayed old age to wanton 
 youth, that health no longer trust to her 
 bloom, nor strength to her activity : but 
 all must tread with fear and caution on 
 that slippery ground from which so many 
 have before us stepped into their 
 Graves. One great benefit we derive 
 from meditating on time past is, that we 
 practically learn to make a better use of 
 the present. 
 
 Like the shipwrecked mariner, whom 
 the tempest has cast on an isolated rock 
 we are just emerging from the wrecks oi 
 a year ! and find ourselves thrown on the 
 
 g4. 
 
88 
 
 first day of another; but it would be 
 inconsistent vith reason, \*ere we to in- 
 dulge ourselves in every kind of intem- 
 perate mirth, whilst the surrounding at- 
 mo phere is still overcast, whilst the storm 
 still rages, and the angry wave foams and 
 threatens. Let rather the melancholy 
 view of the vanity of human wishes, of 
 the instability of human joys, which 
 every year presents, make our hearts as- 
 pire to that blessed state of existence — 
 
 66 Where momentary ages are no more ; 
 Ci When time and pain 5 and chance^ and death 
 
 [ expire " 
 
 Let faith, hope, and sweet charity, 
 lead us by the hand, through the pro- 
 gressive wrecks of days, and months, and 
 years : and we shall behold with calm 
 resignation the end of time, and enter 
 with pious confidence the gates of awful 
 eternity. 
 
ON THE NEW YEAR. 
 
 €c The bell strikes One! — we take no note of t\me 9 
 But from its loss : — to give it then a tongue, is 
 Wise in man, — As if an angel spoke, I feel the 
 Solemn sound I — If heard aright, it is the knell 
 Of my departed hours ! — Where are they ? 
 
 With the years beyond the flood. 
 
 How much is to be done ! My hopes and fears start 
 
 [up 
 Alarm'd ; and o'er life's narrow verge look down — 
 Or what ? A fathomless abyss ! a dread eternity ! 
 How surely mine ! and can eternity belong to me, 
 Poor pensioner on the bounties of an hour ? 
 
 Young. 
 
 Though the sublimity of the author's 
 appeal to the heart and the understand- 
 
90 
 
 ing must at all times be impressive, it 
 seems to accquire additional force at the 
 commencement of a new year, which like 
 the bell, so figuratively described by the 
 poet, is a signal to remind us of that e- 
 ternity we are approaching every hour \ 
 Though the vicissitudes of day and 
 night mark the rapidity of time's pro- 
 gress, yet from their undeviating succes- 
 sion they make no impression upon the 
 human heart ; and we waste those preci- 
 ous moments in idleness or frivolity, 
 which bitter repentance is unable to 
 recall ! But when time has accomplished 
 his annual revolution, recollection seems 
 to concentrate our ideas, and the mind im- 
 perceptibly takes a retrospective in view 
 of the events which have occurred in the 
 year that is past. Many doubtless, are 
 the mercies we have received from a 
 beneficent Providence ; many likewise 
 may have been the distresses we have 
 
encountered ; (as Lord Lvtfleton beau- 
 tifully expresses it,) are blessings in 
 disguise, sent as admonitions by the 
 great parent of the universe. Such 
 retrospective >iews will naturally be 
 attended with a conviction, that an Om- 
 nicient and Omnipotent power presides 
 over our hemisphere ; and that those 
 events which we attribute to chance, are 
 the ordinations of a great and all power- 
 ful Creator. 
 
 Many may have been the friends Tor 
 more properly expressing myself,) the 
 acquaintance, whose attenuated thread 
 of life may have broken within the year ; 
 and the most healthy mav be summoned 
 to the great tribunal long before the pre- 
 sent season shall again appear ! Thus 
 uncertain of the future, how inestimable 
 becomes the present : the past alas ! can 
 never be recalled ; yet the labourer in 
 the vineyard, who toiled only one hour, 
 
92 
 
 received an equal portion of reward ! 
 What an incitement to the practice of 
 piety and virtue, does that beautiful para- 
 ble hold forth ! It seems impressively to 
 warn the idle and the dissipated, that 
 the day is far spent, and the night ap- 
 proaching fast. 
 
 There is a natural propensity within 
 us to store futurity with pleasing im- 
 ages ; hope illusively gilds the perspective 
 views of life : whilst disappointment 
 overclouds the fairest prospects, and 
 leaves the mind a prey to the indulgence 
 of grief : but by fixing our affections on 
 things above ; we shall avoid sorrows of 
 this description : and without displaying 
 apathy of feeling, we shall acquire re- 
 signation of mind, and the reflection, 
 that a few fleeting; vears will terminate 
 the trials we are encountering, will re- 
 concile us to all the miseries of life. To 
 redeem the time which has been mispent, 
 
93 
 
 or at least to waste no more of our preci- 
 ous moments, must be our first study. 
 
 Let us then put away evil, and learn 
 to do well ; and let us, in this time of de- 
 privation and calamity, commence our 
 reformation, by a willing contribution 
 towards the relief of the distressed. If 
 much has not been given, much will not 
 be required from us ; but woe to the 
 callous and apathetic, who without 
 commiseration can hear of those privati- 
 ons to which thousands of their fellow 
 creatures are compelled to submit ; and 
 let them dread that denunciation which 
 will be pronounced against them at the 
 great day of judgement. 
 
91 
 
 Bc8tciiotW 
 
 ON 
 
 HUMAN LIFE. 
 
 What a varied scene does human life 
 present ! Some toiling on through sur- 
 rounding obstacles, vainly struggle to 
 ascend the slippery mount, where they 
 behold, with anxious and longing eyes, 
 the distant bowers of competence and 
 ease ; some falling headlong from the 
 giddy height where they grasped at 
 wealth and honour, frighten and dismay 
 the passing traveller as he views them 
 prostrate in destruction; some elate with 
 joy and success, stand upon the lofty pin- 
 nacle, and from the towering summit 
 
95 
 
 look with disdain upon the crouds below 
 them. It is one vast scene of bustle, 
 strife and confusion ! The groans of de- 
 spair, the sighs of disappointment, the 
 songs of hoj e, the shouts of joy, float up- 
 on every breeze. A few years, and it is 
 all over : one by one, the mighty multi- 
 tude follow each other to the grave, and 
 the generations "chase one another down" 
 like the waves of the sea. 
 
 Among the busy, motley group, there 
 is one man to be pitied indeed, — it is he 
 who feels he was not made for the world ! 
 whose noble spirit disdains the grovel- 
 ling drudgeries, and spurns at the little 
 meanessesof life; whose heart, fraught 
 with exalted sentiments, throbs responsive 
 to every virtue, and sighs for the pleasures 
 of retirement, for the sweet endearments 
 of domestic happiness, for the calm de- 
 lights of social friendship ; — whose breast 
 alive to every good, every generous and 
 
96 
 
 dignified impulse, glows with a keen 
 relish for the sublime beauties of nature 
 and a love for all that is great and ami- 
 able ; — who pants to inhabit the soft 
 shades of tranquil leisure, there to bend 
 with enamoured rapture, over the charms 
 of elegant literature, and in the pursuit 
 of the wisest, best and loveliest objects 
 of the mind, seek the improvement of his 
 soul, and the enjoyment of unsullied 
 pleasures. It is he, who thus feeling, is 
 thrown upon the wide wilderness of the 
 world, among the vicious, the mean, the 
 selfish and the vulgar, to toil through 
 the lingering years of life, in the hurry, 
 the fatigues of business; who is oblig- 
 ed for common support and common 
 comfort, to mingle in scenes where he 
 wanders with disgust and apathv, and 
 to associate and unite with those whom 
 his heart shuns and despises. 
 
 Torn by the cruel hand of unlucky 
 
97 
 
 fortune and imperious necessity, from 
 those enjoyments of congenial pursuits 
 which alone could afford him solace and 
 pleasure, he roams like a friendless stran- 
 ger in the world, and through the short 
 but tedious span of his existence; wretch- 
 edness only is his portion. Though he 
 mixes with the crouded throng who wor- 
 ship interest as their leading star ; though 
 his energies may seem exerted, and his 
 daily attention assiduously sacrificed to 
 attainments liketheir's ; he feels no joy in 
 their joy : and his widow'd soul is like 
 the wandering dove of Noah that found 
 no rest to her feet, no shelter to her wing. 
 — Look into his bosom, — 
 
 There nature mourns, and round his heart is strew'd, 
 A frozen waste, a dreary solitude ! 
 
 H. 
 
98 
 
 ®f)t <&mpIo|)mmt of SKme* 
 
 Redeeming our time from those dan- 
 gerous wastes of it, which lead our youth 
 into every disorder and confusion in so- 
 ciety, seek to fill it with employment 
 which we may review with satisfaction. 
 
 The acquisition of knowledge is one of 
 the most honorable occupations of youth. 
 
 The desire of it discovers a liberal 
 mind, and is connected with many vir- 
 tues But if it should occur, that our 
 situations in life should not lead us to a 
 regular train of study; the course of a 
 liberal education will always afford a 
 proper employment to a welldisposed 
 mind, whatever we pursue, we ought to 
 be emulous to excel. Generous ambiti- 
 
99 
 
 on, and sensibility to praise, are among 
 the marks of virtue. 
 
 We ought not to think that any afflu- 
 ence of fortune, or elevation of rank, ex- 
 empts us from the duties of application 
 and industry. Industry is the law of our 
 being , it is the demand of nature, of rea- 
 son and of God. It highly becomes us 
 to consider, and remember, that the years 
 which now pass over our heads, leave 
 permament memorials behind them. 
 
 From our thoughtless minds this con- 
 sideration may escape, — but it remains 
 in the remembrance of God. Such con- 
 siderations form an important part of the 
 register of our lives; they will hereafter 
 bear testimony for or against us at that 
 day, when for all our actions we must 
 give an account to God, Whether our 
 future course is destined to be long or 
 short, it should be our care and study to 
 aim at deeds of virtue, and aspire to use- 
 
 h2. 
 
100 
 
 ful knowledge ; if we pursue this course,, 
 its conclusion, at what time soever it ar- 
 rives, will not be inglorious or unhappy. 
 
 VIEWS AND REFLECTIONS 
 
 ON THE 
 
 LIFE OF HERBERT. 
 
 Transient is the ray of hope, that shoots 
 across the gloom of human woe ! — in 
 vain do we search for happiness, in this 
 fragile state of existence This world 
 is a region of danger, in which perfect 
 safety is possessed by none. MS/ hen blest 
 with prosperity, and every earthly good, 
 when our sun shines in unclouded splen- 
 dour, when we conceive ourselves to be 
 enjoying the sweets of tranquillity, even 
 
101 
 
 then, we all have something to fear, since 
 perfect safety is unattainable, and all 
 sublunary things are made up with un- 
 certainty. Riches often make to them- 
 selves wings and fly away. The firmest 
 health may in a moment be shaken ; our 
 peace of mind, may in an instant leave us, 
 and our mortal frame through many un- 
 foreseen events may in a short period be 
 brought low into the dust. The ap- 
 pearances of our security are frequently 
 deceitful. 
 
 Many are the instances, which daily 
 occur, in the course of human life, which 
 confirms the truth of this assertion. 
 
 How often do we see man enjoying one 
 day, every good, which a mortal state 
 can give ? We view this, his( apparently ) 
 happy state and wish we could, like him 
 share the same felicity ; to our deceitful 
 eyes, his sky seems settled and serene, we 
 observe not the quarter in which the lit— 
 
 h3. 
 
102 
 
 tie black cloud appears, and foretels the 
 coming storm. 
 
 We may remove our fixed attention 
 from this scene of pleasure, and joy, and 
 turn to the reflection of our own situa- 
 tion, and may in all probability, think 
 ourselves destitu'e of those enjoyments 
 which seem to elevate the heart of him 
 that possesses them, We may return to 
 view the same source of felicity, and it 
 cannot be found ; we may see the same 
 man in person, but it may be, that his 
 state of ease and comfort are vanished ; 
 and that little cloud which before, was 
 unobserved by us, has spread itself, and 
 the tempest has burst upon his head, and 
 left him a prey to horror and despair. 
 
 If we wish to ensure permament happi- 
 ness, we must not seek the enjoyment of 
 sensual delight : on the other hand we 
 must consider ourselves as beings sent 
 
103 
 
 tor the most noble of purposes ; beings 
 destined to exist for ever. 
 
 There is not a plainer and more de- 
 monstrable truth, than that God designed 
 the happiness of his creatures. He has 
 given us all our senses, as so many inlets 
 to various agreable pleasures, and provi- 
 ded means to gratify them in every spe- 
 cies of enjoyment 
 
 Since then our beneficent Creator 
 has endowed us with powers and capa- 
 cities of the most exalted nature, and 
 allowed us the use of every enjoyment 
 that is truly rational, let us then seek that 
 which is the foundation of pure, solid 
 and permament happiness. 
 
 The mind of man, is generally, too 
 much concerned about the things of this 
 world, it seldom expand itself further 
 than temporal affairs : which whilst in 
 the prosecution of it, ought to be elevat- 
 ed with thoughts of him, who rules and 
 
 h4. 
 
104 
 
 governs the universe, since it is through 
 him all things flourish, and are brought 
 to perfection. 
 
 Perhaps there never was any one more 
 engaged in the pursuit of earthly pleasure 
 and sensual delight, than Herbert was in 
 the early stages of life ; he sought with 
 thegreates anxiety, the scenes of hilarity 
 and unprofitable pleasure, every thing 
 that presented gaiety and mirth, de- 
 lighted him : thoughtless of futurity, he 
 pursued that course of life, which he 
 now utterly despises and rejects. 
 
 Many are the instances in which we 
 have beheld the highest spirit brought 
 low, and the firmest mind shaken : temp- 
 tations lie on every side and assume the 
 most pleasing and captivating appear- 
 ances, there is not a season of life, but 
 what is exposed to their attack : for 
 like a skilful enemy they begin their at- 
 tack upon us, and though we seem in 
 
105 
 
 our own opinion safely guarded against 
 them ; yet there are times and seasons in 
 which they will enter upon us by sur- 
 prize, and entice us to err and stray from 
 that path of rectitude which we had hi- 
 therto avowed firmly to tread ; they will 
 shake our confidence, and blast our in- 
 nocence, and open to us a vast scene of 
 destructive snares. The voice of the en- 
 chantress Pleasure, calls us with a be- 
 witching eloquence, while the suscepti- 
 bility of our hearts too powerfully pleads 
 her cause, and so leads us to destruction. 
 Too early we commit our bark to the 
 invidious waters, and fancy that no storm 
 is nigh ; fondly we imagine that every 
 ruder wind is hushed, and that every 
 boisterous blast shall cease to blow, while 
 we gently glide down the clear smooth 
 stream, and resign ourselves to thought- 
 less indolence and ease : but no sooner 
 have we quitted the shore, and trusted 
 
106 
 
 ourselves to the faithless element, than 
 the loud tempest begins to howl, and the 
 waves to roll, and we are convinced too 
 late, that what we took for a gentle 
 stream, inclosed by flowery and verdant 
 banks, is now a wide and extensive ocean 
 without a coast, without a harbour. 
 
 At length we find that Reason and 
 Prudence, who should have presided at 
 the helm, have been negligently left be- 
 hind us, and our bark which had been 
 long the sport of contending elements, is 
 after all our fruitless efforts, dashed up- 
 on some hidden rock, or swallowed up 
 in the profound abyss. 
 
 It was the case with Herbert, and is 
 also the case of many, of setting out with 
 presumptuous confidence in themselves. 
 
 Herbert trusted too much to his own 
 abilities, for carrying himself safely 
 through life ; he was careless of apply- 
 ing to God, or of deriving any assistance 
 
107 
 
 from what men are generally apt to reck- 
 on the gloomy discipline of religion. 
 
 Ala* ! how little he knew, or thought 
 of the dangers that awaited him! pur- 
 suing the paths of gaiety and jollity, 
 heedless and regardless of the sacred calls 
 of Religion, he was unable to encoun- 
 ter the trying scenes and calamities of 
 life ; the constant view of temptation 
 dawned upon his heart and overthrew 
 every good and virtuous principle ; the 
 pressure of disaster overwhelmed him 
 and nothing remained but despair. 
 
 In the hour of sorrow and despair no- 
 thing was left him but shame and re- 
 morse ; those friends who courted bis 
 company in the hours of pleasure and 
 delight, now shunned him, and left him 
 alone to wade through the sea of misery, 
 the vale of sorrow, and the dungeon of 
 /despair. 
 
 Every person who has a knowledge of 
 
108 
 
 scriptures, and are acquainted with the 
 characters which fill a part of the sacred 
 volume, need not wonder what course 
 Herbert was left to pursue,, he saw only 
 one way of saving himself from eternal 
 destruction. — he soon saw the conse- 
 quences attending him,, when destitute of 
 the favour of God, he justly considered 
 himself to be in no better state than or- 
 phans left to wander in a trackless desert, 
 without any shelter to cover Ihem from 
 the gathering storm. In thus viewing 
 himself, he endeavoured to form the 
 most solemn and devout resolutions, 
 which were not formed in vain; he cor- 
 rected his illfounded arrogance, — he was 
 convinced that his happiness couldnot 
 be established without the all-powerful 
 aid of his Creator. To conclude these 
 reflections, the truth is further illustra- 
 ted, in affirming that Herbert, by sincere 
 faith and true repentance, sought the 
 
109 
 
 affection of the Redeemer of the world 
 and by fervency of prayer, procured the 
 protection of heaven. 
 
 Jfttmtigfnp'g 
 
 CONSOLATION IN DISTRESS. 
 
 Herbert. 
 
 Sorrow and distress like yours, inte- 
 rests the feelings of my heart : the severity 
 of your trial strikes me with redoubled 
 force : it resembles in every respect what 
 I have formerly experienced ; and if the 
 recital of similar distress could excite 
 encouragement, I might relate how others 
 have been exercised in the same circum- 
 stances. For among the many methods 
 of consolation to which the miseries in- 
 separable from our present state have 
 
110 
 
 given occasion, one of the first comforts 
 which one Friend administers to another 
 is a like relation of the like infelicity, 
 combined with circumstances of greater 
 bitterness ! 
 
 But alas ! what can the repetition of dis- 
 tress avail him whose truobles are consi- 
 dered as too personal, and too great to 
 be lessened by comparisons ! What ! 
 must friendship cease to shed its balm in- 
 to the bursting heart ? No : humanity 
 forbids the thought ; the distress which 
 it cannot remove, it must endeavour to 
 alleviate; or rather attempt to direct the 
 distressed to that God who is a very pre- 
 sent help in time of trouble, and who 
 never said to the seed of Jacob,— seek ye 
 me in vain. 
 
 Those depressions of guilt which a- 
 gitate the mind, are the natural conse- 
 quences of sin. The soul alarmed by the 
 stings of conscience, now perceives how 
 
Ill 
 
 detestable it is in the sight of Him who 
 cannot but look upon iniquity but with 
 abhorrence, A sense of deserved wrath 
 generates despair, and leaves the soul 
 without the least prospect of forgiveness. 
 
 Permit me Herbert, to remind you of 
 those days in which the commission of 
 sin was never followed by contrition : in 
 which conscience now replete with char- 
 ges of guilt suffered you to enjoy the 
 pleasures of tranquility, though subject 
 to the same condemnation, which is now 
 the sole ground of inquietude. The re- 
 membrance of this tranquility may indeed 
 in various instances, add pungency to 
 grief already past ; you \* ill nevertheless 
 lose nothing by the comparison ; but find 
 on the contrary, that it will lead to the 
 discovery of something adapted to relieve 
 the mind from perplexity and sorrow. 
 
 The Almightv, who worketh all things 
 after the counsel of his own will, gene- 
 
U2 
 
 rally brings the soul into a state of true 
 contrition on account of sin, previous to 
 the manifestation of pardoning mercy. 
 He killeth and maketh alive ; he wound- 
 eth that he may heal — he bindeth up the 
 broken in heart — Though he cause grief 
 yet will he have compassion according to 
 the multitude of his mercies — weeping 
 may endure for a night, but joy cometh 
 in the morning. 
 
 Let me persuade you from imagining 
 that no permament good can arise from 
 the incident which first led you to con- 
 template your conduct and your charac- 
 ter merely because unimportant in itself 
 and no way connected with the glory of 
 God or the happiness of man ; you may 
 rest assured that such a conclusion lessens 
 the wisdom of the supreme, and implicit- 
 ly limits the holy One of Israel. The 
 Almighty is never at a loss for means to 
 accomplish his own designs. He can 
 
113 
 
 over-rule, for this purpose those that are 
 apparently the most trivial, or in reality 
 the most attrocious. "His thoughts a.e 
 not our thoughts ; nor his ways our ways. 
 " For as the heavens are higher than the 
 earth, so are his ways higher than our 
 ways, and his thoughts higher than our 
 thoughts. 
 
 I trust Herbert, from the consoling 
 facts I have given, and drawn from the 
 sacred writings, will in every measure 
 remove your doubts and fears I think I 
 may conclude that you now plainly see, 
 that with God nothing is impossible. 
 Let me then add, — for ever embrace his 
 laws, In patience possess thy soul, and 
 thou shalt not be confounded Re- 
 member that however great may have 
 been thy failings: however many and 
 apparently insurmountable the obstacles 
 th it stand in the way of future blessed- 
 ness, thou hast sure and certain e\idente. 
 
 I. 
 
114 
 
 that thou shalt finally obtain mercy and 
 pardon, through the merits of the Re- 
 deemer of mankind. 
 
 The infinite power and faithfulness of 
 God stands pledged that nothing shall 
 frustrate thy hopes. Thou mayest in 
 safety say to thy soul in the midst of all 
 the storms, and vicisitudes of its human 
 woe : 
 
 The stars shall fade away, the sun himself 
 Grow dim with age, and nature sink in years ; 
 But thou shalt flourish in immortal youth, 
 Unhurt amidst the war of elements, 
 The wreck of matter, and the crush of worlds ! 
 
115 
 
 UttttX It 
 
 To Herbert. 
 
 Have angels sinn'd, and shall not man beware $ 
 
 How shall a son of earth decline the snare ? 
 
 Not folded arms and slackness of the mind, 
 
 Can promise for the safety of mankind ; 
 
 None are supremely good ; through care and pain, 
 
 And various arts, the steep ascent we gain. 
 
 This is the seat of combat, not of rest; 
 
 Man's is laborious happiness at best. 
 
 On this side death his dangers never cease. 
 
 His joys are joys of conquest not of rest. 
 
 Young. 
 
 That comfort and consolation has been 
 administered to von from above. affoKls 
 me unspeakable pleasure, and for which 
 I devoutly join with you in grateful ac- 
 knowledgments to the Father of mercies. 
 
 It is no longer difficult to believe that 
 though weeping may endure for a night, 
 joy cometh in the morning; nor thatchas- 
 
 i2. 
 
116 
 
 tening, though grievous for the present, 
 nevertheless afterwards yieldelh the 
 peaceable fruit of righteousness to them 
 that are exercised thereby. Alas ! how 
 slow of heart are we to believe what pro- 
 phets and apostles have said concerning 
 the salvation of God ; and even what he 
 testified of it, who is the true and faith- 
 ful Witness, and who spoke as never man 
 spoke ! 
 
 Whether that peace of conscience 
 which you happily experience through 
 faith in the atonement will meet with no 
 interruption, is not in my power to de- 
 termine For such is the degeneracy of 
 human nature, a id such the base ingra- 
 titude of the human heart, that incidents 
 the most trifling sometimes divert atten- 
 tion from the one thing needfol, and too 
 frequently betrav it into actions which 
 involve guilt, and which of course, de- 
 
117 
 
 prive us of that tranquility which is en- 
 joyed in communion with God. Grati- 
 tude is not the characterestic of man. 
 We are prone to be unmindful of be- 
 nefits recieved — to lose sight of our 
 perpetual obligations to divine good- 
 ness ; and in the hour of torpid indiffer- 
 ence/ lightly to esteem the Rock of sal- 
 vation. If therefore, "we forsake his 
 law, and walk not in his judgement ; if 
 we break his statutes and keep not his 
 commandments j-' it may reasonably be 
 expected that he will "visit our trans- 
 gressions with the rod, and our iniquity 
 with stripes" — that we should knew and 
 see it is an evil thing to forsake the Lord 
 God, in whose favor there is life, and 
 whose loving kindness is better than life. 
 
 But supposing there were in the chris- 
 tian's conduct no deviation from the 
 path of moral rectitude ; that in duty the 
 
 i3. 
 
118 
 
 eye were always single: that the honour 
 of God were kept constantly in view, and 
 that his prospects of interest in divine fa- 
 vour were never clouded ; yet must he 
 expect to meet with many things to try 
 his faith and interrupt his quiet. It is 
 probable that a sinner recently delivered 
 from the powers of darkness, and trans- 
 lated into the kingdom of God's dear 
 Son, should not meet with temptations 
 and assaults in consequence of allegiance 
 to his new Sovereign ? Can it be reasona- 
 bly imagined that a man devoted to sen* 
 suality — \n1io sought all happiness in gra- 
 tifying the lust of the flesh, the lust of the 
 eyes, and the pride of life : who was per- 
 haps uncommonly assiduous to involve 
 all his companions in the same guilt, and 
 was himself always foremost in the 
 paths of death ; is it imaginable I a*k, 
 that such a man should relinquish his 
 criminal pursuits, abandon the society 
 
119 
 
 of those whom he had perhaps ruined, or 
 rendered vicious by his example or his 
 counsel, and not meet with contempt, 
 with ridicule, or with slander ? His asso- 
 ciates in wickedness will not fail to mark 
 the alteration of his conversation and his 
 conduct : but as they have no perception 
 of the principles by which he is actuated 
 they will attribute both to improper mo- 
 tives — tophrasaical pride or sanctimoni- 
 ous ostentation. His deportment will be 
 construed into a tacit reprehension of 
 their sinful practices ; and when contrast- 
 ed with what he himself once was, de- 
 nominated hypocritical or enthusiastic. 
 
 Now if this be the case between man 
 and man, what may not the christian ex- 
 pect from the implacable malignity of 
 Satan ? He has lost a subject that was 
 once vigilant and active ; his government 
 is renounced. Implicit subjection to his 
 
 i4. 
 
 
120 
 
 authority is no longer practicable He 
 is treated as a vile usurper, and all com- 
 pliance with his suggestions considered 
 as actual rebellion against God. This 
 indefatigable adversary of man walketh 
 about as a roaring lion, seeking whom he 
 may devour, and though he be convinced 
 of never haviug yet been able to destroy 
 one of the subjects of Christ's kingdom, 
 yet such is the inveteracy of his malice, 
 that he continually labours to subvert 
 their allegiance, to betray them into sin, 
 and ever afterwards to harrass them with 
 guilt. 
 
 That afflictions are not in themselves 
 joyous but grievous, will on all hands be 
 readily allowed ; but that to man, in the 
 present life, they have a salutary tenden- 
 cy, is a truth which may not perhaps be 
 received with the same implicit credit. 
 We are told however by one who was no 
 stranger to calamity, that the great Pa- 
 
121 
 
 rent of the universe doth not afflict will- 
 ingly nor grieve the children of men. In 
 the day of prosperity we are commanded 
 to be joyful, but in the day of adversity to 
 consider. These are hours in which we 
 may reflect on the past, and contemplate 
 the future with advantage : in which we 
 may find leisure to recollect how the mind 
 was imperceptibly drawn from the paths 
 ©f virtue — to trace the gradual progress 
 of vice — to remember with what com- 
 punction the bounds of duty were first 
 broken ; how that compunction was in- 
 sensibly diminished by a repetition of the 
 samp sins, till at length these sins, and 
 perhaps others more attrocious, were fre- 
 quently committed without remorse and 
 without shame. 
 
 Were the mind thus occupied in seasons 
 of distress, we should have some faint 
 discoveries of the malignant nature of 
 
122 
 
 moral evil, as well as of the degree of otrr 
 own guilt ; and instead of murmuring at 
 the hand by which we were stopped in the 
 career of vice, perceive abundant cause 
 to wonder at the long suffering and for- 
 bearance of God ! Each delinquent 
 would have reason to exclaim, " It is of 
 the Lord's mercies that I am not con- 
 sumed — Lord, pardon mine iniquity, 
 for it is great. *' And were these, or 
 similar expressions, the genuine lan- 
 guage of the heart, noobstrusc reasoning 
 would be needful to prove that the soul is 
 in a situation not less perilous than were 
 the individuals who in the hour of dis- 
 tress, cried to the Saviour of men, "Lord, 
 save us : we perish" 
 
 But whatever men of the world may 
 think of afflictioiiSjthe christian has learn- 
 ed by experience how to estimate worth. 
 lie can say with the Psalmist/'It is good 
 
123 
 
 forme that I have been afflicted, that I 
 might learn thy statutes — before I was 
 afflicted I went astray". He knows it is 
 needful that he should sometimes be in 
 heaviness through manifold temptations; 
 that the trial of his faith being much more 
 precious than of gold that perisheth, 
 though it be tried with fire, might be 
 found unto praise and honour and glorj 
 at the appearing of Jesus Christ. 
 
 "Prosperity, allayed and imperfect as 
 it is, has power to intoxicate the imagi- 
 nation, to fix the mind upon the present 
 scene, to produce confidence and elation 
 and to make him who enjoys tranquility, 
 affluence and honors, forget the hand by 
 which they were bestowed. It is sel- 
 dom that we are otherwise, than by af- 
 fliction awakened to a sense of our own 
 imbecility, or taught to know how little 
 all our acquisitions can conduce to safety 
 or to quiet ; and how justly we may as- 
 
124 
 
 cribe to the superintendance of higher 
 power, those blessings which in the wan- 
 tonness of success we considered as the 
 attainments of our policy or courage. " 
 
 Next to divine grace, nothing confers 
 so much ability to resist the temptations 
 that perpetually surround us, as an ha- 
 bitual consideration of the shortness of 
 life, and the uncertainty of those plea- 
 sures that solicit our pursuit ; and this 
 consideration can be inculcated only by 
 affliction. "O Death ! how little is the 
 remembrance of thee, to a man that lives 
 at ease in his possessions !" If our pre- 
 sent state were one continued succession 
 of delights, or one uniform flow of calm- 
 ness and tranquility, we should never 
 willingly think upon its end ; death 
 would then surely surprize us as a thief 
 in the night ; and our task of duty would 
 remain unfinished 'till the night came 
 when no man can work. 
 
•125 
 
 '"While affliction thus prepares us for 
 felicity we may console ourselves under 
 its pressures, by remembering that tley 
 are no particular ma is of divine displea- 
 sure : since all thedi tresses of persecuti- 
 on hive been suffered by those of whom 
 the world was not worthy ; and the Re- 
 deemer of mankind himself was a man of 
 sorrows and acquainted with griefs/' 
 
 But should the chrisMan not feel the 
 weight of personal afflictions, there are 
 perhaps sources of inquietude equally 
 painful from which he cannot hope to 
 escape, and for the endurance of which 
 he will stand in need both of faith and 
 of patience. He will have to wrestle not 
 merely against flesh and blood, "but a- 
 gainst principalities, against poweis, 
 against the rulers of the darkness of this 
 w >rld, against spiritual wickedness in 
 high places/' Wherefore he is command- 
 
126 
 
 ed cc to put on the whole armour of God, 
 that he maybe able to stand against the 
 wiles of the devil — praying always with 
 all prayer and supplication in the spirit 
 and watching thereunto with all perse- 
 verance". For he that shall be found so 
 doing will be able to quench all the fiery 
 darts of the wicked ; and though he may 
 be greatly harrassed in his march, he shall 
 not be overcome ; though he be cast down 
 yet he shall arise : aud though faint in 
 the conflict finally prevail and be more 
 than conqueror. 
 
 Permit me, Herbert, therefore to 
 say to you, as the sympathizing Saviour 
 did to his mournful disciples, let not 
 your heart be troubled : in your Fa- 
 ther's house are many mansions. Jesus 
 is gone to prepare a place for you, and 
 will come again, and recieve you unto 
 himself; that where he is, you may be 
 
127 
 
 also. "The ransomed of the Lord shall 
 return and come to Zion with songs and 
 everlasting joy upon their heads: they 
 shall obtain joy and gladness, and sorrow 
 and sighing shall flee away." In the 
 present world, which is fitly compared 
 to a waste howling wilderness, where 
 there are prickling briers and grievous 
 thorns, the christian must expect to meet 
 with many obstructions ; with much to 
 perplex his mind, to excite discourage- 
 ment, and to impede his journey, But 
 ere long he will pass the waters of Jor- 
 dan and reach the desired haven where 
 he shall peacefully enjoy the object of 
 his hope without interruption and with- 
 out satiety. 
 
 During their pilgrimage on earth, the 
 children of God bear no marks by which 
 men of the world recognize their heaven- 
 ly births or learn to estimate their high 
 privileges. "A good man is subject, 
 
128 
 
 like oilier mortals, to all the influences 
 of natural evil: his harvest is not spared 
 by the tempest nor his cattle by the 
 murrain ; his house flames like others 
 in a conflagration, nor have his ships any 
 peculiar power of resisting hurricanes, 
 his mind, however elevated inhabits a 
 body subject to innumerable casualties 
 of which he must alwajs share the dan- 
 gers and the pains " 
 
 Afflictions and poverty; persecution, 
 fires, imprisonment, and death, are not 
 viewed by the giddy and the gay, the 
 wise and the prudent, as indications of 
 sonship, but as tokens of extreme depra- 
 vity and enormous guilt : as expressions of 
 divine vengeance, rather than of mercy, as 
 the frowns of an incensed judge, not as 
 the salutary chastisements of an affecti- 
 onate Father. But some, or all of these 
 the children of God experience. ^ ea 
 sajs an apostle, and all that will live 
 
129 
 
 godly in Christ Jesus shall suffer perse- 
 cution. ''In the world, (said the despised 
 Saviour, ) ye shall have tribulation — For 
 if ye were of this world, the world would 
 love its own ; but because ye are not of the 
 world but I have chosen you out of the 
 world, therefore the world hatethyou. • ■ 
 
 "It is usually our similitude to others, 
 that makes them think and speak well of 
 us : whosoever commends another, com- 
 mends something that he supposes at least 
 he hath in himself : and this is the rea- 
 son of that woe of our Saviour— Woe to 
 you when all men shall speak well of 
 you. When wicked men speak well of 
 us, it is a sign that we are too much like 
 them. Even an Heathen could say, when 
 highly applauded by the vulgar, What 
 evil have I done that these men praise 
 me ?" 
 
 The disciples of Christ are an afflict- 
 ed and poor people : in general, literally 
 
 K. 
 
ISO 
 
 poor , and on this account, frequently 
 viewed by the world as mean and con- 
 temptible. Their heavenly Father is 
 pleased, for the best reasons, to with- 
 hold from them many things that glitter 
 in the eye of sense, that are sure to at- 
 tract notice, and which generally secure 
 to the owner, of whatever character, 
 unqualified tokens of adulation and re- 
 spect. But the christian is not without 
 his consolations. Exclusion from tran- 
 sitory good is abundantly recompenced 
 by the contemplation of objects that dig- 
 nify while they delight ; that irradiate 
 the mind and exhilirate the heart : that 
 raise the affections above terrestrial 
 scenes, and enable the soul, not merely 
 to anticipate, but to realize something of 
 the felicities of glory Considerations 
 these of immense worth — "Compared 
 to which all others are toman, condemn- 
 ed as he is shortly to die, but puerile 
 
131 
 
 amusemmt, a house of cards,, a bubble 
 blown up into the air, and displaying de- 
 ceitful colors in a momentary sunshine. " 
 
 What abundant encouragement there- 
 fore, what sublime pleasure must it 
 afford the weary pilgrim, labouring u - 
 der the infirmities of decaying nature, to 
 reflect that the period is fast approach- 
 ing when the soul, released from the 
 bondage of corruption, shall be complete- 
 ly sanctified ; all its faculties enlarged ; 
 all its powers invigorated: when every 
 perplexing doubt, every anxious fear, 
 every distracting care shall be banished 
 for ever : when nothing shall divide his 
 heart, or interrupt his worship ; but hav- 
 ing entered into rest, he shall jo\ fully 
 unite in sniffing: with all the ransomed of 
 the Lord, 'Unto him that loved us, and 
 washed us from our sins in his own blood 
 and hath made us kings and priests unto 
 
132 
 
 God and his Father : to him be glory 
 and dominion for ever and ever. Amen." 
 
 But though the saints of the Most 
 High are now despised and rejected ; 
 though they are frequently accounted by 
 the wicked as the refuse and offscouring 
 of all things, and their end to be without 
 honour, this will not always be the case. 
 No ; when put into possession of the new 
 Jerusalem, it may be said with emphasis 
 They shall no more be termed forsaken — 
 for God, their everlasting Father, will 
 dwell with them, and they shall be his 
 people. He will wipe away all tears 
 from their eyes. There shall be no more 
 sorrow, neither shall there be any more 
 pain, for the former things are passed a- 
 way. Then shall they reveiw with 
 grateful hearts, the way in which the 
 Lord led them in the wilderness ; in 
 which they were frequently discour- 
 
133 
 
 aged, in which they had enemies power- 
 ful and numerous to encounter, and con- 
 cerning whom it shall be sung with 
 triumph, "We are more than conquerors 
 through him who loved us." In the pre- 
 sent state we are absent from the Lord : 
 we walk by faith, not by sight. "God hath 
 put a distance between the promise and 
 the performance, so that it may be said 
 in a comparative view, that the present 
 life is rather a life of hope than of enjoy- 
 ment ; and that the good things he gives 
 relate more to the future than the present. 
 But in the realms ofs;lorvand ofbles- 
 sedness, the saints will see face to face., 
 and know even as also they are known. 
 The glories of the celestial city are view- 
 ed through a glass darkly; but in the 
 full fruition of God, their eyes shall see 
 the King of beauty. They shall exult 
 in the full display of his infinite perfec- 
 tions, and stand astonished at the breadth 
 
 r3. 
 
134 
 
 and length, the depth and height, of the 
 love of Christ ; while they joyfully ex- 
 perience the accomplishment of his own 
 prayer, " Father I will that they also, 
 whom thou hast given me, be with me 
 where I am ; that they may behold my 
 glory, which thou hast given me !■'■' 
 
 The consolation of the saints is now 
 frequently interrupted, and always im- 
 per r ect. But in the heavenly world it 
 will be perpetual, vigorous and complete, 
 
 Nothing hostile to happiness can enter 
 the mansions where perfection reigns and 
 glory triumphs. Their joy will be inex- 
 pressible, immutable, and eternal. They 
 will be subjects of an everlasting king- 
 dom and their inheritance incorruptible. 
 They will be "ever with the Lord, in 
 whose presence there is fulness of joy, 
 and at whose right hand there a»e plea- 
 sures for evermore/' 
 
 ' 
 
135 
 
 Such are the prospects and such the 
 pleasures exhibited by the scriptures to 
 invigorate faith and inspire hope with 
 confidence "For what is death to that 
 mind which considers eternity as the ca- 
 reer of its existence ? what are the 
 frowns of fortune to him who claims an 
 elernal world as bis inheritance ? what is 
 the loss of friends to that heart, which 
 feels with mvre than natural conviction, 
 that it shall quickly rejoin them in a 
 more tender, intimate, and permanent in- 
 tercourse than anv of which the present 
 life is susceptible ? What are the fluctua- 
 tions and vicissitudes of external thing's 
 to a mind which strongly and uniformly 
 anticipates a state of endless and immuta- 
 ble felicity ! What are mortifications, 
 disappointments, and insults, to a spirit 
 which is conscious of being the original 
 offspring and adopted child of God; 
 which knows that its omnipotent Father 
 
 k4. 
 
136 
 
 will, in proper time, effectually assert the 
 dignity and priviliges of its nature? In 
 a word, as earth is but a spark of creati- 
 on, as time is not an instant in proportion 
 to eternity : such are the hopes and pros- 
 pects of the christian in comparison of 
 every sublunary misfortune or difficulty. 
 It is therefore in his j udgement,the eternal 
 wonder of angels, and indelible appro- 
 brium of man, that a religion so worthy 
 of God, so suitable to the frame and cir- 
 cumstances of our nature, so consonant 
 to all the dictates of reason, so friendly 
 to the dignity and improvement of intel- 
 ligent beings, pregnant with genuine 
 comfort and delight, should be rejected 
 and despised/' 
 
 That there remaineth a rest to the 
 people of God, the christian has no 
 doubt. Delightful state ! surely the 
 hope of enjoying it must administer con- 
 
137 
 
 solation wh'ch nothing can destroy ! 
 What are the momentary trials of the 
 present life when compared to eternity 
 of blessedness ? they are nothing — they 
 are lost in the comparison. A sight of 
 danger and of difficulties ; of enemies nu- 
 merous and powerful will, it is true, 
 sometimes discourage, and cause even 
 the most valiant to halt ; but how ani- 
 mating to recollect that we maintain the 
 spiritual conflict in the strength of omni- 
 potence — that the Captain of our sal- 
 vation has himself fought and conquer- 
 ed — (hat he is entered into his glory, 
 and has taken possession of the crown ! 
 He inhabits eternity — He is supremely 
 blessed. But while supremely blessed- 
 while encircled with grateful songs of 
 Seraphim and of saints, is he an uncon- 
 cerned spectator of our conflicts ? No ; 
 to them that have no might heincreaseth 
 strength. He proclaims aloud to the 
 
138 
 
 christian combatant, "Be thou faithful 
 unto death, and I will give thee a crown 
 of life — He that overcometh shall not 
 be hurt of the second death — He shall 
 be clothed in white raiment — I will 
 make him a pillar in the temple of my 
 God, and he shall go no more out, — He 
 shall set with me in my throne, even as I 
 also overcame, and am set down with my 
 Father in his throne. '* 
 
 I have now only to add, Herbert, that 
 this is a contest in which vigilance must 
 not relax ; in which no truce can be ad- 
 mitted, no proposals for capitulation ac- 
 cepted, no league of amity concluded. 
 ISothing short of perpetual resistance 
 can ensure tranquility : nor must the 
 biave warrior hope for conquest 'till he 
 falls in the combat. Pray therefore, that 
 you may "'neither faint nor be weary, but 
 
139 
 
 prevail unto victory. For though the 
 conflict may be sharp and long, yet the 
 sweetness of the reward will abundantly 
 recompence the trouble of resistance ; 
 and the joy of the triumph, the toils of 
 
 war. 
 
 I am sincerely yours 
 
 Theodore. 
 
140 
 
 f£oftert to Htyctooxt. 
 
 Invaluable Friend. 
 
 
 When in the greatest distress^ I have 
 always found the balm of consolation re- 
 viving; but have never felt its blessed 
 effects so powerful, as on the present oc- 
 casion. Be assured, Theodore, my 
 heart thrills with gratitude to thee, — 'tis 
 thou that hast revived my drooping heart 
 and sinking mind, and hast given fresh 
 hopes to my wounded spirit. The truths 
 which thou hast so beautifully illustrat- 
 ed cannot fail to add comfort, in the 
 fullest tide of woe and misery. Your 
 inspired sentiments convince me, that 
 you are in every instance led by divine 
 precepts. 
 
141 
 
 Acquainted as you Lave Leen of the 
 nature of my sorrow and afflictions,, no 
 one could Lave better performed tLepart 
 of a sympathizing and consoling friend. 
 
 I cannot my Dear Ft iend ; but ever 
 remember your valuable precepts ; I 
 sball always feel grateful. They are 
 written upon the tablet of my heart in 
 characters indelible,, that cannot be ef- 
 faced by time, but sinks in a deeper im- 
 pression. 5 ' I have proved thee, Theo- 
 dore, and know thy worth. The conso- 
 lation which thou hast administered to 
 me, has deeply impressed my mind, with 
 sacred awe and reverential fear, — it 
 has given to sorrow, a degree of com- 
 fort wLicL notLing can take away. It 
 sLines in tLe dark recesses of my Leart, 
 and gilds witL joy and peace the gloomy 
 horrors of despair. To say how my 
 case stands in regard to the sacred laws, 
 
142 
 
 is impossible, since it is totally buried in 
 oblivion ; though doubts and fears ac- 
 company me; yet I am not destitute of 
 a hope, a hope that never fails to give 
 consolation to the wounded spirit, ad 
 afford aid and relief amidst the distresses 
 of life. It may be confidently affirmed 
 that religion alone, is the only source 
 from whence springs the steady tide of 
 solid happiness ; her happy effects, in e- 
 very respect produces peace and concord 
 through out this mighty universe 
 Without her aid man can do nothing to- 
 wards aspiring to the father of light ; 
 his circumstances must be extremely for- 
 lorn. He finds himself placed here as a 
 stranger in a vast universe, where the 
 powers and operations of nature are very 
 imperfectly known ; where both the be- 
 ginnings and the issues of things are in- 
 volved in mysterious darkness; where he 
 is unable to discover with any certainty 
 
143 
 
 from whence he sprung, or what 
 purpose he was brought into this state 
 of existence ; whether he be subjected to 
 the government of a mild, or of a wrath- 
 full ruler ; what construction he is to 
 put on many of the dispensations of his 
 providence ; and what is his fate to be 
 when he departs hence. What a discon- 
 solate situation to a serious enquiring 
 mind ! The greater degree of virtue it 
 possesses, its sensibility is likely to be the 
 more oppressed by this burden of labour- 
 ing thought, Even though it were in 
 ones power to banish all uneasy thoughts, 
 and to till up the hours of life with per- 
 petual amusement, life so filled up would, 
 upon reflection, appear poor and trivial. 
 
 But these are far from being the terms 
 upon which man is brought into this 
 world. He is conscious that his being is 
 frail and feeble ; he sees himself beset 
 with various dangers ; and is exposed to 
 
144 
 
 many a melancholy apprehension from the 
 evils which he may have to encounter 
 before he arrives at the close of life. In 
 this distressed condition, to reveal to him 
 such discoveries of the Supreme Being as 
 the sacred volume affords, is to reveal 
 to him a Father and a Friend : is to 
 let in a ray of the most cheering light 
 upon the darkness of the human estate. 
 
 When in the vigour and bloom of 
 health, possessed with every comfort 
 which prosperity can give ; when the 
 most pleasing scenes present themselves 
 to our view, then it is that we are un- 
 mindful of that Being who fills us with 
 all good; unmindful of the inestimable 
 favours conferred upon us, we proceed in 
 our gay career, without ever opening our 
 lips to his praise, or pouring our hearts 
 out with gratitude to his mighty power, 
 this my dear Friend was my misfortune. 
 
145 
 
 unmindful of the goodness of my Creator 
 I pursued the gaieties of life ; 'till at last 
 the cloud of adversity arose and burst 
 upon my head. 
 
 But the horrid scene is past, and I who 
 was before a destitute orphan wandering 
 in the unhospitable desert, has/ now gain- / *^ 
 ed a shelter from the bitter and inclement 
 blast. I now know to whom to pray, 
 and in whom to trust; where to unbosom 
 mv sorrows, and from what hand to look 
 for relief. It is certain that when the 
 heart bleeds from some wound of recent 
 misfortune, nothing is of equal effica- 
 cy with religious comfort. It is of pow- 
 er to enlighten the darkest hour, and to 
 assuage the severest woe, by the belief of 
 Divine favour, and the prospect of a 
 blessed immortality. In such hope the 
 mind expatiates with joy ; and when be- 
 reaved of its earthly friends, solaces itself 
 with the thought of one Friend, who will 
 
146 
 
 
 never forsake it. This has given conso- 
 lation and refuge to many a virtuous 
 heart, at a time when the most cogent 
 reasonings would have proved utterly 
 unavailing. 
 
 I shall now my Dear Friend hasten to 
 a conclusion of my epistle, by drawing a 
 few reflections,, and complying with your 
 wishes 
 
 Acquainted as I have been with sorrow 
 and affliction, I still hope to possess my 
 soul in patience, and commit mj way un- 
 to him who best know eth what is good 
 for me — who worketh all things together 
 for good to them that love him and obey 
 his laws In whatever situation of life 
 Ood shall place me, I will lo< k up de- 
 vout] v to him for grace and assistance ; 
 and study to act the part assigned me 
 with a faithful heart. 
 
 1 have complied with your wishes in 
 presenting you, Theodore, with the man- 
 
147 
 
 ner in which I have employed each 
 leisure hour since we parted. I feel it 
 my indispensable duty, to employ every 
 moment of time to the best of purposes. 
 After having performed the moral duties 
 of the day, I always make it a constant 
 rule, to retire from scenes of worldly 
 bustle, to those of solitude : there to me- 
 ditate and contemplate, on the wisdom 
 and goodness of that Almighty Being 
 who has protected me in the hour of sor- 
 row and distress ; and to him alone be as- 
 cribed all praise and veneration for e\er 
 and ever. 
 
 The enclosed writings are for your pe- 
 rusal, and although they do not directly 
 tend to sacred subjects : though they are 
 clad in the garb of morality, yet I trust 
 they will be considered as leading to eve- 
 ry good end: when they proceed from 
 solitary subjects When in the haunts 
 of Solitude, the mind will naturally re- 
 
 i3. 
 
148 
 
 vert to past scenes of whatever descripti- 
 on they may be. In regard to that event 
 which some time since unmanned me, viz : 
 that of parting from my Leonora, I have 
 but little to add on that head, as yon will 
 perceive, the natural tendency of my 
 heart in the hours of Solitude. 
 
 With marks of sacred Friendship per- 
 mit me to say 
 
 I am Yours very truly 
 
 Herbert. 
 
149 
 
 The feeling undefined that glows 
 
 Within the breast that dearly loves, 
 
 The rapture beaming eye oft shows 
 
 'Tis not the ray of calm repose 
 That dull despair removes. 
 
 Hope ! cheerer of the anguish'd breast ! 
 
 With lucid robe, cerulean blue, 
 Again descend from regions blest, 
 Oh ! deign with me to be a guest, 
 
 And faded joys renew. 
 
 Beyond the grave my thoughts extend, 
 And bounded is my earthly care ; 
 
 Yet — whisper ! Leonora will be the friend, 
 
 To wile me onward to my end, 
 And joys and ills will share. 
 
 l3. 
 
150 
 
 To thee sweet hope ! my yotive lay 
 
 Shall oft in grateful numbers roll, 
 If thou would'st shed this cheering ray, 
 And chace despondency away, 
 'Till life has reach'd its gaoh 
 
 FAREWELL ADDRESS 
 
 TO 
 
 fUottora* 
 
 The sorrow which adorns my cheek, 
 Betrays the anguish of my heart : 
 
 Ah Leonora ! what do they say ? 
 Alas ! that you and I must part. 
 
151 
 
 Farewell ! I go to visit scenes, 
 
 Those scenes which once could yield delight ; 
 But Ah ! each joy has lost its charm, 
 
 And dreary seems as shades of night. 
 
 Each hour 'till now was fraught with bliss; 
 
 No anxious care my breast annoy'd ; 
 Bnt Love (capricious duty join'd) — 
 
 The calm serenity's destroy 'd. 
 
 Say will you ever give a thought, 
 To him who'll ever think of you ? 
 
 Do not deny the trivial boon 
 'Tis all I ask. — Adieu ! Adieu ! 
 
 l4. 
 
152 
 
 3Uonora to f&oAett 
 
 Dear and Valued Herbert. 
 
 Why do you accuse me of coldness 
 and indifference ? it seems to me to be 
 your chief delight in endeavouring to 
 make me unhappy ; believe me, last even- 
 ing when I perused your letter, I felt 
 shocked beyond measure, — I thought I 
 had cautioned you against writing to me 
 in such a serious way, as I assure you a- 
 gain it greatly lessens my esteem for you. 
 
 It is unbecoming a christian, and I 
 must add a great blemish on your conduct 
 were it not for that I should consi- 
 der truly unblamable ; therefore my 
 Dear Herbert you must promise me, not 
 to think of it more, or all agreements 
 must be void and the past buried in obli- 
 
153 
 
 vion. The poetry you sent me I should 
 have highly prized had you chosen some 
 other subject than the one you wrote up- 
 on ; the former pieces of poetry that you 
 were so kind as to present me with, I can- 
 not part with upon any account, as I va- 
 lue them too much, but you can copy 
 them if you please. 
 
 I have thought proper to return some 
 of the books that were sent, they are of 
 no use to me as I never read them ; but at 
 the same time I beg you will acceptof my 
 thanks for those I have retained. I must 
 conclude by observing I shall be happy to 
 see you at the appointed time, and should 
 the morning be inviting, I shall walk to- 
 wards H — when and where I hope to meet 
 the object of my fond wishes ; the inter- 
 view I shall employ in anticipating a joy- 
 ful reconciliation with all parties, par- 
 ticularly with your. 
 
 Ever true and faithful, 
 Leonora. 
 
154 
 
 txbtxt to SUonova* 
 
 Leonora. 
 
 I again venture to address you with my 
 pen, and though it imperfectly sketches 
 the sentiments of my heart, yet you may 
 form some idea of them. As the greatest 
 delicacy is required on the present mo- 
 mentous period ; I hope in your heart, 
 that it still holds its reign. However 
 mysterious the present may appear 
 to you, the past will ere long be un- 
 folded. In your view most probably 
 there may appear great obligation, for 
 excuse and pardon on my side. In such 
 a case I hope it will still flow from the 
 source of a tender and feeling heart, a 
 heart that once beat in unison with one 
 which still hold dear the sacred pledge it 
 has long since given — "Heaven still is 
 
155 
 
 gracious ! The almighty from his throne 
 deigns to send down his beams of pardon- 
 ing grace" Divine Love in full brightness 
 dawns upon my injured soul, and pour 
 into its wounds the precious balm of hope, 
 and consolation — and comfort is found in 
 the vast wilderness of woe. - " Yea though 
 I walk through the valley of the shadow 
 of Death, I will fear no ill, for thy rod 
 and thy staff comfort me " 
 
 I shall pursue the cause I have in view 
 and from a voice which from within, 
 loudly whispers — pronounce 
 
 Terrestrial scenes no more my hours employ, 
 Since on my view dawns light beams of joy ; 
 Whilst in union Faith and Hope paints the way, 
 And charity's influence all my nobler actions sway : 
 Meek-ey'd patience my destined steps attend, 
 And candour marks me for her friend. 
 I abhor as Hell, the insidious lie, 
 The low deceit, the unmanly calumny ; 
 My immortal soul the impious wit detest, 
 My firmest virtue scorns the unhallow'd jest. 
 
156 
 
 In awe I live as born one day to die, 
 
 And view tji' eternal world with constant eye. 
 
 If thus I live, if strictly I keep thy word ; 
 In mercy view in mercy hear me Lord ! 
 For Ah ! how strict so 'ere I keep thy law. 
 From mercy only all my hopes I draw : — 
 My holiest deeds indulgence will require, 
 The best but to forgiveness will aspire 
 If thou my purest services regard, 
 'Twill be with pardon only, not reward. 
 How imperfection's stamp'd on all below ! 
 How sin intrudes on all we say or do ! 
 Mortal and proud ! strange contradictory terms! 
 Pride for death's victim, for the prey of worms ! 
 Of all the wonders which th' eventful life 
 Of man presents ; of all the mental strife, 
 Of warring passions ; all the raging fires 
 Of furious appetites and mad desires ; 
 Not one so strange appears as this alone, 
 That man is proud of, what is not his own. — 
 
 O Love Divine ! sole source of charity ! 
 More dear one genuine deed performs for thee 3 
 Than all the periods feeling e'er can turn, 
 Than all the touching page can e'er discern ! 
 
157 
 
 Not that by deeds alone this love's express'd ; 
 If so the affluent only were the blest'. 
 One silent wish, one prayer, one soothing word, 
 The page of mercy shall, well-pleas'd record, 
 One soul-felt sigh by pow'rless pity giv'n, 
 Accepted incense shall ascend to Heav'n, 
 
 Now Leonora, in all probability my 
 destined course has dawned upon your 
 view, in such a case, I need not further 
 point the way, but leave the event to 
 Heaven's direction. 
 
 I did not receive yours of the 8th. of 
 June, 'till some time after I sent off my 
 last, otherwise I should not have troubled 
 you with this. I wish you however, to 
 attend to and reflect on the Question, 
 high and important in itself. — Recollect 
 it has once been put to you but in vain — 
 Dost thou in the name of Heaven, accept 
 my hand ? if you can in the strictest pu- 
 rity do it, do it quickly. I again pro- 
 nounce, that if you reject the proffered 
 
158 
 
 offer, you will not send forth curses a- 
 gainst me, if another virtuous Woman 
 deigns to share with me the joys ai d ills 
 of life. It is on you my heart most 
 strongly leans, Grateful remembrances 
 give rise to long continued emotions of 
 tenderness and love. 
 
 Yours sincerely 
 
 Herbert, 
 
 3Leonora to f$afcrt 
 
 Ah me! what pangs a tender heart must feel ! 
 
 Such is the wayward fate of all below ; 
 We joy and sorrow oft in others weal, 
 
 And best afflictions proye a source of woe. 
 
159 
 
 To friendship's power I've long resign'd my soul, 
 And fanci'd happiness her reign must prove ; 
 
 The ills of life I thought she would controul, 
 And peace and rest would flow from purest love. 
 
 Alas ! 'twas mortal, what I'd fancied more; 
 
 And ills will mix in scenes beneath the sky : 
 Friendship soon prov'd the ideal bliss was o'er, 
 That pains were doubled by the tender tie. 
 
 Friendship how strange thy sympathetic pow'r ! 
 
 Thy magic influence spreads thro' all my mind; 
 I dote on pain, indulge the mournful hour 
 
 When friendship call, nor think the task unkind. 
 
 Nay more — how oft I've left the mirthful scene, 
 The scene where joy and mirth seem'd to reign i 
 
 And stole with Friendship to the calm serene, 
 The converse of the heart, how great the gain. 
 
160 
 
 When my Herbert, meets me hasty youth, 
 And tell the artless story of his woe ; 
 
 My bosom meets his sighs, his grief would'st sooth^ 
 And tear for tear from sympathy would flow. 
 
 Might but the heart-felt tenderness that I bear, 
 Sooth the keen anguish of his aching breast; 
 
 With joy I would indulge th' endearing care, 
 And live to hush his sorrows into rest. 
 
 My dear Herbert! can thy heart enjoy — 
 A sense of aught that friendship can bestow^ 
 
 Or does thy wretchedness all sense destroy ! 
 But that which serves to swell thy woe ! 
 
 Yet such my love to thee, the tie so strong ; 
 
 I still would strive to ease thy soul's distress ; 
 Nor could pale misery paint the season long ! 
 
 That in the end should bring thy mind redress. 
 
161 
 
 Sometimes Pve seen a transient gleam of joy ; 
 
 Transfus'd thro' all thy features to a smile : 
 Indulge the ray, nor be to friendship coy ; 
 
 Her kindly influence may thy woes beguile. 
 
 With Liberal hand my mind by Ileav'n is stored. 
 Each dear affection in my heart hath place : 
 
 For gifts like these, be gracious Heav'n adored. 
 And glowing gratitude express the grace. 
 
 These, too, will bid thy tortur'd breast be still, 
 And calm thy troubled passions into rest : 
 
 Will lead thee to acquiesce in th' Almighty's will ; 
 And see that all his ways are right and best. 
 
 M. 
 
162 
 
 "Love as strong as death." 
 
 If we duly reflect upon the origin of 
 Love, we must certainly admit that it is 
 a passion of the soul, and that the whole 
 of our happiness must ensue from its pro- 
 per regulation ; for when two souls be- 
 come united by the sacred bond of reci- 
 procal love, it finds means to make their 
 troubles common, which by being shared 
 become in some measure the more easy 
 to be borne. 
 
 Another circumstance in favour of love 
 is, that when age or accident destroys the 
 outward bloom, from which love origi- 
 nally emanated, it will in well governed 
 minds, subside into the calm pleasures 
 resulting from pure friendship unalloy- 
 ed by the warmth of impetuous passions. 
 
163 
 
 Love is of all events the most social ; 
 for the principle and in fact only enjoy- 
 ment possessed by lovers, is that which 
 they borrow from their love. It is the 
 very soul (if I may he allowed the ex- 
 pression) of their existence, and so ex- 
 ceedingly powerful has it ever been 
 considered, that many writers have spo- 
 ken of it as being a god ; and others on 
 the contrary as being a daemon ; while a 
 third party have pronounced love to be a 
 species of agreeable madness, under the 
 influence of which reason resigns her em- 
 pire, and the mind heretofore free, sub- 
 mits without a struggle to the dominion 
 of another. 
 
 If we desire to trace the origin of love 
 we shall invariably find that its first im- 
 pressions owe their strength to the powers 
 possessed by beauty either of person or 
 mind ; the latter of which must always 
 claim love and respect as its just due, and 
 
164 
 
 the former will generally possess it as a 
 matter of courtesy ; it being very diffi- 
 cult for man to divest himself of the 
 agreeable ideas created in his mind by 
 external beauty ; thus when we behold a 
 beautiful female, we take it for granted 
 that her qualities of mind are equal to 
 those of her person ; consequently we im- 
 agine that she must be altogether amia- 
 ble : and nothing grieves the heart of a 
 man more severely, than to ultimately 
 discover that his opinions upon this point 
 were erroneous. 
 
 Love is intimately combined with hope 
 upon which it securely leans for support 
 and likewise with a delicacy of desire, 
 warm in its nature, yet pure in its inten- 
 tions : destitute of which it can never 
 exist in its proper sense. Love is also ex- 
 ceedingly active and bold ; no difficulties 
 can deter it in the prosecution of its de- 
 sires ; no dangers can for a moment chill 
 
165 
 
 its warmth ; mountains and seas, nay even 
 the gaunt form of death vainly endeavour 
 to throw obstacles in its path ; for love 
 finds no difficulties but what it sur- 
 mounts; no pride but what it humbles ; 
 no power but what it subdues ; and final- 
 ly no rigour but what it softens. The 
 mighty monarch surrounded by his 
 guards, and the wretched mendicant who 
 has not wherewith to purchase his daily 
 bread, are alike subject to his power, 
 equally susceptible of its raptures, and 
 equally alive to its sorrows. 
 
 Its power therefore may be said to be 
 omnipotent, for it throws a charm upon 
 every thing, and smooths every difficulty 
 because a lover never considers his la- 
 bour to be troublesome. 
 
 Gratitude constitutes the essence of 
 mutual and pure love, because it teaches 
 us how we may duly estimate the affecti- 
 onate favours interchanged between 
 
 u3. 
 
166 
 
 lovers. This brief outline of love is con- 
 eluded by a quotation respecting the sex- 
 es from our great poet, which I think 
 elegantly distinguishes their different 
 attributes. 
 
 u though both, 
 
 Not equal, as their sex not equal seem'd ; 
 For contemplation he and valour form'd, 
 For softness she, and sweet attractive grace." 
 
 Milton< 
 
 I&dtgtom 
 
 Hail, gentle piety ! unmingled joy, 
 Whose fulness satisfies, but ne'er can cloy | 
 Spread thy soft wings o'er my devoted breast * 
 And settle there an everlasting guest : 
 Religion prompts us to a future state, 
 The last appeal from fortune and of fate. 
 
 
167 
 
 Religion supposes a knowledge of the 
 Deity, his perfections and government ; 
 of ourselves, rational, moral and fallen 
 creatures ; of the way in which offenders 
 may be restored to the divine favour ; and 
 of mankind in their various relations to 
 us. It consists in an unreserved regard 
 to the duties resulting from our nature 
 and condition, and the relation in which 
 we stand to other beings. It is a reason- 
 able service. As it is founded in know- 
 ledge so it enlarges the mind, exalts and 
 refines its powres, and gives them their 
 just direction aud employment 
 
 Religion conscious of human weak- 
 ness, re^ts on divine revelation ; but 
 in examining the evidence, design and 
 meaning of revelation, admits the aid of 
 reason. It is calm in its enquiries, deli- 
 cate in its resolves, and steady in its con- 
 duct. It cherishes modest and humble 
 thoughts, is open to light and conviction 
 
 m4. 
 
168 
 
 and labours for improvement. It is mild 
 and peaceable in its disposition, sober and 
 temperate in its mainers, candid and 
 condescending to others. It studies to 
 promote love and union among men, in 
 civil and religious society ; reprobates 
 none for trivial differences ; attends chief- 
 ly to things of solid importance : and re- 
 a;ai ds as the friends of God, all who do 
 so, whatever name they bear. 
 
 It condemns vice and the errors that 
 lead to it : approves virtue and the truths 
 which promote it, whether in friend or 
 enemy. It aims to please the Deity by 
 a constant observance of his injunctions ; 
 and under a sense of revelation, penitent- 
 ly relies on mercy through the grand a- 
 tenement provided, it is firm in danger, 
 uniform in duty, content with the silent 
 approbation of the heart, and a consci- 
 ousness of divine approbation ; humbly 
 trusting in the wisdom and equity of the 
 
 
169 
 
 supreme government. In a word, Religi- 
 on improves the intellects, rectifies the 
 will, sweetens the temper, calms the pas- 
 sions, gives peace to the conscience ; and 
 renders us courteous, friendly and bene- 
 ficent to each other. 
 
 a&eflecticmg* 
 
 ON 
 
 RELIGIOUS AND MORAL DUTIES. 
 
 Considering religion as the corner stone 
 of all the moral virtues, my reflections 
 shall commence with the important sub- 
 ject : a subject of no less consequence to 
 the youthful than it is to the aged. Were 
 the life of man decreed by his Maker to 
 be extended to the period of threescore 
 
170 
 
 years ard ten : reflections upon the short- 
 ness of its duration might be considered 
 as superfluous by those who had not mea- 
 sured one third of its extent ; but as death 
 as frequently levels his well aimed dart at 
 the youthful as the aged, and as we daily 
 behold the former cut off in the midst of 
 high health and high hopes, it is as neces- 
 sary for them as it is for the latter, seri- 
 ously to reflect upon a future world. 
 
 The practice of true piety neither in- 
 terferes with the pleasures nor enjoyments 
 of that season to which gratifications of 
 that kind in a peculiar manner belong ; 
 it merely places a boundary to the indul- 
 gence of those pleasures which would 
 otherwise terminate in dissipation. Let 
 not my readers then imagine I would 
 check innocent gratifications, or impress 
 the finger of cankering care upon the fore- 
 head of the young, for I consider hilarity 
 as essential to that season as crutches arc 
 
171 
 
 to a broken bone. It is only the splenetic 
 and superstitious who represent religion 
 as inimical to social enjoyments ; the first 
 miracle which the great teacher of it 
 performed, was at a marriage feast ; a 
 striking conviction that social enjoyments 
 are by no means incompatible with a reli- 
 gious turn of mind. As every blessing 
 we enjoy is derived from the Omnipotent, 
 our hearts ought at once to glow with 
 adoration and gratitude : for if the bene- 
 ficence of his creatures inspires the latter 
 sensation in our bosoms, in how much 
 more eminent a degree ought it to be dis- 
 played towards our God. 
 
 " Youth, (observes the justly honoured 
 and admired Doctor Blair, ) is the season 
 of warm and generous emotions: the 
 heart should then spontaneously arise in- 
 to admiration of what is great, and glow 
 with the love of what is fair and excel- 
 lent : and where can any object be found 
 
172 
 
 so proper to kindle those affections as 
 frequent reflections upon the greatness 
 and goodness of the Omnipotent ?" 
 
 Though the enemies of Religion have 
 endeavoured to represent its practice as 
 inimical to social enjoyments, yet like the 
 inveterate foe of our first parents they 
 will be found deceivers ; for in the prac- 
 tice of piety there is a refined gratificati- 
 on far superior to any other we can meet 
 with from the world. In every sphere of 
 life, there is a secret satisfaction arising 
 from the communion we are permitted to 
 hold with an all-gracious God : yet we 
 feel its sustaining power in a peculiar 
 manner when labouring under trials and 
 afflictions ; and as no stage of existence is 
 exempted from them, the practice of pie- 
 ty is capable of affording equal consola- 
 tion to the aged and to the young. 
 
173 
 HYMN. 
 
 Written in a morning in Spring, 
 
 Hear the lark her hymn expressing, 
 On the wings of morning mild, 
 
 To the God of light addressing ; 
 Grateful carols soft and wild. 
 
 Chorus 
 Bounteous Father, for each blessing 
 
 Take the tribute of our hearts ; 
 View around thy works confessing, 
 
 Gladness which thy love imparts. 
 
 Let us rise ! in exclamation, 
 
 Rise ! and hail the dawning day ; 
 
 See ! how smiles the whole creation, 
 Blest beneath his sovereign sway. 
 Chorus repeated. 
 
174 
 
 Hark ! what heav'nly raptures swelling. 
 
 From each spray that shades the grove : 
 
 And shall brutes, e'en us excelling, 
 Bid us sing his praise and lore. 
 Chorus repeated. 
 
 Softly steals the breath of morning, 
 
 O'er the glades refresh'd with dew \ 
 
 Joy and plenty our earth adorning, 
 Spread delight to mortals view. 
 Chorus repeated. 
 
 STANZAS. 
 
 Ye lovely orbs, that in your courses roll, 
 
 Spangling the firmament with living light, 
 
 In countless millions spread from pole to pole, 
 And streaming through the shadows of the night, 
 
 How can wondering soul, in love and wonder lost, 
 
 Enough adore the hand that form'd your glitt'iing 
 
 [host. 
 
175 
 
 Oft through the silence of the starlight hour 9 
 When other eyes are clos'd in gentle sleep, 
 
 When I, a stranger to her healing power. 
 O'er the dim lamp my midnight vigils keep ; 
 
 Sick of the gloomy scene, and th' pale quivering light 
 
 That saddens all my senses, and tires my aching sight. 
 
 Softly I steal me to the open air, 
 
 To breathe awile the balmy breath of heav'n, 
 
 Look round that world supported by his care, 
 And all those blessings so widely giv'n.— 
 
 'Rapt with the glorious view my soul essays 
 
 Hosannas to his name, his mighty name to praise. 
 
 HYMN ON GRATITUDE. 
 
 Begin, my soul, thy grateful lays, 
 And pour to God thy notes of praise ! 
 Join in my song ye bubbling rills ! 
 Ye ruffian blast, and cloud-capt hills, 
 Resound his goodness with your voice, 
 And in his glorious works rejoice. 
 
176 
 
 When stung with pain, or rack'd with care 
 Or plung'd in horrors of despair. 
 Thy tender mercy brings relief. 
 And Calms the tumult of my grief ; 
 When e'er in sleep I rest my head, 
 A golden cherub guards my bed ; 
 When o'er the boisterous waves I ride. 
 And dangers croud on every side, 
 When seas on seas in mountains rise, 
 And with their threats assail the skies, 
 And lightnings flash from struggling poles, 
 My shatter'd bark in safety rolls ; 
 For thou Survey'st with guardian eye, 
 And aid'st my ling'ring destiny. 
 
 EVENING HYMN. 
 
 Thou God ! who will'd creation birth, 
 Whose goodness knows no end, 
 
 And thro' the wide-expanded earth 
 Thy gifts to all extend. 
 
177 
 
 To thee we give unfeigned praise, 
 
 Whose energetic power 
 Hath guided safely all our days. 
 
 To this declining hour. 
 
 Continue still that saving grace, 
 
 We, undeserving find ; 
 And from us, Lord ! those sins efface, 
 
 Which most pollute the mind. 
 
 Guard us thro' the ills of night : 
 
 Thy gracious aid we pray, 
 With grateful hearts to greet the light 
 
 Of next returning day. 
 
 And grant, when death thy call shall bring, 
 
 Our souls to realms may soar, 
 When we triumphant praise may sing 
 
 And night be known no more. 
 
 N. 
 
178 
 
 ODE TO FRIENDSHIP. 
 
 Parent of joy ! thou kind relief 
 Of every care, of every grief ? 
 
 Ah ! whither art thou fled ? 
 Whilst faithless smiles and forc'd grimace. 
 And flattery's hypocritic face 
 
 Are honoured in thy stead. 
 
 Ye courtly tribes, whose laws refin'cf, 
 Make men less virtuous and less kind, 
 
 Away ! to some distant shore ; 
 Come ! nuvk-ey'd love void of art, 
 And speak the language of the heart, 
 
 And friendship's joys restore. 
 
 As darts the sun in radiant stream, 
 O'er the Chaotic mass, its beams, 
 
 And lights the vast profound; 
 Thus friendship gilds the gloom of life ; 
 Thus dissipates each jarring strife. 
 
 And spreads its joys around. 
 
179 
 
 Cordial of life ! thus friendship pours, 
 Her comforts o'er our heaviest hours. 
 
 And makes the burthen light ; 
 Or sprightly sheds joy's gladsome rays, 
 Illuminates our happier days, 
 
 And bid them shine more bright. 
 
 ON HUMILITY. 
 
 Humility is the state of mind of all 
 others, most suited to our present nature; 
 nor ought it ever to be confounded with 
 low qualities ! or want of spirit ; for it is 
 the effect of just reflection, and amiable 
 propensities. It is a disposition of the 
 soul which keeps the eye and ear open 
 to truth, and the heart penetrated with 
 sentiments best calculated to lead us to 
 the source of all happiness and wisdom. 
 
 Everv quality which leads us from 
 this virtue, tends to inflate the heart, 
 
 n2 
 
180 
 
 and takes from the mind that justness of 
 perception which we possess when we 
 know our own level. Humility is a vir- 
 tue which stands opposed to vanity ; it 
 courts retirement, searches for truth, 
 and leads the mind to the paths of wis- 
 dom and piety. As vanity will tarnish 
 the brightest talents, humility will give 
 dignity to inferior ones, and avert many 
 temptations to errors. It is the result of 
 just thinking ; which strengthens the 
 mind against the delusions of self love, 
 by keeping before us the constant re- 
 membrance of our dependance on the 
 Almighty ; and the laws of nature, which 
 limit our present existence, and make 
 our happiness and very faculties so un- 
 stable, that we are not secure of any 
 thing for one single moment. 
 
 Though humility is a virtue, which 
 ought to characterize this uncertain state 
 of humanity, it belongs perhaps still 
 
181 
 
 more to weman than to men ; for as their 
 path in life is noiseless, and seldom ad- 
 mits the intrusions of ambition, they find 
 more leisure for that reflective wisdom 
 which will render them grateful, instead 
 of arrogating a supposed merit. This 
 disposition, by softening the mind, will 
 render it truly amiable ; for it will make 
 it consider surrounding objects too justly 
 to be soured by the contingencies of life. 
 
 Characters possessing this wise mo- 
 desty, will be unshaken by empty praise 
 and vague prejudices ; but gather use- 
 ful truths, and store them in their hearts. 
 
 And while their pride is subdued by 
 the increase of knowledge, they will feel 
 the consolation of hope, founded in con- 
 fidence in God. 
 
 n3 
 
182 
 
 Eljecitiore to f&ertert* 
 
 Dear Herbert. 
 
 I received your packet safe and beg to 
 return you my sincerest thanks, as its con- 
 tents afforded me much pleasure and 
 heart-felt satisfaction ; and have made a 
 brighter discovery of thy high exalted 
 mind .—pursue thy course and thou wilt 
 su:ely find that aid and consolation 
 which thou art seeking. 
 
 Believe me, my Friend, I am extreme- 
 ly happy to find, that your opinion of 
 things is in perfect unison with mine ; and 
 I have only to hope that it will for ever 
 continue to be so. Surely X may conclude, 
 that we have not unfolded the sacred 
 volume in vain. With what care and 
 circumspection must we still turnover its 
 leaves, and be particularly guarded 
 against the misconstruction, which all 
 
183 
 
 mankind are very liable to erect, on the 
 various subjects which adorn its pages* 
 
 Let us my Dear Herbert ever most at- 
 tentively view the nature of sacred and 
 moral concerns, let us put on the garb of 
 humility, and as far as we can, follow the 
 bright example which the great Teacher 
 of Christianity left us : then shall we look 
 with pleasure and satisfaction on the past 
 and be possessd with a steady and firm 
 h >pe towards futurity. 
 
 As my former letters appear to carry a 
 great weight with you, I shall take the 
 present opportunity of presenting you with 
 further sentiments, which you may in ail 
 probability perceive applicable to jour 
 case as well as my own. I should feel 
 more inward satisfaction, if it were possi- 
 ble for us to converse personally toge- 
 ther, but however as fate has ordained 
 our present situations, all we can do i» to 
 acquiesce in the Almighty's will, and be 
 
 *4, 
 
184 
 
 convinced that be worketh all things for 
 good, to them that love him and sincere- 
 ly obey his sacred injunctions. 
 
 With every mark of tender Friendship 
 I beg leave to blend observation with my 
 sentiments and as the former I trust are 
 founded on the basis of moral and pious 
 rectitude I hope the latter will not be 
 considered, as severe. 
 
 From the cradle to the tomb, we all 
 have a share of sorrow, allotted us, 
 which it is our bounden duty to bear 
 with fortitude and resignation ; the pre- 
 sent state, is a state of trial in which we 
 can never be too strict upon our guard; 
 there are various sources presented to us 
 which will enable us, to rise superior to 
 every difficulty ; but the sure and certain 
 support of spiritual life, is a constant and 
 steady correspondence with heaven by 
 prayer and devotion : — it keeps the 
 sense of God warm and lively within 
 
185 
 
 us., — which secures our dispositions, and 
 set such guards over us, that hardly will 
 a temptation prevail against us. 
 
 Not doubting my Dear Friend but 
 what you are perfectly acquainted with 
 the nature of this statement, I shall pur- 
 sue my observations and sentiments. 
 As I consider true candour, ought to 
 reign and subsist in the bond of insepa- 
 rable friendship, I shall here inforce it. 
 
 I have perceived my Dear Herbert 
 that you are in various seasons over- 
 whelmed with sorrow ; I should by all 
 means recommend you to bear strictly in 
 mind the promises given unto us, by the 
 eternal Son of God. 
 
 That state of darkness and distress 
 which you think peculiar to yourself, 
 is common to every penitent when a 
 sense of interest in divine forgiveness is 
 withheld. Few persons are led to dis- 
 pute either the freeness or the all-suih- 
 
186 
 
 ciency of the grace manifested in the 
 gospel for the pardon of sin ; painful 
 concern in reference to this subject,, ge- 
 nerally arises from a fear of their having 
 no right to partake of the distinguished 
 blessing. When this is the case, guilt 
 holds the soul in bondage ; unbelief ob- 
 scures the first glimmerings of hope; 
 and it is precipitately concluded that 
 there is no ground on which to expect 
 forgiveness. But Herbert, with regard 
 to yourself, why this despondency ? 
 doubt neither the sufficency nor the free- 
 ness of grace. That God who hath awa- 
 kened the sleeping conscience, has also 
 directed to a physician acquainted with 
 both the disease and remedy ; and who 
 is not only able, but willing to present 
 you faultless before the presence of his 
 father with exceeding joy. 
 
 Why then do you judge it, rather 
 your dutj to mourn than to belit>e; and 
 
187 
 
 to put away comfort lest it should check 
 the overflowings of sorrow ? To souls 
 under spiritual convictions of sin, belong 
 all the consolatory promises that enrich 
 the oracles of truth. What shall I then 
 say to repress fear and encourage hope ? 
 To this enquiry the language of truth 
 answers — "Comfort ye, comfort ye my 
 people ; speak ye comfortably to Jerusa- 
 lem, cry unto her, that her warfare is 
 accomplished, that her iniquity is par- 
 doned/' Surely these are tidings suited 
 to distress — that must raise dejection 
 from the dust, and inspire doubt with 
 confidence ! Come then, "thou that art 
 of a fearful heart be strong ;" this night 
 of darkness is but a prelude to that lucid 
 interval, when Jesus, the son of righte- 
 ousness shall arise, and be as the light of 
 the morning when the sun ariseth, even a 
 morning without clouds. 
 
188 
 
 The soul arising from the darkest night 5 
 Shall view the dawning ray 
 
 With splendid beams of genial light. 
 Bring in the welcome day • 
 
 The healing sweets of Gilead's balm, 
 Thy wounded breast shall prove ; 
 
 And every ruder thought be calm, 
 Subdu'd by conquering love. 
 
 Should unbelief suggest that the en- 
 joyment of this delightful season is im- 
 possible ; remember that with Christ the 
 Almighty Saviour, all things are pos- 
 sible. His resplendent beams can pene- 
 trate the dark recesses of the heart and 
 usher in the glorious, the welcome day of 
 gospel grace. Then fear not Herbert : 
 "for thou shalt not be ashamed ; neither 
 shalt thou be confounded — for thy Re- 
 deemer is the Holy One of Israel. " 
 
 Your sorrow and dejection may per- 
 haps induce you to reply, I wait for light 
 
189 
 
 but behold obscurity; for brightness but 
 walk in darkness. Nevertheless be not dis- 
 couraged : the Saviour to whom you are 
 directed to look, is the life and the "light 
 of the world ; and whosoever believeth on 
 him,, shall not abide in darkness — When 
 he giveth quietness, who then can make 
 trouble ? and when he hideth his face, 
 who then can behold him ? " If he but 
 say Paece, be still, there shall be a great 
 calm. 
 
 Having therefore such an Almighty 
 and compassionate Redeemer, let me in- 
 treat you to flee to him for free pardon 
 and complete redemption. Implore his 
 Omnipotent aid to banish every fear, to 
 silence every doubt ; and he will bring 
 you off more than conqueror. The 
 arms of his mercy are ever extended for 
 the reception of sinners. He waits to be 
 gracious. In him are safety and everlas- 
 ting strength ; He is the eternal God. 
 
190 
 
 Now, is it possible io sink when up- 
 held by Omnipotence ? To faint under 
 almighty succour ? No; for thus saith 
 the Lord: "Fear thou not : for I am 
 with thee; be not dismayed ; for I arn 
 thy God : I will strengthen thee ; yea £ 
 will help thee, yea I will uphold thee 
 with the right hand of my righteous- 
 ness." Words more animating and conso- 
 litory cannot be easily selected : tl»eye n- 
 sure safety in the most perilous situation, 
 support under the most pressing difficul- 
 ties, and must surely constrain us tosa\ ? 
 "who is a God like unto thee, that par- 
 doneth iniquity, and passe! h by the trans- 
 gression of the remnant of his heritage ! 
 He retaineth not his anger for ever, be- 
 cause he delig;hteth in mercv. 
 
 To the soul that is burthened with 
 sorrow and distress, and importunate for 
 mercy, the scriptures afford ample encou- 
 ragement. Here we behold a Saviour 
 
191 
 
 exhibited, "who is not only able, but 
 willing to save them to the uttermost, 
 that come unto God by him, seeing he e- 
 ver liveth to make intercession for them" 
 
 No supplicant was ever driven from 
 his throne, or sought relief of him in 
 vain. The wretched and forlorn, the 
 helpless and the hopeless, will meet with 
 a kind reception. "The spirit and the 
 bride say come. And let him that is 
 athirstcome, and whosoever will, let him 
 take the water of life freely. 
 
 Flee then, to this gracious deliverer, 
 this friend of the distressed. Attend to 
 the endearing declaration of his own lips; 
 "Come unto me all ye that labour and 
 are heavy laden, and I will give you rest. 
 
 Take my yoke upon you and learn of 
 me ; for I am meek and lowly in heart ; 
 and ve shall find rest unto vour souls." 
 
 Encouraging language this. Surely 
 it must rouse dejection from her torpor, 
 
192 
 
 and lay a foundation for hope in the most 
 abandoned profligate. Nothing can be 
 more applicable to his wretched conditi- 
 on, nor better adapted to administer re- 
 lief. 
 
 >ert. 
 
 The language of your heart, Herbe 
 speaks poverty of spirit: to whom then 
 should you go but to Christ, with whom 
 there are durable riches and righteous- 
 ness. Hearken diligently unto me, is the 
 affectionate language of Jesus, and eat 
 ye that which is good, and let your soul 
 delight itself in fatness. Incline your 
 ear, and come unto me : hear and your 
 soul shall live — Return to the lord and 
 he will have mercy upon you; and to our 
 God, for he will abundantly pardon. 
 
 In opposition to the freeness of grace, 
 urge neither the number nor the magni- 
 tude of your crimes as a bar to forgive- 
 
 
193 
 
 ness. This would be to act like the ti- 
 morous passenger, who in a storm at sea 
 makes it his only business to tell the 
 waves, and to shriek at the beating of e- 
 very billow against the ship : instead of 
 imitating the industrious pilot, who hath 
 his hand at the helm, and his eye to hea- 
 ven, and minds more his duty than his 
 danger. Neither thinking that pardon 
 cannot be extended to you, nor the depths 
 of your despondency, can be admitted s 
 evidence of your having no interest in di- 
 vine mercy. Others have known what it is 
 to groan, being burdened ; and have cried 
 in anguish of soul, "my way is hid from 
 the Lord, and my judgement is passed 
 over from my God." No saint, perhaps 
 ever experienced more painful anxiety 
 on this account, or exulted more in confi- 
 dence of future glory than the Psalmist. 
 "Will the Lord, he asks, cast off for 
 ever ? and will he be favourable no more ? 
 
 o. 
 
194 
 
 Is his mercy clean gone for ever ? Doth 
 his promise fail for ever more ? hath God 
 forgotten to be gracious ? hath he in an- 
 ger shut up his tender mercies ? — O my 
 God,, mv soul is cast down within me — 
 all thy waves and thy billows are gone 
 over me. Yet the Lord will command 
 his loving-kindness in the day time, and 
 in the night his song shall be with me, 
 and my prayer unto the God of my life — 
 Why art thou cast down O my soul ? 
 and why art thou disquieted within me ? 
 hope thou in God ; for I shall yet praise 
 him, who is the health of my countenance 
 and my God." Now unless it can be pro- 
 ved that divine grace is not free for you, 
 and as competent to supply your wants as 
 those of the Royal supplicant: your 
 doubts must be groundless. The Psalm- 
 ist had no moral worth to encourage his 
 approach to God for mercy, and on which 
 to place his dependance for pardon. He 
 
195 
 
 saw nothing in himself but ground for 
 despair He knew if the Lord were to 
 mark iniquity, that in his sight no man 
 living could be justified. As to the depth 
 of his contrition, I need say nothing ; it 
 is in this case quite sufficient for your 
 encouragement that, though now a saint 
 in glory, he was once a stranger to him- 
 self, and his carnal mind enmity against 
 God: and in this awful situation are all 
 the progeny of Adam. 
 
 Ever since the fall of our first parents, 
 all men invariably manifest a stroi ger 
 propensity to cleave to their own righte- 
 ousness ; to something they have per- 
 formed, or are to perform in order to 
 final happiness. When a man contem- 
 plates the turpitude of his nature, and 
 the imperfection of his conduct, he must 
 as a moral as;ent be conscious of number- 
 less defects ; of being extremely culpa- 
 ble and as he cannot but acknowledge, 
 
 o2. 
 
196 
 
 on reflection, that his pravity has been the 
 resultof his own choice, he naturally looks 
 to future reformation for something that 
 may counterbalance his guilt, and avert 
 the punishment he has reason to expect. 
 Without revelation, he has no other 
 medium by which to obtain forgiveness ; 
 and if this revelation be neglected or de- 
 spised, he will not see the absurdity of his 
 conduct; his deceptive hope will keep 
 pace with his diligence ; and if divine 
 goodness do not interpose, he will never 
 perceive his mistake 'till too late to pre- 
 vent it. 
 
 It was said by one well acquainted with 
 human nature, Let him that thinketh 
 he standeth, take heed lest he fall. The 
 salutary caution is the language of wis- 
 dom and benevolence. The best of men 
 when left to themselves, have given aw- 
 ful proofs of their incompetency to with- 
 stand temptation. Witness the case of 
 
197 
 
 Hezekiah, whom God left to try him, 
 that he might know the corruption of his 
 heart ; and it may repress the vanity of 
 self-confidence,, to recollect that an apos- 
 tle was pious in the house, courageous in 
 the garden, and in the hall both a coward 
 and a traitor. 
 
 That the all wise Creator of the uni- 
 verse is pleased, for the purposes of his 
 own glory, to restrain the passions of men, 
 is clear from the case of Abimelech re- 
 specting Abraham, and also from these 
 words of the Psalmist ; "Surely the 
 wrath of man shall praise thee, the remain- 
 der of wrath shall then restrain ;" and 
 perhaps both these clauses, and also the 
 principle on which I reason, were never 
 more awfully nor more clearly exempli- 
 fied, than in the character and conduct of 
 Pharaoh King of Egypt. 
 
 Having presented you with my senti- 
 o3. 
 
198 
 
 merits, my Dear Friends I trust they may 
 be of some little use to you, as I have en- 
 deavoured to illustrate the sacred truth 
 in every point of view : and I humbly 
 hope I have not laboured in vain, with 
 the entertainment of this hope, conclude 
 in saying whatever may be your present 
 feelings, avoid and shun dark despair, 
 in pious confidence, put thy trust in the 
 Lord : remember the sacred expression in 
 which the Saviour of mankind has made 
 use of to all penitent and returning sin- 
 ners, when he says, "Son be of good 
 cheer, thy sins are forgiven thee/' 
 
 This is the voice that sooths the pangs of grief, 
 That yields the burthen'd conscience sweet relief: 
 O couldst thou, Herbert, the matchless bliss explore. 
 Thy trembling heart would disbelieve no more : 
 Thy troubled breast would then with rapture move. 
 Nor doubt the freeness of Emmanuel's love. 
 
 Look then to this Almighty Saviour, 
 
199 
 
 this Friend of sinners, thou prisoner of 
 hope. He is, remember, not only our 
 Advocate with the Father, against whom 
 we have sinned, but the propitiation for 
 our sins. "Be it known unto you there- 
 fore, that through this man, is preached 
 unto you the forgiveness of sins — for God 
 hath made him to be sin for us, who knew 
 no sin, that we might be made the 
 righteousness of God in him/ 5 Neither 
 the number nor the magnitude of your 
 transgressions forbids your approach. 
 Were none but the comparatively wor- 
 thy encouraged to come, vain man might 
 think he had whereof to boast But in 
 the affair of salvation, the Lord hath pur- 
 posed to stain the pride of human glory, 
 and to bring into contempt those things 
 that are generally considered as establish- 
 ing a kind of title to his favour and for- 
 giveness. For were any other plea than 
 sovereign grace through the blood of 
 
 o4. 
 
200 
 
 Christ admitted into the court of heaven 
 the self-righteous moralist might glory 
 in his doings, the wise man in his wisdom 
 and the mighty in his strength, But as 
 nothing done by man can in the least con- 
 duce to his justification before God, we 
 must conclude with the apostle and rejoice 
 in the conclusion, "That salvation is of 
 grace — not of works lest any man should 
 boast." The inspired writer fell for the 
 honour of his divine Master, as well as 
 for the souls of men: and while he la- 
 boured to preserve the gospel in its puri- 
 ty, he shewed the arrogant their danger, 
 and exalted the riches of grace by open- 
 ing a door of hope for the chief of sinners. 
 
 With every ardent wish, I finally con- 
 clude, and with each wish I humbly 
 blend each anxious hope ; and trust that 
 you will bear in mind the sacred truth. 
 
 Yours very sincerely, 
 Theodore. 
 
201 
 
 f^erfcevt to Clieoluire* 
 
 Dear Friend. 
 
 Being fully convinced of the justness 
 of your sacred remarks, and having very 
 clearly perceived that you have most ably 
 illustrated the divine truths : I cannot let 
 an opportunity occur without returning 
 you my most hearty and sincere thanks. 
 
 Endued as I am with a knowledge of 
 thy high and exalted mind, I cannot but 
 feel myself quite incapable of answering 
 the illustration of all that is good and 
 amiable. From thy pen, my dear Friend 
 has dropped truth in its most brilliant 
 garb of purity, therefore it would be va- 
 nity in me, in attempting to direct, or 
 lead you any further than what thy own 
 ideas has already directed you. I shall 
 upon these considerations, my Dear 
 Friend, only endeavour to shew you how 
 
202 
 
 far my sentiments agree with yours, and 
 leave you to judge how far I have pic- 
 tured that bright example which jou 
 have already set forth : I shall proceed my 
 Friend with another remark on self con- 
 fidence, as it is the principle thing which 
 has led to my present calamity : for this 
 subject I refer to the character of the 
 Jews, of whom It may be justly said, 
 "they trusted in themselves that they 
 were righteous, and despised others. 
 
 They had a zeal for God, but not ac- 
 cording to knowledge : for they being ig- 
 norant of God's righteousness, and going 
 about to establish their own righteousness 
 have not submitted themselves unto the 
 righteousness of God." 
 
 In regard to forgiveness, I beg to re- 
 mark that my opinion is : that before a 
 man can cordially receive the salvation 
 revealed in the gospel, every pretension to 
 forgiveness on the ground of human wor- 
 
203 
 
 thinessmust be entirely relinquished. 
 To talk of pardoning one that is innocent, 
 or of forgiving a debt that never was 
 contracted, is absurd in the extreme : it 
 is therefore a part of the holy Spirit's 
 work to convince the sinner that ff in his 
 flesh dwelleth no good thing — that his 
 own righteousness is as filthy rags;" and 
 that if he expects to be justified before 
 God, all he has ever esteemed gain, in 
 reference to this grand affair, must be 
 accounted loss for Christ. 
 
 Heaven, stands like a little mark in a 
 wide field, where there are a thousand 
 ways to err from it, and but one to hit it. 
 
 Yea though God had said that there is 
 but one sacrifice by which we can be 
 perfected : but one blood by which we 
 can be purified : but one name by which 
 we can be saved ; yet how hardly are the 
 best drawn to trust perfectly to the grace 
 
204 
 
 revealed, and to look from themselves to 
 Christ, as the author and finisher of their 
 blessedness : seeing therefore Holv Fa- 
 ther, that thou hast made the whole pro- 
 gress of salvation to be in Christ, and by 
 Christ, election to be in him : adoption to 
 be in him : justification to be in him : 
 sanctificaiion to be in him ; glorification 
 to be in him ; grant that whatever others 
 do, I may never choose the light of reason 
 but the Son of righteousness to guide my 
 feet into the paths of life : and that both 
 in life and in death, I may say as that 
 blessed martyr did, "None but Christ, 
 none but Christ. *' 
 
 In regard to the comparison I have 
 just made, I concieve that there may be 
 many observations made upon it ; you 
 my Dear Friend, I doubt not will in 
 justice, have some observations to make 
 upon it. As I trust it is no unjust re- 
 presentation. I hope that it will not be 
 
205 
 
 condidered as an observation of ridicule 
 when I can more particularly assert, that 
 the intention of it is derived from sacred 
 motives. 
 
 The enquiry of my soul in its present 
 state is — How the judge of the world can 
 consistently with the holiness of his na- 
 ture, and the immutability of his truth 
 in the threatenings, justify a sinner who 
 during his whole life, has paid little or 
 no regard to either ? This is, Theodore, 
 my present important question — and a 
 question no sooner made, than it is an- 
 swered in the most consolatory truths, I 
 find, that the sacred writings inform me, 
 that in the cross of Christ, this question 
 is explicitly answered — the whole myste- 
 ry is completely developed. "He that 
 commanded the light to shine out of dark- 
 ness, shineth in the heart, to give the 
 light of the knowledge of the glory of 
 
206 
 
 God in the face of Jesus Christ." The 
 eye of faith discovers how God can be 
 just, and the justifier of him that believ- 
 eth. The just God and the Saviour are 
 beheld with awful reverence and delight- 
 ful astonishment ! This reflection my 
 Dear Friend, alone cause the tears of 
 gratitude to flow from my admiring eyes ; 
 I look upon him whom my sins have 
 pierced, and sincerely mourn, and hum- 
 bly exclaim with the prophet, "he hath 
 borne our griefs, and carried our sorrows 
 — He was wounded for our transgressi- 
 ons, he was bruised for our iniquities : 
 the chastisement of our peace was upon 
 him ; and with his stripes we are heal- 
 ed. All we like sheep have gone astray : 
 we have turned every one to his own 
 way ; and the Lord hath laid upon him 
 the iniquity of us all — God forbid that 
 I should henceforth glory, save in the 
 cross of our Lord Jesus Christ — who lo- 
 ved me and gave himself for me. 
 
207 
 
 That Christ is the only author of salva- 
 tion, is by me, and must be by every chris- 
 tian acknowledged. It may be said in 
 reference to all that he did as the church's 
 surety, as well as the complete conquest 
 of his enemies ; "Of the people, there was 
 none with him : there was none to help, 
 none to uphold : therefore his own arm 
 brought salvation, the work of re- 
 demption was assigned to him in the 
 everlasting covenant : it was what he 
 voluntarily undertook, and what as me- 
 diator he came to execute in the state of 
 his humiliation on earth. By perfect 
 conformity of heart and of life to the 
 moral law, and by suffering on the cross 
 the dreadful penalty annexed to trans- 
 gressions, the stupendous undertaken 
 was accomplished. That it was com- 
 plete in all its parts, we have no doubt, 
 because to this the divine Jesus bore un- 
 equivocal testimony when, in the ago- 
 
SOS 
 
 nize of death he cried, It is finished, and 
 gave up the ghost/' As therefore he had 
 no co-partner, no assistant in the work; 
 we are not to imagine that he will give 
 his glory to another. He that glorieth 
 must glory in the Lord only. We are 
 not justified and saved by works of righ- 
 teousness which we have done, but free- 
 ly by his grace through the redemption 
 that is in Christ Jesus ; whom God hath 
 set forth to be a propitiation through 
 faith in his blood, to declare his righte- 
 ousness for the remission of sins — Where 
 is boasting then ? It is excluded. By 
 what law ? Of works ? Nay ; by the law 
 of faith. Therefore we conclude that a 
 man is justified by faith without the 
 deeds of the law. The arguments adduc- 
 ed by the inspired writer to prove the 
 sovereignty of grace in election, are 
 strictly applicable to the justification of 
 a sinner before God. ff If it be by grace 
 
209 
 
 then it is no more of works ; otherwise 
 grace is no more grace. But if it be of 
 works, then it is no more grace ; other- 
 wise work is no more work/' But my 
 dear Friend, on this important subject, 
 and others inseparably connected with it 
 I cannot novv enlarge. Believe me 
 
 Sincerely yours &c, 
 
 Herbert. 
 
 f^ertot to ©fjeotiort* 
 
 My Dear Friend, 
 
 In the swiftness of a moment, you may 
 not comprehend my motives for address- 
 ing you separately, I shall therefore 
 briefly state to you my meaning. 
 
 During our long and steady correspon- 
 dence, I have ever found, that our sen- 
 timents have always been in perfect uni- 
 son. You always have expressed a wish 
 
 p. 
 
210 
 
 to possess my sacred and moral occurren- 
 ces ; and as I have given you the former, 
 I hasten to present you with the latter. 
 I now turn to scenes of earthly sorrow, 
 which have already past my aching sight, 
 and revert to that one which has dis- 
 tracted my once unsteady mind ; you 
 will now perceive the subject to which 
 I am alluding to. How natural is it for 
 man, when bereft of earthly Friendship, 
 to apply to and seek a higher power, — 
 but would it not be much more becom- 
 ing to man, that when possest with every 
 thing that can make life dear or desira- 
 ble, — if in his happy moments, when 
 prosperity shines upon him in unclouded 
 splendour, if he were to remember that 
 Being, from whom all his blessings 
 spring, and with a pious and grateful 
 heart, offer up his unfeigned thanks and 
 praises to the throne of mercy ? 
 
 Here my Dear Friend, is where myself 
 and my faithless Leonora were lost, we 
 
211 
 
 both shared abundantly the blessings of 
 Heaven ; in the midst of scenes of plea- 
 sure and delight, the thoughts of hea- 
 \en were unregarded by us ; we unjustly 
 thought that nothing was to interrupt our 
 happiness ; we were therefore, unprepar- 
 ed to meet the shocks of adversity. We 
 beheld with sorrow our setting sun of 
 pleasure; — amazed we saw the storm 
 gathering over our heads and have at last 
 beheld its threatening destruction. 
 
 My situation you are perfectly ac- 
 quainted with, and I need not state to 
 you that of Leonora's, suffice it to say, 
 that she is the victim of despair ; and lives 
 only to experience fresh causes of anguish 
 —but I trust that she may be persuaded 
 to approach the throne of mercy, and 
 then in the deepest humility, fall pros- 
 trate on her knees, and obtain that pro- 
 tection which she now perceives she 
 stands so much in need of. With this 
 
 f2. 
 
212 
 
 fervent prayer on ray lips and in ray 
 heart, I conclude this moral and imper- 
 fect epistle, and proceed to present you 
 with another supplv of my productions. 
 
 Yours very sincerely, 
 Herbert. 
 
 LINES ADDRESSED TO LEONORA. 
 
 ©ear Girl if e'er the gloomy lot 
 
 To die in youth's bright morn be mine, 
 
 Oh may thine eye ne'er view the spot ; 
 Whilst my dull life and breath decline. — 
 
 Nor thou there bend thy weeping head 
 
 Above my parting, dying bed, 
 
 Or strive to stay my fleeting breath, 
 
 When sinking in the arms of death. 
 
 For though it well might soothe the pow'p 
 Which mark'd me in my early birth, 
 
 To spend with thee that trying hour — 
 The last which I should see on earth ; — 
 
 To spend life's morn with thee so dear, 
 
 To love thee with a heart sincere ; 
 
 And then when love and hope were past 3 
 
 To breathe in thy dear arms my last. 
 
fl3 
 
 I would not that thy tender heart, 
 
 Which threat'ning tongues coaid ne'er appal, 
 Should drooping feel affliction's smirt ; 
 
 For one who lov'd thee most of all, 
 I've cherish'd oft the hope that thou 
 Wouldst cheer my pith of life below,; 
 And sweetly shed o'er all my days, 
 Affection's pure and cloudless rays. 
 
 Oh ! heed not thou my early grave, 
 
 Though blooming there the living green^ 
 
 Above my lowly bed would wave, 
 As if in life I ne'er had been,— 
 
 And if the breeze that passes by, 
 
 E'er breathe a sadly sorrowing sigh * 3 
 
 And whisper to thine heart sincere, 
 
 Of all L was whilst with thee here. 
 
 Oh ! heed not — my spirit still, 
 
 Would fondly hover round thy head ; 
 
 Protect thee from impending ill, 
 
 And o'er thy breast composure spread ; 
 
 'Till time, with smiling glance should s^t 
 
 Thy spirit from its bondage free ; 
 
 W- then to realms. of endless day 
 
 To part no more would wing our way. 
 
 
T 
 
 412 
 
 &l)tol>cre to fgafcrL 
 
 Although lov'd friend, the will of fate decrees. 
 Misfortunes blast destructive to assail ; 
 Yet heav'n hath power to rule her ruthless gale. 
 
 And waft thy bark to far serener seas. 
 
 From scenes of bliss and meditative ease : 
 
 Still should her sadd'ning spells malign prevail. 
 And wildly drive when Hope's strong eiiorts fail; 
 
 Obedient bow, and thy sad soul appease. 
 
 For fate is ruled by her superior God : 
 
 And He alone can ward the pending woe, — 
 Can bid the mind rejoice and pleasure flow. 
 
 To cheer the mourner on life's dreary road ; 
 Then in thy breast let submission glow, 
 For He is j list that sways the chastening rod. 
 
 Finis. 
 
 W* Harper, i J miter t HuUsworth* 
 
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