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head in virtuous and decent society! What time also is lost the valuable hours, which should be devoted to reflection, to improvement, to works of utility and charity, are all swallowed up by preparation for, and attendance on these transient enjoyments; while the imagination is polluted, the animal frame exhausted, the inmortal principle within degraded and forgotten; and society injured by examples of prodigality, sensuality, and impiety. And yet all this is called enjoying life; seeing the world, and driving away melancholy. But, reader, what is it? If this be the result, which is too often the case, is it worth your pursuing? will it repay you for your toil? will it increase your felicity on the whole? will it render you useful in life? will it make death pleasant? will it fit you for an eternal state? Alas! no. Turn a deaf ear

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* Hearthe testimony of a noble lord in the view of death. "I have run,” says he," the silly rounds of business and of pleasure, and I have done with them all. I have enjoyed all the pleasures of the world, and consequently know their futility, and do not regret their loss. I appraise them at their real value, which is in truth very low; whereas those who have not experienced, always over-rate them. They only

then to the blandishments of the world. Be not deceived by her fair appearances. Depend not on her specious promises. The seeds of death are mixed in the feast she prepares; the baneful poison is secreted in the cup she gives. Her paradise is the paradise of fools; where, under the wide-spreading flower, the serpent is coiled, and which never fails to awake and sting the votary of sensual pleasure! O, how many have found her golden sceptre to be, after all, a rod

see their gay outside, and are dazzled with their glare; but I have been behind the scenes; I have seen all the coarse pullies and dirty ropes which exhibit and move the gaudy machine, &c. When I reflect back upon what I have seen, what I have heard, and what I have done, I can hardly persuade myself that all that frivolous hurry, bustle, and the pleasure of the world, had any reality; but I look upon all that has passed, as one of those romantic dreams, which opium commonly occasions; and I do by no means desire to repeat the nauseous dose, for the sake of the fugitive dream. Shall I tell you that I bear this melancholy situation, with that meritorious constancy and resignation which most people boast of? No; for I really cannot help it. I bear it-because I must bear it, whether I will or no.—And I think of nothing but killing time, now that he has become mine enemy," Lord Chesterfield.

of iron. Could we but penetrate her dwelling -could we but accurately survey her abode, we should find, notwithstanding all her professions of liberty and happiness, that she has her cells where multitudes are imprisoned; her dungeons, where the unhappy victims are loaded with the chains of guilt, poverty, and despair. Yea, more; we should behold a sad spectacle; we should find her burial-place strewed with the spoils of thousands, whom she has deceived and destroyed!

But there are some who tell us, they are no advocates for public pleasures; and who think it childish to mix with the multitude in beholding public sights and exhibitions: but while they make such confessions as these, they are perhaps as much deceived another way. Though seldom led to seek for pleasures abroad, they live in the habit of intemperance at home. What shall I eat, what shall I drink? is their constant lan→ guage. But, reader, are expensive viands, sumptuous fare, costly diet, the idols a rational, intellectual, immortal being should adore? Is running to excess in indulging the taste, or gratifying the appetitite, the way to promote

health, order, morality, decency, and benevolence? Ah, cruel Intemperance! methinks I see thee with thy destructive scythe, walking among the sons of pleasure; and while Religion and Morality are here and there lifting up their voice, and snatching a sʊntary sun f whin thy reach, thou art mowing down thy thousands. O, yes! on how many tombs may it be written, "Here are the last remains of one unhappily killed by intemperance." You then, that think of nothing but providing for the body, to fulfil the lusts thereof, whose only felicity is to satiate your appetites, stop for a moment, and ask the question, what is it that I am doing? Am I not far worse than the beasts of the field, who always know what is sufficient? Am I not losing my reason? Where will this carry me? Will it not lay a foundation for disease? Will it not accelerate the approach of the last enemy, death? Yes, intemperate man, answer these questions; for this, if not repented of, will stupify thy powers, emaciate thy frame, harden thy conscience, dig thy grave, and debar thee from the enjoyment of "that inheritance which is incorruptible, undefiled, and that fadeth not away."

But my reader may ask, What, then, is all pleasure forbidden? What! is life to be one continual scene of serious reflection? What! nothing but devotion? I answer, that, as to real enjoyment, a devotional frame is the sn limest, the noblest, the most exalted pleasure in life; and no man in the present state can be happier than he who is blessed with it. To such a man, all other pleasures, all other exercises, all other pursuits are as nothing.

"He treads the earth beneath his feet,

"And all the world, calls good and great.” Holding intercourse with the Father of lights; his mind being enlarged with a view of heavenly and eternal objects; believing all things to be under divine control; and hoping at last to be received to the mansions of light-he rejoices with a joy unspeakable, and full of glory.

As the best of men, however, cannot always preserve this heavenly frame; as we live in a world where temporal things must be attended to; as we are touched and moved by surrounding objects-it cannot be expected that our joys wil always be the same. Inferior pleasures, however, may be found, and let no man com、

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