the numbers she had imperceptibly loaded with her chaine.

10. Indolence, (for so she was called,) far from proceeding to open hostilities, did not attempt to turn their feet out of the path, but contented herself with retarding their progress; and the purpose she could not force them to abandon, she persuaded them to delay. Her touch had a power like that of a torpedo, which withered the strength of those who came within its influence. Her unhappy captives still turned their faces towards the temple and always hoped to arrive there, but the ground seemed to slide from beneath their feet, and they found themselves at the bottom, before they suspected they had changed their place.

11. The placid serenity, which at first appeared in their countenances, changed by degrees into a melancholly languor, which was tinged with deeper and deeper gloom, as they glided down the stream of Insignificauce, a dark and sluggish water, which is curled by no breeze, and enlivened by no murmur, till it falls into a dead sea, where startled passengers are awakened by the shock, and the next moment buried in the gulph of Oblivion.

12. Of all the unhappy deters from the paths of Science, none seemed less able to return than the fellowers of Indolence. The captives of Appetite and passion Could often sieze the moment when their tyrants were Janguid or asleep to escape from their enchantment, but the dominion of Indolence was constant and unremitted, and seldom resisted, till resistance was in vain.

13. After contemplating these things, I turned my eyes toward the top of the mountain, where the air was always pure and exhilerating, the path shaded with laurels and other evergreens, and the effulgence which beamed from the face of Science seemed to shed a glory round her votaries. Happy, said I, are they who are permitted to ascend the mountain !-But while I was pronouncing this exclamation with uncommon ardour, I saw, standing beside me, a form of disiner features, and a more benign .adi

ance.

"said she, Happier,"

14. 66 are they whom Virtue conducts to the mansions of Content !" "What," said I, dues Virtue then reside in the vale ?" "I am found," said she, in the vale, and I illuminate the mountain.

I cheer the

cottager at his toil, and inspire the sage at his meditation. I mingle in the crowd of cities, and bless the hermit in his cell. I have a temple in every heart that owns my influence, and to him that wishes for me, I am already pres. ent. Science may raise thee to eminence, but I alone can guide the to felicity."

15. While virtue was thus speaking, I stretched out my arms towards her, with a vehemence which broke my slumber. The chill dews were falling around me, and the shades of evening stretched over the landscape. I hastened homeward; and resigned the night to silence and meditation. Aiken.

SECTION. VII.

The journey of a day; A picture of Human Life.

1. OBIDAH, the son of Abensina, left the caravansera early in the morning, and pursued his journey through the plains of Indostan. He was fresh and vigorous with rest; he was animated with hope; he was incited by des sire; he walked swiftly forward over the vallies; and saw the hills gradually rising before him.

2. As he passed along, his ears were delighted with the morning song of the bird of paradise: he was fanned by the last flutters of the sinking breeze, and sprinkled with dew by groves of spices. He sometimes contemplated the towering height of the oak, monarch of the hills; and sometimes caught the gentle fragrance of the primrose, eldest daughter of spring; all his senses were gratified, and all care was banished from his heart.

3. Thus he went on, till the sun approached his meridian, and the increasing heat preyed upon his strength; he then looked round about him for some more commodious path. He saw, on his right hand, a grove that seemed to wave its shades as a sign of invitation; he entered it, and found the coolness and verdure irresistably pleasant.

4. He did not, however, forget whither he was travelling; but found a narrow way, bordered with flowers which appeared to have the same direction with the main road; and was pleased, that, by this happy experiment, he had found means to unite pleasure with business, and

to gain the rewards of diligence without suffering its fatigues.

5. He, therefore, still continued to walk for a time, without the least remission of his ardour, except that he was sometimes tempted to stop by the music of the birds, which the heat had assembled in the shade; and sometimes amused himself with plucking the flowers that covered the banks on either side, or the fruits that hung upon the branches. At last the green path began to decline from its first tendency, and to wind among hills and thickets, cooled with fountains, and murmuring with waterfalls.

6. Here Obidah paused for a time, and began to consider whether it were longer safe to forsake the known and common track; but remembering that the heat was now in its greatest violence, and that the plain was dusty and uneven, he resolved to pursue the new path, which he supposed only to make a few meanders, in compliance with the varieties of the ground, and to end at last in the common road.

7.

Having thus calmed his solicitude, he renewed his pace, though he suspected that he was not gaining ground. This uneasiness of his mind inclined him to lay hold on every new object, and give way to every sensation that might sooth or divert him. He listened to every echo ; he mounted every hill for a fresh prospect; he turned aside to every cascade; and pleased himself with tracing the course of a gentle river that rolled among the trees, and watered a large region with innumerable circumvelutions.

8. In these amusements, the hours passed away unaccounted, his deviations had perplexed his memory and he knew not towards what point to travel. He stood pensive and confused, afraid to go forward lest he should go wrong, yet conscious that the time of loitering was now past. While he was thus tortured with uncertainty, the sky was overspread with clouds, the day vanished from before him, and a sudden tempest gathered around his head.

9. He was now roused by his danger to a quick and painful remembrance of his folly, he now saw how happiness is lost when ease is consulted, he lamented the unmauly impatience that prompted him to seek shelter in the grove, and despised the petty curiosity that led him on

from trifle to trifle. While he was thus reflecting, the air grew blacker, and a clap of thunder broke his meditation.

10. He now resolved to do what yet remained in his power, to tread back the ground which he had passed, and try to find some issue where the wood might open into the plain. He prostrated himself on the 'ground, and recommended his life to the Lord of Nature. He rose with confidence and tranquillity and pressed on with reso lution. The beasts of the desert were in motion, and on every hand were heard the mingled howls of rage and fear, and ravage and expiration. All the horrors of darkness and solitude surrounded him; the winds roared in the woods and the torrents tumbled from the hill.

11. Thus forlorn and distressed, he wandered through the wild, without knowing whither he was going, or whether he was every moment drawing nearer to safety or destruction. At length, not fear, but labour, began to overcome him, his breath grew short, and his knees trembled, and he was on the point of lying down in resignation to his fate, when he beheld through the brambles the glimmer of a taper.

12. He advanced towards the light, and finding that it proceeded from the cottage of a hermit, he called humbly at the door, and obtained admission. The old man set before him such provisions as he had collected for himself, on which Obidah fed with eagerness and gratitude.

13. When the repast was over, "Tell me" said the hermit, by what chance thou hast been brought hither? I have been now twenty years an inhabitant of the wilderness, in which I never saw a man before." Obidah then related the occurrences of his journey, without any con cealment or palliation,

14. "Son," said the Hermit, "let the errors and follies, dangers and escapes of this day, sink deep into thy heart. Remember, my son, that human life is the journey of a day. We rise in the morning of youth, full of vigour, and full of expectation; we set forward with spirit and hope, with gaiety and with diligence, and travel on awhile in the direct road of piety towards the mansions of rest.

15. "In a short time we remit our fervour, and en. deavor to find some mitigation of our duty, and some more

easy means of obtaining the same end. We then relax our vigour, and resolve no longer to be terrified with crimes at a distance, but rely on our own constancy, and venture to approach what we resolve never to touch.We thus enter the bowers of ease, and repose in the shadesof security.

16. "Here the heart softens, and vigilance subsides, we are then willing to enquire whether another advance cannot be made, and whether we may not, at least, turu our eyes upon the gardens of pleasure. We approach them with scruple and hesitation, we enter them, but enter timorous and trembling, and always hope to pass. through them without losing the road to virtue, which, for awhile, we keep in our sight, and to which we purpose to return. But temptation succeeds temptation, and one compliance prepares us for another, we in time lose the happiness of innocence, and solace our disquiet with sensual gratifications.

17. "By degrees we let fall the remembrance of our original intention, and quit the only adequate object of rational desire. We entangle ourselves in business, immerge ourselves in luxury, and rove through the labyrinths of inconstancy, till the darkness of cld age begins to invade us, and disease and anxiety obstruct our way, We then look back upon our lives with horror, with sorrow, with repentance, and wish, but too often vainly wish, that we had not forsaken the ways of virtue.

18. "Happy are they, my son, who shall learn from thy example not to despair, but shall remember that, though the day is past, and their strength is wasted, there get remains one effort to be made, that reformation is never hopeless, nor sincere endeavours unassisted, that the wanderer may at length retan after all his errors, and that he who implores strength and courage from above, shall find danger and difficulty give way before him. Go now, my son, to thy repose; commit thyself to the care of omnipotence; and when the morning calls again to toil, begin anew thy journey and thy life." Dr. Johnson,