from the world, seem almost to have literally soared above the terrene region; who almost appear to have stolen the fire of the seraphim, and to have had no business on earth, but to keep alive the celestial flame. They would, however, have approximated more nearly to the example of their Divine Master, the great standard and only perfect model, had they combined a more diligent discharge of the active duties and beneficences of life with their high devotional attainments.

But while we are in little danger of imitating, let us not too harshly censure the pious error of these sublimated spirits. Their number is small; their example is not catching; their etherial fire is not likely, by spreading, to inflame the world. The world will take due care not to come in contact with it; while its distant light and warmth may cast, accidentally, not an unuseful ray on the cold hearted and the worldly.

But from this small number of refined but inoperative beings we do not intend to draw our notions of practical piety. God did not make a religion for these few exceptions to the general state of the world, but for the world at large; for beings active, busy, restless; whose activity he, by his word, diverts into its proper channels; whose busy spirit is there directed to the common good; whose restlessness, indicating the unsatisfactoriness of all they find on earth, he points to a higher destination. Were total seclusion and abstraction designed to have been the general state of the world, God would have given men other laws, other rules, other faculties, and other employments.

There is a class of visionary but pious writers, who seem to shoot as far beyond the mark, as mere moralists fall short of it. Men of low views and gross minds may be said to be wise below what is written, while those of too subtile refinement are wise above it: the one grovels in the dust, from the inertness of their intellectual faculties; while the other are lost in the clouds, by stretching them beyond their appointed limits. The one build spiritual castles in the air, instead of erecting them on the "holy ground" of Scripture; the other lay their foundation in the sand, instead of resting it on the rock of ages. Thus the superstructure of both is equally unsound.

God is the fountain from which all the streams of goodness flow; the centre from which all the rays of blessedness diverge. All our actions are, therefore, only good, as they have a reference to him the streams must revert back to their fountain, the rays must converge again to their centre.

If love of God be the governing principle, this powerful spring will actuate all the movements of the rational machine. The essence of religion does not so much consist in actions or affections. Though right actions, therefore, as, from an excess of courtesy, they are commonly termed, may be performed where there are no right affections; yet are they a mere carcass, utterly destitute of the soul, and, therefore, of the substance of virtue. But neither can affections substantially and truly subsist without producing right actions; for never let it be forgotten that a pious inclination, which has not life and vigour sufficient to

ripen into act, when the occasion presents itself, and a right action which does not grow out of a sound principle, will neither of them have any place in account of real goodness. A good inclination will be contrary to sin; but a mere incli nation will not subdue sin.

The love of God, as it is the source of every right action and feeling, so it is the only principle which necessarily involves the love of our fellow creatures. As man, we do not love man. There is a partiality, but not of benevolence; of sensibility, but not of philanthropy; of friends and favourites, of parties and societies, but not of man collectively. It is true we may, and do, without this principle, relieve his distresses; but we do not bear with his faults. We may pro

mote his fortune, but we do not forgive his offences; above all, we are not anxious for his immortal interests. We could not see him want without pain, but we can see him sin without emotion. We could not hear of a beggar perishing at our door without horror; but we can, without concern, witness an acquaintance dying without repentance. Is it not strange that we must participate something of the divine nature, before we can really love the human? It seems, indeed, to be an insensibility to sin, rather than want of benevolence to mankind, that makes us naturally pity their temporal, and be careless of their spiritual wants: but does not this very insensibility proceed from the want of love to God?

MISS H. MORE.

THE

HAPPY EFFECTS OF GENERAL PIETY.

Ir is an observation, very frequently made, that there is more tranquillity and satisfaction diffused through the inhabitants of uncultivated and savage countries, than is to be met with in nations filled with wealth and plenty, polished with civility, and governed by laws. It is found happy to be free from contention, though that exemption be obtained by having nothing to contend for; and an equality of condition, though that condition be far from eligible, conduces more to the peace of society than an established and legal subordination, in which every man is perpetually endeavouring to exalt himself to the rank above him, though by degrading others already in possession of it; and every man exerting his efforts to hinder his inferiors from rising to the level with himself. It appears that it is better to have no property, than to be in perpetual apprehensions of fraudulent artifices, or open invasions; and that the security arising from a regular administration of government is not equal to that which is produced by the absence of ambition, envy, or discontent.

Thus pleasing is the prospect of savage countries, merely from the ignorance of vice, even without the knowledge of virtue; thus happy are they, amidst all the hardships and distresses that attend a state of nature, because they are, in a great measure, free from those which men bring upon one another.

But a community, in which virtue should generally prevail, of which every member should fear God with his whole heart, and love his neighbour as himself, where every man should labour to make himself "perfect, even as his Father which is in heaven is perfect," and endeavour, with his utmost diligence, to imitate the divine justice and benevolence, would have no reason to envy those nations whose quiet is the effect of their igno

rance.

If we consider it with regard to public happiness, it would be opulent without luxury, and powerful without faction; its counsels would be steady, because they would be just; and its efforts vigorous, because they would be united. The governors would have nothing to fear from the turbulence of the people, nor the people any thing to apprehend from the ambition of their governors. The encroachments of foreign enemies they could not always avoid, but would certainly repulse, for scarce any civilized nation has been ever enslaved till it was first corrupted.

With regard to private men, not only that happiness, which necessarily descends to particulars from the public prosperity, would be enjoyed; but even those blessings, which constitute the felicity of domestic life, and are less closely connected with the general good. Every man would be industrious to improve his property, because he would be in no danger of seeing his improvements torn from him. Every man would assist his neighbour, because he would be certain of receiving assistance if he should himself be attacked by necessity. Every man would endea