After all, though you had some entertainment upon the whole, yet, if you had the offer of going over the same events to-day, you would not feel disposed to accept it. Now, this is what I, and every one, I believe, of my age, must say of our day's pleasure. Could our youth be renewed like the eagle's; yet we should decline the offer, if it must be upon the condition of living over again all the vicissitudes and anxieties, all the sorrows and sins of the past. Wearied even with pleasure, you were glad to set off on your return home. The evening was chilly and dark; and you were more disposed to sleep than to converse. This, as you see in your poor old grandfather, is not unlike the condition and infirmities of old age.

Thus far our comparison is pretty exact: and well will it be for us if it need not stop here! The sight of home at last, gave you, perhaps, more true pleasure than any thing you had seen in the day. And there are some who can say the same of the long home to which they are hastening. All are, more or less, weary of life and need rest: yet, how many shrink from, and at last come short of it. You had a kind father to receive you, and a comfortable home; and the companion you dropped at the commencement of your journey, was ready to welcome your return. And if it should be thus with us at the end of the day of life, it will signify little indeed, what

In our Father's "There is a rest

accidents befall us by the way. house are many mansions." remaining for the people of God." And there, many dear friends who are gone before, await our arrival. They regret not that they were stopped short in their course, but, like your friend, rejoice that they got safe home so early, and thus escaped all the misfortunes of the road.

Your day's pleasure is now over: and you all feel that the little accidents which disconcerted you yesterday, are of no consequence at all to-day. You can now smile at its misfortunes; and as for its pleasures, they are past, and are now nothing to you. But suppose you had found no home to return to; or an uncomfortable one, exposed to the weather, and filled with bad, quarrelsome company! Of how much greater value is the smallest convenience and comfort you enjoy here, because it is to last for years, than all the pleasures of that one day, put together! Or suppose that from morning to night it had been one continued storm; suppose you had not been able to reach the place of your destination at all; that many instead of one of your company had been left behind; - that your carriages had broken down, and every other misfortune had befallen you that can be imagined;-what then? your day's pleasure would have been spoiled, it is true; but it was only a day, and now all is over. Now, this is just the state of the case with regard to time

and eternity; only the comparison falls far short of the truth. They who, devoted to the pleasures of this life, take no care to ensure an entrance into that rest, act infinitely more unwisely than you would have done, if, for the sake of enjoying that one day's recreation, you had left your house to be overrun with robbers, or destroyed by fire; knowing that upon your return at night, you would have no shelter, no home, no father to receive you.

But is it true, that our youthful hopes are so fallacious, that there are so many drawbacks to our pleasure, and that there is so large a mixture of pain? What does this teach us?—first, not to give life a wrong name: after all, it is not a day of pleasure, but a day of business. We came into life not to please ourselves, but to do the will of Him that sent us; and especially, "to work out our salvation with fear and trembling." Again, we should learn hereby "not to set our affections on things below:" it is to teach us this lesson, which we are slow to learn, that so many trials are allotted us. Our Heavenly Father does not willingly afflict and disappoint us. He does it in mercy, to wean us from the world to which we cling. We should also learn by the disappointments attending our schemes, not to desire to order our own lot in life; since we cannot foresee how they will succeed, nor what will most promote our welfare. Let us leave it to Him,

who sees the end from the beginning, and who will then cause "all things to work together for our good." Above all, let us learn to care less for the things of time, and more for those of eternity. Do not our years pass like " a tale that is told?" "Let us therefore fear, lest a promise being given us of entering into His rest, any of us should seem to come short of it.

Thus grand-papa concluded his discourse; which, thinking it might prove instructive to others as well as to ourselves, I have,

as I

prom

ised, transcribed for the perusal of the reader.

III.

LUCY'S WISHES.

Lucy had been standing one afternoon for nearly an hour at the parlor window, watching the carriages and passengers in the street. Idleness ever begets discontent: but instead of laying the blame upon herself, she felt disposed to complain of her condition. Almost every stranger that passed, she concluded was in happier circumstances than herself. She observed stages and carriages of various kinds, driving up to the great inn on the other side of the way. She watched the passengers as they alighted and set off again;

wondered who they were, whence they came, whither they were going, and envied them because they were not staying at home. A travelling chaise, with ladies in pretty riding dresses, stopped to change horses. Ah, thought she, how happy they are! going some delightful journey— hundreds of miles perhaps, and to see thousands of curiosities: or to live at some elegant country seat: at any rate they are not staying at home like me. How long have I been confined to this dull town, and this one house! She then cast a forlorn glance around the room, every object of which had been familiar to her from her infancy. Then looking over to her opposite neighbors, she saw a blazing fire, and the family seated round it. How comfortable they are! thought she; so cheerful, so sociable: telling some interesting story, perhaps; not all alone in a dull room like me!

When it grew too dark to see distinctly what was passing in the street, Lucy slowly moved from the window, and seated herself by the fire; where, fixing her eyes upon the red cinders, she fell into a deep revery; and began to consider what situation she would choose for herself, if she might but change her condition. Her imagination still followed the travelling party she had seen stop at the inn; and she first thought she should like to be a companion to those ladies; to read to them, walk with them, and attend them wherever they went..