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vale of Innocence; at her court there is no pomp, but there is peace; she discloses her name to all; some revile her, others say she is of no use to the world, that they are always as victorious without her assistance as with it. Her followers scarce ever suffer from the imputations of the vile, when they hold fast upon her garments. I can possess Truth and Innocence without Learning." Here the travellers parted -Alphonso to ascend the hill, the stranger to the vale of Innocence.

Without a companion in his solitary journey; with no one to assist him on his way; no one to raise him if he stumbled, Alphonso pursued his toilsome course. At length, casting his eyes to the top of the hill, he perceived standing on its summit a figure stretching out one hand to assist him, the other rested on an anchor, and a bright beam played around her brow. Alphonso hastened to ascend the hill, and when he approached, he clasped the outstretched hand of Hope, for that was the name of the fair form, and imprinted it with kisses. Hope smiled affectionately upon him, and with these encouraging words addressed him: "Alphonso! I come to conduct you to the temple of Learning; you have overcome alone the greatest obstacles, you shall now have a conductor."

As they came to frightful precipices, where unfortunate mortals had been dashed headlong, for daring to approach too near its edge, Hope would catch his hand and conduct him to safer ground. At last, through many difficulties, hazards, and reproaches, Alphonso came in sight of the temple of Learning. The sun was just sinking, and it illumed the edges of the fleecy floating clouds with a golden hue. Its last beam played upon the glittering spire of the temple; Alphonso could scarce believe his eyes, They reached the threshold. After so many toils, so many dangers, he had now acquired the object of his hopes.

They stood a moment, when the door was opened by a grave-looking old man, who heartily welcomed them to the temple. As they entered, all was light: it burst upon his sight like some enchanted scene, where none but ætherial beings dwell. Irresistibly he cast his eyes up to the nave of the spacious hall, and beheld Learning seated upon a throne of gold. A bright sun emitted its cheering rays above his head. In one hand she held a globe, in the other a pen. Books were piled up in great order here, and in another place they were strewn in wild profusion. Ten of her favourite disciples were ranged on either hand, the swift-winged Genius with his beloved companion Fancy were seated at her right hand, and often did Genius cast an approving smile at the mistress of his heart and actions; she who had tamed the wild spirit of his temper, and taught it to follow in gentler, softer, and sweeter murmurs.

Hope now conducted Alphonse to the throne of Learning. She smiled as he humbly kneeled at her footstool, and taking a laurel from the hand of the delighted and willing Genius, she crowned the brow of the elated Alphonso. Fancy for a moment deserted the side of Genius and hovered over his laurel-crowned brow; then clapping her wings in delight, she again resumed her former station. Learning stretched forth her hand to him; arise, said she, you are destined by fate to fill this long vacant seat. Alphonso kissed the outstretched hand, and gratefully took his seat at the side of Learning.

SENSIBILITY.

In this delicate emotion of the human mind there is a mixture of danger and delight; it may be indulged moderately, with pleasure to its possessor, but uncontrolled, it brings in its train a succession of ideal miseries, and sensations of acute pain or exquisite delight.

It often causes the heart to shrink with sensitive horror from difficulties in the path of life slightly noticed, or scarcely perceptible to the mind well governed by reason, or fortified by principle. Lively sensibility may be considered as the key-stone of the heart; it often unguardedly unlocks the treasures confided to its care, and pouring forth the full tide of feeling, the warmest impulses of the soul are wasted upon trifles or squandered on objects insignificant to the eye of reason, and frequently exposes the feeling heart to contempt and ridicule.

Deep and delicate sensibility, that feeling of the soul which shrinks from observation and pours itself forth in secret calm retirement, must certainly by its dignity and sacred character cause feelings of reverence for its possessor. Jesus wept over the grave of his departed friend, his sensibility was aroused, and he shed tears of sorrow over the dark wreck of a once noble fabric in the mouldering remnants of mortality before him. His prophetic soul gazed upon wide scenes of future desolation. He felt for the miseries of mankind; he pitied their folly and wept over the final destruction of the human frame, undermined by sin and borne down by death.

THE HOLY WRITINGS.

THROUGH the whole of this sacred volume may be traced the finger of a God! It is overshadowed by his arm, and his spirit walks forth in the sublimity of his commandments. What are the mad revilings of the scoffer? They are like burning coals which fall back upon the head of him who hurled them, leaving the object of his rage uninjured. What are the most philosophic works of mankind when placed in comparison with it? They sink into nothing. What are the brilliant shafts of human wit when directed against it? They are as the gilded wing of the butterfly, fluttering feebly against the nervous, the resistless pinion of an eagle. What are all the immense magazines of learning beside it, but a boundless heap of chaff? Yes; the vast edifices of human knowledge reared by the restless hand of ingenuity, and bedecked with all the gaudy trappings of eloquence, crumble into dust and fall prostrate in its presence, as did the heathen idol before the ark of the living God!

Do we ask eloquence? Where can it be found more pure than from the mouth of him whose voice of mercy is a murmur, and whose anger speaks in wrathful thunders? Do we ask sublimity? The eagle in its flight toward heaven is less sublime than the hallowed words of its Maker. Do we ask simplicity? What is more touchingly so, than the language of the sacred volume? Do we ask sweetness or tenderness? The breath of summer is less sweet than the Almighty's offered mercies. The fabled bird which sheds her blood for the nourishment of

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her innocent offspring, is cruel in comparison with him, who bled, who died, for those who cursed and tortured him. Do we ask grandeur, wildness or strength? Look there! there upon the law of him whose very self is grandeur, whose glance is lightning, and whose arm is strength.

The hand of the impious and the envious may hurl the dust of derision upon this sacred volume: still, it will shine on, brighter and brighter, while time shall be!

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