CCXXXVI.

PIRITUAL VISITATIONS.-The doctrine of departed spirits returning to visit the scenes and beings,

which were dear to them during the body's existence, though it has been debased by the absurd superstitions of the vulgar, in itself is awfully solemn and sublime.

However lightly it may be ridiculed, yet, the attention involuntarily yielded to it, whenever it is made the subject of serious discussion, and its prevalence in all ages and countries, even among newly discovered nations that have had no previous interchange of thought with other parts of the

prove it to be one of those mysterious and instinctive to which, if left to ourselves, we should naturally in od

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zen, of all the pride of reason and philosophy, a vague dou 'suasion till lurk in the mind, and, perhaps, will never be is it is a matter that does not admit of positive 1. Who yet has been able to comprehend and nature of the soul; its mysterious connection dy; or in what part of the frame it is situated? we know merely that it does exist: but whence it came, and when it entered into us, and how it is retained, and where it is seated, and how it operates, are all matters of mere speculation, and contradictory theories. If, then, we are thus ignorant of this spiritual essence, even while it forms a part of ourselves, and is continually present to our consciousness, how can we pretend to ascertain or deny its powers and operations, when released from its fleshly prison house?

Everything connected with our spiritual nature is full of doubt and difficulty. We are fearfully and wonderfully

made! We are surrounded by mysteries: and we are mysteries even to ourselves. It is more the manner in which this superstition has been degraded, than its intrinsic absurdity, that has brought it into contempt. Raise it above the frivolous purposes to which it has been applied, strip it of the gloom and horror with which it has been enveloped; and there is none, in the whole circle of visionary creeds, that could more delightfully elevate the imagination, or more tenderly affect the heart. It would become a sovereign comfort at the bed of death, soothing the bitter tear wrung from us by the agony of mortal separation.

What could be more consoling than the idea, that the souls of those we once loved, were permitted to return, and watch over our welfare?—that affectionate and guardian spirits sat by our pillows when we slept keeping a vigil over our most helpless hours?that beauty and innocence, which had languished into the tomb, yet smiled unseen around us, revealing themselves in those blest dreams wherein we live over again the hours of past endearments? A belief of this kind, would, I should think, be a new incentive to virtue, rendering us circumspect, even in our most secret moments, from the idea that those we once loved and honoured, were invisible witnesses of all our actions.

It would take away, too, from that loneliness and destitution, which we are apt to feel more and more as we get on in our pilgrimage through the wilderness of this world, and find that those who set forward with us lovingly, and cheerily, on the journey, have, one by one, dropped away from our' side. Place the superstition in this light, and I confess I should like to be a believer in it.-1 see nothing in it that is

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incompatible with the tender and merciful nature of our religion, or revolting to the wishes and affections of the heart.

There are departed beings that I have loved as I never again shall love in this world: that have loved me as I never again shall be loved. If such beings do even retain, in their blessed spheres, the attachments which they felt on earth; if they take an interest in the poor concerns of transient mortality, and are permitted to hold communion with those whom they have loved on earth, I feel as if now, at this deep hour of night, in this silence and solitude, I could receive their visitation with the most solemn but unalloyed delight.

In truth, such visitations would be too happy for this world: they would take away from the bounds and barriers that hem us in, and keep us from each other. Our existence is doomed to be made up of transient embraces and long separations. The most intimate friendship-of what brief and scattered portions of time does it consist! We take each other by the hand; and we exchange a few words and looks of kindness; and we rejoice together, for a few short moments; and then days, months, years, intervene, and we have no intercourse with each other. Or if we dwell together, for a season, the grave soon closes its gates, and cuts off all further communion; and our spirits must remain in separation and widow hood, until they meet again in that more perfect state of being, where soul shall dwell with soul, and there shall be no such thing as death, or absence, or any other interruption of our union.-Washington Irving.

CCXXXVII.

FFECTS OF A NEGLECTED OR IMPROPER EDUCATION.

Where education has been entirely neglected or

improperly managed, we see the worst passions ruling with uncontrolled and incesssant sway. Good sense degenerates into craft, and anger rankles into malignity. Restraint, which is thought most salutary, comes too late, and the most judicious admonitions are urged in vain.-Parr.

CCXXXVIII.

NTEMPERANCE.E. He who is intemperate is the very lowest of all slaves. Doth not intemperance rob us of our reason, that chief excellence of man, and drive us on to commit the very greatest disorders? Can he who is immersed in pleasure find time to turn his thoughts on things that are useful? But, and if he could, his judgment is so far overborne by his appetites, that, seeing the right path, he deliberately rejects it. Neither should we expect modesty in such a character; it being most certain that nothing can well stand at a greater distance from this, than the whole life of the voluptuary. But what can be so likely to obstruct either the practice or the knowledge of our duty, as intemperance? What can we suppose so fatally pernicious to man as that which depriveth him of his understanding, makes him prefer with eagerness the things which are useless, avoid or reject whatever is profitable, and act in every respect so unlike a wise man.-Socrates in Xenophon.

CCXXXIX.

HILOSOPHIC TEMPER.-What most of all contributes to give us that calmness of temper which is so necessary in disputes, is the confidence that knowledge inspires. For a mind that comes well provided to engage in the defence of truth, will calmly, and without concern, stand the shock of false opinions, having premeditated all that can be alleged against truth, by instructing himself in the truth itself. What then can disturb a man so well instructed? What can seem to him inextricable, what unanswerable? All the difficulties that can be objected against him, will, if he be truly strong, serve on the contrary only to supply him with ideas that have already often triumphed over whatever is false.Hierocles.

CCXL.

USTICE.- -Justice is as strictly due between neighbour nations as between neighbour citizens. A highwayman is as much a robber when he plunders in a gang, as when single, and a nation that makes an unjust war is only a great gang.—Franklin.

CCXLI.

OETRY AND PAINTING.-To imitate nature well in whatever subject, is the perfection of both Arts; and that picture, and that poem, which comes nearest the resemblance of nature is the best; but, it follows not, that what pleases most in either kind is therefore good, but what ought to please. Our depraved appetites and