CHAPTER 11.

PIETY GIVES MORE JOYS THAN IT TAKES AWAY.

Nor to enlarge on the unreasonableness of expecting that in every case piety will so alter the natural disposition, as to make the melancholic invariably cheerful, and reduce the diversified temperaments of men to one uniform tone; we may now consider another point connected with the charge that "religion makes its possessors gloomy," viz., that it requires them to forsake the pleasures and gayeties of the world.

By these pleasures is meant the ordinary worldly amusements which, with almost common consent, Christians have felt it their duty to relinquish. Some professors whose belief and practice are not intended to be very strict, have, we know, mingled unscrupulously in such scenes, and partaken of such pleasures. But we are now speaking of the truly pious-of

those whose religion not only forbids, but powerfully dissuades from their indulgence. In this latter case, the relinquishment is not a forced but a voluntary act. It is not so much the coercion of stern duty, as the sweet constraint of an honest, heart-felt preference of better things, This is placing the subject in its true light; and in this way we maintain that piety gives more joys than it takes away.

It is not the intention of the writer to assert, that there is no felicity whatever in the pleasures which a gay and thoughtless world have planned and are pursuing; for if there were none, why should they be sought, and why are they continued? The aim of all is to secure in some form that happiness which the soul of man naturally craves. It is with the hope of satisfying this desire of the heart, that the invention is tasked to furnish a sufficient variety of social and animal gratifications whereby the mind may be excited and its depressing thoughts and anxieties driven away. In part the plan is successful. There is a certain amount of

pleasure experienced in the anticipation and enjoyment of these things, although the most eager votary, it is probable, would confess, that there was not so much real felicity as the inexperienced generally imagine. But in this case, the heart has never tasted of purer and more soul-satisfying delights. The round of social festivity and amusement is the only circle in which it has revolved; and these artificial pleasures the only or the principal ones which it has been taught to covet and appropriate.

Now, how impossible, that one schooled only in these entertainments, should be able to form a correct judgement of the pleasures of true piety, since the latter have not only never been enjoyed, but are of a nature so different from those which have been alluded to! "Tis as if you were to ask a native of the frozen zone, who had never been out of sight of the eternal snows which mantle those repulsive regions, for an opinion of the warmer climes where nature is so lavish of her charms. He might

expatiate on the attractions of his own home, and talk of its superiority to all other scenes; and he might recoil at the idea of a transfer to a more genial region; but surely if his foot never trod the flowery path of the tropics, he would be a very inadequate judge of the bright suns and fragrant beauties which their inhabitants experience.

Without denying to the pleasurist some of the felicity which he claims-alas, how inadequate we ask him to correct his judgement as to the happiness of the pious; no longer to fling upon religion the unjust charge that she is the cause of gloom; nor suppose that, because she calls us from the region which he occupies, to one more salubrious and cheering, she thereby cuts us off from the felicities of life.

But, suppose even that piety abridged its disciples of every earthly pleasure, and gave them only a cup of suffering, still it might with reason be maintained, that in view of her eternal rewards, the disciple would be infinitely the gainer. Such was, in a great degree, the case

with the primitive Christians. But no gloom or despondency hung around their brows. One of them could exclaim, "I glory in infirmity." In view of heavy afflictions he could say, "I do rejoice, yea, and will rejoice." The point before us is, that piety gives more joys, and purer than she takes away. We hope in the course of our remarks this will appear; and whilst it may be our duty to expose the unworthy compromise with the world, which some professors of religion are attempting to make, we shall aim to show that there is nothing in piety to curtail our true felicity; but, on the contrary, that she bestows a glorious equivalent for all the self-denials which she lays upon her disciples. Too often is this feature of our religion overlooked; and hence the incorrect judgement which is sometimes formed of its influence upon the happiness of man.

Religion is viewed by the unreflecting son and daughter of pleasure, as a stern and forbidding monster, who wears an iron visage, and holds in his hand a rod of anger; who comes to