hastening away from a region, where, according to the supposition, no sun-light falls upon his path, nor fragrant flower blooms to enliven it; but where every step is planted with thorns to pierce his feet as he explores his melancholy way to the promised rest.

Whilst such is the picture of a life of piety which fills the imagination of the gay world, their own path, they would have us understand, is one perpetual series of delights. It is implied in their allegation, that no shadows fall around their paradise, nor a thorn obtrudes from that bed of roses on which they profess to recline. We shall not stop here to settle the question-how far these scenes are a mere fancy sketch, nor at present disallow the claim to happiness which the pleasurist and worldling prefer. If they can, in the sincerity of their souls, affirm that these pleasures make them as happy as they desire to be, we shall not just now put any questions, nor make any appeals with a view to overshadow so agreeable a prospect.

The aim of the writer is rather, to vindicate piety from an unjust aspersion, viz., that she robes her followers in gloom and sadness. That she makes them serious we do not deny; but there is a wide difference between sobriety and melancholy. Sobriety is not opposed to cheerfulness, though it is to levity. Cheerfulness abounds every where in the works of God; but levity no where, except in the bosom and on the countenance of the thoughtless; and there, it is not the legitimate expression of God's image, but the evidence and the effervescence of sin. The lark is cheerful, as it mounts from its grassy nest, and soars away to the heavens, singing as it goes. Cheerful also, is the summer morning, revealing its glad scenery, as the rising sun gilds one feature after another of the landscape. Nature in all this, has a lesson for man. She teaches him that piety, in inculcating cheerfulness, whilst she rebukes levity, is but a faithful response to her own emphatic instructions.

They mistake, depend upon it, who interpret

a serious face as the index of a heavy heart. It is excessive mirth that leaves the heart sad; since, in this latter case, the depression which invariably succeeds, is but the re-payment which nature demands for violence done to her moral powers.

We might enlarge on this point, and show that the perpetual draft which the pleasurist makes on the excitability of the physical constitution is directly adverse to happiness, if not destructive of health; and, on the other hand, we could easily make it appear, that the serenity and composure of the Christian-misnamed gloom and melancholy-are in unison with the physical improvement as well as the moral condition of man. It was on this principle, doubtless, that our Savior said, "Blessed are the meek for they shall inherit the earth.” It might in this way be proved that, upon striking the balance of mere physical happiness between the serious Christian and the gay, unthinking child of levity, there would be a decided advantage in favor of the former.

Thus it appears that piety is not to be blamed for making her friends and followers serious, if thereby she make them happier. Let her not again be accused of making them gloomy. Religion make the soul gloomy! O, there is nothing but this in the wide universe which can really dispel its gloom. If the heart be heavy and sad from the burden of temporal affliction, or from the pressure of conscious guilt, where can it find a remedy but in religion? You may take that burdened heart to the haunts of pleasure, and try to enliven it by sallies of wit, by the fascinations of beauty, or by the excitement of the revel. Vain will be your attempt. You are not allaying-you are only aggravating the disorder. There is but one influence which can effectually reach and relieve that heart, or drive from that anxious countenance its look of deep despondency. Religion can do it. It is her province alone to medicate the wounds of our disordered nature, and to send the glow of spiritual health through the soul. And when she comes to perform her

work of love and mercy, she first, like her great Author, enters the polluted temple of the heart, and with a scourge, drives out the intruder, and then consecrates it by her presence and illuminates it by her own heavenly smile.

Something, it is true, must be allowed for the varying temperaments upon which piety exerts its influence. The constitutionally lethargic man might not exhibit his piety in so alluring a light as one who by nature possesses a mirthful and elastic mind. But even in the former, a close observer will discover an attractive gleam which the Sun of righteousness has flung upon the native dulness of the character; whilst in the latter, the excessive buoyancy is chastened into a reasonable and happy flow of spirits. But in all, the influence of piety is to spread cheerfulness over the soul; and, by giving it the hopes and prospects of heaven, to introduce into it some of its anticipated joys.