the eternity of its duration, has, I think, been evinced to almoft a demonftration,

Secondly, from its paffions and fentiments; as, particularly, from its love of exiftence; its horror of annihilation; and its hopes of immortality; with that fecret fatisfaction which it finds in the practice of virtue; and that uneafinefs which follows upon the commiffion of vice.

Thirdly, from the nature of the Supreme Being, whofe juftice, goodness, wifdom, and veracity, are all concerned in this point.

But among thefe, and other excellent arguments for the immortality of the foul, there is one drawn from the perpetual progrefs of the foul to its perfection, without a poffibility of ever arriving at it: which is a hint that I do not remember to have feen opened and improved by others, who have written on this fubject, though it seems to me to carry a very great weight with it. How can it enter into the thoughts of man, that the foul, which is capable of fuch immenfe perfections, and of receiving new improvements to all eternity, fhall fall away into nothing, almoft as foon as it is created? Are fuch abilities made for no purpose? A brute arrives at a point of perfection, that he can never país; in a few years he has all the endowments he is capable of; and were he to live ten thousand more, would be the fame thing he is at prefent. Were a human foul thus at a stand in her accomplishments; were her faculties to be full blown, and incapable of farther enlargements; I could imagine the might fall away infenfibly, and drop at once into a state of annihilation. can we believe a thinking being, that is in a perpetual progrefs of improvements, and travelling on from perfection to perfection, after having juft looked abroad into the works of its Creator, and made a few difcoveries of his infinite goodnefs, wisdom, and power, must perish at her first setting out, and in the very beginning of her inquiries?

But

A man, confidered only in his prefent ftate, feems fent into the world merely to propagate his kind. He provides himself with a fucceffor; and immediately quits his poft to make room for him. He does not seem born to enjoy life, but to deliver it down to others. This is not surprising to confider in animals, which are formed for our ufe, and can

finish their bufinefs in a fhort life. The filk-worm, after having fpun her tafk, lays her eggs and dies. But a man cannot take in his full measure of knowledge, has not time to fubdue his paffions, establish his foul in virtue, and come up to the perfection of his nature, before he is hurried off the ftage. Would an infinitely wife Being make fuch glorious creatures for fo mean a purpose ? Can he delight in the production of fuch abortive intelligences, fuch short lived reasonable beings? Would he give us talents that are not to be exerted? capacities that are never to be gratified? How can we find that wisdom which fhines through all his works, in the formation of man, without looking on this world, as only a nursery for the next; and without believing that the feveral generations of rational creatures, which rife up and difappear in fuch quick fucceffions, are only to receive their first rudiments of existence here, and afterwards to be tranfplanted into a more friendly climate, where they may spread and flourish to all eternity?

There is not, in my opinion, a more pleafing and triumphant confideration in religion, than this of the perpetual progrefs, which the foul makes towards the perfection of its nature, without ever arriving at a period in it. To look upon the foul as going on from ftrength to strength; to confider that he is to fhine for ever with new acceffions of glory, and brighten to all eternity; that he will be ftill adding virtue to virtue, and knowledge to knowledge; carries in it fomething wonderfully agreeable to that ambition, which is natural to the mind of man. Nay, it must be a profpect pleating to God himself, to fee his creation for ever beautifying in his eyes; and drawing nearer to him, by greater: degrees of refemblance.

Methinks this fingle confideration, of the progrefs of finite spirit to perfection, will be fufficient to extinguish all envy in inferior natures and all contempt in fuperior. That cherub, which now appears as a god to a human foul, knows very well that the period will come about in eternity, when the human foul fhall be as perfect as he himself now is : nay, when the shall look down upon that degree of perfec tion as much as fhe now falls fhort of it. It is true, the higher nature ftill advances, and by that means preferves his

distance and fuperiority in the scale of being; but he knows. that, how high foever the station is of which he stands poffeffed at prefent, the inferior nature will at length mount up to it and thine forth in the fame degree of glory.

With what aftonishment and veneration, may we look into our own fouls, where there are fuch hidden ftores of virtue and knowledge, fuch inexhausted fources of perfection! We know not yet what we shall be; nor will it ever enter into the heart of man, to conceive the glory that will be always in referve for him. The foul, confidered with its Creator, is like one of those mathematical lines, that may draw hearer to another for all eternity, without a poffibility of touching it and can there be a thought fo tranfporting, as to confider ourfelves in these perpetual approaches to HIM, who is the ftandard not only of perfection, but of happiness!

CHAP. V.

DESCRIPTIVE PIECES.

SECTION I.

The Seasons.

ADDISON.

AMONG the great bleffings and wonders of the creation, may be claffed the regularities of times and feafons. Immediately after the flood, the facred promife was made to man, that feed time and harveft, cold and heat, fummer and winter, day and night, thould continue to the very end of all things. Accordingly, in obedience to that promife, the rotation is conftantly prefenting us with fome useful and agreeable alteration; and all the pleafing novelty of life arifes from thefe natural changes: nor are we lefs indebted to them for many of its folid comforts. It has been frequently the task of the moralift and the poet, to mark, in polished periods, the particular charms and conveniences of every change; and, indeed, fuch difcriminate obfervations upon natural variety, cannot be undelightful; fince the bleffing, which every month brings along with it, is a fresh inftance of the wisdom and bounty of that Providence, which regulates the glories of the year. We glow as we contemplate; we feel a propensity to adore, whilft we enjoy. In the time

of feed fowing, it is the feafon of confidence: the grain which the husbandman trufts to the bofom of the earth fhall, haply, yield its fevenfold rewards. Spring prefents us with a scene of lively expectation. That which was before fown, begins now to discover figns of fuccefsful vegetation. The labourer obferves the change, and anticipates the harveft: he watches the progrefs of nature, and fimiles at her influence; while the man of contemplation walks forth with the evening, amidst the fragrance of flowers, and promifes of plenty; nor returns to his cottage till darkness clofes the fcene upon his eye. Then cometh the harveft, when the large wifh is fatisfied, and the granaries of nature are loaded with the means of life, even to a luxury of abundance. The powers of language are unequal to the defcription of this happy feafon.. It is the carnival of nature fun and fhade, coolnefs and quietude, cheerfulness and melody, love and gratitude, unite to render every fcene of fummer delightful. The divifion of light and darknefs is one of the kindeft efforts of Omnipotent Wisdom. Day and night yield us contrary bleffings; and, at the same time, affift each other, by giving fresh luftre to the delights of both. Amidft the glare of day, and bustle of life, how could we fleep? Amidft the gloom of darkness, how could we labour?

How wife, how benignant, then, is the proper divifion ! The hours of light are adapted to activity; and thofe of darkness, to reft. Ere the day is paffed, exercise and nature prepare us for the pillow; and, by the time that the morning returns, we are again able to meet it with a fmile. Thus, every feafon has a charm peculiar to itfelf; and every moment affords fome interefting innovation.

SECTION II.

MELMOTH.

The Cataract of Niagara, în Canada, North America. THIS amazing fall of water is made by the river St. Lawrence, in its paffage from lake Erie into the lake Ontario. The St. Lawrence is one of the largest rivers in the world; and yet the whole of its waters is difcharged in this place, by a fall of a hundred and fifty feet perpendicular. It is not eafy to bring the imagination to correfpond to the greatnefs of the scene. A river extremely deep and rapid, and that

ferves to drain the waters of almost all North America into the Atlantic Ocean, is here poured precipitately down a ledge of rocks, that rifes, like a wall, across the whole bed of its ftream. The river, a little above, is near three quarters of a mile broad; and the rocks where it grows narrower, are four hundred yards over. Their direction is not ftraight acrofs, but hollowing inwards like a horfefhoe fo that the cataract, which bends to the fhape of the obftacle, rounding inwards, prefents a kind of theatre the most tremendous in nature. Juft in the middle of this circular wall of waters, a little ifland, that has braved the fury of the current, prefents one of its points, and divides the ftream at top into two parts: but they unite again long before they reach the bottom. The noife of the fall is heard at the distance of feveral leagues; and the fury of the waters at the termination of their fall, is inconceivable. The dafhing produces a mift that rifes to the very clouds; and which forms a moft beautiful rainbow when the fun fhines. It will readily be fuppofed, that such a cataract entirely defroys the navigation of the stream; and yet fome Indians in their canoes, as it is faid, have ventured down it with fafety.

SECTION III.

The Grotto of Antiparos.

GOLDSMITH.

Of all the fubterraneous caverns now known, the grotto of Antiparos is the most remarkable, as well for its extent, as for the beauty of its fparry incruftations. This celebrated cavern was first explored by one Magui, an Italian traveller, about a hundred years ago, at Antiparos, an inconfiderable ifland of the Archipelago. "Having been informed," fays he," by the natives of Paros, that, in the little ifland of Antiparos, which lies about two miles from the former, a gigantic statue was to be feen at the mouth of a cavern in that place, it was refolved that we (the French conful and himself) fhould pay it a vifit. In pursuance of this refolution, after we had landed on the ifland, and walked about four miles through the midst of beautiful plains, and floping woodlands, we at length came to a little hill, on the fide of which yawned a moft horrid cavern, that by its gloom at first ftruck us with terror, and almoft repreffed curiofity. Recov ering the first surprise, however, we entered boldly; and had