Every other species of uneasiness may be traced up to its source: and to the loss of friends, property, health, &c., we may charge home the blame of the grief which oppresses us: but this unassignable one, which has its roots in the hidden and inaccessible regions of the soul, as entirely defies our attempts at its relief, as it does our endeavours at investigation into its cause. And whilst it is an evil under which ancient and modern minds have alike groaned, it has as much baffled the enlightened minds of the present day, as it did those of the most learned sages of the past! Does it not indeed seem strange, that when all inferior animals have a provision given them, quite adequate to the extent of their wants and capacities of enjoyment, that man, the noblest of them all, should be left apparently destitute of one suitable for his highest faculties? and which, left unappeased, pours disrelish upon all inferior enjoyments within his reach: and that, except by descending from the lofty pedestal on which nature has placed him, and lowering the high powers and aspirings of his mind to a level with that of the beasts which perish, confining himself solely to the exercise of those appetites and passions which he shares in common with them; preying, for instance, upon the weaker of their species, or waging war upon his own, or plunging into sensuality, experiencing, meanwhile, the worm of dissatisfaction and disgust at his

heart's core, he cannot find room for the exercise of his powers, or food for the cravings of his nature. And even when he ascends into the purer atmosphere of intellectual pursuits, whence is it that he finds them even more signally fail in realising his expectations? One acquirement after another failing to satisfy his desires, and only leaving a more aching void than before, the bitterness of disappointment being enhanced from their having approached more nearly to the fulfilment of his hopes. St. Augustine has given us a reason, which, as far as it goes, is satisfactory: "Thou hast made us for thyself, and our soul is restless until it resteth in thee," says he, appealing to his Maker. "My heart and my flesh crieth out for the living God," is the feeling of the soul, that, like the dove sent out of the ark, has flitted over the unquiet ocean of life, and, finding no place of repose, longs for a resting-place "in the bosom of her Father and her God."

But whence is it, then, that when the soul feels these intense longings after a higher and fuller bliss than earth can afford, and which it is persuaded that nothing but proximity to its Maker can bestow, that when it flees thither, as to "the haven where it would be," it is incapable of reaching it, or returns as if repulsed, and when the hour arrives for it to draw near to God, it is oppressed with such a deepfelt sense of inability for the holy exercise, that, like

the flying-fish out of water, it is unable to sustain its flight, but sinks immediately into the grosser element of the flesh, though attracted by an unseen magnet above, and repelled from below by the unsatisfactory nature of all earth's enjoyments? Nay, that not only an inability, but a positive repugnance to the task is felt by all who cannot, like the formalist, rest contented with mere lip-service, but seek to worship the Father of their spirits in spirit and in truth; who are too painfully conscious, that whilst in all other occupations in which they engage, that present any object of interest, they have but to follow nature in pursuing it, in this they must force nature to accomplish it, though it is one undeniably of more importance to us than any other, including both the interests of time and eternity; for whenever the opportunity of solitary intercourse with their Maker arrives, unlike the fabled waters of old, that shrank back from the lips of Tantalus, our minds shrink back from the living waters which flow to our lips. If we try to account for this, by affirming that this repugnance is felt only by those whose minds are alienated from God by the wickedness that is in them, and whose consciences, testifying thus against them, recoil from the all-searching eye of Heaven, we have but to watch the feelings of a little child, unsoiled yet by any deadly sin, and unregenerated by the Spirit of God; and, however we

may try to convince it, it is a good thing to draw nigh to God, that it has no cause to fear him, and every reason to love and praise him, a remnant of the old Adam in his breast speaks a truer language to him than all our reasonings, and the wandering eye, the restless body, the distracted attention, will convince us "the way of man is not in him." It is neither according to his nature, nor agreeable to his feelings, to hold converse with his God. And how can we account for the fact, that in all recorded manifestations of the Deity, in whatever form he has been pleased to appear to man, in place of that elation of mind, that exuberance of joy, we should expect upon such an occasion, man sinks to the earth, as if crushed beneath the weight of the very glory he had invoked perhaps to behold. And "now mine eye seeth thee; wherefore I abhor myself, and repent in dust and ashes," bursts from his lips. That the wicked, who drink in iniquity like water, should cry out, "Depart from us, for we desire not the knowledge of thy ways," can excite no surprise ; but that the excellent of the earth should have been thus always overwhelmed, demands explanation. That they who have their portion in this life, and who, from the ignorance that is in them, and the degradation to which their corrupt habits have sunk them, should be contented to feed on husks fit only for the swine to eat, and should feel none of this

mental uneasiness and vacuity of soul, is no explanation why minds of a superior class, attempting, apparently, more perfectly to fulfil the high behests of their being, should be left destitute of the power of doing so, and without a provision sufficient to its accomplishment.

But what we have at present in view, is not merely to state that these things are so, which is a truth so palpably evident to men's senses that few will deny it; but to inquire and explain the reason why they are so, in dependence on the assistance of God.

Scripture in

It was not always thus with man! forms us, which is the only authority entitled or enabled to explain the truth to us, the reversed position man now occupies in the scale of creation

is

very different from that in which he was originally installed, and for which he was originally intended, till his own act and deed displaced him from it. This avowed defect in his nature to fulfil the purposes of his high destiny, is very opposite to that state of healthful vigour and moral aptitude for their performance, with which he was plentifully endued, when, placed at the head of creation, he stood as the high priest of nature, to offer up her spiritual sacrifices of praise and prayer to the Almighty, and audibly to interpret her dumb voice of gratitude to him for all his mercies and goodness: