This change is not only to be lamented, as productive of miseries which man was not made to suffer, but as destructive of that pure and reasonable devotion, which the love of nature was intended to inspire.

Was it not intended that this love should lead us to the adoration of God? Why then are his works so formed for admiration and delight? Why then such order, such beauty, such proportion in every part of the creation? Why is the eye delighted with variety of colouring, and why are light and shade so admirably mingled to produce that variety? Why are our senses affected by fragrance or beauty, by symmetry or magnificence? Why do we rejoice to behold the glories of a rising or a setting sun? and why do we feel an awful kind of pleasure, when we behold the expanse of heaven covered with innumerable stars? The reason is obvious: the God of nature formed our senses to be affected by these objects, that, under the influence of love and admiration, we might learn to adore the wisdom that created them.

Since then the contemplation of the visible works of Providence seems to have been intended as a motive to rational devotion, we should do well to allot some time for exercises

of this nature, and accompany the Patriarch at eventide to meditate in the field.

To indulge this contemplative disposition must be more immediately necessary for those whose lives roll in the circle of fashionable dissipation; who seem to think that the only end of their being is amusement, and have not the least idea of those indispensible duties, by which they are bound either as sociable or as dependent creatures.

Did they sometimes meditate on the works of eternal wisdom, and soberly consider the end of their existence, would they conclude it to be the proper employment of a rational creature to divide its life between dress and dancing, between sleep and play; to fly from one amusement to another, while art has any new expedient to flatter luxury, and while the invention of poverty can administer to the wants of wealth?

Did they ever contemplate the wisdom of that Being who gave them life, could they suppose that life to be given in vain? Could they conclude, that a soul which can conceive the perfections of its Creator, and which bears a shadow of those perfections in itself, should be created for no nobler purpose than an insect-to flutter awhile in the sunshine of festivity, and be no more?

Did they suspend the pursuit of pleasure to consider the social duties of man, would they suppose that the world was furnished only for their particular entertainment; and that they had no other connections with, or engagements to, their fellow-creatures, than as they were necessary to their ease or amusement; to contribute to their luxury, or gratify their pride? Would they not soon be convinced, that those who have the greatest share of this world's goods are but more distinguished servants of the community; and the greater the power that has been committed to them, the more laborious must be their service, and the more extensive their charge?

Did they reflect on the duties of a dependent creature, would they not perceive the strong obligations which must bind a created being to the Author of its existence? Would they not conclude, that if acts of worship are the only offerings we are capable of making our supreme Creator, it is at least our duty not to neglect those? But when they were informed, that the particular acts of obedience which God expected from them, in return for their creation and preservation, were to do justly, to love mercy, and to walk humbly with respect to him; would they not, in those precepts, be struck with a general idea of their

duty, both religious and social, and be convinced that the latter was founded on the former?

Such reflections as these are certainly proper for beings that are born to be accountable for the life that is lent them: but how seldom do we yield admission to such reflections as these! The world, the insinuating world, has the art of engrossing our attention: its objects still prevail, however insignificant; nor is it sufficient that we have been once deceived: the cheat is still practised upon us; we are again disappointed, yet we embrace it again.

It is, therefore, convenient that we should sometimes retire from a scene of danger and dissipation; retire with Isaac into the field, and meditate.

Man, indeed, was not made for perpetual solitude; his powers, his dependences, all declare against it; but occasionally to leave the business and the tumult of society, to retire into himself, and to commune with his own heart, whether with the prophet in his chamber, or with the patriarch in the field, is not only expedient, but even necessary.

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There is scarce any task so unwelcome to

us as the review of our own minds, and

hence it is that we are in general so little acquainted with the state of them. Our inclinations change insensibly, and the heart takes a different bias by imperceptible degrees; insomuch that when we come to compare our present conduct with what was our manner of life a few years ago, we are surprised to observe the difference, because we attended not to the progressive change of our sentiments and dispositions.

For this reason, we ought, by frequent meditation, to examine the state of our minds, to enquire how we stand affected to the great branches of our duty, by placing them respectively in view; but more particularly to make it our question, whether we are sensible of that pious gratitude to our Creator, which is the first and best foundation of religious obedience.

Enquiries these are that demand the hour of privacy and recollection, when the passions are all obedient to the understanding, and even self-interest and self-love submit to the search of truth.

Then let us summon our hearts to the trial, when their specious advocates are at a distance; when they can derive no confidence from the flattering presence of worldly