ble bodies furnished with immortal souls-the angels have imperishable but changeable bodies, with never-dying souls—and the great Creator is a soul in its purity, unencumbered and unstained by a particle of terrestrial dust. You see by this, it is just as clear as a cod's eye that you stand upon next to the topmost round in the ladder of being, and consequently can be no very small potatoes in the sight of Omnipotence. All your superiority, then, consists in the excellence of mind over matter; that spiritual essence of vitality, one drop of which is worth more than a cart-load of the vile dross that contains it. It is this that exists uncontaminated after death, and continues fresh through the endless ages of eternity. It is this that makes man a creature of uncontrollable liberty-furnishes his thoughts with the swift pinions of light, and enables them to dart to the utmost corner of creation quicker than ever a cat licked butter. There is no such thing as checking the freedom of the mind. You may incarcerate the body in the stone jugs of the land, but the spirit knows no confinement: free as the mountain zephyr, it still sports in contemplation's fairy bowers-laves its burning lip in the fountain of imaginationscrapes fancy's frost-work from airy nothing, and flits to and fro through the vast empire of ideality, till sober Reason calls aloud: Come home, you wayward child of air-your anxious mamma calls! When floods of misfortune descend, and man's corporeal ark is drifted about on the waters of adversity, that dove of liberty, the mind, speeds heavenward its flight, and finds no rest till it returns with a sprig of comfort. It is ever active-ever on the wingand it won't stay tamed any more than a young partridge.

My hearers-when Xerxes cast the iron fetters into the roaring ocean in order to bind its wrath, it still raved on as though nothing of the kind had happened; and thus it is with the unconquerable spirit of man, when his Pharaoh is once excited to a state of effervescence. It will not stay confined within the limits of oppression; and persecution, like the shaking of a bottle of ginger pop, only arouses its vigor, and, perhaps, causes it to explode in an instant. The great Ruler of all things can alone subdue the haughty spirit of man, and render it as pliable as wax in the hands of a cobbler. By his sending down sorrow, wo, or disappointment, the mind becomes submissive, passive, and stupid, and lies as dormant in its mud-built cell as a woodchuck during the deep

gloom of winter. When the vernal sun of happiness thaws it out, eternal space is hardly wide enough for its joyful wanderings. It exalts in the glories of unqualified freedom-succumbs to the mandate of no haughty despot. Yet, I know, my friends, that there is a vast difference in the minds or natures of men. Some are mild and peaceable as lambs, while others are as uproarious and rambunctious as tigers. Some will take a latteral kick as composedly as a bag of bran, and others will shake their quilts at the bare tickle of an insinuation; but as their spirits are moulded, so they must ever remain, in spite of human admonition, instruction, or flattering. The moral and intellectual energies of a young child may receive various inclinations by early culture; but I tell you, my friends, once for all, that if he has the devil in him from the beginning, you couldn't beat it out of him if you were to spank him in the cradle, and follow him to his grave with the cudgel of retribution.

He may oftentimes be subdued, but never conquered; the real grit of his temper cannot be wholly washed out by the suds of instruction, nor dissolved by admonishing acids. If he buds a thistle, there is little hope of his blossoming a rose-and if he should, the thorns will still project from the stem after the petals have withered in the calyx. A difference exists in different individuals, and they are no more born equal than a bushel of potatoes; and all the colleges in christendom can't make them so. Chalk that down on the black side of your understandings.

My friends-if the spirit is free while the body is chained, the time will come when it will be freer still. Its habitation may crumble to dust, but it will then put on the dress of immortality, to depart for its legitimate home, and abide there for ever. It is immortal, and will live on when the linchpins are all lost from the wagon of Time, and its wheels rolled astray into the ocean of Eternity. As soon think of squirting out the sun's everlasting fire with No. 30's engine as to quench the spirit in the puddle of death. It will rise from the water unharmed-if you keep yourselves morally correct-speed its way upward, and there dry its feathers in the sunshine of eternal glory. So mote it be!

END OF VOLUME FIRST.