feel it." Do you not find at times, that you also want an infinite object for the affections, which shall yield, not drops to tantalize, but ever-flowing streams to satisfy; a fountain, a "river of life, clear as crystal?" Hear then the words, listen to the invitation of the prophet, "Ho, every one that thirsteth, come ye to the waters; and he that hath no money, come ye, buy wine and milk without money and without price. Wherefore do ye spend money for that which is not bread, and your labour for that which satisfieth not? Hearken diligently unto me, and eat ye that which is good, and let your soul delight itself in fatness." Isaiah, lv. 1, 2. Clementine was never happy amidst all she had, or hoped for, till she complied with this invitation, till she opened her heart to the enjoyment of religion; and then she found rest and peace for her spirit, and hungered and thirsted no more. But her short history proves the vanity of the world in another point of view, by impressing us with the transient and precarious tenure of its possessions. The experience of all the parties in this painful event concur in teaching the uncertainty of the best and brightest hopes. If we turn to the bereaved father, we see him standing on the very pinnacle of human glory, yet suddenly followed and wrapt, even there, with a cloud so dark and dense as to render nothing visible to him but the gloomy shadow that had fallen upon his prospect; and we hear him at the very time when a nation, proud of his name, was laying the tribute of its homage at his feet, giving vent to the sorrows of his bursting heart in those few and bitter words, "I was a father, but have lost all," What did he not hope for from his Clementine, the last, the most beautiful and promising of his children? O what a wreck was made when she died! What blissful anticipations hung withering like fading flowers, upon her sepulchre, or were interred in her coffin! Earth presented little to interest him, when he saw this angel daughter take wing and flee to heaven: and after he had gazed and lost her in the cloud which received her out of his sight, who can wonder, that as he looked upon her vacant seat in his own house, he should mournfully exclaim, "Vanity of vanities, all is vanity." Nor was his the heaviest loss, the deepest emphasis of wo, the sharpest pang of disappointment. There was one whose love was more tender, and whose hope was more fondly eager than even that of a father; one who was so soon to receive her as his lovely bride, and call her the companion of his life, the sharer and ornament of his home, the mother and instructer of his children, the comfort and counsellor of his spirit, amidst the sorrows and difficulties of his earthly pilgrimage; whose seraphic piety was to aid him in his heavenward course, and who perhaps would attend him as his ministering angel in the dark valley of the shadow of death. O! for him to have her snatched from his embrace almost before the altar, when she was so soon to be united with him in the bonds of wedded love! What a mockery of earthly expectations was here! What a proof of the vanity of the world, and the delusive nature of its prospects and of its promises was this! And then, think of Clementine herself. Whose opening scenes of life could be more flattering than hers? The morning was at length calm and beautiful, the sky serene and clear; the mists, which at one time had arisen, had vanished, and left an unclouded sun to shine upon her path. Every thing invited hope, and every thing seemed to support and justify the fondest anticipations : But mortal pleasure, what in truth art thou? On a sudden a storm arose, and the aspect of every thing was changed A mortal sickness came upon her, and from the bed of death she beheld the dark fogs gather and settle upon the prospect; she saw the enchanting scenes which had so lately spread out in vernal beauty before her, sink one after the other into the deepening gloom; she witnessed the preparation of her nuptials, exchanged for those of her funeral obsequies, and contemplated nought, so far as earth is concerned, but the cemetery occupying the field of vision! So uncertain, and therefore so vain, are the promises, so deceptive the smiles of the world! O who would hang their best and fondest hopes on the brittle thread of life? Who that is wise will stake their chief happiness on a beating pulse? "The voice |