 what is now considered as the greatest calamity. Then, my son, we shall look back with pleasure on our present separation. But, ah my child
said he, his voice softening as he spoke,
'Tis not with tranquillity, I can bear thy loss. O my friend, my Stamford, how vain is the reliance we place on the fortitude of our minds! Can it be philosophy to bear the torture of the soul with indifference? Are the tender affections faults which a wise man ought to endeavour to overcome? Are they not, rather, the distinguishing characters of humanity, which to erase is to become worse than inanimate? I am convinced they are. The arguments of the understanding are too weak to check the flow of the heart. I feel their insufficiency. O, my boy, how

are my hopes blasted! I must grieve. Never, again, shall I delight in the sportive vivacity of my dear child. O, thou great power,
continued he, raising his hands, in an agony of passion,
I am become a blank in the universe. Misery is my lot. Remove me from this hated scene. Let me accompany my son, or restore him to me.

AFTER a little pause, growing more calm, "I thank you, my dear friend," said ne, addressing himself to me,
you sympathise with me. I am perplexed, I am bewildered in doubts. The object of my cares, of my affections, is snatched from me, and I want fortitude to sustain the loss. The scheme of providence, which I vainly thought to have comprehended, is fled, and darkness hangs over the prospect. Why are we taught to regard delicacy of sentiment and sensibility

of mind, as marks heaven's of benevolence to man? Are they not bestowed to render us more completely wretched?—to make us capable of pain, infinitely more intense than that which arises from external causes— that we may envy the happier brute? Yet, such is my state. At once deprived of my fortune, my son, and the chearing view of a benevolent first Power, I find myself seated in the midst of a dreadful void. Every support, on which my soul reposed, is removed, far from me; and I wish for annihilation to ease me from the burthen of existence.

I WAS glad to observe that the activity of his mind had not forsaken him, at this crisis, and that he was able to reason so abstractedly on the subject. I assumed the bright side of the question,

and attempted to prove him wrong
