no man can see the workings of my passions, or estimate the difficulty which I find in preserving agreeable appearances. When I consider, too, how incompetent are many of the judges of my character, how subject are my friends to prejudice, and the multitude to blind admiration, I cannot but fear, lest I should appreciate too highly a reputation, which is built upon the ignorance of some, and the prejudice of others of my fellow

creatures.

Another consideration, which ought to diminish our desire of human estimation, is the excessive uncertainty of the favor of the world. It is uncertain, because it may be lost by our own inadvertencies. The fair character, which years may have been polishing and whitening, may be blasted in a moment of imprudence. The proud reputation of talents or of wit, may be lost in an hour of forgetfulness, of weakness, or of low spirits. Nay more, the monument of our fame may tumble over in an instant, even by our rash endeavours to build it too high. How often has a trifling mistake, or a casual impropriety, precipitated a popular idol from his seat in the admiration of the multitude. We may lose our reputation by our ignorance, indeed, more easily than by our fault. But even if we were in no danger from ourselves, if we were sure of always deserving the credit which we at any time possess, consider how fickle

in itself is the opinion of mankind. They rush forever into opposite extremes. Let us, then, anticipate their changes. Let us become indifferent to them, before they become indifferent to us. The world cannot long endure to admire. Admiration is an exertion of the mind which fatigues; and even if it were as easy to continue to admire, as to love or to approve, the passion must at length be exhausted. What we look at for any length of time infallibly becomes familiar; and what has become familiar, no longer excites admiration. 'No man appears great,' says a severe moralist, 'no man appears great to his domestics.' But even if it were not the natural tendency of great worldly renown gradually to exhaust itself, yet when we consider, how many are envious of eminence which they cannot reach, and how many hate the goodness which they cannot imitate, when we consider that thousands, whose favorable opinion would not enhance our reputation, are yet able to blast it in a moment by falsehood, by treachery, or insinuation, let us sit loose to the opinion of the world, and seek the honor that cometh from God only.

We have seen, that this regard to human estimation, though a principle of universal, I had almost said, infinite influence, is confined to very narrow limits in the gospel of Christ. Is there nothing, then, provided to supply the place of so

powerful an agent in the formation of human character? Is there nothing left to awaken the ambition of the Christian, to rouse him from sloth and universal indifference, to call forth the energies of his mind, and to urge him forward in the career of holiness? Yes; if we will listen to the language of an apostle, whose history proclaims that his passions were not asleep, that his emulation was not quenched by the profession of Christianity, and whose spirit ever glowed with a most divine enthusiasm; I say, if we listen to him, we shall find that there is enough to stimulate all the faculties of the soul, and finally to satiate the most burning thirst of glory. Yes, my friends, eye hath not seen, nor ear heard, nor hath it entered into the heart of man to conceive, the things which God has prepared for them that love him. Yes, my friends, our whole progress here, through all the varieties of honor and dishonor, of evil report and good report, is a spectacle to angels and to We are coming into an innumerable company of angels, and to the spirits of the just made perfect, and to Jesus, the mediator of the new covenant, and to God the judge of all. These have been the spectators of our course, and from such are we to receive glory, and honor, and immortality.

men.

Wouldst thou, then, Christian-allow me to quote an eloquent exhortation from a most pious

writer-Wouldst thou reduce this love of human estimation under just control? Rise on the wings of contemplation, until the praise and the censures of men die away upon the ear, and the still small voice of conscience is no longer drowned by the din of this nether world. Here the sight is apt to be occupied with earthly objects, and the hearing to be engrossed with earthly sounds; but there shalt thou come within the view of that resplendent and incorruptible crown, which is held forth to thy acceptance in the realms of light, and thine ear shall be regaled with heavenly melody. Here we dwell in a variable atmosphere; the prospect is at one time darkened by the gloom of disgrace, and at another, the eye is dazzled by the gleamings of glory; but thou hast now ascended above this inconstant region; no storms agitate, no clouds obscure the air, and the lightnings play and the thunders roll beneath thee.'*

* Wilberforce.

ACCOUNT OF JUGGERNAUT,

A HINDO0 IDOL.

BUCHANAN.

I HAVE returned home from witnessing a scene which I shall never forget. At twelve o'clock of this day, being the great day of the feast, the Moloch of Hindoostan was brought out of his temple amidst the acclamations of hundreds of thousands of his worshippers. When the idol was placed on his throne, a shout was raised by the multitude, such as I had never heard before. It continued equable for a few minutes, and then gradually died away. After a short interval of silence, a murmur was heard at a distance; all eyes were turned towards the place, and behold a grove advancing. A body of men, having green branches or palms in their hands, approached with great celerity. The people opened a way for them; and when they had come up to the throne, they fell down before him that sat thereon, and worshipped. And the multitude again sent forth a voice 'like the sound of a great thunder.' But the voices I now heard, were not those of melody or of joyful acclamation; for there is no harmony in the praise of Moloch's worshippers. Their number indeed brought to my mind the countless multitude of the Revelation; but their voices gave no