own fault, turn the greatest of civil blessings into a curse!

No labour can be too unremitting, no vigilance too active, no public spirit too exalted and ardent, to preserve a constitution sound and unimpaired, which is the most glorious privilege, and the most valuable political inheritance, ever enjoyed by mankind.--

Hail, sacred Polity, by Freedom rear'd!

Hail, sacred Freedom, when by law restrain'd,
Without you what were men? a grov'lling herd,
In darkness, wretchedness, and want enchain'd.
Sublim'd by you, the Greek and Roman reign'd
In arts unrivall'd, oh! to latest days,
In Albion may your influence, unprofan'd,

To godlike wrath the gen'rous bosom raise,
And prompt the sage's love, and fire the poet's lays!

BEATTIE.

How great are the privileges of living under the British constitution!—

With grateful hearts, with joyful tongues,
To God we raise united songs,

His pow'r and mercy we proclaim:
Britons through ev'ry age shall own,
Jehovah here has fix'd his throne,

And triumph in his mighty name.
Long as the moon her course shall run,
Or man behold the circling sun,

Oh! still may God in Britain reign,
Crown her just councils with success,
With peace and joy her borders bless,

KIPPIS.

And all her sacred rights maintain! It is a sacred principle of our constitutional law, that "the king can do no wrong." Strange as this principle may appear on its first annunciation, and directly as it may appear to tend to despotism, it is, in point of fact, by its application, one of the main preservatives of public liberty and of general tranquillity. For while it is declared that the king can do nothing politically wrong, it is provided, that for all his public acts, his ministers and advisers are responsible to the nation at large, by the medium of the parliament, and of other legally constituted assemblies. Hence, whilst due respect is paid to the per

son and the character of the reigning sovereign, the propriety of his measures may be canvassed with strictness, and even with jealousy; and those popular discontents which, in more arbitrary governments, would give rise to all the horrors of a revolution, are generally allayed by the easy and simple process of a change of administration. This establishment is well adapted to the manners and character of the inhabitants. The temper of the people, like their climate, is variable and cloudy, continually exhibiting the most striking contrasts; but their principles of action, like those of their government and their religion, are permanent and fixed:

Stern o'er each bosom, reason holds her state,
With daring aims, irregularly great;

Pride in their port, defiance in their eye,
I see the lords of human kind pass by;
Intent on high designs, a thoughtful band,

By forms unfashion'd, fresh from nature's hand:
Fierce in their native hardiness of soul,

True to imagin'd right, above control,

While e'en the peasant boasts those rights to scan,
And learns to venerate himself as man.

Having thus deviated a little from the subject of the pleasures of Travelling, to speak of the blessings and privileges of the British constitution, I shall finish the digression with the following lines, from the late excellent Sir Wm. Jones, on the Constitution of a State:

What constitutes a state?

Not high-rais'd battlement or labour'd mound,
Thick wall, or moated gate;

Not cities proud, with spires and turrets crown'd,
Not bays, and broad-arm'd ports,

Where, laughing at the storm, rich navies ride;
Not starr'd and spangled courts,

Where low-bred baseness wafts perfume to pride.
No! Men, high-minded men,

Men who their duties know,

But know their rights, and, knowing, dare maintain,
Prevent the long-aim'd blow,

And crush the tyrant while they rend the chain.
These constitute a state

CHAP. XLI.

RELIGION AND VIRTUE.

When mild Religion, from above,
Descends, a sweet engaging form,
The messenger of heav'nly love,
The bow of promise in a storm!
Then guilty passions wing their flight,
Sorrow, remorse, affiction, cease;
Religion's yoke is soft and light,
And all her paths are paths of peace.
Ambition, pride, revenge, depart,
And folly flies her chast'ning rod;
She makes the humble contrite heart
A temple of the living God.
Beyond the narrow vale of time,
Where bright celestial ages roll,
To scenes eternal, scenes sublime,
She points the way, and leads the soul.
At her approach, the grave appears
The gate of paradise restor❜d;
Her voice the watching cherub hears,
And drops his double-flaming sword.
Baptiz'd with her renewing fire,

May we the crown of glory gain;
Rise when the host of heav'n expire,
And reign with God, for ever reign!

MONTGOMERY.

Religion is a source of the purest pleasures. When divested of the gloomy habiliments with which superstition has clothed her, she will answer the description given in the following lines:

Lo! a form divinely bright

Descends and bursts upon my sight,
A seraph of illustrious birth!"
Religion was her name on earth;

Supremely sweet her radiant face,
And blooming with celestial grace!
Three shining cherubs form'd her train,

COTTON.

Wav'd their light wings, and reach'd the plain : Faith, with sublime and piercing eye, And pinions fluttering from the sky; Here Hope, that smiling angel, stands, And golden anchors grace her hands; There Charity, in robes of white, Fairest and fav'rite maid of light. Religion is not only consistent with joy and cheerfulness, but is the only source from which they can steadily, though softly, flow into the human heart. It is superstition, not religion, that represents rational pleasure as incompatible with a pious and virtuous life.

Religion alone teaches man to understand his real dignity. Without it he is a poor feeble creature, absolutely lost among the innumerable host of rational and irrational, of visible and invisible, objects; an imperceptibly small particle, with which chance or fate, as it were, fills up a chasm in the immense system of nature. He exists, and he knows not why: he loves, and knows not wherefore: he has capacities and powers, and is uncertain how he ought to employ them. He seeks rest and lasting happiness, and is in a world where all is subject to change. He is dependent on a variety of chances, he is environed by numberless objects, and yet finds himself, in the midst of them, as if desolate and forlorn. At least he sees nothing before him, on which he can steadily fix, nothing that may not to-day or to-morrow be torn from him by death. And how insignificant must even his most important actions and contingencies appear to him, while he is surrounded by this darkness! His history is the history of a mole or other reptile, that comes into existence, provides for its sustenance, propagates its species, and then turns to dust. So poor, so contemptible must man appear to himself; so wretched is he, when unenlightened by Religion! But how greatly does that raise him! how great must the relations wherein he stands to the

Deity, of which he is informed by Religion, make him! Now he knows, that the supreme Being, however immense the system of things produced by his benignity and power, does not overlook him; that he knows and loves him, that he provides for him, and over-rules his destinies. Now he has a ground of hope and reliance that will not fail him. Now he has a fixed object to which he may direct his desires, his affections, his efforts. Now he cannot doubt that he is designed for loftier purposes than the inanimate and irrational creatures that surround him can attain. Religion teaches him what God has done for man, what marvellous acts of power, of wisdom, and of tenderness he has wrought in his behalf. She teaches him that God will glorify himself in him, and that he will be also glorified by him. What grand ideas, what elevated sentiments and dispositions, must this produce in him! What a value must it communicate to his existence, to his conduct, to the events of his life, to his connections with outward objects.

Man, when he considers his situation and circumstances, the frame of his body, and the endowments of his mind, cannot but be sensible of the blessings he enjoys, and the high place he holds in the creation of God. He sees the fair field of nature spread out for his walk and contemplation, his use and enjoyment. He sees every element minister to his wants or to his pleasures: he sees days and nights, times and seasons, revolve in such an order and succession as best suit his occasions. Who can behold the order, the proportion and symmetry, the colouring, the light and shades, the heights and depths, the variety and harmony, of this beauteous landscape of heaven and earth, without admiration and delight? But when he farther observes this magnificent scene subservient not only to his pleasure but also to his use, when he finds his senses refreshed by its colour and fragrance, his life supported and his wants supplied by its various productions, the winds blow, the showers descend, the seasons revolve, and the different elements uniting in their operations to promote