Shall own the best of human blessings lie,
In the chaste honors of the nuptial tie.

There dwells the home-felt sweet, the dear

delight,

There peace reposes, and there joys unite.
And female virtue was by heav'n design'd,
To charm, to polish, and to bless mankind.

That chastity is not the only virtue of woman, is most certain; but still it is so essential to the perfection of every other virtue in her, that the loss, or want of it, like the sin of idolatry among the Israelites, weakens the force, and takes off the merit of them, imprinting such a stain upon the soul, as sullies every emanation of it.

This virtue of chastity, has ever been esteemed so inseparably necessary to every character, particularly the female character, that every civilized people in the world have guarded it with the greatest care.

So dear to heaven is saintly chastity,
That when a soul is found sincerely so,
A thousand livery'd angels lacquey her;
Driving far off each sign of sin and guilt,
And in clear dreams and solemn vision,
Tell her of things that no gross ear can hear,
Till of converse with heavenly visitants,
Begin to cast and teem on the outward shape
The unpolluted temple of the mind,

And turn'd it by degrees to the soul's essence, 'Till all be made immortal.

The chaste mind, like a polished plane, may admit foul thoughts, without receiving their tincture.

Chastity is a purity of thought, word and

action.

CHEERFULNESS.

I LOOK on cheerfulness as on the health of virtue.

Fair as the dawn of light! auspicious guest; Source of all comforts to the human breast! Depriv'd of thee, in sad despair we moan, And tedious roll the heavy moments on.

Cheerfulness, even to gaiety, is consistent with every species of virtue and practice of religion. I think it inconsistent only with impiety or vice.-The ways of heaven are pleasantness. We adore, we praise, we thank the Almighty, in hymns, in songs, in anthemsand those set to music too. Let "O be joyful," be the Christian's psalm--and leave the sad Indian to incant the devil with tears and screeches. It is this true sense of religion that has rendered my whole life so cheerful

as it has ever so remarkably been,-to the great offence of your religionists. Though why, prithee, should priests be always so grave? Is it so sad a thing to be a parson?

Be ye as one of these, saith the Lord,~ The that is, as merry as little children. Lord loveth a cheerful giver-and why not a cheerful taker also? Plato and Senecaand surely they were wise enough to have been consecrated-thought that a sense of cheerfulness and joy should ever be encoura ged in children, from their infancy-not only on account of their healths, but as productive of true virtue.

COMPASSION.

IT is certainly, methinks, a sort of enlargement of our very selves, when we enter into the ideas, sensations and concerns of our brethren; by this force of their make, men are insensibly hurried into each other; and by a secret charm we lament the unfortunate, and rejoice with the glad, for it surely is not possible for the human heart to be averse to any thing that is humane; but by the very mien and gesture of the joyful and distressed, we rise and fall into their condition and ; since joy is communicative, 'tis reasonable that grief should be contagious, both which

are felt and seen at a look, for one man's eyes are spectacles to another to read his heart. Those useful and honest instruments do not only discover objects to us, but make ourselves also transparent; for they, in spite of dissimulation, when the heart is full, will brighten into gladness, or gush into tears; from the foundation in nature is kindled that noble spark of celestial fire, we call charity or compassion, which opens our bosoms, and extends our arms to embrace all mankind, and by this it is that the amorous man is not more suddenly melted with beauty, than the compassionate man with misery.

Ah little think the gay licentious proud, Whom pleasure, power, and affluence surround;

They, who their thoughtless hours in giddy mirth,

And wanton, often cruel, riot waste;

Ah! little think they while they dance along,
How many feel this very moment, death,
And all the sad variety of pain-

How many sink in the devouring flood,
Or more devouring flame.-How many bleed,
By shameful variance betwixt man and man—
How many pine in want, and dungeon glooms;
Shut from the common air, and common use
Of their own limbs-How many drink the

cup

Of baleful grief, or eat the bitter bread

Of misery-Sore pierc'd by wintry winds,
How many shrink into the sordid hut
Of cheerless poverty--How many shake
With all the fiercer tortures of the mind,
Unbounded passion, madness, guilt, remorse,
Whence, tumbled headlong from the heights
of life,

They furnish matter for the tragic muse-
Even in the vale where wisdom loves to dwell,
With friendship, peace, and contemplation
join'd,

How many, rack'd with honest passions, droop In deep retir'd distress--How many stand Around the death-bed of their dearest friends, And point the parting anguish. Think, fond

man,

Of these, and all the thousand nameless ills,
That one incessant struggle, render life,
One scene of toil, of suffering, and of fate.
Vice in his high career, would stand appall'd
And heedless, rambling impulse learn to
think;

The conscious heart of charity would warm,
And its wide wish Benevolence dilate;
The social tear would rise, the social sigh;
And into clear perfection, gradual bliss,
Refining still the social passions, work.

By compassion we make others' misery our own; and so by relieving them, we at the same time relieve ourselves.

Some, who are reduced to the last extrém