him for his self-forgetfulness; for the warmth of his love of the truth; for the accuracy of his discriminations; for the purity and elegance of his mind; for the candid, docile receptivity of his soul; for the elevation and ardor of his devotion to God. Knowing the instability of all human excellence, I have sometimes visited him with some slight fear that I might find the ardor of his spirituality abated. My fear has invariably been dispelled by the delightful discovery that, "like the rapt seraph that adores and burns," he was still, and more than ever, enthralled with the beauty of holiness; more than ever bent on honoring God with heart, soul, mind, and strength.

Here is C. D. I fancy I hear you say, I love her, because she is pure in heart; free from passion and from prejudice; a lover of truth and goodness for their own sake. She is decidedly and completely intellectual. I believe she is spiritually minded. I am sure she is unworldly, in so far as seeking anything for herself goes. I am sure she is unselfish. She has just sensibility, based upon a sound understanding and good sense. She is truly benevolent, and her benevolence is prompt, comprehensive, and apt. To gentleness and refinement she joins force of character. The "tone of soul" is always audible;

and her decided talent never overshadows her feminine delicacy. She is, also, extremely beautiful. You will observe that her dark eyes, with all their brilliancy of intelligence and vivacity of sensibility, are without a gleam of unsubdued temper, or of ungoverned passion. You add, repeated analysis of my affection for her brings me uniformly to the same result; namely, that I am bound to her, not by any one or several super-eminent excellences, but, rather, by a transparent purity and delicacy which pervades and illuminates her every characteristic. Her attractiveness is like that of truth and goodness; or, I may say with reverence, it is of the unchanging excellence of God himself, since he has imparted it to her. And so I find that my delight in her is but slightly affected by presence or absence It is not necessary to the maintenance of my affection that I should see her often, or at all; still less would it suffer abatement from the termination of her mortal life.

Doubtless, to many persons of impulsive temperament, a sensibility to the excellence of others, so reasonable and so controlled as this, would seem to fail of foreshadowing their idea of the happiness of heaven. They would probably account it little more or better than a mere

intellectual complacency. To their apprehension, any sensibility to the beauty or the excellence of our fellow-creature, worthy to be regarded as a foretaste of heavenly felicity, should amount to an intense and passionate attachment. But this, though apparently the general impression of mankind, so our literature would indicate, is, nevertheless, a most mistaken impression. These passionate attachments, which, for the majority of men and women, have so great a charm, are almost of necessity founded in ignorance and inexperience, and awakened only by the incomplete in the incomplete. They are often and aptly enough described, as being "completely carried away with" him or her. Thus, A. B. is said to be "completely carried away," or "bewitched," with C. D. The very phraseology indicates an abandonment of reason and good sense. Such attachments forbid the hope of rational advantage and improvement now, and are eminently hostile to all rational and scriptural anticipations of heavenly happiness. A feverish, irrational, insane attachment, however congenial it may be to man as he now is, contains no foreshadowing of heavenly happiness. And it is, in part, precisely because man lends himself so readily to the influence of such attachments, that

he finds no considerable attraction in faithful pictures of the happiness of heaven. The causes, or shall I say the occasions, of these inordinate attachments, are easily indicated. I would name, first, a want of sensibility. The majority of mankind are not susceptible to the finer grades of excellence. Secondly, heedlessness, and want of observation. Some who are capable of seeing an excellence when pointed out to them, totally fail of noticing what is not thus thrust upon them. Thirdly, impatience, or want of self-control. Many men rush to a conclusion with a hop, skip, and a jump. They plume themselves,

it

may be, upon reading character, as singers read music, at sight. Fourthly, want of elementary knowledge, including self-knowledge; and, consequently, in the fifth place, want of discrimination. Little rills of benevolence, which are no more than the extemporaneous effluence of a summer shower, they mistake for perennial streams from a living fountain. A truly cultivated, sound, and well-balanced mind has that sensibility which demands symmetry and universal excellence. When first subjected to the influence of any decidedly good characteristic, it receives a strong impression, and hails gladly every promise of excellence. But, like the well

trimmed ship, which leaps to welcome the first salutation of a freshening breeze, it throws itself back upon its own long-tried element for reassurance, then springs to the offered alliance, and, in the end, nicely adjusts its largest receptivity to the full power of the favoring gale. It cannot permit itself to be greatly affected by the transient influence of a single impulse, but is willing to surrender itself to the average persuasion of the permanent characteristics.

A passionate attachment, clearly, is a heated, excited attachment. It is a furious conflagration of wood, hay, and stubble. The qualities which command the admiration, and permanently secure the love, of a noble mind, are not of this sort. He may appreciate, as completely as another, any one or more of those qualities which so influence his fellow-men; but he is the master, not the slave, of his passions. In the midst of the keenest enjoyment, he will not part with self-control; and therefore the affection which is drawn from his soul, runs little risk of being repressed by unexpected discoveries. He takes the measure of his object; he knows its true value; he discerns its relations, and accords to it its just claims. He does not allow beauty or wit, learning, wealth, or grace, to cajole or blind him. And, however