human grandeur is to dissolve in ruin; race succeeds race; they tread awhile this mixed scene, then vanish away, and all their labours soon decay; even the time will come when this ornament of art will crumble to dust.

The deep-toned organ now bursts on my ear, and now it dies away; again it reverberates with redoubled force; now I hear the sweet voices of the choristers singing Jehovah's praise. How sweet is praise! it is the most exalted part of devotion. In praise, the soul rises with all that assurance and filial love with which children approach their parents. How sweet the song of Jesus' love! it is a theme of praise in which Abraham rejoiced, and Jesse's son touched the strings of sweetest melody; it is a song which all the saints on earth sing with gladness, and the blest in heaven sing for ever.

In the view to the east, Cheapside, the Bank of England, and the Royal Exchange, recall to the mind the accumulating power of commerce, and the great sums of wealth that lie buried from the view. Can wealth be a blessing when it is denied to the greater part of the children of God? In tracing the progress of the sons of poverty up to wealth, and the general effect it has on society, we too frequently find, that as their wealth increases their piety decreases. They assume an importance above their fellows: valuing others in proportion to their possessions. They despise and contemn others who are

not as rich as themselves. Therefore, it need not surprise us that God, in his providence, deprives his children of this world's wealth, that they may be heirs of eternal life. The Monument commemorates that dreadful conflagration which laid London in ashes. When the whole city was in flames, the feelings of the inhabitants must have been agonizing; they beheld their city burning, their possessions perishing, and a great portion of them perhaps had little hope of a future rest! To them it must have been the extreme of horror and despair!-a faint emblem of the wicked in the day of judgment, when the elements shall melt with fervent heat, and this terrestrial dwelling vanish from their sight. When the blackness of darkness settles on their souls at the fiat of that awful voice, "Depart from me, ye cursed, into everlasting fire, prepared for the devil and his angels; for I was hungry, and ye gave me no meat; I was thirsty, and ye gave me no drink; I was a stranger, and ye took me not in; naked, and ye clothed me not; sick, and in prison, but ye visited me not.”

The Tower leads the mind to meditate on the times that are gone. It once was the seat of royalty, but now the depository of the instruments of death and the trophies of war. Here many a bold assertor of liberty hath been immured, and here the whimsical and cruel Henry the Eighth beheaded Anne Boleyn, his queen.

He was the first Prince in England that gave the humbling blow to proud Rome; thus shewing that the basest of men are made willing instruments in the hand of the Almighty, to perform what pleaseth him. Henry, as an individual, was an object of abhorrence and derision, but he was made the instrument of pouring out the wrath of the Almighty on the man of sin. The span of life is so short, and eternity of such duration, it must appal every thinking mind when they reflect on the havock committed on the human race by their fellow-menthat from time immemorial, war, with all its desolating train, should have existed. War breaks down all the principles of morality; destroys the accumulation of industry; and violates every principle of Christianity; it is sent a scourge on the earth, as a judgment for iniquity. London, though now the seat of peaceful industry, once was the site of turmoil and war; her citizens strengthened the hands of her governors, until tyrannic sway raised their arms to hurl the tyrant from his seat. The great physical power in the immediate site of government makes the citizens of London an object of desire or dread to their Princes.

The scenes of civil discord are now passed away, and none can deprive the sons of industry of the fruits of their labour by violence, without subjecting themselves to punishment. How happy the peaceful scene! there arts and science flourish,

and the combination of industry accumulates wealth, and wealth stimulates to industry.

Close by the Mint dwell the exiles of Palastine, far from the tombs of their fathers in Canaan's land. Their appearance bespeaks poverty and meanness, and their physiognomy betrays them amid London's fair citizens; the wrath of offended Heaven hath lowered in their countenance ever since they shed the innocent blood on Calvary's mount; they are living witnesses to the truth of prophecy, and that Shiloh is come. The sceptre was not to depart from Judah, nor a lawgiver from between his feet, until Shiloh came. Where now are their lawgivers, and where their sceptre? they are scattered throughout all nations, their temple destroyed, and their daily sacrifice taken away. They no more can ascend Olivet's steep to view their holy city Jerusalem, where the tribes of Israel assembled to celebrate Jehovah's praise. Strangers now drink at Siloa's fountain, and sport themselves in the valley of Jehosaphat. O Israel! many a heart hath bled for you; Jesus wept over your city at the prospect of the final desolation that hath come upon you, and his disciples lamented your blindness, not to see that Shiloh is come. Turn, O turn, sons of Jacob, turn to the Consolation! he alone is able to free you from bondage, and to place you amongst the princes of his people. As the Messiah in humble state, as the Father's servant he hath already

appeared, and he will again appear in triumph. That same Jesus who ascended from Mount Olivet in presence of his disciples, and who was received up into heaven, shall, in like manner, descend surrounded with thousands of angels; but who may abide the day of his coming? Who shall be able to stand the sudden apparition of his glory? for he comes not, like the babe of Bethlehem, to suffer, and to die for the sins of his people, but he comes in judgment, seated on a throne supernal, to judge the living and the dead. Bethlehem's Hospital brings to remembrance the impotency of man when left to the ravings of a disordered imagination. Insanity, dreadful malady! to be deprived of the glorious light of reason, which guides man in all the affairs of life, and, when enlightened by the word of God, makes choice of an eternal portion in the heavens. Deprived of this light, man is but little elevated above the brute creation; he is incapable of pursuing any system for his own good, or that of others. The poor maniac, stretched on the lonely couch of sorrow, spends his time in melancholy ravings of fancied happiness or ideal greatness; a great portion of them suppose themselves to be people of distinction. Might not this insanity be traced to pride, and should it not be an awful warning to others to beware of so dangerous a disposition? The constant indulgence of it renders mankind unable to meet the shocks of