which states six years experience as follows: "admitted 6,4^0—cured 5,476- dead 234." And this I suppose nearly to agree with what other similar institutions exhibit. Now, in all these cases, fume disorder must have been, or the patients would not have applied for a remedy; yet we see how large a proportion of the maladies which were brought forward, have either yielded to proper treatment, or, what is more probable, ceased of their own accord. We owe these frequent recoveries, and, where recovery does not take place, this patience of the human constitution under many of the distempers by which it is visited, to two benefactions of our nature. One is, that she works within certain limits; allows of a certain latitude, within which health may be preserved, and within the confines of which it only suffers a graduated diminution. Different quantities of food, different degrees of exercise, different portions of sleep, different states of the armofphere, are compatible with the possession of health. So likewise is it with the secretions and excretions, with many internal functions of the body, and with the state probably of most of its internal organs. gans. They may vary considerably, not only without destroying life, but without occasioning any high degree of inconveniency. The other property of our nature to which we are still more beholden, is its constant endeavour to restore itself, when disordered, to its regular course. The fluids of the body appear to possess a power of separating and expelling any noxious substance which may have mixed itself with them. This they do, in eruptive fevers, by a kind of despumation, as Sydenham calls it, analogous in some measure to the intestine action by which fermenting liquors work the yest to the surface. The solids, on their part, when their action is obstructed, not only resume that action, as soon as the obstruction is removed, but they struggle with the impediment: they take an action as near to the true one, as the difficulty and the disorganization, with which they have to contend, will allow of.

Of mortal diseases the great use is to reconcile us to death. The horror of death proves the value of lise. But it is in the power of disease to abate, or even extinguish, this honor; which it does in a wonderful manner, and, oftentimes, by a mild and imperceptible gradation.

2 M 4 Every Every mom who has been placed in a situation to observe it, is surprised with the change which has been wrought in himself, when he compares the view which he entertains of death upon a sick bed, with the heart-sinking dismay with which he should some time ago have met it in health. There is no similitude between the sensations of a man led to execution, and the calm expiring of a patient at the close of his disease. Death to him is only the last of a long train of changes: in his progress through which, it is possi ble that he may experience no shocks or sudden transitions.

Death itself, as a mode of removal and of succession, is so connected with the whole order of our animal world, that almost every thing in that world must be changed, to be able to do without it. It may seem likewise impossible to separate the fear of death from the enjoyment of life, or the perception of that fear from rational natures. Brutes are in a great measure delivered from all anxiety on this account by the inferiority of their faculties; or rather they seem to be armed with the apprehension of death just sufficiently to put them upon the means of preservation, and no further. But would a human being wish to purchase chase this immunity by the loss of those mental powers which enable him to look forward to the future?

Death implies separation: and the loss of those whom we love must necessarily be accompanied with pain. To the brute creation, nature seems to have stepped in with some secret provision for their relief, under the rupture of their attachments. In their instincts towards their offspring, and of their offspring to them, I have often been surprised to observe, how ardently they love, and how soon they forget. The pertinacity of human sorrow (upon which time also, at length, lays its softening hand) is probably, therefore, in some manner connected with the qualities of our *' rational or moral nature. One thing however is clear, viz. that it is better that we should possess affections, the sources of so many virtues and so many joys, although they be exposed to the incidents of life, as well as the interruptions of mortality, than, by the want of them, be reduced to a state of selfishness, apathy, and quietism.

Of other external evils (still confining ourselves to what are called physical or natural evils) a considerable part come within the

scope' scope of the following observation. The great principle of human fatisfaction is engagement. It is a most just distinction, which the late Mr. Tucker has dwelt upon so largely in his works, between pleasures in which we are passive, and pleasures in which we are active. And, I believe, every attentive observer of human lise will assent to his position, that, however grateful the sensations may occasionally be in which we are passive, it is not these, but the latter class of our pleasures, which constitute fatisfaction; which supply that regular stream of moderate and miscellaneous enjoyments, in which happiness, as distinguissied from voluptuousness, consists. Now for rational occupation, which is, in other words, for the very material of contented existence, there would be no place left, if either the things with which we had to do were absolutely impracticable to our endeavours, or if they were too obedient to our uses. A world furnished with advantages on one tide, and beset with difficulties, wants, and inconveniences on the other, is the proper abode of free, rational, and active natures, being the sittest to stimulate and exercise their faculties. The very refractoriness of the objects they

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