you might be happy forever after on condition that you would be miserable until the whole mass of sand were thus annihilated at the rate of one sand in a thousand years-which of these two cases would you make your choice? It must be confessed in this case, so many thousands of years are to the imagination as a kind | of eternity, though in reality they do not bear so great a proportion to that duration which is to follow them as a unit does to the greatest number which you can put together in figures, or as one of those sands to the supposed heap. Reason therefore tells us, without any manner of hesitation, which would be the better part in this choice. However, as I have before intimated, our reason might in such case be so overset by the imagination, as to dispose some persons to sink under the consideration of the great length of the first part of this duration, and of the great distance of that second duration which is to succeed it. The mind, I say, might give itself up to that happiness which is at hand, considering that it is so very near, and that it would last so very long. But when the choice we actually have before us is this, whether we will choose to be happy for the space of only threescore and ten, nay, perhaps of only twenty or ten years, I might say of only a day or an hour, and miserable to all eternity; or, on the contrary, miserable for this short term of years, and happy for a whole eternity: what words are sufficient to express that folly and want of consideration which in such a case makes a wrong choice? I here put the case even at the worst, by supposing, what seldom happens, that a course of virtue makes us miserable in this life: but if we suppose, as it generally happens, that virtue would make us more happy even in this life than a contrary course of vice, how can we sufficiently admire the stupidity or madness of those persons who are capable of making so absurd a choice? Every wise man, therefore, will consider this life only as it may conduce to the happiness of the other, and cheerfully sacrifice the pleasures of a few years to those of an eternity. I steer against their motions, nor am I Borne back by all the current of the sky.-ADDISON. I REMEMBER a young man of very lively parts, and of a sprightly turn in conversation, who had only one fault, which was an inordinate desire of appearing fashionable. This ran him into many amours, and consequently into many distempers. He never went to bed until two o'clock in the morning, because he would not be a queer fellow; and was every now and then knocked down by a constable to signalize his vivacity. He was initiated into half a dozen clubs before he was oneand-twenty; and so improved in them his natural gayety of temper, that you might frequently trace him to his lodgings by a range of broken windows, and other the like monuments of wit and gallantry. To be short, after having fully established his reputation of being a very agreeable rake, he died of old age at five-and-twenty. There is indeed nothing which betrays a man into so many errors and inconveniences as the desire of not appearing singular; for which reason it is very necessary to form a right idea of singularity, that we may know when it is laudable, and when it is vicious. In the first place, every man of sense will agree with me, that singularity is laudable when, in contradiction to a multitude, it adheres to the dictates of conscience, morality, and honor. In these cases we ought to consider that it is not custom, but duty, which is the rule of action; and that we should be only so far sociable, as we are reasonable creatures. Truth is nevertheless so far not being attended to: and it is the nature of actions, not the number of actors, by which we ought to regulate our behavior. Singu larity in concerns of this kind is to be looked upon as heroic bravery, in which a man leaves the species only as he soars above it. What greater instance can there be of a weak and pusillanimous temper, than for a man to pass his whole life in opposition to his own sentiments? or not dare to be what he thinks he ought to be? Singularity, therefore, is only vicious when it makes men act contrary to reason, or when it puts them upon distinguishing themselves by trifles. As for the first of these, who are singular in anything that is irreligious, immoral, or dishonorable, I believe every one will easily give them up. Í shall therefore speak of those only who are remarkable for their singularity in things of no importance; as in dress, behavior, conversation, and all the little intercourses of life. In these cases there is a certain deference due to custom; and notwithstanding there may be a color of reason to deviate from the multitude in some particulars, a man ought to sacrifice his private inclinations and opinions to the practice of the public. It must be confessed that good sense often makes a humorist; but then it unqualifies him from being of any moment in the world, and renders him ridiculous to persons of a much inferior understanding. I have heard of a gentleman in the north of England, who was a remarkable instance of this foolish singularity. He had laid it down as a rule within himself, to act in the most indifferent parts of life according to the most abstracted notions of reason and good sense, without any regard to fashion or example. This humor broke out at first in many little oddnesses: he had never any stated hours for his dinner, supper, or sleep; because, said he, we ought to attend the calls of nature, and not set our appetites to our meals, but bring our meals to our appetites. In his conversation with country gentlemen he would not make use of a phrase that was not strictly true: he never told any of them that he was his humble servant, but that he was his well-wisher; and would rather be thought a malcontent than drink the king's health when he was not dry. He would thrust his head out of his chamber window every morning, and after having gaped for fresh air about half an hour, repeat fifty verses as loud as he could bawl them, for the benefit of his lungs : to which end he generally took them out of Homer-the Greek tongue, especially in that author, being more deep and sonorous, and more conducive to expectoration than any other. He had many other particularities, for which he gave sound and philosophical reasons. As this humor still grew upon him, he chose to wear a turban instead of a periwig; concluding very justly that a bandage of clean linen about his head was much more wholesome, as well as cleanly, than the caul of a whig, which is soiled by frequent perspirations. He afterward judiciously observed, that the many ligatures in our English dress must naturally check the circulation of the blood; for which reason he made his breeches and his doublet of one continued piece of cloth, after the manner of the hussars. In short, by following the pure dic tates of reason, he at length departed so much from the rest of his countrymen, and indeed from his whole species, that his friends would have clapped him into Bedlam, and have begged his estate: but the judge being informed that he did no harm, contented himself with issuing out a commission of lunacy against him, and putting his estate into the hands of proper guardians. The fate of this philosopher puts me in mind of a remark in Monsieur Fontenelle's "Dialogues of the Dead." "The ambitious and the covetous," says he "are madmen to all intents and purposes as much as those who are shut up in dark rooms; but they have the good luck to have numbers on their side; whereas the frenzy of one who is given up for a lunatic is a frenzy hors d'oeuvre ;" that is, in other words, something which is singular in its kind, and does not fall in with the madness of a multitude. The subject of this essay was occasioned by a letter which I received not long since, and which, for want of room at present, I shall insert in my next paper. "You have so lately decried that custom, too much in use among most people, of making themselves the subjects of their writings and conversation, that I had some difficulty to persuade myself to give you this trouble, until I had considered that though I should speak in the first person, yet I could not be justly charged with vanity, since I shall not add my name: as also, because what I shall write will not, to say the best, redound to my praise, but is only designed to remove a prejudice conceived against me, as I hope, with very little foundation. My short history is this: gaged in the second book of Milton's Paradise Lost. I walked to and fro with the book in my hand; and, to speak the truth, I fear I made no little noise; when, presently coming to the following lines: -On a sudden open fly, With impetuous recoil and jarring sound, I in great transport threw open the door of my chamber, and found the greatest part of the family standing on the outside in a very great consternation. I was in no less confusion, and begged pardon for having disturbed them; addressing myself particularly to comfort one of the children who received an unlucky fall in this action, while he was too intently surveying my meditations through the keyhole. To be short, after this adventure I easily observed that great part of the family, espe cially the women and children, looked upon me with some apprehensions of fear; and my friend himself, though he still continued his civilities to me, did not seem altogether easy: I took notice that the butler was never after this accident ordered to leave the bottle upon the table after dinner. Add to this, that I frequently overheard the servants mention me by the name of the crazed gentleman, the gentleman a little touched, the mad Londoner,' and the like. This made me think it high time for me to shift my quarters, which I resolved to do the first handsome opportunity; and was confirmed in this resolution by a young lady in the neighborhood who frequently visited us, and who one day, after having heard all the fine things I was able to say, was pleased with a scornful smile to bid me 'go to sleep.' "The first minute I got to my lodgings in town, I set pen to paper to desire your opinion, whether, upon the evidence before you, I am mad or not. I can bring certificates that I behave myself soberly before company, and I hope there is at least some merit in withdrawing to be mad. Look you, Sir, I am contented to be esteemed a little touched as they phrase it, but should be sorry to be madder than my neighbors; therefore, pray let me be as much in my senses as you can afford. I know I could bring yourself as an instance of a man who has confessed talking to himself; but yours is a particular case, and cannot justify me, who have not kept silence any part of my life. What if I should own myself in love? You know lovers are always allowed the comfort of soliloquyBut I will say no more upon this subject, because I have long since observed the ready way to be thought mad is to contend that you are not so ; as we generally conclude that man drunk who takes pains to be thought sober. I will therefore leave myself to your determination; but am the more desirous to be thought in my senses, that it may be no discredit to you when I assure you that I have always been very much "I have lived for some years last past altogether in London, until about a month ago, an acquaintance of mine, for whom I have done some small services in town, invited me to pass part of the summer with him at his house in the country. I accepted his invitation, and found a very hearty welcome. My friend, an honest plain man, not being qualified to pass away his time without the reliefs of business, has grafted the farmer upon the gentleman, and brought himself to submit even to the servile parts of that employment, such as inspecting his plow and the like. This necessarily takes up some of his hours every day; and, as I have no relish for such diversions, I used at these times to retire either to my chamber or a shady walk near the house, and entertain myself with some agreeable author. Now, you must know, Mr. Spectator, that when I read, especially if it be poetry, it is very usual with me, when I meet with any passage or expression which strikes me much, to pronounce it aloud, with that tone of the voice which I think agreeable to the sentiments there expressed; and to this I generally add some motion or action of the body. It was "That your petitioners have had causes denot long before I was observed by some of the pending in Westminster-hall above five hundred family in one of these heroic fits, who thereupon years, and that we despair of ever seeing them received impressions very much to my disadvan- brought to an issue; that your petitioners have tage. This, however, I did not soon discover, nor not been involved in these lawsuits out of any should have done probably, had it not been for litigious temper of their own, but by the instigathe following accident. I had one day shut my- tion of contentious persons; that the young law self up in my chamber, and was very deeply en-yers in our inns of court are continually setting Your Admirer. "P. S. If I must be mad, I desire the young lady may believe it is for her." 66 The humble Petition of John a Nokes and "Showeth, us together by the ears, and think they do us no | for the conversation of other men; and, as he was hurt, because they plead for us without a fee; that every day more and more satisfied of the abilities many of the gentlemen of the robe have no other of this stranger, offered him the first posts in his clients in the world beside us two; that when kingdom. The young dervise, after having thanked they have nothing else to do, they make us plain- him with a very singular modesty, desired to be tiffs and defendants, though they were never re- excused, as having made a vow never to accept of tained by either of us; that they traduce, con- any employment, and preferring a free and indedemn, or acquit us, without any manner of regard pendent state of life to all other conditions. to our reputations and good names in the world. Your petitioners, therefore, being thereunto encouraged by the favorable reception which you lately gave to our kinsman Blank, do humbly pray that you will put an end to the controversies which have been so long depending between us your said petitioners, and that our enmity may not endure from generation to generation; it being our resolution to live hereafter as it becometh men of peaceable dispositions. "The king was infinitely charmed with so great an example of moderation; and though he could not get him to engage in a life of business, made him however his chief companion and first favorite. "As they were one day hunting together and happened to be separated from the rest of the company, the dervise entertained Fadlallah with an account of his travels and adventures. After having related to him several curiosities which he had "And your petitioners, as in duty bound, shall seen in the Indies, 'It was in this place,' says he, ever pray," etc. No. 578.] MONDAY, AUGUST 9, 1714. -Eque feris humana in corpora transit. Inque feras noster. OVID, Met. xv. 167. 'that I contracted an acquaintance with an old brachman, who was skilled in the most hidden powers of nature; he died within my arms, and with his parting breath communicated to me one of the most valuable of his secrets, on condition I should never reveal it to any man.' The king immediately, reflecting on his young favorite's having refused the late offers of greatness he had made him, told him he presumed it was the power And lodges where it lights in man or beast.-DRYDEN. of making gold. 'No, Sir,' says the dervise, 'it THERE has been very great reason, on several is somewhat more wonderful than that; it is the accounts, for the learned world to endeavor at set-power of reanimating a dead body, by flinging tling what it was that might be said to compose personal identity. Th' unbodied spirit flies Mr. Locke, after having premised that the word person properly signifies a thinking intelligent being that has reason and reflection, and can consider itself as itself, concludes, that it is consciousness alone, and not an identity of substance, which makes this personal identity of sameness. Had I the same consciousness," says that author, "that I saw the ark and Noah's flood, as that I saw an overflowing of the Thames last winter; or as that I now write; I could no more doubt that I who write this now, that saw the Thames overflow last winter, and that viewed the flood at the general deluge, was the same self, place that self in what substance you please, than that I who write this am the same myself now while I write, whether I consist of all the same substance, material or immaterial, or no, that I was yesterday; for as to this point of being the same self, it matters not whether this present self be made up of the same or other substances." I was mightily pleased with a story in some measure applicable to this piece of philosophy, which I read the other day in the Persian Tales, as they are lately very well translated by Mr. Phillips; and with an abridgment whereof I shall here present my readers. I shall only premise that these stories are written after the eastern manner, but somewhat more correct. Fadlallah, a prince of great virtue, succeeded his father Bin Ortoc in the kingdom of Mousel. He reigned over his faithful subjects for some time, and lived in great happiness with his beauteous consort Queen Zemroude, when there appeared at his court a young dervise of so lively and entertaining a turn of wit, as won upon the affections of every one he conversed with. His reputation grew so fast every day, that it at last raised a curiosity in the prince himself to see and talk with him. He did so; and, far from finding that common fame had flattered him, he was soon convinced that everything he had heard of him fell short of the truth "Fadlallah immediately lost all manner of relish my own soul into it.', "While he was yet speaking, a doe came bounding by them, and the king, who had his bow ready, shot her through the heart; telling the dervise, that a fair opportunity now offered for him to show his art. The young man immediately left his own body breathless on the ground, while at the same instant that of the doe was reanimated. She came to the king, fawned upon him, and, after having played several wanton tricks fell again upon the grass; at the same instant the body of the dervise recovered its life. The king was infinitely pleased at so uncommon an operation, and conjured his friend by everything that was sacred to communicate it to him. The dervise at first made some scruple of violating his promise to the dying brachman; but told him at last that he found he could conceal nothing from so excellent a prince; after having obliged him therefore by an oath to secrecy, he taught him to repeat two cabalistic words, in pronouncing of which the whole secret consisted. The king, impatient to try the experiment, immediately repeated them as he had been taught, and in an instant found himself in the body of the doe. He had but little time to contemplate himself in this new being; for the treach erous dervise, shooting his own soul into the royal corpse, and bending the prince's own bow against him, had laid him dead on the spot, had not the king, who perceived his intent, fled swiftly to the woods. "The dervise, now triumphant in his villany, returned to Mousel, and filled the throne and bed of the unhappy Fadlallah. "The first thing he took care of, in order to secure himself in the possession of his new-acquired kingdom, was to issue out a proclamation, ordering his subjects to destroy all the deer in the realm. The king had perished among the rest, had he not avoided his pursuers by reanimating the body of a nightingale, which he saw lie dead at the foot of a tree. In this new shape he winged his way in safety to the palace; where, perching on a tree which stood near his queen's apartment, he filled the whole place with so many melodious and melancholy notes as drew her to the window. He had "The king was so afflicted with her death, that he left his kingdom to one of his nearest relations, and passed the rest of his days in solitude and retirement." No. 579.] WEDNESDAY, AUGUST 11, 1714 the mortification to see that, instead of being the most rigid justice could not have interpreted pitied, he only moved the mirth of his princess, as a crime. and of a young female slave who was with her. He continued however to serenade her every morning, until at last the queen, charmed with his harmony, sent for the bird-catchers, and ordered them to employ their utmost skill to put that little creature into her possession. The king, pleased with an opportunity of being once more near his beloved consort, easily suffered himself to be taken; and when he was presented to her, though he showed a fearfulness to be touched by any of the other ladies, flew of his own accord and hid himself in the queen's bosom. Zemroude was highly pleased at the unexpected fondness of her new favorite, and ordered him to be kept in an open cage in her own apartment. He had there an opportunity of making his court to her every morning, by a thousand little actions, which his shape allowed him. The queen passed away whole hours every day in hearing and playing with him. Fadlallah could even have thought himself happy in this state of life, had he not frequently endured the inexpressible torment of seeing the dervise enter the apartment and caress his queen even in his presence. "The usurper, amidst his toying with the princess, would often endeavor to ingratiate himself with her nightingale: and while the enraged Fadlallah pecked at him with his bill, beat his wings, and showed all the marks of an impotent rage, it only afforded his rival and the queen new matter for their diversion. "Zemroude was likewise fond of a little lapdog which she kept in her apartment, and which one night happened to die. The king immediately found himself inclined to quit the shape of a nightingale, and enliven this new body. He did so, and the next morning Zemroude saw her favorite bird lie dead in the cage. It is impossible to express her grief on this occasion; and when she called to mind all its little actions, which even appeared to have somewhat in them like reason, she was inconsolable for her loss. "Her women immediately sent for the dervise to come and comfort her; who, after having in vain represented to her the weakness of being grieved at such an accident, touched at last by her repeated complaints, Well, Madam,' says he, I will exert the utmost of my art to please you. Your nightingale shall again revive every morning, and serenade you as before.' The queen beheld him with a look which easily showed she did not believe him, when, laying himself down on a sofa, he shot his soul into the nightingale, and Zemroude was amazed to see her bird revive. "The king, who was a spectator of all that passed, lying under the shape of a lapdog in one corner of the room, immediately recovered his own body, and, running to the cage, with the utmost indignation, twisted off the neck of the false nightingale. Zemroude was more than ever amazed and concerned at this second accident, until the king, entreating her to hear him, related to her his whole adventure. "The body of the dervise which was found dead in the wood, and his edict for killing all the deer, left her no room to doubt the truth of it; but the story adds, that out of an extreme delicacy, peculiar to the oriental ladies, she was so highly afflicted at the innocent adultery in which she had for some time lived with the dervise, that no arguments, even from Fadlallah himself, could compose her mind. She shortly after died with grief, begging his pardon with her latest breath for what In the reign of King Charles the First, the Com pany of Stationers, into whose hands the printing of the Bible is committed by patent, made a very remarkable erratum or blunder in one of their editions: for instead of "Thou shalt not commit adultery," they printed off several thousands of copies with, Thou shalt commit adultery." Archbishop Laud, to punish this negligence, laid a considerable fine upon that company in the starchamber. " By the practice of the world, which prevails in this degenerate age, I am afraid that very many young profligates of both sexes are possessed of this spurious edition of the Bible, and observe the commandment according to that faulty reading. Adulterers in the first ages of the Church were excommunicated forever, and unqualified all their lives from bearing a part in Christian assemblies, notwithstanding they might seek it with tears, and all the appearances of the most unfeigned repentance. I might here mention some ancient laws among the heathens, which punished this crime with death; and others of the same kind, which are now in force among several governments that have embraced the reformed religion. But, because a subject of this nature may be too serious for my ordinary readers, who are very apt to throw by my papers when they are not enlivened with something that is diverting or uncommon, I shall here publish the contents of a little manuscript lately fallen into my hands, and which pretends to great antiquity; though by reason of some modern phrases, and other particulars in it. I can by na means allow it to be genuine, but rather the production of a modern sophist. It is well known by the learned, that there was a temple upon mount Etna dedicated to Vulcan, which was guarded by dogs of so exquisite a smell, say the historians, that they could discern whether the persons who came thither were chaste or oth erwise. They used to meet and fawn upon such as were chaste, caressing them as the friends of their master Vulcan; but flew at those who were polluted, and never ceased barking at them all they had driven them from the temple. My manuscript gives the following account of these dogs, and was probably designed as a ve ment upon this story: These dogs were given to Vulcan by his sister Diana, the goddess of hunting and of chastity, having bred them out of some of her hounds, in which she had observed this natural instinet and sagacity. It was thought she did it in spite so Venus, who, upon her return home, always found her husband in a good or bad humor, according to the reception which she met with from his degi They lived in the temple several years, bui such snappish curs, that they frightened away of the votaries. The women of Sicily ne solemn deputation to the priest, by which they acquainted him, that they would not come c the temple with their annual offerings unless muzzled his mastiffs; and at last compromised matter with him, that the offering should always be brought by a chorus of young girls, who were none of them above seven years old. It was wonderful, says the author, to see how different the treatment was which the dogs gave to these little misses, from that which they had shown to their mothers. It is said that the prince of Syracuse, having married a young lady, and being naturally of a jealous temper, made such an interest with the priests of this temple, that he procured a whelp from them of this famous breed. The young puppy was very troublesome to the fair lady at first, insomuch that she solicited her husband to send him away; but the good man cut her short with the old Sicilian proverb, "Love me, love my dog;' from which time she lived very peaceably with both of them. The ladies of Syracuse were very much annoyed with him, and several of very good reputation refused to come to court until he was discarded. There were indeed some of them that defied his sagacity; but it was observed, though he did not actually bite them, he would growl at them most confoundedly. To return to the dogs of the temple; after they had lived here in great repute for several years, it so happened, that as one of the priests, who had been making a charitable visit to a widow who lived on the promontory of Lilybeum, returned home pretty late in the evening, the dogs flew at him with so much fury, that they would have worried him if his brethren had not come to his assistance; upon which, says my author, the dogs were all of them hanged, as having lost their original instinct." I cannot conclude this paper without wishing that we had some of this breed of dogs in Great Britain, which would certainly do justice, I should say honor, to the ladies of our country, and show the world the difference between pagan women and those who are instructed in sounder principles of virtue and religion. No. 580.] FRIDAY, AUGUST 13, 1714. -Si verbis audacia detur, Haud timeam magni dixisse palatia coeli. OVID, Met. i. 175. This place, the brightest mansion of the sky, I'll call the palace of the Deity.-DRYDEN. "SIR, "I CONSIDERED in my two last letters that awful and tremendous subject, the ubiquity or omnipresence of the Divine Being. I have shown that he is equally present in all places throughout the whole extent of infinite space. This doctrine is so agreeable to reason, that we meet with it in the writings of the enlightened heathens, as I might show at large, were it not already done by other hands. But though the Deity be thus essentially present through all the immensity of space, there is one part of it in which he discovers himself in a most transcendent and visible glory; this is that place which is marked out in Scripture under the different appellations of 'paradise, the third heaven, the throne of God, and the habitation of his glory.' It is here where the glorified body of our Savior resides, and where all the celestial hierarchies, and the innumerable hosts of angels, are represented as perpetually surrounding the seat of God with hallelujahs and hymns of praise. This is that presence of God which some of the divines call his glorious, and others his majestic presence. He is Indeed as essentially present in all other places as in this; but it is here where He resides in a sensible magnificence, and in the midst of all those splendors which can affect the imagination of created beings. "It is very remarkable that this opinion of God Almighty's preser.ce in heaven, whether discovered by the light of nature, or by a general tradition from our first parents, prevails among all the nations of the world, whatsoever different notions they entertain of the Godhead. If you look into Homer, that is, the most ancient of the Greek writers, you see the supreme power seated in the heavens, and encompassed with inferior deities, among whom the Muses are represented as singing incessantly about his throne. Who does not here see the main strokes and outlines of this great truth we are speaking of? The same doctrine is shadowed out in many other heathen authors, though at the same time, like several other revealed truths, dashed and adulterated with a mixture of fables and human inventions.But to pass over the notions of the Greeks and Romans, those more enlightened parts of the pagan world, we find there is scarce a people among the late discovered nations who are not trained up in an opinion that heaven is the habitation of the divinity whom they worship. "As in Solomon's temple there was the Sanctum Sanctorum, in which a visible glory appeared among the figures of the cherubim, and into which none but the high-priest himself was permitted to enter, after having made an atonement for the sins of the people: so if we consider the whole creation as one great temple, there is in it this Holy of Holies, into which the High-priest of our salvation entered, and took his place among angels and archangels, after having made a propitiation for the sins of mankind. "With how much skill must the throne of God be erected! With what glorious designs is that habitation beautified, which is contrived and built by Him who inspired Hiram with wisdom! How great must be the majesty of that place, where the whole art of creation has been employed, and where God has chosen to show himself in the most magnificent manner? What must be the architecture of infinite power under the direction of infinite wisdom? A spirit cannot but be transported after an ineffable manner, with the sight of those objects, which were made to affect him by that Being who knows the inward frame of a soul, and how to please and ravish it in all its most secret powers and faculties. It is to this majestic presence of God we may apply those beautiful expressions in holy writ: 'Behold even to the moon, and it shineth not: yea the stars are not pure in his sight.' The light of the sun, and all the glories of the world in which we live, are but as weak and sickly glimmerings, or rather darkness itself, in comparison of those splendors which encompass the throne of God. "As the glory of this place is transcendent beyond imagination, so probably is the extent of it. There is light behind light, and glory within glory. How far that space may reach, in which God thus appears in perfect majesty, we cannot possibly conceive. Though it is not infinite, it may be indefinite; and, though not immeasurable in itself, it may be so with regard to any created eye or imagination. If he has made these lower regions of matter so inconceivably wide and magnificent for the habitation of mortal and perishable beings, how great may we suppose the courts of his house to be, where he makes his residence in a more especial manner, and displays himself in the fullness of his glory, among an innumerable company of angels and spirits of just men made perfect? |
