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perfection of all benevolence and power, he cannot make man continually happy. The God within us knows the God without us, and the pent essence struggles for the level of its source. Our ideals despise us : nor can we go so high but we can see something higher. We shall not complain of God; but God in us shall complain— complain at confinement, complain at imperfection, complain at our finitude in general, which yet it shall know to be necessary to what happiness we do obtain. We must be finite: and now, how shall the finite be made happy? We answer, only by just such an existence as this of ours is and promises to be, can man obtain the greatest happiness of which God's creatures are capable.—If this does not sound very encouraging, let us remark that it is not so bad a state of things as might be at first supposed. Though we should say. We have been as happy as we ever shall be—as happy on the road to "heaven" as we shall ever be when we "get there,"—though we should say that we have been as happy as eternal progress will ever make us, still we have our heaven — a higher, brighter, prouder heaven than Zealot ever sung in praise of.

What is this happiness, its abode and genealogy?

The first lesson in human philosophy—the commonest wit in the world is this : What will make us happy cannot keep us so. And the second is like unto it: Happiness does not consist in things external, nor things internal, but in the correlation of the mind to the world. Neither appetite nor victual alone can make a feast; but as these two come together, each destroying the other, happiness is the

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