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ELEVENTH WEEK-SUNDAY.

NO SEASON UNPLEASANT TO THE CHEERFUL MIND.

WINTER, with its storms, its cold, and its desolation, is commonly associated with melancholy and bodily discomfort. The music of the woods is hushed, the pleasant murmur of the brook is exchanged for the roar of the swollen torrent, and the odorous evening breeze is succeeded by the yelling of the tempest. The flowers of spring and summer have vanished away, like beautiful visions; the fruits of autumn have been gathered in; another generation of leaves, sad emblem of our mortal race, has withered and fallen to the ground; and the once lovely covering of the earth has now lost its freshness and greenness, and every where presents a bleak, yellow, and faded aspect. The long and chilly night triumphs over the transitory and uncertain warmth of the short, but now lengthening, day. The mornings and evenings are cold and raw, and the great luminary of the firmament is frequently obscured, for days together, by clouds of mist, or drizzling rain. The miry roads, the excessive moisture of the herbage still remaining in the fields, the cold and humid wind, the gloomy and threatening aspect of the sky, all, or separately, abridge the pleasures of exercise and employment in the open air.

Now, certainly, to a mind of a fretful or melancholy turn, the winter day often furnishes, in abundance, food for repining and restless discontent. Such a mind usually gives way to a feeling of bodily uneasiness, and is visibly disturbed by the coldness and fog of the atmosphere, and the unpleasant state of the ground. It exaggerates the peculiar inconveniences of the season, and invests the gloom of the long-continued storm with its own deeper gloominess. It dwells, with a sort of satisfaction, on every circumstance of annoyance, and

rejects every ray of comfort; unlike the more grateful earth, that, in the midst of almost incessant darkness and storm, so soon as the sun scatters for an instant the thick clouds, is kindled into a smile, and seems to anticipate the coming gladness of spring. But these are the symptoms of a mental disease not uncommon at this period, and in this portion of the globe.

Whatever be the cause of this disorder, it is undoubtedly heightened in its virulence by our high notions and exquisite feeling of comfort, consequent upon the great progress of society, and the still ascending scale of enjoyment in our favoured island. Our barbarian forefathers, even in the depth of winter, could repose their weary limbs upon a pillow of heath in the open air, gathering, like the oaks of their country, strength and hardihood from the storm. They seemed utterly insensible to the numberless small discomforts that their descendants make or find in the gloomy weather and bleak dominion of winter. They had neither the defences against the inclemency of the season, nor the resources of domestic recreation that we enjoy; and yet we are apt to murmur and complain, as if the circumstances of ourselves and them were exactly reversed. We have secure and happy homes, conveniences in clothing and shelter of which they never dreamed, the sweets of refined society, the mental luxury of books, and numerous fascinating amusements, equally innocent and useful; and, notwithstanding these multiplied blessings, we can yield to low impatience and despondency, if, haply, the wintry tempest, however magnificent and sublime in its appearance and effects, hinder our rural excursions, or transiently affect our frames with its moisture and its cold.

Into such ingratitude are we ever disposed to fall? Instead of cultivating cheerfulness at all times and in all seasons, we too frequently lapse into moroseness and melancholy. If, in place of allowing ourselves to be disturbed by any state of the weather or of the country around us, we kept steadily in view the various comforts

and enjoyments within our reach at every period of the year, we should only be fulfilling an important duty; and we should also be in the likeliest way of attaining that serenity of mind which is its own reward. A habit of cheerfulness would thus be formed, that constitutes no small portion of the philosophy of daily life; and cheerfulness, when once it becomes a habitual feeling, finds food and nourishment in all scenes and seasons. As the man who is keenly alive to the sublime and the beautiful in Nature, frequently finds the cherished feelings of his soul ministered unto by objects, that to other minds have in them nothing to attract or enliven, so the cheerful mind derives enjoyment from scenery the most unpromising, and perceives, even in the desolation of winter, a beauty and an expression of its own. It has been said, that the bee extracts honey, and the spider poison, from the same flower; but, perhaps, with greater truth may it be affirmed, that whatever be the condition of the fretful or the self-indulgent, the man of cheerfulness finds the prevailing feeling of his mind reflected back upon him, as it were, from all the varied phenomena of the seasons. He looks at Nature through a medium that has to him all the effects of fabled enchantment. As the eye of the painter or the poet is quick to discern, in every landscape, the subtle elements of his creative art, so does he, by a seeming intuition,— by an almost unconscious alchymy of the mind,―select from the concomitants of every passing season, all that is fitted to compensate his incidental privations, and to inspire that tempered gladness in which his soul delights. The winds of winter may blow coldly over the ravaged earth, and bewail the departed glories of the year; the mountains may be hid from his eye in thickest clouds; the fields and groves may be verdureless and dead; but these only heighten the endearments of his home, and enhance his gratitude for all the blessings congregated there.

I have already dwelt on the peculiar delights of the

domestic hearth at this season; and I need not here remark, that these can only be enjoyed in all their power, by the bosom in which contentment and tranquillity reign. The fine enjoyments of home shun the stormy breast, and take up their abode with him who is of a cheerful temper, and who finds, in "all seasons and their change," matter of gratitude and delight." Winter, "stern ruler of the inverted year," may ravage the loved scenery around his dwelling; but within his own breast, and in his dear family circle, there reigns a summer of social and domestic joy. The glories of the calm autumnal day may have vanished; but the sublimer glories of the nocturnal heavens more frequently greet his enraptured sight, brightly beaming through the clear frosty air. In the deadness of Nature, he sees her necessary repose before another spring; the rain, the frost, and the snow, are, in his regard, sent by the Almighty Father to fertilize the soil, and herald the bounty of a coming harvest.

Thus, it is beneficently ordained, that the happy and contented spirit should find, at all times, the means of enjoyment. The great Framer of the human mind has exquisitely adapted the external world to its various feelings and powers; and when these are in healthful action, Nature, in her wintry as well as her vernal aspects, is full of beauty and harmony. Though the flowery and the fruitful seasons of the year may be over and gone, and the blasts of winter howl among the desolate mountains, the past is without regret, the present full of enjoyment, and the future rich in hope. How should we then adore that Divine goodness, which has given us the power to enjoy the seasons as they pass in grand succession before us; and, even among the sternest scenes of winter, to behold in vision the luxuriant beauty of spring! J. D.

ELEVENTH WEEK-MONDAY.

V. FROST.-ITS AGENCY IN MOUNTAINOUS REGIONS.

I HAVE already mentioned, that water suddenly expands in the process of freezing; now, the force with which the expansion takes place is immense, as has been proved by various experiments. The barrel of a gun, and even the body of the strongest cannon, when filled to the muzzle with water, and tightly screwed up, have been found to burst under this process in a hard frost; and, indeed, there does not appear to be any known power in the material world strong enough to resist it. This property seems to be one of the most active agents in breaking down rocks and diminishing the height of mountain ranges, particularly in regions distant from the equator. The water which penetrates the fissures of the rocks during the early part of the winter, is converted into ice, and, by the sudden expansion which then takes place, rends the solid rocks asunder, with a noise which is heard at the distance of many miles; and, where the surface happens to be precipitous, and the equilibrium is destroyed, the detached masses, on the melting of the ice, by the return of spring, fall over with a tremendous crash, and, in the fearful avalanche, sometimes overwhelm whole villages and fields, carrying sudden and inevitable destruction to their inhabitants. Most distressing occurrences from this cause take place every year in those lofty and rugged districts where nature has formed so strong a barrier against the encroachments of hostile armies, and where freedom so long maintained her throne, and religion her purity and independence, in the midst of enslaved and degraded kingdoms. In the narrow valleys of the Swiss Cantons, and along the ravines formed by those tributary streams which supply the ample currents of the Rhine and the Rhone, winter