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    passing through our present state ? Happiness , like goodness , dwelleth only with pure simplicity . Nothing else lasts . Our state is now entan g led in the toils of infinite artificialities ,, opposed to nature , and called refinement , —of infinite sophistries ^ opposed to truth , yet called reason : thus are we cheated out of life . Our heart ' s heritage is taken from us . We did not enough value it : we suffered it to be compromised to bubbles . We know its value now , for the bubbles have burst . But we must earn back

    our heritage . We degenerated , and therefore suffered . Time maketh sport of man , in scorn and punishment . For man , being linked invisibly with immortality , hath a power within him beyond the Father of mortal y ears , albeit not exercised with integral purity of the soul ' s elemental strength . Whereof it happens , not by chance , but inevitable justice , that old Calamity grapples , and harrows , and hounds ' him towards the tomb , graving thereon

    man general epitaph : He misused the gifts of his Creatorlived in wretchedness , without understanding—and died in its climax ! ' ( His head sinks doivn , and he gradually melts again into profound sleep . ) Enter Harry of Newmarket , Mrs . Albion , and Syrius . Harry of Newmarket ( shouting ) . What , asleep ! I thought it was impossible to come too soon ! Mrs . Albion { whispering earnestly ) . Hist ! do not disturb the rest of one whom the stars have but just left . How silent and

    reverently does the Tree hang in wbomby shadows over him ! Syrius ( approaching softly ) . Awake ! the sun will be up before thee , noble old type of the realm . You'll soon have some peers of nature , as well as commoners , standing round your Tree . ( To Mrs . Albion . ) How clear and bright one feels in the morning twilight ! Shall I wake him ? Mrs . Albion . No ; pray do not meddle with his time ; we can wait . Harry of Newmarket ( singing softly ) . ' Let the southern

    breezes blow . ' Where ' s Albion ? Mrs . Albion . I left him behind , talking with Angus . He'll be here presently . Hush ! Father Zodiac ( dreaming , and gradually waking ) . Why should the starry quire maintain their harmony , the seasons theirs , and every flower its perfection , while man remains but

    half-developed , save in vice , and wretched amidst all his faculties of good ? Ifc it that the immortal mind , struggling thus prematurely towards the next gradation of its destined bourne , is thrown back from that hi g h endeavour upon its mortal covering , and in the sad contention of spirit with clay , lays waste its happiness in the misdirection of its powers ? Syrius ( whispering ) . Do you not think he holds the same rank in wisdom as in time ?—a great-grandfather ?

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    366 Dies sitb Coelo .

• Citation
  • Monthly Repository (1806-1838) and Unitarian Chronicle (1832-1833), June 2, 1835, page 366, in the Nineteenth-Century Serials Edition (2008; 2018) ncse.ac.uk/periodicals/mruc/issues/vm2-ncseproduct2646/page/2/