The Sun.
London, England, 1850-01-30 00:00:00

THE PRACTICAL PRESENT.

" And there we sat; the gloomy meditator upon what
had been, and the eager expectant upon what was to Le
—a strange companionship! There we sat; and while
we lived upon the Past and Future, both forgot the Cer-
nal Present; the evcrlssting, never-ending Now, for
which only man exists; f)r in it are embraced yesterday,
to-day, and for ever. Vain mortal, to feed upon dim
recollections, or upon the unsubstantial framework cf
false hopes, forgetful of that which is!
"But must faith, must hope, be banished? Ah, no.
Does not the earnest expectation of the creature wait
for the manifestation of the sons of God?' Assuredly.
But it must be such Lila, ouch hope, such expectation,
as will make the Now important. Tell me of a faith
that bids me forget tho present, and I will brand it false.
Show me a hope that connects not with what is, and I
will rr ark it salt]. Summon me au expectation that re-
fers not to what I now am, and I will stamp it futile.
And y( t man site, and wait, end hopes, and expects,
and waits again, while nothing comes of it; and he mur-
murs, but still Expects, and still the river runs by full
flowing, and the current will not diminish: still the wheel
goes round, but nothing is accomplished. And what l
hi, f4itl!, or his hope, or his expectation, done for him?

The.tfire, oh being, created by the Almighty Father,
when, unquiet and dissatisfied, thou busiest thyself with
vain ira:gtniuge, know that thou neglcctest the present,
and if thou ❑eglectest it, thou art lost."
FALSE AND TRUE.

" I Lave always been disposed to deny that our early
dajs were intended to be our happiest. True it is, that
most look tack to them with pleasure, mingled with
feelings half cf regret, luif of sadeess, that they are
y assed. The reason c f this is, that those days are free
from the anxieties shich mature life is sure to bring.
The man, poised down with busineEs, locd&d with care,
even though his coffers are filling with wealth, looks back
upon his childhood as a green spot in his existence, while
all around is drear and desolate.

" And if business engross him not, if he knows no-
thing of the drudgery ef acquiring riches, but lives or
his own pleasure and ammcinent, how soon these pall
upon him—then he, also, sighs fir the careless, thought-
less, happy feelings of early days, whea time needed no
destroyer, and the hydr“-headed monster Ennui four.d
no place of attack.

Is it a wonder that such as I have n ender-KA, the
slave of plcakure as well as the slave of toil, should look
away across the dreary waste of years, and seek to rc-
call the past? But it is too late: youth will not come
back, and they have no talisman t compel it to return.
‘• When I hear friends conversing tog, Vier ,of good
old times,' closing taeir conference with, Ah, well!
those were happy days, sure enough; the happiest part
of our lives, if we had but known it:' I feel persuaded
that they have made but a poor use of existence. What!
has God mare us with such rich preparativcs for true
ernjoymenr, such noble powers of mind and sense, and
yet designed us to retrograde through lif2? Yielding us
a few hour 3 of gyestionable happiness at first, to be
succeeded by days of weariress or wo? It is not so! Who
won-

Id be contented always with such happiness? Who
does not knew that it is but the pleasure f animal ex-
istence; an existence gay indeed as the bird's, and lice
the bird's thoughtless too?

" The man who wisely employs himself about things
imperishable, rtimt f.:rew happlcr each succeeding day in
tim^, and so on through tl.c period beyond, which re
call eternity. The goodness of God orda'us this; the
wi3dom of God proclaims it,."

LIFE WITHOUT HOPE.

"Life! shall I tell you what it is? Ah, would it
were what so many make it: a pumping cf air in and
out of the lungs; a coy Bring of the nakedness, to the
prevention of shame; eating lest the body fall away;
sleeping o' night!, from wearisomeness of the flesh!—
then were man indeed somewhat better than a bast.
But to have pining want,' which gnaw the soul, and for
which no provision has been made; to love, and feel that
love lasts only so long as 1 f!; to labour, and know that
the grave closes upon ad rcsu:ti of toil; to enjoy, and be
conscious that time withers up the sourci;s of our bliss;
to be miserable, and feel that death rcay not release us;
to undergo all the mad pleasure; ( f earth, and all the
remorse which thair indulgence brings; to feel in pros-
perity that nothing can secure against change, and to
recognise in athersity no hope—h a! ha! that—that is
1if•! What a precious boon to that poor praying
b(.l,gar, man!"