Litchfield enquirer., 1842-12-22
From tAs ". Y. Sunday Mercury. SHORT PATENT SERMON.
BY DOW, J.

BY DOW, JR.
 Nv text may be found in the writings of Dryden, in the following words :-
 l Pleasure never cemes sncers 10 man, But lent by heaven upon hard usury;
 And while love holds us ou. the bowl of joy. Ere it can reach the lips, lis dashed with gall By some left-handed god.
 My hearers you all have to pay just in pro- portion as you partake of the pleasures of
 this world-and you pay dearly for them,
 too for when purchased, they are invari-
 ably found 10 contain far more alloy than
 your anticipations had bargained for. At
 the bottom of pleasures sparkling cup is a
 sickening sediment and, when drained to the dregs, the soul grows snd and the heart
 becomes heavy. The path of pleasure is skirted with thorns as well as roses and all its various branches terminate in the dull barren field of society, where every
 prospect fails to please and where the l flowers of pleasure are as scarce as feath-
 CTS on the back of bat The breeze of
 hope may wait imagination's little fairy ship across the limpid pool of pleasure
 without disturbing it's purity; but as soon
 as we attempt to bath in it's waters, mud ' and filth rise from the bottom, and the en- iovment is ended.
 1 My friends-whenever we think we have
 the porridge of pleasure exactly seasoned
 to our taste, ere we can get spoonful to our | lips, some left-handed god is sure to dash in
 an extra quantity of pepper, and spoil the l whole. The truth is this :-more or less of pain is mixed with all our pleasures, and the , realization of every hope is accompanied
 with the bitter dregs of disappointment. A
 worm is found at the core of almost every apple of pleasure - the most delicious of peaches have pits impregnated with poison -the sweetest of berries are gathered from molesting brambles-aDd the prettiest po- sies that once bloomed in paradise were bedaubed with the slime of the serPent.- l All sensual pleasures are more or less adul- terated. They never flow upon us pure and
 unmixed, but stream. like wetery sunbeams through a cloud. The pleasures of eating
 are followed by stupor and drowsiness ;- 1 headaches and horrors are the natural con- comitants of bowl-bern blisses; and the pleasures of love, my brethren, are attended with many a bitter pang. for the reason that its ethereal essence is so contaminated with the dross of carnal corruption. The pleasures of the mind alone my brethren are those that approximate 10 any thing like purity. Delights are beautiful illusions | that float in the atmosphere of one's imagi-
 nation: but like capabilities that exhibit the varied hues of the rainbow, they burst
 almost as soon as they are blown, and dis
 solve into nothingness. The pleasures of
 hope are bright and pure as long as they | last but they are almost sure of being soil.
 ed sooner or later, by the dirty fingers of
 disappointment. The pleasures of memory
 are not only pure but perennial. They gain lustre by age-and time, which rusts all
 things material, puts an extra polish upon
 their surfaces. They are stars that shine brighter and brighter as the darkness Of the past deepens around them precious
 gems amid the rubbish of retrospection. that
 glislen like the eyes of tomcat in . dark
 cellar. They are none of your fFail flowers
 that flourish soon to fade in tho fields Of fancy; but blossoms that continue to bloom
 even through the cold, chseTless winter oF
 ago.
 My dear friends - the bird Of pleasure
 leoks the pFetilesl as it soaFs high in the at.
 moaphera of IdaAllty--wheFo tho sunlight og
 imagination casls q golden luatFe upon lis
 ehangefil plumsge. When caught Sh the