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<h2>CHAP. XV. Prayer.—A Moon-light Scene.—Resignation.</h2> The harper would frequently sit under a larger elm, a few paces from the house, and play some of the most plaintive Welsh tunes. While the people were eating their supper, Mrs. Mason desired him to play her some favourite airs; and she and the children walked round the tree under which he sat, on the stump of another. The moon rose in cloudless majesty, and a number of stars twinkled near her. The softened landscape inspired tranquillity, while the strain of rustic melody gave a pleasing melancholy to the whole, and made the tear start, whose source could scarcely be traced. The pleasure the sight of harmless mirth gave rise to in Mrs. Mason’s bosom roused every tender feeling, and set in motion her spirits. She laughed with the poor whom she had made happy, and wept when she recollected her own sorrows; the illusions of youth—the gay expectations that had formerly clipped the wings of time. She turned to the girls—I have been very unfortunate, my young friends; but my griefs are now of a placid kind. Heavy misfortunes have obscured the sun I gazed at when first I entered life; early attachments have been broken; the death of friends I loved has so clouded my days; that neither the beams of prosperity, nor even those of benevolence, can dissipate the gloom; but I am not lost in a thick fog. My state of mind rather resembles the scene before you, it is quiet: I am weaned from the world, but not disgusted; for I can still do good, and in futurity a sun will rise to chear my heart. Beyond the night of death, I hail the dawn of an eternal day! I mention my state of mind to you, that I may tell you what supports me. The festivity within, and the placidity without, led my thoughts naturally to the source from whence my comfort springs—to the Great Bestower of every blessing. Prayer, my children, is the dearest privilege of man, and the support of a feeling heart. Mine has too often been wounded by ingratitude; my fellow-creatures, whom I have fondly loved, have neglected me—I have heard their last sigh, and thrown my eyes round an empty world; but then more particularly feeling the presence of my Creator, I poured out my soul before him, and was no longer alone! I now daily contemplate His wonderful goodness; and, though at an awful distance, try to imitate Him. This view of things is a spur to activity, and a consolation in disappointment. There is in fact a constant intercourse kept up with the Creator, when we learn to consider Him as the fountain of truth, which our understanding naturally thirsts after. But His Goodness brings Him still more on a level with our bounded capacities, for we trace it in every work of mercy, and feel, in sorrow particularly, His fatherly care. Every blessing is doubled when we suppose it comes from Him, and afflictions almost lose their name when we believe they are sent to correct, not crush us. Whilst we are alive to gratitude and admiration, we must adore God. The human soul is so framed, that goodness and truth must fill it with ineffable pleasure, and the nearer it approaches to perfection, the more earnestly will it pursue those virtues, discerning more clearly their beauty. The Supreme Being dwells in the universe. He is as essentially present to the wicked as to the good; but the latter delight in His presence, and try to please Him, whilst the former shrink from a Judge, who is of too pure a nature to behold iniquity. The wicked wish for the rocks to cover them, mountains, or the angry sea, which we the other day surveyed, to hide them from the presence of that Being, in whose presence only they could find joy. You feel emotions that incite you to do good; and painful ones disturb you when you have resisted the faithful internal monitor. The wiser, and the better you grow, the more visible, if I may use the expression, will God become: for wisdom consists in searching Him out, and goodness in endeavouring to copy his attributes. To attain any thing great, a model must be held up to exercise our understanding, and engage our affections. A view of the disinterested goodness of God is therefore calculated to touch us more than can be conceived by a depraved mind. When the love of God is shed abroad in our hearts, true courage will animate our conduct; for nothing can hurt those who trust in Him. If the desire of acting right is ever present with us, if admiration of goodness fills our souls, we may be said to pray constantly. And if we try to do justice to all our fellow-creatures, and even to the brute creation, and assist them as far as we can, we prove whose servants we are, and whose laws we transcribe in our lives. Never be very anxious, when you pray, what words to use; regulate your thoughts; and recollect that virtue calms the passions, gives clearness to the understanding, and opens it to pleasures that the thoughtless and vicious have not a glimpse of. You must, believe me, be acquainted with God to find peace, to rise superior to worldly temptations. Habitual devotion is of the utmost consequence to our happiness, as what oftenest occupies the thoughts will influence our actions. But observe what I say—that devotion is mockery and selfishness, which does not improve our moral character. Men, of old, prayed to the devil, sacrificed their children to him; and committed every kind of barbarity and impurity. But we who serve a long-suffering God should pity the weakness of our fellow creatures; we must not beg for mercy and not shew it; we must not acknowledge that we have offended, without trying to avoid doing so in future. We are to deal with our fellow-creatures as we expect to be dealt with. This is practical prayer!—Those who practice it feel frequently sublime pleasures, and lively hopes animate them in this vale of tears; that seem a foretaste of the felicity they will enjoy, when the understanding is more enlightened, and the affections properly regulated. To-morrow I will take you to visit the school-mistress of the village, and relate her story, to enforce what I have been saying. Now you may go and dance one or two dances; and I will join you after I have taken a walk, which I wish to enjoy alone. <div style="break-after:column;"></div>

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