are given in marriage, but are as the angels of God in heaven. The difficulty which they imagined, and which was insurmountable when alleged against the resurrection as taught by the Pharisees, did not exist in relation to his true doctrine.

But the error of the Sadducees, in denying the resurrection was a corollary or necessary inference from their more fundamental error, the denial of all existence after death. Josephus says, ψυχής τε την διαμονήν, και τας αδου Tippias was Tipas avaig861. "They reject the continuance of the soul, the punishments and rewards of the future state." Our Lord therefore proceeds in v. 31, 32, to overturn their fundamental principle, by proving from the writings of Moses, the reality of an existence after the death of the body. From the declaration that God is the God of Abraham, and of Isaac, and of Jacob, it follows that Abraham, and Isaac, and Jacob, are now alive. For God is not the God of the dead, but of the living.

Having by this short argument completely proved the great doctrine that life does not cease at the death of the body, he leaves his hearers to make the obvious application of his remarks to the resurrection. For as the denial of a resurrection sprung from the denial of the future state, and was confirmed by the false imaginations of the Pharisees about the nature of the resurrection, when both these points were made plain, the doctrine stood unimpeached.

Our Saviour therefore has not here reasoned inconclusively. He has proved the point he aimed at, to wit, that there were living beings besides God and material bodies. He showed that the philosophy which denies the existence of such beings, is a false philosophy, because it contradicts a known fact. And any one who admits what he has here proved, can have no remaining difficulty in admitting the doctrine of the resurrection.

I infer, that the word avadradis is properly rendered resurrection. Dr. Dwight says, in his Theology, Ser. CLXV. vol. iv. p. 430, "This word is commonly, but often erroneously, rendered Resurrection. So far as I have observed, it usually denotes our existence beyond the grave." The foregoing explanation of our Saviour's argument in Matthew xxii. shews that there is nothing in that passage to limit the meaning of avaστασις τo simple existence after death. Admitting, as he says, that "the declaration concerning Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob, is no proof of the resurrection." Yet it is conclusive proof of that on which the doctrine of the resurrection depends, and therefore has a direct bearing upon the subject then in debate. There is no other passage that I can find, where the use of the word determines its signification to be future existence. Etymology does not give it this meaning. It properly means raising up again that which was laid down. No sect or class of men who have believed in a future existence, have supposed that the soul died and revived again. Of course there was no opinion which would naturally lead to the usage of this word to express existence beyond the grave. Because there is no renewal of life to the soul. It is also constantly applied to denote the resurrection of the body. It is the only word used in the New Testament to express the resurrection of Christ, with one exception. Dr. Dwight says, p. 431," The appropriate word for resurrection is syepois, as in Matthew xxvii. 52, 53. Many bodies of the saints which slept arose, and came out of the graves after his resurrection. It is, to say the least, somewhat remarkable, that in all which the sacred writers had to say about the resurrection, they should never have expressed it by its " арpropriate word," except in this instance. The word syspois is found no where else in the Tew Testament.

DYSPEPTIC HOURS.

LUXURIOUS LIVERS.

"Fruges consumere nati."

WHERE Some come to get rid of themselves, and some to dress and dance, and some for the more rational purpose of health and relaxation, and for the pleasure of meeting their friends, there are always some who come merely to eat.

"There are a number of us creep Into this world to eat and sleep."

To

I have noticed a plethoric Englishman among us (whom the servants familiarly call lord H.) who slights his breakfast, and foregoes his supper altogether, that he may gorge himself at dinner, a sort of compromise which I believe is not uncommon with luxurious livers. this one meal he braces his stomach with four kinds of liquors; porter, brandy, and two kinds of wine. He has his own cups to drink it from, which are graduated to his power of enduring stimulus. He knows at the commencement of his feast the quantity of the several liquors he will swallow, having ascertained by experience the exact ne plus which he can sleep off during the heat of the afternoon. His servant wakes him at a bidden hour, brings him his boots and takes his slippers, and if the air be good, drives him abroad in his gig, to shake off the remains of his surfeiting and sleep. It is a pity that such beings, who all their lives long render no services to the world, should of all men require the services of others.

There is a certain Jew, from one of the southern cities, at the house opposite this-one of these monstrous gormands-who, I verily believe, would make it a serious matter with himself, whether he were to die

before dinner or after; nay, who would dread death itself chiefly because there are no tables spread in the world of spirits. It is said that he has spent the last fifteen seasons here uninterruptedly, being the first to appear in the Spring and the last to leave in the Fall-and that having neither health nor diversion for his object, he uses the waters merely as subsidiary to his faculty of digestion. One would judge from his appearance that he had made up his mind to spend his days between eating and dozing. He expects nothing, contemplates nothing, but his selfish meals; and in the intervals between them sits apart in his unsocial chair, with a gross and heavy countenance, and in a state of the most torpid indifference to all that stirs about him, till another bell rings him to the table.

It is the curse of gluttony,-I do not say its retribution-that gluttonous livers are disappointed in the pleasures which they so much set their eyes on. Theirs is not the healthful appetite of the temperate and active, but they experience that satiety which is a kind of permanent disgust. The dainty palate is like a spoiled child, difficult spoiled child, difficult to be pleased in proportion as it is indulged. "Continual repetition" says an English preacher, "wears away the exquisiteness of all sensual pleasures, and gradually dulls the most lively delights into flat and insipid sensation. The most costly luxuries that can load the board of opulence, are but bread to him who makes his daily meal upon them. The cordial that exhilarates the sober, is but a cup of cold water to one who is accustomed to the dranght of intemperance. And the softest couch into which languor ever sunk, is only a seat to them who never reclined upon one less soft." "Loathsomeness," says another writer," is next neighbour to

fulness, diseases follow, and death hastens to the mansions of gluttons." Many have been the preachers against voluptuousness, but if the moral evils which are written against it in the word of God are insufficient to turn men from it, it is not to be expected that any however forcible exhibition of its physical consequences will prove effectual. It is an awful text for the gluttonous to meditate upon, in which an apostle has joined these two things together as things which are inseparable" Whose god is their belly," and "whose end is destruction."

"So here we are," said Maryto her cousin, as they entered their chamber, "at the end of our fashionable tour ;"-did you notice the long piazza, Isabel, and its tall pillars clothed to the top with woodbine ?"

"I scarcely noticed the piazza," said Isabel-" but really, they looked quite brilliant in the drawing-room, as we passed up the stairs. I think we shall need to appear in our smartest, or we shall be overlooked in such an imposing company."

"And that I hope we shall, Isabel, -myself, I mean," said Mary; "I came but to see, you know."

"Why not to see and be seen, cousin? This is a place where one would wish to appear to advantage."

Isabel knew that she was not destitute of the graces of form and feature, and the desire to display them never rose so quick in her heart as on the present occasion.

She had unlocked her trunk and was eagerly turning over the con

tents, apparently in search of something missing;-"Why, they must be in yours Mary, pray unlock and see my white satin and lace-dress they can't have been left behind!"

Mary's trunk was examined; then the contents of the other were again hauled over and over, with increasing looks of concern. But the missing things could not be found. They had been done up, and with some other ornamental articles, were overlooked in packing.

The poor girl was actually pale with disappointment. She experienced a dismay of the heart at this sudden dissipation of her dreams of display, as overwhelming for the moment as if some real calamity had happened, to darken her prospects for life. "Was there ever anything," she exclaimed, "so vexatious! why, I can't stay here, Mary, I shan't be fit to be seen. Do tell a servant to call brother George, and see if it is not possible to despatch a messenger after them."

"What three hundred miles, Isabel, for a few fine things to wear a week?-But never mind, you shall wear my white satin and lace-dress, and my wreath of flowers, and whatever else I can furnish to supply your deficiencies; they will fit you as well as your own, and are superfluous to me: I only brought them to gratify aunt Isabel, who would have us be dressed alike."

"She thinks I am never so pretty as when I look like you,” replied Isabel," but I can't rob you, Mary-you are always so good and generousyou shall wear them yourself, and I," she continued, making an effort to be gay, "will get into a corner and see the admiration which you will attract; I shan't be quite lost to the party, for I shall serve to set you off to advantage."

Mary however insisted, and indeed declared that the articles should remain in her trunk unless Isabel wore them; and the latter, yielding to her cousin's generosity,

and her own reviving ambition, accepted her offer-but half self-reproached;-and thus they betook themselves to the toilette.

"Pray help me fix these curls, Mary dont you think we look burnt with the sun?-there, that will do -how beautifully that music sounds -that will do-just right-they are promenading, by the sound-indeed Mary you will look prettier than 1, after all-that blue belt contrasts very pretty with your neat white muslin-won't you have one bunch of these flowers ?-let me fix them in your hair-how beautifully white they are why you look like a shepherdess—I am sure, Mary, you won't need to feel awkward"--and thus she kept talking, partly to encourage her cousin and partly to suppress the risings of self-disapprobation which she could not altogether avoid feeling for having accepted her cousin's offer.

Prepared to descend, the two cousins, who were yet in their teens by a couple of years, proceeded with fluttering hearts, along with the brother of Isabel, to mix with the assemblage below. Each was attired according to her own taste, notwithstanding the misfortune that had happened. The simplicity of Mary's dress suited the simplicity of her sweet expressive face. Isabel was dressed for effect: she sparkled and glowed with ornaments; while Mary wore a simple chain upon her neck, and the white sprig of flowers in her hair. The beautiful form of Isabel showed with peculiar grace through the light transparency that enveloped it; her cousin's was not less beautiful, zoned with delicate blue. The one was fascinating, the other was lovely.

The world was fresh to both. They were yet inexperienced in the illusiveness of its visions. Life to young minds is like the landscape to the traveller. Between the spot on which he stands and the far off outline which limits his vision, there

are a thousand bright objects rejoiciug in the sun, but when he has passed beyond them all, and the day has gone down, he looks back on that landscape in its mantle of mist and those thousand bright objects are turned into shadows. Such is experience.

And thus lay the world before our young heroines. Yet they saw it in different lights, according to their different tastes, and the different manner in which they had been educated. Isabel beheld it in the brightness of a May morning; the more chastened imagination of her cousin was accustomed to contemplate it in the soft but rich lustre of the setting sun of autumn.

A week went by, and Pleasure had flown her round, her round of gay assemblages and serenades and dances, when Isabel said to her cousin, as they retired to the rest of their chamber,

"I am sick of this place, I am sure, Mary.”

"Sick! cousin. Why you are the reigning belle of the day. Indeed, Isabel, you are quite the centre of attraction, and the envy of half the fine ladies here."

"I am centre to nothing but folly," said Isabel," how could brother George introduce to me that frivolous young Dr. B. of Albany; who had no other claim on his noticeand none at all on mine-than his having been one of George's classmates-expelled too, for dissolute conduct :-and what should Dr. B. do of course, but make me the acquaintance of all the whiskered triflers of the place. I am persecuted and vexed with their attentionsabove all with the "civil things" which they utter for compliment. Why did not you contrive to relieve me this evening Mary, from that irksome Mr. Q. who stood up before me, or paraded at my side, be where I would, and was so assiduously polite that there was no detaching myself from him?”

"I did think of sending George to beg you to join our pleasant group in the corner, but you seemed quite happy in the society of Mr. Q. I saw you smiling very graciously in reply to his attentions."

"Smiles are not always happiness-nor complacency either: I am sure mine were not, for I was tired out of measure."

"He seemed a man of fashion." "How I longed to be quit of him! Why he stood up before me, all breathing of perfumes, and entertained me a full hour with nothing but Eclipse, and the great horserace, and his water dog and spaniel, and all such gallant nonsense-besides the pretty compliments which he contrived to mix with it."

"The compliments were for you, I suppose: the rest of his discourse was incense to himself."

"Mere self-adulation;-and you," continued Isabel," was all the while enjoying the conversation of the intelligent Mr. L. That Mr. L., by the way, is becoming quite partial to you, I perceive."

"You must be very discerning, for he has given no proofs of it." "A secret to you it naturally may be, but it is evident to me."

"He does not, at least" rejoined Mary, "attach himself to me wherever I go, like those you complain of."

"But his eyes follow you though his feet do not-why you need not color, cousin-I should be prouder of his company than of a hundred such accomplished triflers as I have met with here. He is so intelligent and cheerful, and so manly and sincere, that one cannot help being conscious of pleasure in his society. The others may be beaus, but he is the true gentleman."

"The courts of folly," Mary remarked, "sometimes become the school of wisdom. They will prove so to you Isabel. The week you have spent here, though you have not experienced all the light-hearted

happiness you anticipated from it, will not be set down among the lost weeks of your life. You have been learning by experience what I learned by precept. My mother has often remarked to me, that the world will regard us very much as we regard the world. It will assign us to those circles in which we fit ourselves to move. If we affect the society of the gay-if we assume a dress and manner to attract their admiration, it is natural to expect that we shall make them our companions; and as the vain idolators of dress and fashion gather about us, the truly refined will leave us to our congenial associates. How many mistaken people, my mother is accustomed to observe, by adopting an ostentatious style of living, and by educating their sons and daughters with a view to fashionable accomplishments rather than to a true elevation of character, attract to the acquaintance of their families those who are far from being of the best class of society, in respect either to cultivation of mind or true refinement of manners. Light-minded triflers become the companions of their sons, and fops flatter their daughters. And in proportion as this sort of people became familiar at your house, your more valuable acquaintances will gradually fall off. You may invite them ever so sincerely and make them ever so welcome, yet they will hardly persuade themselves that their unostentatious manners are congenial to a place where a different sort of people are so free to come."

"Your mother," replied Isabel, "is a happy exemplification of her doctrine. With the means of magnificence, all about her is simple and plain; and I am always struck with the goodness and good sense of the conversation in her parlour. Every body is charmed with her society, and feels a consciousness of elevation in the circle of her friends. I have always respected her good