PLUMATELLA. 385 
though the natural feeling is that of admiration, we may, 
by no very unnatural process, be led to thmk of the tents 
of sin—of the palaces of pollution—reared by those who 
make merchandize of souls; who, for “ filthy lucre,” ply 
every wile suited to the corrupt propensities of the human 
heart. In looking at the little infusories on the verge of 
destruction, I could not help thinking with pity on the 
- multitude of mfatuated mortals who “go as oxen to thie 
slaughter,—as birds to the snare, and know not that it is 
for their life.’ In them we might regard as verified the 
ancient fable of warriors changed into swine by partaking 
of Circe’s cup: and when the fable tells how the veteran 
chief was preserved from falling under the power of the 
enchantress, by a herb given him by a friendly deity, should 
we forget, that even to those whom the cup of sinful plea- 
sure has degraded and sunk below the level of the most 
polluted of the brutes, there is offered free access to the 
tree of life, “the leaves of which are for the healing of the 
nations ;” of which if the degraded eat, they are raised not 
only to the rank of men, but are made partakers of the 
Divine nature, “ being renewed in the whole man after the 
image of God.” How thankful should we be that the way 
to this blessed tree is, by Him who loved us,, laid open to 
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