ftib« faintly etche(i ; the red fadea into obscurity) and successive stratas 

 of upcreeping sea-mists, like the gauze clouds of a theatre, become 

 denser and denser, till a scene on which a A'olume might have been ex- 

 pended, becomes gradually shut from our lingering view, 



" And like the baseless fabric of a vision, 

 Leaves not a rack behind." 



But the increase of the wind warns us, instead of looking abroad for 

 objects on which to banquet the eye, to pay some attention to measures 

 become necessary through the change of weather. And how soon is 

 the loveliness of a peaceful sunset transformed into the stern indications 

 of an approaching squall. The ocean life is the most of all subject to 

 uncertainty. The pleasures of the present hour may be succeeded by 

 the perils of the next in succession ; and vacant hilarity and good fellow- 

 ship exchanged for the glance of anxiety and the heaviness of an antici- 

 pating dread. Capricious as the waves on which it is spent, and of 

 which it is a characteristic, fleets the life of a sailor. Who shall blame 

 him, then, for snatching the bright hour as it rises ; and careless of past 

 fatigues and future evils, drowning every uncongenial reminiscence in 

 the enjoyment of the moment. And is not this, after all, the truest 

 philosophy ? The future is a cloud- like panorama, whether pleasing or 

 otherwise, of something, perhaps, never destined to take place. The 

 imagination tints it with colours which harmonize when placed at a pro- 

 per distance, and make a showy and captivating remote appearance — 

 whilst over all, pleasing in its unchained diffusiveness, is shed the sun- 

 shine of hope^ The past is the obscurity of the road over which we 

 have passed, viewed either through the medium of regret or self-congra- 

 tulation ; regret, in having contained that, though perhaps lightly 

 prized at the time, now deemed as gratifying — self-congratulation, in 

 burying that, endured in the hour, though now exaggerated by the 

 gloom of remoteness. The present is the only thing upon which we can 

 seize, which is tangible — the future is vapour — the past is a dream — 

 after all, what is it we are labouring after ? Enjoyments looked forward 

 to, if fated to arrive, must become present ; evils expected are not yet in 

 existence — if destined to exist, they will arrive fast enough of themselves. 

 What is to come, therefore, whether for good or bad, is not yet in being, 

 and for what is not in being it were folly to concern ourselves. The 

 present is in being, therefore let that engross our whole attention. If 

 pregnant with good, let us not alloy that good with the dross of un- 

 founded anxietv : if charged with einl, let us not burthen our powers of 

 avoidance or endurance with the extrinsic weight of additional misfor- 

 tunes. Surelv, he must be the most fcolish of governors, who, when he 

 eees an enemy with whom he lacks the means to contend, sitting down before 

 his very gates, sends the one half of his garrison abroad to reconnoitre an 

 expected body of assailants. We can only experience pleasure or pain 

 through the medium of our senses. It is the part of a wise man to endea- 

 vour to obtain as much of the former, and as little of tiie latter, as possible, 

 that is consistent with its permanency ; for who would forego a lasting 

 good for a short interval of evil; or seize a fleeting hour of enjoyment, when 

 attended by an enduring contrary. Upon the present, alone, are our 

 senses capable of being exercised ; therefore, to exfrvict as much rea ( 

 M. M.— 3. R 



