On D E A T H. 53 
If this were not the cafe, could the frequent intimations of 
mortality ; could the daily, I might fay hourly, remembrances 
we receive, that it will be our turn foon, make fo faint an 
itnprefiion, and fo little enforce the duties of religion ? 
To learn how to die, is beyond all doubt the mod; import- 
ant leffon of life : it is the great bufinefs of living. All other 
affairs, which are interefting, we generally attend to with care 
and afiiduity, efpecially if they promife any acquifition of fame, 
or riches, or pleafures. What can we refolve our neglect into, 
but foolifhnefs and perverfenefs ? We are always on the confines 
of eternity; but when, to appearance, we are arrived on the 
very verge of it, we ftill cling to earth, inftead of driving to 
mount to heaven. There is but one way to correct this fatal 
midake : “Set your affections on things above, not on things 
“ on the earth. I am yours, §fc. 
LETTER XVIIL 
1 o the fame . 
T HUS it is, Madam: to-day we triumph in our tran- 
fient exidence ! We think of joys to come, which we 
have no reafon, from the pad, to believe will ever happen. 
To-morrow comes, and we fall ; we crumble into dud, which 
ferves only to nourifh the plant which men or beads feed upon. 
But fhall we lament that we are but creatures of a day ? That 
day lights us to eternity ! It leads us to thofe regions where we 
fhall live for ever ! 
The 
