their latter end. This ſpark of heaven is often loft under the glitter of pompous crudition, but fines clearly in the gloomy manſions of the tomb; drowned in the gentle whiſper, amidſt the noiſe of mortal affairs, but ſpeaks diſtinctly in the retirements of ſerious contemplation.———Behold how providentially I am brought to the ſchool of wiſdom: The grave is the moſt faithful maſter, and theſe inſtances of mortality, the moſt inſtructive leſſons.———Come then, calm attention, and compoſe my thoughts: come thou celeſtial Spirit and enlighten my mind; that I may ſo eaſily peruſe theſe awful pages as to become wiſe unto ſalvation.
Examining the records of MORTALITY, I found the memorials of a promiſcuous multitude. They were huddled, at leaſt they reſted together, without any regard to rank or ſeniority. None were ambitious of the uppermoſt rooms, or chief ſeats, in the houſe of mourning. None entertained fond and eager expectation of being honourably greeted in their darkſome cells. The man of years and experience reputed as an oracle in his generation, was content to lie down at the foot of a babe. In this houſe appointed for all living, the ſervant was equally accomodated, and lodged in the ſame ſtory with his maſter. The poor indigent lay as ſoftly, and ſlept as ſoundly, as the moſt oppulent profeſſor; all the diſtinction that ſubſiſted was a graſſy hillock, bound with offers; or a
