sion of human knowledge-as their solace under the painful and somewhat humbling disappointment, that peace, contentment, and virtue, do not travel 'pari passu' with intellectual advancement and mental cultivation. But because this sentiment is the sentiment of God, and because man is by nature “the enemy of God," this infallible aphorism is not only overlooked, but practically impugned by those who, wise in the principles of their own folly, and enthusiastic in the imaginings of high results, would prescribe unlimited secular knowledge as the great panacea for the woes and evils of humanity. This divine proposition deserves the attention and consideration of the philosopher, because it is asserted, not as a problem, but as the conclusion of experience, as the result of investigation, the fruit of deep meditation, the product of laborious trial. It also affirms, what at first sight appears to involve a contradiction-it makes "wisdom" the parent of

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grief," and "knowledge" the fountain of

sorrow;" but if the intellectual man will but take the trouble to unravel this mystery, and reconcile the superficial contrariety which this maxim presents, he will find that it con

tains a most profound and valuable truth, and that between all its parts, may be found that proverbial and natural connection, which subsists between cause and effect. "In much wisdom is much grief." What then is this wisdom? mere earthly wisdom-and what are its accompaniments? It extends the view of what is unsatisfying without, and it consequently opens the springs of discontent within -it awakens desires that can never be gratified, cravings that can never be filled-it exhibits fields that can never be cultivated, regions that can never be visited, heights that can never be scaled, and depths that can never be penetrated-it calls forth mental and physical exertion, it ever keeps the man upon the stretch, presenting discovery and incomprehensibility in perpetual succession, and bringing the success of power and the defeat of weakness, into continual contact. But above all, this earthly wisdom makes man better acquainted with the characters and habits of his own species, it enables him to take a wider and more minute survey of human nature, of the world he inhabits, and of all the "vanity that is under the sun;" and what does the dark and gloomy scene present

to him? One almost unvaried panorama of evil-all mankind crowded (as it were) in moral chaos-envy, hatred, and malice, superseding universal love-ambition and selfishness predominant, vicious pride trampling upon virtuous poverty-changes, chances, crossescontinued alternations of elevation and depression-nothing stable, all moving, uncertainty, and disappointment affixed as labels upon every terrestial object and possession, and nothing certain but that which happens to all"-the crisis which, in the estimate of this wisdom, crowns the miserable doom of earth's inhabitants, and translates them from a scene, although "tried and found wanting," to one unknown, untried, and therefore the more terrific. Must not there be then in "much of this wisdom," "much grief?"

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But again, the "wise man" declares that "he that increaseth knowledge increaseth sorrow." This assertion will be found to be as incontrovertible as the former, whether we appeal to history or to our own experience. In the annals of our race-the biographical records of those who have played the most conspicuous part upon the stage of life-do we find that mere earthly knowledge has ever

produced contentment? nay, do we not find, on the contrary, a full confirmation of this inspired declaration? How melancholy the confessions of heathen philosophers, how humbling their own acknowledgments of dissatisfaction, of ignorance-how instructive their longings after true wisdom-the knowledge of God, of themselves, of eternity-how does it stain all human glory, to hear them confess that "all they knew was, that they knew nothing." How impressive the exclamation of the renowned Socrates, when returning to the dungeon preparatory to his drinking the fatal hemlock, "I go to die, you to live, but which is the best the Divinity alone can know." Where can we find the elements of peace in this knowledge? nay, do we not discover in it the constituents of agonizing solicitude, of sadness, of sorrow. And is not the evidence to the truth affirmed by the Royal Preacher equally striking in the history of the great and mighty of the earth-the Cæsars, the Alexanders, the conquerors, the potentates of of the world! neither earthly knowledge, nor earthly dignity, afforded them peace. To them empire was but a splendid burden, and universal sway but an unbounded yoke. And

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what is the testimony of our own experience? Do we not find amongst many who have attained to the greatest heights of mere secular knowledge the most restless and discontented of mankind? Are they not often the most profligate and sensual, the least sympathizing, and the least benevolent of their race? sanctified knowledge has but dressed up their viciousness in a more attractive, and therefore a more dangerous garb; and the effect of deep acquaintance with the mysteries of science and philosophy has but given daring to infidelity, put a polish upon profligacy, and added refinement to iniquity. Here then there must be "sorrow" where there is no "knowledge" of self or of God, no discernment of the moral deformity of sin, no desire of a Saviour to redeem, no enjoyment of spiritual peace, no consolation under the pressure of human evil, no control over human passion, no possession of religious privilege, no perception of human responsibility, no apprehension or hope of man's future destiny.

But the divine aphorism in the twelfth chapter of Ecclesiastes is no less important than that which we have been considering"of making many books there is no end, and