and the groves, clothed with a dazzling splendour! What a charm results from the assemblage of all these objects! Behold! (for the eye can scarce have enough of this sight, however accustomed to it), behold the brilliant dress of those hedges! behold the forests bending under the white sheet which covers them! The whole offers to our view the appearance of a vast desert, over which one uniform veil of a dazzling whiteness extends itself. What idea shall I form of those, who, at the sight of these phenomena, feel nothing; or, who do not conceive the pleasing sensations that the Creator meant to convey to them? They who do nothing at this moment' but murmur against the laws of nature, how much are they to be pitied! If the prospect of nature in winter gives them no pleasure, I fear they will be equally insensible, even to the spring, with all its charms. How is it possible not to feel how gracious the Lord is! How adorable his wisdom, and how unbounded his mercy, in all that relates to winter! Nature, however barren it appears to us, is, notwithstanding, a divine master-piece; and it is our blindness only which conceals its beauty from us. In every part of nature there shines some ray of the divine wisdom, and still more in what is concealed from us. We do not trace her through all her ways, and we are only attentive to what strikes our senses, and flatters our inclination: And, in this respect, many are like the brutes, who see the sun, the snow, and the other phenomena of nature, without looking up to the Lord, as the source from whence all things proceed in heaven, and on earth. With what satisfaction will every one's mind be filled, who accustoms himself to contemplate, with attention, the works of God, at this season of the year. The air may be troubled, the sky become become stormy, and nature spoiled of its charms; but they will enjoy true pleasures in discovering throughout all things, traces of the wisdom, power, and goodness of our great Creator. However limited their natural faculties may be, they will always find subjects enough to employ their minds. They will have no occasion to seek with eagerness the dissipations of the world, the amusements of dancing and play. They will find either in retirement, or in the midst of their friends and children, pleasures ever real, and ever varied. O my soul! apply thyself to the enjoyment of these pleasures. Let the works of God often employ thy thoughts, and these reflections will soften the sorrows of life. Raise thyself to God by that chain of beings he has created, and let him be at all times and seasons the object of thy praise. ་ནི་ར་ར........ JANUARY VIII. VEGETABLES WHICH PRESERVE THEIR VERDURE IN WINTER. THE earth may now be compared to a mother who has been robbed of those children from whom she had the best hopes. She is desolate and deprived of the charms which varied and embellished her surface. However, she is not robbed of all her children. Here and there, some vegetables are still to be seen, which seem to defy the severity of the winter. Here the wild hawthorn shews its purple berries; and the laurestina displays its blossoms in clusters, crowned with leaves which never fade. The yew-tree rises like a pyramid, and its leaves preserve their verdure. The weak ivy still creeps along the walls, and clings immoveable, while the tempest roars around it. The Faurel extends its green branches, and has lost none of its summer ornaments. The humble box shews, here and there, in the midst of the snow, its evergreen branches. These trees, and some others besides, preserve their verdure in the coldest climates, and in the severest seasons. They are emblems of the durable advantages which he possesses, whose mind is cultivated, and whose temper is sweet and serene. The splendour of dress, which only dazzles the eyes of the vulgar, is a trifling and transient splendour. The most brilliant complexion will fade, and all outward beauty is of short duration; but virtue has charms which survive every thing. The man who fears the Lord, is "like a tree planted by the side of 66 a rivulet. It grows and flourishes, and its "branches extend far off. It bears fruit in due season, and its leaves fade not. It refreshes "him who seeks its shelter, and the traveller "blesses it." 66 What a delightful image is this of a pious man! He borrows not his value from the exterior and arbitrary goods of fortune. His true ornaments are in himself. The storms of adversity may sometimes shake him, but they cannot overpower him; and he soon rises again above the stormy regions. If he is reduced by misfortune to poverty, he is still rich in possession of the favour of God, a good conscience, and the hope of a blessed immortality. This meditation leads me to the idea of a benevolent old man. In the winter of his life, he resembles the plants which preserve their verdure, even in that season of life. How many storms of fortune has he supported with constancy! How many attracting objects has he seen wither! He yet yet exists, while most of those of his time have disappeared. A mild cheerfulness is seen in him, the happy remains of his spring. However wrinkled his forehead may be, whatever ravages the hand of time has imprinted upon his body, he is still adorned with virtues which make amends for the loss of exterior charms. He grows young again in his children; and his wisdom, his integrity, his great experience, serve still for examples and lessons to all around him. Oh! may the winter of my life resemble this. May I, after having lost all those charms of youth, and of a riper age, which I have boasted of, may I blossom again in my old age, like a fertile tree, and inspire, by my virtues, veneration and love! Shortly will the beauty of my body fade, like a summer flower. Happy, then, if I have no reason to regret the loss of it! Happy, if I find myself adorned with those attractions which have their source from wisdom and virtue, and which will not wither, even in the grave! JANUARY IX. THE SINGULAR STATE OF MAN WHEN IN order to know the omnipotence and wisdom of God, we need not have recourse to extraordinary events. The most common things, the daily changes which happen in nature, and in our own bodies, are alone sufficient to convince us in the strongest manner, that it is a Being, infinite in wisdom, goodness, and power, who has created the world, and who directs every event in it. Of the great number of wonders of which he is author, I will now mention one only; and though it hap pens pens daily, it does not the less deserve to be remarked, and to become the object of our admiration. How often have those been refreshed and recruited by sleep, who possibly have never reflected on that state; or, at least, have never considered it as one of the remarkable effects of divine goodness! They think that nothing extraordinary happens when balmy sleep comes upon them. They think the machine, their body, is formed for that situation, and that their inclination to sleep proceeds from causes purely natural. ture. But perhaps sleep may be considered in two different lights. On one side, there is nothing in it which may not result necessarily from our naOn the other, there is in this natural effect something so striking and wonderful, that it is well worth a closer examination. In the first instance, it is a proof of the wisdom of our Creator, that we go to sleep imperceptibly. Let us try only to watch the moment in which we are falling asleep, and that very attention will prevent it. We shall not go to sleep till that idea is lost. Sleep comes uncalled. It is the only change in our manner of existence, in which reflection has no share; and the more we endeavour to promote it, the less we succeed. Thus, God has directed sleep, that it should become an agreeable necessity to man; and he has made it independent of our will and our reason. Let us pursue this meditation and reflect on the wonderful state we are in during our sleep. We live without knowing it, without feeling it. The beating of the heart, the circulation of the blood, the digestion, the separation of the juices; in a word, all the animal functions continue and operate in the same manner. The activity of the soul appears for a time in some degree suspended, and gradually loses all sensation, |