higher towards the time of the new and full moon, and is lower during the quarters. The motion of it is also much more considerable in spring and autumn than in the other seasons. On the contrary, the tides are much weaker during the solstices. This phenomenon is particularly observable in the ocean where the water fills a great space; and is much less so in limited seas, such as the Mediterranean. Finally, the interval between the flux and reflux is not exactly six hours: it is eleven minutes more, so that these revolutions do not happen the next day, "at the same moment, but three quarters of an hour later. They do not return at the same hour till the end of thirty days, which is exactly the time from one new moon to another. What may be conclu ded on, with certainty, from this constant and regular phenomenon is, that the flux and reflux have some connection with the motions of the moon. But, without searching deeper into the cause of this effect, in which there is still much obscurity; without deciding whether the flux and reflux are owing to the pressure of the moon on the waters, or the gravitation of the particles of the earth towards the moon, let us rather reflect on the views God proposes in these remarkable revolutions. It is always a pardonable ignorance, not to be able to explain perfectly the laws and the course of nature; but it is an inexcusable want of attention and gratitude, not to reflect on the happy effect those laws, and those great phenomena, have upon our earth, or to forget what we owe to the beneficent Father of nature. The first advantage we have from the flux, is the sending back the waters into the rivers, and making them deep enough to be able to convey, to the very gates of great cities, burdens and merchan dise, dise, the carriage of which would otherwise be impracticable. The ships wait sometimes the increase of water, to take advantage of it to get into the road, without touching the bottom, to enter the channel without danger. After this important service, the tides fall, and, leaving the river to return to its shores, they facilitate the enjoyment of commodities to the inhabitants. Another advantage we have from this perpetual waving of the waters is, to prevent it from stagnating, or corrupting by lying still. It is true, that the wind also contributes to it, but, as there is often a perfect calm in the water, there might result from it, a putrefaction in the bason of the sea, which is the reservoir for all the waters of the earth to flow into. God has, therefore, ordered the flux and reflux to prevent hurtful things settling there. The motion of the water, rising and falling, attenuates and separates those corrupted vapours; and, in order to preserve the sea in its purity, the flux and reflux mixes and disperses the salt, of which it is full, and which would otherwise sink quickly to the bottom. These reflections may naturally remind us of a circumstance which is much connected with this phenomenon: Our life is but a flux and reflux. It increases and decreases: Every thing is inconstant and liable to change. Nothing is durable. There is no permanent joy, hope, or happiness. We swim in a rapid and inconstant river: Let us then take care not to be drawn into the abyss; and let us endeavour to gain the happy port, the smiling and cheerful shores. On the other hand, let us bless God, that our evils and anxieties are of short duration. An excessive and lasting grief, or pain, is as little compatible with our nature, as a constant and perfect happiness. These changes are are certainly an advantage to us. If we enjoyed; through the whole course of our lives, an uninterrupted felicity, we might easily grow proud, and forget God. As, on the other hand, a continual train of disgraces and misfortunes would sink us entirely, and harden our hearts. Let us then bless our heavenly Father for his wise decrees, and endeavour to conduct ourselves through every event of life, in prosperity and adversity, in a manner worthy our faith and the hope of everlasting life. FEBRUARY VIII. THE SUN DOES NOT ALWAYS APPEAR. CLOUDS of rain and snow do not always cover the sky. The clouds sometimes disperse, after having spread over the earth the great provision of water they had collected. Then, the most agreeable serenity appears in the sky. The sight of the sun, which dark clouds had deprived us of for some days, revives every creature, and fills them with joy and animation. During summer, we are accustomed to the presence of this beautiful light; but, as it seldom appears in winter, and then only for a few hours, we learn to value it the more. Is not this a remark we may make, in regard to every other gift of God? Is it not true, that we are but little sensible of the blessings of this life, and that we look on them often with indifference, when in our possession? Health, repose, friendship, an easy income, and a thousand other blessings, which we daily enjoy, do not appear to us as great as they really are; and we often continue insensible of their value, till we have lost them. We must be, on a sick-bed, de serted serted by our friends, in want and poverty, before we fully feel the happiness of enjoying good health, of having a faithful friend, and the means of subsisting comfortably. When the sun brightens up, after having long been darkened with clouds, the earth still looks dismal. It is true, that it is a little improved by its rays, but it is not sufficient to restore it to all its beauty. The sun has not yet sufficient power to conquer the cold, which has hardened the earth, nor to revive nature, which appears dead. It is like the light of the mind, which does not always warm the heart. Those who languish in misery and affliction feel this. It happens sometimes, that in the winter of life, or in other sad and unhappy circumstances, we see joy and pleasure at a distance, without being able to taste the fruits of them. We owe, however, thanksgivings to our heavenly Benefactor, for those gleams of joy, which now and then refresh our souls, and soften our cares and sorrows, were it but for a few moments. I limit myself, O God, to this one favour, which I beg of thee,-If it is thy will, that some of my latter days should be sad and gloomy, I will not murmur at it, I will not lose courage; grant only that my soul may be now and then revived with some rays of joy, and that I may have a distant view of a happy futurity. All that I dare ask is some moments of ease and comfort; they will enable me to support, with courage, the cloudy days of adversity. How uncertain is the serenity of the sky in winter! How little can we depend on the beneficent rays of the sun! It appears now with mild majesty, but it will soon be covered with clouds; and, before noon, the splendour and beauty, with which it enlivened the earth this VOL. I. E morn, morn, will all disappear. Such is also the uncertainty of every scene through life. We can never promise ourselves lasting or uninterrupted happiness. It ought to make us wise and prudent in the days of prosperity, and moderate our love of earthly enjoyments. Every thing is liable to change. Virtue only is unchangeable. That alone can enable us to support the vicissitudes and distresses of this world, and give us fortitude to bear adversity or prosperity, till it lead us to those blest regions where we shall be perfectly happy, without a shadow of variation or change. OUR earth suffers two kinds of shocks; one is occasioned by the action of subterraneous fires, and by the explosion of volcanos. These commotions are only felt at small distances, and only when the volcanos work just before the entire eruption. As soon as the matter which forms the subterraneous fires comes to ferment and blaze, the fire makes an effort on all sides; and if it does not naturally find a vent, it raises the earth, and makes itself a passage, by throwing it up with violence. But earthquakes of this kind only extend for the space of a few miles. They shake the earth like the explosion of a magazine of powder, which produces a shock, and a sensible commotion at several leagues distance. But there is another sort of earthquake very different in the effect, and perhaps in the cause also; I mean those terrible earthquakes which art felt at |