Happiness is the great end and aim of all those restless pursuits in which mankind are perpetually engaged. The laborious peasant, and the contemplative philosopher; the man that wisheth for wealth, and the man that possesseth it; the gay votary of worldly pleasure, and the gloomy tenant of the solitary cell, are alike industrious in exploring this hidden treasure. Their imaginations are ever upon the stretch after this something yet unknown. Their ideas of happiness indeed, as well as the means which they make use of to attain it, are as different as their prevailing tempers and inclinations. Whatever objects coincide with their present conceptions, those they esteem, and those they pursue, with all the eagerness of newly awakened desire. Deluded, however, by specious appearances, mistaken again and again in their choice of objects, loathing to-day what they pursued yesterday with ardour, chearful and confident in prospect, disappointed and melancholy in possession, they fondly rove from one scene of imaginary bliss to another, unable to rest on any with permanent satisfaction. They never once consider, that no finite objects can fill up the immense void of an immortal soul, no temporal enjoyments satisfy its boundless desires; and that nothing less than "life eternal" can afford an happiness commensurate to its eternal nature. This is not mere theory, or empty speculation. There is not one in this assembly, but could bear witness from experience to the melancholy fact. Was each of us to be asked, in a serious and solemn manner, Are you really happy? very few, I am afraid, if they would speak ingenuously, could answer in the affirmative. And yet, perhaps, most of us have attained, from time to time, what we once deemed the height of our wishes; and what we were then sure, if attained, would make us completely happy. The child wishes for the employments and pleasures of youth; the youth longs to arrive at what he calls the freedom and independence of manhood; the man anxiously schemes and plots, and contrives, and labours and toils, and then wishes to see the success of his schemes, the accomplishment of his labours. His schemes turn out to his satisfaction; the end is obtained; the object is enjoyed: his bliss is consummate, to be sure; he cannot be happier--No such thing--New wants succeed; new schemes are formed; new pursuits, new labours, new anxieties and wishes, tread close upon each other's heels. But where is his happiness all the while? Why he loses sight, at last, of the grand and principal object, in the pursuit of which he had set out: failing of success in this, he foolishly adopts the means for the end; and perpetual care, toil, and vexation, are the wretched effects of his mistaken choice.