But it is principally over the enjoyments of friendship that piety spreads a new charm; bounds, limits, cannot agree with the sentiment which is as infinite as thought, it would not subsist, at least would be troubled with continual anxiety; we should not consider without terror the revolution of years and the rapid course of time, if those benevolent opinions, which enlarge for us the future, did not come to our assistance. Thus, when we find ourselves separated from the objects of our affection, lonely meditations bring them back to aid the general idea of happiness, which, more or less, distinctly terminates our view; then the tender melancholy, in which one is lost, is changed into pleasing emotions: and you have, above all, need of those precious opinions, you, who, timid in a bustling world, or discouraged by disappointments, find yourself a solitary wanderer on the earth, because you partake not of the passions which agitate the greater part of mankind! You want a friend, and you only see pecuniary associations; you want a comforter, and you only see the ambitious, strangers to all those who have not power or a distinguished reputation; a tender confident is at least necessary, and the active scenes of society disperses the affections and diminishes every interest. In short, when you have this friend, this confident, this comforter; when you have acquired it by the most tender union; when you live in a son, a husband, or a cherished wife, what other idea, but that of a God, can come to your relief, when the frightful image of a separation presents itself to your thoughts? It is, indeed, in such moments that we embrace with transport all those opinions which tend to foster the idea of continuity and duration? How gladly then we lend an ear to those words of comfort which are so perfectly consonant with the desires and the wants of our soul! What association of ideas, so frightful as that of the eternal annihilation of life and love? How can we unite to that soft division of interests and of sentiments, to that charm of our days; how can we unite to so much of existence and happiness, the internal persuasion and habitual image of a death without hope, a destruction without return? How can we offer only the idea of oblivion to those affectionate minds, who have centred all their self-love, all their ambition in the object of their esteem and tenderness; and who, after having renounced themselves, are, as it were, deposited entirely in the bosom of another, to subsist there by the same breath of life and the same destiny? In short, near the tomb, which, perhaps, they will one day bedew with their tears, how can they pronounce the overwhelming words, forever!—forever!—Oh! horrors of horrors, both for the mind and feelings! and if it be necessary that the contemplations of a man of feeling approach a moment to the frightful confines, let a benevolent cloud at least cover the dark abyss! Tears