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—Oh! truſt not in youth or ſtrength, or in any thing mortal; for there is nothing certain, nothing to be depended on, beneath the unchangeable God;—Death, relentless death, is making him another kind of bed in the duſt of the earth. On this he muſt take up a lonely lodging, nor ever be releaſed, till "the heavens are no more."—In vain does the conſenting fair one put on her ornaments, and expect her ſpouſe. Little thinking that the intended bridegroom had for ever done with tranſitory things: that now everlaſting cares employ his mind, without one ſingle remembrance of his lovely Lucinda!—Go, diſappointed virgin! go, mourn the uncertainty of all created bliſs! Teach thy ſoul to aſpire after a ſure and immutable felicity! For the once gay and gallant Fidelio ſleeps in other embraces; even in the icy arms of death! forgetful, eternally forgetful, of the world—and thee.
—another monitor beſpeaks me, from a neighbouring ſtone. It contains the narrative of an unhappy mortal, ſnatched from his friends, and hurried to the awful bar; without leiſure, either to take a laſt farewel of the one, or to put up ſo much as a ſingle prayer preparatory for the other; killed, according to the uſual expreſfion, by a ſudden ſtroke of caſualty.
Was it then a random blow? Doubtleſs, the ſtroke came from an aiming, though
