circumstances, so many accidents of disgrace, of loss, of death, of treachery, and of affliction; all provided by a watchful Providence to facilitate the means of breaking asunder his chains: those special attentions of God, even when in the paths of iniquity: those disgusts, even in the midst of his pleasures, provided for him by his goodness: those inward calls which incessantly whispered to him, Return to virtue and to duty: that internal monitor, which, go where he would, never left him, and unceasingly repeated to him, as formerly to St. Augustine, Fool! how long wilt thou hunt after pleasures which can never make thee happy? When, by terminating thy crimes, wilt thou terminate thy troubles? What more is yet required to open thine eyes upon the world, than thine own experience itself, of thy weariness and unhappiness while serving it? Try if, in belonging to me, thou shalt not be more happy, and if I suffice not to fill the soul which possesses me.
Such is what the past offers to a contrite soul. It there sees the accomplices of its former pleasures still delivered up, by God^s justice, to the errors of the world and of the passions, and it alone chosen, separated, and called to the knowledge of the truth.
With what peace and consolation does that reflection fill the believing soul! " How infinite, O my God," cries he, with the prophet, ft are thy mercies! Thou hast covered me in my mothers womb: thou hast compassed my path, and my lying down, and all my ways have been known to thee. What have I done for thee more than so many other sinners whose eyes thou deignest not to open, and to manifest the severity of thy judgments and of thy justice? How marvellous, O God! are all thy works, and that my soul knoweth right well P — First advantage of righteous souls; the remembrance even of their past infidelities consoles them.
But, secondly, if they find sources of solid consolation in reviewing the past, their piety is not less comforted while viewing the present occurrences of the world. And here, my brethren, you will presently see how essentially requisite is virtue to the happiness of life, and how that very world, which gives birth to all the passions, and, consequently, to all the disquietudes of sinners, becomes the sweetest and most consolatory exercise of the faith of the just.
What, indeed, is the world even to the worldly themselves, who love it, who seem intoxicated with its delights, and who cannot do without it? The world? It is an eternal servitude, where no one lives for himself, and where, in order to be happy, we must bring ourselves to hug our chains, and to love our slavery. The world? It is a daily revolution of events, which successively arouse, in the hearts of its partisans, the most violent and the most melancholy passions, cruel antipathies, hateful perplexities, torturing fears, devouring jealousies, and corroding cares. The world? It is a land of curse, where even its pleasures are productive of only bitternesss and thorns. Gaming fatigues and exhausts by its frenzies and by its caprices: conversation becomes wearisome through the contrariety of tempers and the opposition of sentiments; passions and criminal attachments are followed with their disgusts, their
