ing with his whole strength the wall of the house, believing that it is about to fall in and crush him; at another time, he is engaged in a combat with snakes, alligators, rats, mice, or insects, of which his room, his bed, and his clothes are full; at another, his flesh is filled with pins, needles, fish-hooks, or pieces of glass, of which he is endeavoring to get free, cutting himself even to the quick in the attempt; at another, he is in an agony of terror, trembling in every limb at the fear of murder or fire, and beseeching in the most piteous accents for assistance; again, perhaps, we may visit him when he is tranquil and comparatively calm, and ready to entertain us with a long and solemn narrative of the dangers and adventures of the night before."

There seems to be a feeble glimmering of reason in these paroxysms, which must make the surrounding darkness the more terrible, or to speak without a metaphor, the patient has often a semi-consciousness of his condition which must add intensity to his sufferings. "A person," continues our author, "of very strong mind may sometimes detect the fallacy of his imaginations, and obtain a partial control over them. This lasts but for a moment. I once succeeded in convincing a patient who thought himself away from home in a strange place, that he really was in his own house, by directing his attention strongly to several pictures, which were hanging around his room, and to the peculiarities in its arrangement, furniture, &c. He was convinced for the moment that he was at home, but not that he had been at home. He wondered how he had got back so quick. He soon relapsed into his original state."

It seems, however, that these struggles of reason to regain her lost ascendency are not, as might have been supposed, favorable indications in respect to the termination of the disease. The author mentions two cases, where there were distinctly marked lucid intervals, the only ones which occurred in the course of his practice, and in both the patients died.

"In the first, the disease began with convulsions, which were repeated during the first twelve hours. On the second morning, without having slept at all, the patient had a perfectly rational interval of considerable duration, and talked with his friends and attendants in a manner which would have led no one to suspect him of having labored under any alienation of mind. In a few hours, however, the delirium returned, and he died, in about forty-eight hours from the first attack, of convulsions."

The paroxysms of this disease ordinarily last from three to four days, uninfluenced, in the opinion of Dr. Ware, by any mode of medical treatment yet known, and then they terminate either in sleep, or death.

This disease is far more common and it has a far wider range among the various ranks of society than is generally supposed. In the upper circles of society, the diseases which are the consequences of degrading vices, are concealed, either by the seclusion of the patient, or by fictitious statements or soft names. On this subject the author remarks,

"Degraded as are the habits which lead to this disease, and lost to all that is honorable or desirable in life, as most of the subjects of it are; still some are not so, and many, even of those who are, are objects of affectionate solicitude to parents and friends. Every physician must meet with many cases where the feelings of those around the patient demand the utmost consideration and sympathy, even if his own character claim no respect. It is not uncommon for this disease to occur in young men who are objects of interest to highly respectable families; in, husbands who have wives and children dependent on them; and even in wives and mothers themselves. Some of the most painful scenes we can witness, are connected with instances of this kind, not only on account of the patients themselves, but of those also, who are connected with them and are interested in their recovery. Indeed there is hardly any disease, for the recovery of friends from which, there is more anxiety manifested than there sometimes is in this; from the hope, so generally a fallacious one, that the sufferings of sickness and the danger of death may serve to reclaim the patient from the course which has subjected him to them."

The author elsewhere remarks, that he has himself had nearly a hundred cases, about four fifths of which were in his private practice, and the others in the Alms-house, in the city of Boston. The cases are numerous every where, where ardent spirit finds its way. And this, for we cannot avoid repeating the remark we have already made, is one of the varieties of human woe, which they produce, who are allowed to scatter firebrands, arrows and death, throughout the community.

THE NATURE OF SIN.

You say, reader, that you know you are a sinner, but that you cannot feel it. You do not realize your guilt. You admit that your soul is under the influence of sin, but you do not feel it as a burden. I wish in this article to point out to your attention two particulars in the nature of sin, which may perhaps assist you to feel that it is really a burden.

1. It is the nature of sin to perpetuate itself. Where it gets hold it keeps hold. This is one of its worst features, and we can see it in all cases, in all kinds of sin. If a man does wrong once, the greatest of all the evils which will result from it is, that, in similar circumstances, he will be ready to do the same wrong again. He brings himself into such a state by one act of transgression that he will yield more easily to temptation the next time. The bad principle acquires strength by indulgence, and conscience is discouraged and silenced by having been once overwhelmed.

This is true of all sorts of sin, so that the first act of transgression is not to be dreaded so much on account of its own direct and immediate injuries, as on account of its being the prolific parent of a thousand other sins. It is always so regarded in actual life. Suppose, for instance, a father were to see his little son, stealing forth some evening to purloin fruit from a neighbor's garden. He watches him, we will suppose, from a window, and sees his hesitating step, and anxious, agitated countenance; and he knows that this is the first act of open dishonesty, which his son has been led to commit. Suppose now, that the father is in some way deprived of the opportunity of interfering, and that he must sit quietly by, and see his boy take his first step in the career of crime. I need not describe his feelings. The question I wish to bring up is, what will give his feelings their acutest sting? It is not the direct consequences of this first step. It is not the value of the property to be taken. It is not fear of the injured neighbor's displeasure. It is not any apprehended difficulty in settling the affair with him. Nor is it the sufferings which he knows he must, in justice and in faithfulness, inflict upon his son, nor the remorse which his son must endure, when he comes, in sober mind, to look back upon his sin, nor even the single stain of guilt which this one act produces. What is it, then? Why, that the father sees, or fears he sees, in this first step, the beginning of a long life of crime.

I mean he sees that the tendency of this first step, if not counteracted, will be to lead to a long life of crime. Doubtless he will endeavor to counteract it; he will hope to do so; but this danger, that the first step will lead to others like it, and worse, is what gives the affair almost all its consequence. Were it not for this, many a father might perhaps simply look upon it as a juvenile offence, worthy of very little consideration.

So with all sin. One of its darkest features is its power to perpetuate itself; where it gains admission, it establishes and perpetuates its own reign. If a child tells a falsehood, the worst of it is, that he has taken a great step towards fitting himself for telling many more. If a man deals once unjustly by his neighbor, he has probably commenced a long series of acts of injustice. Sin is thus a viper which breeds, in a most prolific manner, its own kind, and keeps permanent possession, wherever it is once admitted.

God seems to afford, in this world, the opportunity for sin to show itself in a variety of forms, that we may see its nature, and by the analogy of its effects between man and man, learn its character in respect to the relation between man and God. Now sin against God tends, in the manner above described to perpetuate itself. When Adam first disobeyed his Maker's command, one of the worst aspects of the case was the fact, that, left to himself, he would go on disobeying. So when, in early life, a child first commits sin, he admits something into his bosom which will stay there; or rather he will keep it there. The wrong he begins to do, he will go on to do, if God leaves him to choose his own way. Therefore he who is living in sin, has brought himself under an influence which is, in its nature, perpetual. There must be a moral interference from above to save him from it, or else just as of his own accord he first sinned, so he will perpetually, of his own accord, go on

to sin.

Reader, are you still in sin? If so the great difficulty, --the gloomiest and the most melancholy aspect of your case, consists in the future, not in the past. The past guilt is deep and dark enough, it must be acknowledged; but it is nothing compared to that which is before you,directly in your path, which you are steadily pressing forward to, and will press forward to, as long as God leaves you to your own chosen way.

2. It is the nature of sin to perpetuate its own punishment. That is, though the sin may be over in a moment, the suffering remains. It remains, too, indefinitely, in fact time very often sharpens its sting.

Suppose a man commits some sinful act; in order to make the point clearer, we will take a very strong case; — in a fit of sudden passion, he kills his own child. He did not really intend to murder it, but in a fit of passion, excited by something in which the child was not to blame, he strikes a sudden blow which takes away its life. The sin is over in a

moment. But how long will it be before the father can think of it without pain? It is an idea which many persons vaguely entertain, that sin carries its own punishment with it, at the time of its commission, and that it settles the account as it goes along. But nothing can be more inconsistent with facts. Sin leaves its sting behind. And it is a sting which time alone can never extract. The pressure of business or pleasure, may remove for a time the recollection of guilt, but the recollection itself, when it comes, must be attended with pain, however remote may be the period of the transgression.

Any honest student of mental philosophy, who should endeavor, by observation merely, to investigate the human heart, would come inevitably to this conclusion. He will see this power of sin to fix a thorn which cannot be eradicated wherever it gains admission, acting universally. The wound may remain insensible for a time, but it cannot be cured. The sinner may forget his sin, but he cannot cut off his responsi bility for it, or escape from the danger of having the corroding sufferings of it, break out upon him at any time. They do sometimes break out in this world. After the lapse of many years, the bitter recollections of early guilt, will come over the soul, and overwhelm it with suffering. God assures us, too, that, in another world they will come with all their power.

The nature of sin, then, is such that he who commits it, plants a thorn in his side, which at first he may not feel, but it will bring torture at last. It is as if a boy, whose body had lost its sensibility by some dreadful disease, should cut and tear his flesh wantonly in his sports, thus inflicting wounds which will inflame, and will drive him to distraction when sensibility shall return. The soul is morally insensible and dead. It does not feel the spiritual wounds, which are inflicted upon it; but every wound remains. There is no natural sanative process which can cure them. And sensibility is to return. In fact it is not wholly gone now, but, at a future day, it will fully return. These are, perhaps, two of the most important characteristics of the nature of sin. Every person who is living in alienation from God, is under its dominion. Reader, are you such an one, and can you think of your condition with careless unconcern?