“You may well say that.  But, really, my friend, I feel no little mortification at not making so simple and valuable a discovery at an earlier period of my life, Heaven knows,” continued K——­, “I have looked for contentment everywhere else.  First, I sought for wealthy in the gold mines of California, thinking that was the true source of all earthly joys; but after obtaining it, I found myself with such a multiplicity of cares and anxieties, that I was really more unhappy than ever.  I then sought for pleasure in travelling.  This answered somewhat the purpose of dissipating cares, &c., so long as it lasted; but, dear me, it gave no permanent satisfaction.  After seeing the whole world, I was as badly off as Alexander the Great.  He cried for another world to conquer, and I cried for another world to see.”

The case of our friend, I imagine, differs not materially from that of a host of other seekers of contentment in this productive world.  Like “blind leaders of the blind,” our invariable fate is to go astray in the universal race for happiness.  How common is it, after seeking for it in every place but the right one, for the selfish man to lay the whole blame upon this fine world—­as if anybody was to blame but himself.  Even some professors of religion are too apt to libel the world.  “Well, this is a troublesome world, to make the best of it,” is not an uncommon expression; neither is it a truthful one.  “Troubles, disappointments, losses, crosses, sickness, and death, make up the sum and substance of our existence here,” add they, with tremendous emphasis, as if they had no hand in producing the sad catalogue.  The trouble is, we set too high a value on our own merits; we imagine ourselves deserving of great favours and privileges, while we are doing nothing to merit them.  In this respect, we are not altogether unlike the young man in the parable, who, by-the-by, was also a professor—­he professed very loudly of having done all those good things “from his youth up.”  But when the command came, “go sell all thou hast, and give to the poor,” &c., it soon took the conceit out of him.

In this connexion, there are two or three seemingly important considerations, which I feel some delicacy in touching upon here.  However, in the kindest possible spirit, I would merely remark, that there is a very large amount of wealth in the Church—­by this I include its wealthy members, of course; and refer to no particular denomination; by Church, I mean all Christian denominations.  Now, in connexion with this fact, such a question as this arises in my mind—­and I put it, not, for the purpose of fault-finding, for I don’t know that I have a right view of the matter, but merely for the consideration of those who are fond of hoarding up their earthly gains, viz.:  Suppose the modern Church was composed of such professors as the self-denying disciples of our Saviour,—­with their piety, simplicity, and this wealth; what, think you, would be the consequence?