uggle
of a new experience with an established orthodox
belief. True, for hundreds of years, perhaps for a
thousand, the superstition against which it was directed
continued; when Christ came it was still in its vitality.
Nay, as we saw, it is alive, or in a sort of mock life,
among us at this very day. But even those who
retained their imperfect belief had received into their
canon a book which treated it with contumely and
scorn, so irresistible was the lofty majesty of truth.

In days like these, when we hear so much of progress,
it is worth while to ask ourselves, what advances
we have made further in the same direction? and once
more, at the risk of some repetition, let us look at the
position in which this book leaves us. It had been
assumed, that man if he lived a just and upright life,
had a right to expect to be happy. Happiness, "his
being's end and aim," was his legitimate and covenanted
reward. If God therefore was just, such a man would
be happy; and inasmuch as God was just, the man who
was not happy had not deserved to be. There is no
flaw in this argument; and if it is unsound, the fallacy
can only lie in the supposed right to happiness. It is
idle to talk of inward consolations. Job felt them, but
they were not everything. They did not relieve the
anguish of his wounds; they did not make the loss of
his children, or his friends' unkindness, any the less
painful to him.

The poet, indeed, restores him in the book; but in
life it need not have been so. He might have died upon
his ash-heap as thousands of good men have died, and
will die again in misery. Happiness, therefore, is not
what we are to look for. Our place is to be true to the
best which we know, to seek that and do that; and if
by "virtue its own reward" he meant that the good
man cares only to continue good, desiring nothing more;
then it is true and noble. But if virtue be valued,
because it is politic, because in pursuit of it will be
found most enjoyment and fewest sufferings, then it is
not noble any more, and it is turning the truth of God
into a lie. Let us do right, and whether happiness come
or unhappiness is no very mighty matter. If it come,
life will be sweet; if it do not come, life will be bitter
--bitter, not sweet, and yet to be borne. On such a
theory alone is the government of this world intelligibly
just. The well-being of our souls depends only on
what we are, and nobleness of character is nothing
else but steady