he, is our state of trial and probation—it is to fit and prepare us for another!
Thus was he animated by zeal, hope, fervour—not for the popularity of mortal praise, but for the more glorious views of rendering himself worthy of that Supreme Being whose disciple he was, whose ministry he had taken upon himself to fulfil, and in whose presence he was continually acting. Could a steady adherence to such exalted precepts be too great, too rigid for him to practise? Was the gratification of the senses so powerful, so imposing, as that they could not be brought into subjection and obedience?
These questions he had often asked himself, but the proof was still wanting. The ordinary regulations of each day he might not have found difficult, the dissipations of midnight he might have forgone, the mind might be disciplined to undergo privations of various sorts, attendant upon those whose revenues are circumscribed.
Such he had been—such was Philimore—an ornament to his family and profession, correct and simple in his life. It was now to be seen how he would conduct himself for the future, and whether he could resist and combat those stronger passions, connected, as it were, with the inmost links of his being.
