promise been fulfilled.  Accordingly writers on prophecy, in order to get over this difficulty, take for granted that there must be a future fulfilment, because the first was inadequate.

They who believe that the Jews will be restored to their native land, expect it on the express ground that Canaan has never been actually and permanently theirs.  A certain tract of country—­300 miles in length, by 200 in breadth—­must be given, or else they think the promise has been broken.  To quote the expression of one of the most eloquent of their writers, “If there be nothing yet future for Israel, then the magnificence of the promise has been lost in the poverty of its accomplishment.”

 I do not quote this to prove the correctness of the interpretation of
 the prophecy, but as an acknowledgment which may be taken so far as a
 proof, that the promise made to Abraham has never been accomplished.

And such is life’s disappointment.  Its promise is, you shall have a Canaan; it turns out to be a baseless airy dream—­toil and warfare—­nothing that we can call our own; not the land of rest, by any means.  But we will examine this in particulars.

1.  Our senses deceive us; we begin life with delusion.  Our senses deceive us with respect to distance, shape, and colour.  That which afar off seems oval, turns out to be circular, modified by the perspective of distance; that which appears a speck, upon nearer approach becomes a vast body.  To the earlier ages the stars presented the delusion of small lamps hung in space.  The beautiful berry proves to be bitter and poisonous:  that which apparently moves is really at rest:  that which seems to be stationary is in perpetual motion:  the earth moves:  the sun is still.  All experience is a correction of life’s delusions—­a modification, a reversal of the judgment of the senses:  and all life is a lesson on the falsehood of appearances.

2.  Our natural anticipations deceive us—­I say natural in contra-distinction to extravagant expectations.  Every human life is a fresh one, bright with hopes that will never be realized.  There may be differences of character in these hopes; finer spirits may look on life as the arena of successful deeds, the more selfish as a place of personal enjoyment.

With man the turning point of life may be a profession—­with woman, marriage; the one gilding the future with the triumphs of intellect, the other with the dreams of affection; but in every case, life is not what any of them expects, but something else.  It would almost seem a satire on existence to compare the youth in the outset of his career, flushed and sanguine, with the aspect of the same being when it is nearly done—­worn, sobered, covered with the dust of life, and confessing that its days have been few and evil.  Where is the land flowing with milk and honey?

With our affections it is still worse,