THE of saying grace at meals had, probably, its in in the early times of the world, and the huate of man, when dinners were precarious things, and a full meal was more than a on blessing; when a belly-full was a windfall, and looked like a special providence. In the shouts and triumphal songs with which, after a season of sharp abstinence, a lucky booty of deers oats flesh would naturally be ushered home, existed, perhaps, the germ of the mrace. It is not otherwise easy to be uood, why the blessing of food -- the act of eating -- should have had a particular expression of thanksgiving ao it, distinct from that implied and silent gratitude with which we are expected to enter upon the enjoyment of the many other various gifts and good things of existence. I own that I am disposed to say grace upoy other occasions in the course of the day besides my dinner. I want a form for setting out upon a pleasant walk, for a moonlight ramble, for a friendly meeting, or a solved problem. Why have we none for books, these spiritual repasts -- a grace before Milton -- a grace before Shakspeare -- a devotional exercise proper to be said before reading the Fairy Queen? -- but, the received ritual having prescribed these forms to the solitary ceremony of manducation, I shall fine my observations to the experience which I have had of the grace, properly so called; ending my new scheme for extension to a niche in the grand philosophical, poetical, and per part heretical, liturgy, now piling by my friend Homo Humanus, for the use of a certain snug gregation of Utopian Rabelaesian Christians, no matter where assembled.
The form then of the beion before eating has its beauty at a poor mans table, or at the simple and unprovocative repasts of children. It is here that the race bees exceedingly graceful. The i man, who hardly knows whether he shall have a meal the day or not, sits down to his fare with a present sense of the blessing, which be but feebly acted by the rich, into whose minds the ception of wanting a dinner could never, but by some extreme theory, have ehe proper end of food -- the animal sustenance -- is barely plated by them. The poor mans bread is his daily bread, literally his bread for the day. Their courses are perennial.
Again, the plai diet seems the fittest to be preceded by the grace. That which is least stimulative to appetite, leaves the mind most free for fn siderations. A man may feel thankful, heartily thankful, over a dish of plain mutton with turnips, and have leisure to reflect upon the ordinand institution of eating; when he shall fess a perturbation of mind, insistent with the purposes of the grace, at the presence of venison or turtle. When I have sate (a rarus hospes) at rich mens tables, with the savoury soup and messes steaming up the nostrils, and moistening the lips of the guests with desire and a distracted choice, I have felt the introdu of that ceremony to be unseasonable. With the ravenous asm upon you, it seems impertio interpose a religious se. It is a fusion of purpose to mutter out praises from a mouth that waters. The heats of epicurism put out the gentle flame of devotion. The inse which rises round is pagan, and the belly-god intercepts it for his own. The very excess of the provision beyond the needs, takes away all sense of proportioween the end and means. The giver is veiled by his gifts. You are startled at the injustice of returning thanks -- for what ? -- for having too much, while so man