troubled and weary, rest, even in the "cradle of the rude imperious surge:" Rest! even "in smoky cribbs, upon uneasy pallets stretched, and hushed with buzzing night-flies to their slumber," whilst lazy voluptuaries and inglorious kings," with all appliances and means to boot, even in the calmest and the stillest night" are restless and wretched.

Doubt, suspense and rivalry, are proverbially the nutriment of love, in its progress from unassured predilection, to fond and confiding affection: The pain of uncertainty and solicitude is the ordeal, in which its constancy, is tried; the furnace in which it is sublimed and etherealized: hope and fear are the alternate shower and sun-shine, under which it ripens into mellow maturity, and is converted by the nuptial tie, into an union, indissoluble but by death; and which like that dissolution too, will be the precursor to an immortal and beatific union, "in another and a better world."

"Dura necessitas, curis accuens, mortalia corda," laid the deep foundations of civilization and science, and the "amor patriæ laudum-que immensa cupido;" which are but specious names, for pleasure-begetting pain, have furnished the materials for amplifying, enriching, elevating and embellishing, the glorious superstructure.

It is by solving doubts; surmounting difficulties; and satisfying painful and restless curiosity, that the study and acquisition of knowledge, afford gratification to the active and inquiring mind.

It is from the spectacle of pain, that human benevolence derives incentives to exertion: it is from the exertions

of benevolence thus stimulated, that beneficence derives its very being.

What is virtue, but an incessant, a strenuous and victorious conflict, with difficulty; danger; self-denial and hardship?

What is piety, but a cheerful acquiescence in the dispensations of divine providence; a magnanimous endurance of the inevitable ills of life, an heroic and triumphant struggle with the temptations, to which we are necessarily exposed, in this probationary pilgrimage?

What is victory, but the reward of danger bravely encountered; of hardship suffered with constancy?

What is fame, (the fame "for which" all generous spirits, "bear to live," and for which, they are at all times ready "to die,") but the honours with which posterity hallow the memory and the names of their illustrious progenitors, who by courage in confronting danger; by patience in suffering; by perseverance in surmounting the difficulty; by a wisdom taught, and a virtue disciplined, in the school of adversity; have enlightened, and warned, and regenerated, mankind?

What is Heaven, but the happiness prepared in another state of existence and in a better world; by our "Father who is in Heaven," for his dutiful children upon earth; who have "remembered their Creator in the days of their youth;" "have walked humbly before God;" "returned good for evil," and submitted with patience and resignation to the ills of life; in a world, where "man is born to affliction, as the sparks fly upward?"

What is Hell, the "worm that never dies;" the "furnace whose smoke ascendeth for ever;" the deep, in which "a lower deep, still threatening to devour, opens wide!" What, according to the most enlightened theologians, are these appalling images; but emblems, and faint emblems, of the remorse; with which the disembodied and immortal spirit, must look back on the misdeeds "done in the body?" On the voluntary and ignominious bondage, of the soul to the senses, of the faculties of the man to the appetites of the animal? On apostacy from truth because it was UNPOPULAR; on desertion of the banner of justice because danger and death menaced its defender; on escape from the perils of battle, for the sake of booty; on the evasion or violation of duty, because it exacted the sacrifice of present and carnal pleasure, or, inflicted immediate privation and pain; because it summoned the surrender of wealth, popularity or power; on the habitual preference of mind-consuming sloth, and self-tormenting indolence, to the steady and energetic exertion of a spirit,

"Proud in the strong contention of its toils,
"Proud to be daring."

Are you answered, young reader? are you convinced, that there is no happiness for man, without exertion? No pleasure, that does not derive its purity, its zest, its very being, from PAIN. If you are not, you have my sincerest pity: The fault may be chargeable on temperament; education, and fortune; but you will be the selected victim. If you are not answered, an evil star presided at your birth: you are predestined to be one of the "profanum vulgus:" one of the “fru

ges consumere nati:" you may inherit a dukedom, but you will never be, nor aspire to be, a Marlborough or a Wellington: you may "sway the rod of empire," but you will never "wake to ecstacy, the living lyre:" you may "shut the gates of mercy on mankind," but you will never assist in unrolling the "ample page of knowledge to their minds:" Tacitus or Gibbon may write your history; but it will never be read, in a "nation's eyes." If you are not convinced, young reader, your own experience will assuredly impress conviction; and although the warning will come too late for your benefit, it may be useful to the world.

This is the only consolation that any human being can administer, to the youthful victim of so fatal a delusion; unless we conceive that he is permitted to work a miracle, for his special salvation.

It is to prevent the evidence of these salutary and saving truths, from impressing itself on immature and uncorrupted minds; that a host of novel-mongers, (from the limbo of vanity, from the Lilliput of "belittled" intellect,) seem to have confederated their efforts: confiding in the musty and misapplied proverb, "that many littles, make a mickle,"

"Must, the busy and the gay,
But flutter through life's little day,
In Fortune's varying colours drest!
Brush'd by the hand of rough mischance,
Or, chill'd by age, their airy dance
Forsake in dust to rest?"

Yes-emphatically, yes!-Whilst science and song, the science of Newton and the song of Milton; whilst history and biography, the "daily bread" and "living water" of intellect, stagnate in the cells of the monastic student; whilst the press teems, and circulating libraries swarm, with the foul and ephemeral fry, which are spawned with preternatural feracity, and gorged with emulous avidity, to satiate the mental Boulimous and Lientery of the omnivorous reader. Yes-emphatically, yes!-Such "must be the race of man," and woman, too; till an intelligent public, roused from its portentous trance, shall stay, this moral pestilence.

These reptile fictions, in the guize of harmless amusement, wind their way into the school-room; the play-ground; the parlour; the closet of privacy; the couch of repose, and even to the cradle of infancy. They infuse their "delicious" and unsuspected poison, into the father's admonition; the teacher's lesson; the "school-boy's satchel" and pastime; the nurse's tale, and even, (eloquar an sileam!) into the mother's milk.

The apple of Atalanta, the cup of Circe, the scissors of Dalilah; the tunic of Dejanira; are their appropriate emblems.

Beware, amiable and noble-minded youth, beware! However deeply smitten with the passion of noble minds, the "laudum immensa cupido," a rage for novel-reading, will