which does not live on its old virtues, which does not enslave itself to precise rules, but which forgets what is behind listens for new and higher monitions of conscience, and rejoices to pour itself forth in fresh and higher exertions.

I call that mind free, which is jealous of its own freedom which guards itself from being merged in others, which guards its empire over itself as nobler than the empire of the world.

In fine, I call that mind free, which, conscious of its affinity with God, and confiding in his promises by Jesus Christ, devotes itself faithfully to the unfolding of all its powers, which passes the bounds of time and death, which hopes to advance forever, and which finds inexhaustible power, both for action and suffering, in the prospect of immortality.

PLEASURES OF A CULTIVATED IMAGINATION.

OH! blest of Heav'n, whom not the languid songs
Of luxury, the siren! not the bribes

Of sordid wealth, nor all the gaudy spoils
Of pageant honor, can seduce to leave

Those ever-blooming sweets, which from the store
Of nature fair imagination culls

To charm th' enlivened soul! what though not all
Of mortal offspring can attain the heights
Of envied life, though only few possess
Patrician treasures or imperial state;
Yet nature's care, to all her children just,
With richer treasures and an ampler state,
Endows at large whatever happy man

Will deign to use them. His the city's pomp,

The rural honors his.

Whate'er adorns

The princely dome, the column and the arch,
The breathing marbles and the sculptur'd gold,
Beyond the proud possessor's narrow claim,
His tuneful breast enjoys. For him, the spring
Distils her dews, and from the silken gem
Its lucid leaves unfolds: for him, the hand
Of autumn tinges every fertile branch
With blooming gold and blushes like the morn.
Each passing hour sheds tribute from her wings;
And still new beauties meet his lonely walk,

And loves unfelt attract him. Not a breeze
Flies o'er the meadow, not a cloud imbibes
The setting sun's effulgence, not a strain
From all the tenants of the warbling shade
Ascends, but whence his bosom can partake
Fresh pleasure, unreprov'd. Nor thence partakes
Fresh pleasure only: for th' attentive mind,
By this harmonious action on her

powers,
Becomes herself harmonious: wont so oft
In outward things to meditate the charm
Of sacred order, soon she seeks at home
To find a kindred order, to exert
Within herself this elegance of love,
This fair inspir'd delight: her temper'd powers
Refine at length, and every passion wears
A chaster, milder, more attractive mien.
But if to ampler prospects, if to gaze
On nature's form, where, negligent of all
These lesser graces, she assumes the port
Of that eternal majesty that weigh'd

The world's foundations, if to these the mind
Exalts her daring eye; then mightier far

Will be the change, and nobler. Would the forms
Of servile custom cramp her generous power?
Would sordid policies, the barbarous growth
Of ignorance and rapine, bow her down
To tame pursuits, to indolence and fear?
Lo! she appeals to nature, to the winds
And rolling waves, the sun's unwearied course,
The elements and seasons: all declare

For what th' eternal Maker has ordain'd

The powers of man: we feel within ourselves
His energy divine; he tells the heart,

He meant, he made us to behold and love
What he beholds and loves, the general orb
Of life and being; to be great like him,
Beneficent and active. Thus the men

Whom nature's works can charm, with God himself
Hold converse; grow familiar, day by day,
With his conceptions; act upon his plan;

And form to his, the relish of their souls.

THE BEACON.

THE scene was more beautiful far, to my eye,
Than if day in its pride had array'd it:
The land-breeze blew mild, and the azure arch'd sky
Look'd pure as the spirit that made it.

The murmur arose, as I silently gazed

On the shadowy waves' playful motion,
From the dim distant isle till the beacon fire blazed,
Like a star in the midst of the ocean.

No longer the joy of the sailor-boy's breast
Was heard in his wildly breathed numbers;
The sea-bird has flown to her wave-girdled nest,
The fisherman sunk to his slumbers.

I sigh'd as I look'd from the hill's gentle slope;
And hushed was the billows' commotion;

And I thought that the beacon look'd lovely as hope,
That star of life's tremulous ocean.

The time is long past, and the scene is afar,
Yet, when my head rests on its pillow,
Will memory sometimes rekindle the star,

That blazed on the breast of the billow.

In life's closing hour, when the trembling soul flies,
And death stills the soul's last emotion,

O then may the seraph of mercy arise,
Like a star on eternity's ocean.

man.

SOCIETY.

SOCIAL intercourse is a primary means of education for It is by this intercourse that he is delivered from the savage and brutal life of the senses, and introduced into the life of the affections and of thought; and the same influence accompanies him as he enters into the moral life.

As language, instituted in the first place for reciprocal communication, becomes an instrument by which each individual developes, forms and fixes thought and judgment; in observing others, we unconsciously study ourselves as in a mirror; even the differences we discover instructing us, by multiply

ing companions and contrasts. Thus, social intercourse becomes a school for reflection. In discovering what we are, we also perceive what we may become; and, called to choose in presence of the future, we are led to consult ourselves.The struggle of interests and pretensions brings out the sentiment of justice; benefits received, teach gratitude, and thus we are led from equity to love; moreover, the exchange of affection teaches devotion, and devotion, the generosity which introduces virtue.

How profound are the designs of Providence in thus constituting the laws of human nature, putting the spur of a want wherever there is a means of progress! The first of these means is the social state, which is first a necessity, and then an attraction. Our faculties make progress by exercise, and activity is first a sense of want which seeks exercise, society afterwards preserving the movement, by offering infinitely varied opportunities of satisfaction: infancy and youth have especial need of support and guidance, and they are adorned with graces, that charm and attract all hearts; love springing from being beloved. Affection thus excited towards those who are entering life, protects them; and by its benignant countenance teaches the lesson of love, by means of which they are softened and touched; and learn to understand; and the young themselves, pressed on by the necessity of being cherished, invoke and solicit affection, as a great object of life, without knowing the assistance it will lend them. They soon, however, learn the nature and value of this assistance, and feeling that they must merit esteem, if they would preserve such blessings, they would do something to obtain it; they would respond to the sentiment of which they are the objects, and in which they find a support and protection. What confidence it inspires to see ourselves beloved! And what an argument may be derived from the above views, that those who have the care of youth should be good! By this alone they give knowledge and strength. But it is not to the morning of life alone that this influence is extended.Throughout our moral education, if we know how to concur with it, by the co-operation which it requires, this influence may be beneficial; but it can be modified and consequently adulterated, as our relations become extended and complicated.

The social inclination has something in it eminently moral; it puts in motion many precious faculties; it opens the soul,

and makes it expand with many honorable sentiments. How solemn, touching and noble is the impression which we receive of the dignity of humanity, when we find ourselves in the midst of an assembly of men of different conditions, with whom we have no point of contact and no collision of interests. It is the same kind of impression, more extended but less vivid, that we receive in the midst of our own family. We are strengthened by the great alliance; and generous sentiments take the ascendency rapidly and surely. Such an impression is often received when we mingle with the crowd, on those days set apart to sacred rest. The impression is deepened, if this assembly is in the midst of the simple scenes of nature; or if its attention is directed towards some grave and majestic work of art; or if it is gathered round the statue of a great man; or if it fills a solemn temple;-in short, if some moral or religious thought is present with all. The soul is penetrated with emotions of a strong and elevated character. This is the natural influence which we should constantly receive from social intercourse, if it were not adulterated by the hostile dispositions, which spring out of our rivalries, and our secret desires of invading and subduing others. But the hostilities of which we are the object do not as much interfere with it, as those of which we are the authors. The wounds that the first cause us, are envenomed by ourselves; we seem to take delight in inflaming them; we allow the envy that we might despise to irritate us; the criticism that might enlighten, to wound us; and we are mortified even by indifference. Our self-love, especially, wages with the self-love of others a silent and concealed but continual and implacable war. We complain of being carried away by the influence of example; but we give it the power that it exercises over us. On examination, we shall find that the examples so easily followed, meet a secret propensity within, and that we have a secret interest in following the tracks of others: this happens, especially, in regard to those whom we would flatter; for there is no adulation more delicate.

We complain of the extreme corruption of the world, of the discouragement and sadness that it makes us feel; but we should guard against declamation, and appreciate things according to their just value. At our entrance into the world, we generally presume too much upon the goodness of other men, and so require too much; afterwards we fall into the