so far, and only so far, as we do actually and faithfully use them as aids in self-discipline. And this simple truth seems to be particularly worthy of attention, at the present day, in reference to prevailing modes of popular instruction. The present is flatteringly called a practical age, by which, if we understand the term-but of this we are by no means confident,—is meant an age, wherein all intellectual processes are as much as possible abridged, and are brought to bear, as directly as possible, upon the familiar concerns of life. Hence, countless expedients are proposed for shortening the path to knowledge, and for making it accessible to all. These objects, so far as they can, in reality, and without the sacrifice of higher interests, be effected, are doubtless worthy of regard. But in the pursuit of them, there are some important considerations, which should not be forgotten. Is there not danger that these popular modes of teaching will be apt to render the learners superficial, ignorant, in consequence, of the extent of their ignorance? Is there not reason to fear, that instead of these summary methods of instruction being available to smooth the ascent to the 'summit and absolute principle of any one important subject,' the real thing done, is to keep such subjects out of sight; so that if our progress is apparently rendered easier, it is because our aims are humbler? And above all, should it not be ever kept in view, that, valuable as the results of learning are, even if they could thus cheaply be gained, there is one thing far more valuable, and this is the improvement of the mind itself, that all-comprehending, incomprehensible principle within, which is to outlive all its present necessities, and whose condition, considered in itself alone, is of more importance, in every individual case, than all things else? Any process that serves directly or indirectly to damp its energies, to lap it in indolence, or, in any way, to check its full and perfect development, is greatly to be deprecated.

We conclude these remarks with one farther suggestion. Is intellectual and moral improvement, under God, mainly the mind's own work? Then let none despair under the pressure of adverse circumstances. Nothing can keep down the spirit that is truly alive to its own high interests. As each human soul is of more value in the sight of God than the whole external universe, so has He endowed it with capacities of improvement, that nothing external, if it be just to itself, can destroy. It possesses, in itself, the means of its

own advancement; and nothing but its own self-desertion can stop its onward course. Embarrassments, difficulties, distresses, though they may seem, for the time, appalling, are yet but the means and aids of its progress towards perfection. They nerve its powers as nothing else can. They throw it upon its own resources. They develope its hitherto unknown and unsuspected energies. They bring its metal and temper to the proof. They strengthen and improve all its faculties. It is not the hard conflict of opposing circumstances that we have most reason to fear; but the seductive and debasing influences of prosperity and ease. The history of the world is one continued illustration of this. In the achievements of intellect we shall find the worthiest trophies have been won by the sons of poverty, obscurity, and restricted opportunities. We see them, as it were, by an instinctive principle of their natures, selecting from circumstances, apparently the most unfriendly, the elements of their future greatness. And the same is familiarly true of moral and religious excellence. It is often born in adversity; it is often nurtured upon tears, and learns to win its crown in heaven, by bearing its cross here below. And if there is any exhibition of the human character vouchsafed to the view of mortals, more sublime than all others; any trait, which, in a peculiar manner, authenticates its divine original; it is the example of a man placed by Providence amidst adverse and depressing circumstances, yet faithful to the wants and calls of the heaven-born and heaven-directed spirit within him;-beset with disheartening evils in his outward lot, and almost sinking under the more dreadful heart-sickness of despondency, yet contending still; borne down and kept down by poverty, alone and unfriended, yet struggling on; meeting, it may be, with cold unconcern, or the half derisive pity of the favorites and fools of fortune, yet undismayed; called to encounter real obstacles in his path, and the more fearful ones of his own imagination, yet pressing onward; watching and waiting on through the utter darkness of the night, yet sustained by a meek selftrust, by prophetic hope, and, above all, by an unshaken confidence in the Father of his spirit; until, at length, he catches glimpses of an auspicious dawn, unseen by the common eye, that dawn which is to 'brighten and brighten into the perfect day;' now encouraged more and more by favoring tokens; now redoubling his exertions with his strengthening hopes; now mounting upwards from step to step in the

path-ways of usefulness and honor; until, at last, he reaps the full rewards of his noble efforts in triumphant success; this, to our mind, is a spectacle of moral greatness, compared with which the splendor of all other earthly distinctions grows pale.

We here close these remarks. Is it true, that the intellectual and moral education of man is mainly committed to himself? Then it remains for every man, under God alone, to say, what he will know, and what he will be. Nothing external, as we have seen, can ultimately stop his progress; so nothing external, beyond a certain point, can help him onwards. His trust must be in himself; and if he be faithful to this trust, he will aim high, he will aspire nobly. Let him be deeply smitten with the love of excellence. Let habitual self-improvement be the grand object of his life. Let selfdiscipline be never intermitted even for a moment. Progress, continual progress, progress on earth, and progress in heaven, is the law of his being. His destiny ever beckons him forward, and still farther forward, and let this be the only signal that he obeys.

NOTHING TRULY VALUABLE GAINED WITHOUT LABOR.

WHEN our fathers were children, they learned nothing, without paying for it a full price, in labor; our children have all sorts of expedients and facilities contrived, by which they may play and learn too, and perhaps the result will be, that their children will refuse to be cheated into learning, and so play all. In these days, every science and every art is made a plaything. One child is putting together dissected maps, and thereby learns geography; another is diverting himself with a musical game, very scientific in its principles, and no doubt equally amusing and instructive; and another is set to work upon the royal game of Goose, by way of becoming an expert arithmetician. Now there is some danger perhaps, lest the children should carry the sport too far, and when their instructers turn the things they would teach into games, the children may possibly make game of the things they should learn.

Man must work; he cannot earn physical or intellectual sustenance or wealth, but by physical or intellectual labor. All the concerns of this world must undergo a great change,

and stand in very different relations to each other, before this decree will be revoked; at all events it stands now, and is not to be evaded; and therefore, a knowledge of the elements of the sciences,—that is, a superficial, indistinct, indigested knowledge of certain desultory and very general elements of a few sciences, is hardly recompense enough for the abandonment of a habit of prompt, willing, and earnest exertion, which a boy may and should acquire while his character is growing. But it may be asked, since children must and ought to play, why not make their amusements edifying and useful, in such measure and manner as may be possible? We have no objections to this, so long as their amusements are known and regarded as what they really are. It is only when they are considered important vehicles of instruction, that they become worse than useless by favoring the prevalent mistake, that the principal object of education is not to invigorate but replenish the mind, and the yet more injurious notion, that a good thing may be acquired without toil. Set your child at work upon a task, suited to his age and capacity; make him work as hard as you can without doing him harm, and compel him to learn and feel that labor, the necessary evil of life, must be borne, and if borne patiently, diminishes, till in the end it disappears. A distinct practical conviction of this truth is worth a hundred times over, all the music, or geography, or history, or mathematics that a child ever learned from his playthings, since the fashion of this day came in.

The same principle has been applied to literary amusements which are calculated for children of a larger growth, and perhaps with more good. Learning has thrown aside her stilts and has come down from the study into the parlor. She no longer loves only the light of the midnight lamp or the solitary toil of the student, but gathers much homage in warm summer afternoons, and often exhibits her charms to some joyous circle round a cheerful fire. True it is, that the intense respect and admiration which were formerly paid her, have become rather scarce, and the sincerity and entire devotion of most of her worshippers may well be doubted. But perhaps this is compensated by their increased number, and the wide extension of her empire. Many who would have fled from a book, between whose covers learning was suspected to lie, are tolerably willing to meet her, when she comes only as an additional charm and ornament to something they like better.

If there is no royal road to learning, there is at least a fashionable one, and many walk therein, who would not have followed the old paths. Now out of this state of things much blue stockingism, male and female, has no doubt arisen, and this is a sore evil. But evil and good generally keep close to each other in this world of compensation, and the good caused by the easy access to literature, is indubitable and important; the tone of small talk-the great cement of society, is much elevated; better and higher things are made the subject of conversation; a lady or a gentleman must know more and think more than formerly; and this is all extremely well, for it is much better to discuss the last books than the latest scandals, however the change be effected.

POWER OF MATERNAL PIETY.

'When I was a little child, said a good old man,―my mother used to bid me kneel down beside her, and place her hand upon my head, while she prayed. Ere I was old enough to know her worth, she died, and I was left too much to my own guidance. Like others, I was inclined to evil passions, but often felt myself checked, and, as it were, drawn back by a soft hand upon my head. When a young man, I traveled in foreign lands, and was exposed to many temptations; but when I would have yielded, that same hand was upon my head, and I was saved. I seemed to feel its pressure as in the days of my happy infancy, and sometimes there came with it a voice in my heart, a voice that must be obeyed'O, do not this wickedness, my son, nor sin against thy God.'

WHY gaze ye on my hoary hairs,
Ye children, young and gay?
Your locks, beneath the blast of cares,
Will bleach as white as they.

I had a mother once, like you,
Who o'er my pillow hung,
Kissed from my cheek the briny dew,
And taught my faltering tongue.

She, when the nightly couch was spread,
Would bow my infant knee,

And place her hand upon my head,

And, kneeling, pray for me.

But, then, there came a fearful day;

I sought my mother's bed,