beauty of virtue, rather than the deformity of vice; for there is not much danger of falling, while we walk in the light; but very greatly the reverse when our eyes are turned therefrom; for they soon become accominodated to darkness, and cannot readily bear the splendour of returning day.

This sentiment derives support from the Spectator's Vision of the Pillar of Adamant; on whose brightness, while the travellers fixed their attention, they never lost their way; whereas, whenever they looked aside, they began to wander immediately into the path of destruction-the dangerous environs of the flaming tower. Ah, me! one moment from thy sight,

That thus my truant eye should stray;
The God of glory sets in night,

His faithless flower has lost a day.'

Such is the natural reflection of the ingenuous mind, when conscious of having deviated ever so little from the path of rectitude. It is not therefore prudent to detail narratives of deformity and dishonour to young people, nor to dwell on descriptions of vice; for these will not have so much the effect of deterring from crime, as of familiarising the ideas thereto, and exciting curiosity; thereby abating the horror and aversion they would naturally entertain for that which can only lead to misery. It is on this principle that we justly condemn licentious writings, and consider their authors proper subjects for the censure of the law; as being contrary to good manners. The following quotation from Origen, the Greek father, with which I shall conclude, having accidentally come before me, and coinciding with my sentiments, I feel inclined to engraft so valuable a scion. The ways of holiness and virtue are so full of peace and unspeakable contentment, and shine with such ravishing and irresistible pulchritude to prepared minds, and do so perfectly correspond to all the senses of so happy a temper, that we are fully assured the soul is then in conjunction with her most proper good,' which is the highest attainment of humanity. A. C...

VOL. I. Feb. 1830.

EARLY PROFLIGACY.

THERE are those who consider early profligacy as a mark of that spirit, which seldom fails to produce, in the subsequent periods of life, a wise and a virtuous character. The example of Henry V. is often cited in confirmation of their opinion. Shakspeare has indeed represented his errors and reformation in so amiable a light, that many are not displeased when they see a young man beginning his career in riot and debauchery. While there is an appearance of spirit, they regard not the vice.

The example of Henry V. has been applied particularly to heirs-apparent of a crown. If the future king is found to be early initiated in the excesses of sensuality, it is a favourable presage, and we are referred to the example of Falstaff's Hal. If he devote his time to drinking, and be actually involved in continual intoxication, it is all the better, for do we not recollect Hal's exploits at the Boar's Head in East-cheap? Dame Quickly, Doll Tearsheet, are illustrious instances to prove what company a prince should keep in order to become hereafter a great king. It is in the haunts of intemperance and vice, and in the company of sycophants and knaves, that he is, according to the vulgar phrase, to sow his wild oats, to spend the exuberance of his spirits, to subdue the ebullition of his blood, and to acquire a valuable species of moral experience.

It is true, indeed, that Henry V. is a remarkable instance of early profligacy and subsequent reformation. He is a remarkable, because he is a rare instance. For one who succeeds as he did, a thousand become either incurable debauchees, drunkards, and rogues, ruin their character and fortunes, or die under the operation of so rough an experiment. We hear

not of those who are obliged to hide themselves on the continent, to skulk in the garrets of blind alleys, to spend their days in gaols, or are early carried to the church-yard, amidst the thanks and rejoicings of their friends for so happy a deliverance from shame and

rain. But if one wild youth becomes but a tolerably good man, we are struck with the metamorphosis, as we are with every thing uncommon. We exaggerate his goodness, by comparing it with his previous depravity. We cite the example, as a consolatory topic, wherever we behold a young man, as the scripture beautifully expresses it, walking in the ways of his own heart, and in the sight of his own eyes. We talk as if we almost congratulated a parent, when his son has spirit enough to violate, not only the rules of decency, but also the most sacred laws of morality and religion.

Such fatal ideas have broken the heart of many a virtuous and feeling father. They have brought his hairs, before they were grey, to the grave. I have been much pleased with a passage in the sermons of Dr. Ogden, in which he recommends regularity and virtue to young men solely for the sake of their parents. Stop, young man, says he, stop a little to look towards thy poor parents. Think it not too much to bestow a moment's reflection on those who never forget thee. Recollect what they have done for thee Remember all--all indeed thou canst not; alas! ill had been thy lot, had not their care begun, before thou couldst remember or know any thing.

Now so proud, self-willed, inexorable, then couldst thou only ask by wailing, and move them with thy tears. And they were moved. Their hearts were touched with thy distress; they relieved and watched thy wants before thou knewest thine own necessities, or their kindness. They cloathed thee; thou knewest not that thou wast naked: thou askedst not for bread; but they fed thee. And ever since, for the particulars are too many to be recounted, and too many surely to be all utterly forgotten, it has been the very principal endeavour, employment, and study of their lives to do service unto thee. If by all these endeavours they can obtain their child's comfort, they arrive at the full accomplishment of their wishes. They have no higher object of their ambition. Be thou but happy, and they

are 30.

And now tell me, is not something to be done, I do not now say for thyself, but for them? If it be too much to desire of thee to be good, and wise, and virtuous, and happy for thine own sake; yet be happy for theirs. Think that a sober, upright, and let me add, religious life, besides the blessings it will bring upon thy own head, will be a fountain of unfeigned comfort to thy declining parents, and make the heart of the aged sing for joy.

What shall we say? which of these is happier? the son that maketh a glad father? or the father blessed with such a son?

How unlike to this, is the condition of him, who has the affliction to be the father of a wicked offspring! Poor, unhappy man! No sorrow is like unto thy sorrow. Diseases and death are blessings, if compared with the anguish of thy heart, when thou seest thy dear children run heedlessly and headlong in the ways of sin, forgetful of their parents' counsel, and their own happiness. Unfortunate old man! How often does he wish he had never been born, or had been cut off before he was a father? No reflection is able to afford him consolation. He grows old betimes; and the afflictions of age are doubled on his head. In vain are instruments of pleasure brought forth. His soul refuses comfort. Every blessing of life is lost upon him. No success is able to give him joy. His triumphs are like that of David: while his friends, captains, soldiers, were rending the air with shouts of victory; he, poor conqueror, went up, as it is written, to the chamber over the gate, and wept: and as he went, thus he said O, my son Absalom! my son, my son Absalom! would to God I had died for thee! O Absalom, my son, my son !'

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I have introduced this extract, with a hope that gay and thoughtless young men may be properly affected by it; and though they should have no regard for themselves, that they should be led to have pity on their pcor parents, and to chuse the right way, that they may not cause affliction to him who has often dandled them

in his arms, nor to her at whose breast they hung in the sweet and innocent period of their infancy. It is indeed a melancholy consideration that children, who have been the delight of their parents during the earlier ages, no sooner arrive at maturity, than they, often prove a scourge and a curse. They hurry those out of the world who brought them into it. They embitter the old age of those who devoted the health and strength of manhood to their welfare and support. Sad return! to plant the pillow of reclining age with thorns! O have pity, have pity on your father-behold him with tottering steps approach you! With suppliant hands and tears in his eyes, he begs you to do what? to be good and happy. O spare him, wipe away his tears; make him happy, be so yourself-so when it shall be your turn to be a father, may you never feel the pangs you have already inflicted!

There are parents, indeed, who seem to have little concern but for the pecuniary interest or worldly advancement of their children. While their children excel in dress, address, simulation, and dissimulation, they are allowed to be as debauched and immoral as they please. While they possess a poor, mean, and contemptible kind of wisdom, commonly called the knowledge of the world, their parents are perfectly easy; though they should be notoriously guilty of every base artifice, and plunged in the grossest and most unlawful species of sensuality. Lord Chesterfield was one of those parents who are ready to sacrifice their children's honour, conscience, and salvation, for the sake of gaining a little of the little honours and riches of a world, where not even the highest honours or the most abundant riches are comparable to the possession of an honest heart.

Every father then, and every mother who deserves that tender and venerable appellation, will strenuously endeavour, whatever have been their own errors and vices, to preserve those whom they have introduced into a troublesome world from the foul contagion and pollution of vice. If they have any regard for their