somewhat of a melancholy aspect, and may be compared to an unlucky bark lifted by an extraordinary tide upon a sand-bank: it is useful as a memento to all aspiring householders against a premature zeal to make a show in the world, and the indiscretion of admitting females into cabinet councils. These three masses compose an irregular pile, in which the two last described constituents are obsequiously stationed in the rear, like serving-men by the chair of a gouty old gentleman, supporting the squat and frowning little mansion which, but for the family pride, would have been long since given over to the accommodation of the guardian birds of the place. The great hall door is an ancient piece of walnut work, that has grown too heavy for its hinges, and by its daily travel has furrowed the floor with a deep quadrant, over which it has a very uneasy journey. It is shaded by a narrow porch, with a carved pedimeat, upheld by massive columns of wood sadly split by the sur. A court-yard, in front of this, of a semicircular shape, bounded by a white paling, and having a gravel road leading from a large and variously latticed gateway around a grass plot, is embellished by a superannuated willow that stretches forth its arms, clothed with its pendant drapery, like a reverend priest pronouncing a benediction. A bridlerack stands on the outer side of the gate, and near it a ragged, horse-eaten plum tree casts its skeleton shadow upon the dust. Some Lombardy poplars, springing above a mass of shrubbery, partially screen various supernume rary buildings around the mansion. Amongst these is to be seen the gable end of a stable, with the date of its erection stiffly emblazoned in black bricks near the upper angle, in figures set in after the fashion of the work in a girl's sampler. In the same quarter a pigeon box, reared on a post, and resem bing a huge tee-totum, is visible, and about its several doors and windows, a family of pragmatical pigeons are generally strutting, bridling and bragging at each other from sunrise until dark. Appendant to this homestead is an extensive tract of land that stretches for some three or four miles along the river, presenting alternately abrupt promontories mantled with pine and dwarf oak, and small inlets terminating in swamps. Some sparse portions of forest vary the landscape, which, for the most part, exhibits a succession of fields clothed with a diminutive growth of Indian corn, patches of cotton or parched tobacco plants, and the occasional varieties of stubble and fallow grounds. These are surrounded with worm fences of shrunken chesnut, where lizards and ground squirrels are perpetually running races along the rails. At a short distance from the mansion a brook glides at a snail's pace towards the river, holding its course through a wilderness of alder and laurel, and forming little islets covered with a damp moss. Across this stream is thrown a rough bridge, and not far below, an aged sycamore twists its complex roots about a spring, at the point of confluence of which and the brook, a squadron of ducks have a cruising ground, where they may be seen at any time of the day turning up their tails to the skies, like unfortunate gunboats driven by the head in a gale. Immediately on the margin, at this spot, the family linen is usually spread out by some sturdy negro women, who chant shrill ditties over their wash tubs, and keep up a spirited attack, both of tongue and hand, upon sundry little besmirched and bow-legged blacks, that are continually making somersets on the grass, or mischievously waddling across the clothes laid out to bleach. Beyond the bridge, at some distance, stands a pro. minent object in this picture-the most time-worn and venerable appendage to the establishment:-a huge, crazy, and disjointed barn, with an immense roof hanging in penthouse fashion almost to the ground, and thatched a foot thick, with sun-burnt straw, that reaches below the eaves in ragged flakes, giving it an air of drowsy decrepitude. The rude enclosure surrounding this antiquated magazine is strewed knee-deep with litter, from the midst of which arises a long rack, resembling a chevaux de frise, which is ordinarily filled with fodder. This is the customary lounge of four or five gaunt oxen, who keep up a sort of imperturbable companionship with a sickly-looking wagon that protrudes its parched tongue, and droops its rusty swingle-trees in the hot sunshine, with the air of a dispirited and forlorn invalid awaiting the attack of a tertian ague: while, beneath the sheds, the long face of a plough horse may be seen, peering through the dark window of the stable, with a spectral melancholy: his glassy eye moving silently across the gloom, and the profound stillness of his habitation now and then interrupted only by his sepulchral and hoarse cough. There are also some sociable carts under the same sheds, with their shafts against the wall, which seem to have a free and easy air, like a set of roysterers taking their ease in a tavern porch. Sometimes a clownish colt, with long fetlocks and dishevelled mane, and a thousand burrs on his tail, stalks about this region; but as it seems to be forbidde ground to all his tribe, he is likely very soon to encounter his natural enemy in some of the young negroes, upon which event he makes a rapid retreat, not without an uncouth display of his heels in passing; and bounds off towards the brook, where he stops and looks back with a saucy defiance, and, after affecting to drink for a moment, gallops away, with a hideous whinnying, to the fields. PURSUITS OF A PHILOSOPHER. From the house at Swallow Barn there is to be seen, at no great distance, a clump of trees, and in the midst of these an humble building is discerni ble, that seems to court the shade in which it is modestly embowered. It is an old structure built of logs. Its figure is a cube, with a roof rising from all sides to a point, and surmounted by a wooden wea thercock, which somewhat resembles a fish, and somewhat a fowl. This little edifice is a rustic shrine devoted to Cad. mus, and here the sacred rites of the alphabet are daily solemnized by some dozen knotty-pated and freckled votaries not above three feet high, both in trowsers and petticoats. This is one of the many temples that stud the surface of our republican empire, where liberty receives her purest worship, and where, though in humble and lowly guise, she secretly breathes her strength into the heart and sinews of the nation. Here the germ is planted that fructifies through generations, and produces its hundredfold. At this altar the spark is kindled that propagates its fire from breast to breast, like the vast conflagrations that light up and purify the prairie of the west. The school-house has been an appendage to Swallow Barn ever since the infancy of the last generation. Frank Meriwether has, in his time, extended its usefulness by opening it to the accommodation of his neighbors; so that it is now a theatre whereon a bevy of pigmy players are wont to enact the seriocomic interludes that belong to the first process of indoctrination. A troop of these little sprites are seen, every morning, wending their way across the fields, armed with tin kettles, in which are deposited their leather-coated apple-pies or other store for the day, and which same kettles are generally used, at the decline of the day, as drums or cymbals, to signalize their homeward march, or as receptacles of the spoil pilfered from blackberry bushes, against which these barefooted Scythians are prone to carry on a predatory war. Throughout the day a continual buzz is heard from this quarter, even to the porch of the mansionhouse. Hazard and myself occasionally make them a visit, and it is amusing to observe how, as we approach, the murmur becomes more distinct, until, reaching the door, we find the whole swarm running over their long, tough syllables, in a high concert pitch, with their elbows upon the desks, their hands covering their ears, and their naked heels beating time against the benches-as if every urchin believed that a polysyllable was a piece of music invented to torment all ears but his own. And, high above this din, the master's note is sounded in a lordly key, like the occasional touch of the horn in an orchestra. This little empire is under the dominion of parson Chub. He is a plump, rosy old gentleman, rather short and thick set, with the blood-vessels meandering over his face like rivulets,-a pair of prominent blue eyes, and a head of silky hair, not unlike the covering of a white spaniel. He may be said to be a man of jolly dimensions, with an evident taste for good living; somewhat sloven in his attire, for his coat-which is not of the newest-is decorated with sundry spots that are scattered over it in constellations. Besides this, he wears an immense cravat, which, as it is wreathed around his short neck, forms a bowl beneath his chin, and-as Ned saysgives the parson's head the appearance of that of John the Baptist upon a charger, as it is sometimes represented in the children's picture books. His beard is grizzled with silver stubble, which the parson reaps about twice a week-if the weather be fair. Mr. Chub is a philosopher after the order of Socrates. He was an emigrant from the Emerald Isle, where he suffered much tribulation in the disturbances, as they are mildly called, of his much-enduring country. But the old gentleman has weathered the storm without losing a jot of that broad, healthy benevolence with which nature has enveloped his heart, and whose ensign she has hoisted in his face. The early part of his life had been easy and prosperous, until the rebellion of 1798 stimulated his republicanism into a fever, and drove the full-blooded hero headlong into the quarrel, and put him, in spite of his peaceful profession, to standing by his pike in behalf of his principles. By this unhappy boiling over of the caldron of his valor he fell under the ban of the ministers, and tested his share of government mercy. His house was burnt over his head, his horses and hounds (for, by all accounts, he was a perfect Acteon) were "confiscate to the state," and he was forced to fly. This brought him to America in no very compromising mood with royalty. Here his fortunes appear to have been various, and he was tossed to and fro by the battledoor of fate, until he found a snug harbour at Swallow Barn; where, some years ago, he sat down in that quiet repose which a worried and badgered patriot is best fitted to enjoy. He is a good scholar, and having confined his reading entirely to the learning of the ancients, his republicanism is somewhat after the Grecian mould. He has never read any politics of later date than the time of the Emperor Constantine, not even a newspaper, so that he may be said to have been contemporary with Eschines rather than Lord Castlereagh, until that eventful epoch of his life when his blazing roof-tree awakened him from his anachronistical dream. This notable interruption, however, gave him but a feeble insight into the moderns, and he soon relapsed to Thucydides and Livy, with some such glimmerings of the American Revolution upon his remembrance as most readers have of the exploits of the first Brutus. The old gentleman has a learned passion for folios. He had been a long time urging Meriwether to make some additions to his collections of literature, and descanted upon the value of some of the ancient authors as foundations, both moral and phy. sical, to the library. Frank gave way to the argument, partly to gratify the parson, and partly from the proposition itself having a smack that touched his fancy. The matter was therefore committed entirely to Mr. Chub, who forthwith set out on a voyage of exploration to the north. I believe he got as far as Boston. He certainly contrived to execute his commission with a curious felicity. Some famous Elzevirs were picked up, and many other antiques that nobody but Mr. Chub would ever think of opening. The cargo arrived at Swallow Barn in the dead of winter. During the interval between the parson's return from his expedition and the coming of the books, the reverend little schoolmaster was in a remarkably unquiet state of body, which almost prevented him from sleeping: and it is said that the sight of the long expected treasures had the happiest effect upon him. There was ample accommodation for this new acquisition of ancient wisdom provided before its arrival, and Mr. Chub now spent a whole week in arranging the volumes on their proper shelves, having, as report affirms, altered the arrangement at least seven times during that period. Everybody wondered what the old gentleman was at all this time; but it was discovered afterwards, that he was endeavouring to effect a distribution of the works according to a minute division of human science, which entirely failed, owing to the unlucky accident of several of his departments being without any volumes. After this matter was settled, he regularly spent his evenings in the library. Frank Meriwether was hardly behind the parson in this fancy, and took, for a short time, to abstruse reading, They both consequently deserted the little family circle every evening after tea, and might have continued to do so all the winter but for a discovery made by Hazard. Ned had seldom joined the two votaries of science in their philosophical retirement, and it was whispered in the family that the parson was giving Frank a quiet course of lectures in the ancient philosophy, for Meriwether was known to talk a good deal, about that time, of the old and new Academicians. But it happened upon one dreary winter night, during a tremendous snow storm, which was bang. ing the shutters and doors of the house so as to keep up a continual uproar, that Ned, having waited in the parlour for the philosophers until midnight, set out to invade their retreat-not doubting that he should find them deep in study. When he entered the library, both candles were burning in their sockets, with long, untrimmed wicks; the fire was reduced to its last embers, and, in an arm-chair on one side of the table, the parson was discovered in a sound sleep over Jeremy Taylor's Ductor Dubitantium, whilst Frank, in another chair on the opposite side, was snoring over a folio edition of Montaigne. And upon the table stood a small stone pitcher, containing a residuum of whiskey punch, now grown cold. Frank started up in great consternation upon hearing Ned's footstep beside him, and, from that Mr. time, almost entirely deserted the library. Chub, however, was not so easily drawn away from the career of his humour, and still shows his hankering after his leather-coated friends. It is an amusing point in the old gentleman's character to observe his freedom in contracting engagements that depend upon his purse. He seems to think himself a rich man, and is continually becoming security for some of the neighbours. To hear him talk, it would be supposed that he meant to renovate the affairs of the whole county. his intentions are so generous, Meriwether does not fail to back him when it comes to a pinch-by reason of which the good squire has more than once been obliged to pay the penalty. As Mr. Chub's character, as it will be seen from this description of him, possesses great simplicity. This has given rise to some practical jokes against him, which have caused him much annoyance. The tradition in the family goes, that, one evening, the worthy divine, by some strange accident, fell into an excess in his cups; and that a saucy chamber-maid found him dozing in his chair, with his pipe in his mouth, having the bowl turned downward, and the ashes sprinkled over his breast. He was always distinguished by a broad and superfluous ruffle to his shirt, and, on this occasion, the mischievous maid hai the effrontery to set it on fire. It produced, as may be supposed, a great alarm to the parson, and, besides brought him into some scandal; for he was rousel up in a state of consternation, and began to strip himself of his clothes, not knowing what he was about. I don't know how far he exposed himself, but the negro woman who ran to his relief, mide a fine story of it. Hazard once reninded him of this adventure, in my presence, and it was diverting to see with what a comic and quiet sheepishness he bore the joke. He half closed his eyes and puckered up his mouth as Ned proceeded; and when the story came to the conclusion, he gave Ned a gentle blow on the breast with the back of his hand, crying out, as he did so, "Hoot toot, Mister Ned!"-then he walked to the front door, where he stood whistling. JOHN GORHAM PALFREY, THE Son of a Boston merchant, and the grandson of a Revolutionary officer, William Palfrey, aide to Washington at Dorchester, was born in Boston, May 2, 1796. He was educated in his youth by William Payne, father of the celebrated tragedian, and afterwards at Exeter Academy; was graduated at Harvard in 1815, studied theology, and in 1818 took charge of the Brattle street congregation, till his appointment as Dexter professor of sacred literature in Harvard in 1831. In 1835 he became editor of the North American Review, and had charge of that periodical till 1843. From 1839 to '42 he delivered courses of lectures for the Lowell Institute on the Evidences of Christianity, which were subsequently published in two volumes octavo. He has also published four volumes of Lectures on the Jewish Scriptures and Antiquities; a supplementary volume on Quotations from the Old Testament in the New; and a volume of Sermons on the Duties belonging to some of the Conditions and Relations of Private Life. He has published several historical discourses: a Fourth of July, Boston oration, in 1831; the discourse at the centennial celebration of Barnstable in 1839; the semi-centennial discourse before the Massachusetts Historical Society in 1844; two discourses on the History of the Brattle Street Church, and in Sparks's American Biography; the Life of William Palfrey, his ancestor, paymaster-general to the army of the Revolution. Latterly, Mr. Palfrey has been much in public life, as a politician in his own state, and a representative to Congress in 1847 and since, where he has been a leader of the free-soil party. In 1846 he published in the Boston Whig, edited by Charles Francis Adams, a series of Papers on the Slave Power, which were collected into a pamphlet.* In his work on the Evidences Dr. Palfrey pursues mainly the historical line of argument, with a consideration of the moral relations growing immediately from the doctrines of the Bible. In this method he belongs rather to the Norton than to the Channing school of Unitarians. Apart from the scholarship implied in the handling of his learned themes, his writings are peculiarly distinguished by the acumen of the legal mind. In the words of one of his friends, the Rev. Dr. Samuel Osgood, he is an example of the accomplished Christian lawyer. His volume of Sermons on the Duties of Private Life shows him an experienced casuist, combining refinement and delicacy of perception with sound judgment. RELIGIOUS OPPORTUNITIES OF AGE. As we look for a pious spirit as the indispensable support and grace of age, so that period of life abounds with peculiar privileges for its culture. Before the view of the aged, life has been presented in a great diversity of aspects; and, in every new aspect, it has presented to their minds, with a new impression, the truth that the Providence of a wise and good being governs in the world, and that to do his will is the one great interest of man, his one sure way to genuine and lasting enjoyment. The retrospect, which they may take, is full of bright revelations to them of the perfections of his character; of the equity and benevolence of his government; of the excellence of his service. They reckon up precious and accumulated tokens of his parental goodness to themselves, kindling a deep, warm gratitude in their hearts. They have learned to number even their griefs among their blessings, explaining and vindicating to them, as the event of after years has often done, what had seemed for the time the darkest ways of Providence. And in such reflections, what was always matter of strong faith to them, has become rather inatter of reality and knowledge,— that the Lord is indeed gracious and of tender mercy, and all his ways are righteousness and love. That composed state of the mind, which it is reasonable to expect will be attained, to an increased extent, when the early ferment of the feelings has subsided, and the agitating cares of the world no longer press, greatly favors the growth of a pervading and vital piety. Age can look on all things with a cool, a just, and wise observation (and the view of true wisdom is always the view of religion); and as the chances of life have perforce inured it to disappointment and restraint in some forms, and the passions and impulses have, by a law of nature, lost much of their headlong force, the work of self-discipline has been made of easier execution, and a subdued and serene temper, akin to the temper of devotion, has Loring's Boston Orators, pp. 485–492. been diffused over the soul. Age, again, has more ample leisure for those retired exercises, to which a devotional spirit prompts; and herein it has a privilege, which the pious mind will hold in peculiar estimation. In the more occupied period of earlier life, we could not praise a man, who should withdraw much time, day by day, from the duties of his worldly calling, to be given to the solitary exercises of religious study, meditation, and prayer. He must learn to turn his opportunities of this kind to the best account, because he cannot have them in such abundance as he would wish. The aged have the happiness of not being so restricted. They have more free access to enjoyments of the highest and 'purest character that can belong to man. They have leisure for investigations in that science of profoundest interest, of which God's word is the expositor. They have tranquil hours, in which they can look into the mysteries, and chide the wanderings, and nourish the good affections, of their own hearts. The world has no longer such demands on them, but that they may often go aside to solitary converse with their best friend; to communion with him, whose friendship has become continually more needful to them, on whose love they know they are soon to be thrown without even the vain appearance of any other resource, and to whose nearer society they have an humble hope then to be received. That age does afford such rich opportunities of this nature, is to be to them a leading occasion of gratitude that they have been brought to see that time; and to profit by those opportunities, to the full extent of their great worth, should be realized by them to be a chief part of the peculiar responsibility which age imposes. MISS SARAH PALFREY, a daughter of the Hon. Mr. Palfrey, is the author of a recently published volume of poems (1855) bearing the title Prémi ces, by E. Foxton. It is chiefly made up of two ballad narratives: Hilda, a love song, and The Princess's Bath. These show originality and spirit, and a quick, lively temperament in the writer. We cite a picture of youthful studies from one of the shorter pieces, entitled Manhood: No more in swaddling-bands confined, Still dance the years. Perfecting time Has borne him on to early prime, And paid, in golden hoard amassed, The earnings of the thrifty past. HORACE MANN Is a native of Massachusetts, where he was born at Franklin, May 4, 1796. In his youth he fell in with an itinerant schoolmaster, Samuel Barrett, by whose proficiency in the languages he was animated in his studies. He was educated at Brown University, and pursued the study of the law in Litchfield, Conn., and Dedham, Mass., which he represented in the legislature. He took up his residence in Boston in 1836, and was elected to the state Senate. He was secretary of the Massachusetts Board of Education from 1837 to 1848, when he succeeded John Quincy Adams in Congress. He is chiefly known as a writer through his valuable series of Annual Education Reports, twelve in number, stored with ingenious and pertinent discussion of the various means and inachinery to be employed in the work of popular education, both intellectual and physical. Through these he has identified himself with the progress of the public-school system of Massachusetts. He published in this connexion, as part of his seventh Annual Report to the legislature, a Report of an Educational Tour in Germany, Britain,&c., made in the year 1843. Horenn Mann He has become eminent as a social reformer and philanthropist; taking under his charge the temperance question, among others. His lectures and addresses are vigorous and energetic, in a familiar colloquial manner-striking hard to produce an immediate impression.† In 1853, he was elected President of Antioch College, where he also supports the duties of Professor of Political Economy, Intellectual and Moral Philosophy, Constitutional Law and Natural Theology. This college was incorporated in 1852. It is situated at Yellow Springs, Green County, Ohio, at a healthy location convenient of access. From a prospectus of the institution we cite a few sentences declaratory of its plan, which has some peculiarities. "The leading minds, under whose auspices and It was republished in London in 1846, with preface and notes, by W. B. Hodgson, Principal of the Mechanics' Institution, Liverpool. +A Few Thoughts for a Young Man," a Lecture before the Boston Mercantile Library Association. Ticknor. 8vo. 1850, Two Lectures on Intemperance: its effects on the poor and ignorant, and on the rich and educated. Syracuse: Hall, Mills, & Co., 1852. 15mo. pp. 127. A Few Thoughts on the Powers and Duties of Woman. Ib. 18mo. pp. 141. by whose patronage Antioch College was founded, long ago called themselves Christians,' not invidiously but devoutly, and in honor of the author and finisher of their faith; and they have now selected a name by which to designate their Institution, at once scriptural and commemorative, because the Disciples were called Christians first in Antioch,' "In some particulars of its aim and scope, this College differs from most of the higher literary institutions of the country. It recognises the claims of the female sex to equal opportunities of education with the male, and these opportunities it designs to confer. Its founders believe that labors and expenditures for the higher education of men will tend indirectly to elevate the character of women; but they are certain that all wise efforts for the improved education of women will speed the elevation of the whole human race. "It is designed, in this College, not only to give marked attention to the study of the Laws of Human Health and Life, but to train up the pupils in a systematic obedience to them." Opening its halls under the direction of its well known and efficient head, the college sprang at once into a state of prosperity. In the second year of its instruction in 1854, no less than four hundred students were in daily attendance; of these one third were females, who are admitted to equal privileges in all the advantages of the institution. In the list of the Faculty, we notice Miss R. M. Pennell, "Professor of Physical Geography, Drawing, Natural History, Civil History, and Didactics." The Greek and Latin languages are taught, and indeed all the usual branches of an American collegiate education. Mr. Loring, in his "Hundred Boston Orators," gives us this sketch of the personal appearance of Mr. Mann. "He is tall, very erect, and remarkably slender, with silvery grey hair, animated and expressive features, light complexion, and rapid pace. As an orator, his smooth, flowing style, musical voice, and graceful manner, with fertility, amplitude, and energy of diction, often adorned with a graceful, rushing eloquence, that can be measured only by the celerity of his movements in the street, irresistibly captivate the breathless audience." HEALTH AND TEMPERANCE-FROM THOUGHTS FOR A YOUNG MAN. Were a young man to write down a list of his duties, Health should be among the first items in the catalogue. This is no exaggeration of its value; for health is indispensable to almost every form of human enjoyment; it is the grand auxiliary of usefulness; and should a man love the Lord his God with all his heart and soul and mind and strength, he would have ten times more heart and soul and mind and strength to love Him with, in the vigor of health, than under the palsy of disease. Not only the amount, but the quality of the labor which a man can perform, depends upon his health. The work savors of the workman. If the poet sickens, his verse sickens; if black, venous blood flows to an author's brain, it beclouds his pages; and the devotions of a consumptive man scent of his disease as Lord Byron's obscenities smell of gin. Not only "lying lips," but a dyspeptic stomach, is an abomination to the Lord. At least in this life, so dependent is mind upon material organization,-the functions and manifestations of the soul upon, the VOL. II.-15 condition of the body it inhabits, that the materialist hardly states practical results too strongly, when he affirms that thought and passion, wit, imagination, and love, are only emanations from exquisitely organized matter, just as perfume is the effluence of flowers, or music the ethereal product of an Eolian harp. In regard to the indulgence of appetite, and the management of the vital organs, society is still in a state of barbarism; and the young man who is true to his highest interests must create a civilization for himself. The brutish part of our nature governs the spiritual. Appetite is Nicholas the First, and the noble faculties of mind and heart are Hungarian captives. Were we to see a rich banker exchanging eagles for coppers by tale, or a rich merchant bartering silk for serge by the pound, we should deem them worthy of any epithet in the vocabulary of folly. Yet the same men buy pains whose prime cost is greater than the amplest fund of natural enjoyments. Their purveyor and market-man bring them home head-aches, and indigestion, and neuralgia, by hamper-fulls. Their butler bottles up stone, and gout, and the liver-complaint, falsely labelling them sherry, or madeira, or port, and the stultified masters have not wit enough to see through the cheat. The mass of society look with envy upon the epicure who, day by day, for four hours of luxurious eating suffers twenty hours of sharp aching; who pays a full price for a hot supper, and is so pleased with the bargain that he throws in a sleepless and tempestuous night as a gratuity. English factory children have received the commiseration of the world, because they were scourged to work eighteen hours out of the twenty-four; but there is many a theoretic republican who is a harsher Pharaoh to his stomach than this;-who allows it no more resting-time than he does his watch; who gives it no Sunday, no holiday, no vacation in any sense. Our pious ancestors enacted a law that suicides should be buried where four roads meet, and that a cart-load of stones should be thrown upon the body. Yet, when gentlemen or ladies commit suicide, not by cord or steel, but by turtle-soup or lobster-salad, they may be buried in consecrated ground, and under the auspices of the church, and the public are not ashamed to read an epitaph upon their tombstones false enough to make the marble blush. Were the barbarous old law now in force that punished the body of the suicide for the offence which his soul had committed, we should find many a Mount Auburn at the crossroads. Is it not humiliating and amazing, that men, invited by the exalted pleasures of the intellect, and the sacred affections of the heart, to come to a banquet worthy of the gods, should stop by the wayside to feed on garbage, or to drink of the Circean cup that transforms them to swine! If a young man, incited by selfish principles alone, inquires how he shall make his appetite yield him the largest amount of gratification, the answer is, by Temperance. The true epicurean art consists in the adaptation of our organs not only to the highest, but to the longest enjoyment. Yastly less depends upon the table to which we sit down, than upon the appetite which we carry to it. The palled epicure, who spends five dollars for his dinner, extracts less pleasure from his meal than many a hardy laborer who dines for a shilling. The desideratum is, not greater luxuries, but livelier papille; and if the devotee of appetite would propitiate his divinity aright, he would not send to the Yellow-stone for buffaloes' tongues, nor to France for paté de foie gras, but would climb a mountain, or swing an axe. With health, there is no end to the quantity or the |