THE human mind is the brightest display of the power and skill of the Infinite Mind with which we are acquainted. It is created and placed in this world to be educated for a higher state of existence. Here its faculties begin to unfold, and those mighty energies, which are to bear it forward to unending ages, begin to discover themselves. The object of training such a mind should be, to enable the soul to fulfil her duties well here, and to stand on high vantage-ground, when she leaves this cradle of her being, for an eternal existence beyond the grave.

There is now and then a youth, who, like Ferguson, can tend sheep in the field, and there accurately mark the position of the stars, with a thread and beads, and with his knife construct a watch from wood; but such instances are rare. Most need encouragement to sustain, instruction to aid, and directions to guide them. Few, probably, ever accomplish anything like as much as they expected or ought; and I have thought that one reason is, that students waste a vast amount of time in acquiring that experience which they need. As I look back upon the days when I was a "student," I can see that here I went wrong, and there I mistook; here I missed a golden opportunity, and there I acquired a wrong habit, or received a wrong bias; and as I sometimes walk past a college, as it is lighted up for evening-study, I pause, and sigh, that I cannot go back and begin life again, carrying with me my present experience. I think, too, I can see, that if there had been such a book as I am now attempting to write for students put into my hands at an early period, it would have been of incalculable advantage to me. I have strong hopes of saying what will be useful, inasmuch as I shall principally draw from my own experience and from the remembrance of my own wants.

The reader will please to bear in mind, that the only object I have in view, is to be

useful to him-to throw out such hints and cautions, and to give such specific directions, as will aid him to become all that the fond hopes of his friends anticipate, and all that his own heart ought to desire.

I would here say to the student, that the character which he now forms and sustains will cling to him through life. Young men always receive impressions concerning each other which nothing can ever efface. The very nicknames which are given at this period, and which are generally indicative of some peculiar trait of character, will never be forgotten. His moral and intellectual character, while young, is that by which his class-mates, especially, will invariably measure him through life. Is he unamiable now, or indolent now, or vicious now? Depend upon it, his character is stamped, and no subsequent years, of good nature, or of application, or of moral worth, can ever do away the impressions which he is now making. Ask any educated man about the character of his fellow, and you will notice, that he at once goes back to his college-life, and dates and judges from that period. Thus, every anecdote, every ludicrous circumstance, whether it was a mistake in reciting, or in judgment, or in moral conduct, will be repeated over the land, and his frailties will be known as widely as his class is scattered.

No mistake can be more decided than that of supposing that you are now retired from the world, have no character to maintain, and no responsibility resting upon you. It is far otherwise. And it is peculiarly trying, that, during the very period when the character is forming, it is viewed by all around you as if it were already and unalterably formed, and judged of accordingly. He, who now sits by your side in the recitation-room, has every trait of your character exposed to his view; and he will remember every trait, and he will mark you through life, at the place where you now stand. Never, in fact, does so great a

responsibility rest upon you, as while a student; because you are now forming your character and habits, and setting your standard; and because, also, your contemporaries will seldom, if ever, alter their judgment concern- | ing you. If you are stupid and inaccurate | during this period, though you should hereafter write dictionaries, and edit classics, and dream in foreign languages, I very much doubt whether your friend, now at your elbow, would ever give you credit for any thing higher than dulness.

Doubtless, multitudes are now in the process of education who will never reach any tolerable standard of excellence. Probably some never could; but in most cases they might. The exceptions are few; and probably most, who read these pages, do feel a desire, more or less strong, of fitting themselves for respectability and usefulness. They are, however, ignorant of the way; they are surrounded by temptations and dangers; they soon forget the encouragements, and thus oscillate between hope and fear, resolution and discouragement. It is for such that I write. And such I earnestly entreat not to lay aside this little book till they have read it, weighed it, and if they please, called the writer whatever hard names occur to them. My pen will probably sometimes seem dull; but if it should, I hope I may apologize for it as the knight did for his slow-pacing horse: -"Hee is a rite gude creetur, and travels all the ground over most faithfully.”

"When I turned in at night, the sea was smooth and bright as a mirror; the vast firmament seemed to descend below us; the ship appeared to be suspended in the centre of an immense sphere, and, if I may say so, one felt, in awe and silence, the majesty of space. The sails hung idly by the mast, and the officers' tread along the deck was the only sound heard. So I left them.

"About midnight, I was awakened by a heavy swing of my cot, succeeded by a sudden dash to the other side: the water was pouring into our room, and I could hear its rush across the upper decks, where all was noise and rapid motion. I hurried on my clothes and ran up; the gun-deck was clear; hammocks had already been lashed up and stowed; it was lighted up, and showed it flooded in its whole extent. I ascended to the next the rain came down in torrents, but I did not feel it, so deeply absorbing was the scene. I wish I could describe it. The sky was in a constant blaze; the sea was not high, but broken, confused, and foaming, and taking from the lightning an unnatural hue. Above me were the yards covered with human beings, thrown by each flash into strong outline, struggling hard to secure the canvass and to maintain their precarious footing. The

ship rolled tremendously. And now add the wild uproar of the elements, the noise of many waters,' the deep and constant roar of the winds, the cries of the men aloft, the heavy and rapid tread of those below, the reiterated commands of officers, and rising above all this, the firm and composed orders of the trumpet, and then add to this the heavy-rolling thunder, at times drowning all these sounds. The first lieutenant had the deck: he had sprung to it at the first alarm, and, seizing the trumpet, had called Black, his favourite helmsman. The ship was soon under snug sail, and now dashed onward at a furious rate, giving to the gale a yet wilder character.

"All at once a rocky island seemed to start up from the water; but the next broad flash showed a good offing, and we were safe; when suddenly came a loud shout from the forecastle-a sail close on the larboard bow, sir.' I trembled then-not for ourselves, for we should have gone over them, and have scarcely felt the shock-but for the poor wretches whom it would have been impossible to save. The helm was put hard down: we shot by, and I again breathed freely, when some one bade me look up to our spars. I did so, and found every upper yard-arm and mast tipped with lightning. Each blaze was twice as large as that of a candle; and thus we flew on, with the elements of destruction playing above our heads.”

Can any one read this beautiful description of one of our own proud ships in a storm, and fail to reflect, that discipline is the life and salvation of such a ship in such a storm? But I have copied it for a different purpose; and that is, to call the attention of the reader a single moment to the "helmsman Black,” Can there be a doubt but the sailor who could take the helm in these circumstances, and hold the ship firmly on her course amid the storm, shunning rocks, and just shooting by small vessels, must have courage, presence of mind, and great promptness of character? Or can there be a doubt, but, if he had been properly educated when young, he might have stood in the lieutenant's place, and held the trumpet, or even commanded the ship? It is my earnest wish to aid such as have capacity, in seizing the present moment, and while they have the opportunity, in so laying their plans, and in so forming their habits, as to make the most of all their endowments. There are, doubtless, some who will read these pages without benefit. May I suggest a possible reason? "A mole, having consulted many oculists for the benefit of his sight, was at last provided with a good pair of spectacles; but, upon his endeavouring to make use of them, his mother told him, that, though they might help the eyes of man, they could be of no use to a mole."

patience. You may have a good mind, a sound judgment, or a vivid imagination, or a wide reach of thought and views; but believe me, you probably are not a genius, and can never become distinguished without severe application. Hence, all that you ever have must be the result of labour-hard, untiring labour. You have friends to cheer you on; you have books and teachers to aid you, and multitudes of helps. But, after all, disciplining and educating your mind must be your own work. No one can do this but yourself. And nothing in this world is of any worth, which has not labour and toil as its price. The zephyrs of summer can but seldom breathe around you. "I foresee distinctly that you will have to double Cape Horn in the winter-season, and to grapple with the gigantic spirit of the storm which guards the cape; and I foresee, as distinctly, that it will depend entirely on your own skill and energy, whether you survive the fearful encounter, and live to make a port in the mild latitudes of the Pacific."*

Johnson asserts, that, if any one would be master of the English language, he must give his days and nights to the reading of Addison. It is still more emphatically true, that, if any one would be distinguished, he must labour for it. There is no real excellence without patient study. Those who have now and then risen upon the world, without education, and without study, have shed but a doubtful light, and that but for a moment. Many a youth has kindled at the story of TOMASO ANELLO, who was one day hawking fish through the streets of Naples, and the next was master of armies and fleets, and made his will the rule for an empire. The army obeyed him; the banditti quailed before him; and never was a man more absolute in his will. But his short reign of nine days, was marked with great folly, cruelty, and despotism; and such examples must ever stand before the world as among the possible things; but also among the improbable, and still more undesirable.

Set it down as a fact, to which there are no exceptions, that we must labour for all that we have, and that nothing is worth possessing or offering to others, which costs us nothing. Gilbert Wakefield tells us that he wrote his own memoirs (a large octavo) in six or eight days. It cost him nothing; and, what is very natural, it is worth nothing. You might yawn scores of such books into existence; but who would be the wiser or the better? We all like gold, but dread the digging. The cat loves the fish, but will not wade to catch them; amat pisces, sed non vult tingere plantas.

• Wirt.

Those islands which so beautifully adorn the Pacific, and which, but for sin, would seem so many Edens, were reared up from the bed of the ocean, by the little coral-insect, which deposits one grain of sand at a time, till the whole of those piles are reared up. Just so with human exertions. The greatest results of the mind are produced by small, but continued efforts. I have frequently thought of the motto of one of the most distinguished scholars in this country, as peculiarly appropriate. As near as I can remember, it is the picture of a mountain, with a man at its base, with his hat and coat lying beside him, and a pick-axe in his hand; and, as he digs, stroke by stroke, his patient look corresponds with his words, Peu et peu"Little by little."

The first and great object of education is, to discipline the mind. It is naturally, like the colt, wild and ungoverned. Let any man, who has not subdued his mind more or less, by close thought, sit down, and take hold of a subject, and try to "think it out." The result will be, that he cannot hold his thoughts upon the point. They fly off-they wander away. He brings them back, and determines now to hold his attention there; when, at once, ere he knows how, he again finds himself away. The process is repeated till he gives it up in discouragement, or else goes to sleep. I once heard a young man complaining that he could not keep his mind fixed on a point. "It rolled off like a barrel from a pin ;" and he gave some hints that possibly it might be that his mind was so great! His gravity altogether exceeded that of his associates, to whom he was giving the explanation. How many great minds would there be, if such indications were to be relied on!

In the period which belongs to you as a student, then, it is not important that you should try to lay up a vast amount of information. Under the chapter on reading, I shall hope to throw out such hints as will enable you to save what you do read. The object now is, to fit the mind for future acquisitions, and future usefulness. The magazine will be filled soon enough; and we need not be too anxious to fill it while we are getting it ready for use. I am desirous that you have it strongly impressed on the memory, that the great object now is, to set the mind on a course which she can successfully pursue herself, and that, too, through life.

You must calculate to improve through life; and, therefore, now try to form habits of study, and learn how to study to advantage. "Newton was in his eighty-fifth year improving his chronology; and Waller, at eighty-two, is thought to have lost none of his poetical fire."