the painting, which resembles nothing; and the music, of which the discords are the most pleasing parts. Emulation is taught even in frivolous attainments; and ambition is addressed as if it were a virtue. In 1 the mean time, a religion, which knows nothing of humility, presides over the whole. The dangerous pride of the human heart is kept out of sight; kept out of sight did I say? nay; it is made the chief stock on which the social virtues are grafted; and by the nurture of its evil sap, they are expected to bloom and bear fruit. The conclusion, then, to which we come, is-that it is not a question whether emulation is to be admitted into schools, for it will exist there whether we will or no. Non scripta; sed nata lex; quam non didicimus, accepimus, legimus, verum er natura ipsa arripuimus, hausimus, expressimus; ad quam non docti; sed facti; non instituti; sed imbuti sumus ;— that since nature has admitted its existence, we are to allow it; but always to apply it where most needed, and to endeavor to combine it with higher principles. Finally, to direct it only to worthy objects, and teach it to submit to the regulations of a sagacious justice. In a public school, every boy has a share of reputation, which can be measured out to him with almost mathematic certainty; let him take it, and therewith be content. Within these bounds, emulation may fire the genius (Æmulatio alit ingenia) without inflaming the passions or corrupting the heart. If, however, experience must overthrow this theory*; if the existence of the thing is necessarily connected with the abuse; if, in the intellectual house, you cannot place on the hearth, the smallest spark of this fire, without wrapping the whole building in a conflagration, then, I confess, we must bend all our moral powers against it; for we must abhor that conventional morality, which calls to the aid of virtue, the incitements of vice. Nunquam enim virtus vitio adjuvanda est, se contenta. Experience must decide; but let it be a careful experience; let it not be based on a prejudiced observation, or a superficial insight into an inadequate number of facts. * Hardly a theory, however, for the whole world has said so. THE PURITAN. No. 41. Fair laughs the morn, and soft the zephyr blows, In gallant trim the gilded vessel goes; Youth on the prow, and pleasure at the helm; Regardless of the sweeping whirlwind's sway, That, hushed in grim repose, expects his evening prey. Gray's Bard. THE RIVER OF LIFE. RETURNING home one evening, after having been employed, during a solitary walk, in reflecting on the illusiveness of human expectation, the vanity of human prospects, and the folly of the vast multitude, who live without virtue, and die without repentance; and, having revolved these melancholy reflections in my mind, until they had extorted the solemn aspiration— What is man, that thou art mindful of him? I retired to my pillow, and fell into the following vision. I seemed to be standing on a desolate island, in a wide river; a place so excessively barren, that it yielded neither fruit, nor shrub, nor plant, nor anything to delight the eye, or gratify the taste All around me was barren uniformity, and seemed strikingly to figure out the inanity of an infant mind. I was told that it was called the Island of Nativity; a most dreary, desolate spot, where no one wished to reside; that all who found themselves here, immediately launched in boats, which floated down from above, into the river of life, which was rolling its waters before me; that none ever returned to occupy their former residence, since of those, who thus ventured, some were landed in flowery gardens, on a happier shore; and as for the others, they perished down a tremendous cataract at the end of the river: I was told further, that the channel of the river was winding and intricate; crossed by many counter-currents and rocks, which increased the danger; that none of the navigators could be relied on as pilots, since none ever navigated it but once; and that, consequently, vast numbers ultimately perished. Amidst these dreary considerations, however, there was one comfort. A great Benefactor had, in compassion to the miserable voyagers, drawn an accurate chart of the river; by duly attending to which, all who wished, might escape destruction. I had no sooner heard this, than I seized one of the boats, and launched off-little doubting of success, and receiving a chart, rather from the importunity of a friend, than for any essential benefit that I supe posed it could bestow. I had advanced but a small way into the river, when I perceived that it separated into two channels, one on the right hand, the other on the left. That on the right hand ran along a dark and desolate shore ;craggy clefts frowned terribly above, while the river rolled its turbid waters through a narrow channel below;-not a flower grew on the bank; not a grove or a valley gladdened the prospect. There were but few voyagers; and they appeared to pass their time between the awful agitations of doubtful hope, or settled despondency. I was told, that this was called the bank of wisdom. That on the other side presented a very different appearance. Flowers and fruits bordered the stream, and the yielding waters curled beneath the embraces of Arabian winds. The prospect was everywhere delightful; the channel was crowded with passengers, who sported and sung, without sorrow or care. All was beauty and hilarity. This side, I was told, was called the bank of pleasure. On both sides, they appeared solicitous to make me of their party. They on the right hand, told me of the safety and happiness which they should gain at last; that though this channel appeared frightful and forbidding at a distance, yet those gloomy appearances vanished on a nearer approach, and that it was even more quiet and serene than that on the opposite side; whether more pleasant or not, it was the strait and narrow way, by which we must avoid the cataract, and arrive at bliss. They on the other side, told me |