O death, is this thy meaning? Yes,-
To die, is endless bliss or woe!

And all must die, and when, or where,
Jehovah only knows. And what

To be prepared? 'Tis heaven! And what
To fail? O sinner-shall I tell

Thee? Will you hear and heed, when 'tis
Not man that speaks; but God, from heaven,
And in his word declares ;-To die
Without a Saviour-in his blood
Unwashed,--impenitent,-is hell!*
Since things are so, O man, 'tis height
Of wisdom to prepare for death ;—
And this without delay.

Verses by Sir Walter Raleigh, found in his Bible in the
Gatehouse at Westminster, after his Execution.

Even such is time which takes in trust,
Our youth, our joys, and all we have;
And pays us nought but age and dust,
Which, in the dark and silent grave,
When we have wandered all our ways,
Shuts up the story of our days,

And from which grave, and earth, and dust,
The Lord will raise us up, I trust.

An original and literal translation of part of the second Episode of Horace, in which he describes the happy man. The Poet commences it in the same manner as the Sacred Poet commences the first Psalm, where he also describes the happy man. It is translated to show the contrast in the two descriptions.

BLEST is the man, on some kind spot,
His native and paternal lot

* Luke xvi. 23.

In solitude retired.

Free, like the nations long gone by
From opulence and luxury,

Admiring and admired.

The Clarion's sound, nor boisterous seas, Nor eloquence disturbs his ease,

Nor city's pride and splendor;

Who prunes his young and growing vines, Which to tall poplar trees he joins, Engrafting scions tender.

Who loves to see his fertile glades
Yielding his cattle food and shades,
And listen to their lowing,
Whose vines and orchards now appear
Crowning the labours of the year,
Autumnal bliss bestowing.

Expect, Priapus, at his hands,
Sylvanus, guardian of his lands,

Expect a tribute grateful.

Of pears he gives you what you choose,
Clusters ambitious of their hues,

And every fruit delightful.

Beneath his oaken sylvan shade,
On flowery, herbs he lays his head,
In solemn meditation.

Near him the crystal babbling brook,
Above, the cawing, playful rook
Are sleepy recreation.

Who, when the wintery winds howl round
And dismal snows involve the ground,
To occupy his leisure,

In the deep forests with his snares,
And hounds; the wild deer and the bears
He makes his prey and pleasure.

Midst scenes like these what man retains Effeminate blood within his veins?

Yet in a pleasant mansion,

His lovely wife, as wise as fair,
And the blest offspring of her care
Endeared by kind attention.

With milk made ready from the kine,
With flowing bowls of blushing wine

And chosen fruits to refresh him,
With blazing fire and vestments warm,
Wait his returning through the storm
To bless and to embrace him.

Thrice happy man! nor happier he,
Whom every river, lake, and sea

Afford their choisest fishes:
Whose pride, and luxury, and wealth,
(Let Providence preserve his health,)
Contribute to his dishes.

L***.

The entrance of the illustrious LA FAYETTE into BOSTON was accompanied with a powerful burst of public gratitude. While reading the following inscription, under which the procession passed, we involuntarily sighed, "O that these tens of thousands of hearts were surrendered to GOD THEIR REDEEMER. 59

WELCOME, LA FAYETTE!
The fathers in glory shall sleep,
That gathered with thee to the fight,
But their sons will eternally keep
The tablet of gratitude bright!

We bow not the neck and we bend not the knee,
But our hearts, LA FAYETTE, we surrender to thee!

NOTICE TO CORRESPONDENTS.

P: W: X: Ullus, and two or three pieces without signature, have been received.

Henrietta: A dialogue between H. and E., and Arian have been received.

HOWEVER extensive may be our acquaintance with books, let us remember, that book-knowledge is a rude, unprofitable mass, until it is moulded and fashioned by patient meditation; that it is "the mere materials with which wisdom builds, and does but encumber whom it seems to enrich, until it is smoothed and squared and fitted to its place." It is reading, says Lord Bacon, which makes a full man; it is thinking, allow me to add, which makes a wise man. Your reading is the

food of the mind, but unless it is digested and assimilated, it avails little to mental health and activity. The mind abhors a vacuum no less than the body, and like the body too, becomes torpid under the oppression of a constant plethore. The frequent repletion of the stomach may impart for a time an unnatural vigor and stimulate to unnatural efforts, but ultimately engenders vicious humours which terminate in fatal distempers. Moderate meals which go into the circulation and become incorporated with the system contribute more to the growth and energy of the body than a constant state of plethoric fulness. But to drop this rather vulgar but apposite simile, I would repeat what has been said a thousand times before, because it is so true that a single volume well conned over, understood and appropriated as our own, strengthens and enriches the mind more than running through a dozen octavos in the superficial

way which is so common among young readers. Let us rectify then that sickly, disordered appetite which seeks its gratifications only in variety and abundance. Let us restrain that restless, excursive curiosity, which is ever tempting us aside from the straight-forward path of systematic effort; let our ripening judgments cure the youthful mania for reading many books, and teach us not to estimate the profits of a journey by the despatch with which it is accomplished, but by the increase which it may have made to our slender stock of knowledge. But I would not utterly proscribe light reading, nor forbid an occasional digression from that course of more serious reading, which, in order to be profitable, must be accompanied with close thinking. These hints are designed more especially for that class of unaided miscellaneous readers, who, "too weak to bear the insupportable fatigue of thought, swallow without pause or choice the total grist unsifted, husks and all." A reader of this description, it is true, may accumulate scraps and fragments of knowledge, but will seldom obtain comprehensive views of any system of truth. His mind is a warehouse, filled indeed with valuable merchandize, but so confusedly huddled together, that you cannot find two articles of the same kind in one place. While, on the other hand, the youth who has not suffered himself to range at large in the wide field of knowledge, but resolutely confined his attention to a definite portion, until he has contemplated every prominent truth under all the aspects and bearings in which different points of close observation may present it, the furniture of such a mind is the merchandise of this same warehouse, packed in bales ready for sale or shipment.

ESSAY.

PLEASURES OF PIETY.

The works of the Lord are great, sought out of all them that have pleasure therein.

DAVID.

THE benevolent Parent of the universe has conferred on us capacities for deriving pleasure through the me