spirit, which appeared in Christ, and is necessary to the comfort and usefulness of his followers? Let these thoughts rouse you. Shake off sloth and dulness. "Awake, thou that sleepest, and call upon the name of Christ, and he shall give thee light." And to prevent your ever indulging again in needless sleep, solemnly consider, how precious time will appear when your last day arrives, and how earnestly you will then desire those hours and days, which have been wasted in guilty slumber. Q. FAME, An unworthy Object of Pursuit. ON many subjects the opinion of the world is at absolute variance with reason, and the plainest dictates of common sense; and, perhaps, in few instances is this variance more observable, than in the estimate which is commonly formed of the importance and value of worldly applause. It has been coveted, courted, admired, and extolled in every age and country, by the peasant and the clown, as well as the prince and the sage. It has been an idol, promising to the myriads of its followers every thing, which could gratify the heart of man, but bestowing nothing; and, in reality, served with the costliest offerings of peace, health, contentment, and constantly demanding hecatombs of human victims. Poetry, and the other fine arts, have obsequiously become its high priests: even history and biography, instead of deterring men from a service so unreasonable by ex hibiting the whitened bones of the slain, have but too frequently strengthened the delusion, by displaying the diadem of the conqueror. Amid this splendour of worship, it comes to pass, that the youth, who has any pretensions to eminence, even in his own view, looks forward, half entranced, to the period when his brow shall be crowned with laurels, and his name become deathless in song. To specify all the ways in which a desire of applause exhibits itself, would be to mention every action which has been admired, every possession which has been coveted, not by the proud alone, or any other single class of men, but by the humble, as well as the exalted, the sottish, as well as the intelligent. It is not requisite that a thing should be of any use to mankind, either present or future, real or apparent, that it may become an object of the most ardent pursuit. Far from it. Things insignificant, things despicable, things abominable, have been thought by their possessors, and by many others like them, to be entitled to high respect, and distinguished honour. A few pages of the Panoplist may be usefully employed, in examining some of the most common paths of ambition; for if those which are most trodden, should be proved to lead to disappointment and disgust, the rest, beyond controversy, cannot boast a better character. The female part of our species seem chiefly to aim at celebrity from the beauty and dress of their persons. For proof of this, were any proof necessary, I should point your attention in general to places of resort for amusement, and other purpo ses. In every public assembly, the profusion of female decorations, and the eagerness with which the beauties of the person are protruded upon the spectators, irresistibly evince that many, in this way, aim at distinction. It might be an ungrateful, but could not be an unfriendly task to show the folly of indulging this passion. To say that beauty is a possession worthy of no regard, would perhaps be more than the most rigid moralist would be willing to assert. But that a being of immortal powers should take more pleasure in admiring that corruptible part of itself, which fades even while it is gazed at; which is constantly exposed to accident, disease, and decay; which must soon become one of the most loathsome objects in creation, and mingle with the common dust, than in contemplating and enlarging the capacities of the soul; that those things should be the chief objects of our exultation, which most proclaim our weakness, seems a truth not at all calculated to flatter our penetration or our wisdom. That riches should be the means by which many hope to be eminent, is not quite so strange. The immediate importance which they give, the force which Horace declares to be potentius ictu fulmines, the distresses from which they appear to rescue, and the flattering comparison which is made between the possessor and those who surround him, afford some pretext for the acquisition. Yet when sought as the way to fame, the mode is chang ed, the folly remains. She personates not now the idiot with a party-coloured robe, but rather the busy lunatic with his haste, and bustle, and stupendous projects. Still, multa petentibus desunt multa, is unquestionably the motto of the whole tribe, and this alone is sufficient to overthrow all their pretensions to enjoyment. in the object of their pursuit. There is one species of reputation aimed at by some of the rich, which is pre-eminently worthy of animadversion. It is that of the spendthrift. His chief gratification must be presumed to be in exciting admiration and envy; for no man would ever hurry through the tediousness of a dissipated life, were he not encouraged by the thought that the world around him imagined him happy. How contemptibly im potent in mind must he appear, then, how miserably incapable of carrying his own plans into execu tion, frivolous and unworthy as they are, who pursues such a course of conduct as must inevitably plunge him from his imaginary height to the depths of real neglect, scorn and misery. Without penetration to discover the obvious evils that await him, without courage to change his conduct, or perseverance to continue in a right course, were it changed; without magnanimity to meet his fall, or patience to endure it, he flies from his duns, or seeks refuge in a prison; proceeds from squandering to villany; and dies, scoffed at by his companions, unlamented by his friends, and unpitied by the world. Courage demands a high place among those qualities, which so confidently promise to elevate those, who possess them, above the level of mankind. As fear has been the common enemy of human happiness, it was easy to foresee, that the man who could boast an exemption from its power, would be esteemed a superior being. The great evil of seeking for honour from this source, is its extreme liability to abuse. Were real courage the thing sought in every instance, however the votary of praise might lose his expected reward, the pursuit would at least claim to be considered, as an innocent delusion. But in practice to be courageous, is to Le inhuman, insolent, madly adventurous, exposing one's self to unprofitable perils, and useless jeopardy. It is found much more natural to affect the petulance of the mastiff, or the ierocity of the tiger, than to assume the spirit of a man, or the firm ness of a Christian. Among many absurd practices, which this restive principle perpetuates, that of duelling is peculiarly disgraceful to human nature. The ume will not be taken up in showing the unlawfulness of a custom, which the meanest capacity may at once see to be opposed to the plainest dictates of reason, and the most express declarations of scripture. But there is one profitable lesson, which the adherence of the polite world to this custom, may teach all those, who place the least confidence in its decisions. It is, that though a thing be practised by the great, the polished, and the honourable, this is no proof, nor does it afford the slightest suspicion, that it is not mean, dastardly, unreasonable, and unlawful; otherwise, conQuet so indefensible, so often and so faithfully exposed, and so fraught with iniquity, could never have held up its head among a civilized people. It is the opinion of many, however, that although the qualities, which have been mentioned are of small value, yet the honour which is derived from high mental endowments, is worthy of the most arduous labours. To have the reputation of a wit, is esteemed by some an object of sufficient magnitude to engross the labours of a life. Yet whoever considers how unprofitable, how apt to create enemies, and how feeble to answer any of the great purposes of living, this much envied talent is, and how short & uncertain are its triumphs, will find little reason to desire it himself, or envy it in others. But it will still be urged, that to have rank among the first poets in the world, to be famed for irresistible eloquence, to be consulted as an oracle of wisdom, to be versed in all the learning of the ancients, or to rival Newton in the sublimity of science, is an attainment, which may well demand the most intense struggle in the pursuit, and give ample room for congratulation in the enjoyment. But let not our conclusion be too hasty. After their powers and talents have been spent, and their lives have been devoted to the cause of learning, men feel emotions quite different from those of the youthful and ardent. This can be gathered from their almost unanimous testimony. Many a favourite of literary renown, feels disposed at the close of life, to unite with Grotius in his melancholy complaint: Heu, vitam ferdidi nihil operose agendo. Divine inspiration has declared that "much study is a weariness to the flesh." And it seems not a little disheartening to the student, who is in pursuit of fame, that the further progress he makes in learning, the more he feels his ignorance; the greater his knowledge, the more clearly he sees how little falls to the lot of man to know. And when, with a farreaching eye, he surveys the immeasurable field before him, he observes scarcely a difference between him, who has laboriously advanced a few paces into it, and him, who lingers on its borders, or stands without its enclosure. There is one kind of honour which has appropriated to itself the name of ambition, and which is to be found among those whom the world has emphatically called the Great. To lead in the senate, to control in the cabinet, to sit high in the seat of judgment, to command the armies or the navies of a mighty kingdom, to fill a throne, and to sway an empire, are things so apt to excite admiration, so inebriating, so irresistibly powerful with the young and ardent, and so ready to engross the desires of nearly the whole human race, that we almost involuntarily conclude those who possess them to be happy. Yet the suffrages of them, who best know, are against the conclusion. Those of each description have their peculiar cares, all equally incompatible with that uninterrupted enjoyment, which is earnestly sought. If we regard the anxiety, which incessantly hovers around the head of the statesman or the warrior; if we consider the unknown dangers among which he is obliged to tread, the unyielding obstacles, which he has to surmount, the unfortunate issue of his sanguine calculations, and the unexpected enemies which he is forced to repel, we must be convinced, that he holds a" painful pre-eminence." These are some of the principal methods in which the love of praise exerts itself, and though the particular evils which attend them have been adverted to, yet in a future number some grand defects which are incident to them all shall be mentioned. (To be continued.) Selections. CHARACTER OF HUME's WRITINGS. THERE has lately been published in England, a work, entitled "Hints towards forming the character of a young princess," in two vols. 8vo. Of this work the reviewers speak in terms of high praise. They say, that" Rumour ascribes these volumes to a literary lady of celebrity, (Mrs. Hannah More) and internal evidence inclines us to credit the assertion." We extract from this valuable work, for the benefit of our readers, the following just and admirable criticism on the writings of the celebrated David Hume. His finely painted characters of Alfred and Elizabeth should be engraved on the heart of ev ery sovereign. His political prejudices do not strikingly appear, till the establishment of the House of Stuart, nor his religious antipathies till about the distant dawn of the reformation under Henry V. From that period to its full establishment, he is perhaps more dangerous, because less ostensibly daring than some other infidel historians. It is a serpent under a bed of roses, He does not (in his history at least) so much ridicule religion himself, as invite others to ridicule it. "There is a sedateness in his manner, which imposes; a sly gravity in his scepticism, which puts the reader more off his guard, than the vehemence of censure, or the levity of wit; for we are always less disposed to suspect a man who is too wise to appear angry. That same wisdom makes him too correct to invent calumnies, but it does not preserve him from doing what is scarcely less disingenuous. He implicitly adopts the injurious, relations of those annalists, who were most hostile to the reformed faith; though he must have known their accounts to be aggravated and discoloured, if not absolutely invented. He thus makes others responsible for the worst things he asserts, and spreads the mischiefs, without avowing the malignity. When he speaks from himself, the sneer is so cool, the irony so sober, the contempt so discreet, the moderation, so insidious, the difference between popish bigotry and protestant firmness, between the fury of the persecutor and the resolution of the martyr, so little marked; Vol. I. No. 8. :. Xx the distinctions between intolerant phrensy and heroic zeal so melted into each other, that though he contrives to make the reader, feel some indignation at the tyrant, he never leads him to feel any reverence for the sufferer. He ascribes such a slender superiority to one religious system above another, that the young reader, who does not come to the perusal with his principles formed, will be in danger of thinking that the reformation was really not worth contending for. "But, in nothing is the skill of this accomplished sophist more apparent, than in the artful way, in which he piques his readers into a conformity with his own views concerning religion, Human pride, he knew, naturally likes to range itself on the side of ability. He, therefore, skil fully works on this passion, by treating with a sort of contemptuous superiority, as weak and credulous men, all whom he represents as being under the religious delusion." JOHNSON AND ADDISON COM PARED. FROM THE SAME "It is less from Johnson than from Addison, that we derive the interesting lessons of life and manners; that we learn to trace, the exact delineations of character, and to catch the vivid hues, and varied tints of nature. It is true, that every sentence of the more recent moralist is an aphorism, every paragraph a chain of maxims for. guiding the understanding" and -guarding the heart. But when Johnson describes characters, he rather exhibits vice and L |