"Retire; the world shut out; thy thoughts call home;-
Imagination's airy wing repress;

Lock up thy senses: let no passion stir ;

Wake all to reason;-let her reign alone."

And amidst this solemn stillness of the mind, this enthronement of the judgment over the lawless affections of the heart, his projects must be formed, and the means of their due execution fully matured. To a mind thus prepared, difficulties will disappear as the cloud recedes from the sunbeam; or if they exist, they will be accounted but "trifles light as air," but shadows flitting before the view, without tangibility, and therefore incapable of resistance. Preoccupied by an intense and overwhelming conviction, he has not only a mental attraction which is invincible to every opponent suggestion; but he has even the faculty of transmuting into aliment every thing that has a tendency to impede his career. Upheld by a motive as changeless as his being, his will is on the pinnacle of power; and "onward” is his motto, regardless alike of Charybdis on the one hand, or of Scylla on the other. His passions may oppose him; the couch of indolence may tempt him; the sneer of by-standers may reproach him; but having "counted the cost," he is ready for the onset, and he hears nothing, and he imagines nothing, but the anticipated shout of victory. The fitness and the advantages of this moral magnanimity, are too obvious for a moment's elucidation. Who can account himself as immortal as the throne of God, and not have a purpose to accomplish, an object to secure? If we perish like the moth, and are to be ingulphed in the vortex of annihilation, why let us be as unstable as we choose, as shifting as the leaf that floats on the autumnal breeze. But if futurity awaits us, insanity must be inscribed on the forehead, philosophy being judge, of the man who lives without a purpose, and dies without a hope.

ALIQUIS.

A SIGH.

THE wintry sun-beam of a smile
May light the dullest eye awhile,

May give the cheek a transient glow,

And a deceitful outward shew

Of life upon the surface spread,

Where all beneath is cold and dead.

The long loud laugh may peal around—
A mirthless, hollow, heartless sound;
The ready tear may start at will,
False, treacherous, dissembling still :
The glance may speak of tenderness,
Where never bosom felt it less.

In blandest tones the voice may sue;
Tell of affection, deep and true;
Dress in fine terms each vain pretence,
And plead with winning eloquence;
While every word, so soft and sweet,
Is framed but to betray and cheat.

So, maidens, when you make
your choice,
Trust not smile, laugh, tear, glance, or voice.

How then, may faith sincere be known,
Or feeling's genuine warmth be shewn?
Is there no language of the heart
Its pure emotions to impart,
No test of its fidelity?

Oh, yes? you may believe—a sigh.

In the expression of a sigh

There lurks no cold hypocrisy.

Deep from the inmost soul it swells,
Fraught with the dearest wish that dwells
In that thrice hallowed sanctuary:
Oh, yes! you may believe a sigh.

On passion, ardent and intense,
When fate with adverse influence
Frowns blightingly; what sign reveals
All that the aching heart conceals,
And manifests unconsiously

Its struggling hopes and fears?—a sigh.

When happier love with rapture thrills,
What gentle envoy best fulfils

Its mission from the throbbing breast;
Proclaims the anxious lover blest,
And breathes most unreservedly
The soft, consenting vow?-a sigh:

And in life's loneliest, darkest hour,
When destiny's relentless power
Two kindred beings dooms to part,
Religiously the widowed heart
Preserves its lost one's memory,
Embalmed for ever in—a sigh.

Thus through our changeful pilgrimage,
In weal and woe; in youth and age;
In life and death; unforced, unbought,
The herald of deep seated thought,
The messenger of constancy,
And soul of feeling is a sigh.

SKETCHES.

No. I.-INFANCY.

THE tender plant just peeping from the earth to share the sunshine and the showers of heaven, is an interesting object; for we know that its branches will one day wave in the peaceful sky. The traveller starts as he steps across the little rill which holds on its noiseless course beneath bramble and briar; for he remembers it is fast swelling to the stream which bears upon its bosom the wealth and commerce of the world. The callow eaglet has its charm; for we anticipate the day when its strong pinion shall cleave our clouded atmosphere, and disport amid fields of light on high. The young moon is beautiful: but to none so much as to him who reflects that she shall soon pour from a full orb a tide of glory on a sunless world.

Yet to the meditative mind, not one of these presents so many attractions as the germination of intellect, as the young spirit bnrsting into being and commencing its career of immortality.

Oh! to look upon the seedling-mind, and to think what may be its high destination! Perhaps that little frame lodges the

dauntless spirit which shall one day assert the rights and wield the energies of a nation, and go forth to battle, not indeed with the gilded equipage of kings, but, as beseemeth the child and champion of freedom, with a nervous arm and a trusting heart: that "eye of blue" may yet kindle with the fire of a fervent and impassioned eloquence, and an applauding people may drink life from its lustre; or that little heart, which now beats with ectasy for the bright bauble of the minute, may, ere long, throb with the wild expectations and the burning visions and the delicious dreamings of sky-born poesy! We envy not the philosopher who would consider a babe beneath his regard. We have no sympathy with the man, though he be well versed in the lore of classic times, or the literature of our own, who sees nothing to interest him in the dawn of the understanding.

And yet there is another, and perhaps a no less deeply wrought charm, with which infancy is invested. There is a something in its very appearance which at once wins a way to the heart. The placid brow, the mild eye, the dimpled cheek, and the general cast of innocent expression seem to proclaim a being from the world of sinlessness and joy. No gusty passsion, no corroding care, hath yet marred the beautiful, or corrupted the pure: no cold world hath yet frozen up the young affections of the heart; nor hath keen disappointment wasted yet its fresh and immortal energies. Little one! a fearful change awaiteth thee! What, though thy budding intellect ripen beneath the sky of instruction? What though thou be destined to trace the stream of science to its source? What, though thou be invited to slumber amid the shadowy delights of an enchanted Elysium? What, though thou shouldst wield at will the passions of the fierce democracy? Yet, little one, thou hast breathed a tainted atmosphere; and with all these powers and privileges, shall come the baleful passions common to thy race. Heart-consuming care shall leave its traces on thy brow, sorrow shall blanche thy cheek, disappointment shall bring a blight over thy best and fairest hopes; and the world, which on thy young imagination shall soon have opened all beautiful and bright, thou wilt, ere long find, to have its shadows as well as its sunshine.

Such are among the anticipations which fling around the fate and fortunes of an infant so fixed and powerful a charm.

Is a

mother's eye glancing over this page? The truth which it pro

claims will find an echo in her heart; she will remember how as

she gazed upon her smiling babe, pillowed in peace upon her bosom, and thought of the good and ill which might chequer its passage to the tomb, the prayer escaped her lips, breathed in the fervour of maternal love, that through all the toils and trials of life, its gentle spirit might be guided at length to the bourne of blessedness and rest.

NEANIAS.

THE SHIPWRECK.

Her destin'd port the ship approaches now,
The gale amidst her shaking cordage sings,
Ripples the foaming wave beneath her prow,
And on her deck, the sailor's joy-song rings !
There stands the veteran bearing glorious seams,
Of wounds he for his country bravely sought,
The youth, of home and love who fondly dreams,
The care-worn parent deep in anxious thought!
But while with hope and joy the tear drops gush
From eyes which long have gazed on foreign lands,
The skies grow dark!—the eddying whirlwinds rush,
And the lost ship is dash'd upon the strand!

All soon is hush'd, and ocean's waves clos'd o'er
Full many a breast late thrill'd with feelings keen!
And those who jocund thought to tread its shore,
Are now, alas! as if they ne'er had been!

PERIODICAL LITERATURE.*

THE present generation requires no proof of the beneficial effects produced by the diffusion of a taste for literature and science through the various grades of society. To deny its salutary influence involves the assertion that darkness is better than light

Should the reader discover any similarity of thought or expression between this article and our "address," we take leave to state, in justice to ourelves, that the latter was finished, precisely as it now appears, before the former came to hand. -EDITOR.