chiefs, I discover a monster with five heads, more whimsical than the he-goat of the prophet Daniel. If I would ask the day of the month, I hear the gibberish of Germinal and Pluviose; and courts of justice and a body of soldiers indicated by "revolutionary tribunal,” and “expeditionary army."

But my eyes ache by gazing at these microscopic objects. Let us leave Paris and her great boys, to blow bladders, or to drown cats, and impale flies. We too are childish on this side of the Atlantic, though not quite so absurd, or cruel in our sports, as the French.

I am not at a loss in what class to rank an audience, who snore over the scenes of Shakspeare, and are broad awake to the mummery of pantomime. The fine gentleman, or lady, who can exchange a dollar for a curvet of Lailson's horses, or the cup and ball necromancy of an Italian adventurer, appears to me as awkward as my nephew Bobby, now riding across my study, on a broomstick.

Of all new faces, and of every exhibition, we are childish admirers. I have known a retainer to the British theatre, who there was scarcely permitted to snuff candles without a prompter,

extolled by the rashness of American enthusiasm, as another Henderson or Garrick.

In literature, a childish taste prevails, and childish effusions are the vogue. We suffer our ears to be smothered, by tinkling epithets, and our understandings to be lullabied by the drowsy hum of opera. I have heard of those, who have been infantine enough to go the sixth night to a tragedy, whose only merit was the republican name of its hero, and who concluded a paper was classical and patriotic, of course, because its editor was an Irishman.

The apostle acknowledged, that, in the early part of his life, he thought, spoke, and acted as a child; but when he took his degrees in the school of manhood, he laid aside folly, and her cap and bells. Though the piety of saint Paul may be inimitable, yet his dignity and resolution may be copied. The Lay Preacher hopes that he shall no longer behold a large portion of full grown fellow-creatures, sitting like children in the market place. Let us, therefore, in the quaint, but meaning phrase of our bible translators, "quit ourselves like men," and remember that we were formed for higher purposes, than to pipe, or to dance.

ON RESTLESSNESS.

"And the gold of that land is good; there is bdellium and the onyx stone.-Gen. xi. 12.

MEN, ever eager in search of factitious joys, go down to the sea in ships, visit various and distant climes, and tempt evil in a thousand forms, when safe and cheap delight is to be procured at home. The merchant, says Horace, hurries to the Indies, to secure a flight from poverty. A more reflecting adventurer, on the point of embarkation, might consider, that poverty is alike discoverable in the east as the west, and might be as easily eluded at home as abroad. I consider few things more baneful, than that species of discontent, which urges to go here, and go there, rather than persevere in an uniform conduct, in a permanent station. Restlesness is ever a capital defect in character, generally indicating, either a light mind, or a tainted heart. The "foul fiend," is depicted as a wanderer; going to and fro, and walking up

and down. Cataline is described by Sallust, who saw him with a painter's eye, as ever tiring of things possessed, and panting, to reach the distant, and the inaccessible. Hope presents the false light, "gliding meteorous" before us, we follow, and are beguiled.

Then where, my dear countrymen, are you going, and why do you wander? “Oh! we are on the march to Georgia, and to Genessee, the genuine gardens of the Hesperides, exuberant in golden fruit. We are embarking for the Indies, expecting, under their hot sun, our fortunes will ripen, in a year. Do not detain us with your dogmas. It is not advice we seek, it is gold."

If that be the motive of these long journies, from Dan to Beersheba, the time, trouble, and expense may be saved. Superfluous to ascend Potosi, when mines are under our feet. The. field of industry is not remote; it is a kind of homestead, within reach, and within view; and adventurers may believe, that the gold of that land is good: there is bdellium and the onyx

stone.

It has been so fashionable of late, for gentlemen of Hartford, and others of a speculative

turn, to argue the propriety of migrating to Georgia, and to the lakes, that men look askance at domestic blessings, and fancy that neither gold, nor any thing else of value, can be found, except among southern sands, and at the foot of the falls of St. Anthony. But wealth and power are not bounded by geographical lines, nor suddenly conjured from the earth, by the instrument of a surveyor. A slower process is required, but it is sure. Labour and the plough effect more at home, than twenty journies abroad.

Suspend your schemes, ye speculators, and confide in the resources of your native soil. Refreshed by sweet and running waters, diversified by hill and valley, ventilated by buxom gales, and fertilized by the kindest influence of heaven, America, quickened by industry, is the El Dorado of romance. From such a soil, tillage will derive gold, and the gold of that land is good, where the yeoman is strenuous and persevering. Gazing at the full eared corn, the ample hay-cock, and matured orchard, the rural enthusiast may exclaim-There is bdellium and the onyx stone, the sources of our wealth and splendour.