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mile-stones that mark the length or shortness of the way, and the last brings us to our long home. I would also wish my young friends to consider the different relations they enter into, and the different attainments they make in their progress through life as not improperly designated by such a term.

We shall take, for example, the stripling David for an illustration of our allegory, and we see him setting out from his first mile-stone, or in early youth, as a shepherd boy tending a few sheep in the wilderness. In this humble employment, amid the grassy plains and quiet streams of retired life, he was faithful to his trust, careful of his charge, and fearless in protecting them from every enemy; for there came both a lion and a bear against his little flock, and he slew both the lion and the bear. He also gave the glory of this victory to Him to whom it was due, and it became part of his religious experience, by the remembrance of which he encouraged his heart when exposed to greater peril, and was able to say when encountering a stronger adversary, "The Lord who delivered me out of the paw of the bear and out of the paw of the lion, he will deliver me out of the hand of this uncircumcised Philistine." Has the same fidelity, carefulness, and piety, my dear young reader, marked the first stage of your journey through life? If so, then you may be pleased to pass the mile-stones.

As David continues in his way we find him in the character of a minstrel; not of the class we have alluded to already; the thoughtless, reckless, and too often worthless troubadour; but the sacred, solemn, and most sweet psalmist of Israel; charming away the demon of discontent and jealousy from the mind of Saul; and not from the mind of Saul only, but consecrating his heavenly minstrelsy to the service of the church with a power to calm the turbulence of passion and sooth the sorrows of the soul in every age, so that "the evil spirit is still dispossessed by the sacred melody of the harp of the son of Jesse." May you also, my beloved reader, consecrate your talents, if of the same high and heavenly order, to the same high and heavenly purpose; so that your gifts shall redound to the glory of the Giver, and comfort and edify the children of God.

As David proceeds on his journey, we find him in the character of a friend; and of all the scenes ever penned by poet or historian, the meeting and parting interviews between Jonathan and David,

and the elegy on Mount Gilboa, may be said to be "beautiful exceedingly." May you in this relation, in the companionship of youth, and the friendship of riper years, be as disinterested, as magnanimous, as the son of Saul; as devoted, as grateful, as the son of Jesse.

We afterwards behold David a fugitive, a soldier, a persecuted man; and in every relation, and every contingency, acting as one that feared God, and trusted in his mercy. As a wanderer in the land of Philistia, as a fugitive in the caves of Engedi; he is mournful, yet submissive; not unaffected by the injustice and cowardice of his enemy, yet perfect in his integrity, and uprightness; noble, generous, and forbearing; not yielding even for a moment to the temptation of having his adversary in his power, nor to the intreaties of his friends to slay him; but casting himself upon the faithfulness of God, he leaves the oppressor in his hand, only saying, "The Lord shall smite him, or his day shall come to die, or he shall descend into battle and perish." Let the same forbearance characterise your conduct, my dear young readers, when you quarrel with any of your companions; or rather adopt the precept of the wise man, and leave off contention before it be meddled with, for it is an honor for a man to cease from strife, and his glory to pass by a transgression.

As David advances in the journey of life he advances in honor; he becomes a king, and the first of a dynasty which is to absorb all the kingdoms of the earth-a prophet foretelling great events yet to be fulfilled-and a poet rehearsing the wonders of days of old and dark sayings upon the harp; a father fond, affectionate, and forgiving; impassioned in his grief for the loss even of a rebellious son, and, with one exception, in all the relations of life a man after God's own heart. Thus he came to the end of his journey, and arrived at the city of habitation by a right way, the highway of holiness, and entered into his glorious and everlasting rest.

Though none of you, my beloved readers, can hope to attain to the dignity of the same high offices, yet all of you have exactly the same path to travel, and each in his own rank has duties to perform as sacred and as imperative upon the humblest as on the most exalted Christian. You are now travelling in the coach of Time, and buoyant and joyous in the sunlight of youth and morning of hope, your path seems bright and fair, dew-drops hang upon the

grass, birds sing among the branches, you shout and laugh as you ́ drive along, and you are pleased to pass the mile-stones.

Blessed be God for the buoyancy and hilarity of youth! What would life be without it? one long, long sunless day! But what should we think of the traveller who should go from "Britain to Byzantium" and make no better use of his opportunities of information than the knight-errant on his steed, who should journey from one extremity of Europe to the other and return ignorant of its different nations, governments, laws, chief cities, productions, arts, history? just what we should think of a youth who mounting his pony to return home from the academy, at Christmas, was as thoughtless, as ignorant, as inconsiderate as when he went to school. He might indeed boast that he had travelled over a certain quantity of ground, that he had gone from one extremity of knowledge to another in a range of lessons or a series of authors, but if he had added no solid qualities to his knowledge, or if his acquirements were merely superficial, he surely would have no right to be pleased as he galloped past the mile-stones. Ought he not rather to feel dejected and ashamed to enter his father's presence without greater stores of information, a consciousness of increased diligence in the study of useful learning, greater self-command, greater improvement in morals and manners, and a deeper sense of his parent's kindness, who perhaps at considerable expense, and many domestic privations, has given him the opportunity of making a respectable appearance in society, by means of a liberal education? If this is your unhappy case, my dear boy, be afflicted and mourn, as well you may, when you pass the mile-stones. What should we think of the artisan or mechanic who, when he returns home from his apprenticeship, should know just as little about the practical part of his profession as when he first began? of the carpenter who could not handle a saw or an adze? of the sailor-boy who could not hoist a sail, or steer a boat? of the architect who did not know the difference between the foundation of a house and the superstructure? Surely none of these could be pleased to pass the mile-stones, or could congratulate themselves that they were travelling towards their father's house. It may be said that these are extreme cases, and not likely ever to happen; but he who has not made as much use of his opportunities as he ought to have done, is as faulty as he who has learnt only what it was impossible to

remain entirely unacquainted with; and he who has not, together with the knowledge of his art, acquired facility and dexterity in the use of his tools, expertness and precision, as well as industry in his habits of application, and also the several qualities of probity and fidelity, has not well learned any thing that he does know.

There is on the road towards Highgate, not far from London, in the centre of a bosquet of shrubs, on a lawn beautifully smooth and green, the statue of a boy seated on a mile-stone. A staff is in his hand, a little bundle containing all his worldly wealth lies on the ground beside him; he seems just to have taken off one of his shoes, to ease his swollen foot; he wears a band and buckle round his waist similar to those of the blue-coat boys; his dress thrown open at the breast shews he has no vest; his right hand is held up, and he appears in the attitude of listening, as it is said, to the bells of London.* The countenance possesses all the beautiful ingenuousness of youth, mingled with much intelligence; the whole expression is exceedingly sweet, and the statue, simple as it is, is extremely interesting. It is sculptured, as far as I recollect, in common freestone. I am ignorant of the precise history of this boy, but reflecting on the situation in which I saw his statue, on the accompaniments of the sculpture which relate so graphically one of the incidents of his life; on the almshouses by which it is surrounded; and on the popular story of an individual who after a life of honorable industry, founded this endowment for the benefit of decayed citizens—I cannot doubt, I say, that the resolutions which the boy formed at that moment of his life, of which this is the history, were such, as to have rendered the emotions with which he would ever after pass a mile-stone, of a very peculiar and pleasing nature.

What I have hitherto said, my dear young readers, regards only the business of this life; nevertheless that is important. Every one ought to have a lawful calling, for the destiny of no man on earth is to be idle. Every one has some occupation which ought to employ him, and if a man will not work, neither shall he eat. No human being is so isolated as to be either independent of others, or to have none depending upon him; and if a man provide not for those of his own house, he has denied the faith and is

* We suppose our correspondent refers to Whittington listening to Bow bells.-ED.

worse than an infidel. Let every one therefore be diligent in business, or diligent in acquiring the knowledge of useful arts; or if any have already, through the providence of God, a competency for himself, still let him not be idle, but labor either with hands or head, that he may have wherewithal to minister more abundantly to the necessities of others. The apprentice-boy on the little lawn, in the midst of his alms-houses, is an evidence that the hand of the diligent maketh rich; and the consecration of his wealth to the purposes of charity, shews no less, that the righteous man's memorial endureth for many a day.

If it be honorable then for the young to be diligent in the concerns of this life, and if it be the extreme of folly to be negligent of them, what must his dishonor, and his folly be, who is regardless of the life to come? The coach of Time hurries us on, whether we will or not, towards that bourne from whence no traveller returns; and with what feelings shall he approach the house appointed for all living, who comes there ignorant or indifferent about the way that leads to it, unprepared for the reception that may await him, unconnected with the household, unqualified for its service? If to know God and Jesus Christ whom he hath sent be peace and life eternal, what must be his confusion who is ignorant of this prime wisdom? If the Bible be a neglected book, if serious thought be a stranger to his bosom, if prayer be an exercise in which he rarely or formally engages, or in which he has no delight, what possible comfort can that traveller hope for as he draws near to the end of his journey? How will he tremble as he passes the mile-stones, as year after year is left behind? as the sun begins to set and the shades of night gather around him? when fears shall be in the way? when in the language of sacred allegory—the strong men shall bow themselves and the daughters of music shall be brought low-when the grasshopper shall be a burden-when the silver cord shall be loosed and the golden bowl be broken-with what despair will he perceive the end of his journey!

But if it be painful to follow the track of the foolish traveller, with what delight do we mark the progress of him who is wise unto salvation—who, as he travels through the wilderness or the city, or occupies the relation of scholar, apprentice, son, master, or father, calls all the energies of his being into action in the paths of duty and piety, and urges on his way with a solemn determination

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