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"Though yourself an immortal, you are ignominiously thrust from the company of the gods, and your presence is shunned by all good men. Though powerful to do right, you have prostituted that power to the vilest of purposes. You can boast no good work. Fame re-echoes only your disgrace. Men mourn over your ravages, and in vain inquire for some redeeming trait. Your young men are infirm in body, and your aged followers are weak in mind. Nourished in luxury in youth, they spend their declining years in squalid misery-idle among the active-among the useful useless. And by their dissipation in the flower of their age they win to themselves a fearful retribution in after life.

"But I mingle with the gods, and associate with upright men; and there is no good work, either divine or human, without my aid. My praise is in the assemblies above, and with the righteous on earth. I am a loved co-worker with them that work, a faithful guard to the rich, and a benevolent assistant to the poor. I aid those who labor, in peace, and in war I am an omnipotent ally. I am the firm bond of union in friendship, and in me do the friendless put their trust. "To my friends there is a natural and unmingled satisfaction in eating and drinking, for they wait until their appetite demands refreshment. And sleep is sweeter to them than to the indolent; nor do they refuse to leave it when duty calls.

"The young men rejoice in the approbation of the old, and they in turn exult in the honors of the young. The memory of former days is sweet to them, and nerves their arm to new exertion.

"My friends are the friends of the gods. They are beloved by their associates, and honored by their country. And when they come to the end appointed by fate, they sleep not in oblivion, but are had in eternal remembrance, and their names flourish as the stars for ever.

"These things, O Hercules, son of illustrious parents, if you are virtuous, shall be given to you on earth, and in heaven the blessed fruition of eternity."

NOTE BY THE TRANSLATOR.-The narrative of the choice of Hercules, as given above, was taken by Xenophon from the works of Prodicus, a rhetorician of Cos, who flourished about 400 years before Christ. None of his writings are now extant, except the few extracts preserved by others. Xenophon did not quote the decision of Hercules; yet we may gather, from his after history, that the efforts of Virtue were successful in exciting him to a life of thrilling and glorious exertion.

MURMUR at nothing; if our ills are reparable, it is ungrateful; if remediless, it is vain. But a Christian builds his fortitude on a better foundation than Stoicism; he is pleased with every thing that happens, because he knows it could not happen unless it had first pleased God, and that which pleases him must be the best. He is assured that no new thing can befall him, and that he is in the hands of a father who will prove him with no affliction that resignation cannot conquer, or that death cannot cure.

Original.

CHRIST THE WAY.

"I am the way, the truth, and the life: no man cometh to the Father, but by me," John xiv, 6.

How oft my soul goes back unto the hours
When I sat smiling in the world's fair bowers,
And turn'd each rosy garland o'er and o'er,
To search for fairy Pleasure's gilded store;
And as I turned them o'er and o'er again,
I found upon each leaf a spreading stain,
And something in my own heart seem'd to say,
"Twas not the way!

And then I mingled in the festive crowd,
Where mirth, with trumpet-tongue, laugh'd long and

loud

Where round the chalice turn'd the festive wreath,
And the bright wine was stirr'd by Pleasure's breath-
Where beauty reign'd supreme, and youthful lips
Were wreath'd with smiles to hide the soul's eclipse;
Still something in my heart's core seem'd to say,
"Twas not the way!

And then I strove to climb the fabled mount
Where wells up Heliconia's sparkling fount;
And many there, still in life's dewy morn,
Sat by the way-side, sad and weary-worn,
And vainly weeping, with life's bitterest tears,
O'er broken hopes and many misspent years;
And in my heart a deep voice seem'd to say,
"Twas not the way!

Thus all had fail'd, save love-frail human love—
Type of the sweet reality above!
Awhile I deem'd that love was pure and true,
But, ah! the serpent's trail had been there too!
And sadly sweet the same voice seem'd to say,
"Twas not the way!

With tearful eyes I turn'd to Calvary's height,
And saw, with chasten'd heart, the mournful sight—
The High and Mighty bound with death's dark chain,
That man's repentance might not be in vain!
With lowly heart I bow'd me at the cross,
And humbly own'd that all else was but dross.
With gentle voice I heard my Savior say,
"I am the way!"

I AM WEARY.

S. J. How E.

I AM weary of loving what passes away—
The sweetest, the dearest, alas, may not stay!
I long for that land where those partings are o'er,
And death and the tomb can divide hearts no more.

I am weary, my Savior, of grieving thy love;

O when shall I rest in thy presence above;

I am weary-but O never let me repine,
While thy word, and thy love, and thy promise, are mine.

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Original.

NOVEL READING.

BY JOHN E. EDWARDS.

THE press is a powerful engine, either for good or for evil. It furnishes a medium for spreading before! the world the sentiments and precepts of ethical writers, the reasonings and instructions of divines, the lofty thoughts and glowing images of the poet, and also of diffusing amongst all classes the ribaldry and errors of infidelity. This unfailing source of truth and error is more and more prolific. The world is full of books. We have multiplied abridgments of standard works, compendiums of history and science, essays on moral and religious subjects, sketches of travels, voyages, and tours, attempts at poetry, &c. But this age is most prolific in works of fiction. Scarcely a newspaper falls under the eye that does not announce the forthcoming of a new novel, as "a tale in two volumes, by a young man of distinguished abilities;" or "an elegantly written romance, by a gifted young lady;" and in a few months it makes its appearance, “gotten up" in a passable style, bound in leather, boards, or cambric.

hand in order to select those that may be read with safety. It is the object of this article to point out the evils of indiscriminate and promiscuous novel readingthat kind of reading which is most general in the present day. And,

1. It is detrimental to taste. This may be regarded as a general objection, under which several minor ones may be ranged.

In the acquisition of knowledge one half depends on the discreet selection of books. Application is the other half. A long life may be spent in reading, and still our acquisitions may be meagre. This results from an injudicious selection of books, and the desultoriness with which they are read. We are governed in the former by taste. Hence the importance of forming a good taste. The effect of novel reading is rather to destroy a good taste, or to form a vicious one, and create a morbid appetite for works written in an ornate style, abounding in sickly sentiment, and fitted to entertain a diseased imagination, and to cherish injurious passions. Our mental constitution is originally and naturally discased. It loves undue excitement. Perhaps there are some to whom this does not apply; but it is true of a large majority. Thus we account for the avidity with which we seize upon a superficial work, written in a popular style, in preference to one that is solid and plain, to which we apply the epithets,

doom to neglect and oblivion.

To make such productions take—using a common phrase they are always called by an inoffensive and ad captandum name-such for example as "Moral Tales;" "No Fiction;" "A Tale of Truth;" "Relig-"dry and uninteresting," and with all its deep research ious Novels;" or some other equally absurd and deceptive title. These books are written by almost every body in the present day, except persons of solid talent and moral worth, who can employ their time and gifts more profitably. Strange as it may appear, these works are devoured by thousands, nay, millions of men, women, and children. The fact that it is a new novel, with a pretty name, by a puffed author, gains for it a favorable reception with persons who are often the least capable of appreciating its merits, or guarding against its pernicious errors.

The evils of indiscriminate novel reading have been much dwelt upon. They have formed a theme for the orator in the pulpit, and for the professor in the lecture room. But as the usage still continues, it cannot be amiss to press the subject upon the public attention. The theme, I am aware, is an unpopular one. There are a great many advocates for novel reading in almost every department of society. It is often defended by professing Christians-by those who profess to be governed by the precept, "whatsoever ye do, in word or deed, do all in the name of the Lord Jesus, giving thanks to God and the Father by him." By such it is called an innocent mental recreation, a relaxation from severe thought, and an admirable means of forming an acquaintance with human nature and the world.

Now I do not pretend to say that no novel can be read without injury-on the contrary, I believe that a few may possibly be read with benefit. But unless the young can procure the advice of a judicious monitor in the selection of a few which are worthy of perusal, they hazard too much in perusing all that come to

In a well written fiction there is interwoven so much that is beautiful and fascinating, that young persons often feel themselves bound to the page as by enchantment. The descriptions of natural scenery—of lake, lawn, and forest-of villa, castle, and city, are so high wrought that they cannot fail to please. And then rare adventures by land and sea, hair-breadth escapes, sudden reverses of fortune, heart-rending separations, and miraculous meetings, in connection with high wrought portraitures of peerless beauty, and extravagant delineations of character, all have a tendency to gratify by excitement. From such scenes, tragic or comic, the reader turns reluctantly to moral, scientific, and historical works. And although he may be convinced that works of fiction will not increase his store of useful knowledge, or furnish material for profitable reflection, or make the decline of life rich in thought, still, under a most unaccountable infatuation, Rollin is laid aside for Scott; Plutarch and Hume* are displaced by Bulwer; Blair, Addison, Howe, and Watson are covered with dust, while the works of James, Cooper, and "Boz," are worn to shreds by constant use.

The taste for light reading increases with indulgence, until all relish for useful books is destroyed. Then the most profound works are regarded as too dry for perusal. The Bible itself becomes barren of interest, and the best ethical and religious treatises are passed over with a glance at the title-page. While the individual is young, and every object around him

His History of England.

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is flashing in the sunlight of hope, this light reading may satisfy him. But as time steals on, and life assumes a more sober aspect, he will probably lose his relish for these unsubstantials, and in hoary age he will be furnished with no treasures of imperishable knowledge upon which to draw for pleasing reflection. How cheerless and barren must be the "sear and yellow leaf" of one who has thus squandered the golden moments of early years without "laying up a good foundation against the time to come!"

It might easily be shown, in connection with these observations, that novel reading goes far, not only to destroy the taste for useful studies, but also to destroy the power of severe mental application. The mind becomes ungovernable, and it is found extremely difficult, if not impossible, to confine it to close thought, in the investigation of a subject. It shrinks from mental labor, and will not submit to the restraints which are imposed upon it in laborious and patient study.

I know that I shall be met with objections. The advocates of novel reading will reply, "No one can be so unwise as to suppose for a moment that all which he or she reads in a work of fiction can ever be realized in life." We answer, if this objection be well founded, then novel readers are deprived of one of the principal arguments always urged in defense of the practice, namely, that from novels they gain an accurate knowledge of the world and of human nature. Is it not a fact that although the young know the book to be fiction, they, nevertheless, insensibly fall into the belief that such things as are described may occur in their own lives? Do they not believe that some one's fortunes in the wide world will answer to the hero and heroine of the tale? And under this delusion, has not many a romantic young lady "fallen in love?" and, guided by the developments of a favorite novel, under the fondly cherished hope that she would one day find her affection reciprocated, has she not refused the proffered hands of those who were every way qualified to make her happy in domestic life, and In works of fiction, life is presented to the mind in finally united her destiny with that of a wretch who such an exaggerated and distorted light, that the inex-lived only to curse her with the bane of his presence? perienced reader is cheated into the belief that the More unhappy marriages are caused by the general and world is a region of delights unmingled with repulsive indiscriminate reading of novels than by any other one cares and sorrows, and that men and women are angels cause. or demons. They are mostly represented as ethereal When young persons are favored with a good educabeings inhabiting fairy climes of flowers and sunshine. tion, and are taught to form their opinions of life from But after all, we are human beings, subject to all the careful observation, they will rarely enter into unfortuills and infirmities that "flesh is heir to," and the world|| nate matrimonial connections, or be disappointed in their in which we live is one of vicissitude and misery. expectations with regard to connubial bliss. Their esThe fancy and the pen of the novelist have flung a timate of life depends upon the only basis that can be charm about the cottage, and a rapture into the hum-relied on with safety, and hence no improper expecbler walks of life, which never was realized by the poor man, toiling for the support of his family.

2. Novel reading disqualifies for the arduous duties and stern realities of life.

tations are indulged, and, as a consequence, no disappointment follows. Such persons are not to be deluThe credulous girl, as she reads the glowing descrip- ded by the glare of beauty, style, or fashion. Their tion of humble life, imagines that nothing is requisite to hearts are not to be bought or sold with a few graceful consummate her earthly bliss but to be wedded to some bows and sunny smiles. They are not deceived by ideal being, and domesticated in a vine-clad cottage, flippant speeches and tinsel accomplishments. They embosomed among wide-spreading oaks, and surround-penetrate beneath the surface, and detect the nakedness ed by romantic scenery, where she can while away her of the heart under the mock blandness of affected enchanted moments in the enjoyment of delights the smiles. Guided by an enlightened discretion, they most refined and fascinating to unrenewed minds. select a companion in life from that class of persons whose knowledge of the world is derived from passing events, and who have studied human nature in their own hearts, and not in novels and romances.

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Stern reality dissipates the illusion. Instead of the joys so fondly anticipated, she finds her husband a mere man, full of imperfections and infirmities, and she now learns that it is impossible to live on poetry It is the firm belief of the writer that where a young and flowers. Contrary to her expectations her chil- lady discovers in a gentleman a passionate fondness dren are not angels, neither are they fed with manna for novel reading, it should provoke in her mind an from the skies. Her family is subject to afflictions, invincible objection to a matrimonial union with him. and must be supported by toil. The exaggerated He has probably formed his opinion of the lady of his representations of the novelist are forgotten. Her choice from the overdrawn sketches of female characheart sinks within her, under its weight of disappoint- ter in some novel. He will expect too much from her. ment. How much happier would have been the His standard of female excellence is poetical; and domestic circle had the girl been taught in the nursery || although she may be one of the best of her sex, she to look upon life as no fairy dream; but rather to can never meet his unwarranted expectations. She regard it as a scene of conflict, with adverse powers, must be more than an angel or he will be disappointwhich nothing but personal virtues and judicious asso-ed. The same remark may apply to the young man. ciations can rob of its sternness, and now and then Should he select a partner in life from among those rear a flower in its barren pathway. whose chief delight is found in the perusal of such

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works, and who form their opinions of the gentleman's sion continues to gain the ascendency, while the antagcharacter from these sources, he must be a Wallace or an Ivanhoe, or the lady to whom he is united will not realize her expectations.

3. Another evil resulting from the practice which we reprobate is, that it has a tendency to weaken the barriers of virtue, and to blunt the refined sensibilities of our nature.

That many novels are of a demoralizing tendency will not be disputed. Thousands of volumes are of this character; and the extent to which they have blunted moral feeling, and broken down the guards of virtue, will never be known until revealed in the light of eternity. "But it is not to be presumed," says the objector, "that works of this character will be extensively read." This is a mistake. Nothing is necessary but to attach to a book the suspicion of its immoral tendency, and an insatiable public curiosity draws every body to read it, not openly, perhaps, but it will be read. The criticisms which have been made upon the morality of certain books, have secured for them a far more extensive reading than they would otherwise have received. This is proved by the demand on the press. One edition succeeds another of books which but for their vile moral tendency would have sunk quietly into oblivion.

onist influence is declining, until finally the power of resistance to temptation becomes inefficient, and the unresisting heart is subdued, and the victim yields. Could we persuade young persons that such is the consequence of reading works of fiction, the practice would be at least more limited. It would be abandoned by some who never make the discovery until it is too late.

Had I space, it would not be difficult to show that the tendency of the practice is to blunt all our nobler sensibilities. In reading a fictitious representation of sufferings, the better feelings of our nature are often excited. "O," the reader thinks, "were I to meet with one so destitute-so poor-so friendless, how willingly would I contribute something to alleviate his wantshow gladly would I take such an one under my roof, and supply her necessities!" But no appropriate object is just at hand at the moment. The feeling subsides, and as nothing has been done to gratify the promptings of benevolence, it is succeeded by a state of indifference that cannot be moved by the actual sufferings of the necessitous, who pine in poverty around us. Tears are often shed over imaginary sufferings, while the mendicant in rags is driven from the door without bread, and the poor and afflicted in the neighborhood Works of this sort have undermined some of the are never visited, nor their wants supplied. Many will fairest edifices of virtue. The wrecks of human prom-weep over the misfortunes of Nydia, the poor blind ise are scattered around us in alarming profusion. We girl, or the sufferings of a Sidney Beaufort who never inquire for the cause, and we find in hundreds of in- let fall a tear over the narrative of a suffering Jesus. stances that the work of ruin, in its incipiency, may Those who know that such an effect has been produced be traced to the secret influence of some book of easy by novel reading upon their own hearts, should be morals. Many of both sexes, now profligate and lost alarmed. for ever, have been hurled from seats of respectability into the depths of ruin by their influence. Vice is decorated in so attractive a garb, that its deformity is concealed. The inexperienced sip the cordial without suspecting that deadly poison is mixed in the cup. The passions are excited, reason is dethroned, and under the impulse of feeling, thousands are hurried on to the perpetration of deeds which a whole life of penitence and the most rigid morality can never wipe from the character. And where the restraints of education, and surrounding circumstances happen to guard the individual from overt and disgraceful indulgence, are we not compelled to admit, however reluctantly, that the mind becomes dangerously familiar with scenes of the grossest licentiousness? Hearts that ought to remain as pure and uncontaminated as the Alpine snows, are stained with impurity of thought and unholy imaginations. Would the lady, who sometimes reads tales of a doubtful character, permit a stranger to converse with her upon the same subject? Would she not, indeed, arise from the perusal of such works with a crimsoned cheek, were she aware that she is even suspected of having read them with pleasure?

The effects to which I allude are produced gradually and insensibly. But the work of ruin goes on notwithstanding. One restraint of virtue after another

In conclusion, I would suggest to those who are particularly fond of works written in a highly ornamented style, and full of soul-stirring incident, that such can be found in the greatest abundance without resorting to works of fiction. Books of travel, poetry, and biography are of this cast. Read, for example, La Martine's Pilgrimage to the Holy Land, Fisk's, Stevens', Chateaubriand's, and Robinson's Travels, and also Mrs. Hemans', Mrs. Sigourney's, Campbell's, and Pollok's poems, and the lives of distinguished men and women in the literary and religious world. These are merely mentioned as a specimen of the works that might supply the place of novels and plays. They produce an equally pleasurable excitement of mind, and at the same time furnish information that will always be profitable. In addition to all this, when we call to mind the solemn truth that to God we are to render an account, for the improvement of our time and talents, should we not pause before we yield our consent to squander the moments of our fleeting probation in an employment, the tendency of which is to disqualify us for the duties of this life, and render us unfit for the presence of God in eternity.

VICE stings us, even in our pleasures, but virtue

is weakened-one barrier after another yields. Pas-consoles us, even in our pains

118

THE MOTHER'S REWARD.

THE MOTHER'S REWARD. THE parents of Mr. G. have lived in the town of Victor, or on its borders, ever since his boyhood. When he was a child, his mother habitually brought him to the house of God on the Sabbath, and required his attendance on the Sabbath school, which was held, as in most villages and country churches, during the intervals of divine worship. She was in the habit also of talking to her son on the subject of religion, and praying with him and for him, that God might impart to him his saving grace. Having removed to a remote part of the congregation, it was not so convenient to attend regularly the house of God, and he soon imbibed infidel principles, till at length he became a confirmed Universalist.

Although he was considered a respectable man, yet he was not entirely free from what may be truly considered immoralities. He certainly did not pay a strict regard to the duties of the Sabbath, and when excited, he would use the language of the profane. It is difficult to conceive the feelings of a pious mother's heart on beholding the son of her affections and hopes falling into such practices and adopting such sentiments. Upon the first indication of his erroneous views she remonstrated, and used her best endeavors to dissuade him from such a course, but all her efforts seemed unavailing. Years rolled away, and he became himself the head of a family, and his parents resided with him. He was prospered with health and also in the accumulation of property. He at length numbered half the years usually allotted to man, and was in the vigor of manhood. At this period, at his request, I called to see him at his own house. As I was seated in conversation with other members of the family, he entered the room, having been absent when I arrived, and without any introductory remarks he began to narrate to me the dealings of God with his soul. In this and in subsequent interviews he related substantially the following sentiments:

emotion, 'God's vow is upon me; I gave you to him in baptism, and I have promised to do what I can to persuade you to believe as I believe; and you need not calculate upon my leaving you in your errors. As long as I live I shall remonstrate, and pray for you that God may bring you to repentance.' I would often reproach my mother for her bigotry, and then I would think she is not in fault, it is the Church's to which she belongs: she has derived all her sentiments and feelings from them, and they are to blame. With these feelings I would say to her, Mother, why can you not join some other Church? If you will leave the sect to which you now belong, I will carry you to any other meeting whenever you choose to go; go any where but there.' For I thought I never should have any peace as long as she remained what she then was; and such was my hatred to the people with whom she worshiped, that for many years I had never been inside of the meeting-house. Although I meant to treat my parents well, yet when occasionally I took them to the village where they worshiped, I would drive my carriage to the church which my wife attended, and although they were lame and infirm, yet I never once drove them to the door of their own sanctuary, but always compelled them to walk from the place where I first stopped and back again, and for no other reason than to show my hatred to their religious views. Whenever I went to meeting myself, it was always my mother's custom to ask what the text was, and what were the sentiments of the preacher?' If they were what I believed, she would condemn them; if they were what I disbelieved and according to her views of truth, she would commend them; and often would fall upon her knees and pray for me, while tears of mingled pain, anxiety and hope would flow down the furrows of her time-worn cheeks. Occasionally she and others would present arguments against my sentiments that I could not answer; and for a time I would be somewhat troubled, until I could find something in "I was brought up," said he, "to respect religion; my way of philosophizing, or in my Bible, or learn but for many years I refused instruction. I have been some new arguments from my minister that would a confirmed believer in the doctrine of universal salva- answer them, and then I would be at peace again. tion. In embracing and adhering to that doctrine I With all my powers of wrestling, the truth of God, have hated the people of God, and especially the the impressions that it made upon me in childhood, I Church to which my mother belonged, for I have could not entirely forget; and these impressions, I can looked upon them as bigoted and superstitious. I truly say, were the only stubborn, insurmountable obnever could advance my sentiments but my mother stacles in the way of my perfect satisfaction with my would reprove me. I have a religious wife. She was principles. I had overcome every thing else. Once I decided in her views, though she belonged to a differ- went to my minister and told him my perplexities. He ent denomination from my mother. Presuming that replied, 'I, too, was brought up by my parents of the controversy was useless, my wife and I had agreed same denomination, and occasionally have had just mutually to differ; but this was a point I could not such feelings, but they are not worth minding; they gain with my mother. When she reproved me for my are only the fruits of our infant education.' With sins and urged me to abandon my errors, I would say such evasions I would become for a time composed. to her, 'I am a Universalist. I desire to live and die A year ago, one of my mother's people invited me to in my present belief, and my desire is that you will not attend a meeting held in his neighborhood by another disturb me. I do not suppose I can convince you, and denomination, intimating that there was considerable I am certain you cannot me; and I wish that the sub-religious excitement. I thought this somewhat strange, ject may hereafter be dropped.' But she would invari-presuming that different denominations had but little ably say, 'No, my son,' as her lips would quiver with if any Christain charity towards each other. But I

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