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cerns those, who have the happiness of being able to give gratuitously-without accepting any return-every thing they put into circulation; and this first exception is very rare: the other concerns those who do not conduce in any way by their own industry to the common welfare, but who, whatever may be the prejudices of the world, only consume without producing. From the highest public officer to the most humble day-laborer, all in effect receive pay. It is not pay which can humble and degrade; but the spirit in which it may be sought and received; venal intentions, cupidity, servility of character. In this necessity, which the constitution of society and the nature of things impose upon us, of receiving pay for labor, we are continually instructed, that it is our destiny to serve mankind, either in community, or as individuals.

Many of the professions have manuals prepared to guide them in the operations of art. Moral manuals would indicate the duties which belong particularly to each profession, the manner of fulfilling them, and the advantages to be drawn from their fulfilment. Thus each one may take a more just, and, at the same time, a more elevated idea of his condition, considering it as a means of accomplishing his destiny as a human being, of becoming better and more useful to others. The different professions, like different nations, have each its peculiar physiognomy, manners, habits, customs, relations, even language: the comic writers have, seized upon these to ridicule them: the moralist might gather and promulgate the code of duties, which are peculiar to each of the professions. To the industrious professions, for instance, he would speak of method, activity, vigilance, prudence, faithfulness, delicacy, warning the heart against dryness, the mind against the narrow views, which spring from habits of calculation, intercourse with material things, and the debate of pecuniary interests. To the chief of an establishment he would speak of the benevolence and protection towards dependents, the examples to be offered to them, and the manner in which the spirit of family may be diffused, where we now see only the exchange of labor and salary. If he should address himself to the professions, which put us in daily communication with the public, how many grand views he could present of the manner of obtaining and justifying confidence, by discretion, devotion, fidelity; of the moral influences, which, in these relations, we can indirectly spread abroad or receive; of the

voluntary assistance, which zeal can join to necessary services. If he should address himself lastly to those humble, obscure, dependent professions; which our prejudices have degraded, with what tender solicitude, with what eager interest would he endeavor to elevate in their own eyes those who exercise them! What a reception he would give to these disgraced beings! How he would love to encourage them! He would show them how all their functions are ennobled by the sentiment of duty, how merit is measured by sacrifice, how loftiness of soul may be reconciled with exterior dependence, how virtue is more prized when under the veil of obscurity; he would discover to them a treasury of the affections, joy, and hope.

One of the most essential rules for drawing from our condition all its moral fruits, for guarding ourselves from its peculiar dangers, is to conform our sentiments, habits and views to our condition. We should guard ourselves, however, from misunderstanding this maxim, as condemning to servility of character the unfortunate. In the most humble condition, elevation of soul is the more necessary and desirable.

We need not fear that it would break the ties of subordination, or trouble the social hierarchy. True elevation of soul teaches contentment in adversity and obscurity. Your servant may be your superior in moral character and practical virtue, but he will therefore only fulfil more continually his duty towards you, and observe more exactly the consideration due to you.

REFLECTIONS AT MIDNIGHT.

THE bell strikes One. We take no note of time
But from its loss: to give it then a tongue
Is wise in man. As if an angel spoke

I feel the solemn sound. If heard aright,
my departed hours.

It is the knell of

Where are they? With the years beyond the flood.
It is the signal that demands dispatch:

How much is to be done! My hopes and fears
Start up alarmed, and o'er life's narrow verge
Look down-on what? A fathomless abyss.
A dread eternity! how surely mine!
And can eternity belong to me,

Poor pensioner on the bounties of an hour?

How poor, how rich, how abject, how august,
How complicate, how wonderful is man?
How passing wonder He who made him such!
Who centered in our make such strange extremes,
From different natures marvellously mix'd,
Connection exquisite of distant worlds!
Distinguish'd link in being's endless chain!
Midway from nothing to the Deity!
A beam etherial, sullied and absorpt!
Though sullied and dishonor'd, still divine!
Dim miniature of greatness absolute!
An heir of glory! a frail child of dust!
Helpless immortal! insect infinite!

A worm! a god!—I tremble at myself,
And in myself am lost. At home a stranger,
Thought wanders up and down, surpris'd aghast,
And wondering at her own. How reason reels!
O what a miracle to man is man!

Triumphantly distress'd! what joy! what dread!
Alternately transported and alarm'd;

What can preserve my life! or what destroy!
An angel's arm can't snatch me from the grave;
Legions of angels can't confine me there.

"Tis past conjecture; all things rise in proof, While o'er my limbs Sleep's soft dominion spread, What though my soul fantastic measures trod O'er fairy fields, or mourned along the gloom Of pathless woods, or down the craggy steep Hurled headlong, swam with pain the mantled pool, Or scal'd the cliff, or danc'd on hollow winds With antic shapes, wild natives of the brain! Her ceaseless flight, though devious, speaks her nature Of subtler essence than the trodden clod; Active, aërial, towering, unconfin'd, Unfettered with her gross companion's fall. Ev'n silent night proclaims my soul immortal; Ev'n silent night proclaims eternal day! For human weal Heaven husbands all events: Dull sleep instructs, nor sport vain dreams in vain.

Why then their loss deplore that are not lost? Why wanders wretched Thought their tombs around

In infidel distress? Are angels there?
Slumbers, rak'd up in dust, ethereal fire?

They live! they greatly live a life, on earth
Unkindled, unconceiv'd, and from an eye
Of tenderness let heavenly pity fall
On me, more justly number'd with the dead.
This is the desert, this the solitude:
How populous, how vital is the grave!
This is Creation's melancholy vault.

PLEASURE AND REPOSE..

LABOR is not without some charm; the regular exercise of activity gives it an attraction, which becomes almost a want. The indolent give themselves to manual labor, merely to be delivered from the weight of inactivity; and the most of our diversions are an imitation of labor, being labor deprived only of a serious end. Labor besides, produces the pleasures and joys of repose, which is a privilege exclusively reserved to it. Pleasure also is elevated by labor, which gives to it the character of a recompense.

Nature is pleased to recommend to us, by the charm of enjoyment, what is useful to us. Thus, this charm only belongs to repose, during intervals in which it is necessary to repair the strength. It ceases and gives place to ennui, if repose is anticipated, or prolonged without measure.

Nature, like a provident mother, not only invites us by the attraction of pleasure, to seek out what will satisfy our wants, but, with an amiable and tender solicitude, she has also sown under our feet a crowd of innocent pleasures, which we too often disdain to taste, although they are gratuitously yielded. On all sides there are elegant forms, graceful shades, sweet harmonies and perfumes, the earth is clothed with fruits and flowers, the heavens are stretched out like a magnificent tent, the air which we breathe seems to be life itself, a vast banquet is prepared every day, to which man is invited, and which is served up with a liberality so sincere, that pleasures are not acquired by effort, but are offered most especially to that most numerous class of society, which is least favored by fortune, demanding only a little attention and a calm disposition. These pleasures are the more pre

cious, as they are common, even universal: they are the more salutary, as they are limited within the bounds of moderation: they are inexhaustible, as their variety is infinite; and, succeeding each other, they constantly re-appear with the charm of novelty. Is it possible not to recognize in these dispensations the manifest design of a beneficent Providence? Do they not imply that the Creator of all things not only permits his feeble creature to enjoy happiness here below, but in a manner enjoins him to repose himself in happiness? In assigning to these innocent pleasures a place in the frame-work of our destiny, he has almost promoted them to the rank of duties. In accepting the refreshment allowed us, we learn also to bless Providence; the peaceful smile of contentment expresses gratitude. It would be a false wisdom which would reject the intentions of the Supreme Benefactor. By the natural course of things, we shall have conflicts enough to sustain, sacrifices enough to make, privations enough to endure; we shonld not neglect to restore our strength by moments of relaxation. A little seasonable pleasure does good to the soul, reanimating and sustaining virtue. Man accomplishes on earth only the youth of his destiny; recreation is necessary to youth. The more feeble we are, the more necessary is encouragement. Who then should proudly disdain innocent pleasure? It gives equanimity and serenity to temper, clearness to ideas, ease to action. The heart is expanded, and diffuses itself freely. Happiness does no harm, when it is lawful; and can there be a true happiness which is not lawful? The image of good appears embellished; devotedness seems natural, and without effort; self-sacrifice seconds good will; we feel it necessary to communicate the happiness we experience.

The natural effect of pleasure, is, to re-establish among the faculties, the equilibrium which is destroyed by fatigue. Labor especially, exercises some one branch of our active faculties; pleasure puts in play those which have remained inactive in labor; therefore to go from one occupation to another is often a sufficient recreation.

The natural effect of repose is to give to the faculties of the soul a secret and delightful calmness. After a season of repose, if it has not been abused, and if it was taken at the opportune moment, we find ourselves self-possessed; we feel more entirely, and comprehend better the inspirations of na

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