who denies that each individual is susceptileb of distinct, and what might be called, only his own impressions? But I can hear the world say, the peculiarities of the individual frequently arise out of circumstances and situations:-then I contend, tha the individual, so far falls short of the intention, as to become an artificial man-or one, not finding suitable impressions, takes up with the most convenient. What driveller would say, that circumstances and situations, influencing beings, defeats the idea of intention?

"We are all the children of circumstances"-is a very common expression; and a very true one, if rightly applied; for example: a man has evident fondness for mathematics, but such may be circumstances, as either to hasten or retard the development of his predisposition. Sometimes it is almost obiterated-sometimes this partiality having no opportunity of suitable action, falls into something allied to it-very frequently indeed, into some branch of physics.

If among men, it is quite impossible that I should silently admit such a misconception--most men, I would not trouble myself with an endeavor to convince for ignorant men will take up with the most preposterous notions of things, and vain men--of which the world scarce contains any others--save the ignorant ones, are too much in their own light to become acquainted with the truth.

What a wandering course I have taken, to be sure, to convince myself of that which I was satisfied of before. However, these are all steps in arriving at my purpose, and will be sure to settle me down in my opinion more firmly.

My intention was, to prove that some men are better fitted by their nature, for particular kinds of pursuits than others; and

that of the kind, there might be a particular one, that was as well adapted to their peculiar nature, as the sides of a crystal to each other in a rock. And that, moreover, men were not intended for particular situations because they fill them well, for there might be others which they could fill better.

These thoughts led me to the consideration, as I have said, of myself and what I should pursue for a life time. I pondered many times on many pursuits. Yet there seemed none that was suited to myself. My situation appeared singular and I stood alone, and apart, while others had a full destiny. It seemed to me, in these waking thoughts, that there was a being engaged in dealing out the things of this world to men. I applied to him to know my office in life. He hesitated and then said: "I have no office-no destination for you." I am a determined spirit, therefore, I turned and challenged his expression, saying, no man ever yet existed-but that an allotted portion of the world's advancement devolved on him."

But, away all morning dreams, all dispensing spirits,-away with you-away! for henceforth action is the word.

JUNE 15th.-How pleasant is it in one's day-dreams-to behold one's self in a more elevated position than those who have always been his fellows. How delightful to dream away, of the time, when the young man of buoyant hope, and love of nature, and dear, winning literature, shall become the great man, and be classed with the fathers-the Philosophers and poets of Greece and Rome; and be borne down, with a revered name, to posterity.

How the soul yearns after immortality-exalts itself as it progresses, from the dull gray morning of young ideas, and early studies and pursuits, to the glow and brightness of the

midday of its greatness. How it evolves from nature, propositions of cause and effect, that before were sealed with an almost eternal seal. How it is imbued with the fancy of Virgil-how it catches the fire of Homer-and how it gathers convicting bitterness from Juvenal.

Immortality is a noble idea that clings to us, that delights us-that burns and goes on to burn in us, till too often it consumes even the very socket of the soul. But man will still gaze fondly after, and presently, run to grasp at this dear, yet the fatal 'illusion—which springs up, will-o-wisp like, to lead but an uncertain course; through the entangling briers, and into the vile quagmires of this world, to desert him in his darkest hour, and most painful situation.

How difficult is it for a man to determine the course he should pursue in life? He has before him the professions—he has the world of occupation before him; some point to wealth, others to distinction; and should he desire either, more especially the latter, he will feel himself quite unacquainted with the means of arriving at his object; and his course will become wavering and uncertain. This uncertainty must exist in every man's mind, I judge—though most men are determined in their pursuit, by necessity, situation, or circumstances the greater part of the world follow any vocation which offers employment, with tolerable, or hardly tolerable emolument.

The reason men are uncertain as to what course to pursue is, that they have been fully occupied with that which they have but just left-as college, pleasure, or something else of an allconsuming nature; and, before the time of entering the world, they have never thought of any calling for the devotion of a life. And, moreover, a young man who has given his time to general

subjects, finds it very difficult to settle down on some one occupation, in preference to all others—he desires to be in some pursuit, in which there will be a call for all the information with which he has so laboriously stored his mind. Again, he feels uncertain whether he has not more information for some particular occupation, than for any other. Yet how often does he fear to try that? My own opinion is, that a man had better take his own course, if he be an industrious and energetic man ; and that he had better be led, if inclined to idleness.

The great, the terrible world, bugbear to the poor literary man, thinks that going off alone and burying one's self in thought, frequently for a length of time, is idleness. But it is a very great error-idle men never go off alone in this way; and it is painful, to a genuinely idle man, to be alone, and compelled to think-for the reason that thought is the most enduring and wearing labor.

The idle man is he who, having no occupation, is yet always employed and how? In attending to the affairs of other men, whom he judges-how-no one knows, to be incompetent to their duty. I have a man in my mind at this moment, one who has no business,—yet is the very man who would be most missed in this city.

Those who seek solitude, and prefer seclusion—the thinkers, have quite a different character. They are lone spirits they never mix in the world-they are not money-making,—and, least of all, are they news-making, for it is remarkable, they hardly ever know the news. But they are the most observing, sagacious, useful men in or out of society.

It is not my intention to become one of these thinkers; I should fear it-there is too much responsibility attached to

them—and, alas! there is no remuneration. Why I consider there is too much responsibility is, that these thinkers are the very men looked up to by the community, in the time of an emergency-how soon are your mere professional men shuffled off, and laid aside, when danger threatens the state? and, how immediately are the thinkers before the people, mailed in the terror of action,-whereas, but just now, they were mantled in the persuasiveness of thought.

Every man who has studied history, knows that the men called students, and those esteemed mere literary men—and I class the editors of now-a-days with them, are the very men whose countenances are watched, as barometers are by those who are timid and fear storms: they show the state of the great motive power-the popular mind. And these men are they, who, knowing what is tobe done, come forward to take their place with the peril of their country.

These are the men who write philosophical and poetical works during peace, and are never brought forth save by the opening of a war, when they are the first men—not only in the cabinet, but the first to put the musket to the shoulder to march to "victory or to death." Peace returned-they lay aside the habiliments of war, and without being loaded with the trophies of victory-but wearing in their bosoms the pleasing satisfaction of having done their duty, fall back into the former winningness of their studies, and again court the enchantment of the lake and the mountain.

As to the remuneration attached to the duties of these thinkers it is to be deplored, that they have none, except in self-gratulation. They are those, who although they may not all of them, live quite in poverty-yet are never rich—and,