end or the Be of good Take your

gogue, or the gibes of a group of thoughtless boys? Of what consequence is it to you, whether you take your place at one other of the file, in which they are drawn up to recite? heart, and if they laugh at you, laugh at them in turn. own course; be idle and be happy.'

This doctrine would sound pretty well in the ears of our supposed pupil, who would also find no difficulty in reducing it to practice. Nor would he suffer immediately in this case, in consequence of his contempt for public opinion, any considerable diminution of his material comforts. The sunshine of paternal affection, like that of Providence, illuminates (for a while, at least,) with equal favor the evil and the good; and our young idler would probably be fed, clothed, and lodged, as well as his busier brothers and sisters. For a few days, the experiment might appear to have perfectly succeeded. But when examination comes, at the week's end; when our infant Epicurean sees the prizes for good behavior and superior attainments, distributed to others, and nothing awarded to himself but notes of infamy; when the honored father looks coldly on him, and the kind mother has no smile of consolation, while the merry and mischievous urchins about him are all in high glee, at his expense; Mr Droz may say what he pleases about courage, but we are after all not stocks and stones; nature, we apprehend, would have her way, and

'in spite of scorn,

;

Tears, such as schoolboys weep, burst forth.' But grant the contrary; grant that our little philosopher brazens it out manfully, and gives no external signs of palling in resolution. Grant that he shows all the courage that Mr Droz could desire; that he proves himself a hero, a martyr in the cause; grant this, and what follows? Is martyrdom happiness? The precise object of our author, as we understand it, is to avoid painful efforts of all kinds, and lead an easy, sans souci life but we are now called upon to exercise courage, fortitude, and longsuffering, in order to be able to endure his Epicurean paradise. Does not our author feel, that the call for courage supposes of itself, that we are in presence of pain and difficulty, instead of ease and pleasure? Does it require so much fortitude to support prosperity? so much longsuffering, to bear up under a course of uninterrupted happiness? Does a man brace his nerves, and steel his heart, to encounter a comfortable fire, a good dinner, and a circle of smiling friends? Our author in

vites us to recline upon a bed of roses, and when we accept his proffer, and put ourselves into his hands, he stretches us out upon St Lawrence's gridiron. This result agrees sufficiently with the moral of the ancient apologues of the strait and the broad ways, the rocky and the flowery paths, that conduct respectively to life and death; but we hardly expected to hear the same doctrine from Mr Droz. In this, as in the other instance, the latter end of our author's commonwealth forgets the beginning.

It appears, therefore, by the admission of Mr Droz, that the contempt of public opinion, which he so strongly recommends, leads to nothing better than the crown of martyrdom; a situation to which, however enviable it may be, in some respects and in some causes, few would aspire as the ne plus ultra of ease and comfort. On the other hand, the feeling of respect for the judgment of the world, which leads us to endeavor to excel in such arts and qualities as may render us agreeable and useful to others, does not seem to be productive of any equally serious inconveniences. The apprehensions of our author in regard to this point are, we think, exaggerated. 'In quitting my obscurity,' says he, 'I resign, at the same time, repose and independence. No more delicious morning reveries; I must no longer live for myself.' If, by repose and independence, as the words are here used, our author mean complete idleness; if he have no other notion of happiness, than that of turning every morning for two or three hours in his bed, as a door turneth on its hinges, there is, of course, nothing more to be said. Happiness, thus refined, is doubtless incompatible with honorable distinction, in any line of life; but even on this view of the subject, it might be pertinently asked, whether the sacrifice of ease, required by respect for public opinion, be worse than the martyrdom which it seems we must suffer by despising it. If, however, our author means, by repose and independence, what men of sense generally intend by these words, that is, rest after labor, and the occupying of a favorable and commanding position in society, we conceive that these advantages, instead of being incompatible with the attainment of honorable distinction, are its natural consequences and rewards. Persons of eminence in the various walks of life, are doubtless much employed because the value of their services is known; but this, to a man of right feeling, to one whose heart is in his business, is not dependence and drudgery, as Mr Droz seems to think it; 'tis itself a pleasure, labor ipse voluptas. The

healthy excitement of arguing an important case and thereby securing the rights of an injured fellow citizen, of pleading the cause of truth and justice before the assembled councils of a nation, affords a pleasure, if our author did but know it, which would be well worth the sacrifice of one of his brightest morning dreams.

As to independence, does our author mean to be understood, that a person who has attained a high distinction in any honorable pursuit, is less favorably situated in the usual relations of social life, than those about him? On our view of the subject, such a person is par excellence the truly independent man. He can do for each individual, what no individual can do for him. His convenience, therefore, must be consulted by all. If he choose to labor, he selects the time, the place, and the manner, at his discretion. The favored mortal for whom he works, is too happy in obtaining his aid, to pretend to have an opinion about the manner in which it is to be given. He performs himself the interesting and important parts of the task, and assigns the rest to subalterns. When he has finished, he sets his price upon what he has done, and whatever it may be, it is paid with a sentiment of gratitude, and not of superiority. What citizen of the United States did not feel himself deeply obliged, when Canova and Chantrey sent us out their admirable images of the majestic form of the father of our country? Who ever dreamed, that the service was in any way requited by the payments which these illustrious men may have consented to receive in return? It is easy to judge of this by the tone and language employed on these occasions. 'Here, my worthy fellow,' (such, in substance is the manner in which we apply to an ordinary hand) here is a piece of work, which I am willing to put into your hands, if you will perform it at a reasonable rate; if not, I shall give it to some one else, for there are enough others who can do it as well.' When we address an artist or professional person of eminence, the style is different. 'My noble friend, I am in the greatest possible embarrassment, and you are the only person who can extricate me from it. Your assistance is indispensable to me. Let me beg you to undertake the business, and make your own terms.' Who, then, in such a case, is the dependent, and who the independent man? Mr Droz certainly takes a false view of this matter. Independence is peculiarly the attribute of those, who enjoy a merited distinction in any department of agreeable or useful labor. As they pass through the world, they are constantly distributing

favors on every side, and the people look up to them as public benefactors, and delight to do them honor. As the Muses in Virgil's eclogue stood up in presence of the poet Gallus, Utque viro Phabi chorus assurrexerit omnis,

so the Roman people, by a charming application of his own verses, rose with one accord to salute the Mantuan himself, when he appeared at the theatre. And as to repose, when they wish to indulge in it (which is not so often or for so long periods, as our author would probably think necessary), the business of the world (for no one else can do it) must wait their leisure. Cicero, at the height of the practising season, at a time when, as he says in his letters, hardly a day passed in which he did not argue some cause, could retire for two or three weeks together from the Forum and recreate himself in his quiet Cuman villa, by enjoying the fresh breezes from the Tuscan ocean, that rolled below his windows, and composing his celebrated six books upon Government. The leisure of these great men of antiquity seems to have been more productive, than the working hours of the worthies of this degenerate age. Even the caprices of distinguished men must be indulged, because their aid must in many cases be secured at all hazards. When Achilles in a fit of ill humor quits the Grecian army, and holds himself aloof in his tent, the king of men, after attempting in vain to go on without him, is compelled to yield the point in question (however delicate), and court him back with more messages, than the other chiefs are willing to carry. The deep diplomacy of Ulysses, the uncompromising frankness of Ajax, the fatherly affection of Phoenix, and the garrulous wisdom of aged Nestor, are all put in requisition, in fruitless endeavors to persuade the haughty youth to make peace on his own terms. Something similar to this would probably happen in most other cases of the same description.

There is therefore, we think, but little foundation for the fears of Mr Droz, that in quitting obscurity, he shall renounce at the same time repose and independence. Instead of agreeing with him in considering a contempt for public opinion as one of the principal elements of happiness, we should rather say (like the generous old Roman when he first heard the same Epicurean doctrine expounded by a Greek philosopher), May the gods give such principles to our enemies.' To our friends we should rather recommend (in conformity to the wisdom of ages) to seek the good opinion of others, and to aim at a just

and honorable distinction. Such was the parting counsel of his aged father to Achilles, when he sent him forth, under the care of Nestor and Ulysses, to accompany the Greeks to the siege of Troy ;

Πηλεὺς μὲν ᾧ παιδὶ γέρων ἐπέτελλ ̓Αχιλλῆϊ,

Αἰὲν ἀριστεύειν, καὶ ὑπείροχον ἔμμεναι ἄλλων.

Such is the import of the sublime exhortation of the Catholic Missal, Sursum corda, which is quoted with such distinct approbation by Burke, as pure and lofty a spirit as ever wore the vestments of mortality. There is doubtless a base passion, sometimes called ambition, which, instead of seeking to rise itself, endeavors to obtain a comparative elevation above others by depressing them, by fraud or force, below its own sordid level, and which justly excites the indignation and contempt of the wise. But the wish to arrive at excellence in noble pursuits by noble means, can hardly be carried to an excess. "T is the foe of idleness and frivolous employments; it tempers the thirst for sensual indulgence, nourishes high contemplations and generous feelings, and as far as it attains its objects, works out nothing but direct and positive good to the individual and the world.

In reply to the objections which we have taken the liberty to make to his theory, Mr Droz may allege his own experience as a proof of its correctness. From his account he is one of the few physicians who follow their own prescriptions, and find themselves the better for it.

'Some persons will perhaps ask, if he who pretends to teach the art of being happy, has been always happy himself. I reply, that having been blessed with a share of philosophy and favored in some degree by circumstances, I have thus far found in life more pleasure than pain. But who can hope for unmingled happiness? I must own that I have at times been through a good deal of trouble. I have sometimes neglected to act upon my own principles, and in professing to instruct others, I am perhaps like a pilot, who should undertake to give lessons in navigation, after having repeatedly run his ship on shore.'

We have some misgivings from this account of the matter, that Mr Droz has not been a vast deal happier than the rest of us, who have generally experienced like him alternate showers and sunshine. Be that as it may, our author, we think, labors under an illusion, in attributing the happiness he has enjoyed to an entire want of occupation and a contempt for public