the reviewer, settled and salaried, and his periodical kept going by regular subscription, has the field to himself.

After all, it must be admitted, that competent reviewers, writing under the influence of justice, honour, and self command, are a valuable race of men. Some writers are deeply indebted to them, for the circulation they give to their works. Their position gives them an advantage and a power over the public mind, which, to a considerable extent, is irresistible; and although neither we nor themselves award to them the attribute of infallibility, yet as they usually come very near, and sometimes quite up to the whole truth, in their judgment and decisions, they should be respected and thanked for their services. It is a very great advantage to the interests of literature that there should be a good understanding between authors and reviewers. The former taking pains and using exertions to produce works worthy of the public patronage, and the latter kindly helping them to secure it.

"Love your enemies, do good to them that hate you, and pray for them that despitefully use you, and persecute you," says the great teacher.

"Enemies!" (says good Mr. Noble, a metropolitan brother minister) "Surely, a man like you, can never have enemies!" This exclamation has often been addressed to us. Yet what can we make of men who deliberately and designedly stand in the way of their neighbours, to obstruct their progress forwards and upwards? Much as such persons object to the word enemies; much as they prefer softer titles; we cannot but affirm, that he who does the work of an enemy, and does it often, and inwardly rejoices that he does his work effectually, is an enemy. It is with enmity, as with envy and ingratitude, you cannot, except in very rare instances, get men who are really chargeable with these vices to acknowledge themselves guilty. They try to make out that you are mistaken. You merely imagine things; and they sometimes try to smother up all your accusations by protestations of friendship, and well wishing, and compliments, and politeness, and for some ten or twenty years you try to think, "well, perhaps I am mistaken," my long perpetuated disappointments are

things of mere accident, and not of design. Surely, such softness and politeness is an argument of friendship! O, its all right, I will expect again; but again your expectation is "cut off,” and again, and again-meanwhile, compliments and promises are going on, and men try to persuade you what a charming spot it is you are going to; very romantic, picturesque, sublime, a beautiful county, kind people; "parish allowance," it is true, and rather a small sanctuary, but then it may be a stepping stone to something else; "besides, you know, you will be near the great city, and that will come next."

So we go on, while the very parties who thus raise hopes are first and foremost to crush them, at the time they should be realized. These men are

enemies; other enemies take a different course. They continue to be as disagreeable to you as possible; they insult you both in speech and writing; and what is very remarkable, indeed, they will do this when no provocation has, at any time, been given. To myself, then, and all other ministers deemed eccentric, and who are extremely likely to be opposed, so long as they are rendered conspicuous,-I say, beware of enemies, both rough and smooth. "Beware of men." "Beware of the leaven of the Pharisees," says our Saviour; "Bid me of men beware," says Wesley. And I say, beware of men whose peculiarity of conduct towards eccentrics is anything but amiable. Beware of men who write offensive and mendacious letters; yet, don't be in haste to put their

letters into the fire, as some of them may be turned to good account in any future publication, and you may make "elegant extracts" from them, and preserve them as men preserve curious reptiles, in spirits, for the entertainment of the virtuoso. Beware of persons who smile when they are angry. I have said somewhere else, did you ever see a horse smile? He turns his ears backward, he shows his teeth, his eyes look "curious like," he begins to run; fly for your life! He is going to give you a grip, and the bite of a horse may be fatal. I once saw a man's arm most horribly lacerated and mangled by the bite of a horse. Now you know, biting horses do not bark, and thus to the certain and sorrowful knowledge of some men, silent opponents are found more mischievous than those who honestly growl and bark at you.

Beware of men who look red and white when you are commended.

Beware of those who very much enjoy themselves, when somebody or other, as they fancy, takes the conceit out of you! And whatever annoyance people of the above kinds may give you, either orally or by letters, do not honour them by an angry reply. Characters of this sort are pretty well known, and have greater notoriety than they are aware of. Do not give yourself the trouble to punish them by retaliation, they are punished enough by their own pride and sullenness, and by that general neglect, which they, themselves, have provoked. When an ill-natured thing, calling himself a man, tells the

public anonymously in a newspaper, that you want piety and common sense, let him alone, your friends see at once how deplorably he has committed himself, and his violent dealing comes down on his own pate. (Ps. vii. 16.)

To keep yourself well balanced, cherish intimacy with New Testament Christians; read the best books in divinity, including those of a devotional character; use much self-examination and mental prayer, visit the sick and the dying; you will find in this a double advantage, you will do good to them and yourself, as your griefs and troubles will induce that sympathizing state of mind, so needful in the house of sorrow and mourning, and so powerful a help to appropriate and effectual prayer. Do not give up innocent eccentricity, but use it aright, as in your case it is a talent, and an instrument of good service.

Do not, while in a happy, merry mood, write facetious letters to men with whom you are not intimately acquainted, for though your letters may contain nothing contrary to respect and Christian affection, they may not be well taken. They may find the receivers in a fit of peevishness, or in a state of mind not fit to entertain pleasantries. A sociable man, inclined to pleasantry, is but too apt to conclude from reminiscences of casual interviews with men with whom he has conversed in former times, that they are in perpetuity what he found them in former accidental converse. But men differ from themselves, and hence, he whom you thought your attached