tions of those who have gone before us.

Without the

aid of the arts, our hands must be idle, or work to no purpose. In all the multifarious occupations that are now going on, whether upon land or water, whether for the sustenance or the adornment of life, there is a never-ceasing dependence upon the arts. And how were the arts explored, and how brought to the wonderful state of perfection which they are now in? By intense labor of the Mind. From one generation to another, many who labored not with their hands, have labored abundantly, and most efficiently and usefully with their intellects. Their inventions and improvements have directed and guided manual labor, and have facilitated and abridged it in a marvellous manner and degree. And assuredly, theirs is to be regarded as belonging to the highest class of productive labor; assuredly, he that contributes to the general stock of knowledge in the arts, is a benefactor of the public, and is entitled to the gratitude of all; assuredly, the laboring man is bound to encourage the arts, which so mightily aid the work of his hands. Nor ought he to think lightly of mere science; it is the mother of the arts, and, in sundry instances, it has, undesignedly and unconsciously, led to the discovery of them. The stargazers of ancient Chaldea never once dreamed of the vastly important practical purposes to which the world, in succeeding ages, would apply the knowledge of astronomy.

Again, it is to be considered and distinctly remembered, that the laboring class spend their strength for nought, unless the fruits of their industry be securely guarded from plunder and robbery, and against the hand of rapaciousness, in whatever manner, or under whatever guise it may assail them. Hence, of necessity, there must be government, laws and courts of justice; and of necessity, also, there must be lawgivers, executive and judicial officers, advocates, and a whole catalogue of other denominations. Now all these must be paid out of the common stock. But, provided they discharge their duties ably and faithfully, and are content with a reasonable recompense, they are not less worthy of their hire, than are manual laborers. By пo

4

means are they to be regarded as drones in the hive. As they are the necessary guardians over the general treasure which manual labor accumulates, so they have a right to a share of it—at the same time, on the part of the general community, special care must be taken lest the guardians of its rights and its property, like the_ravenous sons of old Eli, should make such free use of the flesh-hook,* as to leave little else to the commonalty but the broth.

I might proceed to name several other classes of laborers, whose labors, though rather mental than manual, are indirectly productive to a great amount; but these particulars I must wave, except one.

The teachers of our common schools, as well as of the higher ones, have a fair-claim upon the public as productive laborers of pre-eminent usefulness. Includ ing both sexes, their number far exceeds that of all the other learned classes taken together. Without the encouragement of honorary distinctions, with but moderate, and too often such inadequate stipends, as leave them in the bleak and blighting shades of poverty, considerably upwards, perhaps, of twenty thousand, including only the section of our country north of the Potomac, are sedulously employing what abilities God hath given them-abilities not unfrequently of respectable grades-in an exterminating warfare against ignorance, waged solely by means of dispensing instruction to childhood and youth.

This is an invaluable standing army, which, so far from endangering public liberty, is, of all means, the most conducive to its preservation: a literary corps, which the country is bound by every tie of duty and interest to cherish and reward. The lamp of learning, as respects the public at large, would become extinct, were not these numerous and busy hands perpetually trimming it. Yes: abolish this single profession, and the Dark Age would speedily return.

Of schoolmasters and schoolmistresses, how arduous is the task! how unremitted the toil! how immense the benefits which their silent, and too often unregarded labors produce! They stand midway as it were be* First book of Samuel, second chapter.

tween the parent and the child, and have strong hold on both. They take mankind in the bud, which they cherish, and expand into faculties full-blown. They feed the mind with knowledge at the season when it most needs to be fed, from incapacity to feed itself. The intellectual efforts of others are chiefly directed to mature age; but these "gather the lambs in their arms." Under their hands, character forms and developes.They sow and water the seed, which, in minds docile, well-disposed and diligent, springs up, and ripens to a plentiful harvest.

The tree that is clustered with rich fruit, and far excels "the trees of the wood," is indebted to the skilful hand which reared the plant ;-and so, some of the greatest men that have trod the stage of mortality, felt their indebtedness to the instructers of their puerile minds, and ever remembered them with high respect. Edmund Burke, at the period of his greatest renown, delighted to visit the venerable schoolmaster who had had the tuition of his boyish years.

Contempt of this profession springs from gross ignorance, or absurd pride, and often from a pitiful compound of both; for it is entrusted with the richest treasure of the nation. On the other hand, nothing more clearly proves that a people are wise, than that their schools are sufficiently numerous, discreetly governed, and well taught, and the faithful teachers held in honor. I will venture to add, if there are any classes of debts which may be properly distinguished by the denomination of debts of honor, one of these is the dues to schoolmasters and schoolmistresses: there are no debts more sacred, or which should be paid more willingly, and with greater punctuality.

CHAP. XXIX.

A sorrow-soothing Scottish Legend.

OLD age is justly considered as situated on the confines of the grave; and, of course, the ravages that

death makes in that uttermost province of human life, excite no surprise. It is an adage nearly as ancient perhaps as time, that the old must die. Indeed the aged may be said to die while they live. By little and little they are losing, almost every day, somewhat of the very stamina of life: and even if no mortal disease supervene, their earthly tabernacles must, ere long, be dissolved, of mere decay. This natural process of dissolution is often so gradual as to be little perceived, and least of all by the subjects of it; but the process is constantly advancing, whether perceived or not. So far, therefore, from its being a wonder that the aged die at last, the wonder is that they live so long; considering the extreme brittleness of the thread of life, and the many hair-breadth escapes from death which they must have had during such a great length of time.

On the contrary premature deaths occasion, not merely the bitterness of transient sorrow, but that rooted anguish which rises from disappointed hopes. And it is particularly so with regard to children, cut off in the flower of youth, or in the bud of infancy. Parental affection hopeth all things: and when the object of its fond hope is snatched away, it faints under the stroke, and is ready to say, repiningly, "It were better not to have had the gift at all." But when this object is an only child, the cup of anguish is not merely full, but it overflows. Bereavement of this last description is frequently noticed in the holy scriptures, as most deeply affecting; and accordingly, pious writers in all ages and countries, have been assiduously anxious to pour the balm of consolation into hearts thus torn with anguish.

With such benevolent views, no doubt, was fabricated the ancient legend, or fable, with which I shall conclude these reflections. It originated in the Scottish highlands, whose inhabitants have in great part, borne a considerable resemblance to the patriarchal ages; having, from time immemorial, led a pastoral life, and been remarkable for frugal plainness of living, for sobriety, and for zealous attachment to the holy religion they profess. And a singular circumstance, which to them has given peculiar efficacy to the legend hereaf

ter related, is, that they have been, and are, generally speaking, so tinctured with superstition, as firmly to believe in the frequency of supernatural visions or apparitions. I will only remark further, for explanation, that every highland householder, agreeably to an ancient custom, makes a festival for his friends and neighbors, on the death of any one of his family; which funeral feast is called The late Wake.

A married couple of the Scottish highlands, had thrice lost their only child, each dying at an early age. Upon the death of the last, the grief of the father became boisterous, and he uttered his plaints in the loudest terms.

"The death of the child happened late in the spring, when, in the more inhabited straths, sheep were abroad; but from the blasts in that high and stormy region, they were still confined in the cot. In a dismal snowy evening, the man, unable to stifle his anguish, went out, lamenting aloud, for a lamb to treat his friends with at the late wake. At the door of the cot, however, he found a stranger standing before the entrance. He was astonished, in such a night, to meet a person so far from any frequented place. The stranger was plainly attired; but had a countenance expressive of singular mildness and benevolence, and addressing him in a sweet impressive voice, asked him what he did there amidst the tempest. He was filled with awe which he could not account for, and said he came for a lamb.- -"What kind of lamb do you mean to take ?” said the stranger. "The very best I can find," he replied, "as it is to entertain my friends: and I hope you will share of it." "Do your sheep make any resistance when you take away the lambs, or any disturbance afterwards ?" "Never," was the answer. "How differently am I treated," said the traveller: "When I come to visit my sheepfold, I take as I am well entitled to do, the best lamb to myself: and my ears are filled with the clamor of discontent by these ungrateful sheep, whom I have fed, watched and protected." He looked up in amaze; but the vision was fled."

If it be proper to add any thing at all here, I can think of nothing better than the Epitaph of Mr. Wesley's upon an infant child:—