alas! it is my father's fondest hope, to see his son the richest man in the community in which he lives; if he thought he would not be so, he must die unhappy. I have thought of it. I value my father's good will-I consider most of all in this world his happiness-still there is nothing I am fitted for but a literary life; yet, I cannot be a literary man. Then how much to be regretted is it, that a man should have received an education on so broad a basis, when his mind was to be bent to accomodate itself to the form of a profession.

JUNE 25th.—I have been thinking, to-day, how pleasant, how congenial to my feelings would be the life of a student, were my singular situation one suited to such a thing. I do not mean that I desire to spend the early portion of my life in studious pursuits, but the devotion of every hour of life's allotted period to some study, agreeing with my peculiar taste. A single science, or one department of literature, would be sufficient of itself to employ one a life-time, and banish ennui from the mind. Then I fear no satiety from study.

The student's life, of course, is attended with many disadvantages, and, indeed, pains-from which others are free. Students are, unfortunately, from their pursuits, frequently unprepared for, and unequal to, a rapid change in their circumstances. Although, however, while a change is calculated to unsettle their affairs, they are individuals scarcely ever mentally overbalanced. Misfortune rarely depresses or distracts them, as it does men engaged in trade, or pursuing professions. They care not for luxury—and they can accommodate themselves to anything which allows them freedom of thought.

The student out of the world, is unknown to it, or forgotten by it. He exists an isolated being. He is dependent on him

self for employment of every kind—now he is cloistered in his cell, and buried in his studies-now he roams the trackless woods, a nature's wayward child.

The student has few friends; he is too sensitive-he is too sagacious, indeed, to open his heart to a world, which might prove an unsympathising one. He has no wealth to squander, or if he has, there is no disposition in his nature that way,— except in the formation of a library, or the adornment of a studio. We seldom find men courting his acquaintance, or desiring to create friendship with him-for, solitude and retirement, which are his happiness, have a terror for pleasure's votaries.

Men live for selfish ends, hence we see none endeavor to draw the student from his accustomed retirement, though he may deserve notice, aye! merit reputation; because of his devotion to letters, and the advancement of his fellow men. The student, knows too, that men seek him—if they do, not for any intrinsic merit—but that they may reflect his brightness: such courtesy, he rewards with his high, noble, characteristic, mental disapproval and disdain.

The student-life, is one, not only of physical absence from the world-but, too often, when there is physical presence, there is mental absence; and men in their remarkable kindness and generosity of spirit, consider this abstraction of mind, as calling for, in a high degree, their vile taunt and wanton ridicule. But the student, who places a right estimate on himself, feels that he is superior to these creatures, and their mockeryindeed, frequently, while they imagine they are making him a subject of ridicule, he is enjoying in his heart, a delicious laugh at their mean vanity and folly.

The student is imagined to be, a lonely, miserable being. Place any other man in his situation, and he would be-but with him, the moments fly rapidly, being constantly engaged in pleasurable pursuits; when he thinks he is reading at an early hour at night, he is in reality doing so, at a late one in the morning of the next day. So enchanting are his occupations, that when he stops from them, he is not certain but he has been dreaming; and, when after his mental faculties have been a little hazed with thought, he doubts whether time, or nature, or man, really exist.

The opinions of the student, which are contracted from his studies; and an almost interminable revolution of them in his mind—a thought of them, in time and place, are alas! destined to give him much trouble in the world: for, of course, it is very preposterous with him, to believe everything, to which men's credulity may dispose them; or to which a superficial examination gives assent. The world, which studies men and manners, that they may be shrewd in trade, or astute in their professions, cannot consider opinions as dispassionately as he does for they require study, more than either trades or professions. And it takes years, unfortunately, for the world to fall into these opinions; and recognise as truths, the sound and well contracted judgments of the isolated scholar. Poor fellow! I pain for him-to think that he is not to have the satisfaction of seeing his toil rewarded by success that he is only to look with hope, to a future age, freer from bigotry, and more enlighteneda time which he is never to see.

The history of the persecution of the learned is too sad,—too hateful-too humiliating for review-most men in every age and country, have been free from proscription-but genius and

learning ever, and in all places, have received an undue share; all men seem of right, to have been freer from the criticism, and the impatient virulence of mankind, both of a personal character, and as regards their opinions. But they are set up as marks, to be shot at by the crowd indiscriminately; inferior and degenerate minds aiming at the person, those of a more elevated character-yet imbued with, and instructed in, the prejudices of the age, of country or of station, aiming shafts of ridicule at opinions they could no more refute, than they could call the lightnings from the skies. Who wonders then, that poets and philosophers should have, in times gone by, seen unhappy cause, for expatriating themselves.

The poor isolated scholar-hear how he bears it. With a consciousness of the justness of his judgments, and though aggrieved by every species of ill treatment, reconciles himself to his fate, for says he, “I have selected philosophy for my calling, although I knew that disaffection, scorn, ill-treatment, and ridicule were its reward. For it, I resigned fortune, station, all— and, therefore, whatever its trials and fate are—so are mine."

The student, early tutored in affection by a mother's love, feels that sympathy is the life of his life-yet, deeply to be regretted, he is nestled and cherished in childhood, to be weaned and deserted of the heart in later years; for no one is so thoroughly denied the sympathy of his kind as he-and should he be of the unfortunate temperament, he must inevitably succumb to the thoughtlessness and coldness of neglect. He must presently become anxious, experience a feeling of loneliness that distracts him, he will degenerate into a maniac, or commit the riendless act of suicide; for more men, many more, are deranged from want of sympathy, than from metaphysical studies.

Indeed, if it were known how much enjoyment the solitary student has in his studies, no one could say that there was cause in them to produce aberration of mind-or this last act of great, but unfortunate minds.

I feel assured, that with my books, in the city retired-with a few companions, devoted to them as myself; or, in the country, roaming nature, with some shady nook for meditation and reading, I should become neither a maniac, or commit suicide-but, alas! poor human nature, not knowing that heaven of sympathyI fear I might do either.

JULY 7th. I am constrained to take up my pen again, although I thought a continuation of these reflections highly improbable—but to-day how much do we know of to-morrow? as much as yesterday we knew of to-day, and this year knows of the next, and time of eternity. What a mysterious, and, indeed, overwhelming effect uncertainty has on the mind!-it seems a spirit that steps in between us and our destiny; if we contemplate a long journey, in which we anticipate much pleasure, uncertainty soon approaches to thwart our happiness; if we are in the expectation of a great fortune, this spirit fills our minds with doubts and fears; if a man seeks to elevate himself in the state, in one of the professions, or win a reputation in literature, this tantalizing being is before him constantly; if a lover is going to see his mistress, this demon dances up before him, contorting its features and its form, so as to agonize his mind; if a mother has an ill child, the demon on this occasion, more than ordinarily horrid, fills her mind with the darkest bodings.

When I wrote the last paragraph the other day, I thought that my feelings must surely consume all my time. Much,