then be idle to the world, who will be fooner informed of your disappointment.

***** had other views in her friendly deportment. You ob ferved young *****, who is as excellent as graceful. You marked his countenance, like an April sky, with fucceffions of gloom and fmiles. ***** observed him too, and has too just a fenfe of his merit to fuffer him to escape from her empire. Their love is mutual, and yet neither has listened to the other's vows. The cowardice of a lover is the measure of his fincerity. What ***** cannot obtain from her lover's hopes, fhe intends to compel by his fears. Her kind glances on you excited jealoufy, which would have hurried him to defpondence, had not tender accents come to his relief. The dread of a rival will fmother his fears, and he will be wife foon, left delay be fatal. You may therefore believe me, *****'s kind looks were intended for another, and instead of being flattered at the thoughts of her partiality, you may rail a little at being her boeing-horn. One languishes, that you may praise her fenfibility; another is pert, that you may rank her as a wit. ****** was eager for a new hearer. She is an orator, and harangues on stale topics, in the ftyle of Johnfon. She has not received fo much flattery, as in your attention, for a year. The novelty of her character firft gained her a little reputation, but the fentiments of our nurfes in the language of philofophy grew tedious on repetition. She thanked you for allowing her argument, and your complaifance the conftrued into victory. But you do not want an orator at your table, nor at a curtain lecture; and perhaps there is little to be hoped from that affection, which is founded on your flattery of a lady's eloquence.

I have thus honestly defcribed to you a few of the charming people, to whom you have been introduced. I know them but little by intercourfe or report. But to one, who has run the race I have, and has been fo engaged with the crowd, it requires but a moment's obfervation, to discover their prominent traits, or immediate views. The art of the world is loft on him, who has known and fuffered from its fineffe. I am enly anticipating what you would foon learn, and am willing you should con the lesson, before age will render it useless. I am willing you should profit by my experience, and that you fhould have another standard to measure mankind, than your honest and feeling heart.

You are ready to exclaim at the hollownefs of the world. You are refolving to bid adieu to the throng and polished circle, and feek a golden age in the fields and woods, among clowns and herds. I cannot but laugh at the hurry and inconftancy of the young, who are too impatient for thought, and too warm for system. But let me check you. Hear the whole. You have seen but the dark shades of the picture. The pencil of truth may venture on fairer fcenes. They are rare as the flower in deferts. But ftill they are found, and life has much to boaft of to him, "who can walk in these green pastures, and befide these still waters."

You recollect well *****. You thought him a man of cold indifference, and conftrued his taciturnity into ignorance. His awkwardness was in your eye the bafhfulness of dulnefs, and even his dress struck you as the fimplicity of infignificance. But let me recommend him to you as a friend and confidant. If he does not pretend enthusiasm, he has an honest and warm heart. He does not talk oftentatiously of intentions, but his profeffions exprefs his feelings. His tongue is not ufed to give the lie to his heart. It is the flave, not the flatterer of his foul. If he speaks but rarely, he fays much. The voluble are generally as hollow as loud. Their converfation is like a child's spellingbook, full of words, but no fentiments. He fpeaks like a Spartan; short, but pithy. The forward and garrulous he leaves to prate infignificantly but with him, "every word is a sentence, and every sentence a discourse." As for his address, it is as honeft as his heart, though as plain as his garments. The mere flourish of polished men is the proper drapery of infignificant and unfeeling hearts. The good man is like a good picture: a connoiffeur never cares for the frame of either. If his dress is plain, it is only congruous to the fimplicity of his character. He makes no pretence to the regard of the world, but on better grounds than the fashion of his wardrobe. A criticism on tailors' patterns he leaves to thofe, who have no title but taste to plead for their reception in the world. He has higher objects to regard, in the intereft of his country, in philosophy, and religion. Take this man to your bofom, and he will render any further advice on your choice of friends unneceffary in me.

In the female world, if you with a confidant, let me recom、 mend *** ******. She is now above thirty. From her age you may argue her prudence. She has a mind, that compre

hends every thing. She has a heart, that feels for every one. Her correct taste makes her ever elegant. Her lively fancy renders her always engaging. I knew her once, when all her powers had full play; when fancy played truant with enthufiafm, and genius was adorning the fairest theories of youth. Sorrow has checked the lively energy of expreffion, but left her all her emotion. Learning has erafed the bright fyftems of imagination, but has ftrengthened her powers of invention. With fuch an acquaintance you cannot but be charmed. But a life of observation will render her as ufeful as delightsome. Go to her with the frankness of affection, and expect from her the tenderness of a feraph, with the inftruction of a Sybil.

A young man cannot content himself merely with a female friend. Nature has left a void in the heart, that can only be filled by love. You have too much fenfibility and fociability to permit you to be quiet without the fympathy of fome fifter fpirit. Shall I dictate here? Do not blush nor figh when I mention *****. I faw her laft fummer at her father's, in one of my rambles, and you mentioned meeting her at our friend's. I was at once delighted and interested, by the fimplicity of her character, and the ardour of her feelings. She is pure as the vestal; she is kind as the Beguine. Learning has improved without elevating her; for the blufh of humility adds a grace to her eloquence, as impreffive as expreffive. She acts always with independence, and where the errs, it is on the fide of virtue. In these times of conformity, I admire her national proteftantism. Such a mixture of gentlenefs and energy is rare as the union of Venus and Minerva. There is in this woman a je ne fais quoi, a compofition of virtue fo finely tempered, and so nicely blended, that when envy wishes her imperfect, she knows not what is wanting. To harmonize intellect and feeling, to reprefs the wildnefs of theory, or the extravagance of enthusiafm, she has made religion the directress of life. Think of these things when you think of *****, nor let the soft or magic glance of her eye, which will foon grow dim, nor the animation of that form, which time will totter, alone hurry you to rapture. If virtue can bless, she will be herself, and make oth ers happy. In pursuit of her, fear not the frowns of Mentor. She will stimulate to duty, rather than feduce you to indolence, and will delight more in your improvement than your admiration.

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I have fcribbled this with as much haste as zeal. Let my A month will give iropinions be credited for the moment. refragable proof of their juftice. The world is a great rareefhow, in which you find a thousand gilded bawbles for one thing of sterling value. Be difcreet, flow, and cautious. You will foon walk with more alacrity and cheerfulness, when you know the pit-falls in your way. A little experience will make you as wife as I am, but I hope without my misfortunes. You will then feel how little you are to expect from a world, whofe indifference may be measured by its refinement. You will learn how rare and how eftimable are fincere friends, and be convinced that prudence is wisdom, and virtue our only permanent good.

STUDIOSUS.

FOR THE MONTHLY ANTHOLOGY. INEBRIATION

"Is a vice, which often stains the characters of men of eminence, and debafes genius below the dulnefs of a brute."

AMONG the dangerous evils, which the moralist and the statesman have equally to deplore, INEBRIATION may be confidered as the most alarming. Fatal alike to reputation and to health, difgufting in its appearances and debafing in its effects, it has nevertheless grown into a cuftom, that by impending weight may bear down the pillars of our national profperity.

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The frequent prefence of its miferable victims has rendered the fight fo familiar, that we often pafs, without obfervation, the most abject and miferable condition, in which human nature can be placed. It is not, however, our prefent purpose to trace the progrefs of this vice through the lower classes of society; caufes natural at least, if not fatisfactory, may affigned for the prevalence of a practice, which here requires fome strength of mind and fome fortitude to withstand. But when genius and worth, when talents and virtue, when a heart ́ warmed with sympathy and glowing with benevolence, and a mind rich in every fentiment, which conftitutes excellence, falls a miferable victim of deadly inebriation, where fhall we look for a cause adequate to the effect? To what corrupted principle of nature fhall be afcribed this melancholy degradation, this

contravention of Heaven's defign, this fubjugation of man's noblest powers, this perversion of his morals, destruction of his health, annihilation of his reafon ?

To answer these questions, we should examine what there is in the nature of genius, talents, and fenfibility, that men poffeffed of their proud prerogatives are found fo often yielding to a miferable vice in common with those, who have no more mind than feeling, and no other feeling, than what is produced by the lafh. Genius revolves in a different orbit, it moves in diffimilar directions from the common bodies, that furround it. A man of genius is often characterized by ftrong paffions difdainful of dominion, and by ardent feelings impatient of reftraint. He has generally a little world formed in his own imagination, which he is defirous of governing by himself. Commonly attended by an ardent ambition, which disdains mediocrity, and pants for diftinction, he is frequently met by the folly of the world with a force, which he is unprepared to withstand; an indifference is exhibited towards him more cruel than the warmest opposition; and while he is preparing to ride on the whirlwinds of contention, he remains neglected, unnoticed and unknown.

Thus too the man of feeling and benevolence; the chords of his heart, that would vibrate sweetest melody if touched with care, produce the harshest discord when jarred by an unfkilful hand. Imaginary diftrefs fometimes becomes real, if he offers to affift; his proffered aid is treated with contemptuous indifference. Difappointments four the mind. Mifanthropy like a froft about the heart checks thofe pulfations, which were once in unifon with the pains or pleasures of its friends.

To these characters INEBRIATION is fometimes a wifhed for opiate; a drug, which lulls in fweet oblivion the painful feelings of every disappointment. It becomes the laft refuge of dif trefs; it drowns recollection; and while the wifeft refort to it to deprive confcience of its fting, the man, who faints under the preffure of repeated disappointments, courts its lethargic influence on his past feelings, and its vivifying power in producing new.

DISAPPOINTMENT then is the cause why we have so often to mourn over genius, benevolence and worth thrown into magnificent ruins by the "foul fiend" INEBRIATION. Yes, fome earnest defire defeated, fome imaginary or real good destroyed, fome scheme of greatness vanished into air, often throws an impenetrable cloud over the future profpects of life. Happiness