It is not the place, says Cicero, that maketh the person, but the person that maketh the place honourable. Of all the things this world affords us, the possession and enjoyment of wisdom alone are immortal. A strict adherence to virtue, and a well regulated life, render our pleasures more solid and lasting.

WANTS.-We are ruined, not by what we really want, but by what we think we do; therefore, never go abroad in search of your wants; if they be real wants, they will come home in search of you; for he that buys what he does not want, will soon want what he cannot buy.—Lacon.

The man who has so little knowledge of human nature as to seek happiness by changing any thing but his own dispositions, will waste his life in fruitless efforts, and multiply the griefs which he purposes to 10moyo. Thid.

He that has not a mastery over his inclinations; he that knows not how to resist the importunity of present pleasure or pain, for the sake of what reason tells him is fit to be done, wants the true principle of virtue and industry, and is in danger of never being good for any thing.-Locke.

Vice stings us even in our pleasures, but Virtue consoles us even in our pains.-Cowper.

Industry may be considered as the purse, and frugality as its strings, which should rather be tied with a bow than a double knot, that the contents. may not be too difficult of access for reasonable purposes.-Dillwyn.

An author, no less eminent than judicious, makes the following distinction between the words innocence, wisdom, and virtue. Innocence consists in doing no harm, and occasioning no trouble to so- ` ciety. Wisdom consists in being attentive to one's true and solid interest, in distinguishing it from a seeming interest, in a right choice and a constant adherence to it. Virtue goes further; it loves the good of society, and frequently prefers it to its own advantages.-Art of Thinking.

ETERNITY. The most momentous concern of man is the state he shall enter upon after this short and transitory life is ended, and in proportion as eternity is of greater importance than time, so ought men to be solicitous upon what grounds their expectations with regard to that durable state are built, and upon what assurances their hopes or their fears stand. Dr. Samuel Clarke's Sermons.

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CONSCIENCE.-Nothing is a stronger instance of the goodness of the Creator, than that delicate inward feeling, so strongly impressed on every reasonable creature. This internal sense of duty attended to, and diligently cherished and kept alive, would check the sinner in his career, and make him look back with horror on his crimes. One of the ancients is commended for wishing that he had a window in his breast, that every one might see into it. But it is certainly of more consequence to keep ourselves free from the reproach of our own hearts, than from the evil opinions of others; we should therefore consider conscience as a mirror in which every one may see himself reflected, and in which every action is represented in its proper colours. The Connoisseur.

WRITTEN IN AN ALBUM.

For me, oh World! no chaplet weave,
Thy frowns I fear not, and believe
Thy winter smiles, thy summer glow,
Deceptive as retiring snow,

For me thy grandeur's all too high.
Then not for me thy chaplet weave,
For all thy pleasures but deceive.

Let Beauty, with its eyes of fire,
With mad❜ning love the gay inspire;
Let War in panoply array'd,
Unsheath the chieftain's ready blade;
Let Glory rear its plumed crest,
And dazzle with its glittering vest;
Yet not for me thy chaplet weave,
Thy smiles are false-thy hopes deceive.

Let the full cup of Pleasure teem
With draughts from fair Calypso's stream;
Which shrouds the soul's immortal flame,
Beneath the brutes' degraded frame;
Tho' fair the flowers that here entice,
All, all too costly is the price;
Such chaplets therefore do not weave,
The flowers decay-the draughts deceive.

Nor weave for me Ambition's wreath,
It is the bloody meed of death;
Asp-like, foul murder nestles there,
Entwin'd with folds of grim despair.
And oh! weave not the wreath that binds
The brow of sordid, selfish minds,
Like these entwine no wreath for me,
They show too much, oh world, of thee.

Nor the bright wreath of Riches twine,
Dug from Golconda's purest mine;
Nor dazzling stones, that proudly gem
An empire's envied diadem.

No-twine for me the Christian's crown,
Be Virtue still my best renown-
And let the wreath that decks my brow,
From pure Religion's branches grow.

The lofty mountain of virtue is of quite a contrary make to all other mountains. In the mountains of the earth the skirts are pleasant, but the tops rough; whereas the skirt of the mountain of virtue is harsh, but the top delicious. He who stu

dies to come at it, meets in his first step nothing but stones, briars, and thistles; but the roughness of the way diminishes as he proceeds in his journey, and the pleasure of it increases, until at length on the top he finds nothing but beautiful flowers, choice plants, and crystal fountains.-Tillotson.

Content has a kindly influence on the soul of man, in respect of every being to whom he stands related it extinguishes all murmur, repining, and ingratitude towards that Being who has allotted him his part to act in this world. It destroys all inordinate ambition, and every tendency to corruption, with regard to the community in which he is placed. It gives sweetness to his conversation, and a perpetual serenity to all his thoughts.-Spectator.

Of all human actions, Pride seldomest obtains its end; for, aiming at honour and reputation, it reaps contempt and derision.-Walker.

IMMORTALITY.-If something of us did not subsist after death, whose nature is capable to be adorned with truth and virtue, such as we affirm the rational soul to be, we should never have a pure desire of excellent things. For the very suspicion of the soul's mortality extinguishes all desires of virtue, and turns them all to bodily enjoyments, whatever they are, or however obtained.Hierocles upon the Golden Verses of Pythagoras.

FROM THE RURAL VISITOR.

When I look round and see the love, the care,
Of boundless goodness fill the smiling land,
Existence spread thro' ocean, earth, and air,
And beauty lavish'd with exhaustless hand,
Can I pass on with brute unconscious gaze,
Nor with one faltering accent whisper praise?

From those bright orbs which thro' the realms of space,
Pursue majestic their unvarying way,

Down thro' creation, far as man can trace
Of Power Almighty the sublime display:

All that we see and feel, combine to prove
That power is governed by unbounded love.

What vivid hues the floral tribes adorn!

What fragrance floats upon the gales of even!
What floods of radiance gild the unfolding morn,
And dazzling splendour gems the midnight heaven!
What glorious scenes on every hand impart,
A glow of transport to the untainted heart!

How sweet, tho' transient, man thy tarriance here,
If Peace around thee spread her cheering rays!
If Conscience whispers in thy trembling ear,
No tale unpleasing of departed days.

Then smile exulting at the lapse of time,
Which wafts thee gently to a happier clime.

Saw'st thou the worm his humble path pursue,
To varied dangers, doubts, and fears a prey?
Joy in his cup some sweet ingredient threw,
But darkness snatch'd him from the treat away,
The poor chrysalis in his lonely grave,
Seem'd sinking hopeless in oblivion's wave.

But, lo! what magic bursts the dreary tomb,-
What voice angelic bids the sleeper rise!
He wakes, array'd in beauty's living bloom,
His new-born plumage ting'd with rainbow dyes:
In air gay floating, while the sunbeam flings
A blaze of splendour o'er his glossy wings.