MENTAL AND MORAL EDUCATION.

My dear Nephews:

Having touched, in our preceding letters, upon matters relating to Physical Training, Manner, and the lighter accomplishments that embellish existence, we come now to the inner life—to the Education of the Mind and Heart, or Soul of Man.

Metaphysicians would, I make no doubt, find ample occasion to cavil at the few observations I shall venture to offer you on these important subjects, and, painfully conscious of my total want of skill to treat them in detail, I will only attempt a few desultory suggestions, intended rather to impress you with the importance I attach to self-culture, than to furnish you with full directions regarding it.

The genius of our National Institutions pre-supposes the truth that education is within the power of all, and that all are capable of availing themselves of its benefits. Education, in the highest, truest sense, does not involve the necessity of an elaborate system of scientific training, with an expenditure of time and money entirely beyond the command of any but the favored few who make the exception, rather than the rule, in relation to the race in general.

Happily for the Progress of Humanity, the "will to do, the soul to dare," are never wholly subject to the control of outer circumstance, and here, in our free land, they are comparatively untrammeled.

"There are two powers of the human soul," says one of our countrymen, distinguished for a knowledge of Intellectual Science, "which make self-culture possible, the self-searching, and the self-forming power. We have, first, the faculty of turning the mind on itself; of recalling its past, and watching its present operations; of learning its various capacities and susceptibilities; what it can do and bear; what it can enjoy and suffer; and of thus learning, in general, what our nature is, and what it is made for. It is worthy of observation, that we are able to discern not only what we already are, but what we may become, to see in ourselves germs and promises of a growth to which no bounds can be set; to dart beyond what we have actually gained, to the idea of perfection at the end of our being."

Assuming that to be the most enlightened system of education which tends most effectively to develop all the faculties of our nature, it is impossible, practically, to separate moral and religious from intellectual discipline. If we possess the responsibility as well as the capacity of self-training—that must be a most imperfect system, one most unjust to our better selves, which cultivates the intellectual powers at the expense of those natural endowments, without which, man were fitter companion for fiends than for higher intelligences!

Pursued beyond a certain point, education, established upon this basis, may not facilitate the acquisition of wealth; and if this were the highest pursuit to which it can be made subservient, effort, beyond that point, were useless. But if we regard the acquirement of money chiefly important as affording the essential means of gratifying the tastes, providing for the necessities, and facilitating the exercise of the moral instincts of our being, we return, at once, to our former position.

"He, therefore, who does what he can to unfold all his powers and capacities, especially his nobler ones, so as to become a well-proportioned, vigorous, excellent, happy being, practises self-culture."

Those of you who have enjoyed the advantages of a regular course of intellectual training, will need no suggestion of mine to aid you in mental discipline; but possibly a few hints on this point may not be wholly useless to others.

The general dissemination of literature, in forms so cheap as to be within the reach of all, renders reading a natural resource for purposes of amusement as well as instruction. But they who are still so young as to make the acquisition of knowledge the proper business of life, should never indulge themselves in reading for mere amusement. Never, therefore, permit yourselves to pass over words or allusions, with the meaning of which you are unacquainted, in works you are perusing. Go at once to the fountain-head—to a dictionary for unintelligible words, to an encyclopedia for general information, to a classical authority for mythological and other similar facts, etc., etc. You will not read as fast, by adopting this plan, but you will soon realize that you are, nevertheless, advancing much more rapidly, in the truest sense. When you have not works of reference at command, adopt the practice of making brief memoranda, as you go along, of such points as require elucidation, and avail yourself of the earliest opportunity of seeking a solution of your doubts. And do not, I beg of you, think this too laborious. The best minds have been trained by such a course. Depend upon it, genius is no equivalent for the advantage ultimately derived from patient perseverance in such a course. I remember well, that to the latest year of his life, my old friend, De Witt Clinton, one of the noblest specimens of the race it has been my fortune to know, would spring up, like a boy, despite his stiff knee, when any point of doubt arose, in conversation, upon literary or scientific subjects, and hasten to select a book containing the desired information, from a little cabinet adjoining his usual reception-room. His was a genuine love of learning for its own sake; and the toil and turmoil of political life never extinguished his early passion, nor deprived him of a taste for its indulgence.

Moralists have always questioned the wisdom of indulging a taste for fictitious literature, even when time has strengthened habit and principle into fixedness. The license of the age in which we live, renders futile the elaborate discussion of this question of ethics. But, while permitting yourselves the occasional perusal of works of poetry and fiction, do not so far indulge this taste as to stimulate a disrelish for more instructive reading. And, above all, do not permit yourselves to acquire an inclination for the unwholesome stimulus of licentiousness, in this respect. Every man of the world should know something of the belle-lettre literature of his own language, at least, and, as a rule, the more the better; but,

"Where ignorance is bliss, 'tis folly to be wise;"

and the vile translations from profligate foreign literature, which have, of late years, united with equally immoral productions in our own, to foster a corrupt popular taste, cannot be too carefully avoided by all who would escape moral contagion.

You will find the practice of noting fine passages, felicitous modes of expression, novel thoughts, etc., as they occur even in lighter literary productions, not unworthy of your attention. It will serve, collaterally, to assist in the formation of a pure style of conversation and composition, a consideration of no small importance for those whose future career will demand facility in this regard. Carlyle has somewhere remarked that, "our public men are all gone to tongue!" This peculiarity of the times, may, to some extent, have grown out of its new and peculiar social and political necessities. But, whether that be so, or not, since such is the actual state of things, let all new competitors for public distinction seek every means of securing ready success.

While I would not, without reservation, condemn the perusal of fictitious literature, I think you will need no elaborate argument to convince you of the superior importance of a thorough familiarity with History and general Science.

Let me, also, commend to your attention, well-chosen Biography, as affording peculiarly impressive incentives to individual effort, and, often, a considerable amount of collateral and incidental information. The Life of Johnson, by Boswell, for instance, which, as far as I know, still retains its long-accorded place at the very head of this class of composition (some critic has recorded his wonder that the best biography in our language should have been written by a fool!) contains a world of information, respecting the many celebrated contemporaries of that great man, the peculiarities of social life in England, at his day, and the general characteristics of elegant literature. So, of Lockhart's Life of Scott, and other records of literary life. The lives of such men as Shelley, and Coleridge, afford an impressive warning to the young—teaching, better than a professed homily, how little talents, unguided by steadfastness of purpose and principle, avail for usefulness and happiness. The examples of Lord Nelson, Howard, Mungo Park, Robert Hall, Franklin, and Washington, may well be studied, in detail, for the lessons they impress upon all. And so, of many of the brave and the good of our race—I but name such as passingly occur to me.

Do not permit newspaper and magazine reading to engross too much of your time, lest you gradually fall into a sort of mental dissipation, which will unfit you for more methodical literary pursuits.

A cultivated taste in Literature and Art, as, indeed, in relation to all the embellishments and enjoyments of life, is, properly, one of the indications, if not the legitimate result, of thorough mental education. But, while you seek, by every means within your control, to enlarge the sphere of your perceptions, and to elevate your standard of intellectual pleasures, carefully avoid all semblance of conscious superiority, all dilettanti pretension, all needless technicalities of artistic language. Remember that modesty is always the accompaniment of true merit, and that the smattering of knowledge, which the condition of Art in our infant Republic alone enables its most devoted disciples to acquire, ill justifies display and pretension, in this respect. So, with regard to matters of literary criticism—enjoy your own opinions, and seek to base them upon the true principles of art; but do not inflict crudities and platitudes upon others, under the impression that, because of recent acquisition to a tyro in years, and in learning, they are likely to strike mature minds with the charm of novelty! Thus, too, with scientific lore. If Sir Isaac Newton only gathered "pebbles on the shore" of the limitless ocean of knowledge, we may well believe that

Let me add, while we are, incidentally, upon this matter of personal pretension, that to observing persons such a manner often indicates internal distrust of one's just claims to one's social position, while, on the contrary, quiet self-possession, ease and simplicity, are equally expressive of self-respect and of an entire certainty of the tacit admission of one's rights by others. Nothing is more underbred than the habit of taking offense, or fancying one's self slighted, on all occasions. It betokens either intense egotism, or, as I have said, distrust of your rightful position—that you are embittered by struggling with the world—neither of which suppositions should be betrayed by the bearing of a man of the world. Maintain outward serenity, let the torrent rage as it may within, and never allow the world to know its power to wound you through your undue sensitiveness!

Well has the poet asserted that

"Truth's a discovery made by travelled minds."

No one who can secure the advantage of seeing life and manners in every varying phase, should fail to add this to the other branches of a polite education. Do not imbibe the impression, however, that merely going abroad is travelling, in the just sense of the term.

Send a fool to visit other countries, and he will return—only a "travelled fool!" But give a rightly-constituted man opportunities for thus enriching and expanding his intellectual powers, and he returns to his native land, especially if he be an American, a better citizen, a more enlightened, discriminating companion and friend, and a more liberal, useful, catholic Christian!

Some knowledge of modern languages, especially of the French, has now become an essential part of education. The value of this acquisition, even for home use, can scarcely be over-estimated, and without a familiarity with colloquial French, a man can hardly hope to pass muster abroad. I will, however, hazard the general observation that, as a rule, it is better to acquire a thorough knowledge of one language (and of French, pre-eminently, for practical availability) than a slight acquaintance with several. Few persons, comparatively, in our active, busy land, have leisure, at any period of life, for familiarizing themselves with the literature of more than one language, besides their own, and to possess the mere nomenclature of a foreign tongue is but to have the key to information. There is, of late, a fashion in this matter, which has little else to recommend it than that it is the fashion; and with persons of sense and intelligence there should be some more powerful and satisfactory motive for the devotion of any considerable portion of "Time, nature's stock."

Apropos of this, nothing is more likely to teach a true estimate of the value of time than that perfection of education pronounced by the philosopher of old to be the knowledge that we know nothing! In other words, they only, who in some sort discern, by the light of education, the vast field that lies unexplored before them, can have any adequate conception of the care and discrimination with which they should use that treasure of which alone it is 'a virtue to be covetous.'

Nothing, perhaps, more unmistakably indicates successful self-culture than the habitual exhibition of Tact. It may almost be called another sense, growing out of the proper training of the several faculties of body and mind. And though there is a vast natural difference between persons of similar outward circumstances, in this respect, much may be effected by attention and practice, in the acquisition of this invaluable possession. Like self-possession, tact is one of the essential, distinctive characteristics of good-breeding—the legitimate expression of natural refinement, quick perceptions and kindly sympathies. Cultivate it, then, my young friends, in common with every elegant embellishment of the true gentleman! Do not confound it with dissimulation or hypocrisy, nor yet regard it as the antagonist of truthfulness, self-respect and manly dignity. On the contrary, it is the best safeguard of courtesy, as well as of sensibility.

Among useful methods of self-discipline, let me instance the benefit resulting from the early adoption of a code of private morality, if you will permit me to coin a phrase, composed of rules and maxims adapted to your own personal needs and peculiarities of position and mental constitution. Washington, I remember, adopted this practice, and Mr. Sparks, or some one of his biographers, has preserved the record from oblivion. It is many years since I came across these rules, and I can no longer recall more than the fixed, though general, impression that they embodied much practical wisdom and clearly indicated the patient spirit of self-improvement for which the author was remarkable. I commend them to you as a model. Perhaps the immortal biographer who has now given the world a new life of his great namesake, will afford you the means of satisfying yourselves personally of the correctness of my impressions of them.

In preparing this code for yourselves, I can give you no better guide than that afforded by the truth expressively conveyed in the following lines:

That is a very imperfect conception of education which limits its significance to knowledge gained from books. A profound acquaintance with literary lore is often associated with total ignorance of the actual world, of the laws that govern our moral and intellectual being, and with an incapacity to discern the Beautiful, the True, the Good. They only are educated, who have acquired that self-knowledge and self-discipline which inspire a disinterested love of our fellow-beings, a reverence for Truth—in the largest sense of the term—and the power of habitually exalting the higher faculties over the animal propensities of our nature.

It is only, therefore, when man unites moral discipline with intellectual culture, that he can be said to be truly educated; and the most ambitious student of books should always bear in mind the truth that the free play of the intellect is promoted by the development of moral perceptions, and that mental education, even, does not so much consist in loading the memory with facts, as in strengthening the capacity for independent action—for judging, comparing, reflecting.

"The connection between moral and intellectual culture is often overlooked," says a celebrated ethical writer, "and the former sacrificed to the latter. The exaltation of talent, as it is called, above virtue and religion, is the curse of the age. Education is now chiefly a stimulus to learning, and thus may acquire power without the principles which alone make it a good. Talent is worshipped, but, if divorced from rectitude, it will prove more of a demon than a god."

Holding the opinion, then, that a fixed religious belief is the legitimate result of a thorough cultivation of the mental and moral endowments, and that their united and co-equal development constitutes education, you will permit me to impress upon your attention the importance of securing all the aid afforded by the best lights vouchsafed to us, in the search after Truth. Conscience is a blind guide, until assisted by discriminating teaching, and honest, persevering endeavors at self-enlightenment. For myself, my experience, in this respect, has afforded me no assistance so reliable and efficient as that to be gathered from the Life of Jesus Christ, as recorded by his various biographers, and collected in the New Testament. I commend its study, renewedly, to you, not in search of a substantiation of human doctrines, not to determine the accuracy of particular creeds, but to possess yourself of simple, intelligible, practicable directions for the wise regulation of your daily life, and those ceaseless efforts at self-advancement which should be the highest purpose of

Accustomed to the standard established by Him who said, "Be ye, therefore, perfect, even as I am perfect," we will not be deterred from the steadfast pursuit of right by the imperfect exhibitions, so frequently made, of its efficacy, in the lives of the professed followers of the wonderful Nazarine. Conscious of the difficulties, the temptations and the discomfitures that we ourselves encounter, we will learn, not only to discriminate between the imperfections of the disciple and the perfection of the Master, but to exercise that charity toward others, of which self-examination teaches us the need, in our own case. Thus, the Golden Rule, which so inclusively epitomizes the moral code of the Great Teacher, will come to be our guide in determining the path of practical duty, and the course of self-culture, most essential to the security of present happiness, and as a preparative for that eternal state of existence, of which this is but the embryo.

Thus, making God and conscience—which is the voice of God speaking within us—the arbiter between our better nature and the impulses excited by the grosser faculties, we shall be less tempted by outward influences to lower the abstract standard we originally establish, or to reconcile ourselves to an imperfect conformity to its requisitions. Far less, will we permit ourselves to indulge the delusion that we are not, each of us, personally obligated, by our moral responsibilities, to develop all the powers with which we are endowed, to their utmost capacity:—

"They build too low who build below the skies!"

The most perfect of human beings was also the most humble and self-sacrificing, so that they who endeavor to follow his example will not only be devoid of self-righteous assumption, but actively devoted to the good of their fellow-creatures, and, like Him, pityingly sensible of the wants and the woes of humanity.

That reverence for the spiritual nature of man, as a direct emanation from Deity, which all should cherish, is, also, to be regarded as a part of judicious self-culture. Cultivate an habitual recognition of your celestial attributes, and strive to elevate your whole being into congenial association with the divinity within you:—this do for the benefit of others,

With so exalted an aim as I have proposed for your adoption, you will be slow to tolerate peccadilloes, as of little moment, either in a metaphysical or ethical point of view. Dread such tolerance, as sapping the foundations of principle; learn to detect the insidious poison lurking in Burke's celebrated aphorism, and in the infidel philosophy that assumes the brightest semblances that genius can invent, the more readily to deceive. Establish fixed principles of benevolence, justice, truthfulness, religious belief, and adhere steadfastly to them, despite the allurements of the world, the temptings of ambition, or weariness of self-conflict.

The Pursuit of Happiness is but concentrated phraseology for the purposes and endeavors of every human being. May you early learn to distinguish between the false and the true, between pleasure and happiness, early know your duty to yourselves, your country, and your God!

I will but add to these crude, but heart-engendered, observations, a few lines, embodying my own sentiments, and in a form much more impressive than I can command:—

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I have somewhere met with a little bagatelle, somewhat like this:—

Apollo, the god of love, of music, and of eloquence, weary of the changeless brilliancy of Olympus, determined to descend to earth, and to secure maintenance and fame, in the guise of a mortal, by authorship. Accordingly, the incognito divinity established himself in an attic, after the usual fashion of the sons of genius, and commenced inditing a poem—a long epic poem, plying his pen with the patient industry inspired by necessity, the best stimulus of human effort. At length, the task of the god completed, he, with great difficulty, procured the means of offering it to the world in printed form. The Epic of Apollo, the god of Poetry, fell, pre-doomed, from the press. No commendatory review had been secured, no fashionable publisher endorsed its merits. Disgusted with the pursuit of the wealth and honors of earth, Apollo returned to Olympus, bequeathing to mortals, this advice:—"Would you secure earthly celebrity and riches, do not attempt intellectual and moral culture, but INVENT A PILL!"

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Instances of the successful pursuit of knowledge under difficulties frequently present themselves in our contemporaneous history, both in our own country and in foreign lands. Indeed, the history of the human mind goes far toward proving that, not the pampered scions of rank and luxury, but the hardy sons of poverty and toil, have been, most frequently, the benefactors of the race. Well has the poet said:—

The Learned Blacksmith, as he is popularly called, acquired thirty, or more, different languages, while daily working at his laborious trade. He was accustomed to study while taking his meals, and to have an open book placed upon the anvil, while he worked. A celebrated physiological writer, alluding to the habits of this persevering devotee of philology, says, that nothing but his uninterrupted practice of his Vulcan-tasks preserved his health under the vast amount of mental labor he imposed upon himself.

Another of our distinguished countrymen, now a prominent popular orator, is said to have accumulated food for future usefulness, while devoting the energies of the outer man to the employment of a wagoner, amid the grand scenic influences of the majestic Alleghanies. The early life of Franklin, of the "Mill-boy of the Slashes," of Webster, and of many others whose names have become watchwords among us, are, doubtless, familiar to you, as examples in this respect.

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Looking upon the busy active world around me,—as I sometimes like to do—from behind the screen of my newspaper, seated in the reading-room of a hotel, I became the auditor of the following conversation, between two young men, who were stationed near a window, watching the passing throng of a crowded thoroughfare.

"By George! there's Van K——," exclaimed one, with unusual animation.

"Which one,—where?" eagerly interrogated his companion.

"That's he, this side, with the Byronic nose, and short steps—he's great! What a fellow he is for making money, though!"

"Does it by his talents, don't he?—nobody like him, in the Bar of this State, for genius,—that's a fact—carries everything through by the force of genius!"

"Dev'lish clever, no doubt," assented the other, "but he used to study, I tell you, like a hero, when he was younger."

"Never heard that of him," answered the other youth, "how the deuce could he? He has always been a man about town—real fashionable fellow—practised always, since he was admitted, and everybody knows no one dines out, and goes to parties with more of a rush than Van K——, and he always has."

"That may all be, but my mother, who has known him well for years, was telling me, the other day, that those who were most charmed with his wit, and belle-lettre scholarship, when he first came upon the tapis, little knew the pains he took to accomplish himself. 'He exhibited the result, not the machinery,' she said, but he did study, and study hard, when other young fellows were asleep, or raising h——!"

"As for that," interrupted the other, "he always did his full share of all the deviltry going, or I am shrewdly mistaken!"

"Nobody surpasses him at that, any more than at his regular trade," laughed his companion—"oh, but he's rich! Jim Williams was telling me (Jim studies with S—— and Van K——) how he put down old S—— the other day. It seems S—— had been laid on the shelf with a tooth-ache—dev'lish bad—face all swelled up—old fellow real sick, and no mistake. Well, one morning, after he'd been gone several days, he managed to pull up, and make his appearance at the office. It was early—no one there but Van K—— and the boys—Jim and the rest of the fellows—tearing away at the books and papers. So old S—— dropped down in an arm-chair by the stove, and began a hifalutin description of his sorrows and sufferings while he had been sick—quite in the 'pile on the agony' style! Well, just as the old boy got fairly warmed up, and was going it smoothly, Van K—— bawled out:—'Y-a-s! Mr.S——! will you have time, this morning, to look over these papers, in the case of Smith against Brown?' Jim said he never saw an old rip so cut down in all his life, and, as soon as he went out, there was a general bust up, at his expense!"

"How confounded heartless!" exclaimed the elder youth, rising—"by Heaven, I hope a man needn't set aside the common sympathies and decencies of humanity, to secure success in his profession, or in society!" and as he passed me, I caught the flush of manly indignation that mantled his beardless cheek, and the lightning-flash of youthful genius that enkindled his large blue eyes.

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"What are you doing there, sir?" inquired one of the early Presidents of our Republic, of his nephew, who was standing before an open writing-desk, in his private apartment.

"Only getting some paper and pencils, sir," replied the young man.

"That stationery, sir, belongs to the Federal Government!" returned the American patriot, impressively, and sternly, and resumed his previous occupation.

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Daniel Webster, in conversation with a familiar friend, said:

"From the time that, at my mother's feet, or on my father's knees, I first learned to lisp verses from the Sacred Writings, they have been my daily study, and vigilant contemplation. If there be anything in my style or thoughts worthy to be commended, the credit is due to my kind parents, in instilling into my early mind a love for the Scriptures."

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"How long will it take you," inquired Napoleon, of the young brother-in-law of Junot, "to acquaint yourself with the Coptic language, and be prepared to go to Egypt on a secret service?"

"Three months, sire," replied the energetic Frenchman, with scarcely a perceptible pause for consideration.

"Bien!" returned the great Captain, "begin at once." And he moved on in his briefly-interrupted walk, through the salon of the beautiful mother of the youth, saying to the Turkish Ambassador, who accompanied his stroll:—"There is such a son as one might expect from such a mother!"

Three months from that night there left the private cabinet of Napoleon, a stripling, of slight form and yet unsunned brow, charged by him who knew men by intuition, with a task of fearful risk and responsibility; and, on the morrow, he was embarked on the blue waters of the Mediterranean, speeding toward a land where, from the heights of the Pyramids, a thousand years would behold his deeds!

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"I swear, I'll cut that woman! I'll never call there again, that I am determined!" cried Paul Duncan, impetuously.

"But why, brother? Don't judge too hastily," replied his sister, gently. "The whole family have always been so kind to us; for my part, I think one seldom meets persons of more polished manners, and"——

"Polished manners!" interrupted the irritable man, rudely, "what do you call polished manners? I gave up R—— himself, just because he is so devilish un-polished, long ago. He passed me, once or twice, in Wall-street, with his head down, and didn't even bow! after that I let him run!"

"He is so engrossed in his philanthropic schemes that, I suppose, he really did not see you," interposed his sister, mildly. "But the ladies are not responsible for his peccadilloes."

"No, they cannot answer for their own, to me," retorted the other, with bitterness. "When I went in, last evening, she and her mother were both in the room. The old lady rose, civilly enough, but Mrs.R—— kept her seat, partly behind a table, even when I went to her and shook hands."

"Dear brother," expostulated his companion, "don't you know that Mrs.R—— is not well? She has not been out in months."

"What the devil, then, does she make her appearance for, if she can't observe the common proprieties of life?"

"I doubt whether you would have seen her, had she not been in the room when you entered. Did she remain during the whole time of your call?"

"Certainly; but the old woman slipped out, when some bustle appeared to be going on in the hall, and never made her appearance again, at all, only sending in a servant, just as I was going away, to say that she 'hoped to be excused, as her father had just arrived.'"

"He is very aged, and she always attends upon him herself, when he is there, even to combing his hair," explained the gentler spirit. "I remember admiring her devotion to the old man, who is very peculiar, and somewhat disagreeable to persons generally, when I was staying there a day or two."

"Well, well; what has that to do with her treatment of me? Couldn't she trust him with the rest of the family for a few minutes? There is a tribe of women always on hand there, besides a retinue of servants."

"If you will permit me to say so, without offense, Charley," returned the lady, with sudden determination of manner, "I fear you did not display your usual tact on the occasion, and that you, perhaps, took offense at circumstances resulting from the embarrassment of our friends, rather than from any intention to be impolite to you. Ladies are not always equally well, equally self-possessed, equally in company-mood, or company-dress. I don't know what might not befall any of us, were we not judged of, by our friends rather by our general manner to them, than by any little peculiarities, of which we may be ourselves wholly unconscious at the time."

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If you are as much impressed as I was, upon first perusing them, with the following sentences from Sir Humphrey Davy's pen, you will require no apology from me, for transcribing them here.

"I envy no quality of mind or intellect in others—not of genius, power, wit, or fancy; but, if I could choose what would be most delightful, and, I believe, most useful, to me, I should prefer a firm religious belief, to every other blessing, for it makes life a discipline of goodness, creates new hope, when earthly hopes vanish, and throws over the decay, the destruction, of existence, the most gorgeous of all light; awakens life, even in death, and, from decay, calls up beauty and divinity; makes an instrument of torture and shame the ladder of ascent to Paradise; and, far above all combination of earthly hopes, calls up the most delightful visions—palms and amaranths, the gardens of the blessed, the security of everlasting joys, where the sensualist and the skeptic view only gloom, decay, and annihilation."

With these sublime words, my dear nephews, I bid you, affectionately,

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