Vitious Habits.

Bad habits are with the utmost difficulty eradicated; perhaps, indeed, when they have taken deep root they become altogether unconquerable: because the continual indulgence of any leading propensity has a direct tendency to weaken the powers of volition, or to enervate the governing powers of the mind. Doctor Johnson says, that those who have contracted bad habits must get rid of them as well as they can; but he seems, at the same time, to consider it as a thing extremely improbable, that the conquest should ever be completely effected. Johnson, no doubt, spoke from experience, and if he, whose reasoning powers were so strong and who was so remarkable for forming decided opinions on every subject, found it almost impossible to relinguish practices which had become habitual, what must be the fate of inferior minds? must they resign themselves to despair, and give full way to pernicious in dulgences? It is by no means our intention to inculcate the opinion, that reformation is impracticable: few cases of moral disease are so desperate as not to admit of a remedy: we would only caution those, who have never experienced the temptation, not to be too hasty in pronouncing the sentence of condemnation upon one who has fallen into a course of habitual error. Minds of the first order are perhaps the most prone to run into extremes: and it is most true, that the unrestrained indulgence even of virtuous inclinations, in this civilized world, has a direct tendency to lead the amiable delinquent into the paths of error and of vice. Cold phlegmatic beings--who never felt the inspirations of genius, the turbulence of passion, or the enthusiasm of virtue who are unassailable by every motive that might lead them astray-who have pursued the path of prudent expediency because they were destitute of every species of vivid emotions—such beings are apt to condemn, with envious malignity, the aberrations of superior minds; but they ought to reflect that they are incapacitated by nature for being competent judges in these affairs. A man of genius, says some writer, should have the privilege of being tried by his peers. So a man, whose benevolence of character, whose warm and social feelings, and whose amiable eccentricities, have been the causes of his falling into vicious courses, when judgment is to be passed on his conduct, is entitled to a jury equally as benevolent, humane and virtuous as himself.

ferent direction. When this is the case, nothing is so advisable as ACTIVE EMPLOYMENT = this is the shield which will defend us from the arrows of temptation; it presents some object which appears worthy of our exertions and insensibly restores a portion of that energy of soul, which appeared to be irretrievably lost. A man who has no employment may find it utterly impossible to divest himself of vicious habits; but surely he may resolutely determine to engage in active pursuits; and then he will find it more easy to curb those morbid inclinations, which have been nurtured by inaction of body and vacancy of mind. The great excellence of active employment consists in this: it diverts our attention from the allurements of evil; and turns us aside from a conflict in which we are sure to be vanquished.

Let us give an example: An immoderate indulgence in the use of inebriating liquors is productive of consequences the most deplorable and distressing: men of the most shining abilities and virtuous dispositions fall, every day, sorrowful victims to the seductive power ofthis deleterious vice: yet it is observable that indolence always precedes and accompanies this pernicious indulgence. A man may resolve a thousand times to refrain from the intoxicating draught; but all in vain as long as he continues in a state of inaction. But should he begin to exercise the faculties of his mind or labor with his hands, this bodily or mental exertion will give energy to his resolution; and he will stand a chance to succeed in his projects of reformation.

To conclude: there are a multitude of destructive habits; but the habit of idleness is the most pernicious of any. It relaxes the body and the mind; it engenders and fosters every species of vice, and makes existence a burthen too heavy to be borne. Happy is the man, who never experienced that lassitude, that listlessness, that torpidity, that incapability of every species of mental exertion which we now feel! We must lay aside our pen, and take our tobacco tube to "puff away care." Five minutes ago, we resolved never to smoke any more. So much for habits.

Complaint.

When we find any thing that appears to stand alone in nature, without bearing any relation to any other thing in existence, we are much more surprised than we are by tracing those wonderful aptitudes and relations that When, by a long course of self-indulgence, exist among the multitude of objects which we we have lost that strength of mind which is denominate the universe. Judicious philosonecessary to enable us to persevere in any par- phers have drawn their most powerful arguticular line of self-denial, the only remedy that ments for the existence of a great intelligent remains is to dislodge one evil by the introduc. first cause from this consideration. The sun tion of another; and as we are generally under sends not in vain his rays through the immen. the influence of some leading propensity every sity of space: they encounter other substances, change that is effected in our habits must be and are reflected from them, and convey, productive of advantage. The mind becomes through the medium of the eye, to the sentient unsettled; it is diverted from its vicious career; principle of the human mind, the images of and there opens a possibility of giving it a dif. the objects they have visited. Thus, howeve

remote may be the situation of things, they are bound together by certain relations, which show the care and power of some mighty intelligence.

that man, in the morning of time, being more virtuous than the man now existing, had the same inclination to listen to the complaints of others as to give utterance to his own; but that, in progress of time, when personal interests became paramount to every moral dispo sition, he ceased to be affected by the misfortunes of others, although, to promote his private purposes, he still continued to claim their attention to his own tragical details? How this may be, we cannot tell but we are satis fied that the disposition of the human mind, under affliction, to bewail its fate, and to en. deavor to awaken sympathy is still found to exist, although it certainly answers not the purpose for which it appears to have been originally designed. Men still continue to relate their sorrows, wants, and desires, to every one that has complaisance enough to pretend to listen to their mournful effusions; but they ought to know that this is not the way to find consolation in their sorrows, or to effect any other purpose they may have in view. The only way to arrive at the comple. tion of their desires is to conceal carefully the existence of their wants: men, with true servility, will fly to gratify all the desires of those who, they suppose, stand in no need of their assistance.

The eye bears a relation to visible objects; our ears have formed a connection with things which are not perceptible by the eye; our feeling enables us to understand those proper. ties of bodies which are neither discoverable by the eye nor the ear; and by the smell, we are assured of the existence, and made acquainted with the nature of those minute parts of bodies that fly off in every direction. Indeed the senses of man are so exactly calculated to give information concerning the objects by which he is surrounded, that it is fully evident that nature had produced and furnished the place of his residence, before she gave existence to man and the other animated inhabitants of the universe. Also the faculties which she has given to every different species of animals are exactly such as are rendered necessary by the mode, or place, of their existence: some inhabit the waters; some dwell on the earth; while others wing their way through the regions of the air: the construction of their bodies and their powers of perception being universally suited to the necessities of their several situations. And we have been so long accustomed to the observation of these existing relations not only between animals and substances inanimate, but also between one animal and another, and between one lifeless substance and another equally lifeless with itself, that we are filled with astonishment when we think we discover any departure from these established regulations in the operations of nature. Should we see a shark grazing in the fields,or the tiger chasing the fish through the bosom of the deep; should we find a carnivorous animal with the teeth and feet of an ox, or a graminivorous beast with the claws and teeth of a panther; should a granivorous bird have the talons and beak of an eagle, or a bird of prey have the broad bill and webbed feet of a goose or a mallard; how great would be our amazement? If there were no sounds, what would be the use of the ear? or, to speak more philosophically, if the collision or movement of bodies occasioned no agitation in the air, or any other fluid, is it reasonable to sup. pose that nature would have given us on appa. ratus for hearing? If there were no odors, "These are the reasonings of a mind of would she have placed the nose, that mighty ease," said Elmore; "did I occupy a conspipromontory, in the most conspicuous part of cuous station, I could suffer with dignity; but the countenance? Yet, we think we have when 1 patiently submit to grievous and almost discovered something as wonderful as a nose intolerable evils, who will look on and applaud without odors, an ear without sounds, an eye my persevering fortitude? Socrates might without light, or any of the rest of those won- suffer persecution, imprisonment, death: he derful things, we have mentioned. We have was sure of an immortal reward. A monuobserved in man a propensity to complain, but ment to his name will be found in the breast no disposition to listen to complaints. Why of every good man till time shall be no more. did nature, when she gave him that ardent But what hope can support an obscure indidesire of awakening sympathy, render the vidual under the pressure of calamities?" And means he employs, for that purpose, totally what will he gain, we replied, by useless renugatory by denying him a disposition to listen pinings? If he have a high opinion of his to complaints of distress? Are we to suppose own intellectual importance, why should he not

This proneness to complain, however natural, is only excusable in a youth or in a fool: a man of good sense, who has completed his sixth lustram, yet still is inclined to whine when any little misfortune assails him, deserves the contempt he will experience. The character of Cicero is lessened by the complaints he suffered to escape him: and who can read the sad things that were written by the banished Ovid, without despising the man whose misfortunes debased, whereas they should have exalted his mind. Men, who have experienced evils which are really of a trivial nature, should be in haste to forget them. These things may appear important to themselves; but why should they suppose them sufficiently interesting to engage the attention of others? But if the misfortunes be irremediable, the only thing that then remains is to suffer with dignity.

Such were the observations we once made to Elmore, when he seemed disposed to com. plain of the severity of his lot.

This morning I was the happiest of mortals; and promised myself a whole day of felicity. I was all life and hilarity; nor did I feel one gloomy presentiment of approaching evil. But now, my spirits have fled, and my joys have vanished forever!

endeavor to preserve his own esteem? That is I have done greater things than these! Yet a matter of no small consequence. He cannot I much fear" continued he, assuming a soreven esteem himself so highly, after having rowful countenance, "that I shall not be deigiven way to unmanly complaints, as he would fied neither before nor after my death. I shall have done had he supported his misfortunes never become a new star in the tail of Aries; with stoical coolness and resolution. If he nor shall Cancer draw in his claws for me. have any regard for the sanctity of his feelings, No new planet will be christened Tom Rattle; why should he be solicitous to expose his sor- nor shall I drink nectar, with a purple mouth, rows to vulgar minds who are alike incapable among the gods above! of justly appreciating his confidence, and of judging of the acuteness of his sensations? But if he must complain, verily he shall have his reward:" "Poor Elmore!" the easy fat foolish world will observe, "Poor Elmore! he had some good qualities, but" for the contemptuous "but" is sure to succeed every ex: pression of "Dainn the world!" cried Elmore, in a transport of fury, "I want not its pity nor condolence. If I complain, it is owing to the weakness of human nature, and not with the hopes of exciting commiseration. The wretch who dies alone in a dungeon, or in the wilderness a thousand miles from the haunts of men, where there is no eye to pity nor hand to succor, may utter groans of an. guish, but he cannot look for pity from the trees of the forest, or from beasts of prey." Elmore departed: we had touched his pride;. but he was not cured of his error.

:

Farewell, a long farewell, to all my laughter!
Such was the fate of Tom; firs he put forth
The tender leaves of hope; and soon he blos-

som'd

And bore his smiles and graces thick about him:
But, ah! there came a frost, a killing frost,
And when he thought, good easy soul, full
surely,

And then he fell...
His pleasures were eternal,-nipped his root,

But my soul shudders at the depth of my mis-
fortunes! The security of my mind on the
very brink of destruction is truly astonishing:
no flitting bird, no gloomy cloud, no muttering
thunders excited any apprehension of the ca-
lamity that was about to overwhelm me! I
walked, I sang; in the gaiety of my heart, I
danced through the streets; when, whom
should I meet but-my aunt Sarah Poorly!-
Had I encountered a giant or a lion-had I
met the dog of hell, or the triform Chimera,
my valor might have been serviceable; but
here-what was to be done?

-As one who sees a serpent in his way,
Glistening and basking in the summer's ray,
Disordered stops, to shun the danger near,-,
Then walks with faintness on, and looks with
fear-

So did poor Tom!

Elmore was scarcely gone before we received a visit from Tom Rattle. Tom may truly be called an odd kind of an animal; for we are in. clined to believe that nature never formed but one of the kind. He came in singing; and having danced several times round us and put every thing out of order, he suddenly stopped, and staring directly our face, exclaimed, "Well: here I am, thank God, safe and sound, after all my hairbreadth 'scapes and marvellous adventures! Do you remember the labors of Hercules? I have forget them all but one -no matter-He went down to hell, (whether by the way of Avernus or not, I cannot tell) for the the three-headed dog Cerberus. The snarling cur saw him approach, raised his three heads, and barked tremendously all hell resounded with his yelping. Hercules raised his club. The dog retreated, and took refuge under the iron throne of Pluto. Hercules approached-Cerberus snarled-Pluto raised his rusty bident. Let the dog alune, said Pluto You be damned, said Hercules; and reaching out his hand, he dragged the howling monster Tom had proceeded thus far before we gave forth, and bore him in triumph to the earth. him any interruption; but as we saw no prosWas that heroic? I have done something pect of his bringing his story to a conclusion, greater than that! Samson slew a thousand we laid aside our papers, and desired him to men; I have done something greater than sit down and let us hear the "story of his that. It was not I that shot Python, slew the woes," adding, that we would endeavor to Hydia, or killed the boar of Calydonia; but I sympathize with him under his afflictions. have done great things than these! It was "Alas!" said Tom, "I am afraid you can af not I that slew the Minotaur, cut off Medusa's ford me but little consolation; but I shall at head, or cleaned the stables of Augeas; but I least enjoy the mournful pleasure of pouring have done greater things than these! It was my sorrows into the bosom of a friend. not I that robbed the Hesperian gardens, It is pleasant to look back on troubles that brought away the golden fleece, or heaped Pe are past; but we contemplate the difficulties, dion on Olympus,and Ossa on Pelion; no but with which we are surrounded, with the ut

But all in vain: at once my highblown pride
Broke under me; and all my pleasures left me,
Sullen and sad and angry, to the mercy
Of a long tongue, that must forever haunt me.
Vain idle praters of this world, I hate ye,
With everlasting hatred! O how wretched
Is that poor man, who sits and gapes, and listens
To neverending stories!"

We had now permitted Tom to go on with his story for a considerable time; and we began to think that we were condemned to listen as long to his complaints, as he was compelled to attend to his aunt's; we therefore thought proper to make an attempt to partake of the discourse. We made several wise observations concerning the intermixture of good and evil in this transitory world; mentioned many maxims of the ancient philosophers and poets, which inculcate the necessity of submitting to fate; dwelt, for a considerable time, on some observations of Seneca, which we thought might be useful to a man in Rattle's situation; strongly recommended that philosophical panacea, patience, as an unfailing remedy for every disease; and concluded by desiring to be informed of the particulars of his late rencounter with his aunt.

most impatience. I have already performed a faint hope (shall I acknowledge it?) a faint wonders, as I told you; but I am yet involved hope, that death will speedily remove her from in the greatest mifortunes: hence, these tears. this troublesome world to those delights that I sat three hours, three long hours, "like Pa- await her beyond the grave, makes me listen tience on a monument smiling at grief," and with something like pleasure to her dolorous listened to the complaints of aunt Sarah Poorly. effusions." I knew that when evils are unavoidable, there nothing remains for a philosopher, like me, but patient endurance; I therefore summoned my fortitude, heroism, and stoicism, to my assistance, and determined to suffer, without a murmur, all the rigors of my destiny. I have escaped for o once, as you see; but new trials await me. My aunt Sarah Poorly is rich, and she is old. She has been so kind as to fl tter me with the hopes of succeeding to her estate, when she shall leave the vanities of this transitory world to partake of the joys of the next. But, though she speaks with rapture of the pleasures that await her when time shall be no more, still she seems inclined to linger in this 'vale of tears' as long as she possibly can. And as long as she favors the world with her presence, she must talk; and she must have an auditor. I have neglected her for some time past, and was really apprehensive that I had incurred her displeasure; but now she has laid her commands on me to see her often What shall I do? If I offend her, I know the consequence; and, as I am a poor devil, her fortune would be very convenient If I humor her propensity for talking, alas, I shall never live to enjoy the good things she has promised

me!

A dire dilemma! either way I'm sped:
A foe, she'll starve---a friend, she'll talk me dead!

My brother Sam was her first favorite. He listened to her complaints for eighteen months; but he could stand it no longer. He ran away, and went to sea. After he had enjoyed the pleasures of navigation for some time, he concluded to pay his court again to my aunt; but in vain: she was seriously offended, and would never be reconciled to him any more.

Your humble servant has, of late, found grace in her sight: and if I attend to her complaints, she is kind and generous beyond mea. sure; but if I show the least impatience, or even yawn, while she expatiates on her sorrows, I am sure to awaken her displeasure.

Tom leaned back in his chair, and stretching out his arm, exclaimed in a theatrical tone,

My friend, what you command me to relate Renews the sad remembrance of my fate: My pleasures from their old foundations rent, And every wo that Rattle underwent. No sooner had my aunt espied me, than she exclaimed, "My dear cousin, I'm rejoiced to see you. I was just thinking of you. How can you absent yourself so long, when you know I delight in your company? I have been up to see poor Caty Cackle-her husband sick-five or six poor half starved childrennobody to do any thing-a distressed family, cousin. I did what I could; but there is so much distress in the world-Bless me! don't let us stand here. No: not that way-let us go by Third street. What a full market! Well, how they do push and elbow each other!

every one for himself. Did you observe that man, who just now passed us? I think I should know him. I begin to feel fatigued. We shall soon be home. Ah that wheelbarrow!

take care of the wheelbarrow, cousin!there's no walking for wheelbarrows! That's Would she permit me to join in the conver- Mr. Zany. Here before us. Well: I have sation, I think that, in time, custom would seen his father wheel oysters-a strange world render my situation tolerable; (for you know, this! such ups and downs! Thank God, no Piomingo, that I am a little addicted to talking relation of mine Home at last-quite exmyself;) but the only thing she will permit hausted-no place like home. Betsey, has is the occasional interjection of groans, assents, Dr. Sanative been here? Cousin, take a chair and expressions of surprise. Thus you see I sit nigh the fire-the morning is cool. Cold am subjected to a double misfortune: I am weather is my aversion. How strangely I'm denied the gratification of talking myself, and altered: a few years ago, no cold could affect compelled to listen to the dull uninteresting me; but now, if I stir out, I'm sure to catch complaints of a whining old woman. Some cold. All the clothing don't seem to keep me times, indeed, when she talks of an obstinate warm; but my feet get damp; and then I'm cough, or of an acute pain in the side, I feel sure of a fresh attack on my breast-hemmyself roused by a momentary attention to the hem. I hope this walk will do me no injury; subject of her discourse. On such occasions, but I'm strangely altered of late-I begin to

feel the infirmities of old age. A walk used always to revive me; but now-I can't tell how-I think it's rather a disadvantage. Would you believe it, cousin? the other day I was taken with a kind of dizzyness-a singing in my ears a loss of sight-and if I had not leaned on something (I forget what it was) I should have fallen. Well: I hope these warnings will not be lost on me. Death is a friend to the afflicted; and I have had, God knows, my share of affliction. I shall attend the summons with_joy—I hope I'm prepared for the change. The doctor says my giddiness was owing to an empty stomach. Indeed I had eaten nothing that morning. I have a very poor appetite-sometimes I don't eat an ounce in twenty four hours. Cousin, I can't stand it long. Such a complication of diseases: rheumatism-pain in my side-hacking cough -flatulencies-dizziness-general debility and then old age. I'm now in my sixty-ninth year-no, I shall be sixty-eight next christmas. How time slips away! it seems but yesterday that I was a child-what a romp I was!-my poor old mother used to call me a perfect hoyden. What a change has taken place in a few years! I think, somehow or other, I'm very unfortunate. There's old John Stout--he's almost eighty years of age; and walks without a cane. But we must submit to our lot-ay, the Lord teaches us submission! Dr. Sanative says that my symptoms are not dangerous. He tells me they are owing to indigestion; and that the crudities—but I cannot remember now what he said they were owing to: however he made it perfectly plain at the time. He says that nourishing diet and gentle exer. cise will restore my health-the Lord's will be done! You can't think, cousin, how my sight has failed of late! In a few years, at this rate, I shall be quite blind. Lord bless me! it would be a great trial to lose my sight; but the doctor" Here, as the gods would have it, there was a cry of fire in the street; and I started up and made my escape. She called after me, however, and said that she must see me every other day at the least. You are not to suppose, Piomingo, that I have related the one hundredth part of her discourse. No: I have only mentioned some of her observations: She talked three full hours-what an eternity! And during the whole course of the harangue, it is expected that I should sit perfectly still, keeping my eyes fixed continually on the speaker, without taking any other part in the conversation than barely giving the requisite assents and negations; and judiciously interposing such expressions of admiration as the following: so! indeed! is it possible? strange! surprising amazing! good God! who would have thought it? And these interjectory exclamations are not to be thrown in at random. No: : very far from it: they are to be suited to the changes of the discourse, and the emotions of the speaker. Should I at any time give a nod of assent instead of a sigh of regret, the

mistake would be fatal. What shall I do, Piomingo? shall I live or die? shall I have recourse to the bowl or dagger? or shall I precipitate myself into the river? You would not surely have me, in the heyday of youth, to sit,' with serious sadness,' and listen to the everlasting croakings of this sorrow-bringing raven!"

Piomingo. Levius fit patientia, quicquid corrigere est nefas.

Tom Rattle. Curse your heathen lingo! let us have plain English; but I believe you re commend patience. O yes, it is very easy to give advice, and talk about patience! but if you were in my place I fancy

Piomingo. Dear Tom, I give you example, as well as precept.

Tom Rattle. How so?

Piomingo. Have I not listened to your doleful complaints, as long as you did to your aunt's?

Tom Rattle. Good by.
Piomingo, Good by, Tom.

THE SAVAGE-NO. X.
Slavery.

Slavery, as established in the West Indies and the southern parts of the Union, is only a kind of premature, or forced, civilization. Men who had a taste for the luxurious enjoyments of the old world were dissatisfied with the state of society in which they were placed: there was so much savage equality among the people, that they were unable to procure laborers. What was to be done? Must every man work for himself? "Horrible idea!" said an ora. tor, on the foregoing question being asked in one of their legislative assemblies, "Horrible idea! Shall we who came from a civilized country, where the good work of refinement had progressed so far that a man might be bought for four pence a day, be under the ne cessity of maintaining ourselves by our own individual exertions? Shall we who have tasted the sweets of power, have no one to whom we may give directions, and utter the mandates of authority? We cannot make servants of each other; for, our settlement in this barbarous country has brought us to a state of equality. The land is fertile beyond conception, and repays, with abundant harvests, the careless labors of the most indolent cultivator. Where men find it so easy to supply all their necessities, there is nothing will induce them to sweat in our fields, or become assiduous attendants in our houses. Could we deny them the privilege of cultivating the earth, and reduce them to a state of starvation, then, indeed, we might find them suitable instruments for the gratification of our refined propensities, and for the promotion of our sublimated enjoyments; but, under existing cir. cumstances, this is wholly impracticable. Could we content ourselves with meat, drink, and clothing, and be satisfied to dwell in hovels