which, in a species of writing apparently so easy, success is in fact so difficult; and we have descanted on its tendency to improve the taste of the public, and to advance the interests of virtue. The chief distinction of the present compositions, from others which have preceded them, is the peculiar cast of the author's religious sentiments, on which he much dilates in the course of his lucubrations.

Whether we consider individual or social man, we hold religion to be invaluable; and its influence ought to appear in all the actions of a rational being: but we are not of opinion that the subject itself should be blended with every literary exertion, any more than it should be introduced on every occasion of human intercourse. It is too sublime a contemplation, it puts the mind too much on the stretch, and it exercises the feelings too powerfully, to allow of its incessantly occupying our thoughts and meditations. Care should be taken early to imbue the tender mind with the truths of religion: on solemn occasions, the lively exercise of it ought to be observed; and its influence over the temper and conduct should be rendered as complete as possible. Its cause is not in reality served, nor do its principles become more efficacious, by constantly talking of it, and by blending it with all our ordinary concerns; though such is the practice of religionists, and is the object for which this writer contends. That proportion of the essays in which he fairly pursues his subject, and which is considerable, will be found well to deserve the attention of the reader, and to be at once interesting and instructive.

In the first essay, we meet with numerous original and important observations. Mr. Foster recommends it to persons to draw a sketch of their past lives for the purpose of ascertaining their character, by recalling to their recollection the causes. and circumstances which entered into its formation, and which determined its bias and its hue. He sensibly remarks that

If we had practised habitual self-observation, we could not have failed to make important discoveries. There have been thousands of feelings, each of which, if strongly seized upon, and made the subject of reflection, would have shewn us what our character was, and what it was likely to become. There have been numerous incidents, which operated on us as tests, and so fully brought out the whole quality of the mind, that another person, who should have been discriminatively observing us, would instantly have formed a decided estimate. But unfortunately the mind is generally too much occupied by the feeling or the incident itself, to have the slightest care or consciousness that any thing could be learnt, or is disclosed. In very early youth it is almost inevitable for it to be thus lost to itself even amidst its own feelings, and the external objects of attention; but it seems a contemptible thing, and it certainly is a criminal RLY. Nov. 1806.

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and dangerous thing, for a man in mature life to allow himself this thoughtless escape from self examination.'

He farther tells us;

As to my own mind, I perceive that it is becoming uncertain of the exact nature of many feelings of considerable interest, even of later years; of course, the remembrance of what was felt in early life is exceedingly faint. I have just been observing several children of eight or ten years old, in all the active vivacity which enjoys the plenitude of the moment without "looking before or after;" and while observing, I attempted, but without success, to recollect what I was at that age. I can indeed remember, the principal events of the period, and the actions and projects to which my feelings impelled me; but the feelings themselves, in their own pure juvenility, cannot be revived, so as to be described and placed in comparison with those of maturity. What is become of all those vernal fancies which had so much power to touch the heart? What a number of sentiments have lived and revelled in the soul that are now irrevocably gone. They died, like the singing birds of that time, which now sing no more.

The life that we then had, now seems almost as if it could not have been our own. When we go back to it in thought, and ea deavour to recall the interests which animated it, they will not come. We are like a man returning, after the absence of many years, to visit the embowered cottage where he passed the morning of his life, and finding only a relic of its ruins.

But many of the propensities which still continue, probably originated then; and our not being able to explore them up to those remote sources renders a complete investigation of our moral and intellectual characters for ever impossible. How little, in those years, we were aware, when we met with the incident, or heard the con. versation, or saw the spectacle, or felt the emotion, which were the first causes of some of the chief permanent tendencies of future life, how much we might, long afterward, wish to ascertain the origin of those tendencies, and how much in vain. But if we cannot absolutely reach their origin, it will however be interesting to trace them back through all the circumstances which have increased their strength.'

Treating this self history as a mode of bringing us better acquainted with the state of our minds, we think it is with great propriety that the author, at the close of the essay, introduces the subject of religion; when we meet with this striking passage:

It is a cause for wonder and sorrow, to see millions of rational creatures growing into their permanent habits, under the conforming efficacy of every thing which they ought to resist, and receiving no part of those habits from impressions of the Supreme Object. They are content that a narrow scene of a diminutive world, with its atoms and evils, should usurp, and deprave and finish their education for immortality, while the Infinite Spirit is here, whose transforming companionship

companionship would exalt them into his sons, and, in defiance of a thousand malignant forces attempting to stamp on them an opposite image, lead them into eternity in his likeness. Oh, why is it so possible that this greatest inhabitant of every place where men are living, should be the last whose society they seek, or of whose being constantly near them they feel the importance? Why is it possible to be surrounded with the intelligent Reality which exists wherever we are, with attributes that are infinite, and not feel respecting all other things which may be attempting to press on our minds and affect their character, as if they retained with difficulty their shadows of existence, and were continually on the point of vanishing into nothing? Why is this stupendous Intelligence so retired and silent, while present, over all the scenes of the earth, and in all the paths and abodes of men? Why does he keep his glory invisible behind the shades and visions of the material world? Why does not this latent glory sometimes beam forth with such a manifestation as could never be forgotten, nor ever be remembered without an emotion of religious fear? And why, in contempt of all that he has displayed to excite either fear or love, is it still possible for a rational creature so to live, that it must finally come to an interview with him in a character completed by the full assemblage of those acquisitions which have separately been disapproved by him through every stage of the accumulation? Why is it possible for feeble creatures to maintain their little dependent beings, fortified and invincible in sin, amidst the presence of divine purity? Why does not the thought of such a Being strike through the mind with such intense antipathy to evil, as to blast with death every active principle that is beginning to pervert it, and render gradual additions of depravity, growing into the solidity of habit, as impossible as for perishable materials to be raised into structures amidst the fires of the last day? How is it possible to forget the solicitude which should accompany the consciousness that such a Being is continually darting upon us the beams of observant thought, (if we may apply such a term to omniscience,) that we are exposed to the piercing inspection, compared to which the concentrated attention of all the beings in the universe besides, would be but as the powerless gaze of an infant? Why is faith, that faculty of spiritual apprehension, so absent, or so incomparably more slow and reluctant to receive a just perception of the grandest of its objects, than the senses are adapted to receive the impressions of theirs? While there is a Spirit pervading the universe with an infinite energy of being, why have the few particles of dust which enclose our spirits the power to intercept all sensible communication with it, and to place them as in a vacuity where the sacred Essence had been precluded or extinguished?

The aim and design of this essay may be collected from the following extract:

I am supposing a man to retrace himself through his past life, in order to acquire a complete knowledge of himself, and to record the investigation for his own instruction. Through such a retrospect, the exterior life will hold the second place in attention, as being

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the imperfect offspring of that internal state, which it is the primary and more difficult object to review. He will endeavour to trace himself outward, from his mind into his actions. No doubt indeed he will sometimes also trace himself inward, from his actions to his principles, and, in taking a comprehensive view of those actions, he will feel himself in possession of an important, though defective explication of his interior character. Still it is that interior character, whether displayed in actions or not, which forms the leading object of inquiry. The chief circumstances of his practical life must however be mentioned, both because they are the indications of the state of his mind, and because they mark the points, and distinguish the stages of his progress.'

In the second essay, Mr. Foster's insight into character appears to great advantage; indeed, the whole is a very able and instructive performance, well meriting repeated and attentive perusal, and it is little if at all infected by the peculiar religious notions of the author. We shall submit to our readers a few passages, as specimens of the style and manner which characterize it:

Revert once more in your thoughts to the persons most remarkably distinguished by this decision You will perceive, that instead of allowing themselves to sit down delighted after the labour of successful thinking, as if they had performed some great thing, they regard this labour but as a circumstance of preparation, and the conclusions resulting from it as of no more value, till applied to the greater labour which is to follow, than the entombed lamps of the Rosicrucians. They are not disposed to be content in a region of mere ideas, while they ought to be advancing into the scene of realities; they retire to that region sometimes, as ambitious adventurers anciently went to Delphi, to consult, but not to reside. You will therefore find them almost uniformly in determined pursuit of some, object, on which they fix a keen and steady look, and which they never lose sight of while they follow it through the confused multitude of other things.

The manner of a person actuated by such a spirit, seems to say, Do you think that I would not disdain to adopt a purpose which I would not devote my utmost force to effect; or that having thus devoted my exertions, I will intermit or withdraw them; through indolence, debility, or caprice; or that I will surrender my object to any interference except the uncontrollable dispensations of Providence? No, I am linked to my determination with iron bands; my purpose is become my fate, and I must accomplish it, unless arrested by calamity or death.

This display of systematic energy seems to indicate a constitution of mind in which the passions are exactly commensurate with the intellectual part, and at the same time hold an inseparable correspondence with it, like the faithful sympathy of the tides with the phases of the moon. There is such an equality and connexion,

that

that subjects of the decisions of judgment become proportionally and of course the objects of passion. When the judgment decides with a very strong preference, that same strength of preference, actuating also the passions, devotes them with energy to the object, so long as it is thus approved. If therefore this strong preference of the judg ment continues, the passions will be fixed in a state of habitual energy, and this will produce such a conduct as I have described. When therefore a firm self confiding judgment fails to make a decisive character, it is evident that cither there is in that mind a deficient measure of passion, which makes an indolent or irresolute man; or that the pasions perversely sometimes coincide with judgment and sometimes desert it, which makes an inconsistent or versatile man.'—

I have repeatedly remarked to you, in conversation, the effect of what has been called a Ruling Passion. When its object is noble, and an enlightened understanding directs its movements, it appears to me a great felicity; but whether its object be noble or not, it in fallibly creates, where it exists in great force, that active ardent constancy, which I describe as a capital feature of the decisive character. The subject of such a commanding passion wonders, if indeed he were at leisure to wonder, at the persons who pretend to attach im. portance to an object which they make none but the most languid efforts to secure. The utmost powers of the man are constrained into the service of the favourite Cause by this passion, which sweeps away, as it advances, all the trivial objections and little opposing motives, and seems almost to open a way through impossibilities. This spirit comes on him in the morning as soon as he recovers his consciousness, and commands and impels him through the day with a power from which he could not emancipate himself if he would. When the force of habit is added, the determination becomes invincible, and seems to assume rank with the great laws of nature, making it nearly as certain that such a man will persist in his course as that in the morning the sun will rise.'

The author illustrates his subject by a very curious anecdote, which we shall insert:

You may recollect the mention in one of our conversations, of a young man, who wasted in two or three years a large patrimony in profligate revels with a number of worthless associates, who called themselves his friends, and who, when his last means were exhausted, treated him of course with neglect, or contempt. Reduced to absolute want, he one day went out of the house with an intention to put an end to his life; but wandering awhile almost unconsciously, he came to the brow of an eminence which overlooked what were lately his estates. Here he sat down, and remained fixed in thought a number of hours, at the end of which he sprang from the ground with a vehement exulting emotion. He had formed his resolution, which was, that all these estates should be his again; he had formed his plan too, which he instantly began to execute. He walked hastily forward, determined to seize the very first opportunity, of however humble a kind, to gain any money, though it were ever so

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