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money compared with the transient pleasures of the prodigal, and on feelings of regret at having spent that which can never return. If a man purchase a house, though his money be gone, yet the house remains, and being constantly useful to him, he looks back upon the parting with his money without regret. But if he had expended the same sum for a palace of ice, though he might be pleased for a time with its glitter, yet, when it had melted away, he could not fail to reflect how much that was valuable he might purchase with his money if he then had it, and look back upon his parting with it with regret.

Let, then, a young man spend his money foolishly till he becomes embarrassed, or perhaps in utter want; let him be stung at the same time by what is, or what he conceives to be ingratitude, and every instance of such expenditure will haunt him, and a permanent and deep feelingof regret will be the consequence. If he again acquire money, he will regard it not so much as the representative of any particular value, as a guard against the perplexity and trouble into which he had previously fallen. As he formerly reflected afterwards how many things he might have purchased, so now his money seems to him, not the representative of the value of that particular thing which he may wish to purchase, but of all those things collectively which might be obtained by it. As it was from parting with his money that his regret formerly arose, so now, when he would part with any, whether the sum be great or small, and quite as much if small if it was by small sums that he lost his money, the same feeling presents itself and debars him, till at length penurious and miserly habits are formed.

This theory I deem correct, and bring it forward for the practical moral consequencs which it involves. It is often

thought an indication of spirit in young men to have a certain profusion and recklessness in their way of spending money. They think it essential to their position to spend upon trifles of fashion, and the demands of what is called good-fellowship, but what is too often fellowship in folly and vice, sums which neither they nor their friends can well afford. If, then, instead of being considered a mark of spirit, this profusion were regarded by the young man and his friends, as it truly is, as a mark of want of judgment and of genuine independence, and if in the prodigality of to-day they could behold the parsimony of future years, much evil would be averted.

In our cities and public institutions there are many young men who depend on a hard-working father, or a poor and widowed mother, or on self-denying sisters, who are liable to be drawn into associations with those whose means of expense are above their own, to incur obligations of what they call honor, and to engulf, if not in vice, yet in what is purely conventional and useless, the scanty earnings of their home. It is pitiable to see those who do thus, greedy of money whenever they can get it, evading small bills, and those of poor people; disappointing, alienating, perhaps ruining those who love them; losing their own self-respect, and incurring the contempt of those who care little or nothing for them. From such the public has nothing to hope. But from one who will deny himself, and rely for his position upon industry, integrity, and transparency of character, and who can respect himself in honest poverty, and look down upon meanness anywhere, if he shall succeed, the public may expect much. He will have an open hand for somebody.

In general, if we have been accustomed from our youth to spend money so that we have not regretted its loss, if

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we have given it for the necessaries and the conveniences of life, and especially for the gratification of the benevolent affections, we may expect to continue to part with. money,—that is, if we have it, if not nobly, yet usefully, and without regret. But if we have spent our money aimlessly, or with that mixture of meanness and profusion which those often exhibit who spend money only for selfish pleasures, we must beware lest the reckless expenditure of twenty become the avarice of sixty; lest the young man, flattered and praised by sycophants for his generosity, become in age a niggard and contemptible miser.

From the desire of property we pass to that of knowledge.

By the first we appropriate to ourselves whatever may be useful to us that is material; by the second, so far as that is possible, whatever may be useful that pertains to the spiritual world.

That this is a natural desire need not be proved, because it is not disputed. This was known to Solomon. "Through desire," says he, "a man having separated himself, seeketh and intermeddleth with all wisdom." Like him we give our hearts "to seek and search out by wisdom concerning all things that are done under heaven." It may be "a sore travail," but "this," in giving this desire, "hath God given to the sons of men to be exercised therewith." The desire has for its object the only element in which man can walk without stumbling. It is as the light by which we see, and so is indispensable to the intelligent exercise of any of the faculties.

It is not to be supposed, however, that all knowledge is gained under the stimulus of this desire. The desire is

found existing in the light of consciousness and of the primitive ideas and truths of reason. These, which have been said to be

"The light of all our seeing,"

are essentially the same in all. They are involved in the exercise of all our faculties, while this desire of knowledge, or the principle of curiosity as it has been called, may exist in different degrees, and with reference to different objects.

So far as the desire of knowledge is impulsive and involuntary it has no moral character. In this respect it is on the same footing with all the impulsive powers. They respect objects which are indifferent in themselves, that may be used for either good or evil, and moral character is manifested as we reject or adopt and control these impulsions. An angel and a fiend may have equal knowledge. Their character is shown by its use.

Of this desire the direct and proper stimulus is knowledge itself, and for itself. To the mind that can feel it there is in knowledge a power to charm as there is in music. It is a high attribute of man through which he can find in the works of God, and in the relations which he has established, an excellence so attractive as to be in itself a sufficient motive to their contemplation and study. In this is the root of the true enthusiasm for science. It is among those who have this that we find the mathematicians, who, like Archimedes, can spend days and nights in the contemplation of abstract theorems; the sages, who, like Socrates, can remain absorbed in thought four-andtwenty hours without changing their position; and without much of this no man can be expected to distinguish himself greatly in the walks of science.

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But besides this primary motive, the desire of knowl edge finds a natural and legitimate support in the esteem in which those are generally held who are distinguished by their attainments; in the direct and obvious utility of many branches of knowledge, and, from the wonderful and often unsuspected connection of its different branches, in the incidental and possible utility of all knowledge.

But even with such support, the desire of knowledge has often too little relative strength in the contest with indolence. In order to induce study, the best of men have therefore thought it necessary to admit and to sanction in our public institutions the far inferior and sometimes pernicious motive of emulation, but they have done it reluctantly, and only as polygamy was allowed to the Israelites, "because of the hardness of their hearts." It is to be hoped that the time may come when the adjustment of forces shall be different, and there shall be found in knowledge and in its necessary and legitimate results sufficient motive for its pursuit.

Like the appetites, the desire for knowledge may become artificial, and take directions that are capricious. It may also be in excess. It is always relatively so when the acquisition of knowledge has no respect to the attainment of mental power, and the use to be made of it. Knowledge is the food of the mind. And as food may overload and enfeeble the body, and is to be received only as there is a capacity of digestion and assimilation, and with ultimate reference to action, so knowledge may overload and enfeeble the mind, and should be received only as it can be reflected on and arranged, and so incorporated into our mental being as to give us power for action. Here, as elsewhere, the receiving is to have reference to a giving, but not wholly. If the thing received were not valuable