all things that minister pleasure to the senses; or a wearisome up-hill journey through thorns and briars, and other disgracious impediments. It makes the difference whether you have to go bounding exultingly along like the free, full-blooded courser, or wend your way wearily and slow like the laden and despised pack-horse.

To want money, in a high state of civilization, is to be a kind of slave; it is, at least, to be dependent on the whims and caprices of others, instead of indulging in all the pleasant eccentricities or originalities to which your temperament may prompt you; it is to have to rise soon when you wish to lie late, and go to bed early in order to be enabled so to do; it is to have to eat indiscriminate provender, instead of making a judicious selection from the "delicious juices of meats and fishes;" it is to have to live in unwholesome and anti-respectable neighborhoods, and mix in daily communion with people whose ways are not your ways; it is to be a drudge, a hack, a machine, worked for the profit and advantage of others until the springs are broken; it is to be omitted in family celebrations, and roam about invitationless at Christmas; it is to have to put up with equivocal nods and recognitions in the streets-to have your friends look into print-shop windows as you approach, and suddenly

bring their admiration of the engraver's skill to a period as soon as you have passed by; it is to feel all delicate sensibilities, all free generous feelings, all ardent and aspiring thoughts checked and crushed within you by a petty but overbearing necessity; it is to have to suffer at once the greatest misfortunes and the most contemptible vexations; to have family affections and social friendships uprooted and destroyed, and to be obliged to be uncomfortably careful of coats, hats, and other habiliments. It is to live" a man forbid ;" or it is to become an exile from your native land-an outcast, a wanderer in foreign and unhealthy climes, hunting for the yellow indispensable, until you are of the color of the metal you are in quest of; until the temper becomes soured, the feelings deadened, the heart indurated, and the liver in an improper state. How beautifully has Leyden portrayed his own fate and feelings, and those of thousands of others, in that pure gem of poetry, the "Address to an Indian Gold Coin"

"For thee-for thec, vile yellow slave!
I left a heart that lov'd me true;

I cross'd the tedious ocean wave,

To roam in climes unkind and new;
The cold wind of the stranger blew
Chill on my wither'd heart-the grave,

Dark and untimely, met my view

And all for thee! vile yellow slave!"

To lack money is to lack a passport or admission ticket into the pleasant places of God's earth-to much that is glorious and wonderful in nature, and nearly all that is rare, and curious, and enchanting, in art; or if you do travel about in a small way, it is to have that most miserable, rascally, intrusive, and disagreeable of all traveling companions-economy, yoked to you; to be under a continual restraint from his presence; to feel unable to give your mind cheerfully and freely up to the scene before you; and in the contemplation of a magnicent view, or a piece of hoar antiquity, to have the wretch whisper in your ear the probable cost of your pleasurable sensations; it is to have a continual contest carried on in your sensorium between pleasure and prudence; it is to submit to small inconveniences and petty insults at inns for the accommodation of travelers, where, above all places on earth, the men of money shine out with the most resplendent glory, and the unmonied become the most truly insignificant; it is, in fact, to have all your enjoyments diminished and annoyances aggravated; to have pleasure almost transmuted into pain, or at least, to have "such shadow of vexation" thrown over it as materially to change its complex. ion; and when all is over-journey done and expenses paid-it is to feel a sort of mean remorse

as you reckon up your past expenditure, and ponder over the most probable remedial ways and means for the future.

The two things most difficult of discovery, next to the passage round the north pole, are talent in a poor man and dullness in a rich one; therefore, to want money, is to want wit, humor, eloquence, in fact capacity of every kind, or, at the best, if they be not altogether denied, to have such a duty levied upon them-such an oppressive drawback-that the rich man with inferior wares, is able to beat the poor one whenever they come into competition. For instance, the most casual observer of men and manners must have noticed that in company a joke from a man of 5000l. per annum, elicits more admiration, and produces infinitely more hilarity and good humor, than ten equally good from a man worth 500%. Oh! it is perfectly wonderful the raciness and point that an abundance of temporalities impart to a rather dull saying. Besides, a jest from a man in the receipt of a contemptible income, by some strange fatality invariably changes its nature, and becomes little better than sheer impertinence. It is that sort of thing which grave gentlemen and prudent matrons designate by the word "unbecoming." Now all this, though visible to the meanest capacity, might puzzle a philosopher; he

would be as unable to comprehend it as he would the curious sympathy which evidently exists be

tween sterling wit and superfine

tually assist and set off each other.

cloth, that mu

Many a quaint,

conceit and rare piece of pleasantry has altogether lost its effect and fallen pointless in consequence of the speaker's garments not being of that texture, or possessed of that freshness which is altogether desirable. The moral, good reader, to be deduced from all this is—that you be not petulant and acrimonious because these things are so, but that, if endowed with a "money-making disposition," you assiduously cultivate it, and then you will not need care whether these things are so or not.

The want of money too, I am inclined to think, produces physical changes which have not as yet been sufficiently noticed by the faculty. It causes a gradual and considerable accumulation of bile, which lies lurking in the system, until the incivilities of friends, or the importunities of creditors, cause it to become completely vitiated or inspissated; after which a man, especially one predisposed to melancholy and contemplation, looks at every thing on earth through a pair of yellow spectacles. The unhappy patient becomes saturated, body and mind with jaundice; he shuns the society of his fellow men, buttons his coat up to his chin, pulls his hat