ments, and guiding our opinions respecting men, measures, and things, is perhaps much more than we are well aware of, or willing to admit to its utmost extent. Every subject seems to fall within their reach: no difficulty startles them, and no danger appals. On they wheel in their diurnal, hebdomadal, monthly, quarterly, or annual revolutions, each reflecting a strong light on its respective orbit. They feast us with knowledge made up in pleasant mouthfuls, cooked in an endless diversity of ways, all equally exquisite to the palate, all equally fascinating to the eye: and what may be wanting in substantiality, is fully compensated for, in the variety. Nothing comes amiss from them, because they relieve us from the labour of thinking for ourselves, and save us the trouble of appreciating the thoughts of others. From them we can gather opinions of authors and books, couched in language mellifluously unmeaning, and elegantly absurd. We are no longer under the necessity of begrimming ourselves with the dust and cobwebs of a library; or obliged to run the eminent hazard of breaking our arms, while either taking down, or replacing in their peaceful shelves these immense tomes, into which our ancestors ("poor human mouldwarps!") delighted to burrow. Slumber, ye venerable folios, and right comely quartos, in undisturbed repose! for, all the information ye could communicate all the knowledge it is fitting we should acquire, a transient glance at a modern Review, Newspaper,

or Magazine, can most amply supply. Shew me what controverted point in polemical theologywhat abstruse problem in mathematics--what subtilty in metaphisics-what division of Science, and what department of the Belles Lettres, on which in former times it was thought necessary to write volume upon volumes, heap note upon notes, and spread comment upon comments, is not now most nicely decided, speedily solved, ingeniously unriddled, and luminously discussed, in a few pages of one or other of these publications,-in truth, most ably handled in fewer pages than formerly was accomplished in volumes-in fewer words even, than are contained in the title page of one of those bulky volumes compiled by the industry of our fathers. Any distinction that might formerly exist betwixt the learned and unlearned, has in a great measure vanished. Weavers have become Politicians, Linguists, Critics, Rhetoricians, and Moralists. Mechanicians have in like manner become Chemists, Astronomers, and Naturalists. Shop-boys, while weighing sugar or soap, are at the same time adjusting metrical feet. And the lad whom we may see measuring linen or satin in a haberdasher's shop, from the vacancy of his look, we may safely conclude his mind is absorbed with similes and tropes, and busily employed in ascertaining the different lengths of poetic feet. The Peasant as well as the Peer can now boast of the authors whom he has perused; and the Scavanger as well as the Scholar can make apt quotations

from the works he has studied, wherewithal to season his conversation, and eke out his own barren invention.

Such is the gratifying aspect which humanity now presents; and he must be sceptical indeed, who would hesitate to pronounce this one of the brightest ages that has yet illuminated the chronicles of time. Vanity might incline us upon very slender grounds to believe, that we really lived in the Augustan age of learning; but the circumstances now taken notice of, show this belief is founded upon sufficient detail; and the multitude of books, and the still encreasing number of their readers, not only indicate a more extended circulation of the mental juices through the whole body of the people, but also place upon a less equivocal footing, our claims to the character of a learned, polite, and literary na

tion.

Conclusive as these facts may appear in one point of view, in another it yet remains a matter of doubt, whether this rank luxuriance in periodical publications betokens a vigorous growth in our literature, or is only symtomatic of its decline. In the latter opinion, I am a firm, though I confess an unwilling believer. It must be obvious we think to every discerning mind, that so far as the interests of sound learning and solid acquirements are concerned, they are truly baneful. Facilities are afforded through their means for men to scribble before they have learned to think: to those ambitious of literary distinction, a short path to fame is presented

through their channel; and the chief inducement to severe study and deep research, is thereby destroyed. The common adage, that "a bird in the hand is worth two in the bush," is sufficiently expressive of Scotch prudence and worldly wisdom, and seems to be a favourite maxim with our critics, of whom indeed there are but very few who will sacrifice their hopes of present popularity, for the uncertain returns of posthumous fame. A smart criticism in a Review a well written paper in a Magazine or a trifle that may be dashed off by a tolerably fluent pen in a day, is sufficient to secure the first; while years of unremitting labour, and studious retirement upon a work of more utility and lasting benefit, may be altogether inadequate to procure the latter.

We are not inclined to dispute, but that it is a very pleasant thing to observe our compositions become the topics of tea-table criticism, and to hear our praises lisped in our own day and generation, by those pretty mouths whom we are desirous to please, whose approbation we value, and whose critical strictures we hold in the highest estimation. When the gratification, however, may be purchased by writing a few sweet sonnetsan affecting tale, which has every thing but nature and truth in itor by a few what we may stile moral essays or what is still much better than either, a snappish, partial, and acrimonious article, in some Review, or other popular Miscellany, we really think it is by far

too easily obtained, since a person of but very moderate abilities, and indifferent education, can accomplish them all.

There is a natural wish implanted in every bosom-a wish which we all feel in a greater or less degree, to perpetuate our names, and to leave something behind us more imperishable than we ourselves have been in short, to use the words of Sallust, men wish "summa ope niti, nevitam silentio transeant." Hence in the writings of great men they leave to the world a more lasting record of their name, than " storied urn or animated bust" could ever confer. This laudable wish is either destroyed, or at least diverted from the means most likely to gratify it by these publications; since they thus point out an easy path to a fleeting and transitory applause. We question much, if the fame of Bacon, Newton, or Locke, Spencer, Shakespeare, or Milton rests on their contributions to Magazines, or Reviews? we rather think no such compilations were then in vogue, and it is perhaps fortunate for the present age that such was the case. In all probability had they lived now, their great and splendid talents would have been dissipated in this way, and the world never the better of their labours.

Knowledge, it is true, owing to these publications, is widely diffused through.every rank of society, but then it is superficial in all. But worse than this, a pert conceitedness is engendered amongst our young authors, who have made such the depositories