life. I hardly know a more sensual wretch than Rousseau. Indeed, it seems to me when the Prince of Darkness raised up advocates for his cause, and patrons of infidelity, it was a master-piece of policy, to commit it to two such men as Rousseau and Voltaire; they were perfect correlatives. Voltaire took all the laughers, and Rousseau all the weepers. Voltaire was all sarcasm and satire, and Rousseau all romance and sentiment; and thus between them both, they swept the board. They have done more than any others to undermine the religious principles of mankind; and, to this hour, reign without rivals, the giants of licentious principles on the continent of Europe. Yet Rousseau was a lover of solitude. He even once attempted to establish a plan of seclusion for life, though he found that his fancy had imposed on his feelings. Hear how he exposes his singular views. "Sometimes," says he, speaking of Madame de Warrens, who, by the way, was one of the chastest harlots that ever departed from virtue, through the sublimest of principles, "Sometimes I quitted this dear friend, that I might enjoy the uninterrupted pleasure of thinking of her; this is a caprice I can neither excuse nor fully explain; I only know this was really the case, and therefore avow it. I remember that Madame de Luxembourg told me one day, in raillery, of a man, who used to leave his mistress, that he might enjoy the satisfaction of writing to her. I answered, I could have been this man. I might have added, that I had done the very same." In another place, he describes, in his own glowing language, how he filled up his solitary moments, when he lived as a kind of amorous dependent on this peculiar lady. "If all this, (i. e. his happiness,) consisted in facts, actions or words, I could somehow or other convey an idea of it. But how shall I describe what was neither said or done, nor even thought; but enjoyed, felt, without my being able to particularize any other object of my happiness than the bare idea. I rose with the sun and was happy ; I walked and was happy; I saw Madame de Warrens and was happy; I quitted her and was still happy! Whether I rambled through the woods, over the hills, or strolled along the vallies, read, was idle, walked in the garden, or gathered fruits, happiness still accompanied me; it was fixed on no particular object; it was within me, nor could I depart from it a single moment." Such was the solitude of Rousseau. I only wish, in the abundance of his communicativeness, he had informed us, whether this happiness, which he thinks so mystical, did or did not, in any part of it, arise, in addition to Madame de Warrens' charms, from opium or brandy. The good man, too, loves occasional solitude. He is very happy when alone; and he is not in the least perplexed to tell the cause of his happiness. It arises from a conscious sense of the presence of God, and a contemplation of his infinite perfections. When he enters the shades, he feels himself to be in the bosom of his Father and friend. He hears his voice in the passing breeze, and sees his glory in the stars of the sky. Whether he prostrates himself in humble penitence before the throne of mercy, or rises to a view of the wonders of creation and redemption; whether he looks on God, or himself; whether he surveys his past life, or looks on to future emancipation and glory; his emotions are high, though his passions are at peace. He tastes many a precious drop from the river of life, and returns from retirement to the world, more strengthened for duty, and more prepared to fulfil all the engagements of a social being. No hours are more profitable to the Christian, than those which he passes alone. It may be a serious question then, to each one of my readers, not whether he loves solitude; for that is ambiguous; but how he fills up the profitable or pernicious hours, which to solitude are given. Do you reflect;-look inward ;-meditate-pray-commune with God and commune with yourself, when you retire from the haunts of business and activity? Is your solitude a root to bear the branches of benevolent exertion? Or do you retire to fill But I must close my paper with a SONNET. I love the shade; I love the lonely walk, Where, while the zephyrs whisper peace around, ? And giant-shadows in procession stalk; While the low sun in glory, though profound, Sprinkles his pearls o'er all the dewy ground, In hues, which fancy soothe, but reason balk. Father of nature! Father of our race! Of the refulgent sun-the rain-the dew! Who hear'st the hungry ravens when they cry; O let me here thy secret footsteps trace; Thou God of nature, ocean, earth, and sky, Subdue my soul and be my father too! THE PURITAN. No. 43. The love of popularity, is the all-tainting vice of a republic. Dr. Channing. NOTHING is more deceiving, than judging of theories, without an eye to their operation in practice; and especially is it so in politics. I have often suspected, and indeed the suspicion is almost ripened into a confirmed belief, that all the boasted forms of government, which have been most admired for their excellence, have little value in the abstract, and are only wise in reference to the past history of the people. They were expedients, which their present habits and prejudices rendered necessary. Take the British constitution, as an example. They have three independent powers, each of which has a negative on each other. In theory, then, we may say, that each may perpetually resist the other, put a negative on all its proceedings, and the whole government must per |