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all the beauty of the universe would pall upon our taste, and grow monotonous ; and the latter draws us the more, because the former drives us. Thus the occupation of the hands and special faculties is made the rest of the general soul. And the soul must be driven into this rest, for it will not go of itself. Few men are so profound as to cultivate voluntarily all those works which the harmony of body and soul require. Many a luxurious liver, worn out with doing nothing, has wished himself compelled to labor in some capacity or other. Wealth would be a very excellent thing if it were free of that compensation whereby he that rejoices in his wealth is soon induced to neglect those things which are requisite to its enjoyment. But no sooner is the man turned to the enjoyment of his wealth, than some vile stimulus rids him of his health and spirits. Nine-tenths of your men of leisure spend their time in wavering between half an ounce of health and some means to get rid of it. And when they begin to feel the assaults of time, and labor under general debility, the last mean of recuperation is that which nature has specified—labor. They will take medicine enough; they will hunt for the best waters and the best air, and consult on the proprieties of diet,—try any thing but labor, which, after the first day or two, pays amply as it goes. Ah! my dear fellow, (says sarcastic Conscience,) any soup is good, if you will stir it well; and all waters are healing, were you as difficult in the coolness of the external as you are of the internal application.