One particularly we cannot forbear drawing into view as contributing in no small degree to this unhappy effect, and indeed to many other effects still more to be deplored. What we mean is the preposterous share of time and labour, and esteem; a share totally disportionate to every idea of utility, bestowed upon the comparatively unimportant business of prosody. This is the cardinal point in English education. To this every thing seems to be subservient, every thing directed. An eminent English scholar is a man profoundly skilled in Greek prosody. This is learning par excellence. The admiration bestowed upon this surpasses all other admiration. We are persuaded that the effect of this upon the mind of the youth, is baneful in no ordinary degree. They must acquire a habit of looking at frivolous things. The great principle of utility is vilified and disgraced throughout the whole course of the plan of instruction. That principle, which it would be the great object of a perfect system of education to render the managing, the presiding, the governing sentiments in the breast of every member of the society is made to disappear, that some foppery, or something little better than a foppery, may occupy its place, and be lifted up on high as an idol for worship. Surely of all the good things which may be learned from the Greek and Roman authors, and many are the good, the superlatively good things which may be learned from them; a knowledge of the mere technical part of their art of making verses ought to rank among the lowest. Still, we deny it not a place among the good things. So far as an acquaintance with the technical structure of their verse can heighten the pleasure of reading the classical poetry, so far that acquaintance is desirable, but we know no other useful purpose which serves; nor can we regard that as a very eminent one. A familiar example may help any one to take its estimate. Of English readers, and English readers of learning and taste, how few are they who think it necessary to render themselves acquainted with the technical part of English poetry, to heighten their pleasure in reading the verses of Milton! The sentiments, the imagery, the character, the invention, the style, the harmony all produce their full effect upon the mind without this assistance, and when all these are fully enjoyed, the pleasure that remains behind is of little account.

To this cause we are persuaded it is that even among the most celebrated scholars in England it is so rare to meet with a man who has any thing like a a familiar acquaintance with the philosophers and the historians of Greece. They can repeat to you without book innumerable passages from the poets, and here and there have dipped into other authors. But it is scarcely once in an age that a man appears who has deeply explored the writings of the philosophers, orators and historians; who is acquainted practically with their spirit and genius; who in fact has much beyond a school-boy knowledge of the most important part of Grecian literature. The Socraticae Chartae, those precious remains so strenuously recommended by Horace and Cicero, as the fountain of genius to both the orator and the poet, are abandoned for the choruses of Euripides.

Professor RICHARDSON of Glasgow is not only an admirable poet, but as a prose writer may be ranked with GOLDSMITH and MACKENZIE. We read with great delight the ensuing extract from one of the most interesting of his performances. The theory of its accomplished author is perfectly correct, and it is supported by all the powers of elegant and beautiful illustration.

Minds differently fashioned, and under the influence of different passions, receive from the same objects dissimilar impressions. Exhibit the same beautiful valley to the miser and to the poet. Elegant and lovely images arise in the poet's mind; dryads preside in the groves, and naiads in the fountains. Millions of wealth seize the heart of the miser; he computes the profits of the meadows and cornfields, and envies the possessor. The mind, dwelling with pleasure on those images which coincide with its present humour, or agree with the present passion embellishes and improves them. The poet, by figuring additional lawns and mountains, renders the landscape more beautiful, or more sublime; but the miser, moved by no compassion for wood nymphs or naiads, lays waste the forest, changes the windings of the river into a dead canal, and purchaseth wealth at the expense of beauty. Now as the influence of the passions governs and arranges our ideas, these, in return, nourish and promote the passions. If any object appear to us more striking and excellent than usual, it communicates a stronger impulse, and excites a more vehement desire. When the lover discovers new charms in the character of his mistress, if her complexion glow with a softer blush, if her manners and attitude seem more engaging, his love waxes ardent and his ardour becomes ungovernable. The imaginary representations, more even than real objects, stimulate our desires; and our passions administering fuel to themselves are immoderately inflamed. Joy is in this manner enlivened; anger more keenly exasperated; envy burns with additional malice; and melancholy brooding over her ideas of misery and disappointment, is tortured with anguish and plunges into despair.

Roads. FROM Reynolds's on the Lycoming creek, fourteen miles beyond Williamsport to judge Linby's, at the junction of the Cawaneska and the Tyoga, fifty-four miles, the road is very bad. It seems like a state prohibition to emigration, and, what is worse, to the entrance of any produce from Newyork state into Pennsylvania. Much of the cattle that comes to Philadelphia market is brought from the Genesee country along this most abominable road. A carriage cannot travel upon it above a mile and a half an hour; and it requires great judgment and incessant caution to drive it at all.

On entering Newyork state, the road becomes very much improved. There are indeed two portions of it that are bad, viz. from Bath to Geneva, and from Batavia to Vandeewinder's: but no part of this is so execrable as the major part of the way from Reynolds's to Peters's camp. All the rest of the road over which I travelled in Newyork state, (about one hundred and fifty miles) is an excellent carriage road. To be sure, siliceous grit, chert,