day, what particular advances you have made, and how much you know more than you did before. And being taught, and accustomed, to express your thoughts in writing, you find yourselves qualified to do this in a manner of which you had no idea, or expectation, but a little time ago. You also perfectly remember what you have so recently learned, and many respects may be more particular and exact than even your tutors themselves.

The almost unavoidable effect of this is a high idea of your own powers and attainments, and too often a proportionable contempt of those who, not having had equal advantages, cannot do what you are easily capable of. A certain degree of vanity is, therefore, excusable in young persons; and, indeed, it is by means of it that they are excited to exert themselves in a manner that they would not otherwise have done. But be careful that this temper be not indulged to excess, for it will then be found to have serious ill consequences; the least of which is the precluding future improvement, from being already satisfied with yourselves, and conscious of a sufficient superiority over others.

The foundation of this self-conceit, on account of literary attainments, will be found to be extremely weak. In fact, we learn more before the period to which you are now arrived, and I hope you will continue to learn more after it, without its being so much noticed; and the ability that is discovered in the acquirements which are the subjects of this vanity is not greater than appears on other occasions. Only they are not so conspicuous.

What we all learn in the first three years of our lives, is much more extraordinary in its nature than all that we acquire afterwards. I mean the perfect use of our limbs, and the elements of speech. What we learn in a month in that early period of life, could not, if we were brought up in the ignorance of it, be learned in a year at any subsequent period. But these acquirements being universal, and what the circumstances in which we are all necessarily in compel us to learn, it does not appear extraordinary in any particular individual. Also, the proficiency that boys make at a grammar school, in which, in general, the dead languages only are taught (a knowledge of which is commonly the result of severe application) is too common to be the cause of much self-conceit. But the advances that are made at places of liberal education are both less common, and of a more conspicuous nature.

You will also find, if you continue your application to study, that it is only the elements of science that you can acquire here, and that if you live many years, they will bear but a small proportion to your future acquirements. But those future acquirements, in consequence of their bearing a less proportion to your whole stock of knowledge, will not be so conspicuous. Thus, though all the buildings that in one year are added to such a city as London would make a pretty large country town, they bear so small a proportion to what was built before, that they are not much noticed; whereas, had half the quantity of building been erected in a place where no house had existed before, it would have been a memorable event in the history of the country.

Also, as in old cities many buildings will fall to decay, while new ones are added; you must expect to forget much of what you now know. No man can give equal attention to every object; and as we advance in life, we, in general, only learn new things at the expence of the old ones. But then they are the more valuable articles of knowledge, the more general and leading principles, which remain with us; while the more useless ones, things to which we give less attention because we find them to be of less use, disappear. Yet it is no uncommon thing for ingenious students to despise old scholars who are not so ready in the minutiæ of literature, though they may have forgotten more than those youths ever knew, and may retain what they cannot acquire without forgetting as much.

Another observation proper to lessen the conceit of literary men, is, that genius is not confined to them, but is equally great, though not equally conspicuous, in every other line of life, and especially in manufactures and the arts. Here, however, discoveries equal, with respect to sagacity, to those of Newton, contribute little to posthumous fame, because the discoverers are not writers.

But the greatest branch of intellectual excellence with respect to which every other is nothing, and which, from its nature, can never be foundation of any self-conceit, is virtue, or right dispositions of mind, leading to right conduct in life. Proper sentiments, and just affections of mind, arise from just, and often comprehensive, views of things, past, present, and to come. And if the real greatness of any thought, or action, be estimated by the number of elements that constitute it, and its remoteness from the dictates of sense and natural appetite, a virtuous and pious man will appear to be a much more dignified character, more proper to be viewed with admiration and esteem, than the greatest scholar; discovering, in fact, greater comprehension and force of mind. I mean, however, that virtue which is the result of reflection, of discipline, and much voluntary exertion, which, though operating with equal promptness and facility, is as much superior to mere innocence, and what is commonly called good nature, as motions secondarily automative are to those that are primarily so; a comparison which you who have studied Hartley's Theory of the Mind will see the force of.

These considerations I take the liberty to suggest, as being proper to lessen that vanity which is so incident to those who distinguish themselves in the fields of literature, and which, operating like the acquisition of riches, or power, or any possession that is rare among men, instead of enlarging, may tend to contract the mind, by confining its attention to itself. Beginning with a generous emulation, it proceeds to envy and jealousy, and ends in actual hatred and malignity, against which you cannot, surely, be too strongly put upon your guard; this being the greatest depravity to which human nature is subject, and which yet, like any other vice, may be in full possession of the mind, without the person himself knowing, or suspecting it; unless he give more attention to his feelings than most persons do. If no man ever thought himself to be avaricious, or cruel, can it be expected that any person should ever discover that he is too self-conceited?

Better, however, infinitely better, were it to rank with the merest dunces, than have the conceit and malignity (produced originally from conceit) of some who have distinguished themselves the most as linguists, critics, and poets. Even the study of nature, though, from its vast extent, it is less apt to produce this baneful effect, is not always a sufficient guard against it. This is an affecting and an alarming consideration. But in the intellectual, as in the civil and commercial world, we gain nothing but at the risk of some loss; and in this case the possible gain is worth the risk of even this great loss.

For when literary, and scientific excellence coincide with that which is of a moral nature, it adds unspeakably to the value of a character. Ingenuity coupled with modesty, and great genius with benevolence and true piety, constitute the perfection of human character, and is what we should ever have in view. And a course of education in which both these objects are equally attended to, is the only one that deserves