Rock and New Orleans than I had imagined. You have here both faith and works. Your schools declare that the wise and philanthropic social principles of the Pilgrims have taken root in the midst of a city signalized over the world by the extent and activity of its commerce.

"Nor is this subject only to be viewed as it respects New Orleans itself. If I rightly judge, you have a mission to perform even beyond this. The Crescent City is indeed the favorite daughter of the great Father of Waters, into whose lap he pours his unmeasured harvests. It is the commercial emporium of the finest valley on the globe, receiving a tribute which no one can estimate who has not looked upon your wondrous levee. Yet it is and is to be, perhaps for centuries to come, even something more-the metropolis of opinion, of fashiongiving social law to the millions of to-day, and the millions which are to follow in the boundless West. If we consider the ascendency which New Orleans has already acquired, especially in comparison with the infancy of many of our southwestern settlements, it is surely not extravagant to regard her influence and example, in many things, as likely to be little less than decisive. We may, therefore, consider the Mississippi under the image of a mighty tree, whose foot is on the verge of the tropics, while its tops are playing with the snows of the icy north. New Orleans stands at the root, and must furnish the sap, at least to some extent, which circulates through branches that spread over a surface equal to one-half the extent of Europe, and thus giving character, for good or ill, to the fruit that may follow. In this view, your position becomes intensely interesting, and it may serve to give added impulse to that patriotism and philanthropy which are at work among you.

"As I see around me some of your public functionaries—the master-minds of the State-and as, moreover, the subject of public instruction is occupying the attention of the legislature, assembled under your new constitution, I may be excused for saying a few words, of a general nature, upon this topic. It

might sound trite and common-place, if I were to say that education is the only ladder by which mankind can ascend from barbarism to civilization, from ignorance to knowledge, from darkness to light, from earth to heaven. Yet, if this be true, can public men-rulers and lawgivers-be excused, if they seek not to furnish this ladder to every individual in the State? And let them bear in mind that the controlling lessons of life are given in childhood. Men are hard, and repel instruction. Youth is plastic, and readily takes the impress of the die that is set upon it. If a giant should undertake to give symmetry of form to the aged oak, he might momentarily subdue its gnarled and jagged branches to his will; but if they fly not back and strike him in the face, ere to-morrow's sun every limb and fiber will have returned to its wonted position. Thus it is that, in dealing with grown-up, obdurate men, the highest talent exerted for their good is often baffled, and perhaps repaid by ingratitude or reproach. On the other hand, how different is it with youth! Like saplings in the nursery, they readily take the form or character which a kindly hand may bestow. The humble gardener, only able to carry a watering-pot in one hand and a pruningknife in the other, may rear up a whole forest of trees, beautiful in form, and productive of the choicest fruits. What field so wide, so promising, in every point of view so inviting, so worthy the attention of the patriot and statesman, as the national nursery, budding by millions into life and immortality?

"I should not be excused, were I to omit saying a few words to the mothers here present. From the moment that a woman becomes a mother, we all know that dearer interests than houses or lands are henceforth invested in the offspring. How hopeful, how fearful, are her duties now! Washington and Napoleon, Howard and Robespierre, were children once, and each upon a mother's knee. What mighty issues for good or ill are before the mother, in the possible consequences of the education she may give her child! Yet I would not lay upon her heart a responsibility which might seem too great to bear. The best of

books, as well as universal experience, are full of encouragement to the faithful mother. If she performs her duty, God and nature take her part. She is the first divinity before which the budding spirit worships. The lessons which are gathered then, are likely to exert a controlling influence upon its after destiny. The child may be compared to a stream, and the parent to the mother earth over which it flows. She may not, can not stop its progress, but she may guide its course. She may trace out a channel in which it will be prone to flow, and after having fertilized and blessed its borders, it will find its way in peace to the great reservoir of waters. If, on the contrary, the mother neglect or misguide her offspring, it may, like a torrent, rush on, and after spreading desolation on every side, disappear in some sandy desert, or lose itself amid dreary and pestilent marshes.

"And now, one word to my juvenile friends—those who have received me with such winning smiles-one word to them. I dare not begin to tell them stories in the character of their old friend Peter Parley, for I should not know where to leave off. But let me repeat what I said to those whom I met the other day on the celebration of Washington's birthday—come and see me when you visit Boston! You will find me in a brown house, some four miles out of town, in a pleasant village called Jamaica Plain. Come one and come all, and be assured of a hearty welcome. And that you may bring some sign that we have met before, please remember these lines

"Ne'er till to-morrow's light delay
What may as well be done to-day-

Ne'er do the thing you'd wish undone,

Viewed by to-morrow's rising sun.

"If you will practise according to these verses, you will not only gratify your old friend who addresses you, but you will win the world's favor. Farewell!"

LETTER LI.

Retrospection-Confessions-The mice among my papers-A reckoning with the past.

MY DEAR C***

In the three preceding letters I have spoken chiefly of the books I have written for children, and the true design of which was as much to amuse as to instruct them. These comprise the entire series called Parley's Tales, with many others, bearing Parley's name. As to works for education-schoolbooks, including readers, histories, geographies, &c., books for popular reading, and a wilderness of prose and poetry, admitting of no classification-I have only to refer you to the catalogue already mentioned. Let me cheer you with the statement that this is the closing chapter of my literary history. I have little indeed to say, and that is a confession.

In looking at the long list of my publications, in reflecting upon the large numbers that have been sold, I feel far more of humiliation than of triumph. If I have sometimes taken to heart the soothing flatteries of the public, it has ever been speedily succeeded by the conviction that my life has been, on the whole, a series of mistakes, and especially in that portion of it which has been devoted to authorship. I have written too much, and have done nothing really

well. You need not whisper it to the public, at least until I am gone; but I know, better than any one can tell me, that there is nothing in this long catalogue that will give me a permanent place in literature. A few things may struggle upon the surface for a time, but-like the last leaves of a tree in autumn, forced at last to quit their hold, and cast into the stream-even these will disappear, and my name and all I have done will be forgotten.

A recent event, half ludicrous and half melancholy, has led me into this train of reflection. On going to Europe in 1851, I sent my books and papers to a friend, to be kept till my return. Among them was a large box of business documents-letters, accounts, receipts, bills paid, notes liquidated-comprising the transactions of several years, long since passed away. Shortly after my return to New York-some three months ago—in preparing to establish myself and family here, I caused these things to be sent to me. On opening the particular box just mentioned, I found it a complete mass of shavings, shreds, fragments. My friend had put it carefully away in the upper loft of his barn, and there it became converted into a universal mouse-nest! The history of whole generations of the mischievous little rogues was still visible; beds, galleries, play-grounds, birth-places, and even graves, were in a state of excellent preservation. Several wasted and shriveled forms of various sizes the limbs curled up, the eyes extinct, the