Beware, my youthful companions, of these _first_, and apparently insignificant steps in idleness. No man suddenly becomes wicked. The power of habit is enlisted on the side of virtue, until its barrier be broken down by repeated _small_ attacks; and he, who in former times could indignantly exclaim, "Is thy servant a _dog_, that he would do this thing?" yet committed the very evils at which an exalted spirit had shuddered with terror. _Take care_, ye young noblemen of Nature! _how you sow_.
Various other incitements are widely spread through our country, to lead men to sow seeds of vice and ignominy in their fields. It becomes not the Plough-Boy to enter too much into detail. The evils are abroad, and walking their desolating course; and he who can, in the hour of solitude, yield his mind to the dominion of reflection, will be at no loss to discover the peculiar inducements to idleness or dissoluteness, in his own vicinity. To all, therefore, who value the _seeds of immortal beauty_, let the warning voice of the Plough-Boy of the valley, reach with effect; and the gentle salutation of the morning ray, which visited his own spirit, may not have been sent without an instructive purpose. To all, this lesson is deeply interesting; for the happiness of the long, long ages of eternity, depends upon it. "Whatsoever a man shall sow, that will he reap. If ye sow to the flesh, ye shall reap corruption; but if to the spirit, the life which is eternal."
The evanescent sorrows of infancy have faded from the recollection, the flowery scenes of childhood are passed, the thraldom of pupilage is over, the fetters of minority are dissevered, and Youth steps boldly on the threshold of life, proud of the superiority, and conscious of the attributes of MAN.
"The world is all before him where to choose."
Society courts him to the enjoyment of rational and of sensual pleasure. The anticipation of evil finds no place in his imagination. All of friendship is faithful, and love pure as attractive. A short career in the busy round of existence, while it proves the fallacy of some of his crude conceptions, only affords a confirmation of others. If trusted friendship discover its instability, or cherished love its inconstancy, still Fancy promises, in other fountains, the unadulterated source of happiness. He looks not to the mind to supply the vacuum they have left. Youth is not the season for reflection. Fame has not yet animated the daring spirit of enterprise, and the social circle and the midnight revel display all their attractions. Lost in the whirl of inebriating delights, Reason maintains but a divided empire. But let her "still small voice" be heard in the intervals of passion, and will it not whisper to his heart, _Is it peace?_