"The Hill of Fame on which your attention is fixed, is divided into two summits. To the one every step of the path is plain, and open to your view. You are at once sensible of the enjoyments as well as the difficulties, which are found in the various parts of the ascent, while those who journey upward are seen by all from the moment they start. You perceive along this path the most delightful pleasures awaiting those who may be so happy as to reach them--and increasing in number as they rise. But you see dangers and difficulties of every kind interspersed among them and also increasing to the very top. The flowers when plucked have often a poisonous insect enclosed in them--the finest fruit grows upon precipices the most steep and frightful--or when gathered 'turns to ashes in the mouth.' Yet in spite of these dangers you see many rising free and uninjured, higher and higher, till they attain even to the summit. But here, though pleasures are more abundant, the dangers are likewise increased--though the flowers are more beautiful and more numerous, the fruit large, and more delicious--the poison is also more deadly, the precipices are higher, and the fall from them more certainly fatal. But still is that summit, bright and glorious as it is--the brilliant object on which is fixed the ardent, anxious, devoted gaze of all who toil up the sides of the mountain. This is the Hill of Political Fame. Now let us turn to the other; it presents us quite a different aspect; its sides and bottom are covered with a dim mist, through which no objects are distinctly seen; we can only perceive that the way, though extremely steep and laborious, is as free from the precipices and dangers of the first, as it is deprived of its pleasures and enticements. Those who are toiling on their way to its summit, have nothing to cheer them in their dreary task but the prospect of the bright vision above them--which like the beacon signal to the worn mariner, holds out comfort and repose--cheering and inspiring him with fortitude--nerving his limbs with new vigor, and instilling renewed hope into his heart. Nor _do_ you see them assailed by many imminent perils; yet many faint and sink on their tedious way--and few, very few are so fortunate as to gain the bright summit which rears its head above--free from the shades and mists which envelope the skies--brilliant and glorious as its opposite neighbor, and at the same time undisturbed by its dangers. Even of those who do ultimately reach this rich goal of their hopes--this happy end of their labors--how very few enjoy their hard earned rewards--many of them supported alone by their hopes on their wearisome journey--fall as soon as they reach the top, and gain only after death the glorious distinction for which they spent--to which they devoted their lives. This is the Hill of Literary Fame.