duced by the conflicting claims of duty and interest continually opposed, instead of being in harmony with each other-by the tyranny of the ruling classes, the sufferings of the enslaved, the selfishness of all, who, strongly imbued with the erroneous belief that their happiness would be in proportion to their wealth, and their wealth in proportion to the poverty of others-have sought wealth as the only good, and by plunders, murders, wars, and devastations in every form, accumulated that wealth in few hands, till others arose to plunder them in turn, and scatter that which they had so unjustly gathered. The greatest empires on which the sun ever shone-Egypt, Assyria, Babylonia, Media, Persia, India, Greece, Rome,-all have fallen from the same general causes, though operating with various modifications in form. Conquest, wealth, luxury, selfishness, corruption, depravity, weakness, poverty, and degradation: these have been the steps by which they have all proceeded from the highest pinnacle of glory to the lowest point of misery. And yet, the nations of the earth, blind to these great examples, seem nearly all pursuing, with different degrees of intensity and ardour, the same mad career. How true it is, as Shakspere says, that "our pleasant vices are made the scourge wherewith to lash us." Conquest, wealth, luxury, and selfishness, the ambitious foibles and vices of nations of men, at once their glory and their shame, are the sources of that corruption, depravity, weakness, poverty, and degradation, under which all alike suffer. Again Seeing, then, that the elements of wealth and happiness are now more abundant than at any former period of the world's history that the inventions and combinations of mechanical powers give to mankind the force of many millions of additional hands, which, by a right direction of these powers for the public benefit rather than for the individual enrichment of a few, and the impoverishment of many, might make every intelligent being capable of producing much more than he could consume, and thus, not only supply the wants of all, but leave a large surplus besides; and, seeing also, that the intelligence requisite for such combination and direction may be readily placed within the reach of all-the time seems to have arrived for correcting some of the great evils that more or less afflict almost every country on the globe. Has the time arrived for using the plenty and the power we possess for the good of all? That is the question all good men are asking, and which none are able to answer; but of this, at least, we may be assured that without both earnest thought and steadfast action "the time" will never come, and that all good reforms are only made timely by discussing them. The first great evil to which Mr. Buckingham points, is IGNORANCE. In this we hold he is undoubtedly correct. What makes the contrast between the savage and the civilized man but the difference of Knowledge? What constitutes the power of civilization and the weakness of barbarism but knowledge and ignorance. But there is another, and to individuals, a more important view of this point, which is pointed out in the following passages :— But, while the contrast between the different conditions of the same nations at distant periods of their history, and between civilized and savage nations at the same moment of time, must strike all of us forcibly, there is a contrast quite as important, but which is more apt to escape our attention, between the different classes of society, in all countries at the same period of their history. In England, for instance, even now, there are still millions, of all ages and both sexes, among the humbler ranks of life, who are entirely ignorant of reading and writing; in France, probably, though not perhaps to so great an extent, there are yet many adults and children who are wholly without education; while, in most of the other countries of Europe, Prussia only excepted, the proportion of uneducated persons is greater still. But, if every child born in every kingdom were well educatedthose of families able to bear the cost at the expense of their parents, and all others at the expense of the State-and if this education were made to embrace, as it should do, a competent knowledge of all the laws of health, the necessity of proper attention to diet, cleanliness, ventilation, exercise, and moderation in all enjoyments, three-fourths of the disease and debility which now affiict the labouring classes would disappear. If the education embraced, as it should do, a sound moral training of the feelings and sentiments, as well as an inculcation of just moral principles, founded on the precepts of the Gospel of truth, and a practical habituation to the meek, gentle, self-denying, and benevolent interchange of acts of kindness which that gospel enjoins, nearly all the crime that defaces every civilized community would be suppressed. There is scarcely a limit to the good which a real education, in conjunction with other unsectarian reforms would effect. There is now scarcely any education, worthy of the name. From the lowest dame-school, where some poor purblind woman, too old and feeble for work, keeps little boys quiet, and inducts, as she best may, youthful women into all the mysteries of the sampler, up to the great universities of the kingdom, with their grave and learned professors, a mere system of teaching, as contradistinguished from education, prevails. Of real education, that is, such a process as would not only train the memory and enlarge the intellect, but develope into a harmonious whole the physical and mental man, with all his perceptions, faculties, sympathies, and passions, not only England, but every nation on earth, is destitute. But a glance at the gaol calendars, and a knowledge of our pauper population, tell us that, amid a chaos of ignorance there are to be found its lowest depths, and justify us in believing, that even an extension of our ductive of vast good. We spend more both of time, present comparatively inefficient mode would be proeffort, and money, to "put down" crime than to prevent it, and we perfectly agree with Mr. Buckingham, that, The money now expended in the support of hospitals and asylums for the weak and diseased, and the still larger sums expended in the erection of prisons and penitentiaries, in the maintenance of a criminal police, and all the other machinery for the detection and punishment of crime, would educate, in the best possible manner, every child born into the world, and maintain all the teachers employed in the task in the highest degree of comfort and efficiency. There is no knowing what bright germs of intellect are buried in the rubbish of ignorance. How many stars which might light the world are lost in the misty darkness. How, probably, the destinies of nations themselves are put back, and the progress of humanity retarded by, possibly, the greatest minds living and dying destitute of the chance of enlightenment. Mr. Buckingham truly says What England and France now are-what Egypt, Grecce, and Italy once were-all countries may be made, by the same amount of mental instruction and intellectual cultivation; and with the increased store of knowledge now possessed by mankind, through the powerful agency of the printing-press, unknown to the great nations of antiquity, the civilization once acquired may be retained, without that fearful shock and violence, which, from ignorance of the true principles of Conservatism, have desolated so many of the great empires of antiquity. Voyages and missions of civilization, therefore, deserve every encouragement. Peaceful and commercial colonization, by which civilized communities can impress the germ and image of their own improvement on barbarous nations, are worthy of the highest sanction. The second great evil to which allusion is made is INTEMPERANCE. Mr. Buckingham, as will be seen from our notice of his preface, is a total abstainer. We know that those who avoid drunkenness, by not drinking spirituous liquors at all, are likened to the monks of old, who thought to avoid sin by shutting themselves out from the temptations of the world, by giving up, at the same time, all its good and all its evil. But man's free will is in effect limited by the circle of his knowledge, and if his ignorance takes away his free agency, is it then better to avoid temptation or to face it? And if there be (as we fear there are) many so weak in their ignorance as to be unable to control themselves, does it or not then become a duty, in those who can exercise self-control, to set an example to their less fortunate fellows, by abjuring the cause of offence? These are grave questions, and it is but fair to hear our author's reasons,-for the practical answer he has already given to them :— I was at once convinced that there was no safe halting-placefor the humbler classes, at least-between intoxication and entire abstinence from its use; because, at the very stage of such halting, there was always a tendency to go further; and because every drunkard had begun by drinking moderately at first, increasing the excitement by very slight, and, to himself, almost imperceptible degrees, till he became at last a confirmed sot and outcast, a burden to himself, a curse to his family, and a disgrace to his nation; besides being an incumbrance to the sober and industrious portion of the community, who have to pay the cost of unatic asylum; to bury him when dead, and to support his widow bis maintenance in the poor-house, the hospital, the prison, or the and orphan children, whom he leaves penniless. Whatever conclusion our readers may come to as to the duty or propriety of abstaining from intoxicating drinks, from this conclusion at all events, they cannot escape that the use of those liquors, to the extent which now obtains, is a fertile cause of profligacy, disease, pauperism, misery, and crime; that it is a bar to the education of children; that it diminishes the energy of the labourer; that it prevents his saving such part of his proceeds as might, if invested with life assurance companies, or in savings' banks, form a provision for his family; that it stimulates quarrels, and sets up a powerful barrier to intelligent co-operation; that it lessens our stock of available food, and that it imposes a selfincurred tax upon the nation at large, greater than the whole of the Imperial and local taxation of the kingdom and, if this be true, we must agree with Mr. Buckingham, that intemperance is one of the great evils of society. Mr. Buckingham's third great evil is National prejudice. He says, Every one who has lived to the age to which I have now attained within a few years of the allotted term of life-must remember, that in France it was considered a most essential part of true patriotism to look with contempt upon all other countries, and with hatred to England in particular. And we, in our turn, were neither more wise nor more liberal: we were taught in youth to despise France and Frenchmen, and in manhood to hate and revile them; while the national drama and popular literature of both countries fanned the flame of this mutual hatred and contempt so zealously and effectively, that even thirty years of peace has been insufficient to extinguish it entirely; for, among the most ignorant and least generous of each nation, there still lingers a sort of traditional sentiment, that the greatness or the glory of the one country cannot be quite complete without the defeat or humiliation of the other. These persons, indeed, seem to think that, though among individuals, proximity of residence and position constitutes the relationship of neighbours," whom we are commanded by our common Christianity "to love as ourselves;" yet, that with nations this proximity must be differently interpreted to mean "natural enemies," and that it is, therefore, our duty to hate, revile, and destroy everything belonging to them; though this is not the treatment which Christianity enjoins even to enemies, whom we are taught "to pray for and forgive." This evil is however one fast fading away. The results of science overleap the petty boundaries of kingdoms. With railroads which convert miles into minutes, and steam-boats which span seas with flying bridges, the universality of humanity is subverging national individualism. The estrangement is fast dying away and with it the old enmities. Men are beginning to look upon each other as men, and not as Englishmen or Frenchmen, and by-andby, thanks to Peace Congresses, "those who make the quarrels" will be "the only men to fight." To promote a more thorough fusion, Mr. Buckingham recommends the adoption of a universal language, which every man should learn in addition to his mother tongue. For this purpose Mr. Buckingham prefers the French, because it is already extensively spoken, and because it is more easy of acquisition, than the English. On this point we are inclined to join issue. If it were true that the French is more widely spread, that would be but of little consequence when a universal language was at once resolved on, but when we look at America-our African and Australian possessions, and the West Indies, we cannot admit the proposition. Facility of acquisition is of comparatively small consequence when a language is learned early in life; and national prejudice apart, we fancy the English is more manly and copious, and founded as it in part is on the universally known Greek and Latin, is in itself better fitted for a universal language. (To be concluded in a Second Article.) NOTES ON THE MONTHS. DRAW near to the fire; stir up to a cheerful blaze. whistles through the key-hole, or the window chinks, and it howls across the chimney-top, as there we sit in cheerful converse, or with book or paper in hand, enjoying the domestic comfort of the season. Now do the little boys and girls press forward to secure the best places by the hearth, with their shining faces and up-turned hands pointed towards the fire. Now do careful housewives watch the entrance of these little wanderers, coming in from their slides and snow-ballings, to see that they carry on their feet no clogs of ice or snow, before they are permitted to take their places there. Now comforters and mitts are in great request, and "winter things" are really prized. Now a hot dinner is a great treat for those who can secure it, and a thing Now hawkers of greatly desired by those who cannot. fish and vendors of small wares look very blue and nipt, and only the butchers' boys seem as red and jolly as ever. Even the hurried postman is chilled and frost-bitten, and looks as if he had not time so much as to get into a heat. Now skaters may be seen on the Serpentine, engaged in their mystic gyrations, and the officers of the Humane Society have all their apparatus ready for action. Policemen, when not on duty, in warm kitchens, are on the look-out for little boys making slides, and elderly gentlemen are in terror of perpetrating sommersaults thereon, as well as of encountering the flying snow-balls of "rival" houses! Now the breath freezes as it issues from the mouth, and we button close up, and have little time to spare for exchanging civilities, with the warm friend whom we encounter in the street. Now, bed is a remarkably snug place in a morning, and we contrive a prodigious number of excuses for not getting up; and only the thought of warm rolls and hot coffee can coax us out of it at length. Now we find many excuses for taking a drop of " something comfortable," and friends very much enjoy the sight of each others' faces by punchlight. Now the reading of Leigh Hunt's paper, descriptive of a cold day, seems to us inimitable, and full of the closest and kindliest observation of nature; and to the reader we would, therefore, commend it, as well as to all his other heart-whole and genial writings at this winter season. The old year is now dead, and is already wrapped in her shroud of white. Yet, nature is not dead, but only sleepeth. The little mountain rills are congealed, and A hard crust covers the their cheerful voice is mute. face of nature; snow lies thick in many places, drifted up in the valleys far up among the hills, where the sheep are folded on the open mountain-side, and a store of provisions has already been laid up for them against the long winter. The skies are clear at night; and the sharp stars, piercing the keen winter's air, gaze at themselves in the sea. The winds sigh through the leafless forests, for the trees and the flowers have all gone, exposing the bare ribs of earth. The birds are mute; some are hybernating, others have migrated to warmer climes, a few have gone to winter near the sea-coast; the kittywren and the robin hop about our dwellings to pick up the crumbs that are cast to them; fieldfares sit huddled together in their feathery coats; and, occasionally, there is heard overhead the shrill scream of wild-geese winging their way towards the sea. The sun is a lay-a-bed at this season, and slowly and sluggishly climbs up the sky, through the dense clouds Sometimes he rises and fogs which gird the horizon. clear and bright; and, if the ground be covered with snow, and the air sharp and frosty, no more bracing and cheerful sight can be witnessed. Standing on an open down, or on a hill-side, or on a rising ground overlooking a wide valley, the appearance of the landscape is really beautiful, though quiet, and seemingly dead. Everything is covered with a white mantle of snow, except, perhaps, the unfrozen surface of the wide river winding through the valley. The cottage-roofs and corn ricks are piled with their winter covering, and the most familiar country puts on a new and most unwonted aspect. The village spire rises up like the tomb of a buried country; the church-bell sounds as if strangely muilled; the foot-tall makes no noise, and life seems to have lost its echo; only the curling smoke eddies up with a more than wonted alacrity into the air. The tiny crystals of snow sparkle in the sun; the trees, whose every spray is laden heavily, droop their branches, and here and there a few bright red berries relieve the dazzling whiteness of the beautiful fret-work which covers all things. The red-breast, as he flits from spray to spray, shakes showers of snow from the twigs, twittering in half-suppressed notes, which serve but to make the silence more marked. A walk in the snow on such a morning is full of health and pleasure. The altogether novel aspect of nature is charming. The old has become new, and strikes us with unwonted beauty. The sabbath-stillness of the snowcovered scenes sheds a kind of holiday joy to the heart. The pure air carries new life to the blood, and we feel our youth renewed, and our strength invigorated by the scene. The life of nature is restored by winter too, as the human system is by sleep. A plentiful harvest often follows upon a severe winter. Though nature at this season appears in her stern aspect, she is always at work. She has provided, with the utmost care, for the protection of her own life; and while, to the eye, all things may seem dead, the germs of a future growth and abundance are everywhere sedulously preserved. The birds are all safe within their shielded folds; the bark covers the trees with a secure garment; and deep in the earth the seeds are germinating in quiet power. There lives and works A soul in all things, and that soul is God, He marks the bounds which winter may not pass, And ere one flowery season fades and dies, is driven clean out of the bolt-ropes, and is flying to windward like a cloud; while a plash in the boiling sea below tells that a poor seaman is gone overboard, and is already left by the storm-driven ship, far in her wake, struggling with inevitable death; while, not unfrequently, the torn deep yawns, and the ill-fated ship herself finds a sudden grave beneath its jagged gulf. Such are the perils of the great deep at this winter season. Now, also, the shepherd and his dog feel lonely enough on the cold hill-side; sometimes the sudden snow-storm bursts upon them, and sweeps round their flock before they have folded it in safety from its attack. The eddying flakes swirl and drive around them; and as they pass a gully in the hills, a drifting cloud of snow comes sudden upon them, and they perish in its cold embrace. In these mountain-storms, the shepherd's dog, on many occasions, vindicates its true sagacity. Struggling out from the snow-drift, it tracks its way with unerring step towards the far-off humble cottage of its master, when the steps of the already-alarmed inmates are guided back by the faithful dog to the deadly snow-wreath, from which the shepherd and his flock are thus not unfrequently rescued. In Alpine mountains, the piled-up snow accumulates in tremendous masses, and the fearful avalanche, hurling down into the valleys, carries terror and destruction before it, immolating hamlets and villages in its fell swoop. Amidst all these thoughts of the wild work of nature without, and of the cold, the storms, and frosts, to which the hard wayfarers of life are exposed, our dear homehearth feels more cheerful, the faggots blaze more kindly, and our English fireside seems the brightest of all spots on this earth to us. This is the sun of our social system, and in the dead of winter shines purest and brightest. Let us, before its cheerful influence, enjoy our blessings, and forget not those who want them, but expand our hearts and endeavour to make all within our reach sharers The setting of the sun on a frosty winter's evening is in our joys. To help the poor is, above all others, the also a fine sight; the west, luminous as gold, the re- social duty of winter, taught by the rigour, the privations, flected light of the god of day, shining along the sparkling and the necessities of the season. When the help of snow; and as he begins to sink beneath the horizon, a man fails, the poor have then no hope left but in roseate pathway marks the point of his setting. And themselves and in their Maker. Thus Samuel Bamford then, the pale moon rises up, “ heaving her shoulder over speaks for them, the men of his own class :— the edge o' the world," and the bright stars stand out one by one, sharp and clear against the face of the sky, glittering in the deep blue of night, and the whitened face of nature again assumes a new and still beautiful aspect. God help the poor, who in lone valleys dwell, Yet little cares the world, and less 'twould know The wearying loom must have them up at morn; A SOLEMN THOUGHT. But frost and snow are not the only features of this season. We have great storms and drifts, cold driving winds, showers of sleet and rain, and other indications of our variable climate. As the cold northern blasts sweep the earth, sometimes uprooting trees, and prostrating long chimney-stalks, carrying slates and tiles spinning through the air, howling through our doors and down our chimneys; we cannot help thinking of the tempest-tossed mariner in his frail bark, impelled with whirlwind speed through the rolling billows in the thick darkness of the "No man liveth to himself." This is impossible. night, the waters lashed by the scourge of the storm, His light must radiate, his example must tell, his conand foaming and bounding like some wounded thing inversation must operate, his power must be felt; no man, agony. The wind whistles aloft through the cordage, the timbers strain and crack with every pitch of the vessel, as it climbs up the side of one mountain-wave to drive again into the trough of the sea beyond. In such a night, every seaman has to be on deck, the hatches are battened down, and all are alert at the call of duty. They clamber up the rigging in the pitchy darkness, and to the command from below of "take in a double reef," or "let all go," they spring to the tops and work with a will. A sudden wrenching crash is heard, and lo! the topsail whatever his situation, or his apparent insignificance, can "live to himself." He must do good or harm; prove either a blessing, or a curse. FREE INQUIRY. It is uniformly observable, that, if the mind be fettered, if thought be gagged, the beauty, the vigour, the elevation, the nobleness of intellect are annihilated. If you wish mind to develop its highest beauty, and to put forth its full energy, you must not attempt to restrain, or coerce it. It must be free; it must be free. "THERE'S A SILVER LINING TO EVERY CLOUD." The poet or priest who told us this Served mankind in the holiest way; May we not walk in the dingle ground When nothing but Autumn's dead leaves are seen; But search beneath them, and peeping around Are the young spring tufts of blue and green. 'Tis a beautiful eye that ever perceives The presence of God in Mortality's crowd, 'Tis a saving creed that thinks and believes "There's a silver lining to every cloud." Let us look closely before we condemn Bushes that bear nor bloom nor fruit, There may not be beauty in leaves or stem, But virtue may dwell far down at the root } And let us beware how we utterly spurn Brothers that seem all cold and proud, If their bosoms were opened, perchance we might learn "There's a silver lining to every cloud." Let us not cast out Mercy and Truth, When Guilt is before us in chains and shame, When Passion and Vice have cankered youth, And Age lives on with a branded name: Something of good may still be there, Though its voice may never be heard aloud, Sad are the sorrows that oftentimes come, But let us not sink beneath the woe, "Tis well perchance we are tried and bowed, For be sure, though we may not oft see it below, "There's a silver lining to every cloud." And when stern Death, with skeleton hand, Has snatched the flower that grew in our breast, Where the lost are found, and the weary at rest? ELIZA COOK. ON THE EDUCATION OF IDIOTS. "What an occupation-the cultivation of minds all but utterly sterile! And what can repay the originators of this divine work?-unless it be the consciousness that they, and the labourers in it, are permitted to clothe with sense and reason, however limited, those whom a mysterious Providence has placed on the earth, clothed with something like brutality! The holy attempt to awaken faculties hitherto dormant, to restore to themselves and to God, as it were, these lost minds, demands the praise of mankind, as the most stupendous of human endeavours, endeavours happily not without success; gleams of intelligence shine occasionally through the mental darkness, and these, fostered during days, months, and years, have, in certain instances, increased in number, and have even become combined into a steady, continuous, mild light of reason, shining from the erewhile vacant eyes of the idiot."-From Dr. Winslow's Journal of Psychological Medicine. DIAMOND DUST. HE who teaches religion without exemplifying it loses the advantage of its best argument. No summer but it has a winter; he never reaped comfort in his adversity, that sowed it not in his prosperity. REPLIES are not always answers. IT is happy to have so much merit, that our birth is the least thing respected in us. RIDE not post for your marriage; if you do, you may, in the period of your journey, take sorrow for your inn, and make repentance your host. AN honest man is believed without an oath, for his reputation swears for him. Ir is the great art and philosophy of life, to make the best of the present, whether it be good or bad. IDLENESS wastes a man as insensibly as industry improves him. CORRECT taste is always true to nature; The "beautiful appearance of the earth and heavens," the regular change of the seasons, the succession of day and night, fill the heart of him who is influenced by it with rapture. The nearer works of art approach the perfection of nature, the more consonant they are with good taste, and they command lasting and universal admiration. BETRAY mean terror of ridicule, thou shalt find fools enough to mock thee. But answer those their laughter with contempt, and the scoffers will lick thy feet. GRAVITY is not necessarily a component part of wickedness. Malignity is often wreathed in smiles. There are jests which destroy; destroy as surely as the keenedged dagger or the poisoned bowl. IN every generous mind there is a string, which, if touched rightly, yields fine tones, but if struck by an unskilful hand, produces only discord. REMORSE is the echo of a lost virtue. MATERIAL objects become so entwined with the affections and the memory; the scenes that have witnessed our joys, and whose tranquil beauties have soothed our sorrows, assume an aspect so like that of old and valued friends, that the pang of separation from them amounts to agony. THOSE who cry the loudest, have generally least to sell. GUESTS are often invited to witness the ostentation of the host. THE poet yearning after sympathy may at least enjoy one consolation-the thought that many kindred spirits, though unknown to him, know and love him, and participate in his sentiments. THERE is no malady more severe than habitual dis content. HE whom reason rules may with safety rule others. FLATTERERS only lift a man up, as it is said the eagle does the tortoise, to get something by his fall. Ir we would perpetuate our fame or reputation we must do things worth writing, or write things worth reading. MANKIND are more what they are made by mankind than what they are made by their Creator! The wolf is ferocious because hunted from a whelp. The snake turns upon you, because you disturb and pursue it. The child grows surly, because unjustly coerced. But, above all, man becomes unjust and cruel, because pursued with cruelty and injustice by his brother man. Printed and Published for the Proprietor, by Joux OWEN CLARKE, (of No. 9, Hemingford Terrace, East, in the Parish of St. Mary, Islington, in the County of Middlesex) at his Frinting Office, No. 3, Raquet Court, Fleet Street, in the Parish of St. Bride, in the City of London, Saturday, January 12, 1850. TOO MUCH OF A GENIUS! "DEPEND upon it, my dear Sir, he will rise to great distinction, and be an honour to all of us some day." Such were the parting words of the head master in the Free Grammar School of -, to the happy father of William Fenning, at the conclusion of his last summer session. William had proved a brilliant pupil, and in the course of his last term at school had carried away some of the first prizes. The father was proud and the boy hopeful. The world lay open before him, and he seemed marked out for a prosperous future. The difficulty lay in choosing a career worthy of so promising a young man. The law was a drudgery, and progress in that profession was slow; true, at the bar there was scope for genius, but the prizes there could not be taken at a leap; even for the most gifted there was a long toiling up hill. Physic was overstocked; and genius there was out of place. The father remembered a trite saying of old Abernethy, that a man in that profession "rarely got bread enough until he had not teeth left to eat it." The church? That required great patronage; and it would never do for William to vegetate as a curate on eighty pounds a year. The church, then, was not to be thought of; on all sides there was difficulty, and William was kept at home till the difficulty could be solved. The promising young man was already in a fair way of being spoilt. He was not idle, however. He read extensively, but without method or selection. All sorts of books were read promiscuously; he was captivated by novels, which introduce youth to a new world, though a very unreal one. Possibly he thought he was thus gaining experience, while he was only acquiring false notions of life. But he read rather because he liked to read, than because of any object he had in view. He devoured Byron, and he was just at the age when Byronic frenzy is so fascinating to the young mind. Some rise gradually out of this condition to something better and higher; others lose themselves, and never recover their healthy tone of mind. The great want of this youth was direction, and an object. He had neither, and his mind was tast running to seed, which was shed about in the albums of young ladies, who thought him "so clever." Alas, poor youth! [PRICE 14d. A year or more had passed, and his loose habits of thought and reading were getting formed. A year lost at this age, while the boy is expanding into the man, is often tantamount to the loss of a life. The man's character, for steady industry or for desultory frivolity, becomes now almost indelibly stamped. The metal is soft, and it easily takes the mark of the die. In the case of our young genius, where flattery, fancy, and ill-regulated aspirations were the influences at work, the character of the impression made may be inferred. Had he been put to a trade, or to a business of any sort, the result would doubtless have been very different. For the best qualities of the mind are trained by the regular pursuits of an active calling, and habits of industry only serve to discipline and invigorate it. But, in this case, it was the misfortune of the young man to be "a genius," and no marks of vulgar toil must stain his hands! The too indulgent, too ambitious father, began to perceive his mistake, but it was too late. Fortunately he had not repeated his error with his second son, Edward, "a dull boy," for he put him apprentice to a machine-maker, and he was getting on steadily. As he walked in to his meals, his grimed dress rather excited the ire of the "genius," who began to regard his own fair and unstained hands as something gentçel and aristocratic. But the grimed hands brought home a weekly wage, increasing from year to year, and which Ned joyfully emptied into his mother's lap as Saturday nights came round; while the fair hands of his brother had been handling, during the week, only hot-pressed novels and cream-laid note-paper, producing nothing. The grimed hands surely deserved the greater honour. At length the genius really became a producer. The fervent admiration of his "friends," which he was but too ready to receive, hurried him into the perpetration of a collection of verses, which he proceeded to print " by subscription." The friends were taken at their word, and a prospectus was handed round to them for their names. It was now too late to retract, and they were victimized. The poems were published; they were the echoes of this, that, and the other writer; had a dash of the morbid gloom of Byron, an affectation of the picturesque descriptive style of Tennyson, a faint echo of the hyper-sensitive longings of Keats; there was nothing in the book that was the writer's own; he had evidently |