philosophic theories. The fictions of génius are often the véhicles of the sublimest vèrities, and its flashes often open new regions of thought, and throw new light on the mysteries of our being. In poetry, when the letter is falsehood, the spirit is often profoundest wisdom.

7. And if truth thus dwells in the boldest fictions of the poet, much more may it be expected in his delineations of life; for the present life, which is the first stage of the immortal mind, abounds in the materials of poetry, and it is the high office of the bard to detect this divine element among the grosser labors and pleasures of our earthly being. The present life is not wholly prosaic, precíse, táme, and finite. To the gifted eye it abounds. in the poetic.

8. The affections, which spread beyond ourselves and stretch far into futúrity; the workings of mighty pássions, which seem to arm the soul with an almost superhuman énergy; the innocent and irrepressible joy of infancy; the bloom, and búoyancy, and dazzling hopes of youth; the throbbings of the heart, when it first wakes to love, and dreams of a happiness too vast for earth; wóman, with her beauty, and gráce, and géntleness, and fullness of féeling, and depth of afféction, and blushes of púrity, and the tónes and looks which only a móther's heart can inspire-these are all poetical.

9. It is not true that the poet paints a life which' does not exist. He only extracts and concentrates, as it wére, life's ethereal èssence, arrésts and condénses its volatile fragrance, brings together its scattered beauties, and prolongs its more refined but evanescent joys. And in this he does well; for it is good to feel that life is not wholly usurped by cares for subsistence and physical gratificátions, but admits, in measures which may be indefinitely enlarged, sentiments and delights worthy of a higher being.

CHANNING.

[This extract affords an example of "humorous style," with prevailing circumflex inflections.]

1. There is something cordial in a făt mán. Everybody likes him, and he likes everybody. Food does a făt man good; it clings to him; it frùctifies upon him; he swells nóbly out, and fills a génerous space in life. A făt man, therefore, almost in virtue of being a fat mán, is, per sé, a pôpular màn; and he commonly deserves his popularity.

2. A făt man feels his position sôlid in the world; he knows that his being is cògnizable; he knows that he has a márked plàce in the úniverse, and that he need take no extraordinary pains to advertise mankind that he is among them; he knows that he is in no danger of being overlooked.

3. A făt man is the nearest to that most perfect of figures, a mathemátical sphere; a thin man, to that most limited of conceivable dimensions, a simple lîne. A făt man is a being of harmónious vòlume, and holds relations to the material universe in every direction; a thin man. has nothing but length; a thin man, in fact, is but the continuation of a point.

4. Well then might Falstaff exult in his size; well might he mock at the prince, and his other léan contèmporaries; and, accordingly, when he would address the prince in terms the most degrading, he heaps èpithet upon èpithet, each expressive of the utmost leanness. Awây, you stârveling," he exclaims; “you eel-skin; you dried neat's-tongue; you stock-fish. O for breath to utter what is like thee!"

5. Falstaff was an epicure, but no glutton. He was not a great eater, for his bill contained a halfpennyworth of bread to an intolerable quantity of sack. And although Falstaff was a large drinker, he was no inebriate.

And here we conceive a consummate àrt in Shakespeare, who sustains Falstaff throughout in our intellectual respèct.

6. As to lies, they were in the way of his vocation. The highest stretch of imagination could not even suspect him of verăcity; and if he had any dúpes, they were strongly in love with decèption. His lies, too, were the lies of a professed and known wit; they were designed only for lúdicrous effect, and generally were little more than cómic exaggerations. In the events at Gad's hill, and those that immediately follow them, there is an epitome of the whole character of Falstaff; but there is, at the same time, an evident design on the part of the poet, to bring out his peculiarities with grotesque extràvagance, and to produce the broadest and the most cómic result.

7. Falstaff has both wit and humor; but more of wit, I think, than humor. Between wit and humor there is an evident distinction, but to submit the distinction to minute criticism would require more time than we can spàre; and, after all, it is more easy to feel than to explain it. Wit implies thought; humor, sensibility. Wit deals with ideas; humor, with actions and with mânners. Wit may be a thing of pure imaginàtion; hémor involves séntiment and character. Wit is an éssence; humor, an incarnation.

8. Wit and humor, however, have some qualities in common. Both develop unexpected anàlogies; both include the principles of cóntrast and assimilation; both detect inward resemblances amidst éxternal differences, and the result of both is pleasurable surprise; the surprise from wit excites admirátion, the surprise from humor stimulates mérriment, and produces laughter.

9. Falstaff's wit is rich as his imagination; as prolífic as it is felicitous. It is pùngent, còpious, brilliant in expréssion, and decisive in effèct. It never falls short of

its aim, and never misses it. And this rare wit is wholly devoted to the ludicrous.

HENRY GILES.

11. WEALTH.

1. As soon as a stranger is introduced into any company, one of the first questions which all wish to have answered, is, How does that man get his living? And with reason. He is no whole man until he knows how to earn a blameless livelihood. Society is barbarous, until every industrious man can get his living without dishonest customs.

2. Every man is a consumer, and ought to be a producer. He fails to make his place good in the world, unless he not only pays his debt, but also adds something to the common wealth. Nor can he do justice to his genius, without making some larger demand on the world than a bare subsistence. He is by constitution expensive, and needs to be rich.

3. Wealth has its source in applications of the mind to nature, from the rudest strokes of spade and ax, up to the last secrets of art. Intimate ties subsist between thought and all production; because a better order is equivalent to vast amounts of brute labor. The forces and the resistances are Nature's, but the mind acts in bringing things from where they abound to where they are wanted; in wise combining; in directing the practice of the useful arts, and in the creation of finer values, by fine art, by eloquence, by song, or the reproductions of memory.

4. Wealth is in applications of mind to nature; and the art of getting rich consists not in industry, much less in saving, but in a better order, in timeliness, in being at the right spot. One man has stronger arms, or longer legs; another sees by the course of streams,

and growth of markets, where land will be wanted, makes a clearing to the river, goes to sleep, and wakes up rich. Steam is no stronger now, than it was a hundred years ago; but is put to better use. A clever fellow was acquainted with the expansive force of steam; he also saw the wealth of wheat and grass rotting in Michigan. Then he cunningly screws on the steam-pipe to the wheat crop. Puff now, O Steam! The steam puffs and expands as before, but this time it is dragging all Michigan at its back to hungry New York and hungry England.

5. Coal lay in ledges under the ground since the flood, until a laborer with pick and windlass brings it to the surface. We may well call it black diamonds. Every basket is power and civilization. For coal is a portable climate. It carries the heat of the tropics to Labrador and the polar circle: and it is the means of transporting itself whithersoever it is wanted. Watt and Stephenson whispered in the ear of mankind their secret, that a half ounce of coal will draw two tons a mile, and coal carries coal, by rail and by boat, to make Canada as warm as Calcutta, and with its comfort brings its industrial power.

6. When the farmer's peaches are taken from under the tree, and carried into town, they have a new look, and a hundredfold value over the fruit which grew on the same bough, and lies fulsomely on the ground. The craft of the merchant is this bringing a thing from where it abounds, to where it is costly.

7. Wealth begins in a tight roof that keeps the rain and wind out; in a good pump that yields you plenty of sweet water; in two suits of clothes, so to change your dress when you are wet; in dry sticks to burn; in a good double-wick lamp; and three meals; in a horse, or a locomotive, to cross the land; in a boat to cross the sea; in tools to work with; in books to read;