endeavouring to make useful and innocent knowledge universal? But, then, say the advocates of ignorance, knowledge amongst the people will produce discontent with the institutions under which we live. Be it so. If there be any matters in those institutions which are bottomed upon ignorance, let them perish! But we will impart to the timid one word of sure consolation. An ignorant people will pull down their institutions; an instructed people will repair them. Amidst the uncertainties and changes of events-amidst the doubts, and fears, and restless hopes, and all the passions which politics excite-there is one immutable standard to which we may refer for lessons of consistency; and that is, the constitution of the human mind, in all the modifications and all the convulsions of society, unceasingly progressing to its own improvement. It is this truth which always gives us hope, when we behold the triumphs of despotism. Evil governments produce the same debilitating effect upon the mental powers of their subjects, as evil passions do upon the reasoning faculties of individuals. The sense of right and wrong-the perception of beauty and deformity-in either case are deadened. And, thus, vice and despotism are to be hated, not more for the immediate evils of which they are the cause, than for their systematic degradation of the individual or the public mind upon which they fasten. But the elasticity of our powers -the constant progress towards improvement,-which no self-abasement, and no external oppression, can wholly destroy, makes the ultimate amelioration of the human race quite certain. "The alliance of education and government," so exquisitely painted by Gray, in his fragment of a philosophical poem, cannot be dissevered. The brute force may for a time conquer the mind; but the mind will, eventually, be too strong for the brute force. Other countries must still be revolutionized by mind; but England has past that phase. Wise will be her rulers, if they neither drag too far behind, nor run too eagerly before, public opinion. In that middle course is safety. That public opinion may not be the rash and almost frantic impulse which pulls down the good as well as the evil, it should be built upon knowledge. We feel that

knowledge is power; but, like all real power (not the power of passion, or of chance), knowledge is calm, considerate, prudent. It knows its own strength, and it abides its time.

CHARACTER OF AN HONEST AND
CONTENTED BURGESS.

AN honest and contented burgess is one of those men whom no good fortune can pamper and corrupt, no adversity sour, and no fashion change. He is right English. He is the main prop and stay of our social institutions. He is respected by his superiors, without compromising his independence, and looked up to by those beneath him, without concealing their faults.

An honest burgess thinks it no disgrace to be a tradesman. His shop or factory is the theatre of his duties and his pleasures. He knows enough of political economy to feel that behind his counter he is rendering service to the state; and he has the more home-bred satisfaction to be assured that his vocation affords him the competence which keeps him above want or meanness. He instils the same principles into his children. As a general purpose he brings up his sons to be mechanics or tradesmen; but he is too prudent to force their inclinations. He judges of their talents according to his conscience; and when, in mutual love and confidence, their path is chosen, he denies no reasonable aid to assist them on their journey.

The honest burgess is not a dull plodder, without an idea but that of counting his pence. He holds it to be a positive duty for man to improve his understanding. He has not read many books, but he has read them well. He makes more use of his own thoughts than of the thoughts of others. He has studied the world accurately, not to learn cunning, but humility. He has not neglected the cultivation of his taste. He does not acknowledge that his occupation ought to shut him out from any

elegant enjoyment which is consistent with his circumstances. He delights in a country walk, and enjoys the beauty of a landscape, with the eye of feeling and imagination. He thinks it no assumption to take a real pleasure in the examination of a fine picture; and holds that a habit of comparing art with nature may allow him to judge of its merits. He reads Shakspere and Milton with a genuine love and admiration; for he does not consider poetry as necessarily allied to folly or madness, but as the reflection of those pure and impassioned thoughts which the commerce of the world suppresses, but which have their home in the depths of the human heart.

Our contented burgess is a little old-fashioned in some of his habits. He is jovial over his toast and ale on a Christmas-eve; and on winter evenings will romp at blind-man's-buff with his children. He plays at forfeits, too, with the young folks. He goes to a village fair with his family on May-day, and is not ashamed to turn round and gaze at Jack in the Green. He takes them all to see the wild beasts, and explains their several qualities better than the showman. `On special occasions he has no objection to make one at trap-ball; and, once a-year, he and all the household go gipsying. He thinks nothing vulgar but what is mean, and he thinks nothing mean that contributes to health and cheerfulness.

However our honest citizen may feel that his first duties are to his family, he is not slow to occupy himself in the public service. He never shrinks from the performance of those offices which are essential to the good government of every parish or town. He is ever ready at his post, and most so when he is called thither by the claims of the wretched. He knows that he can do more good by his industry than his purse. He offers his opinion on such occasions with modesty, but yet with firmness. He does not advocate the cause of benevolence to exhibit himself; but to bear witness to a misery, or to suggest its alleviation. He speaks little; but he speaks to the point. He leaves the flourishes of rhetoric, and

the hems and haas of common-place, to those who are thinking of themselves when they have the public good upon their lips.

The mainspring of the honest burgess's benevolence is true religion. He does not ask whether such duties are expected from his situation; but he looks into that Volume which prescribes their performance, and then applies himself to their execution, to the full extent of his humble means. His religion is not with him a holiday suit. It is not put on once a-week for decency. It lives in his heart, and it is seen in his household. Crabbe has described such a family :

"Pleasant it was to see them in their walk

Round their small garden, and to hear them talk;
Free are their children, but their love refrains
From all offence-none murmurs, none complains
Whether a book amused them, speech, or play,
Their looks were lively, and their hearts were gay.
There no forced efforts for delight were made,
Joy came with prudence, and without parade;
Their common comforts they had all in view,
Light were their troubles, and their wishes few;
Thrift made them easy for the coming day;
Religion took the dread of death away;

A cheerful spirit still insured content,

And love smiled round them whereso'er they went."

The honest burgess ought to save sufficient out of his trade to procure himself an easy retirement after the vigour of his age is past. May he ever find some pretty cottage in a quiet suburb of his town, where he may trail the jasmine and the honey-suckle round his trimly-whitened walls, and delight himself in producing the earliest peas and cucumbers of the season! May his children and grandchildren duly gather round his Christmas fire-side, to smooth the approaches of wrinkled age! And may his last end be as full of peace as the simplicity of his life and the purity of his faith give us warrant to anticipate!

THE SHEPHERD BOY.

THE rain was pattering o'er the low thatch'd shed
That gave us shelter. There was a shepherd boy,
Stretching his lazy limbs on the rough straw,
In vacant happiness. A tatter'd sack
Cover'd his sturdy loins, while his rude legs
Were deck'd with uncouth patches of all hues,
Iris and jet, through which his sun-burnt skin
Peep'd forth in dainty contrast. He was a glory
For painter's eye; and his quaint draperies
Would harmonize with some fair sylvan scene,
Where arching groves, and flower-embroider'd banks,
Verdant with thymy grass, tempted the sheep
To scramble up their height, while he, reclin'd
Upon the pillowing moss, lay listlessly

Through the long summer's day. Not such as he,
In plains of Thessaly, as poets feign,

Went piping forth at the first gleam of morn,
And in their bowering thickets dreamt of joy,
And innocence, and love. Let the true lay
Speak thus of the poor hind :-His indolent gaze
Reck'd not of natural beauties; his delights
Were gross and sensual: not the glorious sun,
Rising above his hills, and lighting up
His woods and pastures with a joyous beam,
To him was grandeur; not the reposing sound
Of tinkling flocks cropping the tender shoots,
To him was music; not the blossomy breeze
That slumbers in the honey-dropping bean-flower,
To him was fragrance: he went plodding on
His long-accustomed path; and when his cares
Of daily duties were o'erpass'd, he ate,

And laugh'd, and slept, with a most drowsy mind.
Dweller in cities, scorn'st thou the shepherd boy,
Who never look'd within to find the eye

For Nature's glories? Know, his slumbering spirit Struggled to pierce the fogs and deepening mists