and misapplied genius. When we see powers of mind that, under the control of virtue and right principle, might have rendered their possessor a benefactor to mankind, and an ornament to his age and country, we grieve to think that what Nature designed to be a blessing, the perversity of man has turned into a curse. What are termed the "eccentricities of genius," render it peculiarly liable to misdirection; the feelings of men of genius are more easily acted upon, and a morbid sensibility very commonly accompanies it: unless therefore its energies are directed into a proper channel by the most careful culture, it often leaves upon our minds the melancholy impression that it might have done better things. Few can contemplate unmoved the brilliant talents, the youthful errors, and the untimely fate of Chatterton: dying as he did at an age scarcely removed from mere boyhood, the records of his genius which he has left us in his poems increase tenfold our regret, that so bright an intellect should have been uncontrolled by firmness of principle, and unrefined by proper cultivation. His is a character which claims and receives at our hands a peculiar sympathy; his extreme youth, coinciding with our own age and that of many of our schoolfellows, and the melancholy which marked him in life and in death, and imparted its colouring to his poetry, combine to render him in our eyes an object of more than common interest. The traces of genius discernible in his compositions are such, that it is impossible to say how high he might have risen, had his talents been improved by education, and restrained by good

P 2

sense.

But he was a Wild Flower, and perished for want of culture.

The brief and chequered career of Shelley affords another illustration of the preceding remarks; not that he suffered through lack of knowledge, or from any disadvantages of birth or rank; but the wild and wayward character of his genius, and the fanciful notions which it led him to entertain, seem to point him out as a fit subject for notice in these pages. Though he possessed talents that might have done honour to the place of his education, his behaviour at Eton was such as could not fail to estrange from him the sympathies of all around him; and he had no one but himself to blame, that he alone was miserable where all besides were happy. Despising alike the studies and the pleasures of his school-fellows, he sought refuge from the world in solitude and meditation; and even at that early age, his thoughts were marked by the same daring character, the same disregard for Revelation, which in maturer years detracted so considerably from his poetical fame. His youth was altogether consistent with his manhood: at the age of eighteen he wrote his poem of "Queen Mab," the boldness and impiety of which were not surpassed by any of his later productions. The perfectibility of human nature was the leading idea of this work; and in accordance with this scheme, he considered the Christian Religion rather as an obstacle to the performance of virtues, than as the only means of performing them. How painful an example have we here of talent misapplied, of the noblest gifts of Providence abused! Loftiness of thought,

when it ceases to bow before the authority of Revelation, and speculates on forbidden subjects, is like the presumption of the rebellious builders on the plain of Shinar; no human intellect can attain any real sublimity when opposed to Divine Truth, but only when submitting to be placed under its guidance. What shall we say then of the poetical genius of him, who made it a vehicle for the doctrines of Voltaire? Here lies the secret of Milton's unapproachable superiority over other poets: his genius rose together with the grandeur of his theme, and he thus achieved a far greater intellectual triumph than was ever won by the mere force of thought. Surely then nothing can be more preposterous, or carries its own refutation more completely, than the notion of Shelley and others, that the range of the human mind is circumscribed by being kept subservient to a belief in the Christian religion.

Not to weary our readers by multiplying instances, we will merely direct their attention to a Wild Flower which developed itself in Fortune's despite, without however losing its natural and unsophisticated character: we allude to that powerful, though uncultivated genius, the Ettrick Shepherd. The poetry of James Hogg presents a most remarkable example of rude vigour of mind; his manners and personal appearance, and the education which he had received, were in no respect different from those of the most illiterate boor; yet his verses have a softness and sweetness in their simplicity, of which the most accomplished poet might be proud. His good fortune, in being countenanced by so powerful a patron as Sir Walter Scott, forms a

striking contrast to the ill success which has attended many similar aspirants after literary fame; but, as we have before observed, it seems to be the exception and not the rule, that genius should find favour with the world. Analogy seems to lead us to the conclusion, that many more of the Wild Flowers of intellect perish through the inclemency of the weather, and the uncongenial soil in which they are planted, than are successfully reared and brought to maturity by early care and attention.

Far be it from us, however, to judge harshly of those who have failed in establishing a reputation equal to their deserts, or to maintain that their ill-success must necessarily have been owing to some want of ability or discretion on their part: still less would we be disposed hastily to condemn those misguided beings, whose talents have been diverted from their legitimate channels, and exercised in other causes than those of virtue and religion; for, in these instances, the fault lies generally with their education rather than with themselves. A right course of training alone was necessary to render them not only distinguished intellects, but virtuous and worthy members of society; and if the difficulties which beset their path proved too strong for their principles, they claim our compassion rather than our censure, as frail and erring mortals. We cannot conclude with a better apology for both these descriptions of Wild Flowers, than by quoting the opening stanza of Beattie's Minstrel :

Ah! who can tell how hard it is to climb

The steep where Fame's proud temple shines afar,

Ah! who can tell how many a soul sublime
Has felt the influence of malignant star,

And waged with Fortune an eternal war ;
Checked by the scoff of Pride, by Envy's frown,
And Poverty's unconquerable bar,

In life's low vale remote has pined alone,

Then dropt into the grave, unpitied and unknown.

GEORGE HERBERT.

(Concluded from p. 22.)

ταῦτα πόνει· ταῦτ ̓ ἐκμελέτᾳ· τούτων χρὴ ἐρᾷν σε
ταῦτα σὲ τῆς θείης ἀρετῆς εἰς ἴχνια θήσει.

PYTHAGORAS-χρυσά ἔπη.

WHEN Mr. Lockhart in "Peter's Letters to his Kinsfolk," is comparing the style of two eminent Scotch advocates, and describes the impossibility of appreciating the quiet elegance of the one, after listening to the energetic fervour and impassioned oratory of the other, he says, that the auditor of the former would be subject to the same feelings, as he "who has just been contemplating some rich, luxuriant piece of the Dutch or Flemish school, and cannot taste in immediate transition the more pale, calm, correct gracefulness of an Italian fresco. Nevertheless the eyes become cool as they gaze, and the mind is gradually yielded up to a less stimulant, but in the end a yet more captivating and soothing species of seduction." From the