SKETCH OF PROFESSOR WILSON.

BY MR. DE QUINCEY.

blood, arrogate the rights of dean in the chapter of his associates; or at least I know of but one person whose title can probably date earlier than mine. About this very month when I am writing, I have known Professor Wilson for a cycle of twenty years and more, which is just half of his life-and also half of mine; for we are almost ad apicem of the same age: Wilson being born in May, and I in August, of the same memorable year.

(In a Letter to an American Gentleman.) MY DEAR L.-Among the lions whom you missed by one accident or another on your late travels in Europe, I observe that you recur to none with so much regret as Professor Wilson; you dwell upon this one disappointment as a personal misfortune; and perhaps with reason; for, in the course of my life, I have met with no man of equally My introductton to him-setting apart the introducee varied accomplishments, or, upon the whole, so well en- himself-was memorable from one sole circumstance-viz. titled to be ranked with that order of men distinguished by the person of the introducer. William Wordsworth it was, brilliant versatility and ambidexterity of which order we who, in the vale of Grasmere, if it can interest you to know find such eminent models in Alcibiades, in Cæsar, in Crich- the place, and in the latter end of 1808, if you can be supton, in that of Servan recorded by Sully, and in one or two posed to care about the time, did me the favour of making Italians. Pity that you had not earlier communicated to me known to John Wilson, or as I might say (upon the me the exact route you were bound to, and the particular Scottish fashion of designating men from their territorial succession of your engagements when you visited the Eng-pretensions) to Elleray. I remember the whole scene as lish Lakes; since, in that case, my interest with Professor circumstantially as if it belonged to but yesterday. In the Wilson (supposing always that you had declined to rely vale of Grasmere,—that peerless little vale which you, and upon the better passport of your own merits as a naturalist) Gray the poet, and so many others have joined in admiring would have availed for a greater thing than at that time as the very Eden of English beauty, peace, and pastoral stood between you and the introduction which you coveted. solitude,-you may possibly recal, even from that flying On the day, or the night rather, when you were at Bowness glimpse you had of it, a modern house called Allan Bank, and Ambleside, I happen to know that Professor Wilson's standing under a low screen of woody rocks which descend business was one which might have been executed by proxy, from the hill of Silver How, on the western side of the lake. though it could not be delayed; and I also know that, This house had been then recently built by a worthy merapart from the general courtesy of his nature, he would, chant of Liverpool; but for some reason of no importance at all times, have an especial pleasure in waiving a claim to you and me, not being immediately wanted for the of business, for one of science or letters in the person of a family of the owner, had been let for a term of three years foreigner coming from a great distance; and that, in no to Mr. Wordsworth. At the time I speak of, both Mr. other instance would he make such a sacrifice so cordially Coleridge and myself were on a visit to Mr. Wordsworth as on behalf of an able naturalist. Perhaps you already and one room on the ground floor, designed for a breakfastknow from your countryman Audubon, that the Professor ing-room, which commands a sublime view of the three is himself a naturalist, and of original merit; in fact, mountains, Fairfield-Arthur's Chair and Seat Sandal worth a score of such meagre bookish naturalists, as are (the first of them within about 400 feet of the highest formed in museums and by second-hand acts of memory; mountains in Great Britain,) was then occupied by Mr. having (like Audubon) built much of his knowledge upon Coleridge as a study. On this particular day, the sun hav personal observation. Hence he has two great advantages; ing only just set, it naturally happened that Mr. Coleridge one, that his knowledge is accurate in a very unusual de--whose nightly vigils were long-had not yet come down gree; and another, that his knowledge, having grown up to breakfast; meantime, and until the epoch of the Coleunder the inspiration of a real interest and an unaffected ridgian breakfast should arrive, his study was lawfully dislove for its objects commencing, indeed, at an age when posable to profaner uses. Here, therefore, it was, that, no affectation in matters of that nature could exist-has opening the door hastily in quest of a book, I found seated, settled upon those facts and circumstances which have a and in earnest conversation, two gentlemen-one of them true philosophical value: habits, predominant affections, my host, Mr. Wordsworth, at that time about 37 or 38 the direction of instincts, and the compensatory processes years old; the other was a younger man by good 16 or 17 where these happen to be thwarted,-on all such topics he years, in a sailor's dress, manifestly in robust health-feris learned and full; whilst, on the science of measurements | vidus juventá, and wearing upon his countenance a powerand proportions, applied to dorsal-fins and tail-feathers, and ful expression of ardour and animated intelligence, mixed on the exact arrangement of colours, &c.—that petty up- with much good nature. "Mr. Wilson of Elleray"holstery of nature, on which books are so tedious and ela- delivered, as the formula of introduction, in the deep tones borate-not uncommonly he is negligent or forgetful. What of Mr. Wordsworth-at once banished the momentary surmay have served in later years to quicken and stimulate his prise I felt on finding an unknown stranger where I had exknowledge in this field, and, at any rate, greatly to extend it, pected nobody, and substituted a surprise of another kind: is the conversation of his youngest brother Mr. James I now well understood who it was that I saw Wilson, who (as you know much better than I) is a na- there was no wonder in his being at Allan Bank, Elleray turalist majorum gentium. He, indeed, whilst a boy of not standing within nine miles; but (as usually happens in more than sixteen or seventeen, was in correspondence (I such cases,) I felt a shock of surprise on seeing a person so believe) with Montague the Ornithologist ; and about the little corresponding to the one I had half unconsciously presame time had skill enough to pick holes in the coat of Mr. figured. Hüber, the German reformer of our then erroneous science of bees.

You see, therefore, that no possible introduction could have stood you more in stead than your own extensive knowledge of Transatlantic ornithology. Swammerdam passed his life, it is said, in a ditch. That was a base, earthly solitude, and a prison. But you and Audubon have passed your lives in the heavenly solitudes of forests and savannahs; and such solitude as this is no prison, but infinite liberty. The knowledge which you have gathered has been answerable to the character of your school; and no sort of knowledge could have secured you a better welcome with Professor Wilson.---Yet, had it been otherwise, I repeat, that my intersst (as I flatter myself) would have opened the gates of Elleray to you even at midnight; for I am so old a friend of Mr. Wilson, that I take a pride in supposing myself the oldest; and, barring relations by

and

And here comes the place naturally, if any where, for a description of Mr. Wilson's person and general appearance in carriage, manner, and deportment; and a word or two I shall certainly say on these points, simply because I know that I must, else my American friends will complain that I have left out that precise section in my whole account which it is most impossible for them to supply for themselves by any acquaintance with his printed works. Yet suffer me, before I comply with this demand, to enter one word of private protest against the childish (nay, worse than childish -the Missy) spirit in which such demands originate. From my very earliest years, that is the earliest years in which I had any sense of what belongs to true diguity of mind, I declare to you that I have considered the interest which men, grown men, take in the personal appearance of each other, as one of the meanest aspects under which human curiosity commonly presents itself. Certainly I have the

with this little accomplishment, knowing exactly what could, and what could not be effected in this department of gymnastics, and speaking with the utmost simplicity and candour of his failures and his successes alike, he might always be relied upon, and his statements were constantly in harmony with any collateral testimony that chance happened to turn up.

Viewed, therefore, by an eye learned in gymnastic proportions, Mr. Wilson presented a somewhat striking figure; and by some people he was pronounced with emphasis a fine-looking young man; but others, who less understood, or less valued these advantages, spoke of him as nothing extraordinary. Still greater division of voices I have heard on his pretensions to be thought handsome. In my opinion, and most certainly in his own, these pretensions were but slender. His complexion was too florid: hair of a hue quite unsuited to that complexion; eyes not good, having no apparent depth, but seeming mere surfaces; and in fine, no one feature that could be called fine, except the lower region of his face, mouth, chin, and the parts adjacent, which were then (and perhaps are now) truly elegant and Ciceronian. Ask in one of your public libraries for that little 4to edition of the Rhetorical works of Cicero, edited by Schutz, (the same who edited Eschylus,) and you will there see (as a frontispiece to the 1st vol.) a reduced whole length of Cicero from the antique; which in the mouth and chin, and indeed generally, if I do not greatly forget, will give you a lively representation of the contour and expression of Professor Wilson's face. Taken as a whole, though not handsome (as I have already said) when viewed in a quiescent state, the head and countenance are massy, dignified, and expressive of tranquil sagacity.

(To be Continued.)

MUTINY AT THE NORE.

lence ensued; when, after some pushing and elbowing through the crowd, William Adams, an elderly quartermaster, made his appearance in the front, and passed over to the side where the officers stood, while the hisses of the rest of the ship's company expressed their disapprobation of his conduct. The old man had just reached the other side of the deck, when, turning round like a lion at bay, with one foot on the comings of the hatchway, and his arm raised in the air to command attention, he addressed them in these few words: "My lads, I have fought for my king five-andthirty years, and have been too long in his service to turn a rebel in my old age." Would it be credited that, after the mutiny had been quelled, no representation of this conduct was made to Government by his captain? Yet such was the case, and such was the gratitude of Captain AThe example shown by Adams was not followed; the ship's crew again cheered, and ran down the hatchways, leaving the officers and marines on deck. They first disarmed the sentry under the half deck, and released the prisoners, and then went forward to consult upon further operations. They were not long in deciding. A boatswain's mate, who was one of the ringleaders, piped, "Stand by hammocks!" The men ran on deck, each seizing a hammock, and jumping with it down below on the main-deck. The object of this manœuvre not being comprehended, they were suffered to execute it without interruption. In a few minutes they sent up the marine, whom they had disarmed when sentry over the prisoners, to state that they wished to speak with the captain and officers, who, after some discussion, agreed that they would descend and hear the proposals which the ship's company should make. Indeed, even with the aid of the marines, many of whom were wavering, resistance would now have been useless, and could only have cost them their lives; for they were surrounded by other ships who had hoisted the flag of insubordination, and whose guns THE irritated mind of Peters was stimulated to join the were trained ready to pour in a destructive fire on the least disaffected parties. His pride, his superior education, and sign of an attempt to purchase their anchor. To the mainthe acknowledgment among his shipmates that he was an deck they consequently repaired. The scene which here injured man, all conspired to place him in the dangerous presented itself was as striking as it was novel. The after situation of ringleader on board of his own ship, the crew part of the main-deck was occupied by the captain and offiof which, although it had not actually joined in the mutiny, cers, who had come down with the few marines who still now showed open signs of discontent. But the mine was continued stedfast to their duty, and one sailor only, Adams, soon exploded by the behaviour of the captain. Alarmed who had so nobly stated his determination on the quarterat the mutinous condition of the other ships which were deck. The foremost part of the deck was tenanted by a anchored near to him, and the symptoms of dissatisfaction noisy and tumultuous throng of seamen, whose heads only in his own, he proceeded to an act of unjustifiable severity, appeared above a barricade of hammocks, which they had evidently impelled by fear and not by resolution. He or- formed across the deck, and out of which, at two embrasures, dered several of the petty officers and leading men of the admirably constructed, two long twenty-four pounders, ship to be thrown into irons, because they were seen to be loaded up to the muzzle with grape and canister shot, were earnestly talking together on the forecastle,—and recollect- pointed aft in the direction where the officers and marines ing that his conduct towards Peters had been such as to were standing-a man at the breach of each gun, with a warrant disaffection, he added him to the number. The match in his hand, (which he occasionally blew, that the effect of this injudicious step was immediate. The men priming powder might be more rapidly ignited,) stood came aft in a body on the quarter-deck, and requested to ready for the signal to fire. The captain, aghast at the know the grounds upon which Peters and the other men sight, would have retreated; but the officers, formed of sternhad been placed in confinement; and, perceiving alarm in er materials, persuaded him to stay, although he shewed he countenance of the captain, notwithstanding the resolute such evident signs of fear and perturbation as seriously to inbearing of the officers, they insisted upon the immediate re-jure a cause, in which resolution and presence of mind alone lease of their shipmates. Thus the first overt act of mu- could avail. The mutineers, at the suggestion of Peters, tiny was brought on by the misconduct of the captain. The had already sent aft their preliminary proposals, which were, officers expostulated and threatened in vain. Three cheers that the officers and marines should surrender up their arms, were called for by a voice in the crowd, and three cheers and consider themselves under an arrest,-intimating, at were immediately given. The marines, who still remained the same time, that the first step in advance made by any true to their allegiance, had been ordered under arms; the one of their party would be the signal for applying the first lieutenant of the ship-for the captain, trembling and match to the touchholes of the guns. There was a pause confused, stood a mere cipher-gave the order for the ship's and dead silence, as if it were a calm, although every pascompany to go down below, threatening to fire upon them sion was roused and on the alert, every bosom heaved tuif the order was not instantaneously obeyed. The captain multuously, and every pulse was trebled in its action. The of marines brought his men to the "make ready," and they same feeling which powerfully affects the truant school. were about to present, when the first lieutenant waved his boy,-who, aware of his offence, and dreading the punishhand to stop the decided measure, until he had first ascer- ment in perspective, can scarce enjoy the rapture of momertained how far the mutiny was general. He stepped a few tary emancipation,-acted upon the mutineers, in an inpaces forward, and requested that every "blue jacket," who creased ratio, proportioned to the magnitude of their stake was inclined to remain faithful to his king and country, Some hearts beat with remembrance of injuries, and hopes would walk over from that side of the quarter-deck upon of vengeance and retaliation; others with ambition, long which the ship's company were assembled, to the one which dormant, bursting from its concealed recess; and many was occupied by the officers and marines. A pause and si- were actuated by that restlessness which induced them to

consider any change to be preferable to the monotony of existence in compulsory servitude. Among the officers, some were oppressed with anxious forebodings of evil,-those peculiar sensations which when death approaches nearly to the outward senses, alarm the heart; others experienced no feeling but that of manly fortitude and determination to die, if necessary, like men; in others, alas !-in which party, small as it was, the captain was pre-eminent-fear and trepidation amounted almost to the loss of reason. Such was the state of the main-deck of the ship at the moment in which we are now describing it to the reader. And yet, in the very centre of all this tumult, there was one who, although not indifferent to the scene around him, felt interested without being anxious-astonished without being alarmed. Between the contending and divided parties stood a little boy, about six years old. He was the perfection of childish beauty; chestnut hair waved in curls on his forehead, health glowed in his rosy cheeks, dimples sported over his face as he altered the expression of his countenance, and his large dark eyes flashed with intelligence and animation. He was dressed in mimic imitation of a man-of-war's-man,-loose trowsers, tightened at the hips, to preclude the necessity of suspenders, and a white duck frock, with long sleeves and blue collar, while a knife, attached to a lan-yard, was suspended round his neck; a light and narrow-brimed straw hat on his head, completed his attire. At times he looked aft at the officers and marines; at others he turned his eyes forward to the hammocks, behind which the ship's company were assembled. The sight was new to him; but he was already accustomed to reflect much, and to ask few questions. Go to the officers he did not, for the presence of the captain restrained him. Go to the ship's company he could not, for the barricade of hammocks prevented him. There he stood, in wonderment, but not in fear. There was something beautiful and affecting in the situation of the boy; calm, when all around him was anxious tumult; thoughtless, when the brains of others were oppressed with the accumulation of ideas; contented, where all was discontent; peaceful, where each party that he stood between was thristing for each other's blood:-there he stood, the only happy, the only innocent one, amongst hundreds swayed by jarring interests and contending passions. And yet he was in keeping, although in such strong contrast with the rest of the picture; for where is the instance of the human mind being so thoroughly depraved as not to have one good feeling left? Nothing exists so base and vile as not to have one redeeming quality. There is no poison without some antidote-no precipice, however barren, without some trace of verdure-no desert, however vast, without some spring to refresh the parched traveller, some Oasis, some green spot, which, from its situation, in comparison with surrounding objects, appears almost heavenly;-and thus did the boy look almost angelic, standing as he did between the angry, exasparated parties on the main-deck of the disorganized ship. After some little time, he walked forward, and leant against one of the twenty-four pounders that was pointed out of the embrasure, the muzzle of which was on a level with, and intercepted by, his little head. Adams, the quarter-master, observing the dangerous situation of the child, stepped forward and saved him.

COLUMN FOR THE LADIES.

THE ANNIVERSARY OF A MARRIAGE. LINES SUPPOSED TO BE ADDRESSED BY A WIFE TO HER

HUSBAND.

These verses were written after reading the following extract from the letter of a mother to her son:" This is our wedding-day. Gratitude to the Giver of all goodness ought to be the predominant feeling of my heart; for during the last seven-and-twenty years of my life, what blessings hath He not bestowed upon me-what kindnesses I have experienced what smiling, happy faces have cheered my hearth! My mind has wandered, the whole of the day, back to that important morning, when, encircled by friends, I became a happy wife. As vividly as if it were an occurrence of yesterday, it passes before my mental view; but

these friends, where are they now? Alas, not one out of
four then present is now in being. And when another such
period (ay, and a far shorter period) shall have passed
away, what other changes will not have taken place!"
Full seven-and-twenty years have roll'd
Their course o'er Time's swift tide,
Since at the altar I became

Thy own, thy happy bride.
The anxious father, who consign'd
His daughter to thy care,
And she who in the bloom of youth,
With laughing eyes, was there,——
All, all who stood around that shrine,
Save, dearest, us alone,
Where are their forms, their footsteps now?
O, whither have they gone?

Their troubles o'er, their cares forgot,
Life's feverish vision fled,
Unbroken slumber they enjoy

Among the silent dead.

Come, let us now the blessings own
Of years together pass'd,
Nor murmur though a cloud hath oft

The azure sky o'ercast..

How many in their youth have sunk
In Death's cold arms to sleep,
Or linger in this shifting scene,

To suffer, writhe, and weep!
How many, girdled round with joys,
And anxious yet to stay,
All heedless of each sunder'd tie
The grave hath snatch'd away.

We still survive; each circling year
Hath crown'd our happy hearth,
With smiling faces, words of love,

And sounds of cheerful mirth.

The good man's prayer-" Remove from me
All vanity and lies;

Nor give me poverty, nor yet,

O Lord, too rich supplies.
"With food convenient feed me, lest
In fulness I should say,

Who is the Lord? or lest I steal
Another's goods away."

This virtuous prayer, in wisdom breathed,
Have we not long enjoy'd?
With food convenient ever fed,
With luxury uncloy'd.

What though the storm hath sometimes raged,
And boisterous been the weather,
Hath not each bitter blast but made
Us closer cling together?

We've reached the summit of the hill,
Spring gone, and Summer waning:
Without a gloomy, anxious fear,
We'll tread the steps remaining.

Dear husband, hand in hand we'll go,
Virtue's fair paths adorning,

So shall the evening of our day
Be beauteous as the morning.

Though each lov'd form depart, which grew
To manhood's prime around us,
And on our hearth we sit as lone

As our glad nuptials found us.
There is a home of peace and rest,

Where hopes shall bloom-now blighted-
Where the fond circle, broken now,
In joy shall be united.

ELEMENTS OF THOUGHT.

THE AUTHOR BY PROFESSION.

formity, and disease it would be! What hideous dwarfs and cripples! What dirt, and what revolting cravings! and all these in connection with the most exquisite care and pampering of the body. If many a conceited coxcomb could see his own mind, he would see a thing, the like of which is not to be found in the meanest object the world can present. It is not with beggary, in the most degraded state, that it is to be compared, for the beggar has wants, is dissatisfied with his state, has wishes for en. joyments above his lot, but the pauper of intellect is content with his poverty; it is his choice to feed on carrion, he can relish nothing else, he has no desires beyond the filthy fare. Yet he piques himself that he is a superior being; he takes to himself the merit of his tailor, his coachmaker, his upholsterer, his wine merchant, his cook; but if the thing were turned inside out, if that concealed nasty corner, his mind, were exposed to view, how degrad

He lies "stretched upon the rack of restless ecstasy;" he runs the everlasting gauntlet of public opinion. He must write on, and if he had the strength of Hercules, and the wit of Mercury, he must in the end write himself down. He cannot let well done alone. He cannot take his stand on what he has already achieved, and say, "Let it be a durable monument to me and mine, and a covenant between me and the world for ever!" He is called upon for perpetual new exertions, and urged forward by ever-craving necessities. The wolf must be kept from the door; the printer's devil must not go empty-handed away. He makes a second attempt, and though equal, perhaps, to the first, because it does not excite the same surprise, it falls tame and flat on the public mind. If he pursue the real bent of his genius, he is thought to grow dull and monoto-ing would be the exhibition. nous; or if he vary his style, and try to cater for the capricious appetite of the town, he either escapes by miracle, or breaks down that way amidst the shout of the multitude, and the condolence of friends, to see the idol of the moment pushed from its pedestal, and reduced to its proper level. There is only one living writer who can pass through this ordeal; and if he had barely written half what he has done, his reputation would have been none the less. His inexhaustible facility makes the willing world believe there is not much in it. Still there is no alternative. Popularity, like one of the Danaides, imposes impossible tasks on her votary-to pour water into sieves, to reap the wind. If he does nothing, he is forgotten; if he attempts more than he can perform, he gets laughed at for his pains. He is inpelled by circumstances to fresh sacrifice of time, of labour, of self-respect; parts with well-earned fame for a newspaper puff, and sells his birth-right for a mess of pottage. In the meanwhile the public wonder why an author writes so badly and so much. With all his efforts he builds no house, leaves no inheritance, lives from hand to mouth, and, though condemned to daily drudgery for a precarious subsistence, is expected to produce none but works of first-rate genius. No: learning unconsecrated, unincorporated, unendowed, is no match for the importunate demands and thoughtless ingratitude of the reading public.-Edinburgh Review.

Men are qualified for civil liberty in exact proportion to their disposition to put moral chains on their own appetites; in proportion as their love to justice is above their rapacity; in proportion as their soundness and sobriety of understanding is above their vanity and presumption; in proportion as they are more disposed to listen to the counsel of the wise and good, in preference to the flattery of knaves. Society cannot exist unless a controlling power upon will and appetite be placed somewhere, and the less of it there is within, the more there must be without. It is ordained in the eternal constitution of things, that men of intemperate minds cannot be free. Their passions forge their fetters.-Burke.

HIGH LIVING AND MEAN THINKING.

How much nicer people are in their persons than in their minds. How anxious are they to wear the appearances of wealth and taste in the things of outward shew, while their intellects are all poverty and meanness. See one of the apes of fashion with his coxcombries and ostentations of luxury. His clothes must be made by the best tailor, his horses must be of the best blood, his wines of the finest flavour, his cookery of the highest zest; but his reading is of the poorest frivolities, or of the lowest and most despicable vulgarity. In the enjoyment of the animal senses he is an epicure; but a pig is a clean feeder compared with his mind: and a pig woul deat good and bad, sweet and foul alike, but his mind has no taste except for the most worthless garbage. The pig has no discrimination and a great appetite; the mind which we describe has not the apology of voracity; it is satisfied with little, but the little must be of the worst sort, and every thing of a better quality is rejected by it with disgust. If we could see men's minds as we see heir bodies, what a spectacle of nakedness, destitution, de

After all our vaunts of the progress of intelligence, the truth yet is, that the minds of the mass of our population, like the bodies of the mass of the Irish nation, are fed on the very lowest kind of food, easy of production in the poorest soils, and affording the slightest nourishment. There is a potatoe diet of the press, which is a positive enemy of improvement; and it is not the labourer and the artizan who sit down content with it, but the gentry, the fashionable, and their host of imitators. In London, every luxury is had or affected to be had for the body, and dunghills yield the banquets for the mind. We often wish that these things could be seen in kind; that the man of professed nicety and taste could see the quality of the stuff with which he regales his mind. The breakfast table is laid out with every delicacy, aud on it is a scavenger's cart filled with slabby noisome filth, the collection of the very kennels, the rakings of all the nasty corners; the voluptuary sips his chocolate, daintily picks his French pie, while he fills his mind with that fetid mass, the cookery of the scavengers! How fastidious is the stomach of this man! how unspeakably coarse, and worse than beastly, his intellect! No animal in the creation confines itself to filth only. The appetite for sheer ribaldry is unmatched in the depravities of taste. We lately heard one of the would-be exquisites declare, that the paper of his choice was the most scurrilous, and vulgar withal, of the London weekly papers, and doubtless it was his only reading; and a few minutes afterwards, he expressed his chagrin that some fine people had seen him get into a hackney coach at the door of a theatre! This man had no perception of the shabby way in which he treated his mind. What a loathsome hack vehicle was that, to which, without shame, he committed it! To a just intelligence, how degrading should be accounted such a sign of the poverty of the understanding, or of its preference of the mean and vile! He sighed for the luxury and show of the carriage for his person, but he had no wishes for the mind above the garbage upon which it regaled. In this respect he was destitute of the humblest claims to respect, and yet he was contented. He knew not that his state of intelligence was below beggary; and that, if his fortunes corresponded with his understanding, he would be clothed in the foulest rags, and fed by the sewers. Might it not reasonably be expected that people should take as much pride in the nicety of their minds as in that of their persons? The purity of the mind, the careful preservation of it from the defilement of loose or grovelling thoughts, is surely as much a matter of neces sary decency as the cleanliness of the body The coarse clothing of the person is a badge of poverty: what then should be thought of the coarse entertainment of the imagination? what destitution does it argue? and when it is seen, in connexion with all the luxuries of abundant wealth, how odious is the contest between the superfluities of fortune and the pitiable penury of the understanding! The mansion is spacious and elegantly furnished, but the soul of the occupier is only comparable to its dust-hole, a dark dirty receptacle for the vilest trash and rubbish.— Tail's Edinburgh Mayazine, for January,