No. 4.

ESSAY ON STUDY,

BY HUGH GAWTHROP.

Concluded.

Having now stated the utility of studying History and Biography, I shall proceed to the most pleasing, if not the most useful of all, namely Poetry. In our Poets we find depicted, in the warmest and richest colouring, the character of man. We see his heart in its true and natural form-we see pictures of the depravity and excellence of our species-we see virtue exalted and rendered so beautiful as to be envied by all-we see vice in its own detestable shape, and look on it with horror and disgust; by its fascinations the mind is allured to improvement-by cherishing our kindlier feelings it inspires us with philanthrophy; the strains of our bards implant in us the spirit of patriotism. Poetry well merits the beautiful eulogy of a modern Sappho ;

"O glorious triumph! thus to sway at will
All feelings in our nature,-thus to work
The springs of sympathy, the mines of thought,
And all the deep emotions of the heart."―

The most noble and praiseworthy of our actions are poetical. Benevolence and love, compassion and charity, spring from poetry.- All that is good and great, all that is worthy the admiration and esteem of mankind originate from poetry. If such be the case, and the truth of it is maintained by many writers of eminence, it follows that poetry ought to form an important branch of study and demand more particular attention than is usually given it. It is undeniable that poetry is, at least, the source from whence we derive our most exalted notions and highest intellectual pleasures. He who studies Chaucer, Spencer, Shakspere, Milton, Dryden, Pope, Byron, Wordsworth, &c., will be amply repaid for the time devoted to them, by the intellectual treat he will enjoy. In the productions of Shakspere alone, may be found every variety of fortune, every shade of character, from the most lofty and truly great, down to the lowest and most despicable; his works afford inexhaustible food for the mind, improve the heart, stimulate to virtue, and elevate the thoughts. Those who have not opportunities of mixing with the world may become acquainted with its labyrinths, and, as Dr.

Johnson says,—

1841.

"Learn here how heaven supports the virtuous mind,
Daring though calm, and vigourous though resigned.—
Learn here what anguish racks the guilty breast,
In power dependent-in success depressed.—
Learn here that peace from innocence must flow,
All else is empty sound, and idle show."

The reader of Shakspere will find the most refined philosophy, as well as extraordinary imagination,— will find many excellent rules for his guidance through life, as well as wonderfully sublime conceptions. His works ought to be pondered on frequently and many passages from them committed to memory.

It has been said that poetry is fiction and therefore that the study of it is unprofitable. But is poetry fiction? For what are the greatest poets so famous ? I answer for their truth to nature- they have pourtrayed the passions of mankind with such beauty and power and perfect accuracy as can no where else be found. They are the men who hold the mirror up to nature. No poet can acquire celebrity who does not reflect faithful images of nature in his works. Poetry being inherent to man, instructions through its medium are more quickly received and leave more indelible impressions on the mind. Doubtless it was in consequence of the superior influence and greater effect produced on the mind by poetry that the sacred scriptures have been handed to us clothed in its fascinating garb. All who have studied the Bible know that it contains the sublimest poetry poetry which can never be equalled.

I would also direct the attention of the student to the works of our principal Essayists. From their writings the student will receive much instruction and much amusement. They contain the soundest common sense, many excellent philosophical reflections, just criticisms, genuine wit, and humourous, powerful satire. Many of them are deservedly highly esteemed for the beauty of the composition. Bacon, Knox, Locke, Goldsmith, Addison, Johnson, Cumberland, and Chesterfield are the principal Essayists, and have written much that has, in a considerable degree, contributed to the improvement and entertainment of mankind.

There are other ways of improving the mind than by reading. I have cautioned youth, in a former

part of this essay, against the foolish vanity of expecting to become acquainted with man without studying books, but let it not be supposed that the study of books only is sufficient. It has been said by Dr. Johnson, that he who supposes himself able to get a knowledge of the world by merely studying books, labors under a very erroneous opinion. Man is a social being, and many of his chief pleasures and most useful lessons are derived from his intercourse with man. Much is to be learned by conversation and observation as well as by reading. "Reading," says Bacon, "maketh a full man, and conversation a ready man." Eminent men have declared that much of the most valuable knowledge they acquired had been gathered in conversation. Those who live ever closeted up with their books, and, as it were, live out of the world, are very often misanthropes, for when they are brought into company, they are so little acquainted with the manners and common ceremonies of society, that they feel awkward-they know not how to bring themselves to think and speak like other men, and perhaps are often looked upon as stupid and unpolished. They, in their turn, being sensitive, engender a dislike of company, console themselves with the thought that they are philosphers, and look upon other men as little better than fools, or, at any rate, think them illiterate blockheads. It is by mixing in society-by paying strict attention to the manners and customs of men-by conversing freely with others-gleaning the knowledge possessed by each (for every man has a knowledge of something) -by observing how men are frequently blinded by passion and prejudice, and the attendant evil consequences—by noticing what is agreeable and what is disagreeable in man's conduct, and regulating our own accordingly, that we are to learn our most important lessons, as well as receive much valuable information and gain real wisdom.

Another subject worth attention is the art of composing or expressing our ideas upon paper. By practice, one may soon learn to handle the pen with ease and facility, which is of great utility and exceedingly agreeable. He who exercises himself in composition gets habituated to thinking, and is led or rather compelled to seek information from the first authorities. It does, indeed, make "a correct man." He who is unaccustomed to writing, when he takes a pen in his hand for that purpose, will find it very difficult to make it move along, and his first essays will, doubtless, be very rough and disjointed-but let not this deter him from making further attempts; a facility with the pen and elegance of composition can only be acquired, like every thing else, by constant

practice and patient perseverence. To get into a good style of writing, it may be advisable to study the compositions of those authors famed for their conspicuity and elegance of diction. I may first remark that sentences of great length should in general be avoided, as the force is thus often lost, and great attention is required, on the part of the reader, to catch the author's meaning. The bombast style must be avoided. It should ever be remembered that good ideas and good sense, clothed in an humble garment, are far preferable to the most high-sounding language and pompous flow of words, with paucity of ideas. A flowery style is pleasing, if well managed, but if not well managed, it soon becomes disgusting to the reader. A constant habit of writing a few sentences each day, with care, will speedily improve the student in the art of composition. I would recommend him to select, as subjects to write upon, what he is anxious to become conversant with, and what will be useful for him to become acquainted with. By so doing, he will not only improve himself in composition, but, also materially extend his knowledge of the subject on which he writes.

It is necessary to be able to speak fluently as well as to write with ease. To acquire this art, a few young men might assemble together, and accustom themselves to extemporaneous speaking in the following manner. Let a question be proposed for discussion, and let each person be required to express his thoughts upon it; after all have spoken, let one, who should be appointed for that purpose, freely tell the faults committed. I have witnessed good effects resulting from this practice, among which may be named the power they have thus gained of uttering their thoughts, without being confused themselves and confusing their hearers; each has, also, been led to enquiry, and by being accustomed to hear various opinions on subjects, has seen them in new, clear and interesting points of view.

Young men who are not able to pursue their studies in private, for want of the requisite aids, cannot do better than join a literary institution. Literary and Scientific Institutions are now spreading over all parts of the kingdom, and are the cheapest, I may add the best, of all known methods of disseminating knowledge. It is now almost universally admitted that knowledge is a blessing, and is necessary to man, in order that he may become acquainted with the best means of attaining the greatest portion of earthly happiness. We learn from all history, ancient and modern, that no nation or people ever became eminently great or good where Literature and Science were not encouraged and

sought after.

Where knowledge is not, there the

morals are always in a low and degraded state. If we look back to ancient times we shall see the benefits arising from the acquisition of knowledge. We learn from history that the Grecians, during that century, commonly called the Golden period, which burst forth and shone from the time of the defeat of Xerxes till the time of Alexander of Macedon, maintained their liberty, and were the most heroic confederacy that ever existed. They were the politest, the bravest, and the wisest of men. During that short period, to use the language of Harris, the author of Hermes, "they became such statesmen, warriors, orators, historians, physicians, poets, critics, painters, sculptors, architects, and last of all philosophers, that one can hardly help considering this period as a providential event in honour of human nature, to show to what perfection the human species. might ascend." It was during that period that most of those immortal works were produced which still delight us, and which form great part of the scholar's library. It was then, too, that assemblies first flocked together to receive instruction, when Plato gave his lectures to crowds in the groves of Academus, near Athens, and presided for forty years, diffusing the knowledge he had acquired to eager and delighted audiences. Rome, like Greece, had her golden period, which, as Horace informs us began soon after the punic wars were ended, and Carthage, her dreaded rival, was no more; her golden period was when the Romans cultivated the politer arts, and her great orators, poets and historians arose; at this period forensic debates were practised by the Roman youth, which we are told were attended with very beneficial results.

Man is the only being upon earth possessing the power of imparting knowledge to, and receiving knowledge from, his fellow. The inferior animals arrive in short time to the ne plus ultra of acquirement, whilst on the contrary man never ceases to learn, which is a very distinguishing characteristic. Man is a progressive being, and is eminently sociable, therefore, he ought not to become a " solitary student." Whatever may be said in favour of solitude, it is undeniable that

"The sphere of action is the sphere for man." We may, indeed, occasionally retire from society, either to read in private or enjoy the sight of lofty mountains, fearful precipices, thundering cataracts, sequestered glens, murmuring rivulets and silvery lakes, but we shall soon feel melancholy, and strongly desire the sweet interchange of human affections. "Solitude is sweet, but 'tis sweeter still to have some one to whisper to-solitude is sweet."

Amongst the many attachments by which society is bound together may properly be enumerated that which arises from the desire of attaining the same object, or from a participation of studies and pursuits, and the attachment is still stronger when the object is of a disinterested and meritorious nature. There is great truth in Sir Joshua Reynolds' statement. "It will be found," says he, "that youth more easily receives instruction from the companions of his studies, whose minds are more on a level with his own, than from those who are much his superiors, and it is from his equals only that he catches the fire of emulation." I have now given my opinion of what a student has to perform, and drawn a brief outline of the studies he should pursue. I am aware that the scheme here offered is by no means perfect, yet it is hoped, that the reader may, from the remarks here made, gather a few hints which will prove serviceable, and lead him to make more extensive inquiries; if so, this essay will not have been written in vain, for the advantages of knowledge are very great and numerous. There is little cause to fear that he who possesses knowledge will be addicted to vicious habits. When man knows the real value of knowledge-knows the blessings which result from it -he then feels that he is capable of deriving much greater pleasure in the company of books or literary friends, than in resorting to immoral amusements or mixing with profligate companions. Among the other benefits resulting from knowledge may be mentioned the very important one of its begetting toleration. As it becomes diffused, parties and factions will extinguish the fire of animosity, and cease to heap on their opposers the bitterest aspersions; no longer will men lay claim to perfection and think it impossible for themselves to be in error; no longer will there be such headstrong, religious and polical bigots, nor will men of one nation ridicule men of another, because the manners and customs differ from their own. Let every one do his best to improve those faculties which have been wisely and kindly bestowed on him, and bear in mind that the "wise continueth to live from his first period-the fool is always beginning."

LINES,

WRITTEN ON THE BLANK LEAF OF BURNS' POEMS.

DARLING child of Scotia's Muse,

Whom "carking care" so oft oppressed;

I fondly thy sweet works peruse,
Thy strains bring raptures to my breast.
A noble mind is here pourtrayed,
Which struggled 'gainst an adverse fate:
The poet's soul is here displayed,—
O, worthy it the title great!

THE DUN,

BY MARIA EDGEWORTH.

Continued.

But I'll run home with the half-guinea, and tell them how good you have been, and they will be so joyful and so thank ful to you! My mother will come herself, I'm sure, with me to-morrow morning-She can thank you so much better than I can! Those only who have known the extreme of want, can imagine the joy and gratitude with which the half-guinea was received by this poor family.-Half a guinea!—Colonel Pembroke spent six half-guineas this very day in a fruit shop, and ten times that sum at a jeweller's on seals and baubles for which he had no manner of use. When Anne and her mother called the next morning to thank their benefactress, she was not up; but her servant gave them a parcel from his mistress: it contained a fresh supply of needle-work, a gown, and some other clothes, which were directed for Anne. The servant said, that if she would call again about eight in the evening, his lady would probably be able to see her, and that she begged to have the work finished by that time. The work was finished, though with some difficulty, by the appointed hour, and Anne, dressed in her new clothes, was at Mrs. Carver's door, just as the clock struck eight. The old lady was alone at tea; she seemed to be well pleased by Anne's punctually; said that she heard an excellent character of them; that therefore she was disposed to do every thing she could to serve them. She added, that she should soon part with her own maid, and that perhaps Anne might supply her place.' Nothing could be more agreeable to the poor girl than this proposal; her father and mother were rejoiced at the idea of seeing her so well placed; and they now looked forward impatiently for the day when Mrs. Carver's maid was to be dismissed. In the mean time, the old lady continued to employ Anne, and to make her presents, sometimes of clothes, and sometimes of money. The money she always gave to her parents; and she loved her good old lady,' as she always called her, more for putting it in her power thus to help her father and mother, than for all the rest. The weaver's disease had arisen for want of sufficient food, from fatigue of body, and anxiety of mind; and he grew rapidly better, now that he was relieved from want, and inspired with hope. Mrs. Carver bespoke from him two pieces of waistcoating, which she promised to dispose of for him most advantageously, by a raffle, for which she had raised subscriptions amongst her numerous acquaintance. She expressed great indignation when Anne told her how Mr. White had been ruined by persons, who would not pay their just debts; and when she knew that the weaver was overcharged for all his working materials, because he took them opon credit, she generously offered to lend them whatever ready money might be necessary, which she said Anne might repay, at her leisure, out of her wages. Madam!' said Anne, 'you are too good to us, indeed! too good! and if you could but see into our hearts, you would know, that we are not ungrateful.' 'I am sure, that is what you never will be, my dear,' said the old lady; 'at least such is my opinion of you.' 'Thank you, Ma'am! thank you from the bottom of my heart!-We should all have been starved, if it had not been for you. And it is owing to you, that we are so happy now-quite different creatures from what we were.' " Quite a different creature, indeed, you look, child, from what you did the first day I saw you. To-morrow my own maid goes, and you may come at ten o'clock; and I hope

we shall agree very well together-you'll find me an easy mistress, and I make no doubt I shall always find you the good grateful girl you seem to be.' Anne was impatient for the moment when she was to enter into the service of her bene

factress ; and she lay awake half the night, considering how she should ever be able to show sufficient gratitude. As Mrs. Carver had often expressed her desire to have Anne look neat and smart, she dressed herself as well as she possibly could; and when her poor father and mother took leave of her, they could not help observing, as Mrs. Carver had done the day before, that 'Anne looked quite a different creature, from what she was a few weeks ago.' She was, indeed, an extremely pretty girl; but we need not stop to relate all the fond praises, that were bestowed upon her beauty by her partial parents. Her little brother John was not at home, when she was going away; he was at a carpenter's shop in the neighbourhood mending a wheelbarrow, which belonged to that good-natured orange woman, who gave him the orange for his father. Anne called at the carpenter's shop to take leave of her brother. The woman was there waiting for her barrow-she looked earnestly at Anne when she entered, and then whispered to the boy, 'Is that your sister?'-'Yes' said the boy, and as good a she is as ever was born.' 'May be so,' said the woman, 'but she is not likely to be good for much long, in the way she is going on now.' 'What way?what do you mean?' said Anne, colouring violently. 'O you understand me well enough, though you look so innocent.' 'I do not understand ou in the least.' 'No! Why, is not it you, that I see going almost every day to that house in Chiswell-street? ' 'Mrs. Carver's?-Yes.' 'Mrs. Carver's indeed!' cried the woman, throwing an orange-peel from her with an air of disdain—'a pretty come-off indeed! as if I did not know her name, and all about her as well as you do.' 'Do you?' said Anne, 'then I am sure you know one of the best women in the world.' The woman looked still more earnestly than before in Anne's countenance; and then taking hold of both her hands exclaimed-You poor young creature! what are you about?— I do believe you don't know what you are about-if you do, you are the greatest cheat I ever looked in the face, long as I've lived in this cheating world.' 'You frighten my sister,' said the boy-do pray tell her what you mean at once, for look how pale she turns.' 'So much the better, for now I have good hope of her-then to tell you all at once-no matter how I frighten her, it's for her good-this Mrs. Carver, as you call her, is only Mrs. Carver when she wants to pass upon such as you for a good woman.' To pass for a good woman!' repeated Anne with indignation-O she is, she is a good woman—you do not know her as I do.' 'I know her a great deal better, I tell you-if you choose not to believe me-go your ways-go to your ruin-go to your shame-go to your grave-as hundreds have gone, by the same road, before you. Your Mrs. Carver keeps two houses, and one of them is a bad houseand that's the house you'll soon go to if you trust to her-Now you know the whole truth.' The poor girl was shocked so much, that for several minutes she could neither speak nor think. As soon as she had recovered sufficient presence of mind to consider what she should do, she declared that she would that instant go home and put on her rags again, and return to the wicked Mrs. Carver all the clothes she had given her. 'But what will become of us all?-She has lent my father money-a great deal of money.-How can he pay her?O, I will pay her all-I will go into some honest service, now I am well and strong enough to do any sort of hard work, and God knows I am willing.'

Full of all these resolutions, Anne hurried home, intending to tell her father and mother all that had happened; but they were neither of them within. She flew to the mistress of the house who had first recommended her to Mrs. Carver, and reproached her in the most moving terms, which the agony of her mind could suggest. Her landlady listened to her with astonishment, either real or admirably well affected-declared, that she knew nothing more of Mrs. Carver, but that she lived in a large fine house, and that she had been very charitable to some poor people in Moorfields-that she bore the best of characters, and that if nothing could be said against her but by an orange woman, there was no great reason to believe such scandal Anne now began to think, that the whole of what she had heard might be a falsehood, or a mistake; one moment she blamed herself for so easily suspecting a person who had shown her so much kindness; but the next minute the emphatic words and warning looks of the woman recurred to her mind; and though they were but the words and looks of an orange woman, she could not help dreading, that there was some truth in them. The clock struck ten, whilst she was in this uncertainty. The woman of the house urged her to go without farther delay to Mrs. Carver's, who would undoubtedly be pleased by any want of punctuality; but Anne wished to wait for the return of her father and mother. They will not be back, either of them, these three hours; for your mother is gone to the other end of the town about that old bill of Colonel Pembroke's, and your father is gone to buy some silk for weaving-he told me he should not be home before three o'clock.' Notwithstanding these remonstrances, Anne persisted in her resolution—she took off the clothes, which she had received from Mrs. Carver, and put on those which she had been used to wear. Her mother was much surprised, when she came in, to see her in this condition; and no words can describe her grief, when she heard the cause of this change. She blamed herself severely for not having made inquiries concerning Mrs. Carver, before she had suffered her daughter to accept of any presents from her; and she wept bitterly, when she recollected the money which this woman had lent her husband. 6 She will throw him into jail, I am sure she will-we shall be worse off a thousand times, than ever we were in our worst days. The work that is in the loom, by which we hoped to get so much, is all for her, and it will be left upon hands now: and how are we to pay the woman of this house for the lodgings ?-O! I see it all coming upon us at once,' continued the poor woman, wringing her hands. that Colonel Pembroke would let us have our own!-But there I've been all the morning hunting him out; and at last, when I did see him, he only swore, and said we were all a family of duns, or some such nonsense. And then he called after me from the top of his fine stairs, just to say, that he had ordered Close the tailor to pay us; and when I went to him, there was no satisfaction to be got from him-his shop was full of customers, and he hustled me away, giving me for answer, that when Colonel Pembroke paid him, he would pay us and no sooner.-Ah! these purse-proud tradesfolk, and these sparks of fashion, what do they know of all we suffer?-What do they care for us?—It is not for charity I ask any of them—only for what my own husband has justly earned, and hardly toiled for too; and this I cannot get out of their hands.-If I could we might defy this wicked woman--but now we are laid under her feet, and she will trample us to death.' In the midst of these lamentations, Anne's father came in: when he learnt the cause of them, he stood for a moment in silence; then snatched from his daughter's hand the bundle of clothes, which

If

she had prepared to return to Mrs. Carver. Give them to me; I will go to this woman myself,' cried he with indignation. 'Anne shall never more set her foot within those doors.' 'Dear father,' cried Anne, stopping him as he went out of the door, perhaps it is all a mistake, do pray inquire from somebody else before you speak to Mrs. Carver-she looks so good, she has been so kind to me, I cannot believe that she is wicked. Do pray inquire of a great many people before you knock at her door.' He promised that he would do all his daughter desired. With most impatient anxiety they waited for his return the time of his absence appeared insupportably long, and they formed new fears and new conjectures every instant. Every time they heard a footstep upon the stairs, they ran out to see who it was: sometimes it was the landlady-sometimes the lodgers or their visitors-at last came the person they longed to see; but the moment they beheld him all their fears were confirmed. He was pale as death, and his lips trembled with convulsive motion. He walked up directly to his loom, and without speaking one syllable began to cut the unfinished work out of it. What are you about, my dear?' cried his wife. Consider what you are about-this work of yours is the only dependence we have in the world.' You have nothing in this world to depend upon, I tell you,' cried he, continuing to cut the web with a hurried hand-'you must not depend on me—you must not depend on my work—I shall never throw this shuttle more whilst I live-think of me as if I was dead-to-morrow I shall be dead to you-I shall be in a jail, and there must lie till carried out in my coffin.-Here take this work just as it is to our landlady-she met me on the stairs, and said she must have her rent directly-that will pay her-I'll pay all I can.-As for the loom, that's only hiredthe silk I bought to-day will pay the hire-I'll pay all my debts to the utmost farthing, as far as I am able-but the ten guineas to that wicked woman I cannot pay—so I must rot in a jail— Don't cry, Anne, don't cry so, my good girl-you'll break my heart, wife, if you take on so. Why! have not we one comfort, that let us go out of this world when we may, or how we may, we shall go out of it honest, having no one's ruin to answer for, having done our duty to man and God, as far as we are able?-My child,' continued he, catching Anne in his arms, 'I have you safe, and I thank God for it.' When this poor man had thus in an incoherent manner given vent to his first feelings, he became somewhat more composed, and was able to relate all that had passed between him and Mrs. Carver. The inquiries which he made before he saw her sufficiently confirmed the orange woman's story; and when he returned the presents which Anne had unfortunately received, Mrs. Carver, with all the audacity of a woman hardened in guilt, avowed her purpose and her profession—declared, that, whatever ignorance and innocence Anne or her parents might now find it convenient to effect, she was confident, they had all the time perfectly understood what she was about, and that she would not be cheated at last by a party of swindling hypocrites.' With horrid imprecations she then swore, that if Anne was kept from her she would have vengeance—and that her vengeance should have no bounds. The event showed, that these were not empty threats-the very next day she sent two bailiffs to arrest Anne's father. They met him in the street, as he was going to pay the last farthing he had to the baker. The wretched man in vain endeavoured to move the ear of justice, by relating the simple truth. Mrs. Carver was rich-her victim was poor. He was committed to jail; and he entered his prison with the firm belief, that there he must drag out the remainder of his days. (To be continued.)