course.' The more important the proposition, the more he thought himself bound to investigate it; the greater the demand upon his assent, the less upon their own principles of reasoning he thought himself bound to grant it." Logical training was the last to which such a nature as Shelley's should have been subjected. Under this discipline at Oxford, he viewed all subjects through the medium of mere reason. Exceedingly fond of argument, in a spirit of adventurous boldness he turned the weappous furnished him by his teachers, against the venerable form of Christianity, and wrote Queen Mab. Be it re. membered, however, he never published it. The MSS was thus disposed of without his knowledge, and against his will. Yet at this very time his fellow-student tells us that Shelley studied fifteen hours a-day-lived chiefly upon bread, in order to save enough from his limited in. come to assist poor scholars-stopped in his long walks to give an orange to a gipsey-boy, or purchase milk for a destitute child-talked constantly of plans for the amelioration of society-was roused to the warmest indigna. tion by every casual instance of oppression-yielded up his whole soul to the admiration of moral excellenceand worshipped truth in every form with a singleness of heart, and an ardor of feeling, as rare as it was inspiring. He was, according to the same and kindred testimony, wholly unaffected in manner, full of genuine modesty, and possessed by an insatiable thirst for knowledge. Although a devoted student, his heart was unchilled by mental application. He at that time delighted in the Platonic doctrine of the preexistence of the soul, and loved

to believe that all knowledge now acquired is but reminis. cence. Gentle and affectionate to all, benevolent to a fault, and deeply loved by all who knew him, it was his misfortune to have an early experience of ill, to be thrown rudely upon the world-to be misunderstood and slandered, and especially to indulge the wild speculations of an ardent mind without the slightest worldly prudence. Shelley, phrenologically speaking, had no organ of cautiousness. Hence his virtues and graces availed him not in the world, much as they endeared him to those who enjoyed his intimacy. In these remarks I would not be misunderstood. I do not subscribe to Shelley's opinions. I regret that he thought as he did upon many subjects for his own sake as well as for that of society. The great mass of his poetry is not congenial to my taste. And yet these considerations do not blind me to the rare quali. ty of his genius-to the native independence of his mind -to the noble aspirations after the beautiful and the true, which glowed in his soul. I honor Shelley as that rare character a sincere man. I venerate his generous sentiments. I recognise in him qualities which I seldom find among the passive recipients of opinion-the tame followers of routine. I know how much easier it is to conform prudently to social institutions; but, as far as my experience goes, they are full of error, and do great injustice to humanity. I respect the man who in sincerity of purpose discusses their claims, even if I cannot coincide in his views. Nor is this all. I cannot lose sight of the fact, that Shelley's nature is but partially revealed We have as it were a few stray gleams of his

to us.

wayward orb. Had it fully risen above the horizon instead of being prematurely quenched in the sea, perchance its beams would have clearly reflected at last, the holy effulgence of the Star of Bethlehem. Let us pity, if we will, the errors of Shelley's judgment; but let not prejudice blind us to his merits. "His life," says his wife, " was spent in arduous study, and in acts of kindness and affection. To see him was to love him." Surely there is a redeeming worth in the memory of one whose bosom was ever ready to support the weary brow of a brother-whose purposes were high and true-whose heart was enamored of beauty, and devoted to his race:

-if this fail,

The pillared firmament is rottenness,
And earth's base built on stubble.

BURNS.

THERE are certain sentiments which "give the world assurance of a man." They are inborn, not acquired. Before them fade away the trophies of scholarship and the badges of authority. They are the most endearing of human attractions. No process of culture, no mere grace of manner, no intellectual endowment, can atone for their absence, or successfully imitate their charms. These sentiments redeem our nature; their indulgence constitutes the better moments of life. Without them we grow mechanical in action, formal in manner, pedantic in mind. With them in freshness and vigor, we are true, spontaneous, morally alive. We reciprocate affection, we luxuriate in the embrace of nature, we breathe an atmosphere of love, and glow in the light of beauty. Frankness, manly independence, deep sensibility and pure enthusiasm are the characteristics of the true man. Against these fashion, trade and the whole train of petty interests wage an unceasing war. In few hearts do they survive; but wherever recognized they carry every unperverted soul

back to childhood and up to God. They vindicate human nature with irresistible eloquence, and like the air of mountains and the verdure of valleys, allure us from the thoroughfare of routine and the thorny path of destiny. When combined with genius, they utter an appeal to the world, and their possessor becomes a priest of humanity, whose oracles send forth an echo even from the chambers of death. Such is ROBERT BURNS. How refreshing, to turn from the would-be-pro. phets of the day, and contemplate the inspired ploughmnan ! No mystic emblems deform his message. We have no hieroglyphics to decipher. We need no philosophie critic at our elbow. It is a brother who speaks to us ;—no singular specimen of spiritual pride, but a creature of flesh and blood. We can hear the beatings of his brave heart, not always like a "muffled drum," but often with the joy of solemn victory. We feel the grasp of his toil-hardened hand. We see the pride on his brow, the tear in his eye, the smile on his lip. We behold not an effigy of buried learning, a tame image from the mould of fashion, but a free, cordial, earnest man ;-one with whom we can roam the hills, partake the cup, praise the maiden, or worship the stars. He is a human creature, only over. flowing with the characteristics of humanity. To him belong in large measure the passions and the powers of He professes no exemption from the common lot. He pretends not to live on rarer elements. He expects not to be ethereal before death. He conceals not his share of frailty, nor turns aside from penance. He takes with equal thanks' a sermon or a song. No one

his race.