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my sorrow was soon told. To my astonishment, every body seemed more inclined to laugh than to weep. My father was the first to assume an air of gravity. My dear Henry," said he, "this little incident, if properly considered, affords a useful moral lesson. In your future journey through life, when you have gone abroad into the world, and cast your eyes upon the various scenes around you, always recollect that there are two sides to the picture, -one fair and inviting, the other dark and repulsive. Be not too much dazzled by the former, nor too much depressed by the latter. Let not the mere resemblance of virtue lull you into the dangerous security of thoughtless philanthropy; nor the momentary prosperity of vice harden your heart into callous indifference. Never forget to examine both sides of the picture."

When I grew up, I endeavoured to profit by this advice. It has been of use to me, I trust, in preventing me from judging too hastily, either of apparent good or apparent evil, apparent happiness or apparent grief.

When I looked, for example, on the statesman, on him who could "read his history in a nation's eyes," who found himself at the helm of a great and powerful kingdom, directing, according to his will, its fleets, its armies, and its inexhaustible revenues; and when I saw him the

boast and darling of the country, the being to whom all turned in admiration, whose word was law, and whose smile was sunshine-I might have believed him the happiest of his race; but I watched this idol of the people a little longer, and saw him struggling with difficulties beyond the reach of human power to overcome. Rivals thronged around him,-jealousy and dissension rendered his councils abortive unforeseen accidents blasted many of his best-concerted schemes, every domestic comfort was resigned, he lived not for himself, but others, his influence began to diminish,—white hairs gathered on his brow,— the sun of his glory set, he retired into solitude, and died forgotten. "Alas!" said I to myself, "here are two sides to the picture."

Again, when I met with one, young and beautiful, glittering in the crowded drawing-room, or fixing the gaze of the enraptured theatre, or moving in the light of her loveliness through the graceful dance, with the festive wreath of health blooming upon her brow-with the perpetual halo of good humour playing round her lips, and with nought but melody issuing from them; was it not hard to have the discovery forced upon you, that in all this there was something unreal? that there were solitary hours of fatigue, and vexation and pain, — that the lips could relinquish those smiles for the bitter sneer of contempt and hatred,—that

the music of gentleness could be exchanged for the harsh accents of reproach and anger, that, under the heavenly exterior which bounteous Nature had bestowed, lurked many of the evil passions of the human heart, that though vice yielded to virtue its customary homage of hypocrisy, the mask might be removed, and leave too palpably disclosed to view the two sides of the picture!

When, turning to different scenes, I contemplated the holy servant of religion, guiding a multitude to heaven by the force of his precepts and instructions, comforting the afflicted, re-assuring the wretched, encouraging the humble, rebuking the presumptuous, assisting the contrite, and raising, like a ministering angel, the standard of human excellence, how could I help saying within myself, "Who shall stand a comparison with a man like this?" A little farther investigation not unfrequently dissolved the charm. I discovered that religion was too often assumed as the cloak of knavery; that it was easy to talk of heaven and the joys of eternity, when the heart was all the time devoted to the enjoyments of sense, and every hope was connected with the present existence; that it was no difficult task to preach to others, in pompous and indignant terms, of the necessity of subduing the passions, and keeping the heart with all diligence, whilst he who thus

declaimed, laughed his own doctrine to scorn by the daily practice of his life,- for, in the words of the Italian poet,

"Sotto un velo sagrosanto ognora,
Religion chiamato, parvi tal gente
Che réi disegni amanta; indi, con arte
Alla celeste la privata causa

Frammischiando, si attenta anco ministra
Farla d'inganni orribili, e di sangue."

It is indeed melancholy, but not the less true, that even there here are two sides to the picture.

Often and ardently have I longed for fame, the fame by which the efforts of genius, in unravelling the mysteries of mind, or extending the boundaries of science, or opening the fountains of imagination, are ever sure to be hallowed. I followed with my eye the triumphant career of the poet. I saw him at first contending with difficulties under which spirits of a meaner order would have sunk; but, conscious of his innate strength, despising the cold world's sneer, or turning its own weapons against it. Proceeding resolutely in the course he had himself chalked out, the effulgence of his mind burst at length upon the astonished nations, and shining far off, in its unclouded beauty, among the highest stars of the galaxy, was worshipped from the distance by thousands of admiring votaries. Is there nothing enviable in a fate like this? —Let the undy

ing voice of Byron answer you the question. That voice has sounded over the earth, and its echo is still heard in the most distant regions. Yet who asks if Byron was fortunate? Who knows not his unhappy story? Crossed and disappointed in his domestic affections,-neglected by those to whom the ties of blood ought to have endeared him,-an exiled wanderer over the earth, -the object, against whom were unsparingly directed the poisoned arrows of scandal, and malice, and envy ;-and now that he has died — died in his youth, and in a foreign land, and in the cause of liberty-his glorious memory is polluted by the scribbling of newspaper hirelings; and they who have barely sufficient talent to write an intelligible sentence on the petty politics of the day, presume to offer criticisms on the productions of a mind which they never understood, and to damn, with their faint praise, the efforts of a genius whose powers have shed additional lustre over human nature, and added another argument in favour of the immortality of the human soul! Look, then, to the poet, and, as you look, confess that there are two sides to the picture.

The same truth extends to every condition and rank of life; nor is it confined in its application merely to the insulated circumstances of an individual; it will be found to apply, with equal certainty, to the moral and political state of nations.