knowledge, it may be in enthusiasm! but is it so in wisdom! wisdom to be great, and strength to stamp its character of received forms and ideas, for "old and new must ever shock," and new will get the better, let it look to itself that it is the better.

19

Once, in the History of Greece, there was a period like that which has begun for us. It was in the days of Alcibiades. Alcibiades regard as the exponent of the spirit of the ultra advancing party at Athens. I believe the predominant feeling in him to have been the feeling of exceeding freedom, free to make his own religion, free to rule his conduct without reference to others, so long as he did not actually violate the laws of his country.

66

It is this temper that is, as I believe, chiefly to be dreaded for the new race. It is indeed a glorious liberty, to be free from prejudices; but this freedom, if it be joined to selfishness, becomes a far more humiliating bondage; it is indeed but cloak for maliciousness." a The proud and accomplished Heathen might be permitted perhaps to make a religion for himself, and a code of morality for himself; but to us it is far different, no such thought can enter our mind without impiety; but many thoughts of kindred nature do rule in us, a kind of feeling that the world, and the laws, were made for our benefit alone: the rejoicing in the right of private judgement on all subjects, now held so much the dearer, by the movement made so lately to deprive us of it. And we wrest the meaning, and are content with a false interpretation, of the Apostles words, "for ye are free," for all things are for your sakes," forgetting that our freedom consists in a change to a higher service, not in a freedom from all service. It was truly said, a little knowledge is a dangerous thing

But the highest duty of the new race, as of every race, consists not in ruling, or public stations, for remember the saying of Oxenstiern,

Nescis, mi fili, quàm parvâ sapientiâ regitur mundus." "You dont know my son how small an amount of wisdom rules the world,” but it is in the country, in every-day life, there above every place it is necessary to be sober; "not mastered by some modern term," in a private station especially, in the homes of Eng

land, it is the highest virtue to be steady and firm of purpose: "in quietness and confidence shall be your strength.'

But we will have no going back; no standing still; there is another generation rising to tread on the heels of the "new race,"-ver proterit æstas: the old forms are cold; and as he said who was but lately here, "Institutions wax and wane."

King Pandion he is dead,

All thy friends are lapt in lead.

THE POET WORDSWORTH. That Wordsworth is childish, that he is too minute, that he is too vague, are three of the objections most frequently made against him. The first from a very large class of readers, who, looking at a child, see in it nothing but its childishness; now Wordsworth considered the child and the man with the same feelings in one respect with which he would have regarded a blade of grass and a first-rate man of war. How many are there who admire the ship, not merely for its associations, but for intrinsic beauty, while of the grass-blade, they think no more than the horse who eats it. Wordsworth saw in the speechless infant something beyond the dreaming of any but the poet's philosophy; the highest creation that we know unstained by sin and passion; a soul just launched from eternity and yet unbuffeted by the storms of time.

Wordsworth is too minute-an accusation probably suggested by such passages as the se exquisite lines on the shadow of the daisy on the stone. And as this poem is very characteristic of Wordsworth, we will stop awhile and look at it.

It begins with the wish, perhaps half-belief, that the flower was conscious of the pleasure it gave;

That to this mountain daisy's self were known, The beauty of its star-shaped shadow, thrown On the smooth surface of this naked stone. The shadow has in it something deeper and more divine than the blossom itself; it is the link between it and the cold shapeless stone which it vivifies rejoicingly. But what is it that forges this link? that is the cause of the

beauty of both flower and shadow? Is not the sun's all-seeing eye conscious of how by his glorious aid,

Those delicate companionships are made,

And how he rules the pomp of light and shade. Now here most other poets would have stopped. For thus it is that man thinks he can improve upon the works of God. Unsatisfied

with what is given him, he wishes for more; and like the small critic, who would smooth and polish down the separate lines of a mighty poem, till he can see himself reflected in them, so ingenious man looks at the speck of creation which is all he can see, and imagines it may be beautified by additions which he can make. Now see the moral beauty of the poem, and see too

Thence this but little heard of among men, how it chastens the intellectual beauty. He tells us to 66 converse with nature in pure sympathy," to be

to love and praise alike impelled, Whatever boon is granted or withheld. Most poets would never have seen the shadow at all; others, if they had, would have represented the sun and the flower as actually conscious; or if not so bold, might have been content to wish with Wordsworth; but none would have perfected the poem by showing that the wish was wrong. We have in this poem the triumph of moral over intellectual beauty, the triumph of truth over exaggera

tion.

The same lesson is to be drawn from Wordsworth's treatment of the sky-lark, only two short stanzas; but in which he has seized the essence of his subject, and shown himself above Shelley, as I think, not in degree, but in kind. For what is the characteristic of the skylark; not beauty of form or plumage, not even her song, for she cannot compare with the nightingale. It is the soaring straight up into the sky, not deviating to the right or to the left; and again sailing down straight into her nest. For adornment, and we may say for intellectual beauty, the poem in design and execution is below Shelley's; but Shelley did not seize this characteristic so as to make it the prominent part of his picture; least of all did he perceive the moral beauty of the sky-lark, typical as it

is

of the wise that soar, but never roam, True to the kindred points of heaven and home, But Wordsworth is vague. The charge is in part true; for there are many poets who excel him in power of words, very few in depth of thought. The words in which we convey to each other our ideas of the spiritual, must be but types drawn, from things that we see by sense; and thus to express new ideas, there was need of new types, which seemed common place to those who saw nothing beyond them, and obscure to those who could only see the antitype indistinctly. When Wordsworth speaks of the "shadowy recollections" of the Eternity before birth, that are not yet wholly wiped away by the rub of the world; of the union of the mind with external nature, and of the creation,

"which they with blended might, accomplish."

Men must listen, with other ears than to the to the description of "drowsy mountains nodding" of "stars rolling in order round the moon," and other such pitiful exaggerations, which they read, with a strong contempt all the while for poetry as a study, merely to tickle the fancy with unrealities, or to please the ear of sense with pretty melodies, and verses as soft

laugh at poor Jenkins, supposing he really is going into the army, what says the author of the snob paper can be more harmless than a heavy dragoon, with his great stupid pink face and gentle eyes, and coarse black moustachios, It is true he is not clever-but still he is brave and honourable. Young Ladies adore him, and he can tell about the odds on the ledger or about the Tutbury pet as well as any one. Let us indulge him in his humours; let us allow him to carry about his great books on fortification and when he has left School, let him smoke his great black cigars and drink his curacoa, without laughing at him. What a wretched contrast does he make to the clever and industri

ous boy who works his way up to the top of the school, and goes to College both a scholar and a gentleman. I have had a singular example of this during the last week; Jones and Snobby came to the school the same half and were both put in the same form; about six or seven years afterwards, the gazette announced that Charles Snobby, gent. was appointed cornet, in the 6th dragoon guards, vice Thangles, promoted, and the same paper announced that Jones had obtained the Balliol Scholarship. Snobby in the innocence of his heart sincerely pitied poor Jones: what, said he is the use of learning to a gentleman? here am I, enjoying life, while poor Jones is working away at Oxford. Strange to say while reading the paper of last week, my eye again fell on the names of these two young men who began the race of life together. The Gazette announced that John Grig, gent. was appointed lieutenant, vice Snobby, retired. Poor Snobby, and is it thus that you end your life? You-the pride of your school-the delight of your cousins. Must you drag out the remainder of your life in vainly endeavouring to live like a gentleman on about half the pay of a butler! O reader take a warning from Snobby. I was agreeably surprised however, by the other sheet, which announced that Jones was elected to an Oriel Fellowship, thus Jones by his cleverness and industry has carried everything before him at Oxford, while in private life by his gentlemanlike and amiable behaviour, he has endeared himself to everybody. Which of the two, reader, would prefer to be like? I think you

will say Jones, try then and imitate him if you cannot obtain the high honours that he has-you will be able at at all events, to gain respect and esteem, and become a useful being in that station of life in which you happen to be Your's truly.

To the Editor of the Rugbæan. DEAR MR. EDitor,

par

Having an hour to spare, it strikes me, that I can make no better use of it than by writing an article which may, or may not appear in your paper. But as I am neither a poet nor a wit, neither a politician, or a writer of romances, it requires some consideration as to what ticular style of subject I shall fix upon. You perhaps would advise me to wait till I had got a subject, and not waste my own time by writing, and yours by causing you to read twaddle. I will reply as Horace did, when given the same advice, and when I have perpetrated the quotation, don't think me clever as I only read it the other day, and I have to look it out again, before I can repeat it. Here it is,

"Peream male, si non
Optimum erat, verum nequeo dormire."
Hor. Sat. ii. 1,

Besides, I have a great desire to see something of my own in print, a pleasure which has never yet been allowed me therefore I advise you to put this in, or else I will write again, and not stop writing till something is in. But after all, I have got something to tell you, if only it is worth being told, namely, a sort of argeement which I had the other day, with no less a person than mine own self.

I was sitting the other evening in my study: the fire was blazing cheerily in the small grate, and sitting down in my cosy arm chair, I fell into a sort of dreamy reveree. How pleasant thought I these long evenings when you make yourself so comfortable in your study, and after a hard days work, indulge in a chapter of David Copperfield or some other light fiction, or if you are socially disposed, you can enjoy the sweets of conversation with a few choice spirits who like yourself have an hour to waste, discussing whether W.played well in the match, or whether S -can beat A

-at hare and

hounds, or even whether it would be advisable to bring back protection, if (that is to say,) you can find anybody mad enough to think so, Surely, I thought, this half-year with so many charms as it has, is the best, You have football: how exciting, the whole game! how glorious the shout that welcomes the succesful run in, or the long-wished for goal: how cheering to watch the whites glimmering in the dusk, as your friends return from hare and hounds, to hear that B has come in first, and then to commemorate the fact by ordering beef steaks for tea. And whilst as I was meditating, long winter nights, calm of summer evenings, cosy naps, pleasant walks, good drops, painful hacks, hares sprinkling paper, passed before my bewildered imagination, when suddenly I remembered my best hit to cover point, I felt the ball glance off my bat, I saw it rolling far away down the slope, I had already completed my 4th verse. Oh no! I exclaimed aloud: I was wrong the cricket half for me, with its beautiful sunny weather, and its ends after fourth lesson, with its long exciting matches, (if you can get a good innings, I mean) far, far away the best

Mr. Editor, I then awoke, and found I was late for prayers, it is for you to judge whether I have spent my spare hour well.

Yours &c.

On Wednesday, the 20th, being a half holiday in honour of Mr. Macready, the North and South match was begun; the North countrymen having already beaten at cricket, and anxious for the double honour, mustered very strong, while on the South side, there seemed to be very little spirit, and the consequences could easily be foreseen. M'Carthy (mi.) succeeded in running in, and Clifford found no difficulty in kicking a goal. The South were at length aroused, and having received reinforcements, they sustained the match very well till darkness put an end to the game. Owing to the weather, it was not till the Thursday of the next week that the match could be renewed, and even then the ground was in an unfavourable state. Again were the South worsted, and though nothing decisive happened on either side, the North had so much the bet

ter that the ball was seldom beyond the three trees, and to make matters worse, toward the close of the match several of the best South players left them. On Tuesday, it having been agreed at a levée, that, although it was against rules, yet on account of the fineness of the day a match should be played, the game was again renewed. The future was much more equal and various, neither side getting much the better. On the South side Wimberley had a difficult try at goal, but the kick was not quite straight. This probably is the last match of the year, and we are glad to say that at the levée for arranging about the match on Tuesday, the obnoxious rule about standing off side was altered, and the full force was given to the word re-bound; another rule also was explained, namely, the one which entirely forbids knocking on.

THE YOUNG THIEF'S PETITION.
You whip me, you imprison me,

You say 'tis wrong to steal,
You spurn me as an outcast, you
Who never want a meal.

You little think how hard it is

To rise at early morn,
From some cold arch or door step,
All hungry and forlorn.

Then wander through the busy streets,
Wanting a piece of bread,
And yet to see within your reach,
Plenty of all things spread.

'Tis hard to see abundance,

And yet unmoved to stand,
When you perhaps may save your life
By stretching out your hand.

I was starving, there was plenty,
Oh what would you have done,

I was dying from starvation,
And was quite alone.

When you were young you had kind friends,
And homes and all beside,

I was but five years old at most,
When my dear mother died.
My father have I never seen,

I've never heard his name,
But I've heard that he had broken

My mother's heart with shame.
If some one would but take me home,
To serve him how I'd strive,
Indeed, indeed, I only stole,

To keep myself alive.

Crossley & Billington, Printers, Market Place Rugby.

No. IV.]

SHELLEY.

"The guilt and shame,

All eyes have seen them, and all lips may lame;
Where is the record of the wrong that stu z,
The charm that tempted, and the grief tha. wrung?
Let feeble hands, iniquitously just,
Rake up the reliques of the sinful dust,
Let Ignorance mock the pang it cannot feel,
And Malice brand what Mercy would conceal;
It matters not!"

"ATHENS," a Prize Poem, Cambridge, 1824,
By W. M. Praed, Trinity College.

One of the most usual charges brought against Shelley is, that he is vague and unintelligible; so, remembering the fact that want of clearness in writing prose is proof positive of want of clearness in thought, it is doubly necessary for an advocate of Shelley to be as clear, and plain, and simple, as he can. If he

is not, he would be doing much the same thing as a man who should offer you a clouded glass through which to look at a hazy landscape in the distance. Plain and simple I will try to be. If Shelley is at all read or admired, it is generally his minor pieces that have roused the admiration of his readers; it is his great freshness perhaps, or his gentle feelings of universal love, the delicacy of his graceful mind, his wonderful command of language, or the beauty of his metres, that is admired. Now on all these points, I will yield to none, in love of Shelley; but there are other powers in him than these, which claim my veneration. If these were his only beauties we should be tempted to think that his was the reputation of a poetess, beautiful indeed and powerful beyond all lady writers we have ever known in England, but still of a poetess rather than a poet. I hope to leave upon many of my readers an impression that such a reputation may be a part indeed of the truth, but not the whole truth, due to Shelley.

Great freshness and animation there is in his writings, and greater novelty of thought, more new similes, than one meets with anywhere else. To quote passages, embalmed by new ideas and beautiful images, were endless: I can do no better than bid any friend (to whom

[TWOPENC E.

"Here lieth one whose name was writ on water;"
But ere the breath that could erase it blew,
Death in remorse for that fell slaugher,
Death the immortalizing winter flew

Athwart the stream; time's monthless torrent grew
A scroll of chrystal, blazoning the name
Of Adonais.

Before leaving the subject of his many new and striking similes, there is one characteristic of many of them which ought to be pointed out; and that is, that if the objects which he has compared had occurred as similar to the mind of any other writer, he would most certainly have read them backwards." A few examples will explain my meaning. In his lines written among the Euganean hills, we find

"Lo! the sun floats up the sky

Like thought-wing'd liberty." Now to compare liberty to the sun in his strength would have been a thought one would have been pleased, but not surprised, to find in any writer. But who, before Shelley, would have thought of likening the sun, as he saw it before him, to liberty? And in "the Recollection,"

"Until an envious wind crept by

Like an unwelcome thought."

Any poet might have had the idea of an un-welcome thought sweeping across the mind like a wind over the ruffled waters, but to none but Shelley would the workings of internal nature have seemed more familiar than her outward notions, none else would have given, as the illustration of the breath of the wind, a troubled feeling of the heart. And a rock clinging to the mountain side, while a gulf yawns beneath it, suggest the idea.