And this is the state of society that "Young England" wishes to see revived! These are the kind of men it would fain set up before the present race of bold inquirers and free-thinkers! What! shall we, after having groped our way, toilsomely, but stedfastly, through the darkness of folly, ignorance, and brutality, turn blindly back just at the moment when we behold-a mere speck in the distance, certainly, but increasing day by day-signs of light, and the clear atmosphere of reason? Shall the man become a child again? The whole wide universe of Nature cries-No. A few disciples of the "righte goode fellowe " school of thinking yet remain; but ere half a century elapse, the ever-increasing tide of knowledge and good sense will have swept them away into the sea of things that were. GOOD COUNSEL OF CHAUCER. D. R. FLY from the crowd and dwell with Truthfulness; Vex not thy heart each failure to redress, In trust of her who turneth like a ball; See that thou dost not spurn against a nall ;† What Heaven sends, take thou in obedience ; * Meaning-But trust to, &c. + Nall-a nail. THE MAN AND HIS AGE. WHEN Rousseau introduced his Héloïse with the statement, "I have understood my age, and have written this book," he made use of the most tremendous announcement of which man is capable. There are few men who know their age; and the privilege of belonging to this select band is of very doubtful value, considered with reference to the happiness of the chosen one. Those men who have their fixed party, their fixed sect, who can regard the good and evil fortunes of their immediate circle, as allimportant events,-in a word, the majority of a community, live in their age, are influenced by their age, act upon their age,-but they know nothing of it. They have an instinct that their state of mind is the right state, and all without is an eccentricity with which they have nought to do. "Brown is a Swedenborgian,-how very odd of Brown!" exclaims Jones, though he has no notion of the reasons of Brown's preference for such a faith, and is ignorant whether the tenets of Emanuel Swedenborg be monotheistic-polytheistic-pantheistic. The oddness of Brown consists in being what Jones is not. And Jones goeth his ways, rejoicing exceedingly that he is not such as Brown. If he be a good-humoured man he is satisfied with his own great felicity. If he have a little gall in his composition, he occasionally regrets that the civil magistrate has not some power to check Brown from indulging in the monstrous theories whereof he, Jones, knows nothing. Europeans are taught to laugh at the Chinese, because they make the Celestial Empire occupy the largest portion of the world, and indicate the other nations by little insignificant dots. There are moral regions in Europe, where moral Chinese are to be found in great abundance,-yea, even to the imitation of the cracked plate, if ancestral wisdom have made the precious flaw. They are happy people in their way, are these moral Chinese,and those who have enlarged their moral geography may often envy them their Camberwell pagodas, their Twickenham junks. But may not the moral Cook and Anson have their junk and Pagoda too? True; but to them, the Junk and Pagoda look so abominably small. Depend upon it, when the real Emperor of China discovers that he is not even a first-rate power (perhaps he has discovered it), the great wall will be grievously reduced in its dimensions. The man who knows his age, cannot see an isolated domain. He sees the land, wherein many are settled so pleasantly, but he sees too the border of that land, and what a narrow boundary it is; and moreover, he sees those who dwell beyond that boundary. What a spectacle of collision presents itself—of faiths undermining faiths, of interests warring against interests! What resting upon rotten foundations,-what repose upon stolid ignorance! And between this and the standard of excellence which he may have raised in his own mind, what an impassable gulf! With certain temperaments there cannot be a greater misery than that of knowing one's age. The tendencies that are swaying millions cross and oppose each other in one weak bosom. It is as if the battle-field were itself endowed with life, and felt the torture of the contest, whichever party gained the victory. Then come the bitter curses of affection being opposed to affection,— head being opposed to heart,-and we need not wonder if the unhappy seer is sometimes maddened by the visions which his overdiscernment has raised. Rousseau always stands before us as a martyr of this class. That inordinate sentimentality, with that rigid understanding that hankering after the pleasures and vanities of an artificial age, with that deep longing after uneducated simplicity-that sighing after an unattainable faith-that falseness of position which penetrated into the very being of the man. Do they not tell us, that all the tendencies of a time became incarnate in an individual? When a man like this says, “I have understood my age," we hear him with respect, not unmixed with awe. It is as if some one said in our presence, "I know what is the rack-what is the sensation of red-hot pincers.' We are firmly convinced that the horrid drama that was visibly acted on a grand scale in the French Revolution was invisibly acted some years before in the heart of that one unhappy man. The voice of the "man that knows his age may often be widely different from that of the age itself. The discontent that lies scattered about in different hearts may be without expression; it may not have gathered intensity enough to find a voice; and all But at last, per that speak utter a sort of vapid contentment. chance, that man lifts up his voice, and he utters the wail that startles far and near: yea, many are strangely moved at the sound, for the utterance is so much in accordance with their own feelings, that they almost doubt whether themselves are not the utterers. The man who thus speaks, as multitudes have dimly thought, is the poet of his age; but there are many by whom the sorrows of knowledge are felt, and to whom the power of expression has not been granted. To them is the revelation made obscurely, as through the dark responses of an oracle; they are silent, but they doubt and are restless. These will be foremost among the poet's auditors. Does not Byron, and the almost fanatical enthusiasm which he created, furnish us with a striking instance of this position? That is a higher wisdom, which can detect the subtle harmony of the discord, to which the jarring elements combine into a most delicious music. He belongs to the blest of his species, who can know all and sorrow not-who is capable of that true tolerance, that can recognise the positive side of all differences; not that spurious tolerance, which treats all with equal contempt, and is but a quiet bigotry. Be it spoken to the honour of this age, that such a character, even if not attained, is constantly assumed as possibleis admitted as a high goal for humanity. But those who have reached this moral Elysium have, we believe, passed through that fearful state, in which so many have fallen. There is a repose, it is true, that may be the concomitant of mere wealth, good digestion, and ignorance; but the world has not progressed so far, that the higher repose can be attained without many a struggle-not the less agonising because it does not quiver the lip, nor call forth a solitary murmur. AN OPTIMIST. A PLEA FOR BEAUTIFUL THINGS. It is not well for deathless souls to cling Yet must we therefore teach our hearts to deem Not so! not so! for beauty, even on earth, The glorious signet of the King of heaven. "Love not the world!"-the precept is divine; And cheat the heart with their unreal joys. But, oh! prize all that still is truly bright, Were it not worse than vain to close our eyes Think ye 'twas meant that man should find no spell Not such the lesson the Great Teacher drew The wondrous bow, which seems the heav'ns to span, Sign of a changeless covenant with man ; And shall we still scorn all things that do fade? Wiser and better with a thankful mind To bless our God for ev'ry glory giv❜n, FANNY FARMER. |