respect myself nor think any one else could respect me, if I could prefer even evening misery to morning calmness and repose that is ever officious, and ever seeking something to do which it is yet destitute of energy or inclination to perform when determined upon. Can we imagine a state more disagreeable than this? The burning effervescence of a fevered brain, or the agonising pangs of heart-rending disappointment is nothing to this. In these cases the sufferer is, perchance weary of the world; but in the other, he is weary of himself, and feels for his own character an involuntary but merited contempt.

66

Again, let us compare these systematic early risers with those who take their ease both as to retiring from the sitting room and their re-appearance there. We shall see the former like evil spirits, here, and there and every where, prying into every thing, making themselves wretched with every circumstance and wearing a look haggard with anxiety, a body wasted with perpetual illhumour, and a mind that almost arraigns the conduct of the Most High: the latter with his fat cheeks that, like two mountains hide the good-tempered nose, and the retiring sparkling eyes, like an owl's behind his spectacle glasses, with an aldermanic projection in his front, yclept a corporation," and partaking of the blessings of God with a thankful heart and satisfaction at his providential dispensations. The former seizes his porcupine quill, points it with the venomed sting of the wasp, and in all the energy of officious lifelessness discharges his shaft at ignorance, ease, and happiness; whilst the latter can rise at eleven, and robed in night-gown and slippers, inhale the invigorating beams of the sun, and produce a "defence of intellectual philosophy" at which the whole host of philosophers will stare in astounding wonderment, and cheer it with an applause that would grace the close of the saturdaynight song at a pot-house. Does not this speak volumes? And who would

mortify the flesh" by parading in all the bungling importance of hated lifeless, superoragation, the rugged path of self-denial, when virtue, honour, talent, pleasure, heaven itself, attends the close of the day, and purposely sows thorns in the other portion of life.

To be concluded in our next.)

Varieties.

Cause of the Death of Plants. -The yews of Surrey, which are supposed to have stood from the time of Julius Cæsar, and are now two yards in diameter; the cedars on mount Lebanon, nine yards in girth, from the measurement of the learned Labillardiere; the fig-tree of Malabar, according to Ramphius, usually from 16 to 17 yards round; the stupendous chesnuts of mount Etna, one of which Howell tells us measured 17 yards in circumference; the ceibas of the eastern coast of Africa, of such bulk and height that a single stick is capable of being transformed into a pirogua, or sailing vessel, 18 or 20 yards from stem to stern, and of 3 or 4 in the waist; the Baobab of Senegal of 10 or 12 yards in girth, and, according to the computation of Adamson, 5 or 6,000 years old:-All of these, giants as they are, vegetate as does the smallest bush, solely by the thin herbaceous layer of the liber annually produced at the inner surface of their bark. The concentric layers of preceding libers constitute the mass of the wood a lifeless skeleton, serving solely to support the new formed ports, and to conduct to them the juices by which they are fed, nor is it even necessary for these functions that this should be in an entire state. Willows and chesnuts when quite hollow at the heart still continue to grow with vigour, but in their soundest state strip them of their bark and they quickly perish.

On the Great Size of Trees.-The enormous size to which some celebrated trees have arrived is truly astonishing. There is now, says Forsyth, in Lord Dacie's park, at Fortworth, in Gloucestershire, a sweet chesnut tree which measures 17 yards in circumference; it was grow. ing there in the reign of William the Conqueror, and in the reign of Stephen was called the great chesnut of Fortworth. It is known we have understood, to have existed in the reign of Stephen, from mention made of it in several of the old deeds in the possession of the Dacie family, mention being made of Manorial Courts held under his shade.

It appears that the reason why wool is warmer than linen is only because it

Price 3 d.]

[No. 25. Vol. I.

THE various disguises which men'

assume to throw off the suspicion of ignorance, are no less common than they are vague and superficial. Such are the sinister qualifications of weak minds, and such the artifice under which they are concealed, that it requires no little degree of penetration to discover whichr is the wise man and which is the fool. Those even who claim pretensions to the science of physiognomy, are often misled in their conjectures, and are often at a loss on which head to place the chaplet that should adorn the brow of intellect. Semblance and reality are made to bear such strong marks of analogy, that the line of distinction is barely seen on the closest examination: but though ignonorance may for a time baffle every attempt at disclosure, it must finally sink under its own invalidity, and entail the poignancy of remorse on its possessor.

I know nothing wherein this species of deception is carried to so great a length as in the common course of conversation. A man of second-rate abilities may here vie with the man of genius, the flights of an extensive imagination are superseded by the workings of an inferior cast of mind, and whilst the learning of the philosopher shall remain shut up in the closet unknown VOL. I. 3D

and disregarded, the volubility of a moderate intellect shall carry off the trophies which belong only to greatness of mind. So easily are people imposed upon by these grovellers in conversation, that a facility of expression aided by a copious fund of anecdote and hilarity of disposition, is only required to obtain the designation of a wise man. In acquirements like these, weak and trivial minds conceive the grand consti. tuents of knowledge to consist; and that where the one exists, the other must, consequently, be attendant on it. The dread of what they call a stupid silence is above all things the most to be feared by them; and rather than their loquacity should fail, they have recourse to a feeundity of invention which is not unfrequently made up of the most dogmatial and egotistical expletives. Their ar guments are as futile as they are tedious and unmeaning; and, in short, their whole talk consists in keeping up the pliantness of the tongue, however great its annoyance and nonsensical its discourse. But their artifices do not end here they will assume the air and appearance of the most acute observer draw together the muscles of the countenance in such a form as their minds may paint to them the visage of wisdom

Such is the character of Leporus. He has just discernment to see his inferiority, though he has not candour enough to acknowledge it. He hoards up an abundance of second-hand witticisms, and "speaks an infinite deal of nothing;" "His reasons are as two grains of wheat hid in two bushels of chaff; you shall seek all day ere you find them; and when you have them, they are not worth the search." If he happens to fall in the company of men of learning, his vanity then contends with his insignificancy.

His jocularity is turned into seriousness-his wit blinds his judgment; and thus when he finds his tongue deficient, he regulates his deportment, and in silence

"Persuades when speaking fails."

Thus is the world easily imposed upon by a specious appearance of wisdom wrapped in false humour and affected pleasantry. There is nothing which a man is so anxious to conceal as his infe riority in point of understanding. Call him ignorant and you offer him the seyerest insult which can possibly affront human nature. It is a wound which can never afterwards heal, because he generally feels the truth of the reproach, and his conscience will never allow that he has become wiser. The dread which some men have of being underrated in their qualifications is the stimulus which urges them to such different paths to arrive at the same end. Their progress is marked according to the exertion they make use of to come at the attainment of their object-but it is this exer tion we find which becomes the obstacle to their advancement. They see the route before them, and sigh after pleasures which others partake of, and, finolly, resort to such practices as may gain their object without the toil and drudgery which the common track apparently presented. No cunning or artifice is

left untouched which will gain their applause. They pant after honours which they conceive are only merited by pouring out at random, without any consideration of time or place, all the superfluous rodomontade of their pue rile understandings. They think that to characterize a great mind, is to be loquacious, and that if a man be well stored with anecdote, together with a budget of the most fashionable sayings, he must assuredly be possessed of an extensive mind, and cannot fail to attract the eye of admiration. What inconsistency of character! How vain and ridiculous! What a lamentable use of that faculty which heightens man's superiority over brutes! Nature has for the most part given to every man faculties which, with a little cultivation, may be rendered both honourable to himself and beneficial to others.. But too many, through their proneness to selfish gratifications and idle pleasures, neglect this object, and seek to substitute in place of it, a vile imitation and scandalous abuse of those qualifications they see perfected in others. If there is any thing praiseworthy in the nature of man, it surely claims our regard, inasmuch as it is connected with our own comfort and private interests, if not for the advantage of the rest of mankind. But the love of flattery is so deeply rooted in man, that any artifice which may open an easy admiss sion to her charms, is quickly adopted and speedily rendered subservient to bis own purposes. He finds nothing to gain his end so soon as his trick in conversation. It opens a wide field for his de ception, by which he easily draws around him a circle of ignorant admirers to extol his absurdities. It is to this end that we find men of second-rate abilities so vociferous in their speech, and generally qualified to discuss all the minor topics of discourse; but as vanity is their ruling principle, no subject is so greedi ly sought after as that which may lead to their own advantage, at the detraction of another. It is amongst such people that we generally find the spirit of con versation most prolix; and as the substance of their ideas is rather suited to the vain pomp of their words, than the words to the ideas they would express, and as their recitals have gone through repeated exaggeration, it leaves few traces of its original, and, consequently, can afford little entertainment. With

the same degree of reverence they pay to loquacity, they look upon silence in a man as a tacit confession of his incapacity to discourse upon the common affairs of the world. Accordingly, they despise him whom discretion teaches to make circumstances the ground-work of his conversation, and who only speaks on such occasions as may best suit his purposes. They look upon that man as a fool who talks only on subjects of importance; and he who cannot bring trifles within his attention, and entertain with unnecessary jargon and spurious wit, they designate as too ignorant and selfish for social intercourse.

Thus we see the man of learning scouted when mixed amongst those who are unable to rate his abilities; and where the wise man puts on the face of ignorance, fools claim the merit and triumph in their weakness.

It has been justly observed, that those who have the greatest stores of intellectual riches, have not the greatest quantity of ready cash. There is certainly a natural taciturnity amongst men of enlightened minds, which all their endeavours to overturn are inefficient; and which not unfrequently subjects them to much derision from the class of men I have above described; while on the other hand, "men of second-rate parts shine most in conversation."

The profound silence, and apparent inability to furnish an abundance of ready discourse, which almost invariably marks the intelligent man, may be some way accounted for by the habitual mode of thinking, in which he constantly indulges, and which draws over the mind a kind of involuntary stupor that can only be awakened by discourse suitable to its powers. But it is only in mixed society that we find the man of learning so deficient in ordinary conversation, and where the braggart heaps on himself the praises of others, by his insipid jargon and hacknied witticisms. Where refinement of learning and select discourse are observed to flow, we no longer see the dull and stupid gravity which clouded his intellectual faculties, but the sunshine of his soul bursts into a splendour which eclipses the glaring erudition of feigned wisdom.

With good sense, candour and modesty generally go hand in hand, while ignorance is tempered with an inordinate degree of vanity and assurance. The

latter scatters his "half made up" discourse promiscuously, while the other, waiting the dictates of discretion, offers a "word in due season." It seems a matter of surprise how few men of great intellectual endowments, can arrange their thoughts at the moment they would speak them, so as to produce the satisfactory effect they would wish upon their hearers. Every sentiment seems to require study before it can obtain utterence, and even then is not unfre quently devoid of that energy of expression which might be expected from a superior understanding. Addison used to say "he could draw bills for a thou sand pounds, though he had not a guinea in his pocket."

But after all this, neither the wise man nor the fool, will remain long undiscovered; there are sudden flashes of genius which will display themselves in the one, while the other must inevitably throw off his disguise, and meet the disgrace due to his ignorance.

THE CAP AND BELLS, No. 1.

(Concluded from our last.)

In short, Mr. Editor! if one time is better than another; if feeling is better than a blank-like state of nonentity; if energy of intellect is superior to the tameness of literary cobbling,-evening is preferable to morning, and a cheerful hearth to a cold and cheerless one. Even now I feel the difference, and painful indeed does it seem. I was induced by a sermon, which I heard last evening, wherein the preacher inveighed with the most awful and soul-stirring solemnity against the "wicked, vicious, and ungive godly practice of lying late in bed,"to it a fair trial at last, and discern if those wonderful virtues assigned to it, did really exist. I have done so; and after seeking from four to six for some employment, I took it into my head to write a stanza or two of poetry: but none of the muses came to my assistance, even to form the first, much less the second line of each couplet. "Try a philosophical essay, then," whispered the Spirit of the Morning: I tried that also, and found, to my chagrine, that beyond the first step of the first member