to what no one could dispute; but to view them in the relationship of parent and offspring, is to take an exaggerated aspect. For imitation is a cold and lifeless thing, unless vitalized and animated by other faculties-by the taste to select, the power to combine; by judgment to reject the inelegant and unnatural. But where nature herself is closely delineated, and her face reflected by the mirror of art, we should rather style imitation of this description as the child of genius, than regard genius as the child of imitation. But when Sir Joshua proceeded to affirm that "by imitation originality of invention is produced," he was guilty of a contradiction of terms, unless it can be shown that to invent and copy are identical processes. For what should we think of the critic who would call Raphael and Rembrandt two first-rate imitators? What should we think of any one who would describe their productions as the simple consequences of imitation merely? Sir Joshua would have us consider imitation "the study of other masters,"—an infelicitous idea of it, since many may study and yet fail to imitate;-but so far from recommending one model only, he refers us to a fine sentiment of Quintilian, "sed non qui maxime imitandus, etiam solus imitandus est." Certainly, imitation is not genius, as we generally use the term, although it may form one among the number of the faculties which constitute it by their association and alliance. The poetry of painting has a higher source. He who makes the canvass breathe with life, and causes the rough and unpolished marble to harshly frown and sweetly smile, deserves another and a prouder title than that of an imitator, if nature, and not nature as depicted by others, be the subject of his labours. But might not Sir Joshua's large ideas of the importance of imitation, be attributable to himself having been so much indebted to a careful study of the works of other men, and to his transferring their selected beauties to his own productions? We pretend not to depreciate this admired artist, and we leave to better judges the task of denying or assenting to the truth of Hazlitt's observations, which we must quote in this place. "I can by no means look upon Sir Joshua as having a claim to the first rank of genius: he would hardly have been a great painter, if other great painters had not lived before him; he combined and applied the materials of others to his own purpose with admirable success; he was an industrious compiler or skilful translator, not an original inventor in art." Thus, if Hazlitt be granted to be correct, Sir Joshua failed to illustrate his own maxim, that "by imitation originality of invention is produced." Mark here the difference

between Reynolds's and Arago's ideas of genius. May it not be accounted for by the different tendencies of their minds and pursuits? The artist might have been chiefly engaged in imitation, and the grand employment of the philosopher may be thought. And very different, probably, would have been Shakspere's and Newton's methods of defining a man of genius.

Genius is not to be considered as implying the possession of some faculty, which minds in general are devoid of altogether, but as being more perfect and powerful in its constitution. It would seem to differ from talent in degree alone; it is the same principle acting in excess; it is not comparable to a rivulet, but a river—not a small waterfall, but a stupendous cataract. It is a name expressive of energy-the Herculean energy of a mighty mind. Sometimes it is precocious, like flowers blossoming ere they unfold their leaves, and the coming events of the pregnant future cast their plain shadows o'er its baby brow; at others it is more gradually developed, progressing through successive stages of improvement to its perfect shape.

"So from the root

Springs lighter the green stalk, from thence the leaves

More airy, last the bright consummate flower

Spirits odorous breathes."

But whether genius burst early into life, or be unfolded by a more gradual and tardy growth, it is distinguished by its ability to perform, and often by its facility in the performance of feats not to be accomplished at any rate or pains by ordinary men, although they toil with unremitting diligence, "with an eye that never winks, and a wing that never tires." In nothing is it more remarkable than this—in the success which attends its labours, ay, even irksome labours, as we may suppose was often the case with Johnson; let it but work zealously, and much fruit will reward it; let it but plough and sow, and it will reap plenteously of a golden* harvest. Again we beg to state the opinion,-a most common one we should suppose, that the difference between genius and talent is but a difference of degree; and we object to any partial and finely-spun definitions, the principle of which is easy of attack. Taking this view of it, we hold in our hands the key to its mysteries, which, if not capable of unlocking all, is yet fully able to reveal most of them. We would rather be amongst those who closely analyze its glorious works, or, at the least, are ardently engaged in the endeavour, than

play their part who wonder at them idly, as if they were gazing at some supernatural phenomenon. But we pretend not to delineate its expressive and strangely varied physiognomy, which needs a far greater than Lavater to describe, inasmuch as it is far more difficult accurately to conceive, and truly to portray, the mental than the bodily features.

In fine, the word genius embodies all that is extraordinary in mind. It has a magical and inspiring sound. It fills the memory with noble recollections; it is the source of a rapture, to be felt only and expressed by those whose mental vision has been often dazzled by its bright creations, enchanting as those scenes which some have fabled of fairy lands. Were we invited to describe its nature, we would attempt no cold or narrow definition; we would point in silence to its favoured children.

"Oh! they are nature's own! and as allied
To the vast mountains, and the eternal sea,
They want no written history; theirs a voice
For ever speaking to the heart of man."

W. F. B.

HYMNS TO NIGHT.
(Translated from the German of Novalis.)

VI.

Longing for Death.

BELOW, within the earth's dark breast,
From realms of light departing,
There sorrow's pang and sigh oppressed
Is signal of our starting.

In narrow boat we ferry o'er

Speedily to heaven's shore.

To us be hallowed endless Night,
Hallowed eternal slumber!

The day hath withered us with light,

And troubles beyond number.

No more 'mong strangers would we roam;

We seek our Father, and our home.

Upon this world, what do we here,

As faithful, fond, and true men?

The Old but meets with scorn and sneer :

What care we for the New, then?

Oh, lone is he, and sadly pines,

Who loves with zeal the olden times!
I I

VOL II.-NO. V.

Those old times when the spirits light
To heaven as flame ascended;
The Father's hand and features bright
When men yet comprehended;
When many a mortal, lofty-souled,
Yet bore the mark of heavenly mould.

Those olden times when budded still
The stems of ancient story,
And children, to do Heaven's will,

In pain and death sought glory;
Those times when life and pleasure spoke,
Yet many a heart with fond love broke.

Those old times when in fires of youth
Was God himself revealed,

And early death, in love and truth,

His sweet existence sealed,

Who put not from him care and pain,
That dear to us he might remain.

With trembling longing these we see,
By darkness now belated,
In Time's dominions ne'er will be
Our ardent thirsting sated.

First to our home 'tis need we go,
Seek we these holy times to know.

And our return what still can stay?
Long have the best-loved slumbered;
Their grave bounds for us life's drear way,
Our souls with grief are cumbered.
All that we have to seek is gone,

The heart is full,-the world is lone.

Unending, with mysterious flame,
O'er us sweet awe is creeping;
Methought from viewless distance came
An echo to our weeping;

The loved-ones long for us on high,

And sent us back their pining sigh.

Below, to seek the tender bride,
To Jesus, whom we cherish!
Good cheer! lo, greys the even-tide,—
Love's agonies shall perish.-

A dream our fetters melt, at rest
We sink upon the Father's breast.

(End of the Hymns to Night.)

ELLERTON CASTLE;

A Romance.

BY "FITZROY PIKE."

CHAPTER THE THIRTY-FIFTH.

A MARVELLOUS LOVE STORY, AND A VERY REMARKABLE WEDDING.

SORELY have we been tempted to play false with the respected reader, and omit from our narration the circumstances contained in the present chapter. Having set forth, however, in this our history, with the desire nothing to disguise, nothing to suppress, but steadily to follow the chronicles of Ellerton, we are at length resolved to encounter the risk of being thought relaters of impossibilities, or, at the very least, of things that never have occurred. But perhaps we shall find better justification if we quote the chronicles themselves, modernizing their spelling for convenience sake.

"Now Sir Richard of Ellerton, or Richard Benstone, during all this time, standeth, with great grief, by the grave of Esther, but hath, by the importunities of Curts and the other men, been so sore perplexed, that he cometh shortly to the cave to take counsel upon his wicked deeds.

"And while the rest, expecting his arrival, are assembled in the cave, and hear how the mistress of Sir Edward Heringford was captured, it is rightly judged, that Sir Edward, with many of his friends, will follow in pursuit, and that master Maybird, who has made the head of Curts to smart a second time, would lead them to the cavern.

"The fire therefore was quenched, and the fuel was carried from the hearth, and the men went into hiding places, but they could not persuade the others that the cave was deserted, seeing that master Maybird placed his hand upon the hearth and found that it was yet quite warm, and that fuel must have been carried away before they came. Therefore Sir Edward Heringford, although the cave was so made that it would not be possible for any man, not accustomed, to discover its passages; Sir Edward Heringford, I say, departed but for a short time, together with the others and Sir Hubert de St. Fay, and remained close by at his own home in Ellerton.