THE right cultivation of the moral and intellectual parts of our nature is the great business of education, and the true end of our being. For this alone can qualify us for that future and permanent state which is constituted by an unbounded expansion and exercise of our faculties and dispositions. It is certain, however, that this consideration does not at all adequately influence our conduct. It does not render us sufficiently careful in the formation of habits, nor does it hinder, or recall, us from the pursuit of objects of a far inferior value. There is a close analogy between our duties as moral and as intelligent creatures. We are almost as much bound to seek after speculative truth, as to love virtue. Speculative error operates upon practice, and is scarcely less productive of evil than are vicious principles of action. In truth it matters little, in one respect, whether a person is induced by a false opinion, or stimulated by malignant feelings, to do what is hurtful to his neighbours. The guilt is not equal in both cases, but the amount of injury is the same. It is generally acknowledged, that he who neglects the culture of his moral principles is accountable for such neglect. None attempt to vindicate from blame, or desire to rescue from punishment, the liar, the thief, the adulterer and the murderer. We readily bestow our pity on criminals of this sort, who have been urged to the violation of laws divine and human by strong temptations or the fury of desperateness, if it appear that, by the misfortune ⚫ of their condition or circumstances, their minds have never been subjected to such discipline as would have habituated them to control their fierce passions and sordid propensities. Yet we by no means deem them to be thereby exculpated. For we feel assured that none can fail to perceive the distinction between right and wrong, who do not determinedly shut their eyes to it. But it has been asserted by some, that men are not to be held responsible for the speculative notions which they may entertain. It is lamentable that such a gross, pernicious fallacy has been carried even into the sanctuary of theology, and that there have not been wanting deceivers to pretend, that mankind will not be judged according to their creeds. These wretched sophisters commit the two-fold solecism of supposing that a person's conduct is not affected by his belief, and that no one can choose what he will believe. We know that it is not so in the ordinary affairs of life. He who diligently investigates, and impartially weighs, arguments on both sides of a question, arrives at an opinion which experience proves to be correct; C while another, of a more hasty and impatient temper, takes up an opposite view, which is reprobated by the same decisive touch-stone. The difference of their judgments is owing to the difference of their mental habits, which are the result, in one instance of an efficient, in the other of an imperfect, training. It is clear, therefore, that inattention to the development and growth of our intellectual powers is highly reprehensible, as well as the voluntary waste and ruin of our moral feelings. Nor would this, perhaps, have ever been so much overlooked, but that it is more obvious to trace crime to vice, than to ignorance and error. The labours and the rewards of moral and of intellectual cultivation are not unlike. The noble conflicts of religious faith with carnal appetites are represented by the strenuous resistance which literary zeal opposes to the difficulties which beset its path. The delights of virtue correspond with the pleasures of knowledge. The harmony of subjugated and obedient passions resembles the peace of a well-disciplined mind. It behoves the young not to let a season, peculiarly favourable to the prosecution of so important a work, be consumed in idleness or dissipation. Let them not lay up for themselves a store of bitter regrets. But let a stringent sense of duty, together with the promise of an exceeding recompense, be of force to withdraw them from idle amusements and sensual indulgences, and to engage them in honourable efforts to attain the perfection of their nature. [We are indebted to a friend who signs himself repay, and who avows himself (as, indeed, his name indicates) not to be a Student of the East India College, for the following translation, which we consider to be very happily executed, and which we are sure will amuse our readers.] Hey diddle diddle! the cat and the fiddle! The cow jump'd over the moon : The little dog laugh'd to see such sport, Evoe! dum fidibus felis citharoda canebat, THE DILEMMA-AN OLD JOKE. The Dilemma,think not, Mr. Editor, that we are about to indulge in any dialectics; we use the word quite in a conventional sense, and all our readers are at liberty to define it, if they choose, as Hobson's choice. So much for a name: as we, in all things, admire precision, let us at once say, that we relate no tale of Italian passion, or French esprit: but a good, solid, right-down English story-an old joke. Is your master at home? (this borders on the common-place, says my lady's lady) "Is your master at home?" asked a young gentleman of a grey-headed domestic, at the gate of a country house. "What do you want to know for ?" was the responsive interrogatory. Because, simply, I want to see him." "I dare say, I dare say, is it business? if so, you must call to-morrow." "I dare say you wish to be impertinent, but perhaps you will tell me where my Uncle is.' "Your Uncle, oh my!-your Uncle ;-oh then, you're the wild-un that's to be tamed. Mr. The-The" Theophilus Markham, sir, is my name, and I beg, without delay, that you will show ine the way to the house." " Stop-stop, every thing in order if you please,—you'll sit down here in the lodge, until I see master,-I know what I'm about, and (with an expression of countenance intended to denote unparalleled shrewdness) I don't know you." "As you will, but make haste." "Oh! you're in a hurry-there's a proverb which” Come, come,' "Go, go, I suppose you mean,-one must be careful,-I'm going",-said the worthy Jonathan, as he moved off with consequential precision, and some mumbling allusions to the care of silver spoons were conveyed to the astonished ears of our hero. For our hero he is-and, as the speed of Jonathan was not that of a St. Leger winner, we will take advantage of his absence to introduce the young gentleman to the reader. Theophilus Markham was a victim,-his friends had pronounced him a genius, a term often applied to idle men, who do nothing worthy of praise, upon the omne ignotum pro magnifico" principle. But our hero had some talent, which might have been more usefully developed, had it been more skilfully nurtured. But, being from his cradle a young Norval,—a politician when he had numbered half a score of years,―a poet in his teens, a versatile author before he had attained his full stature, it is no great wonder that he had not yet arrived at years of discretion. Bred up, however, in accordance with this assumed character,-sent to Eton, in order to form connections, who might hereafter introduce him to the Senate, and to Cambridge, to preserve those acquaintances,-but, as the event proved, to be cut by them,-our hero, at the age of 23, after having idled away 4 years at college, had made no progress towards an independence. His friends began to fancy that he was not the genius, which their imaginations had visioned; and his father suggested the propriety of choosing a profession. The bar was mentioned, but its grave austerities did not suit our hero's temperament; the prospect of a jaundiced visage and a long lease of empty pockets was not satisfactory. No, to do him justice, he was a lad of spirit; he determined, to the chagrin of his friends, to adopt the profession of Homer, Plato, Shakespeare, and other worthies of that stamp,-and, in courting the opinion of the great world around him, to adopt the rather revolutionary position, of "standing on his head." Such being his decision, his father redoubled his applications to men in office, for a seat in Parliament for the hopeful youth,—and called in the assistance of the head of the family, Squire Markham. This worthy gentleman, a bachelor of unsullied character and indisputable rent-roll, invited the future heir of the ancestral honours to Markham House, -shire. To this spot we have brought the reader; Jonathan has not yet returned; we may therefore mention, that the Squire was an excellent country gentleman, who lived on his paternal acres, always served on the grand jury at the assizes,—was as learned in the law as any of his brother justices,-supported the races and the race ball,-subscribed to the county hospital,-and seconded the nomination of the church-and-state member at every general election. Jonathan is in sight. Let us therefore hasten to say, that he belonged to that class, called privileged domestics,-who, though certainly respectable, are decidedly bores. He had been a soldier, and a close observer might perceive something of the pipe-clay dignity, in the precision of his walk, which certain interminable stories about the Peninsula would confirm. He was slow, very slow, but then he was honest, very honest:-and that is not to be despised as this world goes. Now, young gentleman, if you please, you will follow me, take care not to tread on any of the beds, and mind you wipe your shoes, when you get to the hall." Our hero resigned himself to his fate, walked slowly on, and like the Pretender conciliating the Baron of Bradwardine, heard in silence, two long stories about the lines of Torres Vedras, and Field Marshal, the Duke of Wellington. On arriving at the house, however, our hero was freed from his companion, and introduced to the presence of his uncle. From him he received a warm-hearted welcome, and an intimation that the first dinner bell had sounded. After an adjournment to the room provided for him, and another long story from Jonathan, who had been assigned to him as an attendant, Theophilus returned to the library, whence, in the company of his uncle, and two other gentlemen, he descended to the dining room. The rector of the parish, and a brother squire were the guests, who, on this occasion, partook of Mr. Markham's hospitality. The former was an individual of good humoured countenance, sound learning, strong common sense, and orthodox appetite. After a twenty years' experience of an Oxford Common Room, he had succeeded to a College living, where he smoked the calumet of peace, in a well earned otium cum dignitate,—and lived at once respected and beloved by his parishioners. The latter belonged to that class, which includes what fashionable novelists are pleased to term "every-day personages;" his conversation was す not particularly brilliant, and the gusto, with which he expatiated on the viands before him, might have qualified him for the office of "decoy eater" to a newly established Steam Boat Company, but irretrievably lost him the good opinion of the aspiring youth who enacts the principal part in this interesting tale. On what occurred after the cloth was removed, and the pleasures, or as they are termed at public dinners, the business of the evening commenced, we shall not enlarge, as our hero early pleaded fatigue, and retired to his chamber. After some skilful manoeuvrings, he managed to rid himself of Jonathan, and finally effected his retreat to bed. The morning arrived and our hero, who had been long meditating on some extensive efforts in literature, rose in high and most poetical spirits. He had dreamt of the battle of Thrasymene,-his Pegasus was therefore bridled and saddled,—his common-place-book, containing a thousand stanzas,odes, sonnets, and elaborate impromptus, was hastily seized,and in an instant he was building the lofty line. He commenced, after a short abstraction, with "Souls of the brave!" At this moment a knock at the door recalled our hero to the insignificant earth of these modern times, and a voice, slow but not solemn, exclaimed, "Your boots, Sir." "Very well, put them down; I shall not want you this morning;" he resumed"Souls of the brave who linger round the flood," "Your hot water, sir." "Well, well, put it down and be off." "Souls of the brave! who linger round the flood, Which once ye crimsoned with your patriot blood," "Are your razors all right, sir? But perhaps you have no occasion, as yet, for such things." 'I really wish you would be gone; I am not in want of anything;" answered poor Theophilus, in a distressed tone, and then recommenced ; "Souls of the brave! who linger round the flood, Which once ye crimsoned with your patriot blood, "Yes, sir, quite right;-rise again, exactly what I was going to say; you had better get up, as master is very punctual at breakfast." "This is insufferable. What do mean by annoying me thus," said our hero, opening the door. "I say, I do not want you or anything else." Very fine morning, sir," persevered Jonathan, who had now effected an entrance, "just such a morning as that on which we beat the French at Salamanca; Marshal Jourdan, you see, sir," "Confound Marshal Jourdan!". "All in good time, so we did,-confounded him well, too. I remember poor Sandie Fletcher of our regiment said to me,' "What do you think I care for" Aye, aye, very good; but look here," continued Jonathan. "Will you be gone," peremptorily exclaimed Theophilus, elbowing him out of the room. "An intolerable mixture of impertinence and boreism,—has not even the points of an effective character about him,—or I might make some use of him in a Farce." Thus have we introduced some of our dramatis persona. What were the adventures of our hero at the Hall,-what was the Dilemma,-we intend to be cruel enough not to tell our Reader until next week. (To be continued.) A READING MAN. A TALE OF MODERN CHIVALRY,-CANTO II. Oh! hast thou known, my reader dear, That shiv'ring sense which men call fear; Hast thou, unlucky wight, at school A spot round which some dark tale lingers? And rivalled them in whiteness? If these you have suffered, oh! then, you will know Yet think not, gentle reader dear, That their's was any coward's fear; It was, I ween, a solemn dread, Not of a cracked or broken head, Sir Buck, ere he gave his charger the spur, The fond, the faithful and the true, And said, what would have some unmanned, They meet, they meet with a deadly shock, But fearlessly still each sits like a rock, Though his steed to his haunches reels. By a terrible beginner. He struck, with a tremendous blow, Le Gros, with equal rage inflamed, Their shivered spears aside are thrown :- And, formed of extra density, In either champion's hand. They hammered and clamoured, And battered and clattered, And certainly seemed to endeavour, With might and with main, Again and again, To do for each other for ever. But hark! the trumpet's scund Proclaims to all around, |