inferiority in the power of spending money. In a more refined rank, the disdain of inferior wealth is by no means so obvious, but it is perhaps not the less real.

The mischiefs which arise from this are infinite. Not only do people moil and toil beyond what is reasonable, to acquire that grand foundation of personal consequence, wealth; but desperate enterprises are every day entered upon which honesty ought to shrink from, because to be without wealth, is to be without respect, and the ordinary means of obtaining wealth are found to be too slow.

How many feel themselves forced to abandon their country altogether, and to take refuge in a foreign land, because, though they have enough to live upon, and comfortably too, they have not enough to live, (according to the common phrase,) "respectably"-that is, they cannot keep a wasteful establishment, and give expensive entertainments to their friends. Friends, indeed! "The summer friend, by vain prosperity received," as we quoted from Mr. Gray in our last talk. This bowing down before wealth-this belief that even respectability is contingent upon a thousand a year—is a blot and a stain upon English habits, and every one of good feeling ought to contend against it. If poverty be too commonly driven among us to shifts of meanness, it is our own fault, for we pay no respect to "honest poverty," and even

the poor are driven to put on the false appearances of wealth in self-defence. More moral evil arises out of the wanton waste of wealthy people in London, than I could describe were I to keep talking upon this subject alone to the end of the volume. Let this evil be considered, and let not mere expenditure of wealth be so much honoured.

FEELING AND INTELLECT.

THE public men of the present day, of all parties, and of all professions, seem to be wanting in heart. They may argue tolerably well, but they argue coldly. They may satisfy the understanding, but they make no vivid impression upon the feelings and sympathies even of their supporters. They may touch this chord momentarily, but it seems not natural to them, and they do not dwell upon it. They are presently back again at their statistics, and their comparisons of facts. That is the way even with the best of them. As for others, they have not even the interest of facts and circumstances in their public argumentations, but keep for ever hammering away at dry dogmas and abstract theories of what they call philosophy, which are not only uncongenial to all strong feelings and warm sympathies, but absolutely and utterly opposed to them. Instead of giving an interest

to their arguments by applying them to those feelings which are common to all hearts, and will be eagerly answered when appealed to, they endeavour to interest the understandings of men against those feelings, and to set up the intellect in contemptuous despotism over every generous and glowing sympathy. It is no wonder that the harangues of such public men should be tame and wearisome, if not irksome and offensive.

Lord Erskine, whose experience in such matters was worth something, tells us, in his letter introductory to the published collection of the speeches of Mr. Fox, that "intellect alone, however exalted, without strong feelings-without even irritable sensibility-would be only like an immense magazine of gunpowder, if there were no such element as fire in the natural world. It is the heart which is the spring and fountain of eloquence. A cold-blooded, learned man might, for anything I know, compose in his closet an eloquent book, but in public discourse, arising out of sudden occasions, could by no possibility be eloquent." I do not think that with any study or preparation, any man, continuing to be merely a creature of cold-blooded research, could even write a book, or prepare an oration, calculated to stir men's blood, or awaken their pity or their sorrow. A man must himself feel, however transiently, in order to make others feel. He may produce a discourse

very weighty as to argument, and very elaborately perfect in respect of rhetorical embellishments, but nothing can give it that electric fire which darts through and through an auditory, kindling each heart into enthusiasm, save natural feeling, expressed with the fervour of earnest sensibility.

I know very well how deceitful this is in one respect how often it has happened that they who were so powerful in awakening the sympathies of those who have read their works or listened to their discourses, have had very little genuine and permanent virtue to boast of. But that consideration belongs to another branch of philosophy. That which we are now considering is the effect to be produced upon the public by public men, and I complain that the effect generally produced in the present day is cold, inefficient, and unsatisfactory, by reason of the want of sensibility on the part of public speakers and public writers-want of that power which touches the heart. I am inclined to think it very true that of all gifts, that of sensibility is the most deceptive as regards the possessor of it. It is too often like the beautiful flowers which cover the surface of rocks, where no plant of sterling value could ever be made to grow. They whose emotions are the most lively are very often the least earnest and persevering in merciful and useful conduct; but their usefulness lies in another direction-it is in inspir

ing the hearts of others more strenuous and practical than themselves into a desire for welldoing. Persuasion is their natural calling, and no one can persuade effectually, who has not sensibility enough to touch the warm sympathies of those he addresses.

THE FEMININE CHARACTER.

"SIMPLE, sedate, cheerful, elegant, and religious"-such were the epithets by which Professor Wilson, the strangest, most wayward, and most wonderful of modern critics, beautifully epitomised the character of one of the most elegant female writers of our time, Mrs. Hemans. What a delightful picture do these few words conjure up for the mind to dwell upon! How lovely, how worthy to be loved and honoured, far above the beauty that dwells in proud security of admiring homage, or the brilliant accomplishments which dazzle and delight applauding crowds!

First comes sweet simplicity-the gentle yet frank open-heartedness, which seems to make the soul a place of light and purity, like the mild radiance of a spring morning, among budding leaves and opening flowers. Examine it by the force of contrast. Compare it with that hateful thing artifice, a weed which often thrives so vigorously even in early life, hardening and