I'll rest myself, O world, awhile on thee,
And half in earnest, half in jest, I'll cut
My name upon thee, pass the arch of death,
Then on a stair of stars go up to God.

That Mr. Smith has the highest conception of the poet's rue mission, we may gather from his words

My Friend! a Poet must ere long arise,
And with a regal song sun-crown this age,
As a saint's head is with a halo crown'd.
One who shall hallow Poetry, to God,
And to its own high uses, for Poetry is

The grandest chariot wherein king-thoughts ride;
One who shall fervent grasp the sword of song,
As a stern swordsman grasps his keenest blade
To find the quickest passage to the heart.
A mighty Poet whom this age shall choose
To be its spokesman to all coming times.
In the ripe full-blown season of his soul
He shall go forward in his spirit's strength,
And grapple with the questions of all times,
And wring from them their meaning-as king Saul
Called up the buried prophet from his grave
To speak his doom, so shall the Poet king
Call up the dead Past from its awful grave
To tell him of our future. As the air

Doth sphere the world, so shall his heart of love-
Loving mankind, not peoples. As the lake
Reflects the flower, man, rock, and bending heaven,
Shall he reflect our great humanity;

And as the young spring breathes with living breath
On a dead branch, till it sprouts fragrantly

Green leaves and sunny flowers, shall he breathe life
Through every theme he touch, making all Beauty
And Poetry for ever like the stars.

I have said sufficient to indicate the character of Mr. Smith's poetry. It would be easy to point out many other excellences and many other imperfections. But whatever may be his merits or demerits, both the one and the other carry with them the unmistakeable impress of the author. There is distinct individuality stamped upon them. And I do not know of a single imperfection but what is traceable to youth, and which is not likely to be removed or modified by labour and experience. This holds good in relation to his redundancy of images, his over gorgeous colouring, his somewhat erratic imagination, his warmth of passion, his deficiency in dramatic characterization, his want of artistic unity, and lack of a pervading moral purpose. Age and effort will teach him to be less profuse in ornament, will mellow his too brilliant hues of fancy, and will enable his imagination to move with more

repose in its orbit, will tone his passion, and make him more artistic in the structure of his poems, and nerve him with the highest moral aim.

Mr. Smith says that he has long since been 'deluged with advice.' He should consider this more as a compliment than otherwise. Those who advise him are interested in his fame and his future. They are apprehensive lest his splendid powers may be misdirected or tarnished. Let him take the advice offered him in the best spirit, and treat it as he may think it deserves. But there is one thing on which I would offer advice and which I am not aware any one else has alluded to. It is advice to a young man from a young man. Let him, I say, not be captivated by praises, nor seduced by flattery. last thing I heard about him was from a newspaper paragraph, stating that he was staying for a week or two at the palace of the duke of Argyle. Of all things let him guard himself against the blandishments of courtly circles and the glitter of aristocratic life.

The

If he come to London, as no doubt he will, let him disdain being lionized. He is too great and too useful a man to have his time frittered away and his opportunities wasted, by gossipping at the table of fashion, or interchanging compliments with kid-gloved nobodies. No, if he is to do a work worth doing, something which the present shall admire, and the future will not willingly let die,' let the companions of his youth be the companions of his manhood; let books and nature be his daily and his nightly study and enjoyment. Let him have faith in himself, and in solemn solitude sound the depths of his inner being, and draw therefrom riches for himself and the world. Let him be assured that genius is not a plant which often flourishes in the lap of luxury, or beneath the blaze of coronets ;-that the world's great books, which the past has bequeathed to us as imperishable legacies, grew out of labour and suffering;-that Homer sang sightless and breadless, and that every subsequent century has echoed and will echo his song;-that Dante, in exiled solitude, walked in imagination through purgatory and paradise, and wrote their records in the world's literature ;and that Milton, when blind, fell back and fed from the exhaustless inspirations of his own great soul. Let Mr. Smith know that great books, like great souls, are born in difficulties, cradled in struggles, and rocked in storms.

J. P. E.

erton, Esq.' as the people of Swansdown addressed him, was an object partially of veneration, partially of fear, and partially, and perhaps more generally, of hate; for in truth he was a collector of rents, rates, dues, tolls, legal and illegal debts. By harsh proprietors he was absolutely venerated for the promptness with which he collected moneys, aided as he was by the strong arm of the law. But the majority knew him as a sort of civilized vampire who lived on their blood, the more to be dreaded because civilization had given him additional skill in legal and illegal blood sucking.

This Mr. Wingrove Pinkerton had in his prime of life, before the brown hue of his face had ripened into purple spots, and long before his nose had (through his having had occasion to seize up a publican) swelled into a bunion at the tip, we say before this he had rejoiced in a wife and family, of whom two daughters only were left, who were well known as the 'Misses Pinkerton.'

The Misses Pinkerton had arrived at that discreet period of life at which women, if unmarried, begin to be haters of the other sex, and profess all sorts of doubts as to the expediency of marriage; though it is observable that their hatred to married men exceeds their aversion to the single, especially if the latter evince a little faded gallantry. The misses were better known in Swansdown as the 'old maids,' 'the frumps," and Old Fogg, who kept the 'Lion and Lamb', had frequently been heard to speak of them as the 'emigrants, because, when either of them had had ten minutes talk with an unmarried man, though on a subject the most remote from the affections, she immediately expressed her determination 'to settle,' and cast very longing eyes at the cracked furniture which for many years had braved the weather at the broker's opposite.

But the subject of chief interest in regard to this interesting family, was the mystery which always hung about their affairs, and the belief which passed current that old Pinkerton had amassed a small fortune, and had made a will bequeathing the whole of his wealth to one of the sisters. The marvel was, that, under these circumstances, both the sisters should have become old maids, instead of passing into the more desired state of matrimony, for, by many, the promised inheritance seemed quite a compensation for the dumpy indolence of the one, or the fearful ugliness and vixenish temper of the other. But the truth was, that no one knew definitely to whom the supposed property was to revert; Jane, the elder, being reputed the fortunate one, by one party, and Jemima, the

youngest, by another. Under this difficulty several languishing swains, whom profligacy or laziness had reduced to extreme shifts, had made offers to them respectively; had courted one, and, getting perplexed with doubt as to the intentions of the aforesaid will, had suddenly conceived a strong passion for the other; and after the most burning of vows, and the most passionate expostulations with clasped hands on bent knees, frequently increased in fervency by poverty or beer, had at last enlisted in the army, heart broken by the torture of this inexplicable will.

After many of these lovers had been fed and flattered by the Misses Pinkerton, after the preparation of many a strong cup of tea and well-buttered round of toast, after the opening of many an extra jar of pickles and pot of jam, after innumerable determinations to 'settle,' and innumerable inquiries about the price of pembroke tables and rush-bottomed chairs, they found themselves still in the unhappy state of maidenhood, advancing in years, but receding in affection, secretly pining for more offers, and openly declaring war against the whole masculine sex, and avowing marriage to be a stupid institution.

There was a change at last, the flame of love, which had burnt down into the socket, and which threatened to go out in unsavoury smoke, suddenly shot up into a bright illumination, shedding a sentimental radiance over the sharp nose of Jane, and the small nose of Jemima, to be fed with fresh oil, and continue burning brightly, or to flicker for a moment and then expire for ever. There was a change; Hope sunned himself in the garden of marigolds; Love fanned his wings in the steam of the tea-urn; Jemima opened the dictionary at the word 'courtship;' Jane read the marriage service in the prayer-book. Mr. Pinkerton had, in fact, been out collecting,' he had strolled, as usual, into the bar of the 'Lamb and Lion,' to draw spiritual refreshment from the lesson of amity which the sign conveyed, and to involve himself in his usual speculation, as to why a lion should be so tame when a lamb was ready to be fleeced.

Mr. Fogg was civil, the spirits were good, and the ratepayers imbibing their beer at the bar, were exceedingly complacent in the presence of the collector, whose purple nose beamed with an unusual radiance of polish and colour. The conversation, which had hitherto been political, and in which everybody nodded assent to the opinions of Mr. Pinkerton, now changed to family subjects, and short adulatory praises were uttered in regard to the collector's 'girls.'