It would detain us long, and indeed to little purpose, to enter into the discussion of the hackneyed question, whether the soul or mind be a something superadded to our physical structure, or an essentially constituent portion of that structure; it shall suffice to acknowledge the connexion between them, whether identical or contrasted in their natures, to be so close, and indissoluble, that all attempts to disjoin them, even in imagination, must prove entirely abortive. The music may not reside in the string, but without its vibration there can be no melody.

We must take leave, however, to express the opinion, contrary to the doctrines taught by some of the most talented and ingenious writers of the present day, that mental power is not simply the result of physical organization. We readily admit that the hand of the Creator has bound them together inseparably, though not in the relation of cause and effect. Imperfect organization unquestionably implies, always, imperfection of intellect. The one increases and is developed as the other grows and attains strength and maturity, until the two are exhibited in the highest condition of excellence and vigour. It was a debate worthy of the schoolmen and may be set aside with their other lucubrations, at what period the earliest manifestations of soul or thought were given forth by the embryo or infant. At birth, we can scarcely regard the future man as any thing better than a vegetable; nay Alfieri has applied the phrase "Pianta-Uomo," 'Plant Man," to the same being even in the adult state.

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is sensible, but as far as we can judge, sensible only to painful impressions--hunger, thirst, and fatigue oppress him, and it may be taken as an evil omen of his coming existence that his first felt passion is one of the most uneasy and depressing of all those to which he is to be a prey. He fears. He has entered a scene of suffering and sorrow; to fit him for the avoidance of the causes of evil, he is early gifted with the impulse of terror. Shout near him-he screams alarmed. Seem to let him fallhe throws out his little hands and convulsively catches for support. He is also the subject of desire. The sensation of hunger, if we may use such an expression, is born with him, and he appears to be inspired with a knowledge of the mode by which he is to relieve it-he needs no lesson to teach him how to derive his food from its gentle sources-"the sacred fountains that nourish the human race." The voluntary actions by which he effects this are said to be instinctive, but we have not affixed to this term a meaning sufficiently clear and precise. Is it intended that they are in any sense mechanical? are they, on the other hand, intelligent? or must we resort to the supposition, that they are intermediate, or of a peculiar nature? Actions of

this class are even more remarkable among the lower animalsnay, we must not venture to deny their exhibition in the vegetable kingdom. By such an appetency or instructive propensity is it, that plants growing in a dark place seek out and creep to the crevices that admit light, to which they would almost seem to know they owe all their colouring and beauty. It is not to be supposed that the infant is so early capable of aversion, the opposite emotion. He exists but in the present moment-time, past and future, is nothing to him. Aversion looks forward to pain or suffering from some cause which is expected to act, and is therefore dreaded. Desire is only the wish to get rid of present suffering-not mingled in the infant as in the adult, with the anticipation of future enjoyment. He soon becomes susceptible of anger, and does not allow himself meekly to be crossed or hindered of his will, or subjected to any unpleasant operation. He is a despot to his mother and a tyrant to his nurse. Next appear the varying emotions of grief and joy, which alternately becloud and illuminate his countenance. It is true that these feelings are usually transient, and liable to be aroused by slight and almost indefinable causes, but it is also true, that they exhibit in certain temperaments, a scarcely credible degree of violence, if left unrestrained and unmodified by the controlling influence of education. Infants scarcely able to totter, have been known to fall prostrate and apoplectic under the intensity of anger. The whirlwind of rage passes rapidly by, for the most part, and we do not see, thus early, any remains of resentment, or note any purposes of revenge-but sometimes the paroxysm is more lasting, and loud sobs, and long and continued sullenness, bespeak the obstinacy of the evil emotion. The agonies of sorrow and the extacies of joy instantaneously excited, as instantaneusly subside, and like the melting clouds of a summer moonlight sky, leave not a trace behind.

Through the various stages of childhood, curiosity is perhaps the predominant feeling. Destined to ripen hereafter into the love of knowledge, and to be directed by ambition and experience to the discovery of new worlds, and the elucidation of truths and principles more valuable than worlds themselves, it is now a mere impulse--yet not causeless, not without object. Nothing is known, all is to be learned-but cannot be learned without inquiry. Hence, as I believe, the habit of mimiery, which distinguishes carly childhood. The motions and actions of their superiors are imitated to ascertain the result and effect which they are calculated to produce. Afterwards, however, the imitation may be attributed to another motive. They admire a parent or friend, and therefore wish and aim to be like him. From curi

osity also springs, more obviously, the disposition to attempt any thing forbidden, especially if to the prohibition be annexed a penalty, which only stimulates the more their anxiety to discover what is concealed behind the mysterious and tantalizing veil. And hence, too, the ceaseless questions of "why and wherefore," which, repeated concerning the most trivial matters, become at last so teasing to the casual acquaintance, and often even to the interested parent himself. The mere desire of novelty, so easily gratified when every thing around us is new, incessantly urges us forward, and the accumulation of ideas is a source of delight far above all other pleasures; it gives, indeed, almost an additional existence.

As youth advances, the foudness for excitement increases with rapidity, and every new and varying mode of excitement is hastily tried, but unhappily, not as hastily abandoned. The indulgence of the passions which, at this period, to use the phrase of a fine writer, "blow a perpetual storm," becomes habitual, and forms, as it were, a part of our very life. Emulation, love, jealousy, hope and joy, stimulate in turn, and invigorate the mind. The acquisitions of science-the imaginings of poetrythe gratification of the love of splendour-natural to all, and developed by all, from the rude savage with painted limb, and ear and nose lacerated by his ponderous load of rings, and beads and shells, to the refined monarch of a civilized nation, who can scarce support, through the ceremonies of his coronation, the weight of his gaudy trappings of costly gems, "barbaric pearl and gold"--these occupy the eye and the soul of the juvenesYouth is the season of fancy. It is then that the imagination, warmed by the glowing descriptions of the poet, and animated by the details of history and fiction, runs riot in the scenes of Asiatic grandeur―of fairy delights-of primeval beauty. The mind dwells upon great examples of power and of virtue. Domestic and common life is tame, with its list of simple enjoyments-of trivial.circumstances of obvious and obscure duties. "The cool sequestered vale of life" is low and dark; youth seeks the lofty precipice-the cloud-capt summit of the mountain. It listens only to the roar of the falling torrent, or the bellowing of the thunder. Days, weeks, and years are spent in this ideal existence, until the unhappy stripling becomes all unfit for the useful employments--the attainable pleasures, and the improving companionship which he has despised-and he wakes from his day-dream, perhaps too late, to find that, like Ixion, he has embraced a cloud.

cent.

The earliest feelings of ambition show themselves in the eager struggles for superiority in the games of childhood. None can

be so dull as not to be struck with the contrast presented in the air and manner of him who has first reached the goal, and of his less fortunate competitor who has lagged and lost the prize of success. It is not with fatigue that the thrown wrestler is panting! His little heart has almost burst with the agonies of mortified pride. Love is, however, the master feeling of the young soul. It is at best a tempestuous passion, and knows no tranquillity even when most successful and happy; but when unfortunate, or when combined with jealousy-its too frequent attendant-that mind must be well strung, and that frame hardy indeed, which can withstand its concussions. Anger has been well styled by the Latin poet, "a brief madness." Love is more mad than anger, and unhappily is not so brief.

As we approach manhood, we reach the point whence diverge the paths which lead to the several objects of human pursuit. There are, it is true, certain instances of earlier developement of power and capacity, in which childhood itself seems to comprehend and earnestly to grasp at some special object or objects. It need not be said that these are rare, but perhaps it is necessary to guard ourselves against the indefinite expectation of future attainments to be made in such cases.

Precocity is thus often mistaken for genius. It must be confessed that dulness seldom reaches a quick growth, yet the appearances to which I have alluded are, for the most part, fallacious and imposing. Dr. Watts lisped in numbers, and acquired language sooner, and with more facility, than almost any other example on record. Yet Dr. Watts became, ultimately, by no means either a great scholar or an esteemed poet. Milton matured slowly, though evidently impressed with the consciousness of being born for some immense effort. The early attempts of Byron, the master spirit of our age and the admiration of centuries to come, were paltry and contemptible failures. The celebrated Master Betty, (the infant Roscius, as he was called during the period of his notoriety,) succeeded infinitely better in mimicking, during his childhood, the theatrical exhibitions of passions which he had never felt, and could not know, than he did when mature, in giving expression to them, after having been their subject. Had this youth united genius to precocity, what excellence must he not have attained! The early commencement of his career gave him the advantage of greater flexibility of countenance and limb, while it added many years to the course of his professional education and experience.

Mental precocity seems to us to depend most evidently upon that peculiarity of physical constitution which implies also physical precocity. Genius, however, the very essence of which

consists in strength or vigour, is so far from being necessarily connected with this rapid developement, that we should rather expect it under opposite circumstances. The lofty pine does not hastily reach its proud elevation. The quarled and sturdy oak which sullenly resists the storm and the tempest, slowly pierces the soil with its tough roots, and slowly spreads its boughs to the winds. There may be, unquestionably, an occasional combination of genius with the hasty maturation we are speaking of, as in Pope, and a few others; but in these, for obvious reasons, we shall always meet with constitutional debility and rapid decay. In such instances, the sword will always wear out the scabbard. The frail and delicate body will be utterly incapable of bearing, without fatal injury, the violent agitation of premature emotions,

Genius has been improperly defined to consist in strength of inclination. It is surely natural, that where there is genius there should be strong propensity for the consciousness of power to effect a given purpose, will produce a disposition to aim at it. But we every day witness the unequivocal failures of zealous attempts, prompted by vehement inclination. How many would be poets, dream away their lives in vain aspirations, after an excellence of which they cannot even form a definite idea. How many waste their feeble forces in ceaseless graspings after verse-unable to reach any thing but mere metre and rhyme; in soaring with waxen wings up towards "the burning heaven of invention"-to mount no higher than the regions of cloud and mist, and destined thence to fall into the profound abyss of absurdity and doggrel. If strong inclination be genius, why is the ardent enthusiast who doats on the exquisite delights of music, often denied the power to strike a chord, or even produce a simple melody?

What, then, is genius-that strange quality or condition of the mind, of which so much is said, and yet so little seems to be certainly known? I am well persuaded that all the efforts and results attributed to genius, as a specific and peculiar power of undefined and inscrutable agency, may be exerted and produced by a good general capacity, when acted upon and stimulated by vehement ambition. And ambition often prompts the most intense longings, and the most unwearied endeavours after excellence. The mind of a youth who has hitherto exhibited nothing striking or uncommon, is excited by some special mention of the attainments and the fame of a Cæsar, a Raphael, a Palladio, a Milton, or a Newton. He dwells upon the images of glory thus conjured up, until warmed by a generous glow of enthusiasm, he resolves "that he too will be a painter-a