sues, differs in mental tendency and disposition from one of firm, tense fibre, in whom the bones, muscles, and articulations, are strong and prominent. Thus, a soft, thick hand, loaded with fat, denotes little energy of character, and a soft, yielding, inactive disposition; while, on the contrary, a thin, firm, bony, or muscular hand indicates a rough, active, energetic nature. With respect to the texture of the skin-a hand possessing a delicate and highly-as readily transmit their excitement to the central organs, sensitive skin is accompanied by a similar structure of the tegumentary envelope of the entire body, and is always associated with an excitable organisation, with a highly sensitive mobile disposition. A coarse dry texture of the skin denotes a preponderance of muscular force over sensibility, and a character more remarkable for solidity and resolution than for imagination or vivacity of conception. The hand partakes of the nature of the whole body; when the latter is gracefully and symmetrically formed, with its several parts in nice adaptation and co-ordination, the former shares its perfection, and is constructed after the same general plan; and we accordingly find that a power-racter. A gradual transition is afforded from this to the ful athletic individual is furnished with a large hard hand, with its joints or articulations strong and prominent, and a delicate sensitive person, with a small narrow hand, with its joints small and but slightly prominent.' The discussion of the general form and attributes of the band, leads to the more particular classification and division of the kinds thereof-in fact takes us to the author's subject or theory. It is a most ingenious one, and is supported without any conceited pretension whatever. As simple matters of fact, his observations are highly interesting. 1.-The Elementary Hand.-Fingers thick, and without flexibility, palm large, thick, and hard, thumb rudimentary, and frequently bent somewhat backwards, skin coarse in its texture, nails short and thick. In countries where such hands abound, the people obey habit and instinct rather than reason. The sensations are dull and inactive, the imagination is without force, and the character apathetic; for the extremities of the nerves being deficient in sensibility, the impressions conveyed to the brain are wanting in intensity, and the ideas to which they give rise are consequently neither clear nor vivid. Elementary hands abound in the north of Europe. The individuals characterised by them are always superstitious; witness the Lappes, the Finns, and the Icelanders. By misfortune they are overwhelmed. In India, where they do not naturally exist, they have been artificially produced in a particular caste—the Pariahs-by political and social institutions. They have been abundant among every people at the dawning of their civilisation; they raised the pyramids in Egypt and the Cyclopean structures in Italy, and are described as existing in a rude state of society in the literature of various nations: witness the Polyphemus of the Greeks, the Meliboeus of the Latins, the Caliban of Shakspeare, and the Sancho Panza of Cervantes. This form of hand can unquestionably be produced by premature hard labour, but it is found among the upper classes likewise, where manual labour cannot be supposed to have given rise to it. Physiologically it must be looked upon as an arrest of development, its main bulk, like the member of the lower animals and of the human foetus, being made up of the solid palm. It must hence be regarded as a primitive form of the member, as a rudimentary, and consequently an imperfect organ. Transitions from the elementary to other forms of hand are frequently met with. Thus, when the fingers become elongated and somewhat thinner, and the texture of the skin finer, the hand may be said to be intermediate between the elementary and sensitive type, while long, hard, bony fingers indicate an approach towards the motive type. And thus it is that intelligence is more readily to be attained by persons with elementary, than a fine sensibility by those furnished with a motive hand, or great energy in objective action by those provided with a sensitive. 2. The Sensitive Hand is rather below than above the average size, palm soft and narrow, fingers thin and delicate, with the extremity plump, rounded, and cushiony, thumb thin and small, skin fine and very vascular, nails narrow and semi-transparent. This type of band may be looked upon as essentially feminine. It denotes a highlysensitive frame, and a delicately-organised nervous system. The nervous ramifications distributed to the surface of the body being covered only by a thin layer of cuticle or scarfskin, are easily excited by impressions from without, and thus occasioning a prompt and vivid flow of ideas. The Artistic Hand of D'Arpentigny is a variety of this type. It is characterised by a moderately-developed palm, long tapering fingers, very flexible, and a small thumb. It has for its object the worship of material beauty, is disposed to view things through a romantic medium, is fond of leisure, of liberty, and of change; is at once bold and timid, humble and vain, exalted and depressed, enthusi astic and desponding. The charms of a quiet, regulated, domestic life possess but little attraction for such persons, who, with much originality, have equal fickleness of chamotive type by means of the Spathulate Hand, which par takes both of the motive and sensitive character. The spathulate hand, when fully developed, is furnished with smooth fingers, with a rounded, cushiony termination, and a large thumb. It denotes a love of corporeal movement. and of active occupation—of horses, dogs, and field-sports. it prefers the useful to the agreeable, and is not content, like the elementary band, with the merely necessary, bu demands abundance. It is distinguished by an appearance of simplicity and frankness of character, and likewise by its chastity; so that Diana or Cyrus the Younger may be said to be its representatives. It is a native of the North is more common in Scotland than in England, in England than in France, and in France than in Italy or Spain Wherever it is the prevailing type, as in England and America, the political institutions are free. It is essentially Protestant. So that it may be truly said that the people of the north are physically Protestant, and those of the south Catholic. It must also be remarked, that before the revocation of the edict of Nantes, the Protestants of France were likewise its chief manufacturers; for the same spirit that led them to embrace Protestantism inpelled them to the cultivation of mechanical and scientific pursuits. It prefers size and regularity to beauty, opalence to luxury, and that which excites astonishment to that which pleases. In private life its motto is, 'Every one for himself. The Motive Hand-Above the mean size, fingers with prominent joints, of an average length, and strong, thick, and bony, with a square tip; palm of a mean size, hollow, and tolerably firm; thumb large, with the muscular root strongly developed. This form of hand cannot exist without a strong massive development of the bony and muscular system. It is essentially the hand o man, as the sensitive is that of woman. Hence, in the female sex, it indicates a masculine energy of character: witness the hardy peasants of Switzerland and the Tyrel In both sexes it denotes a preponderance of the masculine or reasoning mind over the imaginative faculties. Hence it loves form and arrangement, possesses a strong instinetive feeling for right and authority, and a profound respect for established forms; prefers an aristocracy to a democracy, and the known to the unknown; takes a delight in organising, in classifying, in systematising, in subjecting thought to opinion, and man to his fellow-man. Devoid of originality, and with but little imagination, it moves only in the old beaten path, and its belief is limited to that which it is capable of comprehending. Partaking of the character of the motive and psychical type, we have a mixed intermediate form, termed by D'Arpentigny the philosophical hand.' The Philosophical Hand is somewhat smaller than the motive; the fingers have large joints, and are somewhat tapering at their tip; the palm is large and elastic, the thumb also large, with its two phalanges nearly equal in length. Such was the hand of Locke, of Condillac, of Descartes, Malebranche, and Leibnitz. It denotes a love of absolute truth for its own sake, and of speculations respecting the nature of life and the origin of things. 1 adopts opinions only upon a careful investigation, and reason is its only recognised guide. The Psychical Hand is at once the most beautiful and the most rare. Compared with the stature it is small and delicate; the fingers are thin, without articular prominences, and long and tapering; the palm is of average dimensions, the thumb well formed and but of moderate size. Persons with such a hand are led by ideality; soul is for them everything; great interests alone move them; in religion and politics they are tolerant. In literature, Milton, Klopstock, and Goethe, are their representatives. Loving the ideal and the sublime, they oppose to the school of Voltaire and Hume that of Lamartine and Chateaubriand. Among the Greeks, Plato is their type. This form of hand is met with among all classes of society, but is rarely the prevailing one among any people. In Asia, it is most common in India; and in Europe, in Germany. Thus to the spathulate and motive hands appertain matter and reality, the useful and necessary arts, the action and theory of things, and the knowledge of facts; to the sensitive and psychical hands the boundless ideal world-the fine arts, sublime poetry, and abstract intellectual philosophy.' Ideas of themselves apparently ridiculous have been fruitful of the most important benefits to society. The pursuit of the philosopher's stone led to splendid discoveries in chemistry. The dream of an Eldorado opened the way to the New World. Whether the niceties of the hand's form, &c., are derived from the character of the mind, we cannot pretend to judge. But this we know that the author of this book has compiled a succinct and popular treatise upon comparative anatomy and physiology. Page for the Young. THE DISCONTENTED MOLE.-A FABLE. I A young mole having crept out into the sun one day, met with its mother, and began to complain of its lot. have been thinking,' said he, that we lead a very stupid life, burrowing under the ground and dwelling in perpetual darkness. For my part, I think it would be much better to live aboveboard, and caper about in the sunlight like the squirrels.' 'It may seem so to you,' said the wise old mole, but beware of forming hasty opinions. It is an old remark, that it takes all sorts of people to make a world. Some creatures live upon the trees; but nature has provided them with claws, which make it easy and safe for them to climb. Some dwell in the water; but they are supplied with fins, which render it easy for them to move about, and with a contrivance by means of which they breathe where other creatures would drown. Some creatures glide through the air; but they are endowed with wings, without which it would be in vain to attempt to fly. The truth is, that every individual is made to fill some place in the scale of being; and he best promotes his own happiness in following the path which his Creator has marked out for him. We may wisely seek to better our condition, by making that path as pleasant as possible, but not attempt to pursue one which we are unfitted to follow. You will best consult your interest by endeavouring to enjoy all that properly belongs to a mole, instead of striving to swim like a fish, climb like a squirrel, or fly like a bird. Contentment is the great blessing of life. You may enjoy this in the quiet security of your sheltered abode; the proudest tenant of the earth, air, or sea, can do no more.' The young mole replied: This may seem very wise to you, but it sounds like nonsense to me. I am determined to burrow in the earth no more, but dash out in style like other gay people.' So saying, he crept upon a little mound for the purpose of looking about, and seeing what course of pleasure he should adopt. While in this situation he was snapped up by a hawk, who carried him to a tall tree, and devoured him without ceremony. This fable may teach us the folly of that species of discontent which would lead us to grasp at pleasures beyond our reach, or to indulge envy towards those who are in the We should endeavour possession of more wealth than we. to fulfil the duties of that situation in which we are placed, and not to grumble that some other lot is not assigned to us. We may lawfully seek to improve our fortunes, but this should be done rather by excelling in that profession which we have chosen than by endeavouring to shine in one for which we are unfitted. THE CHAMELEON AND PORCUPINE A FABLE. A CHAMELEON once met a porcupine, and complained that he had taken great pains to make friends with everybody, but, strange to say, he had entirely failed, and now he could not be sure that he had a sincere friend in the world. And by what means,' said the porcupine, have you sought to make friends?' 6 By flattery,' said the chameleon. I have adapted myself to all I met; humoured the follies and foibles of every one. In order to make people believe that I like them, I have imitated their manners, as if I considered them models of perfection. So far have I gone in this that it has become a habit with me, and now my very skin takes the hue and complexion of the thing that happens to be nearest. Yet all this has been in vain, for everybody calls me a turn-coat, and I am generally considered selfish, hypocritical, and base.' And no doubt you deserve all this,' said the porcupine. 'I have taken a different course, but I must confess that I have as few friends as you. I adopted the rule to resent every injury, nay, every encroachment upon my dignity. I would allow no one even to touch me without sticking into him one or more of my sharp quills. I determined to take care of number one; and the result has been, that while I have vindicated my rights, I have created a universal dislike. I am called old Touch-me-not, and, if I am not as much despised, I am even more disliked than you, Sir Chameleon.' An owl, who was sitting by and heard this conversation, putting his head a little on one side, remarked as follows: 'Your experience ought to teach two valuable lessons. One is, that the world looks upon the flatterer with contempt and aversion, because he seeks to secure some selfish object by making dupes of others; and the other is, that he who resents every little trespass upon his rights and feelings is sure to be shunned and dreaded by all who are acquainted with his disposition. You, Sir Chameleon, ought to know by this time that honest candour is far better than deceitful flattery. And you, neighbour Porcupine, ought never to forget that good-humour is a better defence than an armoury of poisoned quills.' PARENTAL AFFECTION. Mark that parent hen, said a father to his beloved son. With what anxious care does she call together her offspring, and cover them with expanded wings! The kite is hovering in the air, and, disappointed of his prey, may perhaps dart upon the hen herself, and bear her off in his talons. Does not this sight suggest to you the tenderness and affection of your mother? Her watchful care protected you in the helpless period of infancy, when she nourished you with her milk, taught your limbs to move, and your tongue to lisp its unformed accents. In childhood she has mourned over your little griefs-has rejoiced in your innocent delights-has administered to you the healing balm in sickness-and has instilled into your mind the love of truth, of virtue, and of wisdom. Oh! cherish every sentiment of respect for such a mother. She merits your warmest gratitude, esteem, and veneration. The white bear of Greenland and Spitzbergen is considerably larger than the brown bear of Europe or the black bear of North America. This animal lives upon fish and seals, and is not only seen upon land in the countries bordering on the North Pole, but often on floats of ice, several leagues at sea. The following relation is extracted from the Journal of a Voyage for making Discoveries towards the North Pole:' Early in the morning, the man at the masthead of the Carcase gave notice that three bears were making their way very fast over the ice, and that they were directing their course towards the ship. They had, without question, been invited by the scent of the blubber of a sea-horse, killed a few days before, which the men had set on fire, and which was burning on the ice at the time of the approach. They proved to be a she-bear and her two cubs; but the cubs were nearly as large as the dam. They ran eagerly to the fire, and drew out from the flames part of the flesh of the sea-horse, that remained unconsumed, and ate it voraciously. The crew from the ship threw great lumps of the flesh of the sea-horse, which they had still left, upon the ice, which the old bear fetched away singly, laid up every lump before her cubs as she brought it, and dividing it gave each a share, reserving but a small portion to herself. As she was fetching away the last piece, they levelled their muskets at the cubs, and shot them both dead; and in her retreat they wounded the dam, but not mortally. It would have drawn tears of pity from any but unfeeling minds to have marked the affectionate concern expressed by this poor beast, in the last moments of her expiring young. Though she was sorely wounded, and could but just crawl to the place where they lay, she carried the lump of flesh she had fetched away, as she had done others before, tore it in pieces, and laid it down before them; and when she saw that they refused to eat, she laid her paws first upon one, and then upon the other, and endeavoured to raise them up all this while it was pitiful to hear her moan. When she found she could not stir them, she went off, and when she had gotten at some distance, she looked back and moaned; and that not availing her to entice them away, she returned, and smelling round them, began to lick their wounds. She went off a second time as before, and having crawled a few paces, looked again behind her, and for some time stood moaning; but still her cubs not rising to follow her, she returned to them again, and with signs of inexpressible fondness, went round one and round the other, pawing them and moaning. Finding at last that they were cold and lifeless, she raised her head towards the ship and growled a curse upon the murderers, which they returned with a volley of musket-balls. She fell between her cubs, and died licking their wounds.' Can you admire the maternal affection of the bear, and not feel in your heart the warmest emotions of gratitude, for the stronger and more permanent tenderness you have so long experienced from your parents? SLOTH CONTRASTED WITH INDUSTRY. The sloth is an animal of South America; and is so illformed for motion that a few paces are often the journey of a week; and so indisposed to move that he never changes his place but when impelled by the severest stings of hunger. He lives upon the leaves, fruit, and flowers of trees, and often on the bark itself, when nothing besides is left for his subsistence. As a large quantity of food is necessary for his support, he generally strips a tree of all its verdure in less than a fortnight; and being then destitute of food he drops down, like a lifeless mass, from the branches to the ground. After remaining torpid some time, from the shock received by the fall, he prepares for a journey to some neighbouring tree, to which he crawls with a motion almost imperceptible. At length arrived, he ascends the trunk, and devours with famished appetite whatever the branches afford. By consuming the bark, he soon destroys the life of the tree; and thus the source is lost from which his sustenance is derived. Such is the miserable state of this slothful animal. How different are the comforts and enjoyments of the industrious beaver! This creature is found in the northern America, and is about two feet long, and one foot high. The figure of it somewhat resembles that of a rat. In the months of June and July, the beavers assemble and form n society, which generally consists of more than two hundred. They always fix their abode by the side of a lake or river; and, in order to make a dead water above and below, they erect, with incredible labour, a dam or pier, per haps fourscore or a hundred feet long, and ten or twelve feet thick at the base. When this dike is completed, they build their several apartments, which are divided into three storeys. The first is beneath the level of the mole, and is partly full of water. The walls of their habitations are perpendicular, and about two feet thick. If any wood project from them, they cut it off with their teeth, which are more serviceable than saws; and by the help of their tails. they plaster all their works with a kind of mortar, which they prepare of dry grass and clay, mixed together. In August or September they begin to lay up their stores of food, which consists of the wood of the birch, the plane. and of some other trees. Thus they pass the gloomy winter in ease and plenty. These two American animals, contrasted with each other, afford a most striking picture of the blessing of industry, and the penury and wretchedness of sloth. INTEMPERANCE. Cyrus, when a youth, being at the court of his grandfather Astyages, undertook one day to be the cup-bearer at table. It was the duty of this officer to taste the liquor before it was presented to the king. Cyrus, without performing this ceremony, delivered the cup in a very graceful manner to his grandfather. The king reminded him of his omission, which he imputed to forgetfulness. No, replied Cyrus, I was afraid to taste, because I apprehended there was poison in the liquor; for not long since, at an entertainment which you gave, I observed that the lords of your court, after drinking it, became noisy, quarrelsome. and frantic. Even you, sir, seemed to have forgotten that you were a king.' EPITOME OF WAR. BY THE ETTRICK SHEPHERD. THE history of every war is very like a scene I once saw in Nithsdale. Two boys from different schools met one fine day upon the ice. They eyed each other awhile silence, with rather jealous and indignant looks, and with defiance on each brow. What are ye glowrin' at, Billy ?' 'What's that to you, Donald? I'll look whar I've a mind, an' hinder me if you daur.' To this a hearty blow was the return; and then began such a battle! It being Saturday, all the boys of both schools were on the ice, and the fight instantly became general. At first they fought at a distance, with misse weapons, such as stones and snow-balls; but at length, coming hand to hand, they coped in a rage, and many bloody raps were liberally given and received. I went up to try if I could pacify them; for by this time a number of little girls had joined the affray, and I was afraid they would be killed. So, addressing one party, I asked, 'What are you fighting those boys for? What have they done to you?' 'O, naething at a', maun we just want to gie them a gude thrashin'-that's a'.' My remonstrance was vain; at it they went afresh: and after fighting till they were quite exhausted, one of the principal heroes stepped forth between the combatants, himself covered with blood and his clothes all tors to tatters, and addressed the opposing party thus:- Weel, I'll tell you what we'll do wi' ye—if y'll let us alane, we il let you alane.' There was no more of it; the war was at an end, and the boys scampered away to their play. That scene was a lesson of wisdom to me. I thought at the time, and have often thought since, that this trivial affray was the best epitome of war in general that I had ever seen. Kings and ministers of state are just a set of grown-up children, exactly like the children I speak of, with only this material difference, that instead of fighting out for themselves the needless quarrels they have raised, they sit in safety and look on, hound out their innocent but servile subjects to battle, and then, after an immense waste of blood and treasure, are glad to make the boys' condition-if ye'll let us alane, we'll let you alone.” PERSONAL LAWS OF THE MIDDLE AGES. THE great migration of the nations, which overthrew the Roman empire, lasted more than a thousand years, reckoning from the departure of the Helvetii from Switzerland to the conquest of England by the Danes. But there is reason to believe that the nomadic spirit was a strict element of the northern life; for we have many instances of their migrations, long before the date of the departure of the Helvetii. In modern times, the means of subsistence are so strictly connected with the soil that this spirit has disappeared. If it were not so, nothing could be more likely than a nation would go on its travels in search of novelty and excitement. The history of Europe, while it was at the mercy of these travelling nations, presents nothing but confusion and misery. Nations were here to-day, and there to-morrow, or perhaps nowhere; for there are instances in which a whole nation was annihilated in battle. Robertson says that there never were such miserable times; and Machiavelli, the illustrious secretary of Florence, bears witness to the confusion of names, languages, laws, and religions, which came from such continued and violent shocks and intermixtures. But the most singular result of this migratory confusion was the system of personal laws. The travelling nation carried its laws with it; and what was law to-day, on the banks of the Rhine, was no law there to-morrow, because the administrators and subjects of it were both vanished to another region. The consequence of this was, that no particular territory had its fixed law, but was guided by the law of its successive possessors. We say the law of England, the law of France; but we can only say the laws of the Salii, or the law of the West Goths. At last these flying about seeds of nations took hold of the soil and began to grow. They began to inhabit certain and fixed territories. It might be supposed that this was the time for the establishment of territorial laws. On the contrary, it was the period of the fullest developnient of the system of personal laws. Most of the nations had intermingled in such a manner, that it was impossible to give the ascendancy to the law of any particular race. The conflicting customs and laws of the different races, inhabiting the same territory, forced men to fall back on those eternal principles of right which have given such superiority to modern jurisprudence. But while this jurisprudence was forming in the minds of the thinkers, the the old laws ruled society, as it were, in conjunction. Each man carried his own law about with him. If he was a Frank, then he was under the law of the Franks; if he was a Burgundian, he was under the law of the Burgundians; so that, as Bishop Agobardus said to Louis le Debonnaire, three men may be sitting at the same table, and each governed by a different system of law. It is asserted by Montesquieu, and it was long believed, that a man might choose what law he was to live under. But it has been shown by Savigny, in his History of the Roman Law during the Middle Ages,' that the personal law was not arbitrarily chosen, but that it arose, as just explained, from the peculiar situation of the intermingled peoples. When a barbarian race conquered a portion of Roman territory, the Romans and the new-comers lived under their separate laws. When that predominant race was itself conquered by a new invasion, three distinct bodies of law were in force for the three races inhabiting the territory. This is fully borne out by the history of the connections of the various races. Lombardic law never prevailed in France, because France was never conquered by But Lombardic law prevailed in Italy, along with the Roman, because the Romans had been conquered by the Lombards; and when the kingdom of the Lombards was afterwards overthrown by the Franks, the Roman, the Lombardic, and the Frankish laws co-existed side by side in Italy. All this is proved by deeds carefully collected by Mariai Fantuzzi, and other antiquarians. The personal laws thus arising out of the peculiar position of victors and vanquished-the law of the father was also the law of the children-the law of the husband was the law the Lombards. of the wife. All ecclesiastical persons were under the Roman law, and this circumstance was the principal element in working out the various systems of territorial law which succeeded the personal laws. Indeed, as the influence of the clergy increased, the personal laws began to disappear. The dignitaries of the church had gradually concentrated in themselves all the elements of ecclesiastical jurisdiction; and they now began to influence political society. As the rude Germanic laws gradually ceased to be applicable to the rising civilisation of Europe, society naturally fell under the dominion of the clergy-the depositaries of the matured jurisprudence of Rome. Thus the wants of the middle ages gradually made the clergy great proprietors, city magistrates, and councillors of kings. In this manner, the Roman law formed a ready basis for the territorial laws, and at this moment it quickens, and develops, and intermingles with every body of law in Europe. The establishment of territorial laws was materially promoted by the capitularies of Charlemagne and his successors. These acts were mostly territorial, that is, not intended for particular tribes wherever they should be scattered, but to the people of a particular territory. The capitularies afford indubitable marks of the advancing re-integration of Europe. Indeed, it was Charlemagne's great ambition to revive the unity of the old empire. It was for this he laboured, and allied himself to the pope, who aspired to re-unite the old empire under its pontiff, as much as Charlemagne did to fill the throne of Cæsar. Not only the Roman law, but many other ancient institutions and ideas survived the shock of the barbarians, and served afterwards as a framework to support and unite the modern civilisations, until they should have strength to support themselves. That time has not yet arrived. Personal laws have indeed disappeared, in the strict sense; but the customs of particular districts, recognised in the law of England, are still proof of the mingled races which once inhabited it, and that the law of England has yet to find its Justinian. Before the great revolution in France, every province had its distinct laws and customs. A certain sub-nationality was induced by this; and the inhabitants of France were not so much Frenchmen as Gascons and Picards. Napoleon consolidated the French law, and at this moment a man may put the French code into his pocket. The present aspect of civilisation in Europe points to codification as one of the wants of our times. THE POETICAL WORKS OF THOMAS AIRD.* MEN of genius are distinguished from each other as perceptibly as they all differ from their fellow-men. The rare endowment which separates them from common mortals, is so modified in the case of all its possessors that they are marked out from each other by the plainest peculiarities. Milton could not be mistaken for Shakspeare, any more than he could be mistaken for the most dull and prosaic being. Now, mere talent has only a difference in degree or amount, but not in quality. We could conceive of a thousand clever individuals being alike, provided they had a parity of talent and of culture. And as it is, we can speak of the differences which exist among them with a precision almost mathematical. We weigh or measure them, and say, so much more-or, so much less; whereas, in the case of men of genius, standing distinguished from each other by size, there is also an endlessly diversified expression upon their faces; and, though we could classify them according to degrees of genius, we should yet have to say of the equals-Alike, but, oh! how different!' Talent does not lay hold of a man's complete individuality, it does not absorb his identity along with all the characteristics of his nature and the associations of his life; but genius does, and receives into its own constitution the whole being of the man. Through talent, a man's special thoughts may appear; but through genius, his own self, thinking and feeling, comes out. Dugald Stewart could not put self into * Edinburgh and London: W. Blackwood & Sons. his elaborate dissertations; but the whole soul of Robert Burns was shed forth on the breath of a simple melody. Mr Aird is a man of high genius, and he stands apart from all his famous contemporaries. Most candid and unenvious, appreciating fully and admiring enthusiastically his brethren, he is yet no imitator. His very garb of words is strictly his own, truly home-spun—its compact texture, gorgeous dyes, and somewhat curious shape quite uncopied; his haunts are his own-grand solitary places where the foot-print of any of his brethren is not, and where he wanders, making his own path; and the mood of his soul does not consist of impressions and emotions produced by intercourse with others, but by the direct influence of nature, working through his own perceptions, sensations, and associations, upon his own consciousness. His idiosyncrasy appears from the profoundest thought down to the slightest fancy; and his individuality is seen from the head to the foot of him. His isolation from others needs no eccentricity; and his independence is native, entire, and constant. He could be shorn of all his mannerism, without losing his strongest characteristics. We know of no living writer who, in his poems, tales, essays, and critiques, displays a mind so thoroughly unique. And this impression of ours is not caused or helped by Mr Aird's personal appearance haunting us in a study of his works. To very loose, general, and undetermined ideas which we may be examining, the mere person of the author-if we are familiar with that often gives a seeming individuality. After having seen the man John Wilson, we are apt to regard many pages in his writings, though these may be nowise remarkable, as strikingly characteristic of Wilson. We have caught ourselves, over some very vague and colourless mental product-a product which really had no indications of its nativity, and might have been sent into the world from any quarter, tracing most satisfactorily and confidently all its qualities to the idiosyncrasy of the acknowledged author, and that merely because his image was so vivid in our mind as to reflect a likeness. Many of Lord Byron's pieces were set down as Byronic, from readers being conversant with the features and expression of his lordship's face; and even his loose shirt-collar overlaid countless lines, which were not in the least peculiar, and imparted to them the most marked identity. But to us, as yet, Thomas Aird, personally, is nothing but a shade; and our impressions of the singular uniqueness of his genius in all his works, have been entirely produced by these works themselves Nor can we be deceived; and we challenge any critic to show, out of the vast gallery of British art, the originals from which Mr Aird can be said to have copied. Indeed, his genius might be that of a new race, so peculiar are its complexion, temperament, and habits. It has one characteristic which places him quite by himself, though, probably, we shall fail to point it out in a few words. He grasps and holds material things with a nervous and most tenacious hand, as if he were to exercise his bare intellect upon them; and then, unexpectedly, from his hard pressure, they pass into pure ideals, imagination having given them a spiritual transformation. As if conscious of the charm of his poetic touch, he bestows a strong frame work and an ossification as of iron on his theme, ere he seeks to float it off into the region of beauty. None of his contemporaries unite such a hard and literal graphicness with their idealising powers. They have not dared to handle, divide, and dissect the material with such closeness and minuteness, before transmuting it into the spiritual. Crabbe did not lay hold of the literal with such a firm grasp as Aird, who yet changes it into loftier ideals than Shelley ever executed from mist and moonshine. Indeed, nowhere, save in the grand poem of Dante, shall we find such a union of the literal and the ideal as Aird exemplifies. Occasionally, our poet fails to shoot into the dense and rigidly defined body sufficient spiritual energy to pervade and quicken it. He is sometimes defective in the latter part of the process, and his creations remind us of the tawny lion pawing to get free his hinder parts.' This fault is, however, more conspicuous in his prose than in his Mr Aird is, both by nature and culture, a genuine poet, for the vision and the faculty divine' characterise bis very slightest efforts. In his essays, he ever thinks poetically; his logic, by means of which he professedly arrives at any truth, has intuition within it; the wheels' on which he advances are full of far-seeing eyes;' his fancy is but the playfulness of a noble imagination (just as beauty may condescend to pass for mere prettiness), and his humour is but the muse, In heaven yelep'd Euphrosyne, And by men heart-easing Mirth, We are glad to see that at length Mr Aird has collected his scattered poems into a volume. He has subjected them to many improving touches, and has added some new pieces introduced by a tragedy of the highest poetic merit, and distinguished by more of dramatic art than he had previously proved himself to possess. It is a precious volume, the pictures fulfilling his own fine description of the cartoons of Raphael; Violent pain, mental or bodily, is tempered by heroic resistance, by grandeur, by native sweetness; pity waits upon horror; horror is quenched in beauty; and 'calm pleasures there abide majestic pains." In it we have the noblest landscapes of the earth that ever inspired poetry, patriotism, or piety, exhibited under every variety of aspect in the sky of day and night, associated and harmonised with whatever is grand, tragic, mournfal or lovely in the strange developments of human life, and traversed by appearances and influences from the two op posite realms of the spiritual world. The volume begins with a long drama entitled 'The Tragedy of Wold.' And it is a tragedy, according to the severest standard; not, like some modern things of that ambitious name, consisting of a group of several people, breaking up to run to and fro, occasionally crossing each other's path, and meeting at last to superintend one or more murders committed upon the company. It is a development of FATE, wrought out with masterly skill, in many an incident and crisis, thickening and becoming mere distinctly prophetic of the inevitable tragic issue. The curse resting upon the proud house of Wold makes the thunderbolt of the sky its playful minister to lead Lord Wold into the castle of the fair Lady Mervyn, the orphan of a race that had long maintained a deadly feud towards his house. The two love each other, and plight their trota, but the curse has now more potent and dreadful agents than the thunder, and rules the malice of Lord Wold's riva. and the unappeasable wrath of his own stern mother, who weaves for him the wedding-garment of the grave. Vari circumstances have transpired to persuade her that it is her solemn duty to sacrifice her own, and her only son: and he comes out from the dangers of many a bloody battle, and from the snares of all his enemies, to prove the clasp of his mother's hands, that had often fondly soothed, healed, and blessed him, far less merciful. By her orders, and within her castle, he is put to death. His young brite falls lifeless beside him; and his mother meets her deal when, all alone and unseen, she was kissing her sacrifices son's lips, on which a subtile poison had been placed by one of the villains of the drama. We have not attempted any abstract of the incidents of this tragic and powerful piece. They are worthy exp nents of the doom, and are very artistically manage Perhaps the stern old Duchess of Woldshouldn't have died by poison, though, if this were to be the plot of her death, it was in fine keeping with the fate of the drama, wh had selected love, both filial and conjugal, as the medium of vengeance, that she should reap death from the lips her son. We rather think, that after, as judge, she had seen her sentence executed, her motherly heart (for bers was a woman's loving heart, and it throbbed with unsech violence of anguish under the necessity of duty which she had laid upon it) might have burst. Even a man's int |