labourer who can afford no better abode than that of dirt and darkness. This is the condition of city life, and by it we are shut out from much valuable sympathy and really useful knowledge; knowledge of others and of ourselves, seeing that we are but human creatures, even as the meanest we can meet. And yet how apt men are to boast; and men, too, who lay claim to the title of philosophers, of the superior intelligence of those who live in large towns. What is the real value of that intelligence? They are more ready in speech, more sharp in discussion, more quick to act upon the suggestions of fancy, or the impulse of party; but with the best sort of practical knowledge; that of the lives, habits, wants, thoughts, feelings, of various conditions of men, and of the general principles which conduce to bind the whole together in peace and security, they have no practical opportunities of becoming acquainted.

Nor do I mean to say that in the country, where the in-door circumstances of the cottages of the poor, and considerable practical acquaintance with their way of life, are part of the familiar experience of every one, there are philosophical principles deduced, or any general theories of conduct which they who have such experience could explain, or have ever recognised. But the useful knowledge may be there, and the useful habits, though the people under

their influence have never philosophised about the matter. There is such a thing as philosophy without philosophising, just as a man may have all the beauty of a picture deep in his heart, with no more knowledge of the artistical effects of light and shade than he has of the way noses are kept from being frostbitten in the planet. Saturn.

Who can venture to say the influence upon men's characters and conduct of those personal histories which in country life stand out before the community individualised; a daily monition, or awakener of the heart? In cities these are lost in the crowd, or, if seen distinctly for a moment, presently lost sight of. Take, for example, such a poor crazed creature as Cowper so touchingly and admirably sketches, conveying a whole history in a few expressive lines; let us just place the sketch before us, and reflect upon what the reality would (unconsciously, perhaps,) teach to the neighbourhood where she was daily seen:

"There often wanders one whom better days
Saw better clad, in cloak of satin trimm'd
With lace, and hat with splendid riband bound.
A serving maid was she, and fell in love
With one who left her, went to sea, and died.
Her fancy follow'd him through foaming waves
To distant shores, and she would sit and weep
At what a sailor suffers; fancy too,
Delusive most where warmest wishes are,
Would oft anticipate his glad return,

And dream of transports she was not to know.

She heard the doleful tidings of his death-
And never smiled again! And now she roams
The dreary waste; there spends the livelong day;
And there, unless when charity forbids,

The livelong night. A tatter'd apron hides,
Worn as a cloak, and hardly hides, a gown
More tatter'd still; and both but ill conceal
A bosom heav'd with never-ceasing sighs.
She begs an idle pin of all she meets,

And hoards them in her sleeve; but needful food, Though press'd with hunger oft, or comelier clothes, Though pinch'd with cold, asks never. Kate is crazed."

This, (thanks to the delightful muse of Cowper) we, who read books may, perhaps, have more vividly presented to our fancy, than actual sight of such an object presents it to the minds of those to whom it is habitually present; our feelings are, for the moment perhaps, more touched. But the book is shut, the impression is gone; or, if it remain, it is but as a literary impression. It does not come home to our business and bosoms as a practical thing, nor do we apply the short and simple history as suggestive of advice, or consolation, or reproof, in the daily exercise of our social duties. We look at such histories as matters existing collaterally to ourselves and separate. We do not regard them as a part of our own concerns, an incident in the circle to which we belong. Would it not be better if we did?

242

FRENCH DISCUSSION.

FRENCH writers, even of the most flippant class, have a way of laying down general propositions which is somewhat startling at first to an English reader. It is so little our habit to affirm a general theorem, unless upon scientific points capable of demonstrative proof, that we are scarcely prepared to question the absolute principles with which a Frenchman opens his disquisition, if it were but upon the most eligible construction of a shoe-tie. A certain M. Jouy, who used to write sketches and essays, in which he showed great ingenuity by directly borrowing from English writers, and disguising their thoughts in a French style, tells us that "on ne corrige pas les mœurs ou le governement avec de beaux discours, mais avec de bonnes lois." It is easy to lay down the law" in this way (some people might call it setting up the law), but is it true? May we not take leave on behalf of ourselves and all other "talkers," whether of the "table" or otherwise, to doubt that the manners of society can be so readily corrected by laws as by "discourses" which people may be disposed to receive in a friendly manner? As to matters of government, I admit that good laws are the first consideration, though very much will still depend upon the spirit and manner in which they are

administered, and this spirit and manner again are very likely to be affected by discourses of various kinds. Whether "beaux discours," in the sense in which Frenchmen use the term, be very expedient I am not quite sure; but honest and earnest commentary has unquestionably a great effect upon the course of government, and will often operate as a correction, where the making of good laws may not be found practicable.

But manners :—we apprehend, they are much more apt to mould and to assist the laws than the laws to mould and fashion them :

"Quid leges sine moribus
Vanæ proficiunt?"

It belongs to the delusion-may we not say the quackery-of the present time to refer all manner of improvement to public instrumentality. It seems as if men expected that laws were to do everything for them-as if public and general arrangements could be made so to take the place of all other influences-the influences which bear upon us not merely as members of a civil community, dwelling under one government, but as beings with private responsibilities, social affections, feelings of kindred, and aspirations of too high and fervent a description to become the subject of general laws. Do not our manners more depend upon those influences than upon any other; and are not such influences,