to love and to admire where others see exclusively what is displeasing and deformed; we only say that he will hope and believe the best of all he sees, and that what is incontestably - evil will appear to him as improvable, and perhaps already in a state of transition to good; that he will see, in short, virtue as the law and vice as the exception.

But let him set out without waiting for more of our preambles. In opposition to some philosophers, then, one may believe, according to first and natural impressions, that whatever is capable of affording the beholder a pleasing æsthetical spectacle, is on that account, in itself, innocent and good. Faces never lie, it is said. No man need be deceived who will study the changes of expression. When a man speaks the truth in the spirit of truth, his eye is as clear as the heavens; when he has base ends and speaks falsely, the eye is muddy, and sometimes, in a sinister way, averted. Now these latter instances constitute unquestionably what is exceptional in the street. We are struck with them as something out of the common way, while we pass without noticing those whose looks proclaim that

"They're loving, well compos'd, with gifts of nature flowing
And swelling o'er with arts and exercise."

How many, in fact, who may be seen blest

"With all the sweet and sacred ties of life;
The prayerful love of parents, pride of friends,
And gifted, and the heart all lit with love,
Hopeful, and generous, and earnest."

How many who have a kind, courageous heart, and natural chivalry to aid the weak! We have heard much before about the good of having internal resources, and using them in solitude. All that is well; but, as we asked before, can there be a better study than that of man? If, in a great city, you will only keep on the look out for traits of goodness, you will find them every hour, and that, too, among the most despised classes, where these blossoms open so tender and so wild, that they can be compared to the primrose and the violet. If we were only to watch all the delicate, fugitive traits that appear of a good will prompting others, of kindness, of honour, and of

a delicate tact arising from the heart, which pass around us in the street, in the house, every where, marking them as an artist watches the tones of changing colour where an ordinary eye sees nothing beautiful, we should come to a happy state of mind, and learn to think much better of mankind than we too often do. But these rapid effusions of benevolence, these changes in the tone of voice even, that so often indicate what is most beautiful within, all these pass unregarded; for common virtue is like the lark that

"Scatters his loose notes in the waste of air."

Acts and customs, even, that are often ascribed to some unworthy motive might be found often to flow from a wholesome spring. Leucothoe says, in the old play, that it is the wish to please others which makes both men and women court the looking-glass.

"For all the comfort that our faces give
Unto ourselves is but reflection

Of that fair liking that another takes."

"Twere to consider too curiously, you say, to regard it so? Not a jot; but to follow with modesty enough and likelihood. Selfsacrifice, voluntary labour to serve another, goodness, kindness of heart, the desire to consult somebody else's feelings to the neglect of our own, all these common things are unconsciously practised every day. A London flower-girl said to Mr. Mayhew, "I never had a rude word said to me by a gentleman in my life." Most persons might pass years without hearing uncivil language addressed, to them, by any class of people. In nine cases out of ten, a contrary experience is the consequence of a man's own unfeeling provocation, either in his manner, his premeditated looks, his speech, his tone of voice, or his action. In truth, the study of goodness, as developed by common circumstances, would give most curious results, not excluding a fulfilment of the proverb, "Believe well and have well." Observe, for example, the quick, almost instinctive attention to the wants, or even inferred fancies, of a stranger in the street, whom those who practise it have never before seen, and may never meet again. Nor should we overlook even the grace of those with small abilities, whose timid, modest, but

right virtuous ambition is afraid to be discovered learning how to please, or seeking how they may later entertain others, practising their drawing, their dancing, or their music even on the sly, as if not presuming to clothe their thought in shape or vocal sounds. Nor, of course, should we neglect reflecting on the courage in the commonalty, ever ready to act in defence of some one unknown, ever ready to offer itself for its friends, for its enemies even, for its country, forming those in every rank whose "spirit makes mouths at the invisible event, exposing what is mortal and unsure to all that fortune, death, and danger dare." How many men and women, again, heroically persevere, struggling with poverty and suffering, upheld and sustained by strong affection and the consciousness of rectitude! The world, as a sharp and most intelligent observer says, "is full of such heroism. Have we yet to learn that the hardest and best borne trials are those which are never chronicled in any earthly record, and are suffered every day." Moreover, we must not forget the generosity which almost every misfortune in private life is sure to elicit. "There is much good in the world, after all," exclaimed Sir Walter Scott, when he received a letter, on the downfall of his fortunes, from the poor harper who had been teacher of that instrument to his daughters, offering him six hundred pounds, probably his all. But look at the evidence of great public events. Only consider what is passing, at this moment, in our armies in the East. How many thousands of men are suffering and dying without revolt, without a murmur, in silence! Is there no virtue in these common sacrifices of country, of life, and of persons ten thousand times dearer than life, left behind, and all to a sense of doing what is right? Besides, all this while, have we forgotten how many, in every rank of society, are the perfect, or, at least, those whom, in common parlance, we may justly call so, in whom grace, not destroying, but assisting and finishing nature, which is perhaps never left without it, produces "the observed of all observers?" How many realize the noblest idea of a man, discerning and loving truth and right, conceiving perfection, feeling that their neighbour is as precious as themselves, and his rights as sacred as their own, and rejoicing in all that is beautiful, good, holy, and happy, in whatever being these attributes may be found. Yes, truly, the world runs round; yet there are square men still. But I will not call to aid my

cause the characters of the perfect. I will end where I began, in the street. "Every day," says Charron, "things pass before us which, if we had the wit and sufficiency to gather up and place in their true light, we should form out of them marvellous examples, that would yield in nothing to those of past times which we so much admire, and often admire them chiefly because they are old and in print." I was reading these lines, when tidings reached me of a common man and a boy fallen overboard in a storm. A rope was thrown to them. The man tied it round the boy, who was pulled up safe. The man, whose first thought was to save him, perished. Only last week two youths, Amos Townshend, aged eighteen, and Henry, his brother, went from Brighton to shoot on the hills above Shoreham. Henry, who had borne the gun some time over his shoulder, became fatigued with carrying it in that position, and placed it across the small of his back, the butt and muzzle being supported through his arms. Whilst carrying it in this position, the muzzle pointing towards Amos, the gun suddenly went off, and the entire charge of the shot entered Amos's left side. Throwing away the gun, Henry knelt by the side of his brother, and asked him if he was shot? Amos replied, "All right, Harry-all right!" and at the same time pulling Henry's face to his, and kissing him, he rendered up his life. He had spoken his last word, and rolled a corpse on the earth. You thought at first, mate, that I was only fancying virtues, or, perhaps, drawing, in a maudlin way, inferences from shadowy things. You see now what the observation of an ordinary day brings forth. Upon the whole, then, if we survey human life with attention and impartiality, we shall look on the multitude with different eyes from those of its detractors. If in a crowd, no matter where, any one should repeat the formula of the ancient mysteries, demanding who is here, we may reply, in the words consecrated by that old rite, and without any mystic reference either to the need of an omen or to the warning of evil consciences to induce them to departπολλοὶ γἀγαθοὶ, multi bonique; yes, in the common sense of the words, and without seeking to contradict any sacred principle, many and good.

"There's yet the thing on earth we virtue call,
Of old so much admired."

But here is suggested another line of thought, which to some will seem a digression, and to others as a confirmation of the view that we are taking of human nature. If virtue were wholly confined to the eminently good, there would, unquestionably, be reason to dispute the justice of our observation in having classed it with common things; for those eminently good are eminent by reason of goodness beyond what is usual among men, as the term applied to them indicates, and perhaps, too, we may say, with permission, that it might not be very easy, even while seated in this bower, to point out the faultless; for such a confession will anger no one here. With all its known fondness for innocent hyperboles, it is not the Lover's Seat that will sanction false pretensions, in this respect. Here every one is ready to admit that we all deserve blame, more or less, perhaps, too, a little satire, for most of us probably have more follies than hairs. If we must express ourselves here with dignity, the place will allow us to repeat such words as these, in reference to one we love,

Did steer humanity; but you, gods, will give us
Some faults to make us men."

In general, this bench favours no boastful professions of any kind, but rather receives those who are content with humbly saying,

"When others are more faulty; not being the worst

Stands in some rank of praise."

Portia seems to have caught its spirit, when she says, "I can easier teach twenty what were good to be done, than be one of the twenty to follow mine own teaching. The brain may devise laws for the blood; but a hot temper leaps over a cold decree; such a hare is madness the youth, to skip o'er the meshes of good counsel the cripple."

Such are our preliminary admissions, not overstraining the truth that we believe in; but, having now made them thus unreservedly, so as almost to appear having prejudiced our cause, we may proceed to remark that virtue, in some degree or other, is so common a thing, that it belongs to a far greater number than those constitute, who can be said to derive their just title from its possession.

VOL. II.