ness of physical, luxurious, and literary civilization. Morally, the Romans, and not less the Greeks, were uncivilized, and as the course of the selfish faculties which swayed them is downwards, they gradually sank and ultimately perished.

The talent bestowed on classical pursuits is sometimes such as would master the sciences and extend their range. The prize list of a great grammar-school often presents wonderful productions of difficulty and labour. The efforts at College are still more herculean, and health and life are not seldom sacrificed in making them.

The grammar-school finished about fifteen, the acquisition of useful practical knowledge may even yet be made, though under great disadvantages. But the feast which Nature spreads is especially withheld from the devoted youth destined to the classical glories of College. Special, laborious, and expensive care is taken to exclude the chance of his picking up even stray knowledge, by engaging him engrossingly in pursuits which lead away from it. When finished at school, he is said to be "prepared for College," and it is the greatest boast of a grammar-school, that its pupils are well fitted for this advancement, and become renowned for bearing away the University honours. Now College," in the sense alluded to, does not mean the attainment of physical and moral science, the knowledge of Creation as revealed in the works of God; it means more yet of the dead languages, more yet of these standards of science and morality, the Greeks and Romans; it means advancement in the "higher classics;" a greater elevation still above all vulgar studies which are to be of practical use in the attainment of good and the avoidance of evil in after life. The school keeps an eye upon its former alumni, and glories in their triumphs in the dead languages, in the rank they take at College, the scholarships, the fellowships they achieve. Nay, this is not all, the school preposterously claims to itself the credit of the whole future fame and fortune of its quondam pupil, the whole fruits of that education which he subsequently gave himself, and which the time he wasted within its walls only postponed; while his Greek and Latin have not only contributed nothing to his advancement, but have been most probably almost intirely forgotten by him. There is no part of this solemn mockery of intellectual cultivation more tantalizing than the fact, that classical honours are borne away by efforts, not in the direct, but the inverse ratio of the value of the attainments rewarded. Ambition performs feats almost incredible; it furnishes an impulse which makes light and pleasurable tasks which, without it, would be an intolerable grievance. The literary performances are often of great merit, and were they not all, were they an elegant surplusage to practical wisdom and useful knowledge, they would be so much gained, an additional grace well worth possessing, But when they are all the hard earnings of the noonday and the midnight,—when the same time, talent, and labour, properly directed, would have rewarded the young student with an extent of knowledge, accomplishment, and resource, which few by their own efforts subsequently attain,—we can only account for the dead languages continuing for another day to occupy so long exclusively the seat of education, by reflecting that the men who suffer its continuance were once boys, whom it at one and the same time cheated of sound knowledge, and entrenched in impregnable prejudice.†

*The term higher classics recalls a mode of reasoning adopted by scholars to silence the gainsayer on the score of his incompetency. They tell him he is out of his depth when he questions the supremacy of classical literature, it being the privilege of few to attain to a knowledge of its exquisite beauties and perfections. The first answer to this is, that there could not be a stronger reason for forthwith abandoning the custom of wasting, on such a pursuit, the time of the many; while the second is a challenge to point out any passage in any author, Greek or Latin, which, saving always a certain felicity of expression, may not be given in English, to all the effect it possesses of delighting or improving the thinking or feeling faculties of man.

+ As these strictures will very probably be objected to, as referring to grammar-schools as they were, and written in gnorance of the improvements now introduced into them,

If all this shall appear to be strongly stated, if it shall excite, as it will no doubt do, angry feelings in those attached to the classics by habit and by fame, and angrier still in those linked to them by interest, the writer has two grounds of deprecation: First, he abjures all personal feeling in his strictures on a system of centuries. He knows the talent and the worth of many of his advocates and retainers; to some of them he is closely bound by the ties of friendship and affection. He remembers, with almost filial respect, the venerable men, now no more, who were his kind and sincere instructors; respects the existing generation of classical teachers; and so far is he from wishing to affect their patrimonial status, that he would be the first to compensate them for the loss occasioned to them by the adoption of a system of education more in harmony with the age, and more consistent with the nature and faculties of

man.

Secondly, the author claims the shelter from their displeasure of names, which they will certainly join bim in venerating. Milton has these words: "Hence appear the many mistakes which have made learning generally so unpleasant and so unsuccessful. First, we do amiss to spend seven or eight years merely in scraping together so much miserable Latin and Greek, as might be learned otherwise easily and delightfully in one year*; and that which casts our proficiency so much behind is, our time lost in too oft idle vacancies given both to schools and universities, partly in preposterous exaction from the empty wits of children, to compose themes, verses, and orations, which are the acts of ripest judgment." In another place, Milton says, 'Though a linguist should pride himself to have all the tongues that Babel cleft this world into, yet, if he has not studied the solid things in them, as well as the words and lexicons, he were nothing so much to be esteemed a learned man, as any yeoman or tradesman competently wise in his mother-dialect only."

Locke, On Education,' says, "Would not a Chinese, who had notice of our way of breeding, be apt to imagine, that all our young gentlemen were designed to be teachers and professors of the dead languages of foreign countries, and not to be men of business in their own?" Again, the same author says (for he reprobates the practice in several passages), “But though the qualifications requisite to trade and commerce, and the business of the world, are seldom or never to be got

at grammar-schools, yet thither not only gentlemen send their younger sons intended for trades, but even tradesmen and farmers fail not to send their children, though they have neither intention nor ability to make them scholars. If you ask them why they do this?

it was thought desirable to obtain some of the recent reports and prize lists which are statedly published by the more important of these seminaries, and all that I have seen indicate as yet paramount the old subjects of study and

competition. It is worthy of remark, too, that the improve

ments claimed are neither more nor less than partial introductions of the very useful knowledge now advocated; in other words, partial displacements of Greek and Latin. In the two great seminaries of Edinburgh, the High School and Academy, there is considerable improvement in this way; but both establishments put their scholarship foremost in their appeal to the public. We find prizes for "best Grecian, best Greek prose, best Greek verses, best Latin verses;" and themes written by boys of fourteen, when the faculties are unfit for the subjects, which it would task the powers of the ablest tacticians, politicians, and philosophers to deal with, such as "Was the attack of Saguntum by Hannibal, and the invasion of Italy, justifiable on the reasons which he alleges?-Which was the ablest general, Cæsar or Hannibal ?-On the progress and decline of commercial nations-Whether was Livy or Herodotus the most correct historian ?-On the progress of mankind from barbarism to civilization and refinement.-Whether is aristocracy or democracy ultimately more dangerous to public liberty?-On the manners of the heroic ages," &c. It will astonish a more rationally educated age than our own, that the most enlightened men of the second quarter of the nineteenth century were satisfied with this as the fruit of seven years' labours in their sons; well aware, at the same time, from their own experience, that the self-education, which is to fit for active life, has yet to begin after all the prizes for long and laborious scholastic trifling have been awarded, and all the applauses bestowed.

* On saving time, and other matters, see Letter from Mr Cunningham, head master of the Edinburgh Institution for Languages, &c. App. No. IV.

they think it as strange a question as if you should ask them why they go to church? Custom serves for reason, and has, to those that take it for reason, so consecrated this method that it is almost religiously observed by them; and they stick to it as if their children had scarce an orthodox education unless they learned 'Lilly's Grammar.'" A passage follows on the subject of the special oblivion of Greek: "How many are there of a hundred, even amongst scholars themselves, who retain the Greek they carried from school, or ever improve it to a familiar reading and perfect understanding of Greek authors ?" *

Gibbon observes that "a finished scholar may emerge from the head of Eton or Westminster, in total ignorance of the business and conversation of gentlemen, in the latter end of the eighteenth century."

Adam Smith makes the remark, "That it seldom happens that a man, in any part of his life, derives any conveniency or advantage from some of the most laborious and troublesome parts of his education."

Byron, on the authority of his biographer, Moore, was a bad Greek and Latin scholar at Harrow; hated the drudgery they imposed upon him, and acquired his copious, flexible, and splendid style by extensive English reading.

It is necessary to repeat the qualification of the whole argument,-for nothing is more apt to be forgotten by the advocates of classical studies,-that not a word which has been said can be perverted even to mean absolute hostility to Latin and Greek, to the length of banishing them utterly from education as a pursuit. The study of them (but at a more advanced stage of education, and for a moderate time, as advised by Milton) is necessary for the divine— who must add Hebrew, -the lawyer, and the physician. Nay, more, even the higher classics afford an object which will well reward the kind of genius which is fitted for the pursuit. What is contended for, is the rescue of our intire youth from the dead languages,— from the engrossing exclusiveness of that one object, during all the period when real knowledge is most naturally and beneficially attainable. It will at once occur to the reader that this qualification is precisely that which is likely to be most unwelcome to the teachers of the dead languages, whose emoluments depend upon the number of their pupils; but this

eannot affect the truth of the distinction.

Our scientific studies are unexceptionably provided for at College. In all the branches of natural history, chemistry, and mechanical philosophy, we have the means offered us of the highest attainments. Suppose us to have completely mastered all these branches of physical science, the question remains, What is our access to the science of mind, or, more extensively, the science of Man? To physical man there exist ample means of being introduced; but anatomy and physiology are never dreamed of by any one not destined to the medical profession; the most highly educated gentleman knows as little about his own bodily frame, or its relations to external nature, as the most uninformed of the manual-labour class, and is nearly as ignorant of the conditions of health, though practically, and by habit more than principle, cleaner in his person and dwelling. But it is in the philosophy of mind that our universities present the grand blank. Yet truth in this science must be arrived at before human affairs can be placed on a sound moral foundation. If it be undeniable, that the true guiding principle of human affairs can only be accordance of human affairs with human faculties, what must not be the extent of the evils which humanity suffers, when yet in ignorance or uncertainty as to the nature of these faculties? Can we wonder at the confliction in speculation and the "confusion in action, which prevail around us? Above all, what title have we to expect that education-which is essentially the

A singularly confirmatory letter from Dr Christison, present professor of Materia Medica in the University of Edinburgh, who obtained the highest honours for Greek, both at school and at college, and nevertheless has nearly forgotten that tongue, was lately published in Mr Combe's 'Lectures on Education.'

+ Professor Dugald Stewart's confession on this head has been already referred to.

improvement of the human faculties, the guide to their right use, and the guard against that miserable abuse which far and wide embitters life— can be either theoretically or practically understood, when no two philosophers are agreed as to what the faculties are, and few writers on education have thought of appealing to them, or considered it necessary to take them into account at all in their speculations. But this branch of the subject will be treated more at large in the next chapter; the utmost object of this and the preceding will have been attained, if they shall tend to open our eyes not only to the desolate state of seven-eighths of our countrymen for lack of that knowlege which alone will enable them to co-operate in their own elevation, physical, moral, and intellectual, but not less to the imperfections of our own education, our ignorance of that imperfection, and, the natural result, our unfortunate apathy on the important subject.

TABLE TALK.

THE THREE RACANS.

On the death of Montaigne, his adopted daughter, Mdlle. de Gournai, turned her attention to Racan, whom she only knew by his works. The desire of being acquainted with a poet so eminent, and so capable of judging of the merits of others, made her neglect no means of procuring a visit from him; and after some time she succeeded, and the day and hour were appointed. Two of the poet's friends, on being informed of it, seized the opportunity of playing a trick on the lady, and, about an hour previous to the appointed time, one of them appeared at her door, and introduced himself as M. de Racan. Who can do justice to his reception? He talked, and talked, and praised the works she had written, and thanked her for the knowledge they had given him; in short, used all his eloquence to flatter her into the belief that she was a prodigy. After about half an hour's conversation, he made his bow and departed, leaving his hostess very well pleased with M. de Racan. Scarcely had he left the house, when another M. de Racan was announced: and she, conceiving that her late visitor had forgotten something, rose up to receive him the more graciously, when the second friend entered, and made himself known as her appointed visitor. Mdlle. de Gournai was astonished; and, after cross examining the pretended poet, informed him of the guest she had just dismissed. The counterfeit Racan of course seemed greatly chagrined at the imposture, and vowed vengeance on the author of it, at the same time convincing the lady that he could be no other than the person he represented, by praising her and her works more outrageously than his predecessor. This second Racan at length quitted her, perfectly satisfied that he was the object of her invitation, and the former one an impostor. The door had scarcely closed upon him, when a third Racan, that is to say the real one, made his appearance, and then the lady lost all patience: "What, more Racans!" she screamed out. She then ordered him to be shown up stairs; and, on his entering her presence, demanded, in the greatest passion, how he dared to insult her so grossly. Racan, who was never very voluble of his tongue, was so astonished at this reception, that he could only answer by stuttering and stammering; and the lady, in the mightiness of her wrath, becoming at once persuaded, by his confusion, that he was an accomplice of her first visitor, took off her slipper, and made such good use of it on the poet's head, that he was glad to make a precipitate retreat.-A Correspondent has favoured us with this anecdote from the Dictionnaire des Portraits Historiques.' A similar story, if our memory does not deceive us, is told of Rousseau,-probably a fact suggested by the former one.]

IMPORTANCE OF COOKERY.

EXPERIENCE has proved that cooking renders food really more nutritious; but to produce all the beneficial effects which it is capable of yielding, skill is required in its exercise. The difference

in the apparent quality of the same kinds of food, when prepared in dissimilar ways, is very striking. It is found, that the richness of a soup depends more upon a proper choice of the ingredients, than upon the quantity of solid nutritious matter employed; much more upon the skill of the preparer in concocting the whole, than upon the amount of money laid out in the purchase of materials; while its nutritive qualities are apparently in proportion to its agreeable flavour; thus affording an example of the old proverb that "whatever pleases the palate, nourishes." Since a very small quantity of solid food, when prepared properly, will satisfy hunger, and support life and health, men employed in the most laborious works may, by the art of cookery, be nourished on a comfortable and varied diet, at a very trifling expence. It is supposed, that by a proper attention to the culinary preparation of food, and to the economy of fuel during the process, the expences for the subsistence of a family, especially that of a labouring man, might be diminished nearly one half.-Household Year Book.

THE MISSELTOE.

THE mode of propagation of the misseltoe was long a subject of controversy. It was formerly considered to be an excrescence from the tree on which it grew, and consequently produced without seed. In these days, however, we are in no danger of being led astray by the idea that it is a spontaneous production. The fact of its propagation from seed has been long established by conclusive experiments. Seeds inserted in the bark of the white poplar

have germinated, and produced the plant: and in some experiments made in a garden at Knaresborough, by Mr Collins, large plants were obtained, upon dwarf apple-trees by rubbing the full ripe berries upon the smooth bark of the shoots. By this process, which may be performed upon the smooth bark of almost any tree, the seeds adhere closely by means of the glutinous pulp in which they are imbedded, and will produce plants the following winter. We are informed by Mr Lees, that he has attempted, without success, to plant the Misseltoe on the oak in this country; but he attributes his failure, and probably with justice, to having selected a tree, the bark of which was rugged, for his experiments. Mr Dovaston has lately succeeded in producing it upon the oak, in a neighbouring country, under more favourable circumstances.— The Analyst. 1

-The most insupportable company are those who are witty all day long.—Sevigné.

FINE ARTS, Edwards's Botanical Register, or Ornamental FlowerGarden and Shrubbery. Continued by John Lindley, Ph. D. F. R. S., &c. James Ridgway and

Sons.

VERY tidily got up, and very cheap. The defects in this publication, as we had occasion to observe in our notice last week of Curtis's Botanical Magazine, are in the colouring. This we must at present put up with. We believe some endeavours are being made by certain spirited woodengravers, to discover some method of printing colours at one pressing, and that they have realized some substantial promises of perfecting their attempts. If they ultimately succeed, they will find_their services in great request.

A History and Description of the late Houses of Parliament and Ancient Palatial Edifices of Westminster. By John Britton, and Edward W. Brayley. John Weale. No. I.

A WORK which promises to be of minute and accurate research. The illustrations are elaborate and painstaking. It is perhaps hypercritical to remark that they are somewhat mechanical in the execution,— rather meagre in the effect. We see the bricks and mortar that remain of the Houses of Parliament, the damage they have suffered, but the grandeur of the buildings is hardly done justice to; we miss the expression of desolation, of dreariness and silence, which the glaring and roaring fire leaves behind it.

But after all, the most important point is achieved in the carefulness and accuracy with which the drawings are made; and in these respects there appears to be nothing wanting.

We take this opportunity of noticing another of Mr Brayley's works, called the Graphical and Historical Illustrator.' We took in several of the numbers, and tried to complete our set, but were unable. Since the completion of the volume, the work was sent to us, and we regretted extremely to hear that it had been found advisable to discontinue it, for it was a favourite of ours. Our neglect of it has been on our conscience some time. It is a pleasant traveller among the old buildings and legends of England, and deserves the regret of the lovers of literature and romance as well as of the mere antiquary.

'Hints for Table Talk,' No. V., next week.'

Both of the articles of W. H. M. shall be inserted, if we can find room; but we fear his patience is not so abundant as his flow of remark; and matter presses on us so much since the new year, that we know not what to say to a great many Correspondents whom we respect. Even J. M. C. must make the best of this answer, for the present. And R. D., and A. M. P.

The paper of a fair Correspondent on Holly' came too late.

The Christmas Ball-room Announcements' of our most rhythmical indefatigable friend, Mr WILSON, come somewhat late in the season; but he is in advance with Saint Valentine,' and we cannot help hoping that a due attendance will encourage his dance, in honour of that lively saint, in which the letters forming his name are to be developed 'successively by fourteen young ladies."

J. A. M. next week.

S. H. E. (18 years of age) is in a fair way to become a sound thinker; and will by-and-by be glad that we agree with his modest doubt, as to the public value of his writings at present.

We must again postpone the sequel to Speculations of my Grandfather,' till next week.

We thank S. A. B. for his offer, but we know not what to do with the press of matter already in our possession. The book he speaks of is quite worthy its price. This Correspondent says,-“ I was much pleased with your article to Put up

a Picture in your Room,' and would observe, that the lawyer might have a portrait of Shakspeare in his room, as I think, from internal evidence, it cannot be doubted but that he was a lawyer. If you should be inclined to doubt this, I will send you a few extracts from his plays in support of my opinion."—Our Correspondent's opinion has been before maintained, and with much plausibility; at least so far as goes to show that Shakspeare must have had some initiation in a lawyer's office. There was a good article in particular upon it, in an early number (if we are not mistaken) of the Law Magazine.'

The First Volume of the LONDON JOURNAL may now be had of the Publisher, and, by order, of all other Booksellers, price 7s. in cloth boards.

LONDON: Published by H. HOOPER, Pall Mall East,'and supplied to Country Agents by C. KNIGHT, Ludgate-street. From the Steam-Press of C. & W. REYNELL, Little Pulteney-street.

WEDNESDAY, FEB. 4, 1835.

A GENTLEMAN-SAINT. BEAUTIES OF ST. FRANCIS DE SALES.' LOOKING over the catalogue, the other day, of Mr Cawthorn's excellent circulating library (which has the books it professes to have,-a rare virtue in such establishments) our curiosity was raised by a volume intitled 'Beauties of St. Francis de Sales.' We sent for it, and found we had started so delicious a saint, that we vowed we must make him known to our readers. He is a true god-send, a man of men, a real quintessence of Christian charity and shrewd sense withal (things not only far from incompatible, but thoroughly amalgamable); in short, a man as sensible as Dr Johnson, with all the piety and patience which the Doctor desired to have, all the lowliness and kind fellowship which it would have puzzled him to behold in a prelate, and all the delicacy and true breeding which would have transported him. Like Fenelon, he was a sort of angel of a gentleman, a species of phoenix which, we really must say, the French Church seems to have produced beyond any other. Not that we undervalue the Hookers and Jewels, and other primitive excellences of our own. Deeply do we love and venerate them. But we like to see a human being develope all the humanities of which he is capable, those of outward as well as inward elegance not excepted; not indeed in the inconsistent and foppish shape of a Sir Charles Grandison (who comes hushing upon us with insinuations of equal perfection in dancing and the decalogue, with soft deprecations of our astonishment, and all sorts of equivocal wordly accomplishments, which the author has furnished him with, on purpose to keep his piety safe-swordsmanship, for one) but in whatsover, being the true spirit of a gentleman, manifests itself outwardly in consequence, shaping the movements of the commonest and most superficial parts of life to the unaffected elegance of the spirit within, and at the same time refusing no fellowship with honesty of any sort, nor ostentatiously claiming it, but feeling and having it, because of its true, natural, honest heart's blood, and a tendency to relish all things in common with us, "passioned as we."

When a man exhibits this nature, as St Francis de Sales did, and exhibits it too in the shape of a mortified saint of the Romish Church, a lone lodger, a celibatory, entering into everybody else's wishes and feelings, but denying himself some of the most precious to a being so constituted, we feel proud for the sake of the capabilities of humanity—proud because we belong to a species which we are utterly unable to illustrate so in our own persons-proud, and happy, and hopeful that if one human being can do so much, thousands, nay all, by like opportunities, and a like loving breeding, may ultimately do, not indeed the same, but enough-enough for themselves, and enough for the like exalted natures, too, who have the luck to live in such times.

Even if such times are not to come, but are merely among the fancies or necessary activities of the human mind, then still we are grateful for the vision by the way, and, above all, for the exquisite real fellowship.

We need not deprecate any ill construction of our use of the term "gentleman saint." In some sort, we do confess, we use it with a delighted smile on our face, astonished to start such a phenomenon in high life; but while the conversational sense of the

[From the Steam-Press of C. & W. REYNELL, Little Pulteney-street.]

No. 45.

word is included, we claim for it, as we have explained, the very largest and truest sense. One of our brave old English dramatists, brave because his humanity misgave him in nothing, dared to call the divinest of beings that have trod the earth

"The first true gentleman that ever breathed." Here is another (at far distance) of the same heraldry, his shield—

nas.

"heart-shaped, and vermeil dyed." Fenelon was another, but not so active or persuasive as De Sales. St Vincent de Paul, if we mistake not, the founder of the Sisters of Charity, was a fourth. So, we believe, was St Thomas AquiSo, perhaps, was Jeremy Taylor, and certainly Berkeley-the latter, the more unquestionably of the two, because he was the more active in doing good, and manifestly did not care twopence for honours and profits, compared with the chance of benefiting his fellow-creatures. At one time, for this purpose, he petitioned to give up his preferments! Swift has a pleasant passage in furtherance of this object, in which he tells the Lord Lieutenant of Ireland, that Dr Berkeley will be miserable in case he is not allowed to give up some hundreds a year.

We will first give the General Biographical Dictionary' account of St Francis de Sales, and follow it with a notice of the book before us.

«St Francis de Sales was born at the Castle of Sales, in the diocese of Geneva, August 21, 1567. He descended from one of the most ancient and noble families of Savoy. Having taken a doctor of law's degree at Padua, he was first advocate at Chambery, then provost of the church of Geneva at Annecy. Claudius de Granier, his bishop, sent him as a missionary into the valleys of his diocese, to convert the Zuinglians and Calvinists, which he is said to have performed in great numbers, and his sermons were attended with wonderful success. The bishop of Geneva chose him afterwards for his coadjutor, but was obliged to use authority before he could be persuaded to accept the office. Religious affairs called him afterwards into France, where he was universally esteemed; and Cardinal du Perron said, "There were no heretics whom he could not convince, but M. de Geneva must be employed to convert them.' Henry IV, being informed of his merit, made him considerable offers, in hopes of detaining him in France; but he chose rather to return to Savoy, where he arrived in 1602, and found Bishop Granier had died a few days before. St Francis then undertook the reformation of his diocese, where piety and virtue soon flourished through his zeal: he restored regularity in the monasteries, and instituted the order of the Visitation in 1610, which was confirmed by Paul V, 1618, and of which the Baronness de Chantal, whom he converted by his preaching at Dijon, was the foundress. He also established a congregation of hermits in Chablais, restored ecclesiastical discipline to its ancient vigour, and converted numerous heretics to the faith. At the latter end of 1618, St Francis was obliged to go again to Paris, with the Cardinal de Savoy, to conclude a marriage between the Prince of Piedmont and Christina of France, second daughter of Henry IV. This princess, herself, chose de Sales for her chief almoner; but he would accept the place only

PRICE THREE HALFPENce.

on two conditions; one, that it should not preclude his residing in his diocese; the other, that whenever he did not execute his office, he should not receive the profits of it. These unusual terms the princess was obliged to consent to; and immediately, as if by way of investing him with his office, presented him with a very valuable diamond, saying, "On condition that you will keep it for my sake." To which he replied, "I promise to do so, madam, unless the poor stand in need of it." Returning to Annecy, he continued to visit the sick, relieve those in want, instruct the people, and discharge all the duties of a pious bishop, till 1622, when he died of an apoplexy at Lyons, December 28, aged fifty-six, leaving several religious works, collected in 2 vols. folio. The most known are, the Introduction to a Devout Life,' and Philo, or a treatise on the Love of God.' Marsoilier has written his life, (2 vols. 12mo,) which was translated into English by Mr Crathorne. He was canonized in 1665. (Moreri.-Dict. Hist.— Butler.)

The writers of this notice do not seem to have been aware, that Camus, Bishop of Bellay, the disciple and friend of St Francis, wrote a large account of him, "the Beauties" which the work before us professes to give the public. This English volume is itself a curiosity. It is printed at Barnet, and emanates most likely from some public-spirited enthusiast of the Roman Catholic persuasion, who has thought, not opinion-conflicting, yet truth-desiring times, when a without reason, to sow a good seed in these strange little genuine Christianity stands a chance of being well received, from whatever quarter it comes. A friend of ours, 'smitten with love of the book, has applied for a copy at Messrs Longman's, whose name is in the title page, but is told that they have not one left; so that if the Barnet press do not take Christian pity upon the curious, we know not what is to be done for them, apart from the following extracts; which, however, we take to be quite enough to set any handsome mind upon salutary reflections.

Camus, the Boswell of a saint, is himself a curiosity. He was a man of wit and a satirist, and so far (in the latter respect) not very well fitted for ultra Christian aspiration. But he was also an enthusiastic lover of goodness, and of his great seraphical friend; whom he looked up to with all the congregated humilities of a younger age, a real self-knowledge, and an unaffected modesty. He was naturally as hasty in his temperament as St Francis was the reverse; and was always for getting on too fast, and being angry that others would not be Christian enough; and it is quite delightful to see with what sense and good-humour his teacher reproves him, and sets him in the right way; upon which the young bishop begins over-emulating the older one (for they were both prelates together), trying to imitate his staid manners and deliberate style of preaching; and then St Francis reproves him again, joking as well as reasoning, and showing how he was spoiling the style peculiar to himself (Camus), with no possibility of getting at the style of another man, -the result of his habits and particular turn of mind.

But let the reader see for himself what a nature this man had,-what wisdom with simplicity, what undeviating kindness, what shrewd worldly discernment with unworldly feelings, what capital Johnson

ian good sense, and wit too, and illustration, sometimes as familiar as any table-talk could desire, at others, in the very depth of the heart of sentiment and poetical grace. Observe also what a proper saint he was for every-day, as well as for holidays, and how he could sit down at table and be an ordinary unaffected gentleman among gentlemen, and dine at less elegant tables at inns, and say a true honest word, with not a syllable of pretence in it, for your hardworking innkeeper, "publican," and, perhaps, "sinner," as he was.

"Beautiful are the ceremonies of the church!" said a Roman Catholic prelate, when a great wax-candle was brought before him, stuck full of pieces of gold (his perquisite). "Beautiful are the ceremonies of the church!" think we, also, though no Roman Catholic, when we hear the organ roll, and the choirvoices rising, and see the white wax-candles on the altar, and the dark glowing paintings, full of hopeful or sweet-suffering faces. But most truly beautiful, certainly, must they have been, when they had such a man as this St Francis de Sales ministering at the altar, and making those seraphical visions true, in the shape of an every-day human being. But, to our extracts:

"In speaking of brotherly correction (says the good Bishop Camus), St Francis gave me a lesson which I have not forgotten. He repeated it often, the better to impress it on my memory. "That sincerity,' said he, which is not charitable, proceeds from a charity which is not sincere.' A worthy saying, worthy of being deeply considered and faithfully remembered.

6

IT IS BETTER TO REMAIN SILENT THAN SPEAK THE TRUTH ILL-HUMOUREDLY, AND SO SPOIL AN EXCELLENT DISH BY COVERING IT WITH BAD SAUCE.

I asked St Francis, if there were no other way by which I might discern from what fountain reproaches flowed. He, whose heart was wrapped up in benevolence, replied, in the true spirit of the great apostle, When they are made with mildness mildness is the sister of love, and inseparable from her. With this idea, St Paul says, She beareth all things, believeth all things, hopeth all things, endureth all things. God, who is charity, guides the meek with his counsel, and teaches his ways to the simple. His spirit is not in the hurricane, the foaming cataract, or the tempestuous winds; but in the soft breath of the gentle zephyr. Is mildness come? said the prophet; then are we corrected. I advise you to imitate the good Samaritan, who poured oil and wine into the wounds of the unhappy traveller. You know that in a good salad there should be more oil than vinegar or salt. Be always as mild as you can; a spoonful of honey attracts more flies than a barrel of vinegar. If you must fall into any extreme, let it be on the side of gentleness. The human mind is so constructed, that it resists rigour, and yields to softness. A mild word quenches anger, as water quenches the rage of fire; and by benignity any soil may be rendered fruitful. Truth, uttered with courtesy, is heaping coals of fire on the head; or, rather, THROWING ROSES IN THE FACE. How can we resist a foe whose weapons are pearls and diamonds? Some fruits, like nuts, are by nature bitter, but rendered sweet by being candied with sugar; such is reproof, bitter till candied with meekness, and preserved with the fire of charity.'

St Francis always discouraged professions of hu mility, if they were not very true and very sincere. Such professions,' he said, 'are the very cream, the very essence of pride; the real humble man wishes to be, and not to appear so. Humility is timorous, and starts at her shadow; and so delicate, that if she hears her name pronounced, it endangers her existence. He who blames himself, takes a by-road to praise; and, like the rower, turns his back to the place whither he desires to go. He would be irritated if what he said against himself were believed; but from a principle of pride he desires to appear humble.'

I esteemed my friend (resumes excellent Camus) so highly, that all his actions appeared to me perfect. It came into my head that it would be a very good thing to copy his manner of preaching. Do not suppose that I attempted to equal him in the loftiness of

his ideas, in the depth of his arguments, in the strength of his reasonings, in the excellence of his judgment, the mildness of his expressions, the order and just connexion of his periods, or that incomparable sweetness which could soften the hardest heart; no, that was quite beyond my powers. I was like a fly, which, not being able to walk on the polished surface of a mirror, is contented to remain on the frame which surrounds it. I amused myself in copying his gesture, in conforming myself to his slow and quiet manner of pronouncing and moving. My own manner was naturally the very reverse of all this, the metamorphosis was therefore so strange, that I was scarcely to be recognized. I was no longer myself. I contrived to spoil my own original manner, without acquiring the admirable one which I so idly copied.

St Francis heard of this, and one day took an opportunity of saying to me- Speaking of sermons reminds me of a strange piece of news which has reached my ears. It is reported that you try, in preaching, to adopt the Bishop of Geneva's peculiarities.' I warded off this reproof by saying 'And do you think I have chosen a bad example? What is your opinion of the Bishop of Geneva's preaching?' 'Ha!' said he, 'this grave question attacks reputation. Why, he really does not preach badly; but the fact is, that you are accused of being so bad a mimic, that nothing is to be seen but an unsuccessful attempt, which spoils the Bishop of Bellay, without representing the Bishop of Geneva. So that you ought to do as a bad painter did; he wrote under his picture the name of the objects which they misrepresented.' 'Let them talk,' said I, and you will find that, by degrees, the apprentice will become master, and the copies be mistaken for originals.' 'Joking apart,' rejoined my friend, 'you do yourself an injury. Why demolish a well-built edifice to erect one in its stead in which no rules of nature or art are adhered to? and at your age if you once take a wrong bias it will be difficult to set you right again. If natures could be exchanged, gladly would I exchange with you. I do all I can to rouse myself to animation. I try to be less tedious, but the more haste I make the more I impede my course. I have difficulty in finding words, and greater still in pronouncing them. I am as slow as a tortoise. I can neither raise emotion in myself nor in my auditors. All my labour to do so is inefficient. You advance with crowded sail, I make my way with rowing. You fly-I creep. You have more fire in one finger than I have in my whole body. Your readiness and promptitude are wonderful, your vivacity unequalled, and now people say you weigh each word, count every period, appear languid yourself, and weary your audience.' You may well imagine how this well-timed reproof and commendation cured my folly. I returned immediately

to my original manner.

The best fish are nourished in the unpalatable waters of the sea, and the best souls are improved by such opposition as does not extinguish charity.

I asked St Francis what disposition of mind was the best with which to meet death? He coolly replied, 'A charitable disposition.'

'Do not overrate the blessings which God gives to others, and then underrate or despise what are given to yourself. It is the property of a little mind to say, Our neighbour's harvest is always more plentiful than our own, and his flock more prosperous.'

I complained of some great hardships which I had experienced; it was obvious that St Francis agreed in thinking that I had been ill-treated. Finding myself so well seconded, I was triumphant, and exaggerated the justice of my cause in a superfluity of words. To stop the torrent of complaint St Francis said, Certainly they are wrong in treating you in this manner. It is beneath them to do so, especially to a man in your condition; but in the whole of the business I see only one thing to your disadvantage.' What is that?" "That you might have been wiser, and remained silent! This answer came so immediately home to me, that I felt immediately silenced, and found it impossible to make any reply.

[The following was a strange bit of supererogation

in the lively Bishop of Bellay. His candour hardly excuses it. Yet it increases our interest in his

friend.]

St Francis practised himself the lessons which he taught to others; and during fourteen years that I was under his direction, and made it my study to remark all his actions, and even his very gestures and words, I never observed in him the slightest affectation of singularity. I will confess one of my contrivances when he visited me in my own house, and remained, as his custom was, a week annually, 1 contrived to bore holes, by which I saw him when alone, engaged in study, prayer, or reading, meditating, dressing, sitting, walking, or writing, when usually persons are most off their guard; yet I could not trace any difference in attitude or manner: his behaviour was ever as sincere and undisguised as his heart. He had, when alone, the same dignified manners as when in society; when he prayed, you would have imagined that he saw himself surrounded by holy angels; motionless, and with a countenance of humble reverence. I never saw him indulge in any indolent attitude (!) neither crossing his legs, nor resting his head on his hand; at all times he presented the same aspect of mingled gravity and sweetness, which never failed to inspire love and respect. He used to say, that our manners should resemble water, best when clearest, most simple, and without taste. However, though he had no peculiarities of behaviour, it appeared so singular that he should have no singularities, that he struck me therefore as very singular.

'WILLINGLY, NOT BY CONSTRAINT.'

This was my friend's favourite saying, and the secret of his government. He used to say that those who would force the human will, exercise a tyranny odious to God. He never could bear those haughty persons who would be obeyed, whether willingly or not, they cared not; "Those,' he said, 'who love to be feared, fear to be loved; they themselves are of all people the most abject; some fear them, but they fear everyone. In the royal galley of Divine Love there is no force the rowers are all volunteers.' On this principle he always moulded his commands into the softer form of intreaty. St Peter's words-Feed the flock of God, not by constraint,' he was very fond of. I complained of the resistance I met with in my parochial visits. 'What a commanding spirit you have!' he replied; 'you want to walk on the wings of the wind, and you let yourself be carried away with zeal. Like an ignis-fatuus, it leads to the edge of precipices. Do you seek to shackle the will of man, when God has seen fit to have it free?'

St Francis did not approve of the sayingNever rely on a reconciled enemy.' He rather preferred a contrary maxim; and said, 'that a quarrel between friends, when made up, added a new tie to friendship; as experience shows, that the calosity formed round a broken bone makes it stronger than before. Those who are reconciled, often renew their friendship with increased warmth: the offender is on his guard against a relapse, and anxious to atone for past unkindness; and the offended glory in forgiving and forgetting the wrongs that have been done to them. Princes are doubly careful of reconquered towns, and preserve them with more care than those the enemy never gained.'

St Francis had particular delight in contemplating a painting of the Penitent Magdalen at the foot of the Cross; and sometimes called it his manual, and his library. Seeing a copy of this picture at Bellay,

Oh,' said he, what a blessed and advantageous exchange the penitent Mary made; she pours tears on the feet of Christ, and from those feet blood streams to wash away all her sins.' To this thought he added another How carefully we should cherish the little virtues which spring up at the foot of the cross, since they are sprinkled with the blood of the son of God.'

What virtues do you mean?' He replied, 'humility, patience, meekness, benignity, bearing one another's burthen, condescension, softness of heart, cheerfulness, cordiality, compassion, forgiving injuries, simplicity, candour; all, in short, of that sort.

They, like unobtrusive violets, love the shade; like them are sustained by dew; and though, like them, they make little show, they shed a sweet odour on all around.

To obey a ferocious, savage, ill-humoured, thankless master, is to draw clear water from a fountain streaming from the jaws of a brazen lion. As Samson says. It is to find food in the devourer. It is to see God only.' [This is beautiful; and that is a fine bit of poetry about the lion; strength and sweetness meet in it. He is speaking of a master whom it happens to be incumbent on us to obey.]

St Francis highly esteemed those persons who kept inns, and entertained travellers, provided they were civil and obliging, saying, that no condition in life, he thought, had greater means of serving God and man; for it is a continual exercise of benevolence and mercy, though, like a physician, the fee is paid. [How oddly the following sounds in a Protestant ear, said of a Saint Francis !']

One day, after dinner, my friend was amusing us with his entertaining conversation, and the subject of innkeepers being accidentally started, the different persons present very freely gave their opinions on the subject, and one among them declared the whole set to be rogues.

This did not please St Francis; but as it was neither a fit time nor place for reproof, nor was the sarcastic gentleman in a mood to receive it, he turned the discourse by telling the following anecdote :

A Spanish pilgrim, little burdened with money, arrived at an inn, where, after having served him very ill, they charged him so much for his bad fare, that he loudly exclaimed at the injustice. However, being the weaker one, he was forced to give way, and be satisfied. He left the inn in anger, and observing that it was facing another inn, and that in the intermediate space a cross had been erected, he soothed his rage by exclaiming, Truly this place is a second Calvary, where the Holy Cross is stationed between two thieves (meaning the two innkeepers). The host of the opposite hotel, without appearing to notice his displeasure, coolly asked what injury he had received from him, which he thus repaid with abuse? Hush, hush, said the pilgrim, my worthy friend, be not offended, you are the good thief; but what say you of your neighbour, who has flayed me alive? This civility,' pursued St Francis, soothed the pilgrim's wrath; but we should be careful not to stigmatise whole nations or trades, by terming them rogues, impertinent, &c., for even if we have no individual in view, each individual of the nation or trade is a sufferer by the sarcasm, and cannot like to be so stigmatized.'

6

To this I must add, that St Francis so highly esteemed innkeepers, that, in travelling, he forbade his servants to dispute about their charges, and ordered them rather to pay than to expostulate; and when told that the bills were unreasonable, and that they asked more than they deserved, he would reply, What ought we to reckon in the account for their trouble, care, civility, and frequent disturbances at night? Certainly they cannot be too well paid.' This good-nature of my friend was so well known that the innkeepers were always anxious to present their bills to him rather than to his servants; or else

THOROUGH LOVE.

1

Very right,' I replied, that you should always be advancing; however, your progress will not be made by the methods you propose of increasing your religious exercises-but by the improved heart and dispositions with which you afford them, trusting in God more and more, and watching yourselves more and more. Last year you fasted three days in each week; if you double the number of fasts this year, every day will be a day of abstinence, and the year following what will you do?—you will be obliged to make weeks of nine days long, or else to fast each day [Here follows a strong, and apparently

twice over.'

a dangerous meat; yet the essence of sweetness, and even of safety, is in it. But pray ever mark our bold and admirable, as well as amiable, saint.]

I do not know,' said St Francis, how that poor virtue, prudence, has offended me, but I cannot cordially like it-I care for it by necessity, as being the salt and lamp of life. The beauty of simplicity charms me-I would give a hundred serpents for one dove. Both together, they are useful, and scripture enjoins us to unite them; but, as in medical compounds, many drugs must be put together to form a

salutary draught, so I would not place any reliance on an equal dose; for the serpent might devour the inoffensive dove. People say, that in a corrupt age like the present, prudence is absolutely requisite to prevent being deceived. I do not blame this maxim, but I believe it is more Christian to let ourselves be devoured, and our goods spoiled, knowing that a better and more lasting inheritance awaits us. A good Christian would rather be robbed than rob others-rather be murdered than murderer-martyred than tyrant ;-in a word, it is far better to be good and simple, than shrewd and mischievous.

There is a strange inconsistency in the human mind, which leads men to scrutinize with severity the secrets of their fellow-creatures' souls, which it is impossible they should ever clearly discover; while they neglect to examine and probe into the springs of their own conduct, which, if they do not, they certainly ought to know. The first they are forbidden, and the second they are commanded to do.

" This reminds me of a woman remarkable for her

orders of her husband. She was drowned in a river. On hearing of it, her husband desired that the river should be dragged, in search of the body; he bid his servants go against the current of the stream, observ

have lost her spirit of contradiction.'

St Francis gave an excellent rule, which is, that if an action may be considered in more lights than one, always to choose the most favourable. If there is no apology to be found, soften the bad impression it makes, by reflecting that the intention might not have been equally blameable; remember that the temptation might have been greater than you are aware of. Throw the odium on ignorance, carelessness, or the infirmity of human nature, to dimi

nish the scandal.'

True devotion consists in performing the duties of life.

St Francis was in the habit of blaming an inconsistency very common in persons more than ordinarily devout, who frequently turn their attention to the attainment of virtues of no use to them in their own sphere of action, and neglect the more needful. This inconsistency he attributed to a distaste, which people often experience for the station in which Providence has placed them, and the duties they are obliged to perform. Great laxity of manner creeps into monasteries, when their inmates devote themselves to the practice of virtues fitted for secular life; and errors are not less likely to make their way into private families, who, from a mistaken and ill-judged zeal, introduce among themselves the austerities and religious exercises of their secluded brethren.

Some persons think they pronounce the highest eulogium in saying of a family who ought to perform the active charities of life, it is quite a monastery; they live in it like monks or nuns:' not reflecting that it is trying to find figs on thorns, or grapes on brambles.

Not that exercises of piety are not right and good, but then the time, the place, the persons, the situation; in short, all circumstances must be duly con sidered. Devotion misplaced ceases to be devotion: it resembles a fish out of water, or a tree in a soil not congenial to its nature.

He compared this error of judgment, so unreasonable and injudicious, to those lovers of luxury who feed on strawberries at Christmas, not contented with delicacies in their proper season. require the physician's discipline rather than the cool voice of sober reason.

Such heated brains

AN ADMIRABLE RULE IN SELF-CORRECTION FOR] MORBID OR VIOLENT CONSCIENCES.

Since the degree of affection which we are com manded by God to feel for our neighbours ought to be measured by the reasonable and Christian love which we bear towards ourselves; since charity, which is benign and patient, obliges us to correct our neighbours for their failings, with great gentleness; it does not appear right to alter that temper in correcting ourselves, or to recover from a fault, with feelings of bitter and intemperate displeasure.

SCALE OF VIRTUES.

1st. St Francis preferred the virtues most frequently called into action-the commonest; and to exercise which, opportunities are oftenest found.

2ndly. He did not judge of the greatness and supernatural excellence of a virtue by an external demonstration; forasmuch as what appears a mere trifle may proceed from an exalted sentiment of charity and great assisting grace; while, on the contrary, great show may exist where the love of God operates but slightly, though that is the criterion by which we may judge whether or not a good work becomes acceptable to God.

3rdly. He preferred the virtues of more general influence, rather than those more limited in their good effects (the love of God excepted). For example, he preferred prayer as the star which gives light to every other excellence; piety, which sanctifies all our actions to the glory of God; humility, from which we have a lowly opinion of ourselves and our actions; meekness, which yields to the will of others; and patience, which teaches us to suffer all things: rather than magnanimity, munificence, or liberality; because they embrace fewer objects, and their influence is less generally felt on the heart and temper.

4thly. He was often inclined to doubt the use of dazzling qualities, because by their brilliancy they gave an opening to vain glory, the bane of all intrinsic worth.

5thly. He blamed those who never set any value on virtues till they gained the sanction of fashion, (a very bad judge of such merchandize); thus preferring ostensible to spiritual benevolence; fasting, penances, corporeal austerities, to gentleness, modesty, and self-government, which are of infinitely

more value.

6thly. He also reproved those who would not seek