of these, what they were undoubtedly intended to be, encouragers towards upholding the mental glory of their country, whose proud distinction at the present time lies in her original genius for the arts and sciences, and a sturdy self-reliance in her productive powers, which loudly and emphatically calls for all those aids and encouragements which contribute to foster and kindle up her progressive and generously ambitious spirit.

Fr. There spoke a true British spirit; 'tis ably urged, and something should spring out of it. But hold hard and bide the time; however long the night, the day must dawn. Proceed.

Ed. Thus a special but a no more than needed curriculum would be provided for Educators so as to initiate them thoroughly into an understanding of the human being-comprehend with shrewdness and sagacity the nature, temperament, in short, the idiosyncrasy of their several charges-apprehend the close union and vital sympathics which exist between soul and body-in truth, fit the Educator for his duties by instructing him in the science of Education; through this instrumentality opening up his mind, and sowing in it those seeds of knowledge and wisdom, which reflected back upon, lead to an appreciation of the true art of Education through this knowledge of his own physical and mental constitution, and by consequence, leading him to a clear and true insight into the nature, capacity, condition of those little beings entrusted to his care.

Hence it will be perceived, that while we are ambitious to the fullest extent of our ability to do fair and honest service to the true educators in the profession, we wish not to be understood as seeking by any the slightest speciousness or pretext to solicit other than the unsought voluntary favour of the general body of Teachers. Our educational experiences and researches are for the benefit and advantage of all who can appreciate and make a just use of them. We need scarcely say that they will not be made subservient to any class or section or incorporation of teachers; and when our reflections may seem to glance at men, when we are discussing principles, such conclusions must be taken but as casual shadows on the wall, having their existence mainly in the ingenious minds that fancy them.

There are certain things in Education of which the truth requires to be spoken out fearlessly, and irrespective of all interests, influences, or friendships which may happen to be involved. Hence, armed in the integrity of so noble a purpose as the advancement of Education, we are prepared boldly to confront those IDOLS of the PULPIT, the SCHOOL-HOUSE, the COUNTING-HOUSE, the BOARDING-SCHOOL, the NURSERY and the PARLOUR, and to wage fair but vehement warfare against all such images as militate against the true worship, by substituting tedious ceremonials for simple observances, masks and mummeries, and deadening cold ordeals for Nature's living beauty. And hence it follows, that, if our pretensions are well founded, we may look for encouragement beyond the boundaries of Scotland, and may, without presumption, calculate on enlisting the sympathies of that portion of the public in England and Ireland who labour and

watch for the advent of a better and higher state of things in the educational power ministering to the national progress and advance

ment.

Fr. Strong-but needed. As to your passing the boundary of the Tweed, I think there is no doubt of it; nay, my belief is[a slight rap at the door of the study.]

Ed. Come in. [Enter servant with a note.] Your pardon; [to Friend] shall I read "Tis from the publishers.

Fr. O certainly; stand not on ceremony; may the news be good! What moves you so has ought gone out of joint? how ruefully you look!

Ed. The publishers enclose me a note from England which affirms, and on the best authority, even print and date, that there is already, at this moment, an "Educator" in England; and Messrs Murray tell me we must change-but, O shade of my departed grandmother! can'st tell me the reason why in this so universal name any author or publisher should hold a monopoly? Hereafter may no man be allowed to call his child, his dog, his horse, his cat, by any name exactly similar, but with some sort of tail to it to set it off as a distinct thing. 'Tis most absurd to pretend to hold property in such a name. We call every thing that I know of by what name we please, but it would seem that we cannot do so with a book, a magazine—so I must e'en go packing for a name; but in the name of the commonest sense, can a man not christen his book-his brain child-with the same freedom and choice as he does his own living flesh and blood child? Such a hinderance embargo upon the name under which we purposed to sail, is, to say it in the least bitter form, purely ridiculous, ludicrous, in short. The publishers suggest a choice of "The Scottish" or "The British Educator." Now, although the first is a name most dear in its associations, and which I should be proud to rally or fight under, if needed, yet the aim and scope of my undertaking is more British than Scottish merely, so that in this dilemma we shall dub ourselves by the high-sounding title of

"THE BRITISH EDUCATOR."

Fr. 'Tis very odd that just as you spoke of the Tweed, an Englishman should have opposed your crossing in "the Educator" guise; but you have taken your revenge by crushing his England, your Scotland, and our common Ireland into one. It is an ambitious title, but it is forced upon you; and I do believe you will do it ample honour. Your views are British, and hence this claim of name has helped you to a better. That is certain. The courtesies and safety of the Trade, perhaps, require this, though it seems absurd enough; and now read on-that thing is settled well.

Ed. So be it; we draw nigh unto the close. Next paragraph refers to criticism. [Reads on.] Nor will the journal be exclusively confined to educational science and art, with their literary adjuncts. A section of each number will be set apart for such notices and criticisms of new works and new editions of eminent or pretentious authors as may give scope for the exercise of a more just and generous criticism than the

majority of our present leading periodicals generally display; for it cannot be denied that the history of literature for the last half-century abounds with examples of the most fulsome flattery and party and time-serving praise on the one hand, and unkind, heartless, and vindictive judgments on friendless and unknown heads on the other. Administrative reform, in the judicial and executive government of the great republic of letters, would assuredly unseat many of those self-appointed critics who rule and legislate, or rather arrogate and pretend to do so, for the million-headed reading public.

But all such assurances, we are aware, are easier framed upon the lip, than the ripe and sound judgments be come to in the head, and be held forth in the balance of a generous and feeling heart, that expostulates with rather than abuses, convincing with undissembled candour rather than thunderous frownings and splenetic wrath, witheringly witty on casual blunders and furtive conceits, ruthlessly severe in the letter, and blind to the finer spirit which, retiring into the inner structure of the verse and sense, greets only the truly sympathising and gifted spirit who alone is fitted to judge, because he alone can adequately feel, know, and appreciate.

The standard measure of the truth in such things is not balanced on airy and intangible opinions, but on the fine and potent fulcrum of an enlarged experience.

Fr. With all of that I heartily agree, and can see well the full orb of your scheme; which, that it may roll round for many a year, gaining new lustre, and increase both in size and weight, and win bright reward for all concerned, is your friend's fervent wish and proudest hope.

Ed. Your warm encouragement gives me heart to strain at lasting, high, and solid things.

Fr. Bid you good night, and pleasant dreams attend you.
Ed. The same I wish you-fervently-good night.

SHAKSPERE AND BURNS.

From an unpublished MS., entitled "Groves of the Muses."

A DIDACTIC POEM.

THERE he, the bard of universal soul,
Tower'd on his sight, superior o'er the whole;
The youth beheld, and as he gazed, adored
The master-spirit, who to glory soar'd—
Soar'd on the wing of an unequall'd mind,
And in the world's great eye his genius shrined.

Before him low the youth all reverent bow'd,
And straight with radiant life the statue glow'd.
Poetic frenzy fired his rolling eye,

And on his ample brow sate majesty;
His lyre he seized, and swept its every string
To magic strains prelusive murmuring.

B

But when its fitful thunder whelm'd him round,
Rapt stood the youth as in a trance profound;
Unconscious to aught else, his eager soul
Felt Love, Joy, Grief, and Fear, alternate roll
Their sweet or sullen tide through all his heart;
Or felt the darker passions fiercely dart
Through every vein, like a consuming fire,-
Remorse and Jealousy, Despair and Ire.

The spell-bound youth, as ceased his wondrous strain,

Felt e'en as one that had been born again;

A mental mist evanish'd from his view,

And on the world he look'd with feelings new.

How rapt he thought of that stupendous mind,
Where powers so sweet and mighty were combined!
That more than human sight with which he spied
The springs and workings of the passions' tide,
Which pour'd, as if by inspiration fired,
Deep secrets of our nature never heard
From lips before, untouch'd by heavenly power-
What wealth of thought he left the world in dower!
Ah, who so strong the weapons of his might,
As wield again and flourish them in fight—
Whose arm shall bear again his mighty shield-
Who think so greatly in the tragic field-
Who fill the throne with like imperial grace-
Shall any birth of time supply his place?

Yet, who shall limit mighty Nature's force-
Who tell what planets yet shall run their course;
On the wide heaven of inventive mind
What glorious orbs of genius yet be shrined?

Hark! by his side hymns Caledonia's Bard,
A kindred spirit in whose strain is heard;
And who can tell, had circumstance adverse
Not all untimely check'd his soaring verse,
He had not equall'd-who dare say surpass'd?-
But all in vain-we have the die as cast,
A demi-likeness of the Prince of all
The Poets great-his truest parallel.
Yes, there he stands, joint-heir to endless fame,
His country's pride-of bards her greatest name;
One of those strong and mighty grafts divine
Upon the humbler stock, whose fruitful vine
Was press'd untimely by Death's hand in gloom;
Yet still its nectar flows above the tomb,

Into the human heart o'er many a land,

O'er Europe spread, and India's burning strand.

Ravish'd he heard--but saw, which made him grieve,

His manly breast with deep emotion heave

Saw, as he poured the melancholy strain,

That his own heart fed there the inward pain.
This, as the sun a cloud, he smil'd away,
As love-Aurora love-inspired his lay.
O then how glow'd the poet's raptured eye-
How thrill'd his soul with love's sweet ecstacy!

Rapt was the youth in this delicious dream,
When the Bard's spirit kindled with the theme

Of patriot glory, and in lightning hurl'd
His lyric thunder forth to rouse the world!

Who thinks on him but with indignant rage:
Condemns in scorn the spirit of his age,
That hail'd his star and owned its potent ray,
Yet when clouds rose o'er its ethereal way,
Dispell'd them not with liberal heart and hand,
But suffered its eclipse, ere half it spann'd
Life's gloomy archway-gloom its light dispersed,
Till poortith's blast reared clouds of giant crest,
At sight of which, 'twixt him and glory's goal,
In Misery's arms he wept away his soul.

O blush, ye mighty rulers of his time,
Who high rewarded many a servile rhyme;
But where the true electric spirit ran

Ye feared the power, and jealous watch'd the man;
Condemned to drudge those mighty energies

That drew their force and splendour from the skies!

But what though King, Prince, Rulers pass'd him by, His was the soul of truest majesty!

His now a crown perpetual, brighter far

Than deck'd his head who deign'd not break the bar
Which kept him waging everlasting strife

With Poverty to the last verge of life.

Yet, not unblest, he found an earthly tomb,
Though all unequal to avert his doom.
His were those freeborn raptures of the soul
E'en tyrant Penury could not control;
Nor could it banish Love's delicious dream,
Exhaust rich Fancy's golden flowing stream,
Or quench the brightness of his mental ray,
For all shone strongest in his darkest day.
Within his bosom lodged a prescient power
That gave to look beyond his gloomy hour;
Through it his spirit looked before his time,
And saw his star the idol of his clime.

Long gazed the youth upon his manly mien,

And fascinating eye, so kindly keen;

And as he parted, on the thistle dear

Which wreathed his brow, he wept his purest tear.

THINKING-NOT LEARNING-THE TRUE EDUCATOR.

For the more languages a man can speak,
His talent has but sprung the greater leak,
And for the industry he has spent upon't,
Must full as much some other way discount.
Yet he that is but able to express
No sense at all in several languages,
Will pass for learneder than he that's known
To speak the strongest reason in his own.

BUTLER'S REMAINS.

IN Education, the matter is of the first importance, for upon it depends mainly the character of the results obtained through the instrumentality of the form and manner. Unhappily, a certain learned fallacy has vitiated the matter, impairing its action, and