PICTURES OF LIFE. Remote from the stir and strife of the crowded city, on the banks of a crystal stream, a small lad was one day seen roaming about at leisure. But a little distance from him, on an elevated spot of ground, stood the village school house, where the sound of boyish sports was distinctly heard. Instead of joining in the frolics of his mates, he had left them to indulge in a solitary ramble. Whether fatigue, meditation or indolence was the object, a stranger could not easily have determined. The spot was well suited for either. The wide branching oaks which bordered the stream, furnishing a pleasant seclusion from the sun's rays, and the sweet notes of birds mingling with the lulling sound of the water, imparted to the place a peculiar charm. Why had this lad come here by himself? Was it to commune with nature, and kindle thought within from what he saw without? And was he soon going to return and rehearse to his companions the result of Nature's teachings? No, these were not his objects. He had not yet learned the value of thought and reflection, but was thoughtless and regardless of all attainments. He was preparing to play truant from school, and to accomplish this without detection he stole slyly away from his schoolmates just before the time they were to be called together in the afternoon. To him the school house was a prison, and he managed to shun it and its irksome requirements, as often as possible. His father had designed him for a profession, but his natural aversion to study and his utter want of self-application, were considered good reasons for abandoning this purpose. He was sent from the school to the counting house, where having served one year, was estab lished in business. But Indolence, mother of misfortune, had early stamped her impress upon his character, and was now fast robbing him of his investments. The flute and viol, of which he was particularly fond, occupied the hours which ought to have been devoted to business. Such ill-timed amusements, together with his accustomed idleness, soon reduced him so low in circumstances that he was obliged to throw up trade and resort to some other business. We next find him settled upon a farm, happy in the affections of a young bride. Farming was at first pleasant, from its novelty. But this was soon over, and he was again desirous of a change of business. Accordingly the farm was sold and its avails invested in merchandize. The result of the second attempt soon proved him to be no better fitted for trade than he was at first, nor indeed as well, for his habits of indolence had grown upon him until they quite unfitted him for successful efforts in any pursuit. His property now being wasted, he was again thrown upon the charities of his parents, who had already nearly exhausted their resources in setting him up in business, and furnishing him from time to time with supplies during his misfortunes in trade. He now began to realize that he was a bankrupt, for poverty, with its haggard train of evils, pressed heavily upon him. What he should do became with him an earnest inquiry. All his enter prises had hitherto failed, and now something must be done. He paused-he reflected on the past; the waves of misfortune lashed around and seemed ready to close over him. It was then that the spirit within awoke and nerved him to action. It was too mighty to be crushed. He shook off the dullness which like an incubus had so long rested upon him. Neglect of study in early life and the misfortunes of his riper years, so far from proving a damper to future exertions, only acted as a spur to urge him forward. Time lost and opportunities neglected he might have deplored, but it was with the present he had to do; that was his; and from his past troubles, he had learned to realize its true value. He henceforth directed his energies to a course of reading with a view of entering the legal profession. His preparatory studies were necessarily brief. In a few weeks he presented himself to a board of examiners, and with some conditions was admitted to the bar. His knowledge of the law, though limited, was sufficient, under the peculiar circumstances, to guarantee to him success. Though his life hitherto had been marked by a series of failures, he nevertheless entered upon his professional duties boldly, manifesting a spirit of independence of thought and action. He weighed well the views of others before adopting them as his own. He communed with his own deep spirit, and found within what many seek from without. Nature became his guide, and he faithfully obeyed her instructions. With self reliance he coupled wisdom, with noble daring, prudence. He was now fast rising in his profession, and a few years placed him at the head of the bar. Large audiences were captivated by the charm of his matchless eloquence, It hardly need be mentioned how great a change came over his family. It was as far removed from penury and perplexities as his present course of action differed from his former. Domestic happiness returned. Love for his professional duties never in the least diminished the charms of home. It was there that he found true enjoyment, the highest which this world affords. Together he and his consort had been whelmed with grief and disappointment; together they were now happy, surrounded both by the comforts and luxuries of life. We have here in striking contrast, on the one hand the results of dull inactivity, and on the other of resistless energy of genius in repose, and of genius in activity. It is no unusual thing to see an individual journey through life without object or aim, having his intellectual vision clouded with ignorance. But it is uncommon to see such a person stop midway in his course, and successfully stem the conflicting waves of misfortune and neglect; to see the rude image starting, as it were, into life, and intellect flash from the eye, that polished mirror of the inner being, before obscured and imperfect. Every thing about man is strange. Few know the strength of that immortal energy, that divine spark of genius lodged in our natures by the skilful hand of Deity. In most men it lies dormant, deeply bedded beneath the incrustations of ignorance, there smouldering without emitting either sensible light or heat. In some it sheds a mild and cheerful brightness, illuming their own path in life, and serving as a lamp to the feet of others. But in few, however, as in the present instance, do we see it bursting forth with volcanic force, and exhibting a brilliancy dazzling to behold. But this is the ligitimate fruit of that activity which is natural to man. Only allow it to exhibit itself constantly and in a right direction, and we see at once the commanding dignity of our nature. It is then that the weakest powers wax strong, and the hidden energies of the soul manifest themselves in such a way as to surprise the passive beholder. Human nature is so prone to be inactive, that we need constant goading to bring the powers of mind to their proper degree of tension. Few men know what they can do, either mentally or physically, until they set themselves at work in earnest. We gaze with admiring wonder upon the finished workmanship of a complicated machine, but our astonishment diminishes in proportion as we familiarize ourselves with the rules by which the architect was governed in its construction, and become acquainted with the arrangement of its several parts, in forming so beautiful a structure. So also we are apt to be surprised at the dignified talents of some men, and imagine that they are the special recipients of favoritism on the part of nature, and endowed with talents "almost divine;" whereas, on a nearer view, which alone can be obtained by a corresponding process of cultivation in ourselves,-lo! these gods become men, and their giant intellects seem to diminish in proportion as we rise. There is not so much real difference in the original endowments of mind, perhaps, as we are apt to suppose. The chief difference between the talents of one man and another, lies in the mode of education. The buds of a fruit tree bear close resemblance to each other on their first appearance, but those which grow in the shade will not expand and blossom with the same luxuriance and beauty as those which receive the sun's genial rays. But where the sun and the dew fall alike, the full blossoms resemble one another as closely as the green buds. Who can say, with certainty, that this analogy does not hold when applied to man? Different degrees of talent among men are often less striking than the different powers of the same mind manifested under different circumstances. It is frequently the case, as in the individual under consideration, that a person may live to mature age in comparative obscurity, and all at once, owing to a change of condition, rise above his fellows and secure for himself the title of a genius. Some fortune or it may be the reverse of fortune, brings a man out and shows to the world a real genius, where and when we might least have expected it. The term genius is to many a stumbling block in the way of self-improvement. They imagine it to be some remarkable gift bestowed upon others, of which they are deprived. Consequently they remain inactive, mourning over their own deficiencies, and charging them upon their creator. Such men remind us of the peacock, in the fable, who complained bitterly to Juno, her mistress, that sweetness of voice had been denied her, whilst the nightingale, a contemptible bird, sung the sweetest; when told that the same gifts are not bestowed on all, she no doubt began to turn her attention to the gaudy display of colors painted.upon her feathers. So let it be with those who are wont to despair rather than take courage when they see striking exhibitions of talent in others; for the creator, who fashioned the mind as well as the body, endowed it with capacities, in almost every instance, above what we are apt to suppose. Genius, in fact, is so closely allied to the terms desire and love, that we fancy we should not be departing far from the rules of correct reasoning by substituting either of these terms in its place. Show me a man who has a great love or desire for any particular branch of study, and I will show you a genius in that branch. This desire may not always have manifested itself in the individual, but been the creature of cultivation or strict discipline, and yet the person, from his great acquirements, may earn for himself the title of a genius. The great Kepler, if we mistake not, who is justly styled the "legislator of the skies," entered upon the study of astronomy with the greatest reluctance, but the love he acquired for the study, soon made him a genius capable of unfolding the laws by which the planets are regulated in their orbits. The commanding talents of the orator whose imperfect sketch we have given above, might have been forever obscured had not circumstances impelled him to action. Action, continuous, energetic action, begets in man love for the thing pursued or studied, and love begets genius. Greatness in others should stimulate us to put forth more vigorous efforts ourselves. Though we may not arrive at similar attainments, or occupy so high a position as they do, yet there is a possibility that we may even go beyond them. It is to emulate their virtues, to rival them in excellence, that we should study the characters of great men; not simply to admire their attainments with passive emotions. With this view we should read biographical sketches, and keep before the mind the highest models, as the Romans kept before their eyes the images of their renowned ancestors, to stimulate them to like deeds. In this way will many leave behind them a name that shall live and be esteemed like his, the mere outline of whose life we traced in the beginning of this article. For a full detail of which, we must refer the reader to it as portrayed by the glowing pen of Wirt, and he may there, notwithstanding our caution, bow and worship at the shrine of genius-such genius as glowed in the bosom of the deathless Patrick Henry. LINES WRITTEN AT CHAMOUNI, JUNE, 1846. O! not in those lands where the waving magnolia And the mild summer-gales are unchangingly breathing That lulls to repose with its soft-swelling tones. Comes forth the great sun, like the high priest of time, And at evening, when shadows are deepening around me, How the heart prayeth with them! And lo! as it prayeth, From its path, like yon sun-stricken mist of the hill-side, And the great mountains seem like a ladder of glory We will praise Thee, O Lord! our almighty defender! |