THE observation of the Roman Satirist, which we have placed at the head of our Essay, may, with many other passages of the like nature, be looked upon not less in a moral than in a literary point of view. The Poet is reprobating the conduct of those who form their opinion of letters, not from the suggestions of their own knowledge, but from the sentiments which they hear expressed around them; who find fault with unpopular works, merely because they are unpopular; and chime in with the taste of the day, merely because it is the taste of the day. The beautiful though somewhat forced metaphor, with which the passage concludes, strongly expresses the contempt which the author feels for those, who, receiving from the mouths of others the opinion which they ought to ground upon their own judgment, do, as it were, look abroad for themselves. How much more contemptible, and, alas! how much more dangerous, is this system of compliance with the will of the world, when it requires, not merely a sacrifice of feeling or sound taste in criticism, but a dereliction of principle or a neglect of religion. Yet we are so blind to the truths which are perpetually before our eyes, that when we find a person ready to confirm with his obedient " Yes," the opinions of whoever may have been the last speaker on literary topics, we sneer at such a yielding spirit of servility; while, on the other hand, when we meet with the sycophant who is accustomed to square his ideas of morality according to the sentiments of the companion of the moment, such a character, so lost to all semblance of freedom and of selfrespect, is too frequently past over without censure, and without disgust.

Among the minor foibles of young men there are few for which we entertain a greater contempt than a needless affectation of singularity. However absurd the manners of the world may be, still, provided they are only manners, we would rather see a young man comply assiduously with them, than deviate assiduously from them. Were we to visit Muscovy we would endeavour to eat caviare; and were we to reside in Holland we would certainly study High-Dutch. But a broad line of distinction

must be drawn between manners and morals. The flexibility which is advisable, or rather necessary, in the one case, is in the highest degree reprehensible in the other; and the unbending disposition, which is ridiculous and displeasing when it only influences our manners, deserves the highest commendation when it acts as the safeguard of our morals.

The way in which we are about to apply these observations, will not, we hope, induce our schoolfellows to suppose that we affect any undue superiority over them, any self-assumed censorship with respect to their pleasures and pursuits; still we trust they will not be offended with us for being sometimes serious, nor listen less willingly to the friendly suggestions of their equals, than to the more rigid admonitions of their Seniors.

In a work undertaken solely with a view to their amusement and reputation, far be it from us to impute to them any want of principle, or any loose notions upon practical religion. But there is another fault, which, although it wears at first sight a less dangerous appearance, must ultimately tend to the same pernicious effect. We allude to that species of false shame which leads us to conceal the feelings of virtue, of which we are really sensible; which disguises the existence of honourable sentiments from the apprehension of ridicule; and puts on the semblance of vicious habits from a wish for the applause of the unprincipled. When Vice clothes herself in the garments of Virtue, she sets an example of propriety to all who do not discover the deceit; but when Virtue goes abroad bearing the similitude of Vice, she betrays her own cause, and misleads, by the veil which she throws over her good qualities, too many, who cannot perceive the purity which is beneath it.

These, it is true, are general remarks, and, in common with all the plain truths of morality, have occurred to the wise in very distant ages. But they are more particularly appropriate when addressed to the inmates of a public school. There it is too much the fashion to regulate conduct rather by the fear of ridicule than by the suggestions of honest integrity. It too frequently happens, that young men who have been educated with the most rigid attention to propriety, who have acquired the most correct ideas of right and wrong, and who would feel seriously hurt if the firmness of their belief were called in question, are notwithstanding ashamed to acknowledge that they are religious, and rather choose to appear before the world in the character of wildness and extravagance, not to use a harsher expression. They endeavour to persuade themselves, that if in matters of serious importance they act in obedience to the dictates of conscience; if they take care to commit no great crime, to neglect no essential duty; it then matters little what are the external features of

their behaviour. They think themselves justified in dissembling their virtue, provided they are not neglectful of its precepts.

Alas! this is a fatal mistake! When we have once assumed the semblance of vice, it is difficult to confine ourselves to the semblance. Licentiousness of language leads, gradually, but certainly, to irregularity of conduct; and thenceforward we have put the stone in motion, and we know not how to stop its impetuosity.

But the pernicious consequences of this mode of conduct are not confined to ourselves. When we scrutinize our own hearts, and search there for the motives of our actions, we are apt to deceive ourselves, and to rest satisfied with the performance of only half the duty of self-examination. We say to ourselves, "have we studied the observance of this precept? have we avoided the temptation to that crime?" And it is well if these questions are satisfactorily answered. But this is not sufficient. We have an example to set to those around us; we have to prove to them that the religion, which enabled the primitive Christians to brave the tortures of the stake and the wheel, is not in us to be shaken by a sneer or a sarcasm. We have to show that there is nothing beautiful in profaneness, nothing mean in piety; that we are not time-servers in religion, nor ashamed of the Cross of our Redeemer.

The obligation of a public profession of their sentiments upon this point is more especially incumbent upon those, who, either by rank, or wealth, or any other circumstances, are placed in an exalted situation. The Peasant naturally looks up to his Lord for the model of his conduct: the child naturally expects that his parents will lead him by the way in which he ought to tread. If we were not apprehensive of an imputation of presumption, we would go on to recommend this truth to the consideration of the senior members of our little world; but they will no doubt per ceive the justness of the application, and be sensible, that although in the indulgence of a few trifling follies they may see no harm, so far as relates to themselves, they ought to pause before they take any step which may, in the smallest degree, influence the habits of those who, newly entering upon their course, watch the path of their predecessor, and expect from him information and support.

"Maxima debetur puero reverentia.”

We have seldom seen the danger of the false shame we have been describing more strongly exemplified than in the life of Lionel Vernon. It is a melancholy tale, and we cannot reflect without pain upon its concluding incidents; but if the reader is weary of the moralizing humour which we have been indulging

for a longer time than usual, he may not perhaps be unwilling to accompany us to something of a more interesting nature.

Lionel Vernon was the only son of a Clergyman residing in Cumberland. It was, perhaps, a fortunate circumstance for him that his Mother died shortly after his birth; for, as she was of an extravagant turn of mind, and carried her fondness for her offspring almost to infatuation, her unthinking affection might probably have encouraged in him that love of show and dissipation which the stronger attention of his Father was unable entirely to subdue. Lionel received an excellent education. As might be expected by all who were acquainted with the strict character of his Father, he was thoroughly instructed in the great principles of religion; and the eager desire which he evinced for distinction and fame was kept within proper bounds by the timely admonition, that wealth, power, reputation,-whatever this world contains of glorious and of great,-are nothing, if they must be attained by the sacrifice of a peaceful conscience. Lionel was a very docile pupil. He had considerable genius and penetration, a very retentive memory, and invincible good-humour. As a child he was perfection itself in the eyes of the inhabitants of the village; but his Father had discovered one fault in his character, which, like some of the blemishes that show themselves on the body, might spread its influence very widely, if not eradicated in early life. He had such an excessive vivacity of spirits, that he could not endure to spend one minute upon the attentive consideration of any suggestion which was offered to him. In consequence of this he was too apt to fall in with the opinions which others expressed; to comply indiscriminately with all that was requested of him, and to resign his wishes, or even his reason, to the control of his companions, in order to escape from the necessity of serious reflection. This unreasonable flexibility of temper was early perceived and discouraged by his Father, and if not altogether corrected, it was at least partially checked.

Having passed through the usual routine of a child's education with unusual credit, Lionel was sent, in his twelfth year, to a public school. Previously to his first appearance upon a stage where independence of character is so necessary, he received much salutary advice upon various subjects, but especially upon the one we have alluded to. "There is," said Mr. Vernon, “a real good-nature, which is always subject to the control of reason; and there is a false good-nature, which is more frequently the slave of momentary caprice. There is a proper submission to the customs of the world, which gives way only to its fashions; and there is a false sense of shame, which complies also with its vices. Discrimination in both cases is necessary. Nature, Lionel,

has blessed you with an excellent judgment, and you have only to make use of it to become a good and great man."

Lionel was an affectionate son, and it was long before he totally forgot the lessons which he received at that parting. He set out in his career with the firmest resolutions to avoid every thing by which he might incur not only the guilt, but even the imputation, of any impropriety. By degrees, however, as his acquaintance increased, and with it his temptations, the good intentions he had formed began to relax somewhat of their original severity. He could not endure the ridicule of his associates; he was afraid to bring upon himself the opprobrium attached to a Saint or a Methodist; he began to think that, provided the precepts of his religion were observed, and his belief in its truth unimpaired, it was allowable in his external demeanour to practise a few fashionable follies. While his private studies were diligent, and his secret devotion sincere, he conceived that it was pardonable to affect a look of inattention in school, and an air of nonchalance in chapel; and while his actions were entirely regulated by virtue, he cared not if his language was that of scepticism or infidelity. Possessed of exalted talents, he suffered himself to be swayed by those who were in every respect his inferiors: enjoying the clearest perception of what ought to be pursued or avoided, he suffered his discretion to be overpowered by motives calculated only for an influence upon the weakest minds. In a word, he laboured more to hide his good qualities beneath a surface of wildness, than the vicious have ever done to conceal real unworthiness beneath a mask of sanctity. He attained his object; and, having spent six years with great eclat, so far as the pursuit of scholastic honours was concerned, took his departure, still full of sentiments of the purest nature, while he left behind a reputation for the most unprincipled immorality.

At the same time, while we say that his heart was still unsullied by crime, that his sentiments were still those of religion, it must be confessed that long habits of irregularity had given him a predilection for glitter and extravagance, and a distaste for whatever was tranquil and retired. Human passions had begun to mingle themselves even with his devotional exercises; and there was reason to fear that one, who, in obedience to the will of others, had so readily assumed the appearance of sin, would suffer himself to be drawn by the same motives into the reality also.

The first proof of the change which had taken place in his ideas was given in the choice of his profession. He had been originally designed for the Church; and, in his earlier years, had looked forward with enthusiasm to the time which would enable him to undertake those duties, by the performance of which his