Byron threw himself into the situation of his Giaour, he created in himself all the miserable passions which he described. As a writer his success was great;

'And yet he nothing reaped for all his pain,
But care and sorrow was his only gain,'

That man's sacrifice to fame was the most awful that ever was made-his own heart."

"But do you not think," said I," that many of the evils of which you have spoken are shared proportionately by all men of letters-by the student, I mean, as well as by the author-and that more happiness is to be found in energy and enterprise ?"

"In spite of the dictum of Jean Jacques, L'homme n'est point fait pour méditer mais pour agir,' I think," said Mr. Woodward, "that the miseries of a life of action are far greater than those of a life of reflection; observe, I do not say authorship, for that has the toil of action without its rewards, and the gloom of meditation without its repose. Notwithstanding the extraordinary honours which fell upon Demosthenes and Cicero-honours, prompt, palpable, and abiding-both of them in the zenith of their glories recorded their deliberate regret that they had ever entered on the field of ambition. We are told by Mr. Bushell, one of Lord Bacon's servants, that when the king had dissolved Parliament without restoring 'that matchless lord' to his place, this made him then to wish that the many years which he had spent in state-policy and law-study, had been wholly devoted to true philosophy, 'for the one, said he, at best doth both comprehend man's frailty in its greatest splendour, but the other embraceth the mysterious knowledge of all things created in the six day's work.' Many a monarch, I suspect, has felt as Cromwell expressed himself in one of his speeches, with tears too deep for insincerity; 'I can say in the presence of God, in comparison of whom we are but like poor creeping ants upon the earth, I would have been glad to have lived under my wood-side, to have kept a flock of sheep, rather than have undertook such a go

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vernment as this.' And many an ambitious statesman has exclaimed on his death-bed, like Amboise the Cardinal-minister of Louis the Twelfth, Ah! Friar John, Friar John! Why was I not always Friar John?' Let the triumph be as boundless as it may, it shall never fill the meanest craving of the aspiring heart."

"But we must not," said I," in viewing one side of the comparison forget the darkness of the other. Solitude and meditation encourage vast longings and bring nothing to satisfy them. You remember the remark of Ximenes to Ferdinand when a riot occurred during the king's visit to his college, that study and studious discipline were as little exempt as ambition and worldly affairs, from the influence of passion.'

"Doubtless an unhappy temper will find 'some grudging, some complaint,' in the calmest joy and the serenest pleasure. And doubtless there is many a cloud overcasts the contentment of the scholar; yet in all the chances of fortune and the changes of mood he still has ever near him the pearl of quiet-a treasure which Newton truly estimated when he spoke of it as 'rem prorsus substantialem,' and to which I would apply what Cicero has said of Philosophy, 'qua nihil à Dis immortalibus uberius, nihil florentius, nihil prastabilius hominum vitæ datum est.' When the fancy weary of building gilded domes of mortal clay, and of picturing brightened tarrying-places and inns of Mortality, floats away upon freshening pinions to the soul's future home, and calls before the inward eye,' that blessed spot which we term heaven, the element which casts enchantment over the longed for resting-place is-Peace. That is a possession so estimable that I can forgive the sentiment of Erasmus, in that letter wherein he so triumphantly vindicates his own career, that quiet error is better than tempestuous truth, while I cordially adopt the exclamation of the noble-hearted Barneveldt to Gomar, 'Truth above all things! but Peace next.' The scholar, and only he, enjoys this boon on earth. Το him only is given the precious offspring of silent thought -self-knowledge; for the man of action, whose spirit

is absorbed by that which is without, has never an opportunity to look within, and when thrown upon himself in the latest hour of human weakness, converses darkly with a strange and frowning fellow;

Illi mors gravis incubat
Qui, notus nimis omnibus,
Ignotus moritur sibi.

Such men make acquaintance with all things save that which alone shall be their companion through eternity. But to the man of reflection it is given to ponder calmly the sky and the earth and the nature of all things, and to unsphere the soul which abides in the universe and to commune with it, and to know whence and why the world arose, and whither and how it will pass away, and to apprehend what in it is mortal and transitory, what divine and eternal, and to feel himself a member of the universe as if it were a city; in hac ille magnificentia rerum, atque in hoc conspectu et cognitione naturæ, Di immortales! quam ipse se noscet! quam contemnet, quam despiciet, quam pro nihilo putabit ea, quæ volgo ducuntur amplissima! It was in view of an elevation of heart like this, that the Italian had graved upon his tomb, as a legacy of admonition to mankind,

Scis quis sim, aut potius quis fuerim,

Ego vero te, hospes! noscere in tenebris ncqueo ;
Sed teipsum ut noscas, rogo. Vale."

"But is it not," said I, "both incumbent as a duty, and wise as an advantage, that those who have light should show it to the world? Is it not a useful and a holy work to instruct and reform mankind by argument and exhortation?"

"Sir," replied my companion, with a melancholy smile, " to improve mankind is hopeless. I had thought once that I might be a benefactor of my race in some degree and kind however small; but failure brought a juster knowledge. I looked for the results of my efforts and lo! there were none, save other than I wished upon the actor; for while men grew no better for my toils,

I grew worse from their unsuccess, till fretted by failure and contaminated by admixture, I retired from the contest to repair what I had lost. When with a polished blade you would shape blocks, the blade it is which suffers. No, man is incapable of improvement: or, if capable, to how small a degree compared with perfection? Refine the understanding and improve the heart to their highest elevation of strength and purity, how infinitely yet does it fall short of what man must be to make the labour useful! I therefore draw apart, and wait the issue of Almighty wisdom. When He chooses, his is the hand and his alone that can erect mortality.

In the unreasoning progress of the world

A wiser spirit is at work for us,

A better eye than ours.

Labour is not always blessed, nor is idleness always unprofitable.

God doth not need

Either man's work, or his own gifts; who best

Bear his mild yoke, they serve him best. His state
Is kingly thousands at his bidding speed,
And post o'er land and ocean without rest:
They also serve, who only stand and wait.

Knowing then how little I can do for others, and how much I must do for myself, I say in the beautiful words of Amalthæus,

Percurrant alii sinuosis æquora velis,
Eooque legant ardentes littore gemmas;

Ipse, nisi attonitæ mihi sit mens conscia delhæ,
Intra naturæ fines regnare beatus

Dicar, et insanis animum subducere curis;

and inscribe, with Bolingbroke, over my door, 'Hic, alienos casus et fortunæ ludum insolentem cernere suave est. Hìc, mortem nec appetens nec timens, innocuis deliciis, doctâ quiete, et felicis animi immotâ tranquillitate fruiscar. Hic, mihi vivam, quod superest, aut ævi aut exilii.'

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"And you are happy in your philosophic solitude?" said I, rising to leave him.

"I may say with Burke that 'I would not exchange it for what kings in their profusion can bestow.""

"I will leave you then in the company you love. Good morning."

"Good morning," said Mr. Woodward. "Pray, Mr. Stanley, come and see me soon again.”