appearance. When passing Jaggut on a former occasion, in the Indus steamer, our Hindoo armourer, as a propitiatory offering, took the rings from his fingers, and committed them to the deep. He was but a poor man, he said; but had his wealth been thousands of lacs of rupees, he would willingly have sacrificed it all at the shrine of his god."

The young reader whose imagination is fertile and flowery, will perhaps think of the voyage of life, bringing him in sight of some landmark-if he be fanciful, he will call it Christmaspoint-reminding him of the divine mercy, and calling on him for some acknowledgment. Propitiatory offerings he need not to make. Let him renew his trust on the all-perfect one which the Babe of Bethlehem made on Calvary. But let him make a thank-offering; not casting it into the sea, whence no heathen idol can recall it,-but into the Missionary reservoir, whence so many streams proceed for the irrigation of the dry and thirsty lands of Paganism.

ED. Y. I.

OCCASIONAL LETTERS TO THE YOUNG.

LETTER III.

On the object of self-education.

MY DEAR YOUNG FRIEND,

In the last letter that I wrote to you, I endeavoured to point out the evil character of the very common mistake, namely, that our education is finished when we leave school. By a homely illustration I explained to you that education included two closely connected, but perfectly distinct, operations. By the one, the materials for building are brought on to the ground: by the other, you are taught how to employ them in the intended erection. The first is only the collection of the bricks, and stones, and timber: in the second you put them together, and build the house. Even in the former sense, school education, even when carried to the usual extent, is very far from being completed at the ordinary time of leaving school. Much, often very much, has to be learned after that period. And even where most has been acquired, the very important task yet remains of putting the several portions, so

to speak, into their proper order, and thus of ascertaining their extent and value. A youth who has left school, and made up his mind to a course of diligent self-education, should begin by taking stock. Let him be resolved to know what he really does know; and by comparing his own stock with the actually existing quantities of knowledge, he will not only learn modesty, but he will discover the points where his deficiency is greatest, and to the augmentation of which his attention must be directed.

In my former letter I remarked on the necessity of learning to think. It is not enough that certain facts, or principles, or whatever they may be, are lodged in your memory, and that you are able, whenever called upon, to make proper statements concerning them. To do this, and no more than this, is the certain sign of what is called a common-place mind. The memory is retentive, and it may, happily, have been stored with what is true; but there is no original thought. The memory may thus possess a sort of tabular collection of events and dates, and yet know nothing of that which is valuable in history. The facts are remembered, but their principles, their connexions, their influence and tendencies, remain uninvestigated, in truth, altogether unknown. Analogies are unavoidably imperfect, but, as comparisons, they may sometimes serve to illustrate. Now, the acts of history, the principles of science, the laws and rules of art, all, in fact, that the memory retains, should be in the mind, not as grains of seed in the barn, but as thrown into their proper soil,-vegetating, growing. Every thing you learn you should think about, and make your own; and it is only by this digestion and assimilation of your intellectual food, that the inner man lives and grows. The child is not brought to the stature of manhood by plastering him with layers of food from without; nor does the mind become manly by the mere act of loading the memory. It is in this respect with true knowledge as with true religion. The language of the first Psalm will apply as truly to the former as to the latter. Indeed, it is one of those passages of which you should never lose sight. I now quote it that you may look at it over and over again. Think on it. Enter into the

very depths of its meaning. You will soon see how applicable it is to every proper intellectual pursuit. "But his delight is in the law of the Lord; and in his law doth he meditate day and night. And he shall be like a tree planted by the rivers of water, that bringeth forth his fruit in his season." The subjects on which he meditates thus not merely lodge and remain in his mind, but they live there, mixing themselves, as it were, with his intellectual substance, and becoming a part of his thinking being. This, therefore, is one principal object to which your education of yourself must be directed. You must become a thinker, an original thinker. Your mind is not to be to illustrate my meaning by still another figure—a cistern, to hold what may be put into it, but a deep and full well, fed by an ever-running spring of living water.

I said, an original thinker. Do not misapprehend my meaning. I have met with persons who thought they were original thinkers, solely because they had cultivated the habit of thinking differently from all other persons, or of expressing themselves in forms of speech unlike those which were employed by others. Such persons seem to delight in novelty, paradox, and contradiction. Now, I mean by an original thinker, one whose knowledge is the result of his own thought. He has been taught by others; their lessons are stored in his memory; but these lessons are made the subjects of his own meditation; so that at length they become not so much remembered, as known. I must now, therefore, add to my description of the object of the self-education on which I am writing, one more remark. You are to aim at being a correct thinker; that is, you are to think, and you are to think truly. Your conceptions are to refer to actually existing facts and relations, and correctly to represent them. Properly speaking, those notions the mind possesses do not constitute knowledge, unless they are internal representations of externally existing truth.

This, then, you are to take with you into your different studies, as the general object to be kept in view. You study that you may be a real, original thinker; not seeking for novelty, but for truth; and being earnestly desirous of

perceiving the truth which you seek, clearly, minutely, and comprehensively.

But this general object may be viewed in several aspects, as placed in connexion with different classes of truth. Some of these particular branches of the one general object I shall consider in a future letter. In the meantime I again subscribe myself,

Your very sincere friend,

E.

ANECDOTE OF LOUIS PHILIPPE, KING OF THE FRENCH.

In the year 1787, the family of the Duke d'Orleans, then under the care of their gouvernante, the celebrated Mad. de Genlis, being on a tour of pleasure, recreation, and instruction, visited the mount and fortress of St. Michael, on the coast of Normandy.

At the time that the Duc de Chartres (now Louis Philippe) visited Mount St. Michael, twelve Monks dwelt permanently there, but no novices were received. They appeared to employ the best means in their power to alleviate the sufferings of the prisoners; they refused to admit any but those whom the King himself condemned to captivity in their cells; and they not unfrequently took the wretched captives to walk with them in the vicinity of the mount.

One of the first subjects of curiosity to the gouvernante and her charge in this state-prison, was the famous iron cage, in which prisoners committed on lettres de cachet were confined. Amongst those whose sufferings were most distinctly remembered, was the editor of a Dutch newspaper, whom Louis XIV. caused to be arrested by a party of gens-d'armes, placed in ambush for the purpose, and actually torn from the very bosom of his own country. This unhappy man's crime consisted in having published certain articles in his journal, favourable to the cause of universal freedom; displeasing, therefore, to the King of France. For this abuse of the liberty of the press, the journalist suffered seventeen years' incarceration, not merely within the walls of these frightful dungeons, but still farther shut in from the world within the bars of the iron cage at St. Michael's. This infamous structure for the

infliction of insult above injury, was not wholly of iron, but consisted of enormous logs of wood, placed at intervals of about four inches breadth, the whole being secured by huge iron bars and strong clasps.

When the young Duke arrived at this infamous scene, fifteen years had elapsed since the cage had been permanently tenanted, but the Prior acknowledged that refractory individuals of the monastery, or the town, were occasionally put in for four-and-twenty hours. Even this was a stretch of power highly censurable; for the dungeon in which the cage stood was dark, damp, and unwholesome; and other places of confinement in the same bastile were equally terrific, without being equally destructive of health. The Prior, perceiving the rising indignation of the youthful visiters, informed them that it was his intention, at no very distant period, to destroy this monument of the cruelty of Princes. The Duke and his sister expressed the utmost delight at the determination of the Prior, and asked permission to be present at this interesting sacrifice to freedom.

The demolition of the iron cage by the future King of the French, is thus related by his gouvernante, herself a witness of the scene:-"A few hours before our departure from St. Michael's, the Prior, followed by the Monks, two carpenters, one of the Swiss of the castle, and the greater part of the prisoners, (who, at our request, were allowed to be present,) accompanied us to the vault containing the horrible cage. In order to reach it, we were obliged to traverse caverns so dark, that we had to use lighted flambeaux; and after having descended many steps, we reached a frightful cavern, where stood this abominable structure. It was surprisingly small, and placed on ground so damp that the water was seen running under it. I entered with sentiments of horror and indignation, mingled with the pleasant feeling that at least, thanks to my pupils, no unfortunate person would ever have to reflect with bitterness within its walls on his own misfortunes and the cruelty of men. The Duc de Chartres, with the most touching expression, and with a strength beyond his years, gave the first blow with his axe to the cage, after which the carpenters cut down the door, and removed some of the