perceptible in the manners; but there is a diversity in the aspect of these qualities. Humour, whilst it presents, like wit, a ludicrous and unexpected view of an object, conceals the expression of the feeling itself, which it attempts to raise in another. There is consequently the appearance of that which is familiarly understood by slyness in the demeanour of a man of humour, when compared with a man of wit. But both wit and humour will tend to vivacity of manner, because they are conversant with animating and agreeable subjects. Indeed, in common parlance, wit is associated with merriment, and its opposite with dulness. In one sense, wit is the very essence of mental refinement, demanding the subtlest and quickest powers of perception and combination; and, in that view, condescends only to smile; but disdains, like Lord Chesterfield, to encourage any boisterous merriment. Indeed, neither the wit nor the humourist are necessarily gay or joyous. We are told that men, who have been wont, with their jibes and jests, to "set the table in a roar," have been in retirement oppressed with melancholy. Still it is obvious that the witty and humorous are characterised by vivacity; and, whatever they may be in solitude, display in society all the animation which belongs to the very nature of their intellect, and are generally, as they are entitled to be, the idols of the social circle, and by consequence full of confidence, and most felicitously at their ease.

It is a trite remark, that man is an imitative animal; but the power of imitation is possessed in very different degrees. Some are 66 gay with the gay, and with the serious, serious." They are of the camelion breed, and can suit themselves to all occasions. Of the natural manners, therefore, of such persons we cannot always judge. They take the hue of the company in which we find them, and have nothing individually characteristic to distinguish them from those by whom they are surrounded. They are enabled to assume a part which does not naturally belong to them, although probably a very nice inspection would lead to the detection of the hidden nature which attaches inherently to each individual. The talent of mimicry, which they possess, leads them to observe the peculiarities of manner; and hence they are fiequently skilled in the discrimination of character, and, from the infinite variety they perceive, acquire a sort of composite order of manners,--easy, but of course scarcely natural; and, from the amusing nature of their studies and exercise, they are generally distinguished for facetious and lively qualities, We often observe that there is a class of persons who may truly be called the orderly. In matters of an insigni cant nature or minor consequence, the quality is understood by the

term neatness or tidyness: in subjects of a higher order of importance, we designate it "arrangement." It is manifest that the degree in which this valuable faculty is possessed will influence very materially the outward manners. The love of order supposes the dislike of disorder; and hence every thing that is said or done will be attempted to be accomplished in a manner gratifying to the one, and to avoid offending the other. It is a power not confined to external objects, but conversant also with the abstract and intellectual. Hence it will lead to well-arranged habits of thinking, and, when aided by the superior faculties, to a logical method of reasoning. A man in whom the love of order is conspicuous will carry that taste into all the minutia of his habits: it will be exhibited in his dress, his motions, attitudes, and general demeanour. When he meets with every thing suited to the taste of this useful faculty, he will be gratified and complacent; but, when it is opposed, he will in proportion to its degree be offended and disgusted. Its tendency is to lead to precision, and, in the extreme, to fastidious particularity. When unconnected with superior mental powers, it will be employed chiefly on trifling occasions: it becomes bustling and fidgety about insignificant subjects, and is notable in the smaller affairs of life.

Our friends of the northern part of the island are said to be a calculating people. Their calculation is not, however, of an arithmetical kind alone, but extends to human motives and the consequences of perseverance. They both observe and reflect. Their manners, therefore, indicate sharpness of observation, and their aspect the seriousness of reflection. Calculation is fed by external objects, but it works by a process internal and intellectual; and hence we perceive that the mathematician has a correspondent look of acuteness and research. He appears less contemplative than the moralist, yet keen and sagacious. His are employments that require the undivided attention of the mind, and are characterized by the most rigid reasoning. He is the very antipodes of the wit. His numbers bear no resemblance to those of the poet; and with all his mastery over them, and all the changes of which they are capable, he can ring them to no "discourse of most eloquent music."

A taste for the Fine Arts will naturally tend to refine and polish those who are possessed of it. They cannot relish and contemplate the graceful and the beautiful, without receiving some kindred improvement. Taste is not an individual power, but dependent upon the combination of several powers. It is formed of refined judgment and sensibility, and the qualities of the judgment bear a relation to the peculiar

objects on which it is exercised. So also the measure of sensibility and its nature is in harmony with the occasions by which it is excited. Music, painting, and sculpture, do not alike charm the same individual. The elements of taste are different. There is, we think, a discernible difference in the manner of the musician and those of the painter and sculptor. We do not advance the position very confidently, because the number of our observations is not sufficient to justify the assertion of its generality, but many instances accord with the expectation which reason would deduce. The distinction rests upon the same principle as the contrasted view we have given of the observant and reflecting. The painter and the sculptor are more studious and contemplative than the musician. Their vocation is quieter, and though highly delightful both to the sense and the intellect, yet it is not so exhilarating to the animal spirits as the inspirations of music. Music, too, is of a more social character than painting or sculpture. It is exhibited in the gay and convivial circle, animating all around, and catching animation in its turn. On the contrary, the artist studies sedately in his closet, completing his work with reiterations of care; and when presented to the gaze of admiration, it is beheld rather with a contemplative than an animated eye. It does not, like music, "Take the prison'd soul,

And lap it in Elysium."

It is viewed with a feeling, calm as the stillness of the picture, or the coldness of the statue; and, though it excite pleasing ideas and agreeable associations, it can rarely animate the mind to actual gaiety.

The tasteful are identical with the refined. They are formed to distinguish the nicest differences in all that is beautiful in art and nature. The habits which are connected with taste are peculiarly adapted to improve the manners and impart that polish which constitutes their highest excellence.

The perfection of manners depends upon the harmony of the intellect and feelings. No one faculty must be predominant. The thoughtful are deficient in the outward graces of sociality. The observant are too inquisitive: a cross-examination may be very proper to elicit truth, but it is not the best specimen of politeness. The agreeable and not the true is the object of refinement, and the purpose of social in

tercourse.

On the other hand, irregularity of habits and abruptness of manners are the result of an inharmonious state of the mental or moral faculties. They can scarcely be well regulated, for they are unequally poised; and hence we perceive a harsh

ness, an inappropriateness, and the want of that tact which enables another person to suit the demeanor to the occasion, and not to "overstep the modesty of nature." They whose powers are not nicely balanced, cannot judge of the effect of their conduct on the minds of others. The volume of grace and beauty is to them as a sealed book, and as they cannot read its characters, they cannot acquire the language.

There are persons moulded and formed for ease and grace. We find this sometimes to be the case, independently of any remarkable endowment of mind. It appears to depend on physical symmetry, and a certain state of muscular pliancy.

On the other hand, remarkable strength seems to be inconsistent with delicacy of manners. The limbs and fibres are of a firmer texture, less flexible, and incapable of acquiring that elegance which constitutes the charm and perfection of

manners.

It is evident that mere boldness of manner is not sufficient to confer grace, although it may bestow ease. This is sufficiently proved by the superior and fascinating grace of the female sex, who display the very opposite of confidence, and in whom undaunted assurance is any thing but becoming and agreeable. Ease is, however, usually acquired by habit, and is often possessed by persons who were originally oppressed with considerable embarrassment, and consequently exhibited a correspondent awkwardness.

Notwithstanding these attempted explanations of the diversity of human manners, it must be confessed that there are some points in which philosophy is distanced in the race of enquiry. Although for the performance of any thing great or illustrious, appropriate endowments of mind are necessary; yet the degree in which those endowments are enjoyed, and the facility with which they are exercised, seems to depend on qualities that elude investigation, and scarcely admit even of a theoretical explanation. We have adverted to the elements and to some of the modes of their combination; but it is beyond the power of human analysis to ascertain all the proportions and varieties of each which commingle in the constitution of one individual.

There appears to be an indefinable state of the organization upon which both facility and power depend, and yet facility and power are evidently different in their nature. The pow erful are frequently slow and labored in their execution, and the comparatively weak are quick and facile. It appears as if the ponderous machinery of the former had not a propor tionate share of the vis anima to put their powers into instant action, or to sustain them in activity. Whilst the latter have sometimes a soul that "o'er informs their tenement of clay.".

They run riot with excess of imagination, are full to overflowing, and, in familiar language, "carry more sail than ballast." They resemble the fleetness of the race-horse, compared with the strength of the dragoon.

We perceive, from all these considerations, that the cultivation of the intellectual powers has a most important effect on the demeanor. Intelligence is displayed in the physiog nomy of the limbs, as well as the countenance. The step, the attitude, the deportment, of a man of intellectual greatness, are indicative of his character. He who is distinguished by activity rather than power, has a lightness and agility of step, whilst the latter, ponderous with his own mental gravity, treads the earth, conscious of the dignity with which he is invested, and feeling that he is a giant amongst ordinary men. The one is the Voltaire of the species-the other the Lord Bacon. The one full of wit and vivacity-the other of thought and reflection.

It would have been appropriate to advert to a few instances in illustration of these sketches, drawn from public life and well known characters; but these must be deferred to a future occasion.

For the present, we trust, that some hints have been thrown out as materials for reflection, and that however imperfect the view which has been presented of the intellectual causes of manners, enough has been done to shew the important connexion of the two; and that we are entitled to conclude, that the more the mind is refined and its sentiments liberalized, the more agreeable, the more polished, and perfect will the manners become.

THE POET OF COCKAIGNE.

STILL the flesh warreth with the spirit. Equally with dulness Genius is surrounded by snares, and not sacred from the pitfall. The body of death hangs about it, albeit its aspirations aim at immortality. Time circumscribes it, though it would grasp at infinity. Sin besets and degrades it, even while asserting the primæval purity of spirit and the enduring pre-eminence of intellect. It is an antithesis-the victim of contradictions. In it the greatness and the littleness of man are made manifest and palpable. We at once adore and pity.

"Bright haired son of morn!" exclaimed the melancholy Herbert-(all men of genius are melancholy)--"art thou the