The "Bowling Green" is evidently modeled after the foot races in the fifth book of the Æneid. Though lively in its incidents, the reader cannot avoid the conviction that its elegant Latinity is its chief recommendation. The "Puppet-Show" indicates the same hand as the "Cranes and Pygmies." There is a certain quiet, playful humor about these pieces, which peculiarly distinguishes the temper of Addison. Throughout his writings there is observable abundance of wit. But it is as harmless as the sporting of a lamb. Nor is this innocuous gentleness any indication of weakness. We are rather inclined to admire the genius and skill, no less than the good-heartedness which produces it. Common witlings can point a satire when they have a definite object at which to aim. The errors, faults, or vices of their victims, furnish materials to their hands. They are in the less danger of becoming insipid, because they are not expected nor expecting to exercise the least clemency, when clemency stands in the way of a clever quip. But when wit, keen, refined, delicate, and yet touching no particular individual character, but lashing public follies or vices, is required, they are found wanting. For such a purpose Addison was most admirably adapted. If he ever attacks individuals, it is with blunted arrows. But when he takes his stand as censor upon the public, it is with just that sort of benevolent irony which is fitted to shame rather than to exasperate; to purge and heal rather than to ulcerate. Yet, though his satire is as general in its application as a good old English homily, it is as racy and delicious as the keenest sallies of Dean Swift. In this respect his humor resembles his satire. Charles Lamb and Thomas Hood might both of them, had they possessed the piety of Addison, have been much more useful, and no less entertaining, than they were in the field whither they followed him. In this "Puppet-Show," (or, with more dignity, "Machinæ Gesticulantes,") the mock heroic is perhaps less successfully sustained than in the "Cranes and Pygmies." Indeed, there is constantly coming up to the mind the unwelcome and decidedly anti-heroic scenery of street-exhibitions, dancing monkeys, ragged boys, yelling draymen, and yelping dogs. The mixture of the comic, therefore, is almost necessarily in too large a proportion for the best effect. One passage, however, is so exquisite that we cannot avoid quoting it. Our readers will be strongly reminded of the "Culprit Fay." Tales, cum medio labuntur sidera coelo, Parvi subsiliunt Lemures, populus que pusillus Concipit, in multam pubentia gramina surgunt We have noticed merely the Latin verses of our author; but must hastily bring our lucubration to a close, hoping on some future occasion to resume it again. THE TRUE WRITER. HONEST READER :-Pray thee, pass us not utterly by. Stay at least for the theme's sake, and give it a kindly perusal, that the weightiness and worthiness of the topics therein considered may answer for a better treatment of them. We have taken our pen in hand to put down a few stray thoughts and fancies about the advantages furnished by this goodly Magazine. We do it, not professionally as a grave and anxious Editor-that dignity, it is not our fate to bear-but simply as a spectator and an acquaintance; one who has known somewhat of its contents and their authors from the first. You will see, then, that we write without bias, yet not in utter ignorance. We do not purpose to discuss the merits or demerits of this work, to speak of its managers or its management, its past fortunes or its future prospects. We write rather for the good of a class, who, with abundant ability to write, lack either the courage or intelligence to enjoy the privilege. Thus much also we premise, that the reader need not look for an eloquent essay or a solemn homily. The burden of these remarks has been on our mind for years, as it must rest with more or less weight upon every one who enters, with any proper thoughtfulness, on a course of Education; and we may, perhaps, as well give a distinct expression of them here and now as elsewhere. If our language seems too strong and urgent, and our manner rather earnest and magisterial, the reader will please remember that we write because we feel; because we are convinced there is great neglect in this matter, and because we believe that there is as little done-we say it with hesitation-in this Institution, as in some other more prominent Colleges of our country, towards correct and finished composition as a distinct branch of learning. It becomes, then, quite a national concern, has much to do with the future Literature of the age, and touches, not merly the private fame of the individual, but the public reputation of the State. We know that some may receive this last statement with a smile; as though the students of a place of learning could in anywise affect the country at large. It is enough to say that such persons can never have reflected very much on the relations of things, and must have failed to notice that in a world so full of influences as this, the great have always much, indeed chiefly to do with the small, and that as the strength and energy of the man is often presaged by certain promising marks in the boy, so the greatness and dignity of a nation is always determined a generation in advance. Let us bring home so significant a consideration. The words which, by the busy yet silent mediation of the press, have become the property of the public, are all the fruits of individual minds; the style and strength of these writers are chiefly or wholly measured and decided by their habits when young; and therefore our fame and usefulness as strong and effective writers is cast quite upon ourselves. We are aware that this statement is very obvious. But it is also true. It is 24 VOL. XIII. a fact, and none the less useless or unmeaning for being generally known and generally disregarded. Of the various classes of persons who do not write for this Magazine, there are some who are justly excusable. Not a few came here as men have entered every profession, "not knowing whither they went." Forgetting to turn an inquiring eye within themselves, to discern the bent of their natures, and find out the will of their genius: neglecting to inform themselves as to the realities of a more outward and future life, and the necessary conduct of business abroad in the world, they mistook their profession and entered upon duties for which they had neither fitness nor taste. With a full share of fine feeling and good sense, had they consulted their hidden and true inclinations, they would have found a business exactly responding to it, and casting out the false notion, that College education is an indispensable and sure steppingstone to every successful pursuit and office, might have passed their days engaged about something much manlier, and certainly more pleasant. They might, to be sure, have been handling the ploughtail instead of the Dictionary, and measuring tape in the place of angles. But forgive me, good Literati-there is no degeneracy, no stepping down here; for there is but little inherent worth or dignity in either. Writing Essays would be as unnatural and as unpleasant to such, as any of the other mental requisitions of College life; and their names, therefore, could not reasonably be looked for in any place which should point them out as Authors. But there is another, and we hope larger class, who are led here by their inclinations; whose natures are really gratified and bettered by the opportunities of a high and public school of learning; who are here because they would not be elsewhere. Their souls burn within them with desires after knowledge, and their intellects cry out mightily after truth, because truth is pleasant and good. Their surveys of the fields of knowledge may indeed differ in reach and distinctness, and their pursuit of it in singleness and ardor. Nay, they may not all be following the same path; while yet they patiently tread the same great highways of science, well-beaten by the feet of others--wellmarked by the thick way-marks of high deeds and thoughts, reared by the hands of those who had gone before them. It is to be supposed that all such are, on the whole, bent upon gaining an Education which will in a measure-abating somewhat, as, alas! we must always do in human calculations, for castle-building and vain-hoping-fill up their highest notions of the respectabilities, the benefits, the duties of true Life. In a word, they are not here for nothing, but for something; even though they may not in all cases have fully decided what that something had better be. It it is to such persons, thus minded, full of serious wishes and purposes, that we address ourselves, and would seek by a few considerations to do away with some of those objections and difficulties which seem to keep them back from writing. Of these, thoughtlessness checks some, and positive conclusion others. In the first place, there are men in our midst who have never given a moment's thought to the question of composing. If the reading of some work of Genius has for the instant thrilled them with a stronger admiration and a purer pleasure than was wont, or the winning of a prize by some luckier fellow has roused a spirit of emulation and sent a rush of burning resolves like a flood of fire through the shamed-mind, the emotions are dampened and put down, the purposes are one by one thwarted and relaxed by the thought-Nature never made me a writer. Impatiently and without reason forestalling the result of right effort and the decisions of their real Genius, they fling down their pen in careless despair as an instrument they might not wield. The calm engaging pursuits of the Mathematics, with its curious abstractions and ingenious calculations, beneath whose splendid theories so many truly great minds have at once buried their usefulness and found their fame; the varied researches of practical and gainful science; the quiet, yet lofty contemplations of philosophy; the pleasant, refining study of the classics, the begetter of keen, discriminating sense, the key to the old world, and its only gift to the new; and the stirring debates of the society-room-these can interest and benefit, these are studies in which they may hope for success. But writing is not for them, and they put it willingly away. But, man, you are mistaken. Everybody can write, and write well. The power to put thoughts in language, is not a separate gift, distinct and rare. The energy and clearness with which the ideas are set forth vary, it is true, most apparently among those who essay to use the pen. The ease also, with which different individuals throw out their thoughts and find fit words in which to dress them, is, beyond doubt, variable. Yet this does by no means take from the truth and general scope of the principle just asserted— that any one can write, and write well. If any are deterred from such a notion, we suspect that they are so far unwitting slaves to their indolence or their fears. Others, again, are not without reflections upon this question; so far from that, they have thought and come, we fear, to most false and mischievous conclusions. Let us take some of these and hold them up in the face of sound philosophy and plain facts, and see if they will bear the light of truth. The most general excuse is, want of time. This is a handy reason for not doing this and that work, very common, but very specious. It suits well the lips of laziness; and as one moves among these four hundred students, who yearly come up to this sacred seat of science to laden their brains with a proper stock of knowledge ere they set out on the voyage before them, he will hear it drop from the mouths, even of busy men. In fact, we are all in fault here. There is time enough for doing, we say not every thing, but every duty: every thing positively needful or to be desired. But why have we not time enough for writing? Aside from the fact that, while we have too much of a self-confidence, which breeds laziness and hinders our progress in knowledge, and, we might say, in every thing, we lack that honest self-reliance which leads to resolute and gainful resolves; aside from the fact that we let our purposes, even when rightly and really formed, grow lax and dull; and when we undertake an enterprise, of whatever sort, suffer our energies to be listless and scattered, instead of gathering them all tensely together and casting their concentered might upon the duty before us; aside, we say, from these general habits which follow us to our hurt wherever we go, there is an element of serious misjudgment in the case. Men here in College have somehow-by tradition, or may be it is one of the ideas termed innate— got the notion that one who writes, must of necessity read, and that the quality of the one keeps pace with the quantity of the other. With some little truth at the bottom of this notion, it may, in the main, be set down at once as ridiculously false. When a person attempts to discuss a subject with the pen, he needs facts-a clear full view of the circumstances of the case. Grave History, with its faithful and lively picture of prominent events, and its bold etchings of character, whether of individuals or nations, must first be laid deep and broad in the mind, for yielding exact statements, at once the basis and test of theories and material for reflection and philosophic remark. Then the memoirs of such great men as occupied a chief place in the larger narrative, might be perused, to fill out the rude outline before presented, by throwing open to view the hearth and heart of the Hero, and showing the hidden springs of his public life. This information, with what can be gathered from National annals and records, which furnish bare statistics, and the elements of general science supposed to be acquired already; these will make up all the parts which are essential to our deductions and comments being true enough to be really trustworthy and valuable. But beyond this, and for purposes of writing, reading, we believe, is useless and positively hurtful. The rest-style, thought, language, must come from the writer. We know that doctrine is favored with few real followers, and that the mass of those who read, and those who do not read this Magazine, will probably doubt the practicability of the principle; or if they allow the truth in theory, falsify the admission in practice. Yet the truth of the assertion is in nowise therefore weakened. Let us see. What one wants, when he writes, is thoughts. A thought is an idea embodied in language, whether that language be spoken or unspoken, written or unwritten. We have, then, more ideas than thoughts. Hence the great business in educating ourselves in the world is to gain thoughts, and he must be set down in the reckoning of right wisdom, as best educated, as most truly learned, who has furnished his mind with the greatest number of clear thoughts, on the most important subjects that affect our universal nature. It follows, also, that we have the power of increasing our stock of ideas and thoughts, quite in our own power. Here, then, lies the mischief of reading very much the works of others. We add but little to our own store. Unless one takes pains to select, in the first instance, the strong and massive thoughts of other minds; unless he takes them to pieces, holds them up before the searching eye of the intellect, and, by putting himself as far as possible in the place of the author, think his thoughts, conceive his conceptions, and make them, by a strict process, most truly his own, he will be a loser. Any other method fills the mind with crude ideas, embodied in splendid, yet unmeaning forms, and positively weakens the mental powers. We think they |