speech was heard in the air of all those words set at liberty.” But of what use was the speech when there was nobody to hear it?

There are many persons born with tact, and many a child in years will prove that he has a very excellent and delicate perception. There are a dozen anecdotes to prove this; but the contrary is the rule. Young people are often sadly wanting in tact, and are perpetually saying rude things. They are the Enfans Terribles of Gavarni, who always blurt out unseasonable, and sometimes most cruel sayings, one of the mildest of which is the reply to the grandfather who, patting a favourite grandson's head, says, “Ah, my good little boy, there will be something nice for you when I die." “Then I wish you'd die at once, grandpa." Old as a man may be, he does not like to be at once sent down into the damp earth—

"To lie in cold obstruction, and to rot;

This sensible warm motion to become
A kneaded clod."

Even from the innocent mouths of babes and sucklings, loveable as they are, and much to be indulged, we do not like to hear such matter. How many a hatred has had its incipience and foundation in a sharp turn given by a child's prattle?

The tactics of life-by which we fight life's battle-are by far the most important. By them we measure our relative

strength, and conquer or fall. We set out, arrange, and put in order what we can do and what we can't do. A tactician must be a good mathematician; he knows how to calculate distance, strains, and curves, the weight of the burden and the strength of the beam. If he is a wise man he never enters a battle without knowing it beforehand to be won. It was said of the Duke of Wellington that months before the Battle of Waterloo he had picked out the field of Mont St. Jean and its neighbourhood as the place where the battle would be fought. Certain events would force Napoleon to move upwards to the north of Europe; certain others would incline his steps that way; he would meet him there. He did meet him at the very spot, waited, pretended to be caught at the Duchess of Richmond's ball all the time his troops were taking up their position, hurried to their head just in time, and fought till the very last moment-hours after the appointed and proper time-till Blücher and night came. An immense issue hung upon the forecast and the tactics of the duke; but, as he himself said, a good general chooses his own battle field. So it has been with all the great generals in the world, from the young Alexander to Marlborough, who was, perhaps, the finest general the world has seen since the Macedonian conqueror, and whose tactics were so admirable that he never had to fight a battle twice. His opponents were always indisputably beaten and utterly scattered by the measures he had taken beforehand.

Both in tact and tactics a man may overstep himself. In the former, it does not so much matter; it is simply like playing with oneself for a guinea, and winning it. Some persons use tact where it is not wanted, and then it becomes finesse, and ceases to be tact; some, too, artfully go beyond it, on purpose to come back gracefully, like the beau, who always re-entered the room on pretence of having left something, so that he might have an opportunity of again giving his most graceful bow. The Irish are great adepts at this, and say a dozen pretty things which apparently begin with rudeness: "I am so ill, Kathleen, that I am nearly dead.” "And indeed I wish you were quite, my lady; for sure, if the body was dead, your soul would be sitting with the angels!" The surprise which such a compliment gives is pleasant even to the strongest intellect. This species of compliment is perhaps "blarney," but it goes a great way for all that. If the Irish were as stable as they are versatile and clever, we should not be troubling ourselves so much as we always are about that unhappy island. It is true that Mr. Huxley declares the English and Irish all to be of the same breed; the natives of Tipperary to be as Teutonic as the natives of Devonshire. If so, the difference must lie in the climate of the two islands; for certainly, for quickness and tact, the Irishman will beat the ordinary Englishman hollow.

It follows, then, that tact is not everything, but it is much.

It is that which gives a man a good start in life: it serves him at every pinch, places him forward in life, puts his most pleasing characteristics in the best light, and keeps his follies and defects in the background. In homely phrase, it teaches a man to put his best leg foremost. It may not be a very noble quality, since in fact it often saves people from the necessity of using noble qualities; but it is a useful one, and must be possessed by those who have their way to make in the world. The want of it will ruin many a good man, and has ruined thousands. Tact may be born with a man, but it may also be acquired. We generally manage to please those whom we wish to please; and watchfulness, attention, and good nature, properly applied, will, sooner or later, produce tact.

XVI.

LOOKING FORWARD.

AMONGST the many good things which this age seems to be losing, one of the chief is Hope. This is not to be wondered at; it is a phenomenon which takes place every now and then. Men's hearts become as water, and fail at such junctures. The world has seen a political deluge; the old has been torn up and swept away, and the new is not yet formed. Society in the meantime can but look on, like Mr. Micawber, and wait for what will next "turn up." But sad experience does not give it the hopefulness which was Micawber's chief characteristic. In his worst fortunes that gentleman was ready to believe in any brilliant revolution of his fate. He was ever prepared for the best, not for the worst. He would not have been surprised if an uncle, of whom he had never heard, had left him a fortune of half a million or so, or if the Lord Chancellor had given him a sinecure worth a few thousands a-year. This hopefulness is one of the charms of the character. A man who lives in the delightful expectation of "something turning