But they hardly ever reach so high, inasmuch as great intellect, according to the ways of Providenc, almost always brings along with it great infirmities-or, at least, infirmities which appear great owing to the scale of operation; and it is certainly exposed to unusual temp ations; for as power and pre-eminence lie before it, to ambition attends it, which, whilst it determines the will and strengthens the activities inevitably weakens the moral fabric

Wisdom is corrupted by ambition, even when the quality of the ambition is intllectual. For ambition, even of this quality. is but a form of self-love, which, eking gratification in the consciousness of intellectual power, is too much delighted with the exercise to have a single and paramount regard to the end-that is, the moral and spiritual consequences-should suff r derogation in favour of the intellectual means. God is love, and God is light; whence it re-nlts that love is light, and t is only by following the effluence of that light, that intellectual power issues into wisdom. The i tellectual power which loses that light, and issues into intellectual pride, is out of the way to wisdom, and will not attain even to intellectual greatness.

DOUGLAS JERROLD.

The work of DOUGLAS JERROLD (1803-1857) are various, con. sisting of 11 s, tales, and sketches of character, in which humour, fancy, and satire are blended. The most popular of these were contributed to Punch, or the London Charivari.' Jerrold was born in London in January 1803. His father was an actor, lessee of the Sheerness Theatre, and the early years of Douglas were spent in Sheerness. But before he had completed his tenth year, he was transferred to the guard-ship Namur, then lying at the mouth of the river a first-class volunteer in His Majesty's service, and not a little proud of his uniform. Two years were spent at sea, after which Douglas, with his parents, removed to London. He became apprentice to a printer-worked diligently during the usual business hours-and seized upon every spare moment for solitary self-instruction. The little, eager, intellectual boy was sure to rise in the world. He had, however, a sharp novitiate. His great friend at this time was MR. LAMAN BLANCHARD (1803-1845), who was engaged in periodical literature, and author of numerous tales and essays, collected after his premature death, and published with a memoir of the author by Sir Edward Bulwer Lytton. Douglas Jerrold took early to dramatic writing, and in his eighteenth year he was engaged at a salary of a few pounds weekly to write pieces for the Coburg Theatre. His nautical and domestic drama, 'Blackeyed Susan,' was brought out at the Surrey Theatre in 1829, and had a prodigious success. It had a run of above three hundred nights, and produced many thousands to the theatre, though it brought only about £70 to the author. The other dramas of Jerrold are- The Rent Day,' 1832; Nell Gwynne' and The Housekeeper,' 1833; The Wedding Gown,' 1834; 'The School-fellows' and 'Doves in a Cage,' 185; Prisoner of War,' 1842; Bubbles of the Day' and 'Time Works Wonders,' 1845; The Catspaw,' 1-50; Retired from Business, 1851; St. Cupid,' 1853; Heart of Gold,' 1854. The ples of erroid, like all his other writings, abound in pointed and witty sayings and lively illustration. His incidents and characters

are also well contrasted and arranged for stage-effect, yet there is a want of breadth and simplicity.

About 831 Jerrold became a contributor to the magazines; and in 1840 he was editor of a series of sketches, called Heads of the eople,' illustrated by Kenny Meadows, to which Thackeray, R. H. Horne, Blanchard, Peake, and others contributed. Some of the best of Jerrold's essays appeared in this periodical. Afterwards 'Punch' absorbed the greater part of this time, though he still continued to write occasionally for the stage. Henceforward his life was that of a professional littérateur, steadily rising in public estimation and in worldly prosperity-famous for his sarcasm, his witty sayings, and general conversational brilliancy. In 1852 a large addition was made to his income-£1000 per annum-by his becoming ed tor of Lloyd's Weekly Newspaper.' He was a zealous advocate of social reform; a passionate hater of all cant, pretence, and affectation; and though on some grave questions he wrote without sufficient consideration, his career was that of an honest journalist and lover of truth. Of his personal generosity of character many memorials remain. Mr. Dickens relates one instance: There had been an estrangement between us-not on any personal subject, and not involving an angry word-and a good many months had passed without my even seeing him in the street, when it fell out that we dined, each with his own separate party, in the strangers' room of the club. Our chairs were almost back to back, and I took mine after he was seated and at dinner. I said not a word-I am sorry to remember-and did not look that way. Before we had sat long, he openly wheeled his chair round, stretched out both his hands, and said aloud, with a bright and loving face that I can see as I write to you: "For God's sake let us be friends again! A life 's not long enough for this.""* He died, after a short illness, on the 8th of June 1857, and was interred in Norwood Cemetery-followed to the grave by all his literary confreres, who nobly raised a memorial fund of £2000 for the benefit of his family. The collected miscellaneous writings of Douglas Jerrold fill six duodecimo volume. The longest is a story of townlife, St. Giles and St. James,' by no means his happiest production. He was best in short satirical and descriptive sketches-spontaneous bursts of fancy or feeling. His Caudle Lectures,' 'Story of a Feather,' Men of Character,' and 'Sketches of the English,' were highly popular. The style is concise and pungent-too much, perhaps, in the manner of dramatic dialogue, but lightened up by poetic feeling and imagery. His satire was always winged with fancy. Some brilliant or pointed saying carried home his argument or sentiment, and fixed it firmly in the mind. Like Charles Lamb and most

•The Life and Remains of Douglas Jerrold, by his Son. Blanchard Jerrold, 1859. Mr. Blanchard Jerrold succeeded his father as editor of Llona's Weekly Newspaper, and is author of Imperial Paris, The Life of the Emperor Napoleon III., and other works.

humorists, he had tenderness and pathos. After all,' he said, 'life has something serious in it-it cannot be all a comic history of humanity. Hence, amidst all the quips and turns of his fancy, the real mingles with the ideal, and shrewd, kindly observation and active sympathy are at the bottom of his picturesque sketches and portr its. He was often wrong, often one-sided-an ardent, impulsive man-but high-principled, sincere, and generous. In witty repartee he was unequalled among his contemporaries.

The following extracts are from his drama of Bubbles of the Day:'

Fancy Fair in Guildhall for Painting St. Paul's.

SIR PHENIX CLEARCAKE I come with a petition to you-a petition not parliamentary but charitable. We propose, my lord a fancy fair in Guildhall; its object so benevolent and more than that, so respectable

LORD SKINDEEP. Benevolence and respectability! Of course I'm with you. Well, the precise object?

SIR P It is to remove a stain-a very great stain from the city; to give an air of maiden beauty to a most venerable institution; to exercise a renovating taste at a most inconsiderable outlay; to call up, as it were, the snowy beauty of Greece in the coal smoke atmosphere of London; in a word, my lord, but as yet 'tis a profound secret-it is to paint St. Paul's! To give it a virgin outside-to make it so truly respectable.

LORD SKIN. A gigantic effort.

SIR P. The fancy fair will be on a most comprehensive and philanthropic scale. Every alderman takes a stall, and to give you an idea of the enthusiasm of the citybut this also is a secret-the Lady Mayoress has been up three nights making pincushions.

LORD SKIN. But do you want me to take a stall-to sell pincushions?

SIR P. Certainly not, my lord. And yet your philanthropic speeches in the House, my lord, convince me that, to obtain a certain good, you would sell anything. LORD SKIN. Well, well; command me in any way; benevolence is my foible. Companies for leasing Mount Vesuvius, for making a Trip all round the World, for Buying the Serpentine River, &c.

CAPTAIN SMOKE. We are about to start a company to take on lease Mount Vesuvius for the manufacture of lucifer matches.

SIR P. A stupendous speculation. I should say that, when its countless advantages are duly numbered, it will be found a certain wheel of fortune to the enlightened capitalist.

SMOKE. Now, sir, if you would but take the chair at the first meeting-[Aside to Chatham: We shall make it all right about the shares]-if you would but speak for two or three hours on the social improvement conferred by the lucifer-match, with the monopoly of sulphur secured to the company-a monopoly which will suffer no man, woman, or child to strike a light without our permission.

CHATHAM. Truly, sir, in such a cause, to such an auditory-I fear my eloquence. SMOKE Sir, if you would speak well anywhere. there's nothing like first grinding your cloquence on a mixed meeting. Depend on 't. if you can only manage a little humbag with a mob. it gives you great confidence for another place.

LORD SKIN. Smoke, never say humbug; it's coarse.

SIR P. And not respectable.

SMOKE. Pardon me, my lord, it was coarse. But the fact is, humbug has received such high patronage, that now it's quite classic.

CHAT. But why not embark his lordship in the lucifer question?

SMOKE. I can't: I have his lordship in three companies already. Three. First, there's a company-half a million capital-for extracting civet from asafoetida. The second is a company for a trip all round the world. We propose to hire a three

decker of the Lords of the Admiralty, and fit her up with every accommodation for families. We've already advertised for wet-nurses and maids-of-all-work

SIR P. A magnificent project! And then the fittings-up will be so respectable. A delightful billiard-table in the ward-room; with for the bumbler classes skittles on the orlop-deck. Swings and archery for the ladics trap-ball and cricket for the children, whilst the marine sportsman will find the stock of gulls unlimited. Weippert's quadrille band is engaged, and

SMOKE. For the convenience of lovers, the ship will carry a parson.

CHAT. And the object?

SMOKE. Pleasure and education. At every new country we shall drop anchor tor at least a week, that the children may go to school and learn the language. The trip must answer: 'twill occupy only three years, and we've forgotten nothing to make it delightful-nothing from hot rolls to cork jackets.

BROWN. And now, sir, the third venture?

SMOKE. That, sir, is a company to buy the Serpentine River for a Grand Junction Temperance Cemetery.

BROWN. What! so many watery graves?

SMOKE. Yes, sir, with floating to... bstones. Here's the prospectus. Look here; surmounted by a hyacinth-the very emblem of temperance-a hyacinth flowering in the limpid flood. Now, if you don't feel cqual to the lucifers-I know his lordship's goodness-he'll give you up the cemetery. [Aside to Chatham: A family vault as a to chairman.]

SIR P. What a beautiful subject for a speech! Water-lilies and aquatic plants gemming the translucent crystal, shells of rainbow brightness, a constant supply of gold and silver fish, with the right of angling secured to shareholders. The extent of the river being necessarily limited, will render lying there so select, so very respectable.

Time's Changes.-From Time Works Wonders.'

FLORENTINE. O, si, the magic of five long years! We paint Time with glass and scythe should he not carry harlequin's own wand? for, oh, indeed Time's changes.!

CLARENCE. Are they, in truth, so very great?

FLOR Greater than harlequin's; but then Time works them with so grave a face, that even the hearts he alters doubt the change, though often turned from very flesh to stone.

CLAR. Time has his bounteous changes too; and sometimes to the sweeteɛt bud will give an unimagined beauty in the flower.

Retired from Business.

TACKLE. Kitty, see what you'll get by waiting! I'll grow you such a garland for your wedding

KITTY. A garland, indeed! A daisy to-day is worth a rose-bush to-morrow. PUFFINS. But, Mr. Pennyweight, I trust you are now, in every sense, once and for ever, retired from business?

GUNN. No; in every sense, who is? Life has its duties ever; none wiser, better, than a manly disregard of false distinctions, made by ignorance, maintained by weak. ness. Resting from the activities of life, we have yet our daily task-the interchange of simple thoughts and gentle doings. When, following those already passed, we rest beneath the shadow of yon distant spire, then, and then only, may it be said of us, retired from business.

Winter in London.

The streets were empty. Pitiless cold had driven all who had the shelter of a roof to their homes; and the northeast blast seemed to howl in triumph above the untrodden snow. Winter was at the heart of all things. The wretched, dumb with excessive misery, suffered, in stupid resignation, the tyranny of the season. Human blood stagnated in the breast of want; and death in that despairing hour, losing its terrors, looked in the eyes of many a wretch a sweet deliverer. It was a

time when the very poor, barred from the commonest things of earth, take strange counsel with themselves, and in the deep humility of destitution, believe they are the burden and the offal of the world.

It was a time when the easy, comfortable man, touched with finest sense of human suffering, gives from his abundance; and, whilst bestowing, feels almost ashamed that, with such wide-spread misery circled round him, he has all things fitting, all things grateful. The smitten spirit asks wherefore he is not of the multitude of wretchedness; demands to now tor what especial excellence he is promoted above the thousand thousand starving creatures; in his very tenderness for misery, tests his privilege of exemption from a woe that withers manhood in man, bowing him downward to the brute. And so questioned, this man gives in modesty of spi it-in very thankfulness of soul His alms are not cold, formal charities; but reverent sacrifices to his suffering brother.

It was a time when selfishness hugs itself in its own warmth, with no other thoughts than of its pleasant possessions, all made pleasanter, sweeter, by the desolation around; when the mere worldling rejoices the more in his warm chamber, because it is so bitter cold without; when he eats and drinks with whetted appetite, because he hears of destitution prowling like a wolf around his well-barred house: when, in fine, he bears his every comfort about him with the pride of a conqueror. A time when such a man sees in the misery of his fellow-beings nothing save his own victory or fortune--his own successes in a suffering world. To such a man, the poor are but the tattered slaves that grace his triumph

It was a time, too, when human nature often shews its true divinity, and with misery like a garment clinging to it, forgets its wretchedness in sympathy with suffering. A time when, in the cellars and garrets of the poor, are acted scenes which make the noblest heroism of life; which prove the immortal texture of the human heart not wholly seared by the branding-iron of the torturing hours. A time when in want. in anguish, in throes of mortal agony, some seed is sown that bears a flower in heaven.

The Emigrant Ship.

Some dozen folks, with gay, dull, earnest, careless, hopeful, wearied looks, spy about the ship. their future abiding-place upon the deep for many a day. Some dozen, with different feelings, shewn in different emotions, enter cabins, dip below, emerge on deck, and weave their way among packages and casks, merchandise and food, lying in a labyrinth about. 'The ship is in most seemly confusion. The landsman thinks it impossible she can be all taut upon the wave in a week. yards are all so up and cow, and her rigging in such a tangle, such disorder, like a wench's locks after a made at romps. Nevertheless, Captain Goodbody's wo d is as true as oak. On the pointed day, the skies permitting, the frigate-built Halcyon, with her white wingspread, will drop down the Thames-down to the illimit

able sea.

Her

Put

She carries a glorious freightage to the antipodes-English hearts and English sinews-hope and strength to conquer and control the waste, turning it to usefulness and beauty. She carries in her the seeds of English cities, with English laws to crown them free. She carries with her the strong, deep, earnest music of the English tongue-the music soon to be universal as the winds of heaven. What should fancy do in a London dock? All is so hard, material, positive. Yet there, amid the tangled ropes, fancy will behold--clustered like birds-poets and philosophers, history-men and story-men, aunalists and legalists-English_all -bound for the other side of the world, to rejoice it with their voices. fancy to the task, and fancy will detect Milton in the shrouds, and Shakspeare looking sweetly, seriously down, pedestaled upon yon main-block. Spenser, like one of his own fairies, swings on a brace; and Bacon, as if in philosophic chair, sits soberly upon a yard. Poetic heads of every generation, from the half-cowled brow of Chaucer to the periwigged pate of Dryden, from bonneted Pope to night-capped Cowper-fancy sees them all-all; ay. from the long-dead day of Edward to the liv ing four of Victoria; sees them all gathered aloft, and with fine car lists the rustling of their bays.