resumed his acquaintance with his fair mistress.' And there they sat discoursing on the themes of life and death and replenishing their glasses until two o'clock in the morning. Thereafter Talfourd attended the gatherings, where he charmed all with his beautiful disquisitions on the Greek tragedy; and when 'Ion' first appeared on the boards of a London theatre Charles Lamb was among the first to eulogise it. The masterly construction of a Greek tragedy into the language and customs of our own stage fully warranted the praises bestowed on its author. He revealed the feelings of the Greek in the language of the Saxon, and wove with exquisite taste the characters of the ancients. How tenderly and yet how hopefully does Ion speak as he bids a last farewell to his love, and then how beautifully is the closing scene of his life pictured, bound to death by a mistaken oath to the gods. The last sound that dies on his ears is joyful news, and he closes

his eyes in the sweet thought that the wrath of the gods has been appeased.

Talfourd was a prolific contributor to the magazines of his day, and in his collected essays we have a faithful and graphic account of some of his literary friends and contemporaries. In his work, The Life and Letters of Charles Lamb,' he has paid a fitting tribute to his friend, and expressed in unmistakable words the great affection he bore towards his subject.

In the foregoing I have endeavoured to give a short description of some of the friends of the Lambs. The happiest days of Charles Lamb's otherwise melancholy and sad life were spent in the Inner Temple, where he gathered about him a circle of friends, rich in thought, who savoured of his quiet and homely tastes. The story of the life of his excellent sister is a sad yet lovely chapter in his history, and his devotion to her lends a romantic charm to his toilsome life.

PHIL

YOUTH has always been regarded

as, in some respects, the most interesting period of life. Few, of whatever years, can contemplate it-its freshness, frankness, confidence-without feeling involuntarily drawn into conscious and active sympathy with it. Few past the meridian of life can look back to their own youth without a regret that it has forever fled; and certainly not without regret that no more of its cheerful, trustful, generous temper has been preserved through the sharper conflicts and severer trials of later life. To all susceptible natures it has ever been clothed with peculiar attractiveness. How greatly, therefore, have the artists of all ages delighted to transfer its semblance to the canvass and the marble, giving us in the representations of the Holy Child and the Beloved Disciple, and in the statues of the youthful Apollo and the Chaste Huntress, some of the rarest faces and divinest forms known to art. From it, also, what inspiration have the poets drawn, and in how mellifluous strains have they celebrated its charms! Sings one in well known lines:

'Heaven lies about us in our infancy! And though shades of the prison-house begin to close

Upon the growing boy; Yet he beholds the light, and whence it flows,

He sees it in his joy.

The youth who daily further from the East
Must travel, still is Nature's Priest,

And by the vision splendid
Is on his way attended.'

In similar strain sings another :

But now 'tis little joy

To know I'm farther off from heaven,
Than when I was a boy.'

Another still, poet and sage, not in rhythmical language indeed, but with genuine poetic conception and deep religious insight, exclaims: Childhood is the perpetual Messiah which comes into men's arms, and pleads with them to return to Paradise.' How fond the hopes and how peculiar the reverence, likewise, with which all judicious educators regard the young, recognising that upon their right development depends their own, their country's, their race's future. No mere affectation was it that led the German master, as he entered his school, to do so with a profound obeisance, saying that it was to undeveloped greatness before him that he bowed. How deep and tender the interest, moreover, with which the noblest religionists of all ages and lands have regarded the same class, perceiving its susceptibility to spiritual influences and its greater proximity to heaven. 'Good children are the jewels of the good wife,' says the Hindu Cural. Jesus took little children in His arms, made the youngest of the twelve His most confidential friend, and sincerely sorrowed when the young Jewish ruler turned away from Him.

But why speak of the interest with which youth inspires particular classes, as though it were something special and exceptional? Who knows not to some extent the same feeling? In a sense, all persons are artists, poets, educators, religionists. That is, all have the faculties in a germinal state which, developed, would make them such; and all, therefore, must more or less promptly and energetically respond to whatever appeals to those faculties.

Besides, how vividly do those who have long left it behind them remember their own youth, when the world was all before them, and no goal seemed altogether impossible of attainment. How frequently do they recall its scere, how fondly dilate upon its experiences, how proudly rehearse its achievements! It is largely through such memories that genial age preserves its interest in youth, beholding with kindling eye its roseate health and bounding activity, and listening with attentive ear and sympathetic heart to its noble purposes and large expectations. To how great an extent moreover, does every worthy parent repeat his own youth in that of his children, sharing in them the sports that charmed, the hopes that animated, and the loves that thrilled him in the days lang syne!' What parent is there, therefore, that is not more or less interested in children and youth; and to whose eyes, if not to the eyes of others, his own children are not peculiarly attractive and promising?

And youth is deserving of all this interest, because of its freshness. To it, just rising into consciousness, or before its dew has disappeared, how wonderful are all things! The earth, with its mountains and plains, its forests and streams, ever-changing, and yet the same from year to year, seems both immovable and immeasurable. The sea running around all shores, now sleeping calmly, anon raging fiercely, and hiding ever in its fathomless bosom unimaginable wonders, appears alike incomprehensible and eternal. To unsophisticated youth, also, how beautiful the flowers blooming by every path, and flinging their fragrance on every breeze; and how unspeakably sublime the stellar host, blossoming along the heavenly ways, and crowning with gleaming diadem the dark brow of night. How gorgeous, too, the cloud curtains that hang around the globe, now black and heavy with smothered wrath, and anon glowing, as if on fire, with the radiance of a setting

sun! Conscious existence, with its brief memories, scanty experiences, yet boundless anticipations, and which, in ever-unfolding beauty and deepening joy, is to run parallel with the life of God-how amazing this! How won

drous, likewise, all human relationsparental, filial, fraternal, social; and how vastly more wondrous still the relations in which men stand to spiritual realities, to angelic existences, to the Infinite Father! Youth, opening its eyes to all these, and getting some proximate sense of their significance, finds itself in a world of miracles. Tales of fairy-land it has little difficulty in believing; for it lives and moves in a more wondrous realm than ever was ascribed to fay or sylph. Stories of the Arabian Nights do not overtax its credulity; since frequently transpire before its eyes greater marvels than any unearthly genii could effect. To it life is a June day; the soul a half-blown rose. Why should not the latter constantly open its petals to the dew and sunshine of the former? Why should it be other than fresh and joyous? Why ever, in any degree, in any respect, blasé ? It has not to search for new sensations: they come to it every hour. If there are any who must tire of the world, feeling delight but a name and life a burden, it is not the young. With eye for its beauties, and ear for its harmonies, and heart for its blessings, will they go forth to accept and enjoy what they can. Of its evil, they know little by experience, and they will not antedate its arrival. They will be young in spirit as in years. Looking on them, one may well exclaim, O, beautiful artlessness of youth! O, charming freshness of life's morning; when simple, sweet delights do satisfy, and when unconscious religion is the inspiration of the soul! Would that amid all the rough conflicts with men and things, this largeness of sympathy and freshness of feeling might be fully preserved! For if there be on earth a pleasing spectacle, it is a soul mature

in all its faculties, yet youthful in all its affections; manlike in understanding, yet child like in simplicity; critical in its questioning, yet hospitable in its reception of novel ideas and enterprises.

Another equally interesting characteristic of youth is enthusiasm. It is the period of warm blood, of ready confidence, of large purposes; and, of course, the period when, more than at any other, enthusiasm dominates. Not fanaticism; for fanaticism is unreasoning, coarse, degrading; while enthusiasm may be, and often is, intellectual, refined, ennobling. The one can discern nothing not in a right line with its own vision; the other takes in a wide survey of both what is before and around. The one precipitates itself on a specific end, without regard to consequences; the other consecrates itself to great principles for worthy results. While, therefore, they may touch at a given point, the one is no more the other than license is liberty, or superstition religion. Enthusiasm divine inspiration, as the word literally means-is one of the noblest of human qualities. It is the life of every generous soul, the spring of every heroic action. The man who is never moved by it, and whose only greeting for those who are is a sneer; whose fervent indignation is never kindled by wrong or outrage, and whose glowing admiration is never awakened by striking magnanimity and unhesitating self-sacrifice; is not the man to be implicitly trusted. His repugnance to wrong, there is reason to fear, arises rather from the consideration of its general unprofitableness than from its essential antagonism to the nature of things and the heart of God. His devotion to principle, it may be suspected, is the result of shrew calculation, rather than conscientious regard for immutable right. Should circumstances conspire sorely to tempt him, making it greatly for his personal advantage to be recreant to principle and false to sacred trusts,

there is good ground to apprehend that sufficient excuses would be found for so doing. But genuine enthusiasm, a holy ardour for truth and right, not because of what they will bring but because of what they are-how greatly does this lift above temptation! And the enthusiasm of youth is seldom other than genuine.

To this enthusiasm, moreover, there is nothing impossible. There is no wrong that is not vulnerable, no ignorance that is not conquerable, and no degree of knowledge, wisdom, power, that is not attainable. Of the doubts and timidity of more advanced years it knows nothing; and to what it reckons their croakings will it pay no heed. The hopes which maturity has more or less completely abandoned will it see fulfilled. The projects which diffidence or senility sets down as chimerical, it will carry to a successful issue. No hindrance shall daunt it. It will turn the flank of every obstacle, and put to flight every foe. Its appetite is omnivorous. 'It takes

in the solar system like a cake. It stretches out its hands to grasp the morning star, or wrestle with Orion.' Nor any the less generous than grand and intense is the enthusiasm of youth. How little respect has it for factitious distinctions; while unnatural burdens it would throw from weary shoulders, giving to everyone an opportunity to achieve his best. Youth is the natural democrat. A man it counts God's image; nothing less, though carved in ebony and moiling 'neath a tropic sun, and nothing more, though cut in ivory and seated on a throne. All that retards humanity is to be removed; all that hinders its rise, to be destroyed. Truth is to have free course, and righteousness to reign. The Kingdom of Heaven, the Saturnian era, the Golden Age, is to be inaugurated on earth. Mainly, what men need to persuade them to obey the right, thinks youth, is clearly to discern its dignity, authority, blessedness. It will do something to enlighten them, and

it shall go hard if humanity be not somewhat bettered by its labours.

An

Such the noble enthusiasm of youth. For how many a young person rising to a full consciousness of his divine energies has felt quite, or more than, all I describe! How many a one, inflamed with a noble ambition, has resolved that he would quicken some sluggish pulses, and perhaps write his name among the few that the world will not willingly let die. A story runs that the American Webster, on receiving from a college authority his graduation appointment, which assigned him a very low rank, indignantly tore the paper in pieces before the Professor's face, proudly exclaiming, 'You'll hear from Dan Webster hereafter.' elderly clergyman declares that when he first entered his profession, so sanguine was he as to what himself and others were to do as to fancy that, in a score of years or thereabouts, the whole world would be substantially Christianized, and his occupation as a teacher of righteousness for ever superseded. And how interesting, how touching is this lofty enthusiasm, glistening in the eye, compressing the lip, flushing the cheek, and uttering itself in hurried and broken, yet strong and earnest words! Though we well know that it cannot long endure, what a charm would youth lack without it! Though it is coupled with many and serious perils, who could envy the man that has never known it-has never dreamed of worthy ends to be accomplished by himself? Let those who have it still so guard it that while it leads them not astray it shall not languish and die, leaving them scarcely else than a lifeless corpse, from which the informing soul has fled. Let them cherish and express it as not only one grand element of their life, but one mighty implement of their power. Soon enough will it begin to wane.

Another marked characteristic of youth is moral sensibility. Proverbially is the conscience tenderer and the instincts keener in early than in

later life. The former has not then been seared by vicious indulgence ; nor has the latter been benumbed and paralyzed by the at-once chilling and fetid air of worldliness. Who, accordingly, cannot remember, if not his first, yet one of his earliest transgressions, which burned itself into his memory as it were fire, causing him to mourn and weep as has no subsequent sin, and making it seem for a time as though life thereafter could scarcely be worth living; but which since he has come to think lightly of, and perhaps to laugh at himself for having regarded at all? And in the light of highest truth, shall we say that the earlier and graver estimate was less correct then the later and more trifling one? Shall we not rather say that the former decision was quite as near exactness as the latter; and that the wide difference between them is due quite as much to the weakening and perversion of our moral sensibilities as to the attainment of broader and sounder views of right and wrong? Besides, who does not know how often the moral instincts of a child or an unsophisticated youth at a single stroke cut clear through all the wretched sophistry with which their elders, seeking to evade the demands of principle, frequently involve the simplest subjects. Who, too, in the presence and under the clear eye of such a one, has not sometimes felt keenly rebuked for his compromises of righteousness, and recognised more clearly the majestic grandeur and supreme authority of duty? The child poorly comprehends the ordinary excuses for prevarication. Youth expects men to make good the full import of their words.

So far as genuine moral integrity is concerned, therefore, heaven is nearer to most of us in the earlier than in the later portions of life. The young heart, untainted with evil, is in closer harmony with the Divine will. Its unbiased verdict on simple questions of right is more trustworthy than that of those