general rules of art, in their bearing upon ourselves. The advice of a friend is also profitable, if you enjoy the good fortune of one honest enough to tell unpleasant as well as pleasant truths. And the word of an enemy may be turned to good account. For commonly it has some foundation in truth. But without a good degree of independent self-knowledge, it is impossible to estimate rightly, or usefully apply the opinions of either friend or foe; for, as a general rule, advice ought never to be taken implicitly. Thus, there is a clearness and steadiness of perception, and force of character, acquired by the very labor and balancing of estimates and opinions, requisite to the attainment of self-knowledge; and even should one discover in himself no great strength of mind, he fortifies what he has, by the process of finding out wherein his weakness lies.

The work of defining one's individuality to his own understanding is the more difficult, that the great outlines of humanity are the same in all, and the distinctive consist in the fainter colors, and more delicate shades. As all countenances are composed of the same principal parts, formed in the same general way; and by those minuter particulars alone, which few people detect in their own faces, are they instantly distinguished by one another: so in the mind, the little things which elude our own notice contain the mystery of our individual being. Faint though the colors, in any one part of the texture, they are so firmly fixed,

that however diluted with common qualities, they are never cffaced, but taken together, give their tinge to the whole web of the individual existence.

But even when the nature of this proper self has been ascertained, much still remains to be done, in order to admit and promote a free and adequate expression. One is not to take for granted that every state of mind he experiences is in every degree right and proper. A clear distinction must be made between natural character and acquired habits; for if compliance with the one gives pure originality, oddity is the only product of the other. Yet the indolent growth of obvious externals, too often substituted for the very difficult result of profound self-knowledge, is eagerly sought after by minds of an inferior stamp, and constitutes their peculiar claim to distinction. On the other hand, great genius, whether including clear self-intuition, or finding its full exercise only after such an attainment, certainly exhibits in its productions the highest degree of purity in this respect. In the mature works of Shakspeare there is nothing of the personal habits of the actor, nothing from which we could gather any of the circumstances of his life, yet the intellectual self of Shakspeare is so faithfully embodied therein, that no competent critic would ever mistake any of them for the offspring of another mind. On the other hand, the mannerism of Coleridge was an excrescence upon his genius, which, instead of removing, he had fostered by perversities, both æsthetic and moral. The bias of

corrupt passions, and the errors of misinformation are obstacles to self-development, which few surmount; and ignorance, though unable to prevail over the noblest style of mind, slays its ten thousands of those who might otherwise fill valuable places in the realms of art. Original genius will never make up for the want of that knowledge of the external world which can be acquired only by learning. Much accumulation of facts from the wide fields of nature and human life, is needed as material whereon the mind may labor. Some there are, exceedingly afraid of knowing too much-so much as to crush their native genius-a very proper caution, if that genius is so great a stranger to its possessor as to run the risk of being mistaken for something else. But whoever is well acquainted with his own strength, and bent upon using it in an appropriate manner, will find no difficulty in abundant knowledge; and the ignorant of themselves will in vain hope to become great by remaining in unsophisticated ignorance of other things. No, emulous youth, mark well the bearing of your own existence, and then, instead of sipping cautiously and timidly at the fountains of knowledge-instead of acquiring just enough to make you vain smatterers, fear not for your originality in the most abundant acquisition. Originality belongs, not to what you acquire, but to what you produce. The sources of knowledge are the same to all; the vast stores of nature are thrown alike before the feeble and the strong; the spiritual world opens up

alike to every man who will look within his own soul; the accumulated experience of ages is accessible by labor to all-and who shall set the boundary to intellectual growth? Who shall say to any mind, thus far shalt thou acquire and no farther, where we have evidence that the Creator has set no limit? Yet this sameness in the sources of knowledge, no more involves a sameness of production, than identity of food involves identity of physical constitution. The poet Cowper pursued the same studies at the same school with Warren Hastings. Like different plants upon the same soil, they found the same nourishment, but extracted from it different elements, and sustained by it different natures.

Originality is not, therefore, a quality calculated to supersede education and study, nor inconsistent with the most extensive learning. Due respect to it demands only that while collecting, to any extent, from the outward world, we do not neglect the one which is within.

Whatever may be said of isolated thoughts, great works are not finished by inspiration or accident, not by mere stumbling into excellence, or finding it by instinct -but by the most careful study and preparation of mind for the subject. Why did Horace not write an epic poem? He repeatedly tells us, because he knew himself. Why did Silius Italicus attempt it? Clearly because he had studied Virgil more than himself. We

learn that the self-examination of Milton was long and searching; of Goëthe it was a study in which he never relaxed; and Wordsworth has expressly said, that when he turned his thoughts to literature, his first study was himself. Even the ploughman Burns, according to his own account, had pursued a similar course; by careful study with all the helps within his reach, he had ascertained and cultivated, while yet a youth, that singular intuition into man and nature -that sympathy with all the beautiful in both, which, fresh as the light of a morning in June, rests upon all his works. But farther, none can understand his duty before God who has not performed this duty to himself. His own nature, and the circumstances of his life, are the only data from which the duties of the individual can be ascertained. To rush into any work, or profession, without consulting this internal monitor, is a contempt of the will of God, as separately revealed to each man's heart.

It may not be amiss to suggest one caution on this head, before leaving it: that is, not to mistake for this duty of self-study, the very common vice of selfadmiration-that egotism, which, instead of sifting and trying, and condemning, as well as applauding, is continually reposing in the sunshine of self-approbation-instead of laboring after truthful expression, is anxious only for self-display. The egotist admires without understanding the object of his admiration,