about the red boxes, provided he abstain from startling his hearers by any prominent absurdity (that is, by any new and unrecognised truth), goes the whole hog with a determined party in the house, and is too inapprehensive to know when he is beaten-he will establish himself for life with his constituents as a great speaker; or, at worst, will not be found out, before he has secured himself a respectable retreat in some government office. In religion, on the other hand, every man can find, or make for himself an auditory, ready to take him at his own value, whether he set up for a saint or a prophet, or a dogmatist. A Johanna Southcote, and a professor of the unknown tongues, can endorse their own note as effectually as a Tillotson and a Maltby; for here the public is completely at fault, and will just as soon take a forgery as the best bill upon change.

In literature it may be thought that something more is necessary than for a man to mistake himself for a genius, in order to pass for one; and if his bookseller be made the umpire, we may partially admit the fact. But there are other modes of success in authorship besides the multiplication and sale of copies. We have only to go a little into general society, and look in occasionally upon certain coteries, to be satisfied of the existence of a vast number of distinguished authors, scarcely known to "the trade," and who are accepted as such, upon the bare strength of their own estimate of themselves. Every body now places Oliver Goldsmith, as a genius, far above the sententious "bow-wowing" Johnson. Yet the Irishman was obliged to play second fiddle to the great Leviathan; because with all his vanity and conceit, he wanted the confidence which enabled his friend to take his place in society, and assert himself, right or wrong, against every disputant. The literary adventurer, “qui ne doute de rien," thrusts himself into all companies, and becomes a member of all societies. He talks loud and long at institutes and associations, and dogmatizes at tea-tables, becomes a professional diner out, and is perhaps mistaken for a wit, merely because he thinks well enough of himself to be impertinent to his betters. If such a man is placed by circumstance in the line of promotion, he will stand a fair chance of obtaining it, to the exclusion of the man of merit, who possesses every fitness for office, save the capacity of making that fitness known to those who will not take the trouble of discovering it for him.

But, in the next place, the value of self-sufficiency is not confined to the storming of place; it tends not merely to the undertaking great things, but to their performance-at least to their quasi performance; or if, in extremely rare instances, it exposes a man to the disgrace of demonstrated incapacity, it still leaves him, in most particulars, better than it found him. Suppose the case of an architect, or a sculptor, who sets a high value on his own talents, upon rather slight grounds (the supposition is by no means extravagant), and suppose that he succeeds in imposing on a committee of ignoramuses, whose claims to their station as judges are, like his own, as an artist, founded on their own opinion of themselves. He has pushed himself into an order to build a church, or set up a statue. Well, he begs, borrows, or steals, a design,-or worse still he invents one for himself; and the church is built, the statue is raised, the contract is fulfilled. It may be that the work is within the decencies of mediocrity, that though it

have absolutely no merits, it may have few faults glaring enough to strike the public. The church, we will say, would make a very respectable barn, the statue would astonish all Portsmouth, in the capacity of a figurehead. What then is the consequence? The knowing few, smile, rivals write the work down (they would have done the same against a Chantry or a Palladio); wits epigrammatize, and the affair terminates in a nine days' wonder. But a precedent is set, Mr. Chisel, or Mr. Pilaster (as the case may be) has made a name, and obtains preference as a matter of course, over untried genius, whenever another business of the like kind is next afoot. Nay, it may happen, that the man of assurance, having obtained his order, though unable to execute it himself, may possess the cunning to avail himself of the talents of the excluded (because the modester) artist; by cajoling or bullying him out of his ideas, and making them his own: sic vos non vobis.

Supposing, however, that the tide of opinion is set against the new work; that its faults are a trifle more prominent, and that even the hackney-coachmen, as they pass, are provoked to quiz, presumption has still a resource in intrigue; and intrigue is the natural element of mediocrity. To the undiscriminating mass, the work is sufficiently good: and when the artist, his friends, and his paid critics make battle in his defence, there is no reason why the public should not believe them. In such cases the old maxim still applies, of "better be d-d, than not be named at all." The man is before the public, and the more he is talked about, ill or well, the better his chances for the future.

But, worst of all, let us admit the incapacity of presumption to have been proved beyond all power of denial, let us admit that the new work should, if the world were wise, be a monumental veto on all future employment, still the work is done, and must be paid for; by which presumption is at least so much in pocket, a bonus which it never would have obtained, had it known itself, and kept in the background. One other advantage falls to the share of self-satisfied incapacity: that being unconscious of its own demerits, it will never succumb to public opinion. It will thus enjoy the conviction of being" a very ill-treated gentleman," and of telling the fact to whoever will listen, which is assuredly a wonderful comfort; while it must go hard indeed, if, amongst its numerous auditors, it does not find some believers, and at least one advocate generous enough to spend money in the attempt to compensate it, for its self-proclaimed injuries.

Whoever has made the world his occasional study, must be convinced that it is no easy matter to push the presuming blockhead from his stool, when he has once fairly got possession of it. Mankind, in general, desire no better than to be ridden, as Swift says, with a huge pair of Rippon spurs; and sooner than not have an idol to worship, they will take the first misshapen stone they can find. Besides, the mediocrities ever make common cause," a fellow-feeling makes them wondrous kind." When genius addresses itself to the commonalty, the commonalty becomes fidgety and uneasy, and like King Richard's citizens, cries for its Recorder: but when presumption makes its appeal, there is nothing in it to elevate or astonish,-that is, to disturb the slumbering public; and the result is an unconscious conspiracy in favour of the pretender, to carry him through every difficulty. Thus it happens, that with the blockhead, even more than with the man of ability, when a

character has been made he may sleep in security. A piece of copper with the mint stamp on it passes current unexamined, as freely as a piece of gold. But if the coin happen to be "Brummagem," its low value is of vast service to its currency; few thinking it worth while to scrutinize the execution.

It would be invidious to specify the Brummagem geniuses, whom society continues to tolerate, because it has once accepted them at their own estimate. Every one must surely have instances to cite for himself: but he who has not, need only consult a complete edition of the British poets, or a British theatre, and he will find in the passed generations, the mummies of many a goodly reputation not worth the expense of embalming.

In social life, as in professional, an universal preference is given to the man, who lays the largest claims on public attention. In clubs, who is it that gets on the committee? Not the man who walks in, and walks out, reads his paper, eats his soup and his fish, and pays the amount in silent complacency; but he who finds fault with the cook, d-s the wine, complains of the servants, and swears that the establishment is going to the deuce, for want of a little more attention to the management. In private society, who is it that has the best of the argument? Not the best informed man, not the man of the clearest ideas; but he who talks loudest, and asserts the most vehemently his own capability to decide. Who, again, is most commonly the undisputed leader of fashion? Not the man of the most refined taste, not the best dresser, the most elegans formarum spectator, the possessor of the handsomest establishment, and the most gentlemanly and polite in his habits and manners, assuredly not: is it not, on the contrary, the most presuming coxcomb, the person the most extravagantly absurd in all his atours, the man who has voted himself into the chair of leadership, for an invincible conceit in his own superiority?

But if self-conceit fareth thus well in the intercourse between man and man, much more thriving is it in our intercourse with the fair sex. "Faint heart," says the proverb, "never won fair lady," and the proverb says perfectly true. Never had modesty yet the slightest chance of a hearing, from maid, widow, or wife. An easy self-possession is more in favour of a man's matrimonial speculations, than an irreproachable pair of whiskers. And here, we beseech our readers, not to be betrayed into thinking lightly of the sex on the ground of their judgments in this particular. Bashfulness, as between the sexes, is for the most part a simple matter of conscience, and follows conviction very closely at the heels: for instinct itself, tells a pretty fellow, at the least, every qualification that he really possesses, for pleasing; and few are bashful in their addresses, who do not more than suspect that there is a screw loose, or are not indeed fully aware that they are little better than impostors.

Nature herself takes part against the bashful; what a pity it is that no instinct warns the fair against the attacks of the impudent, and the pretending. But so it is; if in love matters, it is not exactly ask and have, there is yet no disputing that the garrison is more frequently taken by a stout summons to surrender, than by the most skilful engineering, or the most patient blockade. One great advantage which self-conceit possesses over modest merit, in affairs of the heart, is that

the former never loses an opportunity for urging its claims. Presumption has danced three sets and waltzed over many acres of floor, before modesty can muster courage to ask the lady to stand up. Presumption, too, is not nice in its estimate of the quantum of encouragement that should justify a proposal. Thus it often takes the fair one by surprise, and extorts a consent, before caution can step in to modify the

answer.

These advantages are not, however, always on the one side: there are cases in which a little modest assurance stands the lady, also, in good stead, and promotes her to the holy state over the heads of more deserving, but more retiring candidates. It does happen, sometimes, that she is the first to perceive her own possession of "every quality for making the married state happy," and that it lies very much in her own power to bring the man to a like conviction. In such cases, there is no good in placing the candle under a bushel. Nay, it has happened, that to wait for a proposal, would be to wait for that which would never arrive; while a confident anticipation of that ceremony, has led the party directly into the haven of her wishes. The odds, however, on this point, are after all, high in favour of male self-sufficiency. The wisest of the sex can but wonder at the man's assurance; "and wonder is involuntary praise ;" but in the existing state of society, the women are so pressed by the difficulties which surround their matrimonial speculations, that they have little leisure for canvassing the man's pretensions very deeply, and are but too much predisposed to take "a pig in 'a poke," and accept him at his own value, on the principle that,

"A man's a man for a' that, for a' that."

Perhaps it may be urged against our general theorem, that the presumptuous are not always ignorant of their own demerits. Men set up sometimes with the best success, as charlatans, with a full knowledge of their incapacity, and relying on the strength of public cullability. As far as ignorance of mere matters of fact goes, this may be something like the truth: the college of health is very well aware that it is not the college of physicians; and the advertising oculist knowing how many of his patients would be glad to see him, has some misgivings as to his proficiency in the science he professes. Beyond this, the charlatan, for the most part, has a liberal conceit of his own superiority, and fancies himself more cunning (that is, in his apprehension, wiser) than the rest of the world. At all events, none succeed in their impostures, who are not themselves more than half persuaded of their own excellence. In this case, it is truly possunt quia posse videntur, and where the conviction is wanting, the boldest adventurer is apt to break down, when caught unawares. But the truly self-satisfied, are not to be taken at a disadvantage. They alone are wrapped in armour of proof; and the consequence is, that while conscious demerit is for the most part almost as badly off in the world as humble merit, inapprehensive stupidity is conspicuous in the highest stations, presiding over learned societies, setting the fashions, riding in Lord Mayors' coaches, commanding fleets and armies, dispensing justice, and what is better still, clothed in purple and fine linen, and faring sumptuously every day.

μ.

THE ANTIDOTE TO LOVE:

A TALE.

BY THE COUNTESS OF BLESSINGTON.

"Oh! we do all offend

There's not a day of wedded life, if we

Count at its close the little, bitter sum

Of thoughts, and words, and looks unkind and froward,
Silence that chides, and woundings of the eye-

But prostrate at each other's feet, we should

Each night forgiveness ask."

"AND this is no dream, and we are at length in Naples!" said a very lovely woman, to her companion, a tall, handsome man of about twenty-eight years of age, and evidently not less than ten years her senior, on whose arm she lent, as they ascended the stairs of the "Grande Bretagne," on the Chiaja, marshalled by the landlord of that excellent hotel, and escorted by their courier.

"Yes, Ellen, here we are at last! Are you satisfied with the premier coup d'œil?-does it really answer your expectations?"

"Satisfied! Oh! Henry, what a word! Satisfied-I am delighted. What an inexpressive face mine must have been not to have told you so fifty times, while we have been descending the hill whence we first caught a view of Naples! The beauty of the buildings, the strange mélange of architecture grouped together, the exuberant animation and gaiety of the people, the oriental aspect of many of those we have met, all, all, have delighted me; and the more so, that it is unlike all that I have ever seen, though not unlike what I had imagined. The people look as if their blood was heated by the burning lava that bursts from Vesuvius; so flashing are their eyes and so glowing their faces.

The attentions of the host of the "Grande Bretagne" interrupted the animated description of the Lady Ellen Meredith. He led her and her husband through the suite of comfortable rooms selected for them by their courier, a couple of hours before; dwelt with due emphasis on their agrémens, and only retired to urge the cook to serve quickly the light, but recherché supper prepared for them. A small apartment, divided from the saloon by a glass door, attracted the attention of Lady Ellen Meredith. It contained an ottoman, that surrounded it, with a table in the centre, and commanded an extensive view of the beautiful bay.

"What a delightful little boudoir !" exclaimed Lady Ellen. It positively looks as if formed for the purpose of transcribing some of the countless romantic histories connected with this place !"

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"How like you, Ellen, to have thought so," replied il marito, placing his arm round her slender waist. You always fancy a romance in every place that looks a little more inviting than ordinary, for the scene of an adventure."

"I have no patience with you, Henry; you are really as matter-offact and prosaic as my good uncle Mortimer, who can see nothing out of the common, in the most romantic incident, and who laughs at even the most touching story founded on la belle passion."