his rifle to his shoulder by a mechanical impulse and fired," as though we were wound up and only waited for the revolution of the machinery to come into play. Wound up indeed we are, but hardly mechanically; more by the incident of a moment than the revolution of time. Thus are we occasionally impelled to rush on, distinguish ourselves if possible, and "be heroes in the strife," more by a vague desire, a momentary thought, than any previous resolution or confidence in our powers. In getting up at half-past six in the morning the impulse is of a different nature, and inclines towards the mechanical, because the action is customary, repeated, and the effect of deliberate impulse. We have by a gradual process of doubts and resolutions to wind up our minds with the key of fear-of-being-late. The school clock strikes the half-hour-the clock of impulse faintly responds-the sounds die awaywe fall again passive votaries before the god of somnolence (we cannot call him sluggishness at such an hour). Suddenly a virtuous and diligent small boy, who, maybe has risen at the quarter-past to insure himself against the awful chance of being late, calls out for the edification of those who can hear him, "It's twenty-five minutes to." We awakewe think a little-then runs down the alarum, and we rush from our warm beds. What follows is but the consequence of impulse,action. O impulse, impulse, ever be with me in time! Ever be thou "awake and call me early."

SELF LOVE.

There is a sin of every sin the source,
Round which all others centre, battening
On its rank, rotten, soil; like noisome weeds
That spring on coarse luxuriant ground, and draw
From it their watery blood; they thrive and bloom
In bastard beauty; they decay, and drop
Their mouldy petals to enrich the plot
That bore and fed them, to be fed in turn.
Even so Self love; it doth befoul the current
That from the heart sets ever; taints the stream
That should flow fresh from nature; mixeth mire
With noblest, sweetest thoughts; spreads ulcer-like
And cherisheth Pride, Envy, Malice, Hate,
And all that drowns the Deity within,
And all that tends to raise its sensual self
Above the throne of conscience, God's own voice.
It feeds them with its poisonous drugs, and thrives
Upon their growing empire, cursing, cursed.

He is the worst of poets who parades
Before us ever his own miseries,

Lays bare his narrow shallow mind, and asks
Our kindly sympathies to weep with him;
Who writes his passions virtues, deems that vice
Which his own other vices save him from;
Proclaims some written image of himself
Virtue's ideal; sneers at those whose minds
Tune not to his low key, as feeling less;
He is the worst, most tedious, and least true.
That song is noblest that is cramped least
By Self's short circling tether; chain a horse
To one small grass plot, soon that bare worn spot
Will hunger out his strength, will waste away
His shapely limbs, that, had he scope to scour
The fresh free plain, and quaff the fresh free air,
Would leave behind the panting winds.-Just so
With Poetry and Mind; if they but breathe
Even the same close clouded atmosphere,
And idle ever in the same cramp'd space,
They sicken and lose vigour.-Step beyond
The petty pale of self, nor, like the bat,

That clings in sleep to some dead wither'd bough,
Hug error; set thyself to nature's music,
And she shall lend thee worded spells to play
Upon the human heart as on a harp;

Shall dower thy mind with thoughts, like streaks of

light

In darken'd rooms, to win the jarring world.

On Tuesday, the 19th, was the last Big Side Hare and Hounds Run for this half. The run was across the country to Crick, a village nearly six miles off, and memorable as having had Archbishop Laud for its rector; and home again by the road, The hares had eight minutes start, and were caught up by the hounds. Seventeen started from the school gates, eight of whom came to the end in the following order :

1.-Blake 1 hr. 24 min.
2.-Moseley 1 hr. 30 min.
3. Hanbury 1 hr. 32 min.
4.-Walford.

5.-Potts.

6.-Burn.

7.-Owen. 8.-Johnston.

The shortest time that the run had before been done in was 1 hr. 28 min., by Baird, in 1848, who, as some of our readers will remember, lately won a running match of three miles, across country, against a brother officer in Ireland.

The article which appeared in our last number, relative to the propriety of observing the Fifth of November, is not to be taken as the unanimous opinion of those connected with the paper; on the contrary, there are several who would be very sorry to consider it at all a fit exponent of their opinions; but it is thought advisable to let the subject drop.

NOTICE.-The next number of the RUGBEAN will not appear until Thursday, December 5.

CROSSLEY AND BILLINGTON, PRINTERS, MARKET PLACE, RUGBY.

No. III.]

COMMON SENSE.-Common sense has, I think, been exalted very far above its due position. It is the usual cause of self esteem among a large class of men who have nothing better; and the usual cause of reproach against great men, that they have it not. And truly they say right; for the sense which great men have is not common. Its original meaning seems to be the share of sense which falls to the greater part of mankind; according to this, it is about as rational to boast of it, as for a man to boast of his possessing two legs or ten fingers. It would be well if its original meaning were kept unchanged, for it has been so perverted as to have been called the distinguishing attribute of Bacon. It is bad enough that so many should consider him as the philosopher of sense as distinct from mind; but to hear this sense called common, is a glaring instance of the way in which many men wish (until the wish becomes father to their thought) to bring down great men to their own low level. The great component in the man of common sense (taking the common definition) is care of No. 1: the next greatest, care of No. 2; that is of those who will one day reward him either in kind, or by praise of character, which the man of common sense, who can see a yard or two before him, estimates highly as a promissory note that can be turned to gold some day or other. He is practical, abjuring theory as the greatest plague of life; for though it may be good, true, and answerable, yet he cannot see how it serves his immediate interests. He is of the same opinions as those around him, in unimportant matters, such as religion; one of his chief sources of amusement being to laugh at all who hold the ludicrous opinion that one religion is better than another." From this it may be gathered that his principles are those of the Times, which he prefers to being ministerial; for the ministry may be turned out, but by holding by the Times, he will always be secure of keeping in the tide of public opinion. To do him justice, he is great upon drainage; and against prejudices in general, and great-minded prejudices in particular. He

[TWOPENCE.

votes for the discontinuance of the African squadron; for clearly the complaints of taxed Englishmen are more to be regarded than the cries of kidnapped Africans. For charity begins at home. So he makes a capital begmning, but does not go on with it. He gets on capitally in the world, dying worth several thousands; part of which he leaves in legacies to societies of various principles. So shall he have had the full enjoyment of the money; do to the full as much good with it as if he had distributed it himself when alive, and be as well or better spoken of afterwards.

NOVELS AND NOVELISTS.-We saw the X other day an article with this title which much attracted our notice. The purport of it is to uphold the much more ennobling effects produced on the mind by those novels which deal of the past, and those of purely romantic fiction than that produced by those which relate scenes of constant every day occurrence and events of real life. And as regards a certain set of novels this cannot be denied; for who will gainsay the fact that the mind is much more ennobled and elevated by the historical romances of such an author as Scott, or by the romantic fictions of such a mind as his (himself no mean poet) than by any of our silly novels of fashionable life (what Thackeray calls the silver fork school)or by the blood thirsty effusions of Harrison Ainsworth? (with whom by the bye this article classes Dickins!) But as a general fact we think it may well be denied, we deny that it is any more elevating to the mind, to gaze over the past, which can never be recalled and in which it has so very little share, than to examine the present in which it now is or the future on which all have so real an interest. And as examples of this, we deny that more good is to be obtained from the perusal of James's historical fictions, than from the present fictions of Thackeray or Dickens or from the earlier morbid and mysterious works of Lytton Bulwer, (such as Harold) at once eminently historical and romantic than from his last pure and healthy novel, The Caxtons.

2

The assertion is supported in the article on the ground that it is good to draw the mind from the present and all the selfish toils and cares and interests connected with it, and to fix its attention on what is good, and great in history, made still more great and noble by the idealization of the author, or on the pure and perfect ideal of a romantic fiction; And the principle of this is perfectly true and sound; it is good for the mind to be drawn away from its own selfish objects of interest, and fixed on what is great, and noble and heroic, but then these noble and great objects may more profitably be taken from this most earnest toiling world than the beings and characters of a bygone age or the creations of any mans imagination, however grand and beautiful that imagination may be; -and let it not be understood that we in any way undervalue the good to be gained from the study of the past, much may indeed be learned, but then it should be studied with an eye to the present, and future, for says the poet "Love thou thy land, with love far brought From out the storied past, and used

Within the present, but transfused

Thro' future time by power of thought." And surely what we have said is so; Man is moving on rapidly, the world rushes on in its progress, this is no time for looking back, and longing for the fancied good old times; There is much to be done, more shews itself every day; this is our time, or this we ought to look with the greatest interest; and self of all things be the least ingredient of this looking to the present: There are enough objects left even leaving out yourself, and a relation of trials and deeds now going on is more likely to draw you from yourself that a relation of things which you know have been, but believe quite gone by, and the books which point out the improvements wanted, which shows that heroism and chivalry may and extst still. Books that mark the strife now going on and tell that "Life is real, life is earnest," that "something attempted, something done, must earn a night's repose," are more useful than those which only tell you that such things have been, and which only tend to make you despise and deprecate the present, incomparison with the past-It is asserted too that this is an age of utilitarianism in which poetry can scarcely exist; but surely

these things are not incompatible; we have Tennyson, and Longfellow true poets, and yet in every sense poets of the age, aye and that a utilitarian age; they breathe of practical philosophy; the almost sole theme of one is the necessity of action, and the reality of the presen tthe novels then to read (and novels doubtless ought to be read) are those which raise your opinion of your fellow men, which make you long for their improvement, which point out the much greater real heroism in enduring what seem trivial every day trials, and performing every day annoying duties, than in many of the splendid actions of the past which we have been used to gaze at in admiration; and we shall be well content if, by this article, we induce one to study these books more, and by that means make him respect more highly his fellow men, and seek out their deficiencies and wants, not in a carping fault-finding spirit, but from an earnest desire to improve them, make him see how much more glorious is the present struggle, than all the records of a faded past. X.

BIG SIDE LEVEE (a la Homer.)—Thus then were the chiefs of both armies assembled together, and they held much counsel in their magnanimous hearts, whether they should again mingle in the Mars-loved match, or seeking their well-fitted studies, rest from their labours; and the opinions of the chiefs were very opposite, till at length, clear-voiced Smith, standing on his swift feet, addressed them, "You have I summoned hither, O illustrious chiefs, that you may decide in your wise hearts, whether we shall again hazard the fate of war or no. For I am persuaded in my deep soul that the turf of the plain is not too slippery for an air-clearing drop, for already is it three hours since the cloud-collecting dews descended in much rain. Therefore my mind within me impels very much to fight."

But him answering, the crafty Jones addressed "O far-famed Smith, great glory of the South, thou indeed holdest this opinion, but with me it is otherwise. For this is the third day of the week, on which the swift-footed Rugbæans are wont to tire their dear limbs." Then arose a cry, as when the wind roars

round the revolving chimney pots, and "oh" was uttered by many articulately speaking men, but by others "hear."

Then Smith, the son of the far-famed Smith, replied, "Most glorious son of Jones, most avaricious of all men, not to-day do the swiftfooted Rugbæans exhaust their sweet breath, for already like unto dogs, who hurry a timid hare over new-ploughed fields, have the longwinded Rugbæans traversed the fertile fields which lead to the much populated Crick, and that is the last course along which the swiftfooted Rugbæans move their white-greaved legs. Therefore let those, whose minds are bent on mingling in the fight send forth, out of their deep breasts, the sweet-toned "Aye."

as

some are not willing to engage, but the Muses which dwell on the heights of their book shelves restrain them, let them also utter forth the deep-toned "No." Then as the cry of a solitary bird, sitting disconsolate on a house top, was heard the sound of voices, few in number, and the "Ayes" exceeded the "Noes" in countless proportion; neither was there any cry of "Divide.' Then again the

son of the far-famed Smith addressed the assembled heroes, "Since thus ye have decreed, so let it be, but now, for soon must the sons of Rugby respond the variegated "here Sir," to their beloved patronymics, it seems fit to my wise heart that we immediately depart; let him who opposeth the motion lift up his clear voice, but none dissented and all were very willing.

THEY-A simple monosyllable of four letters, yet how great its power. What man is entirely free from its mysterious influence? Most potent is it both for good and for evil, for how many are there who will not commit crime, deterred not by the fact of its being a crime, but because THEY would disapprove of of it, and, on the other hand, how many men there are, men who would calmly meet their

death, fighting "i' the imminent deadly breach," who would not dare to act up to their convictions if THEY thought otherwise. Of all the ways in which THEY exert their power, laughing surely is the one in which they succeed most. THEY may oppose a move that gives him consequence; THEY may hate and persecute; he feels himself a martyr, but if THEY laugh at him, not if some party or a few individuals, but if THEY laugh at him, in nine cases out of ten, he will give up the con.. test in despair. "That fellow's idea or action" what the one THEY are always laughing at? How can you think about such a thing for a moment. How often, by such words as these, have glorious and useful ideas been nipt in the bud, for a time at least; as true merit will always be appreciated in the end. How often, in every day life, do we see people who do this, or that, because THEY think it ought to be done. How many are there who affect some peculiarity of dress or manner, like the tub of Diogenes, in order that THEY may say "how eccentric he is"; but very often these persons fail, and THEY only laugh at them, for though THEY have many faults, yet they have a good deal of penetration.

Can it be true that after life,

And in the happy realms above,

We shall not know the friends we love,
Who helped us through our worldly strife.
But that our endless bliss shall be,

Ever our inward souls to raise,
To one bright Being's lasting praise,
Ever his glorious form to see?
That we shall want no other there,

Freed from self's all entwining mesh,
That 'tis but weakness of the flesh,
That makes us long for friendship here?
It may be so; I cannot tell;

It were, indeed entrancing bliss;
A joy of worlds more pure than this,
Since Adam from the garden fell :
Thus to be drawn from out self's chain,
The curse of every human thing
And rais'd aloft on seraph wing,
Ever to sing one praising strain.
But now, within my earthly mind,

One constant thought runs ever through, That happiness could scarce be true, Without some commune with my kind.

When the great soul who drew the sinless pair,
To their sight ascended:

And seventy years of strife appeared not there-
The fight was o'er, the soul had fled, to where
It sprang from to the day.

Weep we those, who, snapt before the storm,
Or nipt by the cold world's frost,
Too proud to hide themselves, too weak to last,
Fre men could cry," how beautiful!" were lost;
*One dived into the ocean of the past

And brought forth pearls;

"He perished in his pride," for they were cast To swinish churls.

One woke the echoes of a long-lost shell,

Greek of a northern clime,

The loves of goddesses, Titans that fell

Beneath the gods of time;

But the frail fabric could not bear what well

A coarser mind had paid with scorn for scorn, But cold contempt bereft him of his spell;

He died forlorn.

The hollow winds that moan in tune to sorrow,
As through the bare branch'd trees they blow,
Will sing tho same song thoughtlessly to morrow;
It is their way; they heed not woe.

Earth has no spells to charm away thy grief,
Selfish and mortal is her love :

But earth knows well One who can give relief;
Her face is turned to God above.

Unchangingly the tall trees front the heaven,
And flowers peering from the sod,
Remembering him by whom all life is given,
Point upward silently to God.

THE TWO RACES.-That there is always great change and progress going on among mankind is a truth which we hear and repeat so often that we do not realize it, or press it to its consequences, so as to make it a motive for our conduct; but more than this, there are periods when a greater change passes upon us, when a further progress is effected; when a gap, wider than ordinary, is placed between the two races of yesterday, and of to-day; when the old race is inclined to despise the novelty of the schemes, and the untried glitter of the weapons of the new; and the new to boast in the brightness of their hopes and the vigour of their strength, πατέρων μέγ' αμείνονες ευχόμεθ ̓ εἶναι to be far better than their fathers. Such a critis has begun, now for time, and is going on. We at School, are the children of some the new; we may be its heroes, or its minions; we can hardly be its antagonists. Times like this are times of doubt and danger. But what is needed in the new is not so much confidence, nor so much enthusiasm, as clearness of perception to see the truth, and steadiness of character to act it out. They have got the fiery war steed of Alexander, it needs but to lay a nervous and a heavy hand on his neck to guide and to restrain, and the horse will bear them through the battle, for his neck is clothed with thunder." Without this weight and steadiness of character, every scheme and every principle must be overturned, like a boat in troubled waters, and these days are like troubled waters, when every institution, nay, every phrase, is called in question, and must stand or fall by the approbation of the many, England and its People are entrusted to the guidance of a new race; superior it may be in

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