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On Natural and Acquired Abilities.

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MR. EDITOR. the query, as intended by the proSIR, I cannot forbear transmitting pounder of it. It is not, to clothe you the result of a few reflections upon Iven's idea of it in other language, the interesting query, "Which are the "Whether a man possessing not even most valuable, natural or acquired abili- an ordinary share of mental endowtics?" particularly after the novel and ments, shall rise, by acquired abilities, ingenious argument used by Iven, in superior to him who boasts only of the col. 847, where he says, "I am almost common qualifications of mind, which inclined to affirm, that, strictly speak- nature every day bestows; but can ing, there are no such things as acquired natural abilities (that are above the abilities, independently of natural." lot which falls to mankind at large) Iven being of opinion that "natural be considered, abstractedly, more vaabilities are the more valuable," fan- luable than abilities cultivated and cies himself perfectly secure, and free enriched by the individual who posfrom all attack, by this analytical dis-sesses only the general proportion of covery in the constitution of the mind. nature's common bounty ?" I beg But not willing to settle the matter so pardon for offering so much upon the unceremoniously," he goes a little real meaning of the question proposed; further in words, (though precisely the but as I have considered it necessary same argument,) and adduces the case for the full elucidation of the subject, of an idiot, which he considers strict- I entertain no doubt of receiving a ly in point, which admits of no dis- complete justification at your hands, pute, and which solves the query. He and at the hands of your readers in says, "that the idiot has no natural gencral. mental abilities; and, I ask, can he In this view of the question, I shall acquire any?" Your correspondent consider it; and in doing which, permight have asked, with as much pro-mit me to state, that I think it will be priety, Can a fool be a wise man? no difficult thing to shew, that acquired Surely not! This question is asked abilities must be considered of the evidently for the purpose of claiming greater value.— an additional support to his former declaration, and to demonstrate most indisputably the critical accuracy of his conclusion, that "natural abilities are the more valuable." If this be a case "strictly in point," there is an end to all discussion; and I am surprised that Iven should think it worth his while to attempt to reason further upon a subject, to him so self-evident.

We all know, that if there be a defect in the organization of the mental faculties, that it will he totally impossible for any individual labouring under that defect, to acquire mental abilities. We might as well expect, that a man, naturally black, can acquire the complexion of a white. But, Sir, the question propounded for solution, I apprehend, has been entirely mistaken by Iven.

When we speak of any individual who possesses natural abilities, we immediately suppose the idea of that person being endowed with more than an ordinary share of nature's gifts; and consequently, that he has a greater facility afforded him to arrive at a higher pitch of intellectual improvement, than the man who possesses only the general boon. This, I have no doubt, is the real interpretation of

Natural abilities can be of little use to the individual who possesses them, or to society at large, unless they are cultivated and improved. However fertile the soil may be, if left neglected and uncultivated by the husbandman, it becomes as a barren tree, and will not produce beneficial fruits. This reasoning is precisely analogous to the question under consideration.

If nature should confer gifts on one, (which cannot be considered the boon to all,) and he should apply himself with diligence and perseverance to the improvement of his mind; there can be little doubt, but that he will rise to usefulness and to pre-eminence; while the man who possesses only

"Nature's common share,"

and consequently, depends upon his mental energies alone, may, perhaps, rise only to mediocrity; but if the former does not use those advantages, (and this is precisely the question,) they will avail him nothing; or, to use a very humble figure of speech, it is putting valuable tools into the hands of an unskilful workman.

I may illustrate this fact by pointing you to the American calculating boy, who was in England some little time

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On Natural and Acquired Abilities.

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bility, have been inferior to the very best of the English poets: but even as he is, can it be supposed that his poetic effusions are the alone spontaneous effect of a natural genius? No. Ask him if they arose from his mind instantaneously, without thought, or the active exercise of his intellectual powers, like the bright orb of day upon his vision; and he will reiterate the same monosyllable. With his li

intelligence, he has used the utmost of them in the cultivation of his mind. His poetic Muse bears the image of a humble but attentive observation, and a circumscribed acquaintance with reading-the necessary result of a close mental application.

since, and through the bountiful gifts | of nature, (amounting almost to a miracle,) he was enabled to answer any question connected with figures with the greatest and most surprising facility. However abstruse and complicated the question, the answer was as immediate and conclusive. It gratified an eager curiosity; but where was the advantage which accrued, either to his own mind, or to society at large? He had an inherent mode of calcula-mited pecuniary means of acquiring tion, there can be no doubt, or there I would have been no occasion for a moment's delay, before the answer to the question was given; or for the evident intensity of thought which manifestly pervaded his mind. But with all the created astonishment, he was unable to communicate by what means he arrived at his accurate results. It was for want of acquired ability that all this was lost. Had his mind been duly educated, and means used for its improvement, he would not only, in all probability, have placed himself in a very superior situation of life, but would have been enabled to shew to the world a system of ready calculation, which would have rendered all former ones totally useless. However great the natural genius of a man may be, it cannot be of any service without acquired means be used to expand, to systematize, and to develope its powers for the benefit of others. This is the great object of education; and it is this which has raised Great Britain to the present elevated standard of civilization over the other nations of the earth. "A human soul without education is like marble in the quarry, which shews none of its inherent beauties till the skill of the sculptor fetches out all its colours."

I might refer you to the splendid natural gifts bestowed on Clare, the Northamptonshire poet; and Hogg, the author of the Ettrick Shepherd. The former, it is well known, was drawn out from the secluded paths of a rustic life, and raised, by the patronage of the highest literary characters in this country, from a state of indigence to comfort and to ease;-from dark obscurity to acknowledged respectability. His critical patrons have pronounced, that had he received education equal to the natural genius of his mind, he would have shone like a bright constellation in the British hemisphere: he would not, in all proba

The author of the Ettrick Shepherd, whose origin was not more dazzling or conspicuous, was employed in the noiseless scenes of a pastoral life. He too was not less endowed by nature's generous hand; but would the productions of his pen have been so choice and valuable, had he not cultivated and matured to perfection those intellectual endowments which he possessed. They manifest a profound knowledge, and a discreet and penetrating judgment. They carry an indelible impression of an acquaintance with books, and a minute attention to every thing worthy of record. His poetry particularly abounds with simplicity of sentiment, and an unassuming richness of language, that cannot fail both to engage and to instruct. He has risen, and still continues to rise, like the melodious lark, chanting his hymns of praise, and issuing sweet sounds of music through the skies. That nature's first inherent impress impelled him onwards, I admit; but that his own acquired abilities have contributed more to his present situation in the literary world, no one, I presume, will attempt to deny.

I have selected these three instances from a number which I might enumerate, not from their being more prominent than others; but because the individuals are generally known, and that living facts are ponderable arguments, and will stand the test when the soundest reasoning shall appear to fail.

Another reason I urge in favour of acquired abilities is, because they make not only the man a social being; but they presuppose an action of mind,

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always meritorious, and which must bring with them their own reward. An indolent man, either in body or mind, is ever considered a despicable creature, and unworthy of society; but wherever acquired abilities centre, there can be no such apathy. They produce also a mental emulation, which is at all times honourable and instructive. Man is so constituted by the wise arrangements of Providence, as to be constantly looking after honour and fame; and here a field opens, fully commensurate with his most ardent wishes. Every stimulant is here afforded to attain the prize. They lead him on with glowing impatience to furnish his mind with those materials of knowledge, by which we think, we reason, we act, and from which fresh discoveries, both in science and in art, are produced.

But the man who possesses natural abilities alone, without putting them into active operation, remains a perfect cipher, and worse than a nonentity. It is depositing wealth of the richest treasure beneath some ponderable pile of eastern ruins, that the passing traveller is forbid even to touch, and which, when once crumbled into dust by the hand of time, is lost for ever.

What is it that elevates the human species above the brute creation? It is his intellect. Is not man in general, particularly he who possesses natural abilities, not only blameable, but criminal, in the eyes of his fellowcreatures and of his Creator, to suffer himself to degenerate into the senseless and unmeaning movements of a brute, and leave nothing to distinguish him from that species, but an empty name and form?

Your's, most respectfully,
T.W-M.

Blackfriars-road, Oct. 11, 1821.

CHILBLAINS.

To Cure,-Apply salt and onions pounded together, or a poultice of roasted onions hot, and keep it on two or three days, if not cured sooner; or hot turnip parings roasted, changing them twice or thrice a day; if they are broken, wash them with tincture of myrrh, in a little water. To Prevent,-Wear flannel socks, or wash the feet or hands with flour of mustard.

No. 34.-VOL. III.

POETRY.

SLEEP, A PARODY:

Or, a Soliloquy for a Sluggard.

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To rise, or not to rise? that is the question,
Whether 'tis nobler in the mind to suffer
The stings and arrows of reproving conscience,
or to take arms against these slothful habits,
No more: and by arising, say we end
And by opposing, end them.-To rise to sleep
The head-ach, and the thousand evils
That sloth is heir to it is a victory
Devoutly to be wish'd.-To rise-to sleep,-
To sleep, perchance to dream;-aye, there's
For in that idle sleep what dreams may come
the rub,
To agitate this lazy mortal coil,
Should make us pause ;-for it is said
That drowsiness shall clothe a man with rags;
And he that loveth sleep, shall come to poverty.
By fading cheeks, by loss of appetite,
Who can bear to be so often warn'd?
By weariness of limbs so long confin'd,
And all th' inquietudes the sluggard feels,
When he himself might his quietus make,
That sound thou heardest was another knell
By getting up.O murderer of time!
Of thy departing hours. Where are they?
Forgotten? No, recorded in His book
Who never slumbereth, nor sleepeth.
What doest thou here, when all's in motion,
Sweating and snoring thy short life away?
Hast thou no dread of something after death,
No traveller returns, but there is fix'd?
In that remoter country, from whose bourn
Know'st thou the large arrear of talents bury'd?
Of precious time so much of, yawn'd away?
Go to the Ant, thou sluggard; her ways con-
And be wise. Fold not thy arms again,
sider,
Nor over turn, nor listen to the voice of sloth,
Craving five minutes more ;—but up at once,
And fill the station allotted thee by Providence,
Nor slumber here, lest thou a slumberer be
When the archangel's trumpet rouse to judg..
ment,

And thou be call'd for, to give account
Of all things done by thee whilst in the body.

H.

THE SUNDAY SCHOOL. Written for the Anniversary of the Penryn Methodist Sunday School, Cornwall, and spoken by two of the Scholars, June 24, 1821.

WHILE Jesus sojourn'd here below,
Pleas'd for a season to forego

The honours of his throne;
One constant object he pursu'd,
To do his needy creatures good,

And make his mercy known. The dumb, the deaf, the lame, the blind, Flock'd to the Saviour of mankind,

In hopes a cure to gain;

Lepers were cleans'd; the poor were fed;
Disease and want before him fled;
None sought his aid in vain.

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With pious zeal and heart sincere,
Behold! a multitude appear

Amid the suppliant throng;

Young children in their arms they bring, Presenting to their lowly King,

Poetry.

To whom all hearts belong.
"Forbear!" his own disciples cry;
"Nor trouble thus our Master: why
"Should infants be his care?
"Suffice the wonders he has wrought
"For those of riper years, when brought
"His benefits to share."

But Jesus sure would disapprove
That zeal, which hasted to remove

Poor children from his sight:
"Suffer those little ones," he cried,
"To come to me, nor turn aside
"In whom I most delight."
Into his arms the babes he took,
While grace beam'd forth in ev'ry look,
With love that knew no end;
On each his blessing he bestow'd,
And thus by actions plainly shew'd
Himself the children's friend.
And is not Jesus gracious still?
And is it not his heav'nly will,

That all should learn, while young,
To read his word, his laws revere,
Hallow his sabbaths, and draw near

Where God's high praise is sung?
But see! throughout our native land,
Myriads, alas! of children stand,
Untutor'd, and forgot;
As Heathens ignorant and blind,
To ev'ry evil work inclin'd;

How wretched is their lot!
Nature's pernicious weeds run wild,
And spread, in each neglected child,
O'er all th' uncultur'd heart;
And as they grow inur'd to sin,
The dire disease strikes deeper in,
And cleaves to ev'ry part.
No pious parent's tender care
Their folly checks, or shews them where
True happiness is found:
Then say, what wonder can it be,
Amongst these giddy youths to see
All sorts of vice abound?

Blest institution, hail! 'tis thine
To claim an origin divine,

Which shall success ensure;
From heav'n in richest mercy sent,
Unnumber'd evils to prevent,

And endless good secure.

For now, each sabbath's cheerful morn
Beholds the welcome hour return,

When children may receive
Instruction in the ways of truth,

And learn to guide their thoughtless youth,
While error's paths they leave.

The sacred school is open'd wide;
The day of rest is sanctified
By deeds of Christian love;

Ten thousand infant voices raise
The hymn of gratitude and praise,
To him who reigns above.
The holy book of God they take,
And children haste betimes to make
Its blest contents their own;
It opens to their view the way
That leads to realms of glorious day,
And points to Christ alone.

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Still may these precious fruits increase! And never may our efforts cease,

Nor fail our zeal and love! May teachers, patrons, children-here Be sav'd from sin, and all appear At God's right hand above. Penryn, 1821.

W. P. B.

EPIGRAM ON THE GRECIAN POET.

WHO first transcrib'd the famous Trojan war, And wise Ulysses' acts, O Jove, make known: For since 'tis certain thine these poems are, No more let Homer boast they are his own." J. R. Norwich, Sept. 15, 1821.

ON TRUTH.-BY JOHN GORTON.
CELESTIAL maid, immortal Truth!
On the right hand of Deity you sit;
Array'd in everlasting youth,

And with incessant honour meet.
In heav'n there's not a minstrel sings,
But to thy praise some tribute brings;
On earth, tho' men are prone to err,
Thee their chief object they aver';
The sun, the flaming source of day,
Reveres thee in his golden ray;
The silver moon, with milder light,
Thy worth proclaims to silent night;
While the whole group of countless stars,
Thy merit and thy pow'r declares.
Ere sun, or moon, or stars, were fram'd,
Thou, nymph, wert in Elysian fam'd,
Heaven's sons among, or ere those sons were
made,

Thou, God's companion and his fav'rite, sway'd.
I thank thee, maid, that thou hast found
Thy druid at his simple home;

O, let him ever hear thy dulcet sound, Ne'er from thy presence suffer him to roam. To superstition's baleful pow'r

Let him not fall a sacrifice;

Without this ugly hag to blight its joys,
Enough has life of evil ev'ry hour.

What is not founded

Thy base upon,
Must be confounded,

Will topple down ;

Nought can its seeming strength avail, When mighty billows burst, and angry

assail.

Not far remov'd, the day, the hour, Waits to ensure thy boundless sway, Error will then confess thy pow'r, And melt beneath thv fervid ray.

winds

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MR. EDITOR.

Poetry.

SIR, The following poem, written by
Mr. Southey, first appeared in the
"Annual Anthology;" and, as this
work is nearly out of print, I have
transcribed the" Holly Tree," for your
excellent Magazine. By its insertion,
you will considerably extend its cir-
culation, gratify every reader who ad-
mires poetic genius, and evince the
beauty of a real "Lyric Ballad."
I am, Sir,

Your's, respectfully,
ARISTARCHUS.

THE HOLLY TREE.-By R. SOUTHEY. "O READER! hast thou ever stood to see The Holly Tree?

The eye that contemplates it well, perceives
Its glossy leaves,

Order'd by an Intelligence so wise,
As might confound the atheist's sophistries.
Below a circling fence, its leaves are seen,
Wrinkled and keen,

No grazing cattle thro' their prickly round
Can reach to wound;

But, as they grow where nothing is to fear,
Smooth and unarm'd the pointless leaves appear.
I love to view these things with curious eyes,
And moralize;

And, in the wisdom of the Holly Tree,
Can emblems see

Wherewith perchance to make a pleasant rhyme,

Such as may profit in the after-time.

So, tho' abroad perchance I might appear
Harsh and austere,

To those who on my leisure would intrude,
Reserv'd and rude,

Gentle at home amid my friends I'd be,
Like the high leaves upon the Holly Tree.
And should my youth, as youth is apt, I know,
Some harshness show,

All vain asperities, I day by day

Would wear away;

Till smooth the temper of my age should be,
Like the high leaves upon the Holly Tree.
And, as when all the summer trees are seen
So bright and green,

The holly leaves their faded hues display,
Less bright than they;

But when the bare and wintry woods we see,
What then so cheerful as the Holly Tree!
So serious should my youth appear among
The thoughtless throng,

So would I seem amid the young and gay,
More grave than they;
That, in my age, as cheerful I might be
As the green winter of the Holly Tree."
October 3, 1821.

Lines written on a Summer Morning in the Country.
THE sun is up, and thro' the air there floats
A fragrance from the trees, & shrubs, & flow'rs;
For yon black cloud is fast retiring now,
And giving place to pure cerulean blue:

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A calmness dwells around;-no poet's song
Of fair Italia's balmy breath, at eve
Or morn, but what is present to my mind,
And fancy gives it to this lovely spot.
See yonder hedge, now glist'ning in the sun,
For on each little leaf the water sits,
Oh! what a pearly brightness 'tis I view:
Waiting that orb to take it to himself:
And when the morn's soft breath just flies along,
And moves the branches, what a glitt'ring show!
Oh! say, ye fair ones, if, at midnight hour,
Amidst the mazes of the " giddy dance,"
Did e'er ye see the equal of this scene?
Did e'er the richest gems of either Ind
Sparkle in brightness as these rain-drops do?
Give to the lights a more than usual glare;
Give to the jewels brighter, lovelier hues;
Add double to the scene in ev'ry point,
And then this hedge, this water, far outshine
All that the art of man has yet produc'd!
Acton Place.

MR. EDITOR.

M. M.

SIR, Allow me to offer an humble
tribute of gratitude to the noble and
benevolent Supporters of that truly ex-
cellent institution, the Literary Fund.
Having felt its genial influence, I earn-
estly wish to make a grateful and
public acknowledgment of the fa-
vour, through the medium of your
widely circulated and instructive Ma-
gazine.
I remain, Sir,

Your obliged Servant,
S. HUGHES.

Islington, Oct. 2, 1821.

THE LOVE OF POESY. Stanzas most respectfully inscribed to the benevo· lent Supporters of the LITERARY FUND, by their much obliged and grateful humble Servant, S. HUGHES. WHAT avails the dawn of genius? What avails the talent giv'n?

If blighting penury destroy,

Or render null the gift of heav'n?

A precious gift, to few dispens'd,

Which cannot be by art acquir'd, Yet, without patronage, this boon Is not a boon to be desir'd.

Some it betrays to wretchedness,

And some it plunges in despair;
They seek the shelter of the grave,
The end of earthly woe and care.

Thus prudence reasons,but in vain ;
For if a Muse attune her lyre,
The love of poesy prevails,

The bosom glows with Attic fire!
And who that rapture would forego?
That soothing charm to banish care?
That sweet delirium of the soul?

By hope inspir'd, we claim a share. The noon-day dream in solitude, When zephyr fans the sultry air, The poet's solace and delight,

His Muse and mistress all his care.

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