ing drunk, when you were only slightly confused? These are only a few of the inconveniencies and miseries of the bashful man.

In what striking contrast to all this is the felicity of the man of unlimited confidence. Nothing seems to disturb or affect him. He stems the adverse currents of the world's affairs, with the strong muscle of an expert swimmer. In the battle of life, he is clad in impenetrable mail. The barbed sentences, shot by calumny, that rankle and fester in a sensitive nature, fall harmless at his side. The small troubles of life make as little impression on him, as shot thrown by boys against a French plate-glass in a shop window. What happiness must be his who can pocket insult with composure, ward off the censure and abuse of the world with calm complacency, and recover from the hard knocks: of adversity, with the elasticity of a rubber ball? Such an one is the self-confident man. Nothing seems to trouble him; he skillfully avoids running against the rugged and jagged points of life, and if he happen upon them, he seldom or never tears his clothes or abrades his cuticle. He glides through life as easy as an eel through a greased hand. Let those who are hereafter to come into the world, be horn, not with a silver spoon in their mouths, but with a metallic luster in their faces, and they are sure of success. Better than wealth, in many respects-better than real ability-is this indomitable self-assurance. Many, it is true, are laboring under the erroneous impression that real merit must, in time, receive the recompense of its reward, and boldness and self-confidence must, ultimately, be discomfited. Real merit, it is true, though often obscured by a bashful exterior, will frequently be discovered and rewarded. A genius, or a man of transcendent ability, may succeed in gaining the attention of the world, yet his success will be less speedy, and no surer, than the man who has the additional advantage of being able to blow his own trumpet. Besides, the question is not whether a few men of genius will be likely to succeed, but, taking two men precisely similar in point of ability and equal in merit, the one modest and reserved, the other bold and self-confident, whether the former or latter will better succeed in gaining the confidence of the public. Is it not universally admitted that it takes additional merit and desert, with modesty in one side of the balance, to make a smaller amount of ability, with self-assurance in the other, kick the beam? It is also claimed for patient merit and bashful reserve, that they will effectually secure the favor of the better portion of the community, whose opinion outweighs that of the more numerous, and is therefore inconceivably more valuable. It must be remembered, however, that the better portion of the community is a small minority, about one to

ten. What advantage to a professional man to know that one man out of every ten believes him to be a better man than his more pretending neighbor? A man's advancement, in a country like ours, depends as much on the quantity as the quality of his friends. We could hardly call a minister successful, if he preached to the edification of only one tenth of his congregation. The "greatest good of the greatest possible number," is as true in religion as in politics; and he who succeeds in making it appear to the people that he is laboring for their greatest good, both in the sphere of politics and religion, will best commend himself to their approbation and esteem. The self-confident man will be more likely to make this appear of himself, than the more reserved. We may, also, incidentally observe, that it is extremely difficult to predict success for any man in the broader fields of human employment, from the most eminent success in a narrower sphere. It is, therefore, impossible to predict from success in College, who will be most fortunate in the world. No man can gain much of a reputation in College, even in the estimation of his fellow-students, without being a man of more than ordinary ability,-especially is this the case when he is obliged also to be subjected to the discriminating judgment of the Faculty. But how frequently do we see a man of mere ordinary ability in the estimation of his College associates, going forth into the world, and out-stripping his more fortunate rival, thus confounding the opinion of the College community, and falsifying the predictions of the Faculty. This is but a case of self-assurance versus bashfulness, in which all the merits of the case are in favor of the defendant, but the verdict of the public decidedly for the plaintiff.

Another erroneous supposition is often made, that the bashful men, constituting as they do a large majority in the world, will sympathize with and countenance men of like dispositions and infirmities. Adopting the same style of reasoning, we would naturally suppose that the stump speeches of Miss Dickinson would be highly approved by the ladies, because she is a woman. Such, however is not the case. A satisfactory explanation of this strange anomaly is found in an invariable tendency and disposition in men, to overestimate what they do not possess. Every boy thinks the doughnuts made away from home, which he obtains from some other boy's mother, are better than those made at home, under the supervision of his own maternal parent; so every man thinks his own endowments and acquirements are inferior in quality to those possessed by his friend. Hence we see men under the influence of this mistaken idea, better satisfied and pleased to write a poor poem than a good essay; more persistent in attempting

to do the thing which they are most disqualified to accomplish, than engage in that occupation and labor for which nature has specially qualified them. It is hard to convince a bashful man that self-assurance is not an essential element of success. He feels that in this work-day world, self-assurance is regnant, and commands the admiration of men.

We should like to consider, more at length, the positive advantages of self-assurance, but believing they are so obvious as to need no mention, we close by recommending to all the cultivation of this indispensable quality of success.

T. B.

Shelley's Ode to a Skylark.

"Infinite riches in a little room."

It is a remarkable fact in literature, that many brief productions are classed among the most admirable and most enduring works of genius. Grey's Elegy, Longfellow's Psalm of Life, Pope's Universal Prayer, and Shelley's Ode to a Skylark, will be at least as efficient in perpetuating the fame of their authors, as Cowper's Task, or Spenser's Faerie Queen. For such is the multitude of literary works, and so rapidly are they increasing, that the minds of men, bewildered by their variety and diffusiveness, become dainty and cloyed by the mere consciousness of superabundance; and they turn to brief productions, that embody the highest comfort for the soul, or the richest delight for the imagination, as naturally as the lark, to quench her thirst, would choose the pearly dewdrop rather than the turbid stream.

The poems I have mentioned, and others of like celebrity, are, in a measure, unique, and to this fact, also, in some degree, are indebted for their prominence. Their claims are usually shadowed forth in their titles, and at once invite attention. There is only one uninspired Universal Prayer, and its title invites perusal as appealingly as vesper-bells call to evening devotions. Only one poet has told us that he would sing the Psalm of Life, and this at once awakes the interest of men, for it treats of topics inseparable from humanity. But the lark has often been addressed in lyric odes, by poets of every grade, until the title has become common-place, and repels, rather than invites.

The reputation of the poem is not, then, aided by its title. The promise of its merit, and the fulfilment, come together.

Like many other beautiful things, it was the offspring of disappointment. Its author, if the spirit of his poetry be an index of his mind, had an intense sympathy for his race, an earnest desire to benefit his fellow-men, a hatred of the tyrannies that oppressed them, and of the superstitions that were entangled with their beliefs; while with this was mingled anxious sorrow that his feelings were misunderstood, his sympathies rejected, and his theories ridiculed. He says, in despondency,

"I could lie down like a tired child,

And weep away the life of care,

That I have borne and yet must bear."

The greater part of his poetry is an expression of these feelings; but sometimes he has endeavored to shelter himself from their influence, in the widest realms of the imagination; and the subject of this article was one of his happiest attempts.

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It was composed in the midst of a scene best calculated to excite the poets' fancy. Says Mrs. Shelley: It was on a beautiful summer evening, (in Italy,) while wandering among the hedges of myrtle which were the bowers of the fire-flies, that we heard the carolling of the skylark, which inspired one of the most beautiful of his poems." But there is no need to describe a scene so well pictured in the ode itself. The poet knew well how to increase the admiration nature excites, by the wealth of his own fancy. The subject of his thought, and its surroundings, become idealized by his imagination. The lark is at once introduced as an inhabitant of the spirit-land.

"Hail to thee, blithe spirit,

Bird thou never wert."

So, Keats, a poet possessing a similar love for ideality, addresses the nightingale :

"Thou wert not born for death, immortal bird!

No hungry generations tread thee down."

And Shakspeare, in Cymbeline, has written a little song, containing a part of the idea embodied in the first stanza of the ode we are considering :

"Hark! Hark! the lark at heaven's gate sings," &c.

It has been often praised and admired; but neither of these poems,

we venture to assert, would be recalled to mind by the presence of the singing bird as readily as the effusion of Shelley. And herein lies a proof of its excellence: it closely associates its remembrance with that which it describes.

The measure of this poem is most happily chosen. It is in harmony with the whole spirit of the ode. The four short lines aptly express the joyous and varied notes of the lark; and the long and steady flow of the Alexandrine, indicates the continuity of the song. Every stanza, and especially the closing lines in each, evince the utmost nicety of musical feeling. What can be more melodious than this line?

"And singing, still dost soar: and soaring, ever singest."

The dexterous combination of sounds in every verse is well worthy of attention. Take, for example, the 9th. stanza. Its musical flow is not surpassed in lyric poetry. The picture is colored by the sound of the words, as well as by the sense they convey. Sweetness, variety, energy, aud softness, are all embodied here. Scarce any two vowel sounds, in the four short lines, are alike, save in the rhyming, and into the fifth has crept, partly by a cadence of repetition, an echo of the very melody it describes. Both the music of the versification and the expression of the thought, are the outgrowth of a rapturous passion, which can only be aroused by the closest sympathy with nature.

The poem is like a beautiful painting, only there are allusions of exquisite beauty in it, which no brush could depict on canvas. The smallest points, which aid us completely to realize the scene, are brought out with the utmost vividness and truth of appearance. Observe the description of the lark :

:

"Thou dost float and run."

How vividly does this express the easy sailing, with outstretched wings, alternating with quick and nervous strokes, which we have all noticed, in watching this bird. And again :

"I have never heard

Praise of love or wine,

That panted forth a flood of rapture so divine."

An inferior poet might have written through a whole page, without conveying to the mind a clear idea of what is here expressed in a single line.

How naturally are described the approaching shades of evening, in the first six stanzas. First the broad daylight, in which the poet gazes on the bird, as it pours forth its rich and artless song: then the