brother, and Calder now acts as his steward,
When the latter nearly knocked you off Tom
Hockle's horse, he was looking after some
improvements he was carrying out in the
estate for his brother's benefit."

HINTS FOR THE SELF-EDUCATED.

THE education of the people, though not
yet what we would have it, yet now perhaps
delivered from some of the more absurd
prejudices that once perplexed the question, and
so far aided in its progress by the wishes of
the wise and good that we may reasonably
hope for a complete deliverance at last, has,
to a considerable extent, introduced the light
of intelligence and the spirit of enterprise
in to the home of many a workman and
workwoman, furnishing therewithal the
means of acquiring much additional happiness
or wealth, if well-applied and discreetly
directed.  In the concrete world, however (to
use a learned phrase), in which we happen to
live, there is nothing nor any state of things
that can be safely accepted as an unmixed
benefit; and, accordingly, education itself
presents phases and points of view, in which
it is well even for the best instructed to be
upon their guard against the well-known
enemy who is continually sowing tares, even
in the richest fields of human effort.  Let it
be granted that the merely sensual life in
which our populations for so long a period
exclusively indulged, and from which some
portion of the masses have been with such
difficulty redeemed, was encumbered with
obvious evils, and defaced with many
undeniable blots; yet are there likewise sundry
blemishes to which the more intellectual and
rational are subject, and induce an unwise
exclusiveness, by which an individual may
forget the sentiment of universal brotherhood,
and incur the serious penalty that
attaches to the loftier sins, such as spiritual
pride, and others of the refined high moral
class: a penalty too frequently paid by those
who think "there never can be too much of
a good thing."   A few remarks on some of
the phases of possible evil connected with
certain stages of intellectual development
may recommend themselves on the score of
their obvious utility.

Intellectuality is a growth.  A man is
awakened to a consciousness of his ignorance,
and the desire of knowledge. This is the
first step; and many members of his family,
perhaps all, may take it with him. But in
the attainment of knowledge and its results,
progress in individuals varies according to
their capacity and opportunities. One
frequently outstrips the other, and a sense of
inequality obtains, which soon becomes
increasingly painful, unless some superior
interference is permitted to regulate the
balance. An instance—it may be, selected
from fact, a piece of actual experience—may
explain what we mean.

Our friend Amintor, now a great artist in
celebrity, and without riches.   He was poor
and young:

     The world was all before him, where to choose
     His place of rest, and providence his guide."

Too early, however, he yielded to the strong
necessity of loving, and married.   His wife,
affectionate and faithful, became his
co-labourer, and bore with him the burthen
and the yoke of his struggling days—partook
with him the fever and the fret of aspiring
ambition.  Well-directed energy led to fortunate
results.  In the course of years, Amintor
has gained a competency, a respectable station
in life, and connections valuable to him, either
on the score of talent or fashion, or both.
People of genius are now his companions, and
people of taste invite him to their parties of
pleasure.  Too late he makes the discover,
that while he has been improving his position
in the world without, his wife, engrossed in
domestic cares, has contracted the habits and
manners of a household drudge, and, though
sympathising in his pursuits, has acquired no
skill in conversing on them with propriety
or elegance. Much discomfort ensues. The
husband is ashamed to introduce his homely
partner into society; she herself even is
disinclined to enter scenes for which she feels
herself unqualified. The unity of their fate
suffers gradual disruption; and the husband
at length learns to enjoy the world alone.
He looks on other female faces, and compares
their bright and intelligent activity with the
sober unvarying expression of his suffering
and much-neglected spouse. He thinks how
much happier he might have been with one
of those accomplished beings who float in the
circles to which he has been at last admitted.
The state of his feelings is soon perceived at
his own fireside. An air of abstraction, a
pervading discontent, a want of confidence
only too surely reveal and beget a sense of
habitual infelicity. The wife of his youth,
the partner of his early efforts, the careful
minister of his in-door economy, to which no
small portion of his out-door prosperity was
owing, is no longer regarded with the same
affectionate respect. He feels, he thinks, he
says- that she is neither young enough, nor
handsome enough, nor accomplished enough
for him in his present position. And when
she weeps at the unkind remark, he affects
to wonder and indulges in impatience.

This, it may be objected, is an extreme
case; but it may be safely accepted as what
Lord Bacon calls a prerogative instance, and
should, as such, startle attention to the principle.
Amintor should have cultivated as a
moral duty the habit of linking the past to
the present, and encouraged his love to ripen
into esteem and gratitude. He should have
been careful that a purification of the mind
accompanied its intellectual advances, and