makes it course from the inwards to the parts
extreme. It illumineth the face," &c.
Here I fell asleep soundly.

    MONSTROUS CLEVER BOYS.

A PEDAGOGUE in a periwig covered with
the dust of ancient books, sat as librarian and
tutor in the dry library of a parched French
lawyer; to whose shrivelled little son (who
was swallowed up between the leaves of a
gaping folio) he related for his encouragement
what monuments of learning many boys have
been.

I am an old boy myself, with little of
the monumental in my knowledge, and,
perhaps, in my ignorance I misrepresent
the Dominie Baillet—Adrien Baillet—who
may to other men be known as a brisk
light of literature, and I feel that I may
terribly commit myself when I describe
as a dry chip his patron, Monsieur de
Lamoignon, Advocate-General and chief of
the Senate of France in and about the year
one, six, eight, eight. The boy I am quite
sure about. He had a yellow skin and a
bald head, and crow's feet running from the
corners of his spectacles. He was writing a
learned book in the year I have just named,
and his preceptor, to reassure him in his
character of Infant Solomon, wrote him another,
which was published in that year, all about
erudite youngsters, and addressed throughout
"to Monsieur de Lamoignon, son of
Monseigneur the Advocate-General." The book
is dedicated "to the Best of Parents," by the
picture of a medal, obverse and reverse. Or
did the State give such a medal to the
Monseigneur? The small boy who is a historical
authority will know. Probably the small
boy who is a numismatist does not require
to be informed that one side of this medal
represents the Monseigneur with a soul above
heigh diddle diddle, the right man to go
hunting not for a hareskin but a lexicon to
wrap his little baby in. The other side of
the medal shows a classic genius encouraging
a bird to stand upon one leg, typifying doubtless
the propriety of keeping a boy well up
on his wise leg, and getting him to tuck away
his merry leg as a contemptible excrescence,
and disdain to stand upon that also. The
small boy who is also a mythologist will tell
me that the female in this symbol is the genius
of education, who is holding up a lamp well
filled with oil for delectation of a bird which
is a pelican, known as the model parent in
all schools. As the pelican gave up its own
flesh to its young, so should the wise lawyer
read Blackstone with his baby, and the divine
put his young children through a course of
Fathers.

Now that I have sufficiently exposed my
ignorance before the rising generation, I will
profanely jest with those who are as old and
stupid as myself over the book of Monsieur
Baillet. The little boy whom he addresses
was aged twelve. This I know, because in
the course of the book Master le Baïf 's
performance at the age of fourteen is compared
with that of Monsieur de Lamoignon, who
was but two years his junior. My own baby
has worked out for me that problem on his
slate, and informs me that Monsieur de
Lamoignon was "ætatis suæ anno
duodecimo," or, as old blockheads like myself
would say, a boy of twelve.

And what a boy it must have been! At
every turn he is addressed by his respectful
teacher with "vous savez, Monsieur;"—you
know, sir, what Origen observes;—you know,
sir, that defect in Aristotle;—Scaliger, you
know, Monsieur. The game at which this
boy played in his infancy was hide and seek,
on a good intellectual scale. He himself, we
are told, called it "the game of the masks
of authors," and it consisted in detecting
ancient and modern authors, who had hidden
themselves behind anonymous names, or
otherwise concealed their persons. Gustation
in literary styles gave him the joy that
coarser boys find in tasting tarts and
gooseberries. There were existing games of
chronology and genealogy, to which he would
descend; but football he spurned from him
with something nobler than his toes.

We are to begin, says the Dominie, by
conceding him the opinion of which he
intends to demonstrate the truth by example,
that since learning has thriven in the world,
and refinement spread, we have found out
what breadths and depths there are in a
child's mind, and have discovered it to be
capable of something better than sheep-
watching or the trifling over toys. Socrates
had made that discovery when he taught
that a child who has learnt to speak is not
too young for the sciences. Eupolis, who
lived, "as you know, Monsieur," in the time
of Artaxerxes Longimanus, wrote seventeen
comedies in the first seventeen years of his
life, and won the prize for seven of them.
Alexander the Great was scarcely born when
his father engaged Aristotle to be his
preceptor. From the time when he first left
the breast of the nurse he never was idle;
his sports were studious; he deprived
himself to the uttermost of sleep. If he had
only written, he could have displayed
himself before the age of twenty as one of the
greatest of all ancient philosophers. His
desire to possess the world was the result of
a grand philosophical conception. He wished
to develope his ideas on a large scale, by
establishing a model universe. At the age
of twelve or thirteen Cicero first wrote his
treatise on the art of speaking. Tiberius at
nine years old delivered the funeral oration
of his father. Marcus Aurelius having
become a philosopher at twelve years old,
then made a profession of philosophy, and
put on the philosopher's mantle. He
abstained from pies and bullseyes, or whatever
delights of the palate were then sought