I pursued the system which my father had pointed out, with exactness, and soon with pleasure.  I sacredly observed my hours of reading, and devoted myself to the study of the lives of what my father considered really great men—­that is to say, men of great energies, and violent volition, who look upon their fellow creatures as mere tools, with which they can build up a pedestal for their solitary statue, and who sacrifice every feeling which should sway humanity, and every high work which genius should really achieve, to the short-sighted gratification of an irrational and outrageous selfism.  As for my manners, I flattered myself that they advanced in measure with my mind, although I already emulated Napoleon.  I soon overcame the fear which attended my first experiments in society, and by scrupulously observing the paternal maxims, I soon became very self-satisfied.  I listened to men with a delightful mixture of defference and self-confidence:  were they old, and did I differ with them, I contented myself by positively stating my opinion in a most subdued voice, and then either turning the subject, or turning upon my heel.  But as for women, it is astonishing how well I got on.  The nervous rapidity of my first rattle soon subsided into a continuous flow of easy nonsense.  Impertinent and flippant, I was universally hailed an original and a wit.  But the most remarkable incident was, that the baroness and myself became the greatest friends.  I was her constant attendant, and rehearsed to her flattered ear all my evening performance.  She was the person with whom I practised, and as she had a taste in dress, I encouraged her opinions.  Unconscious that she was at once my lay figure and my mirror, she loaded me with presents, and announced to all her coterie, that I was the most delightful young man of her acquaintance.

From all this it may easily be suspected, that at the age of fifteen I had unexpectedly become one of the most affected, conceited, and intolerable atoms that ever peopled the sunbeam of society.

* * * * *

[This gem is from a volume of Songs and other small Poems, by Barry Cornwall.  It is one of the prettiest poetical bijoux of the season, and shall receive more attention in our next.]

PETITION TO TIME.

  Touch us gently, Time! 
    Let us glide adown thy stream
  Gently,—­as we sometimes glide
    Through a quiet dream! 
  Humble voyagers are We,
  Husband, wife, and children three—­
  (One is lost,—­an angel, fled
  To the azure overhead!)

  Touch us gently, Time! 
    We’ve not proud nor soaring wings: 
  Our ambition, our content
    Lies in simple things. 
  Humble voyagers are We,
  O’er Life’s dim unsounded sea,
  Seeking only some calm clime:—­
  Touch us gently, gentle Time!

* * * * *

THE SPIRIT OF SONG-WRITING.