whom he quotes are Hallam, Charles Lamb, and Southey; and it is evident, both from the style and matter of the work, that the range of his reading has been most extensive in what he terms the ’classical criticism and biography of the eighteenth century.’  This, however, we note only in passing, and not at all in the way of condemnation; further than as it may indicate the limitations to be expected in his tone of thought and sentiment.

Mr Willmott, indeed, speaks disparagingly of some of the severer studies—­especially of logic and mathematics; declaring that they ’can only be useful to a full mind,’ and that, ’if they find it empty, they leave it in the same state.’  Of course, he may be allowed to have his opinion on such a matter; but we presume it will not be very generally adopted.  We agree with him that, ’in moral impression they are powerless;’ yet we are bound to bear in mind that their aim is not a moral one; and we, furthermore, believe that, within their own scope and province, they may at least be serviceable in training and developing the understanding.  Not to dwell longer on this little eccentricity of opinion, which is simply one of idiosyncrasy, let us follow the author into some of the more congenial sections of his dissertation.  The following passage, on ’The three essential qualities of an author,’ seems not unsuitable for quotation:—­

’Sir Philip Sidney said, that the most flying wits must have three wings—­art, meditation, exercise.  Genius is in the instinct of flight.  A boy came to Mozart, wishing to compose something, and inquiring the way to begin.  Mozart told him to wait.  “You composed much earlier?” “But asked nothing about it,” replied the musician.  Cowper expressed the same sentiment to a friend:  “Nature gives men a bias to their respective pursuits, and that strong propensity, I suppose, is what we mean by genius.”  M. Angelo is hindered in his childish studies of art; Raffaelle grows up with pencil and colours for playthings:  one neglects school to copy drawings, which he dared not bring home; the father of the other takes a journey to find his son a worthier teacher.  M. Angelo forces his way; Raffaelle is guided into it.  But each looks for it with longing eyes.  In some way or other, the man is tracked in the little footsteps of the child.  Dryden marks the three steps of progress:—­

                       “What the child admired,
    The youth endeavoured, and the man ACQUIRED.”

’Dryden was an example of his own theory.  He read Polybius, with a notion of his historic exactness, before he was ten years old.  Witnesses rise over the whole field of learning.  Pope, at twelve, feasted his eyes in the picture-galleries of Spenser.  Murillo filled the margin of his school-books with drawings.  Le Brun, in the beginning of childhood, drew with a piece of charcoal on the walls of the house.  The young Ariosto quietly watched the fierce gestures of his father, forgetting his displeasure in the joy of copying from life, into a comedy he was writing, the manner and speech of an old man enraged with his son.