domain of Technology; for no arts call for more skilful workmen than Painting, Sculpture, aud Music, and none are more technical in their modes of procedure. Far less are the Fine Arts excluded, because they are regarded as useless or hurtful. The Technologist avoids them for exactly the opposite reason. Poetry, Painting, Sculpture, Music, and the sister arts, are in the highest degree useful, inasmuch as they minister to the wants of the noblest parts of our nature; but in so ministering they excite such emotions of pleasure, or its inseparable correlative, pain, that the sense of their usefulness is lost in the delight, or awe, or anguish, which they occasion. So much is this the case, that while men thank each other for the gift of bread when hungry, or of water when they are thirsty, or of a light to guide them in the dark, they return no thanks for a sweet song, or a great picture, or a noble statue; not that they are unthankful for these, but that the duty of thanksgiving is forgotten in the pleasure of enjoying, or the strangely fascinating pain of trembling before a work of creative genius.

"And the artist himself, singularly enough, in a multitude of cases, makes no complaint at this thanklessness, and counts it no compliment to his work to call it useful. The end of Esthetic or Fine Art, he will tell you, is the realisation of beauty, not utility; as if the latter were rather an accidental or unavoidable and unfortunate accompaniment of the former, than the welcome inseparable shadow which attends it, as the morning and evening twilight, tempering his brightness, go before and after the sun. But such a description of the aim of his labours, though natural to the artist, is unjust to his art. The true object of Esthetic or Fine Art is not beauty, but utility, through or by means of beauty.

"It may be that the poet, the painter, the sculptor, the musician, often think only of the emotional delight which their works will awaken in the hearts of their brethren. But these works, in the very act of delighting, serve those whom they delight. It is surely as useful a thing, on occasion, to fill the eager ear with music, or the longing eye with the glories of form and colour, or the aching heart with thoughts of joy, as it is to fill the hungry stomach with food, or to clothe the naked body.

"It is not, then, because the utility of the Fine Arts is questioned, that they are excluded from the domain of Technology. Neither is it because the feeling of their usefulness is lost in that of their delightfulness; but because they are not useful in the sense of being indispensable. The Utilitarian Arts do not stand

contrasted with them, as loving ugliness or hating beauty; they have no direct concern with either. Their defining characteristic is not that they deal with what is beautiful or unbeautiful, but with what is essential to man's physical existence. The Fine Arts are, in a certain sense, superfluous arts. The savage does not know them. The great mass of civilized mankind pass from the cradle to the grave, almost untouched by their charms. Few men can spend more than a small portion of their lives upon them. Even the greatest artists are such only at long intervals. Shakespeare was not always poetising, or Raphael painting, or Mendelssohn singing. Lengthened seasons of unproductive sadness mark the lives of them all. Like the fabled pelican, they feed others with their life-blood; and it would almost seem as if, in proportion to the delight which they gave to others, they were miserable themselves. Wordsworth, whose own life was a happy exception to this rule, declares of his brethren as a class, that they learn in suffering what they teach in song.' 'A thing of beauty,' Keats has told us, 'is a joy for ever,' but no poet has affirmed that it is a joy at all times.”

Again, the fancies employed in the illustration of the following contrast between the products of instinct and reasoning intelligence, are happily put before the student of Technology :

"It is with every-day life, and every-day cares, that Technology, in one aspect, has to do; with man, not as 'a little lower than the angels,' but as crushed before the moth,' and weaker than the weakest of the beasts that perish; with man as a hungry, thirsty, restless, quarelsome, naked animal. But it is also the province of Technology to show, that man, because he is this, and just because he is this, is raised by the industrial conquests which he is compelled to achieve, to a place of power and dignity, separating him by an absolutely immeasurable interval from every other animal.

"It might appear, at first sight, as if it were not so. As industrial creatures we often look like wretched copyists of animals, far beneath us in the scale of organisation, and we seem to confess as much by the names which we give them. The mason-wasp, the carpenter-bee, the mining caterpillars, the quarrying sea-slugs, execute their work in a way which we cannot rival or excel. The bird is an exquisite architect; the beaver a most skilful bridge builder; the silk-worm the most beautiful of weavers; the spider the best of net-makers. Each is a perfect craftsman, and each has his tools always at hand. Those wise creatures, I believe, have minds like our own, to the extent that they have minds, and are not mere living machines, swayed by a blind instinct. They will do one thing rather than another, and do that one thing in different ways at different times. A bird, for example, selects a place to build its nest upon, and accommodates its form to the particular locality it has chosen; and a bee alters the otherwise invariable shape of its cell, when the space it is working in forbids it to carry out its hexagonal plan. Yet, it is impossible to watch these, or others among the lower animals, and fail to see that, to a great extent, they are mere living machines, saved from the care and anxiety which lie so heavily upon us, by their entire contentment with the present, their oblivion of the past, and their indifference to the future. They do invent, they do design, they do exercise volition in wonderful ways; but their most wonderful works imply neither invention, contrivance, nor volition, but only a placid, pleasant, easily rendered obedience to instincts which reign without rivals, and justify their despotic rule, by the infallible happiness which they secure, There is nothing, accordingly, obsolete, nothing tentative, nothing progressive, in the labours of the most wonderful mechanicians among the lower animals. It has cost none of these ingenious artists any intellectual effort to learn its craft, for God gave it to each perfect in the beginning; and within the circle to which they apply, the rules which guide their work are infallible, and know no variation.

"No feathered Ruskin appears among the birds, to discuss before them whether their nests should be built on the principles of Grecian or Gothic architecture. No beaver, in advance of his age, patents a diving-bell. No glow-worm advocates, in the hearing of her conservative sisters, the merits of new vesta-lights, or improved lucifer matches. The silk-worms entertain no proposition regarding the substitution of machinery for bodily labour. The spiders never divide the House on the question of a Ten Hours Working Bill. The ants are at one on their Cornlaws. The wasps are content with their Game-laws. The bees never alter their tax upon sugar; nor dream of lessening the severities of their penal code: their drones are slaughtered as relentlessly as they were three thousand years ago; nor

has a solitary change been permitted since first there were bees, in any of their singular domestic institutions.

"To those wise creatures the Author of All has given, not only infallible rules for their work, but unfaltering faith in them. Labour is for them not a doubt, but a certainty. Duty is the same thing as happiness. They never grow weary of life; and death never surprises them. Wonderful combinations of individual volition, pursuing its own ends, and of implicit surrender to Omnipotent will, subduing all opposition, they are most wonderful in the latter respect, and are less to be likened to us, than to perfect self-repairing machines, which swiftly raise our admiration from themselves, to Him who made and who sustains them.

"We are industrial for other reasons, and in a different way. Our working instincts are very few; our faith in them still more feeble; and our physical wants far greater than those of any other creature.

"Had the assembled lower animals been invited to pronounce upon what medical men call the viability,' or managers of insurance offices the chances of life,' of the first human infant, their verdict would have been swift, perhaps compassionate, but certainly inexorable. The poor little featherless biped, pitied by the downy gosling, and despised by the plumed eaglet, would have been consigned to the early grave, which so plainly in appearance awaited him; and no mighty Nimrod, with endless lion slaying hunter-sons, would have been seen to dawn in long perspective above the horizon, and claim the fragile infant as their stalwart father.

"Yet the heritage of nakedness, which no animal envies us, is not more the memorial of the innocence that once was ours, than it is the omen of the labours which it compels us to undergo. With the intellect of angels, and the bodies of earth-worms, we have the power to conquer, and the need to do it. Half of the industrial arts are the result of our being born without clothes; the other half of our being born without tools."

We refer to this able lecture rather for the purpose of commending the subject which it advocates, than its own literary merits, to the notice of our readers, but the above quotations, brief as they are, will suffice to shew that it has attractions no less on the latter score, than on the former.

H. C.

Junius Discovered. By Frederick Griffin. Boston: Little, Brown & Co. Toronto: A. H. Armour & Co. 1854.

"Junius Discovered" is the somewhat bold title attached to a volume, the first work of a Canadian author, who tells us that his pen has hitherto been untried, and that his native city and home of Montreal, in which it has been produced, possesses no public library, and few private literary resources of any avail to the student who undertakes the solution of this intricate and long vexed question. In spite

of such obstacles to success our Canadian author has produced an interesting contribution to the miscellany of "Junius" literature, which has hitherto met with undue neglect. His great error lies in the conversion of the may be into the must be, which characterises so much of the logic employed in this favourite controversy.

Junius, occupying such a social rank or official position as furnished to him information of the most vital importance in relation to publie men and measures in the eventful political era from 1767 to 1772, writes his series of carefully elaborated pseudonymous letters for the Public Advertiser, with the certainty that every sentence was watched by those whom he assailed with such acute vigour and bitterness, and that, as he says, in writing to Woodfall: "I must be more cautious than ever. I am sure I should not survive a discovery three days; or if I did they would attaint me by bill." What more certain, therefore, than that he purposely misled, in many instances, by his allusions. This he himself unhesitatingly takes credit for defying his antagonists to trace him through his various disguises, or to discriminate between the real and assumed characteristics of one, whose own words make so appropriate a motto to this inquiry after the substance of the illusory umbra calling itself Junius: "there never existed a man but himself who answered to so complicated a description." Taunting one of his assumed detectors, he says: "But Horne asserts that he has traced me through a variety of signatures. To make the discovery of any importance to his purpose, he should have proved either that the fictitious character of Junius has not been consistently supported, or that the author has maintained different principles under different signatures." What then is the value of the unknown quantity : truth, mixed up, for the very purpose of deception, with all this fiction? Till that is determined how shall we ever know whether we are taking our portraiture from the substance or the shadow; from the living original, or from the masked and disguised decoy, purposely stuffed out and set up to deceive? Nevertheless, because Junius uses such phrases, as: "every ignorant boy thinks himself fit to be a minister;" therefore he could not be less than fifty! Because he says to Sir W. Draper, a Cambridge man: "You might have learnt at the University that a false conclusion is an error," &c., therefore "Junius was educated at Cambridge!" And because, when familiarly making use of terms of law, he adds: “do not injure me so much as to suspect I am a lawyer, I had as lief be a Scotchman ;" therefore he was no lawyer! Would not this logic be quite as good, under all the circumstances, if it affirmed the very opposite conclusion? Cer

tainly, at least, the latter sentence has not prevented a Scotch philosopher, Sir David Brewster, from adding a Mac to the name of Junius, and putting him in kilts!-any more than the "fact" of his being "a Cambridge man," has prevented the discovery, by Grattan, and other equally competent judges, "from the internal evidence of the style, that Burke was the author of Junius." 'Among other instances," says Curran, "Grattan used to insist upon it that no living man but Burke could have written that passage in one of the letters to the Duke of Grafton: You have now fairly travelled through every sign in the political Zodiac, from the Scorpion in which you stung Lord Chatham, to the hopes of a Virgin in the house of Bloomsbury.'"

By logic not much better, or worse, Junius has long since been identified as single-speech Hamilton; Butler, Bishop of Hereford ; Major General Lee; Lieut. Col. Barré; Lord Ashburton; Lord Lyttleton; Lord George Sackville; the Earl of Chatham; the Duke of Portland; Wilkes; Horne Tooke; and Sir Philip Francis; to say nothing of sundry names of little note among the contemporaries of the long-sought letter-writer, yet not on that account less likely to include the true one. He has now been incontestably proved to have been a Peer, to have been a member of the House of Commons, to have been a Bishop, a Lawyer, a General, and a Colonial Governor ; and equally certain to have been none of the six! Writer after writer has undertaken to solve the riddle; volume has succeeded volume from able pens, in support of their several favourities; and when our Canadian discoverer of Junius adds to these one more, he must not complain if we ask for conclusive proof before we can admit that THOMAS POWNALL, Governor of Massachusetts Bay, is the real and unquestionable Junius.

The following passage may suffice to give some idea of our author's style and treatment of his subject. The emphatic italics and capitals are his own. Having established, as he conceives, Governor Pownall's authorship of the well-known "Letter to an Honorable BrigadierGeneral," immediately after his return from America in 1760, he goes on to say :

'Having now re-landed our worthy governor in his native country, and exhibited him in such close connexion with the earliest of the writings of Junius, as-at the least--to raise in the mind of the most doubting reader, some faint idea that, after all, our conjecture of the identity of the two, may, possibly, be well founded; we resume the narrative of such of the remaining events of Governor Pownall's life, as tend to establish the truth of our hypothesis.

'The energy and ability of such a man could not be allowed to remain long idle;