transcendental philosophy, who could give to it a beginning, middle, and end, and show its important practical bearing on mental science, morality, and religion."

But although his enthusiasm in favour of Coleridge was intense, and became so much a part of his being, as to give character to mind and thought, and to mingle in every thing that he said or wrote during the remainder of his life, Coleridgeanism was not the only thing which he handled to admiration. Taking part in some theological discussions in the Conclave, he entertained them two evenings with an essay on Imputation-upon which he laid out all of his theological strength, and gave a fine specimen of his powers for logical analysis, lively fancy and ingenious argument. This essay, composed amid a multiplicity of engagements, was written in haste, and never revised. It was at first contemplated to publish it in this volume, but its length, and the nature of the subject, seemed to render it incongruous with the miscellaneous character of the work, and the design was relinquished. It could not fail to do him honour as a writer, although some might question his perfect orthodoxy. It defines the distinction between Old and New School Presbyterianism, and seeking to find a medium between the two, starts an entirely new theory. It was his intention to have prepared this essay for insertion in a Review, and in the retirement to which he was always looking forward, to have given it that accuracy and elegance of style which he was fully capable of doing, but which it was impossible for him to attain in the hurried and busy life he was then leading. Unfortunately for his fame, and to the great regret of his friends, it was laid aside, after being read in the Conclave,

and the "more convenient season" was destined never to arrive.

Many and various were the reviews and essays, which, glowing with the spirit of the philosopher and the poet, and redolent of his genius, were presented before the Conclave by Mr. Graham. He extemporized, however, so much, and his notes are so fragmentary, that of the most of them no record remains. The most finished, is an essay on Rhythm, which, at the request of a friend, he afterwards commenced writing off. The most important part of it is, however, left unfinished, and there exists the sad necessity of leaving it unpublished, or of presenting it in a most imperfect form.

The greatest fault, perhaps, of Mr. Graham's style, was his fondness for digressions; but, as a young lady once remarked, "if he went from the north to the south pole for proofs, he brought them all home at last." In all of his views and opinions there was consistency—in his propositions, modesty, clearness, and dignity. He was remarkable for his powers of concentration and abstraction. He never did any thing by halves. Whatever were the objects immediately before him, he was totally engrossed in them, and so completely absorbed did he become, when investigating a subject, that he accomplished incredible feats in a very short time. He never allowed himself rest or change until the matter in hand was completed. The animal part of his nature was always subservient to the intellectual. His mind once awakened to the consideration of a subject, or occupied in analyzing its relations or bearings, he would forget either to eat or sleep, and go through with his daily duties like one in a dream. The last word at night and the first in the morning, would bear upon the subject that seemed never to have

been absent from his thoughts. The most trifling event would minister to his purpose, and be made available for the illustration of his theory, or the embellishment of his discourse. He wrote with great freedom and rapidity; with confidence in his ability to assert or defend his position, but with such low estimation of the merit of what he wrote, that a single slighting word would induce him to throw aside what it had given him sincere pleasure to compose.

I have spoken thus freely, and at length, of the qualities which gave to Mr. Graham pre-eminence, and gained for him the admiration and esteem of men older and more learned than himself. But the gentlemen were not alone in their just appreciation of the youthful scholar. The powers of his mind were neither undervalued nor unappreciated by the gentler sex; but, as in the estimation of a true woman, “one heart is worth a thousand heads," so the attractions which won their admiration and love, were the fruits of the gentle and generous, rather than of the more brilliant characteristics of his genius. With the ladies he was a universal favourite. I never knew the woman who, having spent an hour in his society, did not look upon him ever after with interest. It is a sweeping assertion, but it is true. Why was this? Not because he sought to win her favour by those trifling attentions and idle compliments, so profusely bestowed by that contemptible thing, called, in common parlance, "a ladies' man." Far from it. He was too absent in manner, too unhackneyed in the ways of the world for the former, and he despised too much, even an appearance of insincerity, for the latter. Neither was it by a show of interest that he did not feel, nor an affectation of sentiment that would have been as disagreeable as unnatural.

Women, whatever may be their station or advantages of education, are acute observers, and it required no close observation to read, in the simplicity and sweetness of Mr. Graham's manners, the genuine kindness of his heart. He bore within himself a standard of lofty honour, of pure sentiment, of high and heavenly virtue, the visible manifestations of which the wealth of his intellect served only to adorn. The tone of his conversation, with a woman, always conveyed a compliment to her intellectual powers. It was playful, poetical, and complimentary, but always philosophical. It was elevating, exciting, and improving. It was full of thought and fruitful in expression. It awakened in the mind a finer sense of inward loveliness. There never existed a human being more destitute of vanity. There was a child-like simplicity (I had almost said credulity) in the credence he gave to compliments and kind words, and they fell upon his heart like the dew upon the violet, refreshing and invigorating, but working no change in its natural humility. There was an instinctive shrinking from any thing like display. He was calm, often cold, in his manners, but even then a careless word would often unveil the glowing and susceptible heart beneath. In answer to a charge of coldness, he once wrote: "There is an Indian reserve, a northern guardedness, in my constitution, in regard to the expression of feeling, the origin of which I think I could explain, metaphysically, from my own history, but which I have tried in vain to conquer, and which those who love me, must learn to look through."

One of his peculiarities was an absolute loathing of any thing like affectation-it was indeed

"his perfect scorn,

Object of his implacable disgust."

One of his few faults, (and at the risk of being accused of a judgment blinded by partiality, I dare to say that he had very few,) was a want of charity for defects of this character. The above quotation was a favourite one with him—and but faintly expressed his dislike of this fault, whether exhibited in sentiment or manner, at home or abroad.

I can attempt no description of the personal appearance of Mr. Graham. The engraving prefixed to this volume is one of Sartain's happiest efforts, but fails, as the highest triumph of the art must do, to give the earnest expression of the clear blue eyes. There was a brow expressive of intellect and gentleness, raven hair for love to twine into glossy curls, a fragile delicacy of form that kept ever alive its anxiety and tenderness, and mingling with, and visible through all, a purity of soul, a refined chasteness of manner, that won for him at once confidence and esteem. There was all that was necessary to render him attractive in the eyes of those who loved him, but there was little to win the notice of the stranger, unless it was the expression of his eyes. A gentle girl, whose high intellectual attainments and love of poetry and music, well fitted her to appreciate his merits, and who cherished for him, from their first acquaintance, a sister's love, once apostrophized them thus:

"His bonnie eyes-his bonnie eyes,

So deeply, brightly blue,
Oh! they are like the evening skies,

When stars are shining through!