THE GENIUS AND THE JACKASS. 645 



It is stated in the article which has called forth these remarks, that the 

 Edinburgh club, which contains seventy-five members, has been ten years in 

 existence ; and here, in the Dublin Library Society, is a Chess-club, which, 

 although not more than half as many months as the Edinburgh club has been 

 years established, can already boast of very nearly an equal number of 

 members ; so that, I trust, I shall not have to notice in future, in your en- 

 tertaining periodical, any unfounded statements as to the intellectual 

 inferiority of the people of Ireland ; for I quite agree with the writer in the 

 Monthly Magazine, that the cultivation of the truly noble game of Chess is 

 no bad criterion by which to judge of the intellectual character and taste of 

 a people ; for it is a game which so far from being an incentive to the odious 

 vice of gambling, improves the mind like the study of mathematics, while at 

 the same time it innocently amuses : besides, it is a game which in every 

 age, since the first invention of Chess, and among every cultivated people, 

 has been highly cherished and regarded : a game too, which warriors as 

 well as statesmen have been devotedly attached to ; and which, even in our 

 own days, that first of warriors and of statesmen, that consummate master 

 of the art of strategy, the EMPEROR NAPOLEON THE GREAT, is well known to 

 have been an admirer of. I have the honour to remain, Sir, your very 

 obedient servant, 



STEPHEN COPPINGER, 



Barrister at law, and Member of the Chess-club of the 

 Dublin Library Society. 



No. 8, Wellington Quay, Dublin. 



* 







THE GENIUS AND THE JACKASS. 



" No the bloom and odour of existence are gone. I feel, that 

 hereafter I must linger out an aimless, wretched life. A day, nay an 

 hour ago, and the earth was ( opening Paradise/ There was music 

 in the airs of heaven beauty in all objects. The spring sun gave a 

 harmony to my pulses. I communed with all things ; even the very 

 hawthorn hedges dotted with green buds the small birds twittering 

 in my path the lowing herds the bleating flocks nothing in 

 nature, however mean and common, but, elevated by my buoyant 

 feelings, became a thing of worth and beauty. It is all gone all, 

 all passed away ! " 



Such were the passionate exclamations of Silvio Tinkerville, a 

 youthful poet of exceeding promise. He was, in stature, of Parnas- 

 sian height ; that is, about five feet ten. To his precise age we cannot 

 speak; but, certain it. is, at the time of this burst of feeling, he had 

 shaved two years. His face bespoke a depth of thought, that spoke 

 again of mystery. It was neither pale nor red, but freckled brown ; 

 his nose, like his style, was elevated ; his hair, painfully turned back, 

 gave a fair chance of amplitude to his forehead, he had, in short, a 

 poetic face; foolscap rumpled in every compression of his brow demy 

 was at the corners of his mouth. Poor Tom made the " hedgepig 

 for his pillow ;" but Silvio looked as though he slept on goose-quills. 

 So much for the casket come we now to the jewel within. 



" It is all gone all, all passed away!" And with this, Silvio 

 dashed down a book struck his forehead with his clenched fist, and 



