y high point of perfection, and fitting him to become
one of the brightest stars of the world of literature. Why he is unknown
is then probably a question which will suggest itself to the minds of
many, and the answer must be, because he _did_ so little for the world
to remember him by. The whole of his literary remains, including his
sermons, and a biographical sketch, which fills one half of the book, is
contained in a moderate sized octavo volume, published after his death
by the Rev. J. A. Russell, Archdeacon of Clogher, whose affection for
the memory of Mr. Wolfe prompted him to edit and give to the world the
fragmentary manuscripts, which are the only lasting and appreciable
records of the residence of a great spirit among us. But it may be asked
why, with such capabilities and powers as we have stated Mr. Wolfe to
possess, he did so little? and to that interrogation many replies may be
given. Mr. Wolfe died at the early age of 32, just when the powers are
in their full vigor--and in the later years of his life he had devoted
himself enthusiastically to the duties which devolved upon him as the
curate of a large and populous parish in the north of Ireland. Neither
of these reasons, however, is sufficient, for we know that the poetic
intellect is precocious, and brings forth fruit early. Shelley, who died
younger, left productions behind him, which will hand his name down to
the latest posterity; and the comparatively voluminous writings of the
witty dean, Sidney Smith, prove that a man may bear the weight of the
clerical office, and take an active part in politics in addition, and
yet leave enough behind him to keep his name green in the memory of the
world.

The true reason why Mr. Wolfe did so little is no doubt to be found in
the character of his mind, and this is easily traceable, both in the
mild, child-like, almost simple, but intelligent expression of the
portrait which forms a frontispiece to the volume to which we have
adverted, and in most of the passages of his life. There was a want of
strong resolution, and an absence of concentration so marked, that he
seldom read completely through even those books which most deeply
interested him--there was a nervous susceptibility, and an openness to
new impressions, which caused him as it were to dwell upon every passage
he did read, to linger over its beauties, to start objections to its
theories, to argue them out, and to develop to its fullest every
suggestive