ERKELE IBRARY 4jv^^W Of CAUFORbilA / NOBLE THOUGHTS IN NOBLE LANGUAGE. A thought came, like a full-blown rose, riushino: his brow. Keats. NOBLE THOUGHTS IN NOBLE LANGUAGE ^ dolkrtion of §Em -anb WxtuouB E^tttx^nas, IN PROSE AND VERSE, FROM THE WRITINGS OF THE KNOWN GREAT AND THE GREAT UNKNOWN. EDITED BY HENRY SOUTHGATE, AUTHOR OF "MANY THOUGHTS OF MANY MINDS," "MUSINGS ABOUT MEN, ETC., ETC. What a world of thought is here packed up together ! I know not whether this sight doth more dismay or comfort me. It dismays me to think that here is so much that I cannot know ; it comforts me to think that this variety affords so much assistance to know what I should. — Bishop Hall. LONDON: WARD, LOCK, AND TYLER, WARWICK HOUSE, PATERNOSTER ROW. LONDON : PKTVTF.D BY J. OGDEN AND CO., 172, ST. JOHN STREET, E.G. WITH AFFECTIONATE RESPECT, TO MRS. AMBROSE PERKINS, OF DARLINGTON, DURHAM, AS A SINCERE ACKNOWLEDGMENT OF HER WORTH, AND HIGH APPRECIATION OF HER GOOD AND GENTLE CHARACTER, BY HER NEPHEW, THE COMPILER. 752 PRELUDE OF MOTTOES If to the Tongue of Tongues thou hast a. mind, If to the best of Bookes thou art inclined, Make this thy way, which pleasant is and plain, Affects the eye and heart, instructs the brain. Poolers English Parnassus. There is no wind but soweth seeds Of a more true and open life. Which burst, unlook'd for, into high-soul'd deeds. With wayside beauty rife. y. R. Lowell. •*OuR thoughts," says an eloquent divine, "like the waters of the sea when exhaled towards heaven, will lose all their bitterness and saltness, and sweeten into an amiable humanity, until they descend in gentle showers of love and kindness upon our fellow men. " But words are things, and a small drop of ink Falling, like dew, upon a thought, produces • That which makes thousands, perhaps millions, think. 'Tis strange the shortest letter which men use, Instead of speech, may form a lasting link Of ages. Byron. Good thoughts are true wealth. They are fountains of living water. They are gems that always shine. They are impenetrable shields to protect the character. They are goodly apparel for the mind ; they are right noble companions. They are fair angels of light. They are flowers of rich beauty and sweet fi-agrance. They are seeds of noble actions and noble institutions. They are moulds in which exalted characters are formed. They make good and great men. They are a nation's mightiest bulwarks. A good thought is a grand legacy to bequeath to the world. — Alpha Beta. I BY no means aim in these remarks to disparage the merits of these or of any existing compositions ; I only say that such is the dread statute of Nature which they all underlie, that any particular portraiture does not in any manner exclude or forestall a new attempt, but when considered by the soul warps and shrinks away. The inundation of the spirit sweeps away before it all our little architecture of wit and memory, as straws and straw huts before the torrent. Works of the intellect are great only by comparison with each other: "Ivanhoe" and "Waverley" compared with" Castle Radcliffe" and the Porter Novels ; but nothing is great, — not mighty Homer and Milton — beside the infinite Reason. It carries them away as a flood ; they are as a sleep. Thus is justice done to each generation and individual, wisdom teaching man that he shall not hate, or fear, or mimic his ancestors ; that he shall not bewail himself, as if the world was old, and thought was spent, and he was born into the dotage of things, for by virtue of the Deity thought renews itself inexhaustibly every day, and the thing whereon it shines, though it were dust and sand, is a new subject with countless relations. — Ralph W. Emerson. It is not proper to understand the intelligible with vehemence, but if you incline your mind, you will apprehend it : not too earnestly, but bringing a pure and inquiring eye. You will not understand it as when understanding some particular thing, but with the flower of the mind. Things divine are not attainable by mortals who understand sensual things, but only the light-armed arrive at the summit. — Zoroaster. NOBLE THOUGHTS IN NOBLE LANGUAGE. ■ Read not to contradict and confute, nor to believe and take for granted, nor to find talk and discourse ; but to weigh and consider." — Lord Bacon. ABILITY Required for Instruction. No mistake is more gross than that of imagin- ing that undisciplined teachers are the fittest to deal with ignorance and mental rudeness. On the contrary, to force the rays of thought in- telligibly through so opaque a medium de- mands peculiarly and emphatically a great clearness and prominence of thinking, and an exact feeling of the effect of words to be chosen, combined and varied. — Foster. ABRUPTNESS. As if a lark should suddenly drop dead While the blue air yet trembled with his song, So snapped at once that music's golden thread, Struck by a nameless fear, that leapt along From heart to heart, and like a shadow sped With instantaneous shiver through the throng ; So that some glanced behind, as half aware A hideous shape of dread were standing there. Lowell. ABSENCE of the Beloved a Void. What shall I do with all the days and hours That must be counted ere I see thy face ? How shall I charm the interval that lowers Between this time and that sweet time of grace ? Shall I in slumber steep each weary sense, Weary with longing ? — shall I flee away Into past days, and with some fond pretence Cheat myself to forget the present day ? Shall love for thee lay on my soul the sin Of casting from me God's great gift of time ; Shall I these mists of memory locked within, Leave, and forget, life's purposes sublime ? Oh ! how, or by what means, may I contrive To bring the hour that brings thee back more near ? How may I teach my drooping hope to live Until that blessed time, and thou art here ? I'll tell thee, for thy sake, I will lay hold Of all good aims, and consecrate to thee, In worthy deeds, each moment that is told While thou, beloved one ! art far from me. For thee I will arouse my thoughts to try All heavenward flights, all high and holy strains ; For thy dear sake I will walk patiently Through these long hours, nor call their minutes pains. I will this dreary blank of absence make A noble task-time, and will therein strive To follow excellence, and to o'ertake More good than I have won, since yet I live. So may this doomed time build up in me A thousand graces which shall thus be thine So may my love and longing hallowed be. And thy dear thought an influence divine Mrs. Butler. NOBLE THOUGHTS IN NOBLE LANGUAGE. ABSOLUTION, of God only. Our Church, in her absolution, delivers no more than the solemn promulgation of a par- don upon the conditions of faith and obedience, which, to those so qualified, is indeed an abso- lution; and a warning to others to seek for those conditions, that they may be forgiven. .... If you be truly sorry for your sins, and desirous to amend your lives, trusting in God's mercy through Christ, we can, in God's name, assure you of a gracious pardon. — Comber. It is not the ambassador, it is not the mes- senger, but the Lord Himself that saveth His people. The Lord remaineth alone, for no man can be partner with God in forgiving sins ; this office belongs solely to Christ, who taketh away the sins of the world. — St. Ambrose. It appertaineth to the true God alone to be able to loose men from their sins.— St. Cyril. He alone can remit sins who is appointed our Master by the Father of all; He only is able to discern obedience from disobedience. — St. Clement. {Alexandr. ) No man taketh away sins, (which the law, though holy, just, and good, could not take away,) but He in whom there is no sin. — Bede. ABSOLUTION, Repentance Necessary to. Neither angel, nor archangel, nor yet even the Lord Himself, (who alone can say, " I am with you^") can, when we have sinned, release us, unless we bring repentance with us. — St. Ambrose. ABSTRACTION, Its Purposes and Subserviency. Abstraction, whether it be, as some have represented it, a distinct power of the mind, or as others, with more apparent reason, have thought, a combination of some other faculties, we define to be that capability which the mind possesses of receiving the different quali- ties or properties of complex objects apart, and of considering one distinct from the rest ; that power by which we fix our attention upon some more prominent feature of an object, and regard it separate from those with which it may be combined ; or if they are regarded at all, as it seems almost impossible to think of any quality or property of an object, without calling up the whole object to which that, as a part, belongs, it is only in the same manner as when our attention is occupied upon some more striking object in an extensive prospect, numerous other objects are perforce seen with- out being observed, and although they are all pictured forth on the retina, affect not the mind by their presence. In enumerating the purposes for which habits of abstraction subserve, we may observe that it is the basis and fundamental principle of all classification and general knowledge. Without this faculty we could have no know- ledge of general ideas ; but having by it ab- stracted from objects some distinguishing quality, we are enabled to arrange, under the same class, all objects agreeing in the same point ; and this constitutes what is called ge- neralization. Without this, our knowledge must have been necessarily confined to indivi- dual objects, and each object, in the almost infinite variety of those by which we are sur- rounded, would of itself have formed a sepa- rate and isolated object of the mind's atten- tion ; each, instead of being linked with thou- sands of its own species, and perhaps tens of thousands of its own order, would have stood alone ; each, whatever the number, bearing the same characteristics, and however strong the points of resemblance, must have had its own name. It is evident that, under these circumstances, all our knowledge must have been a complete chaos ; all the efforts of the perplexed and overloaded memory would have been utterly ineffectual and unavailing, to ac- quire a knowledge even of a thousandth part of those numberless objects which are now ranged under one class. By means of generalization, however, we are enabled to rank under a few classes an infinity of objects, so small a por- tion of which, without it, would have been sufficient to bewilder the mind, and confound all attempts to arrive at a knowledge of them. To the faculty of abstraction many of the most useful branches of science owe their origin ; as, for instance, the mathematics ; which, as they relate to subjects which are in themselves mental abstractions, it is evident that, without this faculty, they could not have had an existence at all. But not only in some of the more abstract branches of science is the necessity of abstrac- tion evident, but in many of the fine arts also. It is absolutely necessary to the poet, for in- NOBLE THOUGHTS IN NOBLE LANGUAGE. stance, while engaged in forming the ever- vary- ing combinations of fancy, and working up new creations from different and broken mate- rials, that he should be able finely to discri- minate and abstract those materials from the various objects which he makes tributary to the formation of new associations. But it is to the mental philosopher chiefly that habits of abstraction are most valuable and most necessary. In exploring the regions of mind, he dwells in abstraction itself; fixing his attention, amidst ten thousand objects of an external nature which solicit it, upon that which is itself constantly evading attention — which is the farthest removed from any of those objects with which we are most conver- sant, and to which we most readily turn, and which can scarcely ever submit, for any length of time, to become the object of undivided con- templation. To the mental philosopher these habits of abstraction are most indispensably necessary, if he would make any progress in his pursuits. In other abstract sciences, we may gain some assistance from external sym- bols ; as, for instance, from diagrams, when studying mathematics ; and besides this, we may remark that the very abstractions in this science originate in ideas transmitted from without ; as those with regard to extension, figure, form, distance, space, and so on. But the mind, as it sees nothing like itself in exter- nal nature, nothing that has one property in common with it, can never represent itself by anything that is material, or typify by material symbols the mysteries of its profound recesses ; and he who studies it, or rather when it studies itself, when it endeavours to analyse its own powers, or discover its own faculties, it must shut itself up from all things besides, close all the avenues from without, abstract itself from the external world, and, like Narcissus, gazing upon his own image in the fountain, become absorbed in the contemplation cf itself. With regard to the effect of habits of ab- straction upon the mind itself, we may remark that they tend more than anything else to strengthen and invigorate it, to render it capa- ble of arriving at clear, distinct, and compre- hensive views of whatever may come under its consideration, and above all, to give it that patient spirit of investigation which will not be daunted by the apparent difficulties of any sub- ject, or the confusion in which it may seem to be involved. But the most perceptible difference between the man who has been accustomed to habits of abstraction and generalization, and him who has not, appears in that more comprehensive mode of thinking and of reasoning evinced by the latter. While the one is employed in considering solitary facts, or individual objects, the other is ascending to general principles ; while one is engaged in viewing things in all the minuteness of detail, and becomes confused with the multitude of objects before him, which he knows not how to classify or arrange, the other is forming vast and comprehensive sys- tems, bidding order and lucid arrangement spring out of a chaos of mingled and confused objects ; while the one is lost in the spacious fields of knowledge, and is vainly occupied in endeavouring to measure, inch by inch, the immense track stretched out before him, the other strides like a Colossus, viewing the sys- tems of things in their connection and their harmony, and comprehending an almost bound- less prospect at a glance. H. ACCIDENTS, their Effects. As fast as this coach goes, I sit in it so much at ease, and whilst its rapid motion makes others suspect that I am running for a wager, this lazy posture and this soft seat do almost as much invite me to rest as if I were a-bed. The hasty wheels strike fire out of the flints they happen to run over, and yet this self-same swiftness of these wheels, which, were I under them, would make them crush my bones them- selves into splinters, if not into a jelly, now I am seated above their reach, serves but to carry me the faster towards my journey's end. Just so it is with outward accidents and condi- tions, whose restless vicissitudes do but too justly, and too fitly, resemble them to wheels. When they meet with a spirit that lies pros- trate on the ground, and falls grovelling be- neath them, they disorder and oppress it. But he whose high reason and exalted piety has, by a noble and steady contempt of them, placed him above them, may enjoy a h^ppy and settled quiet, in spite of all these busy agitations, and be so far from resenting any prejudicial discomposure from these inferior revolutions, that all those changes that are taken for the giddy turn of Fortune's wheel shall serve to approach him the faster to the blest mansion he would arrive at. — Boyle. NOBLE THOUGHTS IN NOBLE LANGUAGE. ACCLAMATION. At that sight, The plain was in a stir : the helms of brass Were lifted up— and glittering spear-points wav'd — And banners shaken, and wide trumpet mouths Upturn'd; and myriads of bright harnessed steeds Were seen uprearing, shaking their proud heads ; And brazen chariots in a moment sprang, And clashed together. In a moment more, Up came the monstrous universal shout. Like a volcano's burst. Up — up to heaven The multitudinous tempest tore its way. Rocking the clouds: from all the swerving plain, And from the city, rose the mingled cry, "Long live Sardanapalus, king of kings ! May the king live for ever !" Thrice the flag The monarch waved; and thrice the shouts arose Enormous, that the solid walls were shook. And the firm ground made tremble. At his height, A speck scarce visible, the eagle heard, And felt his strong wing falter : terror-struck. Fluttering and wildly screaming, down he sunk — Down through the quivering air: another shout, — His talons droop, his sunny eye grows dark, His strengthless pinions fall — plumb down he falls, Even like a stone. Amid the far-off hills, With eye of fire, and shaggy mane upreared, The sleeping lion in his den sprang up ; Listened awhile — then laid his monstrous mouth Close to the floor, and breathed hot roar'ngs out In fierce reply. Atherstone. ACCOMPLISHMENTS in ChUdren. O'er wayward childhood would'st thou hold firm rule. And sun thee in the light of happy faces ; Love, Hope, and Patience, these must be thy Graces, And in thine own heart let them first keep > school. For as old Atlas on his broad neck places Heaven's starry globe and there sustains it : so Do these upbear the little world below Of Education, Patience, Love, and Hope. Methinks I see them group'd in seemly show. The straiten'd arms upraised, the palms aslope, And robes that touching, as adown they flow. Distinctly blend, like snow emboss'd in snow. O part them never ! If Hope prostrate lie. Love too will sink and die. But Love is subtle, and will proof derive From her own life that Hope is yet alive. And bending o'er with soul-transfusing eyes, And the soft murmurs of the Mother Dove, Woos back the fleeting spirit and half supplies : Thus Love repays to Hope what Hope first gave to Love. Yet haply there will come a weary day, When, over-tasked at length, Both Love and Hope beneath the load give way. Then with a statue's smile, a statue's strength. Stands the mute sister, Patience, nothing loth, And both supporting does the work of both. S. T. Coleridge. ACCOUNT, Final, Its Horror. What horror and anguish must then seize upon all guilty souls ! With what trembling and infinite amazement must every careless and disobedient Christian appear before all the dreadful Glory ! And how will even their spirits die av.^ay under the intolerable fear and confusion of their conscience ! Who can con- ceive the bitterness and agony of guilty minds, whilst they receive their last sentence ! What a wild and stupid thing is man, that can be- lieve and yet forget these things, and sleep careless under the expectation of a day of doom ! — Abp. Parker. If the day was terrible in which the law was given, so terrible that from Mount Sinai "the smoke ascended as from a furnace, and the whole mount quaked greatly," how terrible will that day be, in which the transgressions of the law shall all be brought to receive their trial ! If the day was terrible, which was a day of grace, how terrible will the day be which shall be a day of punishment ! O my soul, let the remembrance of this day be never out of thy mind ; and if at any time thou find in thyself, either suggestions of Satan, or mo- NOBLE THOUGHTS IN NOBLE LANGUAGE. 5 lives to sin; then think upon this day, and when thou thinkest upon, reahze it. — W. Baker, O SAVE me, Power Of powers supreme, in that tremendous hour ! Thou, who beneath the frown of fate hath stood. And in Thy dreadful agony sweat blood ; Thou, who for me, through ev'ry throbbing vein, Hast felt the keenest edge of mortal pain ; Whom Death led captive through the realms below. And taught those horrid mysteries of woe : Defend me, O my God ! O save me. Power Of powers supreme, in that tremendous hour ! Yoim^. ACKNOWLEDGMENT to God by Song. All thanks and praise, without a right ordered conversation, are but the echo of re- ligion, a voice and no substance ; and if those praises be sung by a heart righteous and obe- dient, that is, "singing with the spirit," and "singing with imderstanding," that is the music that God delights in. — Bp. J. Taylor. ACT as you would be done by. Act towards others as you would they should act towards yourself. It is the same in life as in the midst of the waves ; for every navigator, there is the same sea, the same tempests, the same dangers to beware of. As long as you are borne on a tranquil surface, help those who have suffered shipwreck. Who can say that you will not be overtaken by a storm ? you are not yet in port : the same conduct that you have shown to the unfortunate will be shown to you by your fellow voyagers. — St. Gregory. ACTING. 'Tis better in a play Be Agamemnon, than himself indeed. How oft, with danger of the field beset, Or with home-mutinies, would he un-be Himself ; or, over cruel altars weeping, Wish, that with putting off a vizard he Might his true inward sorrow lay aside ! The shows of things are better than themselves, How doth it stir this airy part of us To hear our poets tell imagin'd fights And the strange blows that feigned courage gives. When I Achilles hear upon the stage Speak honour and the greatness of his soul, Methinks I too could on a Phrygian spear Run boldly, and make tales for after times : But when we come to act it in the deed, Death mars this bravery, and the ugly fears Of th' other world sit on the proudest brow : And boasting valour loseth his red cheek. Tragedy of Nero. ACT in the Present. Not enjoyment, and not sorrow. Is our destined end or way ; But to act, that each to-morrow Finds us farther than to-day. * * * * Trust no Future, howe'er pleasant ! Let the dead Past bury its dead ! Act, act, in the living Present ! Heart within, and God o'erhead ! Longfello^M. ACTION, the Genius of Nature. Look around you, and you will behold the universe full of active powers. Action is, to speak so, the genius of nature. By motion and exertion, the system of being is preserved in vigour. By its different parts always acting in subordination one to another the perfection of the whole is carried on. The heavenly bodies perpetually revolve. Day and night incessantly repeat their appointed course. Continual operations are going on in the earth and in the waters. Nothing stands still. All is alive and stirring throughout the universe. In the midst of this animated and busy scene is man alone to remain idle in his place? Belongs it to him to be the sole inactive and slothful being in the creation, when in so many various ways he might improve his own nature ; might advance the glory of the God who made him ; and contribute his part in the general good ? — Blair. ACTIONS, Agreeable to the WiU of God. Imagine in your mind a great and powerful kingdom, or principality, in which all freely NOBLE THOUGHTS IN NOBLE LANGUAGE. and with one consent conspire to direct their actions^ agreeable to the will and command of one supreme king, the oldest and the best : and then suppose the bounds and limits of this em- pire not to be the river Halys, nor the Helles- pont, nor the Moeotian lake, nor the shores of the ocean ; but the heaven above, and the earth beneath. Here, then, let that great king sit immoveable, prescribing laws to all his sub- jects, in which consist their safety and security. And thus you see how the order and chain of this government descend down by steps and degrees, from the Supreme God to the earth and men. — Max wins Tyriiis. ACTIONS, Cannot Please All in. What action was ever so good, or so com- pletely done, as to be well taken of all hands ? It concerns every wise Christian to settle his heart in a resolved confidence of his own holy and just grounds, and then to go on in a con- stant course of his well-warranted judgment and practice, with a careless disregard of those fools'- bolts which will be sure to be shot at him, which way soever he goes. — Bishop Hall. ACTIONS, Independent. I SEE at a feast that others feed heartily on that dish which perhaps would not suit with my appetite, whilst I make as good a meal on those cates that perhaps their palates could not relish. I will not, therefore, think I do well, because my actions please not others, nor be confident that my actions are good, because my doings please myself : but be more careful to provide what is good at a feast, than what's delightful : and more study to express what is honest in my actions, than what's pleasing. So if sick stomachs cannot relish my sound meats, the fault shall light on their ill appetites : and if unseasoned judgments like not my honest intentions, the fault shall fall on their ill-relished apprehensions. It would please me well to have praise when I deserve it ; but joy me more to deserve praise when I have it. — Arthur Warwick. ACTIONS should have Designs. The lives of most are misspent for want of a certain end of their actions ; wherein they do, as unwise archers, shoot away their arrows they know not at what mark. They live only out of the present, not directing themselves and their proceedings to one universal scope ; whence they alter upon every change of occasions, and never reach any perfection ; neither can do other but continue in uncertainty and end in discomfort. Others aim at one certain mark, but a wrong one. Some, though fewer, level at a right end, but amiss. To live without one main and common end is idleness and folly. To live at a false end is deceit and loss. True Christian wisdom both shows the end and finds the way ; and as cunning politics have many plots to compass one and the same design by a determined succession, so the wise Christian, failing in the means, yet still fetcheth about to his steady end with constant change of endeavours ; such one only lives to purpose, and at last repents not that he has lived. — Bishop Hall. ACTIONS, their True Motive. Men are not made truly religious by perform- ing certain actions which are externally good ; but men must have righteous principles in the first place, and then they will not fail to per- form virtuous actions. — Luther. ACTIONS, Three Sorts. There are three sorts of actions ; those that are good, those that are bad, and those that are doubtful ; and we ought to be most cautious of those that are doubtful ; for we are in most danger of these doubtful actions, be- cause they do not alarm us ; and yet they in- sensibly lead to greater transgressions, just as the shades of twilight gradually reconcile us to darkness. — A. Reed. ACTIONS, to Live must be Just. It must always be remembered that the actions of public men will be the subject of thought at a future period ; when interest is stifled, and passion is silent ; when fear has ceased to agitate, and discord is at rest ; but when conscience has resumed its sway over the human heart. Nothing but what is just, there- fore, can finally be expedient, because nothing else can secure the permanent concurrence of mankind. — Alison. NOBLE THOUGHTS IN NOBLE LANGUAGE. ACTOR, How Anathematized. One, who on entering a town in a full suit of black, with polished boots, hair straightly combed, and seated on a smooth trotting horse, as highly fed as its rider, proceeds importantly to the place of his destination, where his host receives him with more humility, respect, and attention than a Franciscan friar would pay to a cardinal. He is afterwards conducted to the best chamber, regales on the choicest viands, drinks the rarest wines, sleeps on the softest bed, and, on the following morning, repairs to his theatre to laud temperance and condemn luxury; and whether bad or good actor, whether absurd or skilful author, equally secure, not only of no hissing, but of the sigh- ing approbation of the whole of his brotherly audience. Such is the life of this wholesale dealer in anathemas ; while the poor, persecu- ted itinerant player, the humble reciter of Shakspeare's ethics, lodges in a garret, regales on cold mutton, small beer, and sleeps on a bed of straw, or perhaps on no bed at all. This is the life which one of these country actors once described to me ; and he added that he had frequently perfox-med Lord Fop- pington, Doricourt, and other fine gentlemen, with nothing of a shirt except the semblance round his neck — a collar ; and that he durst never approach the sea-shore, lest its invigora- ting breezes should give an insupportable in- crease to his appetite. Yet this actor lived to triumph over the fulminations of these tolerant enthusiasts, and all other difficulties, and now lives in the possession of a fine fortune, gained by the practice of a profession which tends, perhaps, more than any other, "to show Virtue her own feature, and Scorn her own image." — Reynolds. ADDRESS. How know I ? King of Israel, by these ears. And eyes that now behold thy inward fears. In that bright hour which inspiration feels, When the vast future o'er the eyelids steals, I saw, like sheep without the shepherd's hand To guide them, Israel scatter'd o'er the land ; I heard th' Eternal's voice loud as the foam Of the vast ocean, bid them seek their home : I saw their leader's chariot, but it bore A breathless trunk, and arms defiled with gore. y. R. Jackson. ADVANTAGES, to be Appreciated. It will be an interesting occupation of the pen- sive hour, to recount the advantages which we have received from the beings who have left the world, and to reinforce our virtues from the dust of those who first taught them. — Foster. ADVERSARY in our own Breasts. The devil himself would be but a contemptible adversary, were he not sure of a correspondent, and a party that held intelligence with him, in our own breasts. All the blowing of a fire put under a cauldron could never make it boil over, were there not a fulness of water within it. — South. ADVERSITY, Uncontrollable. There are some, it has well been remarked, who seem, not from any imprudence on their own parts, but by the uncontrollable events which are pas sing around them, uniformly un- successful in whatever they attempt ; their de- signs become abortive, their efforts futile ; not the least gleam of prosperity ever lightens up to cheer their unvaried scene of darkness and misfortune ; while others, on the contrary, suc- ceed in whatever they think proper to em.bark in ; the most untoward circumstances appear to shift round as they require them, and the bounties of fortune fall into their laps, unex- pected and almost unsought and unsolicited. But to the man who views all these chequered circumstances as ordained by an all-wise and overruling Hand, they are fraught with the noblest and most useful instruction : for, after all, it little matters how the few short and fleeting years, which foi-m the slight parenthesis between the commencement of man's existence and his entrance upon an eternity, are filled up. If the cup presented to him by the all- wise Disposer of events has a more than usual share of "honeyed ingredients," its sweetness is soon passed, scarcely, indeed, leaving time for the full sense of its enjoyment ; and if it is one of unmingled bitterness, its nauseousness is as quickly over. But the effects which may follow such visitations of Providence are not soon over ; they affect oftentimes an after-ex- istence of an eternal nature and duration, ac- cordingly as they are improved or neglected, valued or despised. God, in his moral govern- ment of the world, has various methods and NOBLE THOUGHTS IN NOBLE LANGUAGE. complicated machinery by which he excites the heart, the constitution of which none can know so well as He, since he first formed it, and first strung its various chords to the love of himself; some he terrifies by his frowns, some he wins by his smiles ; to some he throws in rich profusion all the bounties of his provi- dence, to excite their gratitude ; some he be- reaves of their all, and tracks their footsteps with misfortune and desolation, in order that they may know the vanity and real worthless- ness of all earthly possessions and enjoyments, and feel the full consolation of that refuge of which none can deprive them, and of which they may always avail themselves, in order that they may seek, like some battered bark, broken and tempestworn, some haven, secure from the storms which sweep over the open ocean. — R. Hall. ADVERSITY Beareth Comely Fruits. Adversity is like the period of the former and of the latter rain, — cold, comfortless, un- friendly to man and to animal ; yet from that season have their birth the flower, and the fruit, the date, the rose, and the pomegranate. Sir Walter Scott. ADVERSITY, Benefit of. It is good for man to suffer the adversity of this earthly life, for it brings him back to the sacred retirement of the heart, where only he finds he is an exile from his native home, and ought not to place his trust in any worldly en- joyment. It is good for him also to meet with contradiction and reproach, and to be evil thought of, and evil spoken of, even when his intentions are upright, and his actions blame- less, for this keeps him humble, and is a powerful antidote to the poison of vain glory : and then chiefly it is that we have recourse to the witness within us, which is God, when we are outwardly despised, and held in no degree of esteem and favour among men. Our de- pendence upon God ought to be so entire and absolute that we should never think it neces- sary, in any kind of distress, to have recourse to human consolation. — Thomas A Kanpis. ADVERSITY, Lessons of. The lessons of adversity are often the most benignant when they seem the most severe. The depression of vanity sometimes ennobles the feeling. The mind which does not wholly sink under misfortune rises above it more lofty than before, and is strengthened by affliction. — Chenevix. ADVERSITY, Treated with Contempt. How ruthless men are to adversity ! My acquaintance scarce will know me; when we meet They cannot stay to talk, they must be gone ; And shake me by the hand as if I burnt them, Cooke, ADVERSITY, Uses of. Amidst the vicissitudes of the present state, it were the extreme of folly to expect serenity undisturbed, and a flow of comfort uniform and uninterrupted. Nor ought we to desig- nate with hard names, or meet with hard thoughts, those petty vexatious incidents which attach to human life, in every rank from the cottage to the palace, and at every period from childhood to old age. " We are not," observes Hooker, "tosaymen are in adversity when- ever they feel any small hindrance of their welfare in this world, but when some notable affliction or cross, some great calamity or trou- ble befalleth them." Even in this well-de- fined use of the term, adversity is by no means a rare thing among men. How many at this hour are reduced to poverty, pain, and sick- ness, or are bewailing, in the bitterness of woe, severe privations and bereavements, who lately enjoyed health and competence, in the society of tender relatives and endeared friends f When cases of this kind thicken around us, is there no consideration to relieve the thought- ful pensive mind ? Yes ; adversity is a school in which many valuable lessons are learned, which can scarcely be gained in any other. Here we become acquainted with ourselves, with the frailties of our natures, with the fal- lacies of the world, with the worth and neces- sity of religion. Here the powers of the soul are called forth, and trained in a discipline which, however severe, is found to be salutaiy. Some virtues are only seen in affliction, and some in prosperity ; if the latter are more showy and attractive, the former are more solid and enduring. Humility, patience, for- titude, prudence, and pious resignation are best promoted by events and circumstances of NOBLE THOUGHTS IN NOBLE LANGUAGE. a dark and disastrous kind. At such a time we wake from inglorious slumber, and the vain illusions and dreams which before amused us are scattered and dispersed. We rise and ask, "Where is God, our Maker, who giveth songs in the night ? " Serious inquiry on this subject is seldom, or rather never, eventually- fruitless. The footsteps of infinite wisdom may not be seen, for they are often concealed in the deep waters ; but the soft accents of mercy will at intervals be heard. It is a gentle consoling voice, which addresseth the ear of the inner man, saying "He that walketh in darkness and hath no light, let him trust in the name of the Lord and stay upon his God." Now the agitated sufferer has found a rock on which to rest, a refuge in which to hide. A belief and a lively sense of the Divine pre- sence fortifies and sustains the soul in the midst of a sea of troubles. And when the passive virtues are once formed, they give strength and firmness, lustre and value to the character, after the immediate occasions which produced them have passed away. The use of wintry frost and snow, in mellow- ing the soil and making it fertile, is best seen in the months of summer and the days of har- vest ; the analogy here suggested need not be pursued, and the reader will probably remem- ber that Luther acknowledged there were some passages of Scripture which he could never aright understand and feel, till he was brought into trouble ; and Pascal, when op- pressed with heavy affliction, exclaimed, * ' Now I begin to be a Christian. " One of the greatest advantages derived from adversity is that elevated and spiritual state of mind which prepares us cheerfully to relinquish the present transient scene, and enter a world of refined and unending blessedness. Though the good things of this life ought ever to be duly estimated, and gratefully acknowledged, they always become injurious when they engross the affections of the heart. The keen strokes and heavy shocks of calamity, which a gra- cious Providence sends for our benefit, tend to detach us from the pleasures and possessions of the world. The objects of sense shrink in our grasp, and wither in our sight, but the objects of faith are unveiled in all their loveli- ness and grandeur, beai'ing the impress and evidence of immortality. So important is a holy, heavenly, devout frame of mind, that whatever abstracts us from the world, weakening the force of its ties and temptations — whatever raises our thoughts and desires to God, infusing an additional relish into His service — whatever is calculated to make the solemn realities of the future predominate over the toys and fleeting shadows of the pre- sent, is to be numbered among our mercies. Thus does sanctified affliction wean us from the world, assimilate us to the Father of Spirits, imbue us with devotion, and prepare us for eternity. "I reckon," says Paul, "that the sufferings of this present time are not worthy to be compared with the glory that shall be revealed in us." Seldom do we begin this kind of sacred calculation, and never make much proficiency in it during the season of ease and posterity. It is under the weight and pressure of grief, amidst perplexities and diffl- culties, fightings without and fears within, that we learn this species of divine arithmetic. The Christian has only to take care and reckon aright, and whatever losses, privations, re- proaches, and conflicts he may now endure, the balance is sure to turn vastly in his favour. When some one endeavoured to prevail upon Bishop Hooper to renounce his creed, saying, **0 Sir, consider that life is sweet, and death is bitter," he replied, "Yes, but life to come is more sweet, and death to come is more bitter;" and so went patiently to the stake. " I doubt not," said this heroic martyr, " but that God will give me strength to abide the extremity of the fire without binding ; " and we are told that, in the 8oth year of his age, he expired amidst the flames, as quietly as a child in its bed. Another advantage of adversity is the fitness derived from it for discharging our relative and social duties. A good seaman must be inured to the seas and storms, and a good soldier be familiar with sieges and battles ; it will not sufflce for the one to read the account of voyages and the other the history of cam- paigns, without personal experience. Theories, and systems, and sentiments, in a cold abstract form, are of little value and use. We are called to various relative duties, which can rarely be performed in a proper and acceptable manner, without the knowledge, magnanimity, moderation, and sympathy gained in the school of adversity. And shall we, then, repine because we are put in a course of training? Will not heroic achievements, acts of resolute self-denial, and generous, disinterested zeal be required in the service of Christ ? Is there any true greatness, any real dignity and decision of character, where they are wanting? Can the man be highly accomplished, the Christian lO NOBLE THOUGHTS IN NOBLE LANGUAGE. eminently furnished and advanced, who is desti- tute of the virtues suited to a general state of changes and sufferings ? To ask such questions is in effect to answer them. The records of all history, and the results of all experience, com- bine to establish the position that he whose soul has been nerved and braced with fortitude in ardous conflicts will be least liable to shrink from the path of duty at the approach of danger. He who, like his Master, has been long ac- quainted with grief, will be best prepared, like him, to take the cup of bitterness, and drink it without a murmur. We are also surrounded with those who have their several burdens to bear and their variegated trials to endure. And how shall we be fitted to sympathize with them ? to counsel, succour, and animate them ? Certainly by the chastisements of affliction, and the happy effects produced by them. For with a soul that ever felt the sting Of sorrow, sorrow is a sacred thing. Let the Christian, in this respect, be an ex- ample to others. Let him remember them who are in adversity, and show tenderness, patience, and a generous readiness to assist and comfort them. Surely those who have passed through fiery trials ought, in all their graces and virtues, to shine with a peculiar and dis- tinguished brightness, and reflect an honour on the good cause they have espoused, and put to silence the ignorance of foolish men. Riisticus. Adversity is often described as a school in which the servants of God are taught wisdom. The evil of sin, the vanities of earth, the feebleness and uncertainties of an arm of flesh, these are all matters of which we may learn something by the hearing of the ear, but it is through the medium of adversity that the eye seeth them. We may discourse about sick- ness, or poverty, or slander, or bereavements, but it is when these things come that we un- derstand them. Then, not a few scriptures which scarcely attracted notice before become fraught with meaning and power. ' * Blessed is the man whom Thou chastenest, and teach- est out of Thy law." Adversity, therefore, as it respects believers, is always designed, more or less, to prevent evil What the Sovereign of the universe did toward Jesus Christ, considered as our Surety, is the whole of what he does in relation to us in the character of a Judge : all that remains is the discipline of parental love. Through the sacrifice of the cross we have ceased to be the children of wrath, and God does not afflict us willingly. We are not to be condemned with the world : and if we suffer ** all the day long, and are chastened every morning," it is that we may be separated from the evils of the world, and raised above it. Adversity inter- poses to prevent our passing on from lesser sins to greater, and sometimes to secure us against listening at all to the seductions of the way of death. There was an eye which saw the dangers to which Peter was exposed, while the apostle saw them not ; and that discern- ment can detect innumerable seeds of evil in our case of which we are unconscious ; and the same care which, in the sovereignty of its doings, was providing for the safety of Peter, beyond what he could have asked or thought, is ever thus employed in behalf of the re- deemed. And it should be treasured up as an import- ant fact, that of all the dispensations of Hea- ven, these preventive interpositions of its good- ness are generally the most mysterious. The sin of David, in the matter of Uriah, will explain the suffering which followed. But adversity might have been employed to eradi- cate the first seeds of evil inclination, instead of occurring as the means of correcting it when matured into transgression. In that case, how- ever, the event would probably have been among the many, the reasons of which can only be known hereafter. His severest scru- tiny would not, perhaps, have discovered the cause, and the whole might in consequence have been clothed with mystery. Eternity alone will disclose to us how often the occur- rences of which we have bitterly complained have been made, in this manner, the means of saving us from greater evils : regular Then most, when most irregular they seem. Where this intervention does not take place, and we fall into sin, the Father whom we serve possesses too much parental affection to allow of our continuing in such a course. His words are, * ' If my children forsake my law, and walk not in my judgments ; if they break my statutes, and keep not my commandments, then will I visit their transgressions with the rod, and their iniquities with stripes." And how much is there, even in the least faulty among us, to require the frequent verification of this scripture ! How much defectiveness and evil in our conduct ! What a mixture of the vain and earthly in our motives and de- NOBLE THOUGHTS IN NOBLE LANGUAGE. II sires — even in the purest exercises of our mind I With a malady so complicated upon us, is it surprising that the prescriptions of the Great Physician should be frequent, and sometimes far from agreeable ? " Surely it is meet to be said unto God, I have borne chastisement, I will not offend any more ; that which I see not teach thou me ; if I have done iniquity, I will do no more." It will hardly be needful to observe that an important part of the design of the Most High in thus trying, and teaching, and improving the character of His people is, that their light may so shine before men that others, seeing it, may be constrained ' ' to glorify their Father who is in heaven." It must be remarked, in conclusion, that all these considerations, which minister so much aid to the Christian in his warfare as connected with adversity, derive the whole of their effi- ciency from the fact that the grace provided in the gospel in aid of the suffering is all-suffi- cient grace. It is grace which has been so proved in the experience of a multitude which no man can number. All our burdens are ad- justed by Him who alone knows what we can bear. The nature, the extent, and the dura- tion of our present afflictions all are regulated by Him who has said, * ' As thy day is, thy strength shall be. My grace shall be sufficient for thee. My strength shall be perfect in thy weakness." Our enemies are all His enemies; and our ultimate triumph must, in consequence, be His glory. It is a fatal error to suppose that adversity will prove a school for heaven, apart from the sufficiencies of that grace which was procured for men by the great sacrifice which has blotted out our transgressions. It is this grace which savingly enlightens; it is this which soothes ; it is this alone which gives sanctity to the path of the afflicted. It is manifest, then, that adversity, in some of its modifications, is inevitable ; and that its occurrence in many forms is so far probable as to be on the very line of certainty. Sickness, poverty, reproach, bereavement, and many a secret sorrow, to all these we are exposed ; under most of these we shall unquestionably suffer. But what shall the issue be ? Every thread of our present existence is interwoven, by its consequences, with the future : and what shall that future be ? The results of present suffering are all strictly dependent on our pre- sent character. If we are Christians, the grace which has made us such can render whatever is afflictive in our lot on earth conducive to the ultimate perfectness of our Christianity. But if this character be wanting, the element of all good is wanting. — Vmighan. ADVICE to the Young. Son. — The first thing a man ought to think of is religion : it should be antecedent to the care of his fortune. But it is not sufficient to be informed of the great truths it contains ; these truths should also be practised. Consecrate the morning of your reason to the study of the sciences ; they are of infinite resource in the course of life ; they form the heart, polish the mind, and instruct man in his duties. By them men attain to honours and dignities ; they recreate and amuse us in pros- perit)'-, and become our consolation and solace in adversity. But without assiduous applica- tion, vain will be your attempt to acquire the sciences : they are the daughters of labour, and by labour only can you obtain possession of them. Endeavour to store and adorn your mind with all sorts of knowledge. On a multiplicity of occasions in life they will be- come highly advantageous to you — indeed, necessary. How immense is the distance between the learned and the ignorant ! The brightest light compared with the thickest darkness — life with death — existence with annihilation, feebly express the distance which separates the intelligent man from him who is not so. Ignorance is the poisoned source whence flow all the ills that afflict the world : blind superstition — irreligion — barbarity, des- tructive of the fine arts, march along with it, and shame, contempt, and meanness bring up the rear. Although the acquirement of lan- guages is an important branch of learning, you must not dedicate the whole of your youth to it. Languages are only the avenues that lead to the temple where the sciences have their residence. Make divine and human laws subjects of your meditations ; these sciences once acquired, apply yourself to logic and physics. Nurture your mind particularly with reading the best authors. Can a bird without wings dare to soar into the regions of the air ? The precious shell-fish that contains the pearl is not found on the surface of the waters; it is at the bottom of the sea, and amidst a thousand dangers, that it must be diligently sought. The false splendour of riches dazzles the eyes of weak and avaricious men ; let it not 12 NOBLE THOUGHTS IN NOBLE LANGUAGE, dazzle yours. They incessantly sigh after things they have not ; and their insatiable hearts are the prey of useless desires. Be warned by their misfortunes. The tranquillity and happiness of life consist in being satisfied with one's condition. God, who placed you here, is not ignorant of your wants. Put your confidence in His Divine Providence, and he will prevent them. Why is man so passion- ately fond of gold and silver ? These metals can neither allay his hunger nor assuage his thirst. They cannot even replace the most ordinary aliments. In vain should a husband- man hope to gather in a harvest from a field sown with gold and silver. These two metals are not real riches ; at best, they but represent them. Be reserved and circumspect in your pro- mises ; but having once given your word keep it religiously. Promises are, to a man of honour, debts of which he ought faithfully to acquit himself. Avoid raillery ; it offends him who is the object of it. He that indulges this humour is the scourge of society, and all fear and avoid him. Sacrifice no man to the passion of expressing a witty saying : like a sharp arrow it pierces and rankles in the heart of him against whom it is shot. Not that I would, as a rigid censor, banish an innocent pleasantry ; — a slight, trifling, fine, and delicate raillery is the soul of conversation, and constitutes its best seasoning ; but how few know how to play it off, and not to drive it too far. — Nabi- Effendi, a celebrated Eastern poet, who flour- ished about the year 1680. AFFECTATION. Affectation is the wisdom of fools, and the folly of many a comparatively wise man. ** It is," says Johnson, "an artificial show: an elaborate appearance : a false pretence. " Surely it must be a most infirm judgment which pre- fers counterfeit to real ; and which employs art, labour, and pretence to produce that which is spurious and vile, whilst the genuine commodity requires no such effort. Simplicity of conduct and of manners, the unquestionable indications of sound sense and of a correct taste, exonerate their happy pos- sessors from the whole of that toilsome load which the enslaved and feeble minds of arti- ficial characters constantly sustain. O what a weariness it must be, to be always acting a part ; to torture and tutor every thought, word, and action, in common life and daily inter- course, so as to produce a factitious result ; to adopt conduct, select words, and profess sentiments on the most trivial as well as the most important occasions, which shall be sure to differ, more or less, from what is plain, ob- vious, and direct. An affected person meets a friend in the street ; he is his friend, and there is, at times, something like real companionship between the parties. The honest straight-for- ward man extends his hand, with an ingenuous smile on his countenance ; the other extends his finger, and although glad enough to meet his friend, thinks fit (he knows not why) to appear as if he did not wish to be too intimate. A broad stare, very much like that of an ape at a porcelain apple, is stamped on his visage. His gestures and words are stiff and starched ; his figure was inclined just two degrees from the perpendicular. He stands as if wishing to go, and replies in the tone and style of a green parrot to all that is said. And why is all this ? Why, he thinks that in this way he has the upper hand of his artless acquaintance ; he thinks that these assumed manners enable him to manage people wonderfully well whenever he pleases ; besides, he has taken up an idea that stiff, cold, and formal manners are gentle- manly, and show good breeding ; and he makes this conduct the more conspicuous that others may be sure to notice it, and if to notice, to admire and to envy him, as a matter of course. He dreams not that his labour is ever lost ; that success is ever wanting. It enters not into the thick head of that tall or short- whiskered fool that he is an object of contempt to the wise ; aye, and to the unwise ; for even block- heads, if they do not happen to be affected blockheads, are better judges than he of human nature. He is not aware that one must be a man to be a gentleman, and that he who thus descends to artifice and dissimulation is a child in judgment and a monkey in conduct. Affectation may be compared to a coat of many pieces and divers colours, ill fitted and neither stitched nor tied, which some unblest mortal might endeavour, with incessant pains and solicitude, to hold together and to wear. Let us forbear the epithet of fool, to one so acting, until he is rightly named who assumes from choice (necessity there can be none) the incommodious, unprosperous, and despicable guise of affected sentiments, words and man- ners ; and who, appearing to the utmost dis- advantage whilst making these obvious, though NOBLE THOUGHTS IN NOBLE LANGUAGE. 13 guileful efforts, congratulates himself on his imagined skill and success, and feels all that satisfaction and chuckling complacency com- mon to paltry feelings and a little mind. That affectation, in proportion as it exists, is the consequence of a weak and diseased judgment, which, like a broken helm, deceives and misdirects, appears evident from this, that persons afflicted with it ever make an utterly false estimate of their own power of conceal- ment, and of the powers which persons in general possess of discernment. The string of unprisoned shopmen who on Sundays, arm-in- arm, occupy the whole width of a pavement of a London street, have not sense and judgment strong enough to apprise them that the long, measured, and simultaneous step, the periodi- cal patting of the cork heel upon the flag- stones ; the swallow-tailed coat ; the cravat nine inches broad ; the unshaved throat, and collars above the ears ; the silver-mounted glasses ; the supercilious stare, and so forth ; — all go to prove them what they are — unpri- soned shopmen : and what they need not be — silly and vulgar fellows to boot. There is not a road sweeper to whom they do, or do not, toss a halfpenny at a crossing, but knows them instantly to be low-conditioned men by these plebeian characteristics. Notwithstanding the constant propensity "to magnify the idea of self," they are by their own act placing them- selves at the wrong end of the telescope. They are pigmies in the eyes of all but themselves. What, then, is a man's judgment worth which thus influences his conduct ? But without descending so low as to the characters just mentioned, abundant specimens of absurd and odious affectation may be dis- covered. Indeed, its varieties and its degrees, if not infinite, far exceed our present ability to recognize individually. To distinguish the forms and shades of it, even amongst men of intellect, would be a mighty task which we must decline. It is a mawkish malady, how- ever, which in them, as in others, indicates weakness of mind and judgment, in proportion as it is allowed. It is said that when a wise man plays the fool he does it with a ven- geance ; and so it is that the most glaring examples of affectation (though of an entirely different kind from that above referred to) have been furnished by persons of unquestioned ability and of considerable mental vigour. One may see, for instance, a tall, square-shoul- dered, awkward man, with a lean, bony visage — by no means inexpressive, however — and exhibiting indications of the power and habit of thinking ; of such an one it may be said emphatically that he is no fool as regards his capacity, and a very great one as regards his conduct. He will walk into a room in which sundry persons are sitting, as good, however, as he is in the former particular, and vastly his betters in all others. He will take off his great-coat by a most methodical, precise, and deliberate act of decortication, and will hand it to a lady to put away with all the indiffer- ence of a parson resigning his surplice to the sexton. Then he will subside into a chair, and turning his back upon the unnoticed indi- vidual who sits next him, until the two mightily resemble the sign Pisces of the Zo- diac, he will address himself to some child ; or, if otherwise minded, will sit absolutely silent ; yea, although that silence from pecu- liar circumstances may be a peculiar outrage upon common good manners. Yet that man could converse in a rational and interesting way ; but it is his pleasure at present to assume the mingled character of the bear and the ass. His affectation and folly therein are more con- spicuous than his wisdom, even when he is not thus unwise. He much overrates his re- putation as a man of intellect, when he thinks that in the opinion of others it will admit of such large deductions, and yet show a balance in his favour. Then there is a distinct sort of affectation common enough, but peculiar to elderly persons, especially men. How many a short, stout, sturdy, crabbed, testy, and churlish old curmud- geon derives his sole title to these unlovely cha- racteristics from the source of all affectation — a morbid desire to seem to be what the individual in fact is not. The greatest compliment that can be paid him is to tell him that he has more affectation than his grandson of twenty or his granddaughter of fifteen — a pre-eminence quite needless, certainly, — that he has a sort of pride in being thought austere, inflexible, and crusty ; that he is as fond of exhibiting his odd, old- fashioned ways as his fair descendant may be of showing off her fantastical new-fangled airs — such he is pleased to call them ; that if his judgment had been more sound, and his men- tal vigour greater, he would have been neither crabbed, testy, crusty, nor churlish, seeing he is, when he is himself, a good sort of kind- hearted man. Some may not readily recog- nize the affectation of characters of this sort. Others, however, can see it under many a brown wig and three-cocked hat. Whilst 14 NOBLE THOUGHTS IN NOBLE LANGUAGE. girls affect smiles, these affect frowns ; the former to please others, the latter to please themselves. It must be borne in mind, that at whatever period of life, and in whatever characters this affectation is discovered, a want of good breed- ing is clearly manifested. Low-conditioned persons generally contrive, by follies of this sort, to point a finger to their origin which is a most faithful index. As a young gentleman never assumes the manners or guise of a dandy, so an old gentleman adopts not those of a churl. Doubtless there is much in the bearing of a high-bred man, and in the intercourse of the best society, which is assumed in a certain way and for certain purposes ; but he knows little indeed of human nature who confounds this for an instant with the affectation we have been speaking of. A gentleman adopting the usages of society may meet another, and say, '* How do you do, sir? I am very glad to see you," though in fact he would rather just then have passed on without interruption. Although this sort of thing is much better avoided, it arises not at all from that infirm habit and temper of the mind which usually gives birth to affectation. In one case, the endeavour is merely to please by appearing pleased ; in the other it is as nearly the reverse of this as pos- sible. This we know, that a certain destitution of judgment and good sense, an infirmity of prin- ciple and of purpose ; unconsciousness in the party of these or any other mental disadvan- tages ; together with the consequent measure of conceit and self- approval, make up some- thing like the character of a fool (pardon the epithet). "When with these there is combined a peculiar appetite for praise, and an unhealthy solicitude respecting the opinion of others, he becomes an affected fool ; that is, of course, to a measured or unmeasured extent, according to circumstances. If this unenvied personage should have in addition — as is very frequently the case — a spice of ambition, and of the love of distinction, then his affectation takes the turn of eccentricity, respecting which we may perhaps have a word or two to say upon a future occasion. — Momiis. AFFECTION, Pure. Oh ! there is one affection which no stain Of earth can ever darken : when two find — The softer and the manlier — -that a chain Of kindred taste has softened mind to mind ; 'Tis an attraction from all sense refined ; The good can only know it. 'Tis not blind, As love is unto baseness. Its desire Is but, with hands ent\s ined, to lift our being higher. Percival. AFFECTION, Likened to a Garden. A solitary blessing few can find, Our joys with those we love are intertwined. And he whose wakeful tenderness removes [loves. The obstructing thorn that wounds the breast he Smooths not another's rugged path alone, But scatters roses to adorn his own. Affection is a garden, and without it there would not be a verdant spot on the surface of the globe. But in this garden there is a sepulchre. How often does the tolling bell announce the departure of some endeared relation to an eternal state ! How often does the intelligence reach us that a loss is sustained which time cannot repair, that a wound is in- flicted which no sympathy can heal, that sor- rows have had birth which will only expire with those who writhe under them ! By this, then, let us be instructed. Be it our concern to avoid every word, and feeling, and act of unkindness, so that we may escape the miseries of bitter recollections and grievous self- reproaches, — to use every means for the pro- motion of the best interests of those we love, that, dear by nature, they may be still dearer by grace, — to hold them with a loose hand, that the shock of separation may be weakened from the comparative feebleness of the ad- herence, — and by advancement in the things of God to abound in hope, that, detached for a moment, we shall be re-united for endless ajes. — Anon. AFFECTION, Must be Fanned. Affection can withstand very severe storms of rigour, but not a long polar frost of down- right indifference. Love will subsist on won- derfully little hope, but not altogether without it.— ^/r Walter Scott. AFFECTIONS, Away from Earth. Conceive a man to be standing on the margin of this green world ; and that, when he looked towards it, he saw abundance smiling upon every field, and all the blessings which earth NOBLE THOUGHTS IN NOBLE LANGUAGE. 5 can afford scattered in profusion throughout every family, and the light of the sun sweetly resting upon all the pleasant habitations, and the joys of human companionships brightening many a happy circle of society : conceive this to be the general character of the scene upon one side of his contemplation, and that on the other, beyond the verge of the goodly planet on which he was situated, he could descry nothing but a dark and fathomless unknown. Think you that he would bid a voluntary adieu to all the brightness and all the beauty that were before him upon earth, and commit himself to the frightful solitude away from it ? Would he leave its peopled dwelling-places, and become a solitary wanderer through the fields of nonentity? If space offered him nothing but a wilderness, would he for it aban- don the home-bred scenes of life and cheerful- ness that lay so near, and exerted such a power of urgency to detain him? Would not he cling to the regions of sense, and of life, and of society ? and shrinking away from the deso- lation that was beyond it, would not he be glad to keep his firm footing on the territory of this world, and take shelter under the silver canopy that was stretched over it ? But if, during the time of his contemplation, some happy island of the blest had floated by ; and there had burst upon his senses the light of its surpassing glories, and its sounds of sweeter melody ; and he clearly saw that there ' a purer beauty rested upon every field, and a more heartfelt joy spread itself among all the families ; and he could discern there a peace, and a piety, and a benevolence which put a moral gladness into every bosom, and united the whole society in one rejoicing sympathy with each other and with the beneficent Father of them all. Could he further see that pain and mortality were there unknown, and above all, that signals of welcome were hung out, and an avenue of communication was made for him — perceive you not that what was before the wilderness would become the land of invitation, and what now the world would be the wilderness ? What unpeopled space could not do, can be done by space teem- ing with beatific society. And let the existing tendencies of the heart be what they may to the scene that is near and visible around us, still, if another stands revealed to the prospect of man, either through the channel of faith or through the channel of his senses, then, without violence done to the constitution of his moral nature, may he die unto the present world, and live to the lovelier world that stands in the distance away from it. — Dr. Chalmers. AFFECTIONS, Gracefiil in the Poor. If ever household affections and loves are graceful things, they are graceful in the poor. The ties that bind the wealthy and the proud to home may be forged on earth, but those which link the poor man to his humble hearth are of the true metal and bear the stamp of heaven. The man of high descent may love the halls and lands of his inheritance as a part of himself, as trophies of his birth and power ; the poor man's attachment to the tenement he holds, which strangers have held before, and may to-morrow occupy again, has a worthier root, struck deep into a purer soil. His house- hold gods are of flesh and blood, with no alloy of silver, gold, or precious stones ; he has no property but in the affections of his own heart ; and when they endear bare floors and walls, despite of rags, and toil, and scanty meals, that man has his love of home from God, and his rude hut becomes a solemn place. — Dickens. AFFLICTION, Benefit in. Happy is that condition which forces us to trust only in God, and to be in the hand of His providence. Afflictions dispose us to pray ; and we are sure to want nothing if we find God in prayer. — Bishop JFiisou. AFFLICTION, Prayer in. Almighty Power, I love Thee ! Blissful name, My healer, God ! and may my inmost soul Love and adore for ever ! Oh, 'tis good To wait submissive at Thy holy throne, To leave petitions at Thy feet, and bear Thy frowns and silence with a patient soul. The hand of mercy is not short to save. Nor is the ear of heavenly Pity deaf To mortal cries. J'Fatis. AFFLICTION Sanctifies. I AM not better than my fathers : I am deeply conscious I am corrected less, yea, infinitely less, than my iniquities deserve. I hope I am more anxious to see my heavy affliction sancti- fied than removed. Whether it would be best for it to be removed may well be doubted : of i6 NOBLE THOUGHTS IN NOBLE LANGUAGE. the admirable benefits arising from sanctifica- tion, both in time and eternity, there can be no doubt. I presume the Lord sees I require more hammering and hewing than almost any other stone that was ever selected for his spiritual building, and that is the secret reason of his dealings with me. Let me be broken into a thousand pieces, if I may but be made up again, and formed by his hand for purposes of his mercy. I see more and more of the unspeakable blessedness of being made like God, and of becoming partaker of his holiness. I see it, I say, but I do not attain ; or, at least, in so unspeakably small a degree, that I have every moment reason to be abased, and "repent in dust and ashes." — R. Hall, AFFLICTION, The Guide to Reflection. Affliction appears to be the guide to reflec- tion ; the teacher of humility ; the parent of repentance ; the nurse of faith ; the strength - ener of patience, and the promoter of charity : while of those upon whom affliction is thus sanctified to the purifying of the soul, and its improvement in Christian graces ; of those who study to convert it, with the blessing of their merciful Father, to their spiritual and eternal welfare, that they "may become par- takers of His holiness;" of those who welcome it as the means whereby they may "learn the statutes " of the Lord : of such persons it may be truly affirmed, as the royal Psalmist ac- knowledged of Himself, that " it is good for them to be afflicted." — Bishop Mant. AFFLICTION, The Odour of. Aromatic plants bestow No spicy fragrance where they grow ; But crushed and trodden to the ground. Diffuse their balmy sweets around. Goldsmit/i. AFFLICTION, Winter of. When I see the husbandman well contented with the cold of frost and snow in the winter, Ijecause, though it chilleth the ground, yet it killeth the charlock ; though it check the wheat somewhat in growing, yet it choketh the weeds from growing at all ; why should I be moved at the winter of affliction ? Why vexed at the quaking fit of a quartan ague ? Why oflfended at the cold change of afifection in my summer friends ? If as they seem bitter to my mind and body, they prove healthful to my bettered soul ; if my wants kill my wanton- ness, my poverty check my pride, my dis- respected slighting quell my ambition and vain glory, and every weed of vice being thus choked by affliction's winter, my soul may grow fruitful for heaven's harvest ; let my winter be bitter, so that I be gathered with the good corn at reaping time into the Lord's barn. — A rthur Warwick, AFFLICTIONS are Angels. Afflictions from above Are angels sent On embassies of love, A fiery legion at thy birth, Of chastening woes were given To pluck thy flowers of hope from earth, And plant them high, O'er yonder sky. Transformed to stars, and fixed in heaven. AFFLICTIONS, Sanctified. Sanctified afflictions are an evidence of our adoption : we do not prune dead trees to make them fruitful, nor those which are planted in a desert ; but such as belong to the garden, and possess life. — Arrowsmith. AGE, Lovely when Religious. To you the beauties of the autumnal year Make mournful emblems, and you think of man Doomed to the grave's long winter, spirit- broke, Bending beneath the burthen of his years. Sense-dulled and fretful, full of aches and pains. Yet clinging still to life. To me they show The calm decay of nature, when the mind Retains its strength, and in the languid eye Religion's holy hopes kindle a joy That makes old age look lovely. All to you Is dark and cheerless ; you in this fair world See some destroying principle abroad. Air, earth, and water full of living things Each on the other preying ; and the ways Of man, a strange perplexing labyrinth. Where crimes and miseries, each producing each, NOBLE THOUGHTS IN NOBLE LANGUAGE. Render life loathsome, and destroy the hope That should in death bring comfort Oh, my friend, That thy faith were as mine ! that thou could'st see Death still producing life, and evil still Working its own destruction ; could'st behold The strifes and tumults of this troubled world With the strong eye that sees the promised day Dawn through this night of tempest ! all things then Would minister to joy ; then should thine heart Be healed and harmonized, and thou should'st feel God, always, everywhere, and all in all. SotUhey, AGE, Old, a Devout. When the pulse indeed beats high, and we are flushed with youth, and health, and vigour, when all goes on prosperously, and success seems almost to anticipate our wishes, then we feel not the want of the consolations of religion ; but when fortune frowns, or friends forsake us, when sorrow, or sickness, or old age comes upon us, then it is that the superiority of the pleasures of religion is established over those of dissipation and vanity, which are ever apt to fly from us when we are most in want of their aid. There is scarcely a more melancholy sight to a considerate mind than that of an old man who is a stranger to those only true sources of satisfaction. How affecting, and at the same time how disgusting, is it to see such an one awkwardly catching at the younger pleasures of his yoimger years, which are now beyond his reach, or feebly attempting to re- tain them, while they mock his endeavours, and elude his grasp ! To such an one, gloomily indeed does the evening of life set in : all is sour and cheerless : he can neither look back with complacency, nor forward with hope. While the aged Christian, relying on the assured mercy of his Redeemer, can calmly reflect that his dismission is at hand, and that his redemption draweth nigh; while his strength declines and his faculties decay, he can quietly repose himself on the fidelity of God, and at the very entrance of the valley of the shadow of death he can lift up an eye, dim perhaps and feeble, yet occasionally sparkling with hope, and confidently looking forward to the near possession of his heavenly inheri- tance, even "to those joys which eye hath not seen, nor ear heard, neither hath it entered into the heart of man to conceive." Oh that you, unto whom "the harvest is passed, the summer is ended," would ask yourselves. How has it found you? Has it found you with lamps trimmed, and with oil to bum in the night of the grave? Is " the life you now live in the flesh lived by the faith of the Son of God, who loved you and gave Himself for you ? " Are you in that state that, come the close of life when it may, you are prepared to meet your God with joy? — E, Scobell. AGE, Old, its Signs. Old age is not to be known by a withered face, but by a mortified spirit ; not by the de- cays of the natural body, but by the weakness of the body of sin ; not by the good we have enjoyed, but by the good we have done ; and if we be prepared for death, we have lived, long enough ; if our life be a death, then no death can be untimely to us. — Bp. Patrick, AGE, Old, Prayer in. With years oppress'd, with sorrows worn, Dejected, harassed, sick, forlorn. To Thee, O God, I pray ! To Thee my wither'd hands arise ; To Thee I lift my failing eyes ; O cast me not away ! — Sir R. Grant. AGE, Querulous. Old age is often querulous. It is one of its defects to be so ; but let not this occasional weakness deceive you. You may be assured that naturally it has gratifications of its own, which fully balance those of earlier days, and which, if cultivated, wovdd carry on the stream of happiness to its grave. If life has been rightly employed, it will also have the visioned recollection of its preceding comforts to en- hance the pleasures which it is actually enjoy- ing. My own experience in the sixty-seventh year of my age is that, notwithstanding certain ailments and infirmities, and the privations they occasion, it is just as happy as all the pre- ceding seasons were, though in a different way — so happy as to cause no regret that they c NOBLE THOUGHTS IN NOBLE LANGUAGE. have passed, and no desire to exchange what is for what has been. If youth has hopes, and prospects, and wishes that enchant it, age has no inferiority even in this respect. — Turner. AGES Pass Away. Ages pass away, Thrones fall, and nations disappear, and worlds Grow old and go to wreck ; the soul alone Endures, and what she chooseth for herself, The arbiter of her own destiny, That only shall be permanent. — Soiithey. AGGRESSION not Power. When William Penn was about to sail from England to Pennsylvania, he went to take leave of the King, and the following conversation occurred. We may premise that a few years before, one Hunt, an English captain, decoyed twenty North American Indians on board his vessel to trade, and having secured them, set sail for Europe, and sold them to the Spani- ards, at Malaga, for slaves : — "Well, friend William," said Charles, "I have sold you a noble province in North Ame- rica ; but still I suppose you have no thoughts of going thither yourself." "Yes, I have," replied William, *' and I am just come to bid thee farewell." "What! venture yourself among the savages of North America ! Why, man, what security have you that you will not be in their war-kettle in two hours after setting foot on their shores ? " " The best security in the world," replied Penn. "I doubt that, friend William ; I have no idea of any security against those cannibals but in a regiment of good soldiers with their muskets and bayonets ; and mind, I tell you beforehand, that with all my good-will for you and your family, to whom I am under obligations, I will not send a sol- dier with you." " I want none of thy soldiers, " answered William, " I depend on something better than thy soldiers." The king wished to know what that was. "Why, I depend on themselves — on their own moral sense — even on that grace of God which bringeth salvation, and which hath appeared unto all men." " I fear, friend William, that that grace has never appeared to the Indians of North America." " Why not to them as well as to others ? " "If it had appeared to them," said the king, "they would hardly have treated my subjects so bar- barously as they have done." "That is no proof to the contrary, friend Charles. Thy subjects were the aggressors. When thy sub- jects first went to North America, they found these people the fondest and kindest creatures in the world. Every day they would watch for them to come on shore, and hasten to meet them, and feast them on all that they had. In return for the hospitality of the savages, as we call them, thy subjects, termed Christians, seized on their country, and rich hunting- grounds, for farms for themselves ! Now, is it to be wondered at that these much-injured people should have been driven to desperation by such injustice ; and that, burning with re- venge, they should have committed some ex- cesses?" "Well, then, I hope, friend Wil- liam, you will not complain when they come to treat thee in the same manner." " I am not afraid of it," said Penn. " Ay ! how will you avoid it ? You mean to get their hunting- grounds, too, I suppose ? " "Yes, but not by driving these poor people away from them. " "No indeed, how then will you get their lands ? " "I mean to buy their lands of them. " " Buy their lands of them ! Why, man, you have already bought them of me." " Yes, I know I have, and at a dear rate, too ; but I did it only to get thy good-will, not that I thought thou hadst any right to their lands ; no, friend Charles, no right at all ; what right hast thou to their lands ? " " Why, the right of discovery ; the right which the Pope and all Christian kings have agreed to give one an- other." " The right of discovery ! A strange kind of right, indeed. Now, suppose, friend Charles, somecanoe-loadsofthese Indians, cross- ing the sea, and discovering thy island of Great Britain, were to claim it as their own, and set it up for sale over thy head, what wouldst thou think of them?" " Why— why— why," re- plied Charles, " I must confess I should think it a piece of great impudence in them. " " Well, then, how canst thou, a Christian, and a Chris- tian prince, too, do that which thou utterly condemnest in these people whom thou callest savages? Yes, friend Charles, and suppose again that these Indians, on thy refusal to give up thy island of Great Britain, were to make war on thee, and, having weapons more de- structive than thine, were to destroy many of thy subjects, and drive the rest away, dost thou not think it horribly cniel ? " The king as- sented to this with marks of conviction. Wil- liam proceeded — " Well, then, friend Charles, how can I, who call myself a Christian, do NOBLE THOUGHTS IN NOBLE LANGUAGE. 19 what I should abhor in an heathen ? No, I will not do it — but I will buy the right of the proper owners, even of the Indians themselves. By doing this, I shall imitate God himself in his justice and mercy, and thereby ensure his blessing on my colony. " Pennsylvania soon became a flourishing colony, and existed for seventy years (the period when the Quakers held the government), without any force beyond that of the constable's staff, and during that seventy years it was never invaded by any hostile power. — Life of William Penn, ALCHEMY, Causes which led to Belief in. The conduct of the scientific alchemists of the thirteenth, fourteenth, and fifteenth centuries presents a problem of very difficult solution. When we consider that a gas, a fluid, and a solid may consist of the very same ingredients in different proportions, and a virulent poison may differ from the most wholesome food only in the difference of quantity of the very same elements ; that gold and silver, and lead and mercury, and indeed all the metals, may be extracted from transparent crystals, which scarcely differ in their appearance from a piece of common salt, or a bit of sugar-candy ; and that diamond is nothing more than charcoal — we need not greatly wonder at the extravagant expectation that the precious metals and the noblest gems might be produced from the basest materials. These expectations, too, must have been often excited by the startling results of their daily experiments. The most ignorant compounder of simples could not fail to witness the magical transformations of che- mical action, and every new product must have added to the probability that the tempting doublets of gold and silver might be thrown from the dice-box with which he was gambling. But when the precious metals were found in lead and copper by the action of powerful re- agents, it was natural to suppose that they had been actually formed during the process, and men of well-regulated minds even might have thus been led to embark in new adventures to procure a more copious supply, without any insidt being offered to sober reason or any in- jury inflicted on sound morality. — Sir D. Brewster's Martyrs of Science. ALL is WeU. Hoar hairs, the crown which human life Receives but to resign ; Pale diadem ! — long years of strife Have made thy honours mine. A care-worn brow — a furrow'd face Of pain and sorrow tell ; Yet still, through good and ill I trace One truth — that ALL is well. In youth, a cloudless, sunny sky. Fills man's vain heart with pride ; Prosperity's bright hours then fly. As rapid meteors glide. Then fawning friends wind gently round Their victim, flattery's spell. For oh ! when wealth and ease aboimd. We think that — all is well. But when adversity's dark cloud Its shadow throws around. The hollow-hearted, faithless crowd. Retreating soon are found ; No sympathy their lips avow. No grief their bosoms swell, — Bereft and solitary now, Hope still says — all is well. When fierce disease the frame attacks. When sorrow's showers descend. When mental woe the bosom racks. When the sick couch we tend Of some sweet child whose love hath wrought Hopes that we fear to tell, Oh ! then to check the murmuring thought, And own, that — ALL IS well. To take the last glance of the dead. To give the farewell kiss To cheeks from which the rose hath fled. And lips which yield no bliss : To follow to that place of rest. The grave, and hear the knell Whose tone strikes anguish in the breast, And yet say — all is well. Hard is the lot ! such mine hath been ; Prosperity hath shed Her light on me, and I have seen Adversity, and read In sorrow's page, that grief and care. And suffering, still must dwell On earth, and that they happiest are Who knov) that — ALL is well. Alpha, 20 NOBLE THOUGHTS IN NOBLE LANGUAGE. ALMS, the Lending of. Some persons tell you, with an air which seems to take credit for uncommon prudence, that they have made it a positive rule never to lend money to any person, upon any occasion whatever ; yet they might, perhaps, feel sur- prised if you should ask them why they have not made a similar vow against giving also. How- ever, it is certain that, upon particular occa- sions, the one is no less incumbent upon us as a duty of Christian fellowship than the other. Both equally are enjoined by the express words of scripture, of Christ himself — "Give to him that asketh thee, and from him that would borrow of thee, turn not thou away." And, in another place, we are told to "do good and lend." Indeed, apart from the express letter of scripture, it is obvious, that lending, no less than giving, to those who need it, forms part of the comprehensive duty of Christian charity and mutual assistance. No honest means are excepted from the general rule which men are laid under, of aiding and relieving each other under their burdens and difficulties. And how often will the timely loan of a small su of money enable the industrious father of a family to raise his head from the otherwise insuperable difficulties in which some unfore- seen calamity has involved him. How often will the friendly advance of a little capital en- able the well-disposed and deserving young man to establish himself in some prosperous employment, and thus to set out in life with much more favourable prospects than he could otherwise have attained. " The alms of lending " (says Fell, the bio- grapher of that exemplary Christian, Dr. Ham- mond) "had an eminent place in the practice as well as judgment of the doctor. When he saw a man honest and industrious he would trust him with a sum, and let him pay it again at such times and in such proportions as he found himself able : withal, when he did so, he would add his counsel too, examine the person's condition, and contrive with him how the present sum might be most advantageously disposed; still closing the discourse with prayer for God's blessing, and after that dis- missing him with infinite affability and kind- ness." In some parts of the country loan societies have been established by benevolent indi- viduals, with the view of affording assistance and relief to industrious and deserving per- sons, by advancing small sums, in some cases at trifling interest, and to be repaid by periodi- cal instalments. These institutions, it is be- lieved, are calculated to produce very bene- ficial effects. Mr. Inglis, in his * ' Ireland in 1834," bears witness to the fruits of one of these establishments at Gorey, in the county of Wexford, from which he says : — " I found a general impression that great good had resulted. Artisans and country labourers equally availed themselves of it : the shoemaker, for instance, obtained money to purchase leather ; the countryman to buy a pig or build a cabin, or to seed his patch of ground. The sums lent are from ;^i to ;^5, and are repaid by weekly instalments, at the rate of \s. for each ;^i lent ; 6^. interest on each ;!^i is also paid ; and every borrower must give two joint securities, and produce a character from two householders for honesty and sobriety. I found that the loans were repaid with strict punctuality, and that the society had not actually lost one penny. In- dependently of the advantage in condition which must accrue to a small place from a circulating capital of some hundred pounds, good moral effects are likely, I think, to re- sult. Habits of punctuality are encouraged, and so is sobriety ; since this virtue is essential to obtaining a loan. Supposing the advan- tages of these societies admitted, could not such establishments be made general through- out Ireland by Government advancing money to local committees (upon the joint security of such committees, as trustees), at such a rate of interest (say £\ per cent. ) as would cost the nation nothing? This, I think, is worthy of consideration. " — Anon. ALPHABETICAL WRITING, Divine Origin of. It is extremely probable that, previous to the giving of the Ten Commandments, Moses was only acquainted with the hieroglyphic mode of writing, which he must have learned in Egypt ; but partly in order to discountenance image- worship, and partly with a view to give facility to the transmission of the truths of Divine re- velation, God furnished him on this occasion with an important specimen of alphabetical scripture, and taught him how to compose in it the other laws and ordinances which he re- vealed to him. At all events, it is certain we possess no accounts from antiquity which go to NOBLE THOUGHTS IN NOBLE LANGUAGE. show that letters were invented prior to the time of the Jewish legislator ; while the con- current testimony of ancient writers, referring their introduction to some period near to that in which he flourished, corroborates the opi- nion so naturally suggested by the sacred nar- rative that they were of Divine origin. — Dr. Heiidoson. AMBITION, Disappointed. The same sun which gilds all nature, and ex- hilarates the whole creation, does not shine upon disappointed ambition. It is something that rays out of darkness, and inspires nothing but gloom and melancholy. Men in this de- plorable state of mind find a comfort in spread- ing the contagion of their spleen. They find an advantage, too ; for it is a general popular error to imagine the loudest complainers for the public to be the most anxious for its wel- fare. If such persons can answer the ends of relief and profit to themselves, they are apt to be careless enough about either the means or the consequences. — Btcrke. AMBITION, Thankless. He who ascends to mountain-tops shall find The loftiest peaks most wrapt in clouds and snow ; He who surpasses or subdues mankind Must look down on the hate of those below. Though high above the sun of glory glow, And far beneath the earth and ocean spread, Round him are icy rocks, and loudly blow Contending tempests on his naked head. And thus reward the toils which to those sum- mits led. Soidkey. AMELIORATION, its Object. The amelioration of the condition of mankind, and the increase of human happiness, ought to be the leading objects of every political insti- tution, and the aim of every individual, ac- cording to the measure of his power, in the situation he occupies. — Hamilton. AMIABILITY, Distinguished by Courtesy. In order to render yourselves amiable in so- ciety, correct every appearance of harshness in behaviour. Let that courtesy distinguish your demeanour, which springs, not so much from studied politeness, as from a mild and gentle heart. Follow the customs of the world in matters indifferent ; but stop when they be- come sinful. Let your manners be simple and natural ; and they will be engaging. Affec- tation is certain deformity. By forming them- selves on fantastic models, and vieing with one another in every reigning folly, the young begin with being ridiculous, and end in being vicious and immoral. — Blair. AMUSEMENTS, Important to the Economy of Life. It were unjust and ungrateful to conceive that the amusements of life are altogether forbidden by its beneficent Author. They serve, on the contrary, important purposes in the economy of human life, and are destined to produce important effects both upon our happiness and character. They are * ' the wells of the de- sert;" the kind resting-places in which toil may relax, in which the weary spirit may re- cover its tone, and where the desponding mind may reassume its strength and its hopes. They are, in another view, of some importance to the dignity of individual character. In every- thing we call amusement there is generally some display of taste and of imagination ; some elevation of the mind from mere animal indul- gence or the baseness of sensual desire. Even in the scenes of relaxation, therefore, they have a tendency to preserve the dignity of human character and to fill up the vacant and unguarded hours of life, with occupations, in- nocent at least, if not virtuous. But their principal effect, perhaps, is upon the social character of man. Whenever amusement is sought, it is in the society of our brethren, and whenever it is found, it is in our sympathy with the happiness of those around us. It bespeaks the disposition of benevolence, and it creates it. "When men assemble, accordingly, for the purpose of general happiness or joy, they ex- hibit to the thoughtful eye one of the most pleasing appearances of their original charac- ter. They leave behind them, for a time, the faults of their station and the asperities of their temper ; they forget the secret views and the selfish purposes of their ordinary life, and mingle with the crowd around them with no other view than to receive and communicate happiness. It is a spectacle which it is impos- NOBLE THOUGHTS IN NOBLE LANGUAGE. sible to observe without emotion ; and while the virtuous man rejoices at that evidence which it affords of the benevolent constitution of his nature, the pious man is apt to bless the bene- volence of that God who thus makes the wil- derness and the solitary place be glad, and whose wisdom renders even the hours of amuse- ment subservient to the cause of virtue. It is not, therefore, the use of the innocent amuse- ments of life which is dangerous, but the abuse of them ; it is not when they are occasionally, hut when they are constantly pursued ; when the love of amusement degenerates into a pas- sion, and when, from being an occasional in- dulgence, it becomes an habitual desire. — Alison. ANALOGIES. A DESIRE to trace real or imaginary analogies between the different systems of nature is shown by the students of almost every science, and often it has produced important results. It was the analogy between the functions of animals and vegetables which led Linnaeus to consider the sexual system as the most perfect for classification ; and which caused the obser- vation of certain facts intimately connected with the structure of plants, and most valuable for the purposes of artificial arrangement. A few examples of the use of analogy will now be given. It has often been observed that a vegetable, in its general structure, has a considerable re- semblance to a living animal. The correspon- dence of the tnmk with the body, of the bark with the epidermis or skin, of the ligneous or woody matter with the flesh, of the tubes and sap vessels, abounding in its internal structure, with the arteries and veins j and of the leaves with the lungs, is easily perceived. Such is the general resemblance, as to organization. It is equally certain that the singular habits of some species of plants remind us of the sensibility attendant on life. The shrinking of one at a slight touch is probably familiar to every reader ; and scarcely less so is the sin- gular contraction of the glandular hairs on the leaves of the various kinds of sun-dew. Venus's fly-trap is, however, the most remark- able : it is furnished with an appendage from which the specific name of the plant is de- rived ; and which is so highly iiritable that if it is but touched with the point of any fine or sharp instrument, or by any insect alighting upon it, its two elliptical lobes, strongly toothed at the margin, immediately collapse, as if eager to seize and detain the cai^tive. The yellow balsam, or touch-me-not, has a similar irritability. It is manifest in a moment, if the turgid capsules be touched, even before the seeds are matured ; for the valves contract with a force truly surprising, and project the seeds to a considerable distance, while in the act of coiling up. Some of the species of cranesbill are, also, equally remarkable. Each of the seeds is enclosed in a vessel furnished with an irritable appendage or tail, which con- tracts into a spiral by dryness, and lengthens by moisture ; when, therefore, the heat of the season has matured the seeds, these appendages contract, like a spring, detaching the ripened germs from the parent stem. The various changes in the humidity of the atmosphere cause this susceptible membrane to become more or less relaxed ; thus the seed is actually locomotive, and continues its wanderings until, in some depression or crevice in the soil, it fmds a place and means for vegetation. On the banks of the Ganges another curious vegetable appears, which is called the moving plant. All its leaves are in perpetual motion, up and down ; sometimes equally and some- times by jerks, but without any unison between each other. If the motion of them is tem- porarily suspended, by grasping them in the hand, they quicken it when the hand is re- moved, as if to make up for lost time, and afterwards resume their original velocity. This movement does not depend on the appli- cation of any external stimulus, because it takes place alike by day and night, and requires only a very warm and fine day to be most fully effected ; the leaves having then a tremulous motion, in addition to that already described. Such is a phenomenon which has more of the appearance of animal spontaneity than any other movement hitherto observed among vege- tables. To advert to only one more point of resem- blance, it may be remarked that during the darkness of night the numerous tribes of plants, as well as of animals, sink into repose. Even as soon as the dews of evening begin- to fall, a universal change takes place throughout the vegetable world. The flower hangs its head, as if pensively lamenting the departure of the sun, and the leaves appear to sympa- thize ; those of many species folding themselves back on the stalk or drooping till the return of day. NOBLE THOUGHTS IN NOBLE LANGUAGE. 23 Other sciences, besides that from which these ilhistrations have been derived, have their analogies. Astronomy is greatly indebted to one, and, singularly enough, to one that was fanciful and erroneous. Kepler adopted the false hypothesis of the ancient philosophers, that the path of a planet must be the most simple of all geometrical curves, the circle ; yet, in the very effort to establish this errone- ous position, he discovered the elliptic orbits. He fancifully imagined that a certain analogy existed between the distances of these masses from the sun, and their respective revolutions around his centre. But he discovered that, though his own -analogy was not the law of nature, yet a real analogy did exist ; the squares of the periodic times being proportioned to the cubes of the distances ; a fundamental law, of which no former astronomer or mathematician had even suspected the existence. Kepler was led, by his pursuit of harmonies, to trace the actual conditions of the planetary orbits ; and thus he prepared the way. for Newton's sublime discovery of universal gravitation. The analogy between natural and revealed religion has given birth to the celebrated work of Bishop Butler, and to other productions of various interest. These are worthy of a careful examination. The glorious Creator, who has produced resemblances between plants and animals, between irrational creatures and man, and between the globe we inhabit and other worlds revolving in the immensity of space, has furnished abundant proof, by analogies the most striking and impressive, that the volume of nature and the volume of revelation have one Divine Author. ' IV. ANATOMY, Its Great Importance. It is to those only who are skilled in ana- tomy that we ourselves would trust our health in case of disease, or our persons in any great operation. Even the ill-judging world decides exactly thus ; for power, blindfold and undis- cemible as it often is, may put unworthy men into places of trust and honour ; but can it procure for them confidence and the public esteem, or that character and lasting reputation which will always, I hope, be dearer to you than mere gain ? By being so much exalted they are but the more degraded. ** Poor rich men !" — Thomas Copeland, I.R.S. ANCESTRY, its Vanity. Now if ye ask me from what land I come With all my folly, — Vikem is my home, Where Tryggoe Olaf s son and Olaf s sire Lit to the ancient gods the sacred fire. Unto whose line am I myself akin, Thro' him who Astrid in old time did win, King Olaf s widow : let all that go by, Since I was born at least to misery. Win. Morris. ANGELS, Attendant. There are two angels that attend unseen Each one of us, and in great books record Our good and evil deeds. He who writes down The good ones, after every action closes His volume, and ascends with it to God. The other keeps his dreadful day-book open Till sunset, that we may repent ; which doing, The record of the action fades away. And leaves a line of white across the page. Now if my act be good, as I believe it, It cannot be recalled. It is already Sealed up in heaven, as a good deed accom- plished. The rest is yours. LoHgfellou: ANGELS, Chorus of. Who sits above heaven's heights sublime. Yet fills the grave's profoundest place. Beyond eternity, or time. Or the vast round of viewless space : Who on Himself alone depends — Immortal — glorious — but unseen — And in His mighty being blends What rolls around or flows within. Of all we know not — all we know — Prime source and origin — a sea, Whose waters pour'd on earth below Wake blessing's brightest radiancy. His power— love — wisdom, first exalted And waken'd from oblivion's birth Yon starry arch — yon palace, vaulted — Yon heaven of heavens — to smile on earth. From His resplendent Majesty We shade us 'neath our sheltering wings, W^hile awe-inspired and tremblingly We praise the glorious King of kings, 24 NOBLE THOUGHTS IN NOBLE LANGUAGE. With sight and sense confused and dim ; O name, describe the Lord of lords, The seraphs' praise shall hallow Him ; Or is the theme too vast for words ? Joost Van den Vondel. ANGELS, Differing in Glory. I SEE, diffused In radiant orders, essences sublime, Of various offices, of various plume, In heavenly liveries distinctly clad. Azure, green, purple, pearl, or downy gold. Or all commixed ; they stand with wings out- spread, Listening to catch the Master's least command. And fly through nature ere the moment ends. Carrington. The angels of heaven, who are spirits, see God present to them ; but we on earth can only see him through a glass darkly, when we contemplate his glory in the sun, his terrors in the thunder, — his wrath in the lightning, his quickening power in the air that gives us breath, his majesty in the noise of the sea, and the gathering of the clouds. — Jones of Nay- land. ANGELS of the House, 'Tis said that ever round our path The unseen angels stray. That give us blissful dreams by night, And guard our steps by day. But there's an angel in the house. Meek, watchful, and sincere, That whispers words of hope to us When none beside are near : It is the one, the chosen one. That's linked to us for life. The angel of the happy home. The faithful, trusting wife. 'Tis said that angels walk the earth — I'm sure it must be so — When round our path, scarce seen by us, Such bright things come and go. Are there not beings by our side As fair as angels are, As pure, as stainless, as the forms That dwell beyond the star ? Yes ! there are angels of the earth, Pure, innocent, and mild, The angels of our hearts and homes, Each loved and loving child. J. E. Carpenter. ANGER, a Sting. Anger is implanted in us as a sort of sting, to make us gnash with our teeth against the devil, to make us vehement against him, not to set us in array against each other. We have arms given us, not to make war among our- selves, but that we may employ our whole ar- mour against our spiritual adversary. Art thou prone to anger ? Be so against thine own sins : chastise thy soul, scourge thy conscience, be a severe judge, and merciless in thy sen- tence against thy own sins. This is the way to turn anger to profit. It was for this that God implanted wrath within us. — ,5V. Chry- sostom. ANGER, Discomposure of the Mind. According to the definition of Mr. Locke, "anger is the uneasiness or discomposure of the mind, upon the receipt of any injury, with a present purpose of revenge. " ' ' This pas- sion," says Dr. Cogan, "inspires the language of menace, renders the aspect terrible, , gives energy to the muscular system, and these unite to strike the offender with dread. When anger is accompanied with marks of contempt and disdain, a severer sentence is inscribed on the countenance than the utmost force of language could express." Ethical writers of great ability have differed widely in their treatment of this subject. The Stoics condemned anger altogether, and main- tained that it ought not to be regulated, but entirely extinguished. Yet that singular sect, whose boasted apathy led them often to em- ploy strange language, was not so absurd as to pretend that the mind could be kept in a per- petual calm. They made a distinction be- tween emotion and passion, allowing the for- mer, and yet wholly proscribing the latter. '•The first emotion of mind," says Marcus Antoninus, "which the appearance of an injury excites is no more the passion of anger than the appearance itself is ; but the following impetus is passion, which not only entertains the apprehension that we have been injured, but owns it to be a right apprehension." The Stoics, however, were not the only persons who have avowed this opinion. A pious writer in one of the early numbers of the Christian Observer regarded anger as, in its own nature, sinful, and blamed Dr. Guise for stating it to be "an innocent passion, and NOBLE THOUGHTS IN NOBLE LANGUAGE. 25 consequently allowable upon just occasions." But if the precept of St. Paul, ** Be ye angry and sin not ; let not the sun go down upon your wrath ;" and the example of Christ, who, it is said, looked round upon the captious Jews with anger, being grieved for the hard- ness of their hearts, be duly and impartially considered, I am persuaded no shadow of doubt can remain on the point. The conduct of Him, whose soul was immaculate, and whose life was, confessedly, pure and un- blemished, supplies in this instance an argu- ment which bears down all opposition, and completely decides the question. In fact, the absence of resentment may in certain cases be evil in itself, and the cause of much moral evil in others. "Eli," says Mr. Scott, the com- mentator, " ought to have shown anger as well as grief when informed of the vile conduct of his sons, and to have expressed it by severe coercive measures. Thus parents and masters, as well as magistrates, may sin in not feeling and expressing just displeasure against those under their care. And anger is only sinful when it springs from selfishness and malevolence, when causeless, or above the cause, and when expressed by unhallowed words or actions." But, while the Stoics and some others have gone too far in one direction, the great mass of mankind are chiefly in danger by falling into the opposite extreme. The irascible pas- sions, when fed with fresh fuel and fanned into a flame, usually spread desolation and ruin on every side. Where pride, wrath, animosity, strife, and revenge predominate, it seems almost as if the furies of hell were let loose. The sober dictates of reason and the mild sug- gestions of benevolence are drowned and lost in the storm which shakes and agitates the soul. It were easy, by an induction of melan- choly facts, to demonstrate the mischief done by the excesses of this passion, but it is of more importance to point out the means by which they may be restrained and subjugated. While many, indeed, habitually indulge and vent their anger, they set at nought all the reproof and advice which is addressed to them, even in their coolest moments. The only plea they use is such as might induce us to believe they had studied nowhere but in the school of the fatalist. They allow they are hur- ried away by the impetuous torrent, but cannot help it : they act like madmen, but it is im- possible to master an unhappy constitution. It is really wonderful that any man should thus acknowledge that he has totally lost the use of reason and is become the mere creature of impulse, the slave of inordinate and irresistible passion. But the plea is as false as it is shame- ful. No constitutional tendencies can release us from the use of those means and motives by which evil is to be prevented or subdued. "Let us," says Dr. Paley, "consider the in- decency of extravagant anger ; how it renders us, while it lasts, the scorn and sport of all about us, of which it leaves us, when it ceases, sensible and ashamed ; the inconveniences and irretrievable misconduct into which our irasci- bility has sometimes betrayed us ; the friend- ships it has lost us ; the distresses and embar- rassments in which we have been involved by it ; and the repentance which, on one account or other, it always costs us." It is not enough to chain this ferocious wild beast within — a taming process ought to be adopted ; it is not sufficient to suppress the vio- lence of this raging demon— an effectual exercise should be employed for the purpose of expelling the fiend. We know that reason acting upon the basis of religious principle, and faith drawing her resources from the fulness of divine grace, can do wonders. The Christian, imbibing the spirit of the gospel, is called to put away all bitterness, and wrath, and anger, and clamour, and evil speaking, with all malice ; and to be kind, tender-hearted, gentle, and forgiving towards others. How often, under the influ- ence of genuine religion, has the lion been changed into a lamb, and the vulture into a dove. That eminent physician, Herman Boer- liaave, being asked by what art he could pre- serve such calmness and self-possession amidst manifold provocations, he replied that he was naturally of a warm and irritable temper, but had brought it under subjection by daily watch- fulness and prayer. Not a few examples might, without much difficulty, be adduced to show the efficacy of the same means. The precepts, examples, and promises of the gospel, duly and perseveringly applied under the guid- ance and grace of the Holy Spirit, are capable of bringing every faculty, feeling, and thought into sweet subjection and obedience to Christ. The natural tendencies of the constitution may still remain, and at times appear, but they are modified and controlled by principles of higher origin and greater power. And when the pas- sions yield to reason, and reason itself bows implicitly to the authority of heaven, the reign of grace commences in the human soul, which is carried on through righteousness into eternal life by Jesus Christ our Lord. — Riistkus. 26 NOBLE THOUGHTS IN NOBLE LANGUAGE, ANGER, from Sense of Injuries. Anger is, at first, an offence taken at an ill- behaviour, an emotion of mind raised at the sense of injuries done to us or to others. The use of anger is to stir us up to self-preserva- tion, and to put us upon our guard against in- juries. When it has done this, it has per- formed all that belongs to it ; for what mea- sures we may take to effect this, how we may secure ourselves, and how we should behave towards those who offend us, these are points concerning which we must not consult our pas- sions, but our reason ; which was given us to moderate our passions, and to prescribe laws for our actions. — Jortin. ANGER, MGdified by Reflection. One help against immoderate anger consists in the consideration of our own failings, espe- cially in reference to Almighty God, and our duty to Him ; which are much greater than any demerits of others towards us : I provoke my Creator daily, and yet I desire His patience towards me, and find it. With what face can I expect gentleness from my Creator, if every small provocation from my fellow-creatures puts me in a passion ? — Sir M. Hale. ANGER, Natural to Man. Anger, though natural to man, becomes, like every other passion, hurtfiil and sinful when not restrained within the bounds of strict mo- deration. The highest authority says, "Be ye angry and sin not." Bishop Butler observes that anger is far from being a selfish passion, since it is naturally raised by injuries offered to others as well as to ourselves ; and that it was designed by the Author of Nature not only to excite us to act vigorously in defend- ing ourselves from evil, but to engage us in the defence of the injured or helpless. But anger becomes sinful, and offends against the precepts of Scripture, whenever it is felt upon insufficient provocation, or is long indulged in. It is then contrary to the spirit of charity, which, in the beautiful language of Holy Writ, "suffereth long, and is not easily pro- voked." It is, therefore, equally our duty and our interest to acquire the power of subduing our angry feelings. This will be most effectually accomplished by habits of just reflection. We should consider (in the admirable language of Dr. Paley) the possibility of mistaking the motives from which the conduct that offends us proceeded ; how often our offences have been the effect of thoughtlessness when they were mistaken for malice ; the inducement which prompted our adversary to act as he did, and how powerfully the same inducement has at one time or other operated on ourselves ; that he is suffering, perhaps, under a contrition which he is ashamed or wants opportunity to confess ; and how ungenerous it is to triumph by coldness or insult over a spirit already humbled in secret ; that the returns of kindness are sweet, and that there is neither honour, nor virtue, nor use, in resisting them — for some persons think themselves bound to cherish and keep alive their indignation, when they find it dying away of itself. We may remember that others have their passions, their prejudices, their favourite aims, their fears, their cautions, their interests, their sudden impulses, their varieties of apprehension, as well as we : we may recol- lect what hath sometimes passed in our own minds when we have got on the wrong side of a quarrel, and imagine the same to be passing in our adversary's mind now ; how we were affected by the kindness and felt the superiority of a generous and ready forgiveness ; how persecu - tion revived our spirits with our enmity, and seemed to justify the conduct in ourselves which we before blamed. Add to this, the indecency of extravagant anger ; how it renders us the scorn and sport of all about us ; the inconveniences and misconduct into which it betrays us ; the friendships it has lost us, the distresses in which it has involved us, and the sore repentance which it has always cost us. But the reflection calculated above all others to allay that haughtiness of temper which is ever finding out provocations, is that which the Gospel proposes ; namely, that we ourselves are, or shortly shall be, suppliants for mercy and pardon at the judgment-seat of God. Imagine our secret sins, all disclosed and brought to light ; imagine us thus humbled and exposed, trembling under the hand of God ; casting ourselves on His compassion ; crying out for mercy : — imagine such a creature to talk of satisfaction and revenge, refusing to be entreated, disdaining to forgive, extreme to mark and to resent what is done amiss : — i imagine, I say, this ; and you can hardly form I to yourself an instance of more impious and i unnatural arrogance. — Anon. NOBLE THOUGHTS IN NOBLE LANGUAGE. 27 ANGER, to be Guarded Against. We must not forget to make our prayers to God, that He who giveth wisdom liberally and upbraideth not, would teach us the wisdom of governing our passions, and by the aid of His Holy Spirit give us the victory over them ; that He could create in us a clean heart, and renew a right spirit within us, and sanctify us throughout. When an unruly passion is sub- dued, and a bad temper corrected, we have as it were obtained a new nature ; and this is to be bom anew, or of God. For these great blessings we must depend upon God by daily prayer. And all our vigilance and pains with ourselves, and our earnest entreaties at the throne of Grace, we must particularly apply against the sin that does so easily beset us. — Bishop Hickman. ANGEL of Departiire. Hail, disenthralled spirit ; Thou that the wine-press of the field has trod : On, blest immortal, on, through boundless space. And stand with thy Redeemer face to face, And bow before thy God. Hcmatis. ANGELS, Ministering. Swift through the sky the vessel of the Su- ras Sails up the fields of ether like an angel. Rich is the freight, O vessel, that thou bearest ! Beauty and Virtue, Fatherly cares and filial veneration, Hearts which are proved and strengthened by affliction. Manly resentment, fortitude, and action, Womanly goodness ; All with which Nature hallo weth her daughters. Tenderness, truth, and purity and meekness, Piety, patience, faith, and resignation, Love and devotement. Ship of the gods ! how richly art thou laden ! Proud of the charge, thou voyagest rejoicing ; Clouds float around to honour thee, and evening Lingers in heaven. SoiUhey. to believe that it exists, and that many of the blessings that fall upon our daily path are shed from hands that have been lifted amidst the choirs of heaven in holy adoration to the God of all principalities and powers. As Christians ye are come to this " innumerable company of angels ; " ye are united to them by a bond which binds together every member of the happy family of God ; ye are blended with them into one vast and harmonious society. The discordance necessarily subsisting between these pure spirits and the sinful inhabitants of a fallen world is destroyed. Clothed in the merits and washed in the blood of the Re- deemer, you no longer present to them that im- purity with which their holy nature could hold no alliance. They perceive, in the redeemed of the Lord, hearts, blotted indeed by much imperfection, but yet impelled by the same principles, hopes, tastes, and affections as their own. Your song is, at least, the faint echo of theirs. Your Father is, in every sense of the word, their Father ; your God is their God. Touched by these considerations, although once they watched at the gate of the earthly paradise to prevent our entrance, now they bend from the golden walls of the heavenly city, to invite you to a participation in joys of which they alone, of all created beings, know the fulness, the intenseness, and the perpetuity. — Rev. J. W. Ctinnin^ham. ANGELS, Ministry of. Although angelic ministry is no longer openly continued, we are nevertheless taught ANGLER, Description of. And deep within the archway's shade The warder on his cloak was laid. Dozing, one hand upon a harp, And nigh him a great golden carp Lay stiff, with all his troubles done. Drawn from the moat ei-e yet the sun Was high ; and nigh him was his bane, An angling rod of Indian cane. Wm. Morris. ANGLING Anticipated. Under this sycamore tree, with the sound of the clear river Dove in our ears, with the odour of May- flowers freshly around us after this gentle shower, and in the sight of these meadows, gold and silver, the overflowing of Nature for the delectation of all quiet and contemplative anglers, we do well sigh that our life is so much in walls, and so little here. — Izaak Walton. Come, Izaak Walton, we will go Where veiy pleasant is the flow 28 NOBLE THOUGHTS IN NOBLE LANGUAGE. Of the majestic Trent ; And, angling underneath the shade Of Clifton's ancient colonnade, In gladness shall be spent, With thee, this bright and breezy day, The first, the happiest of the May. There breathe thy spirit through the wood, Along the meads and on the flood ; Oh, let me see with soul like thine, Thou good old man, that I may be From the world's careful fancies free, Which I would fain resign ; That nought I see that doth not bring Blest thoughts that shall outwear the spring. There, whilst my float is on the stream, 'Twill be a pensive joy to dream Of him who loved to wander there ; Whose eyes were red from studious hours ; Whose cheeks were pale as are the flowers That earliest met the chilling air ; Yet who, ere that weak frame decayed. Had wrought a memory — not to fade. Who, when the wealthy had sunk down, Unblest, upon their beds of down. Breasted the chilly breeze of night : Wakeful with thoughts that might not sleep. We with the stars would vigils keep, Fill'd with song's glorious light ; Wakeful that he might leave behind A perishless monument of mind ! Then, from Kirke White, my fancy turns To Bloomfield, and all-gifted Burns, And Chatterton in youth sublime ; To Chatterton, who early died, Alas ! the prey of want and pride ! These sprung from lowly life, to Time Bequeathing fadeless blossoms — wet With tears of wonder and regret. As summer fields unto the bee. These, in my solitude, to me Have been a pure enjoyment long ; With men, who ages past have been ; And they who look upon the green Of summer yet intent on song. Men whom I love and sometimes dread To hear, are with the noble dead. What though my name be never heard. Within me hath a power been stirr'd Adverse to all inglorious ease ; In soul enlarged, enrich'd, refined. From my mind's communings with Mind ; And with the Great ; — oh ! more than these. As I have read each glowing line Their very souls have seemed in mine ! If Cowper's genius and his worth, Live in his numbers on the earth. Oh, then, Montgomery, not in vain. With equal worth, and with a lyre As various, and with more of fire. Shall my heart's willing homage gain ; Whilst countless bosoms, like my own, Own feelings song can not make known. Carols the lark, o'er clouds, unseen : Come sweetest songs from thickets green ; Ai-e flowers around me everywhere ; — Wordsworth, the Milton of our day. Who wins with years increasing sway. Is with me on from year to year ; His mind with all things blended so, Is present, felt where'er I go ! And others numerous as the flowers. As various shall delight the hours. Each with his own peculiar grace : With these I cannot feel alone. Though living to the world unknown ; For these, though lonely be the place. Will make the vale and woodland bright. Like Una, with Immortal light ! Then, Izaak Walton, as I come Back to the town's unwelcome hum. As flows a fresh stream to the sea — A little stream, and busied long — Filling the flowery vales with song. That meets the main unwillingly ; I thence shall hither with me bear A spirit renew'd to strive with care. R. Howitt. ANIMALCULES, their Power. Voracious beasts, says the journal of a natu- ralist, might ravage our flocks and our herds, but could scarcely accomplish greater injuries than the seeming despicable creatures, weevils, wire-worms, thripes, aphides, or those atoms which we denominate blight. The feeble aphis, now crawling over my paper, with limbs exceedingly slender, seems yet endowed with every requisite for a larger body ; joints, integu- ments, circulation of fluids, and every mechani- cal activity requisite for its well-being ; and yet the whole is so fragile as to be overturned by the puff of my breath. But smallness of NOBLE THOUGHTS IN NOBLE LANGUAGE. 29 bulk is no cinterion of inferiority of power : an apple tree, several feet, perhaps, in its circum- ference, spreading its branches over a rood ot land, sickens and dies, from the puncture of the aphis lanata, a creature so small as to leave the distinction of joint and limb imperceptible to the naked eye. ANIMALCULES Pervade Nature. No product of nature is unpeopled by others of its creatures, even under the most disadvan- tageous circumstances. Water-plants, by the sides of rivers covered with ice, abound with animalcules. Neither the part of these frozen vegetables that is above, nor that which is under the surface of the ice, is destitute of its inhabitants ; neither that part which is frozen by the air, nor that which is drenched in water, is vacant. Creatures of different forms and natures, indeed, appear on the different parts ; but even these are not wholly unconnected with one another in the great chain of beings. The subaqueous inhabitants are mere reptiles, but those which occupy the drier part are of the winged tribe. Is it no pleasure, when prevailing frost Has hardened earth's dank surface, and the frost Treads upon rock, where erst it sank absorbed — Is it no pleasure To mark the wonders of the frozen world ? the merest speck Of animated matter, to the eye That studiously surveys the wide design, Is a full volume of abundant art. If to the spot invisible we strain Our aching sight, and with microptic tube Bring it at last within our feeble ken, What wonders owns it not ! The microscope discovers legions of animal- cules in most liquids, as water, wine, vinegar, beer, dew, rain-water, chalybeate waters, and infusions of pepper, bay-beiTies, oats, barley, wheat, &c. The whole earth is replenished with an inexhaustible store of what we should least of all suspect — an infinite number of ani- malcules floating in the air we breathe, sporting in the fluids we drink, or adhering to the seve- ral objects which we see and handle. Far less than mites, on mites they prey ; Minutest things may swarms contain : When o'er your ivory teeth they stray, Then throb your little nerves with pain. Fluids, in drops, minutely swell ; These subtile beings each contains ; In the small sanguine globes they dwell. Roll from the heart, and trace the veins. Through every tender tube they rove, In finer spirits strike the brain ; Wind quick through every fibrous grove, And seek, through pores, the heart again. Savage. ANIMAL Objects of God's Care. The Being that is in the clouds and air. That is in the green leaves among the groves, Maintains a deep and reverential care For the unoffending creatures whom he loves. The Pleasure-house is dust : — behind, before, This is no common waste, no common gloom. But Nature, in due course of time, once more Shall here put on her beauty and her bloom. She leaves these objects to a slow decay. That what we are and have been may be known ; But, at the coming of the milder day. These monuments shall all be overgrown. One lesson, Shepherd, let us two divide, Taught both by what she shows, and what conceals, Never to blend our pleasure or our pride With sorrow of the meanest thing that feels. Wordsworth. ANIMALS, Motion of, in Seizing their Prey. We must not estimate the slow motions of animals by our own sensations. The motion of the bill of the swallow or the fly- catcher in catching a fly, is so rapid that we do not see it, but only hear the snap. On the contrary, how very different are the means given to the chameleon for obtaining his food ! he lies more still than the dead leaf, his skin is like the bark of a tree, and takes the hue of surrounding objects. Whilst other animals have excite- ment conforming to their rapid motions, the shrivelled face of the chameleon hardly indi- cates life ; the eyelids are scarcely parted ; he protrudes his tongue with a motion so imper- ceptible towards the insect, that it is touched and caught more certainly than by the most NOBLE THOUGHTS IN NOBLE LANGUAGE. lively action. Thus, various creatures living upon insects reach their prey by different means and instincts ; rapidity of motion, which gives no time for escape, is bestowed on some, whilst others have a languid and slow move- ment that excites no alarm. The loris, a tar- digrade animal, might be pitied, too, for the slowness of its motions, if they were not the very means bestowed upon it as necessary to its existence. It steals on its prey by night, and extends its arm to the bird on the branch, or the great moth, with a motion so impercep- tibly slow as to make sure of its object. — Sir Charles Bell on the Mechanism of the Hand. ANIMALS, their Language. Animals, in their natural language of articu- late sounds and gestures, find a facility of expression amply sufficient to serve the limited purposes of their creation ; but man, whose race is spread over every climate of the globe, and whose progression depends upon the intellectual exertions which he is able to make, finds in artificial language the only means of communication commensurate with his wants, and worthy of his exalted nature. Speech, then, loudly proclaims the fact that man possesses the superior powers of reason and judgment, which involve the high moral re- sponsibility that attaches to his existence here ; and hence, by a chain of reasoning which forces itself upon our minds, we are led to the con- viction that he has been placed on the earth by a wise and intelligent Being, for objects and purposes which, bearing no relation to any- thing in the present state of existence, silently, but awfully remind him that he is on his pas- sage to another, and, as he is taught to believe, a happier and a higher sphere. — C. Burnett. ANTICIPATION, BUssful. IIow divinely full of glory and pleasure shall that hour be, when all the millions of man- kind, that have been redeemed by the blood of the Lamb of God, shall meet together and stand afound him, with every tongue and every heart full of joy and praise ! How astonish- ing will be the glory and the joy of that day when all the saints shall join together in one common song of gratitude and love, and of everlasting thankfulness to this Redeemer? With what unknown delight, and inexpressi- ble satisfaction, shall all that are saved from the ruins of sin and hell address the Lamb that was slain, and rejoice in His presence ! — Dr, Watts. ANTICIPATIONS. There was a time — not many years Have passed since then — when I was not ; No voice, e'en to my parents' ears, Had told my name or lot : But those few years have brought to me Thought, being, immortality ; I am — and shall for ever be ; I live — and cannot die. Yea, I shall die ; — perchance go down Early to rest within the grave ; But I must tread a land unknown, Beyond death's hidden wave. What are my prospects? — Many a charm Lingers around the path I tread ; And there are hopes which half disarm The wilderness of dread. The sweets of home, and friendship's voice, Shared — heard — 'mid future hours of toil, May bid my wearied powers rejoice, And many a care beguile. The gathering frost of hoary age May gently blanch my peaceful brow, And they may cheer my latest stage, Who smile upon me now. Or it may be that I shall crave Death as a refuge from my woe ; Go worn and weary to my grave, No comfort left below. Or I may gasp in foreign lands. Plague-stricken, 'neath the burning zone ; Or yield my life 'mong barbarous bands, Unknowing and unknown. Well ! 'midst these dreams of distant years, Though vague and frail as dreams they be, One sunny spot of rest appears — That spot is all to me. Faith sees it ; though the tract thereto No eye but thine, O God ! hath seen j Yet, oh ! the bright and blissful view Hides all the toil between. ' It is the Home of endless joy, Of sweet, unseparating love ; The Land of Promise in the sky ; Our father's house above. NOBLE THOUGHTS IN NOBLE LANGUAGE. 31 Yes, Home ! delightful thought ! for there Dwells many a friend once loved below ; And forms with deathless beauty fair Will greet me when I go. Yet, if I reach that world of rest, And join the white-robed victor-band, Blood must be sprinkled on my vest. And conquest on my hand. Yes, I must be a conqueror too : Lord, ner\'e my spirit with thy grace ; Be thou to me, the combat through. Strength, shield, and hiding-place. E. ANXIETY. I AM acquainted with a person who has accu- mulated considerable property, and resides in a place where a thousand beauties and attrac- tions call up the idea of Paradise, and yet he is very unhappy. He is not devoted to dissi- pation — to those criminal pleasures which fill the conscience with guilt and the latent stings of remorse, for his character is distinguished for temperance and integrity. With all the ob- jective means and resources of happiness at his command, strange as the assertion may seem, he is evidently wretched. After closely attending to this melancholy case, I am convinced that he labours imder an internal disease, which may be properly designated Attxiety, He still continues in business, though not from any necessity, and daily complains of disappoint- ments, which, according to his own account, multiply and thicken upon him with the grow- ing degeneracy of the age. For about fifteen years, he has seen a dark cloud suspended over this country, and is persuaded the storm will, ere long, burst forth, and spread universal de- solation and ruin. In the midst of peace and plenty, he lives in perturbation, and the con- stant dread of poverty. A fretful and dis- contented habit of mind darkens the brightest day that shines upon him, and blights the whole stock of satisfactions with which his lot is enriched. It has been observed that the most violent passions of man are excited by objects and circumstances that immediately relate to the supposed means of well-being ; about that which is to communicate some species or degree of temporal good. Around these it is that rivalships and envyings, hatreds, animosities, and terrible conflicts are assembled. The loss of these inflicts sorrow, unjust privation pro- vokes anger and resentments, and apprehen- sions of losing these create the painful sensa- tions of fear. By the power of recollecting, enjoyed by man, he is enabled to destroy every present comfort in his deep regret for the past : his past experience enables him to foresee future calamities, and thus he may embitter the present All this appears too evident to admit a doubt. To paint the miseries of deep-seated and long- cherished anxiety, were an easy but, at the same time, a useless task. Moralists and satiric poets have often triumphantly de- monstrated the egregious folly of studying and toiling to make ourselves wretched ; but they attack the symptoms without touching the core — without reaching the root of the evil. Efforts of this kind produce little effect on hollow-eyed, heart-corroding care. Yet the observation of the respectable ethical writer above recited deserves the attention of all who are concerned to promote human happiness. Now, if tem- poral good, in some form, be the rallying point of endless hopes, fears, jealousies, strifes, and vexations, it should seem that the discover}' and approbation of a spiritual and celestial good is requisite to set the soul of man at rest. Wealth, power, and pleasure, whatever arguments and invectives philosophers may level against them, will continue to agitate the passions of those who have nothing higher and better placed within their view. Let the glorious scenes and felicities of a future eternal world once engage the heart, and the petty rivalries and resent- ments which before occupied it sink into obli- vion and cease to trouble us. Jesus Christ hath brought life and immortality to light by the Gospel. Nothing more is requisite to give calmness and serenity to the mind than the full knowledge, the cordial belief, and the constant consideration of this truth. Here an object is presented, of such transcendant magnitude and worth as cannot fail to approve itself to the understanding and judgment, to command the will, and captivate the affections. Where pure and perpetual felicity, in a future state, becomes an object, not of speculation, but of faith, the toys and trifles of time, in a gieat degree, lose their power of attraction. The minor move- ments obey the impulse of the main spring at the centre. "By faith Moses, when he was come to years, refused to be called the son of Pharaoh's daughter ; choosing rather to suffer affliction with the people of God than to enjoy the pleasures of sin for a season ; esteeming the reproach of Christ greater riches than the trea- 32 NOBLE THOUGHTS IN NOBLE LANGUAGE, sures in Egypt, for he had respect to the re- compense of reward, and he endured as seeing him who is invisible." This example, if closely examined, might suffice alone to illustrate the subject in hand. Riches, honours, and enjoy- ments are never willingly resigned without something which may fill up the void. Faith in the Divine testimonies makes us acquainted with the sublime and enduring realities of a world invisible to the carnal mind ; the more clear, vivid, and lively are our perceptions of this celestial world, the less hold will sen- sible and surrounding objects have upon our hearts. The best way, then, to weaken the influence of that anxiety which produces so much bitter- ness, is to gain an increase of faith, and set the Lord always before us. I know not how this grace can be kept in lively exercise and vigorous operation, but by frequent and devout inter- course with the Great Father of Spirits. While we expatiate freely in His sacred presence, the joys, the sorrows, and the perplexities of earth vanish away. When, therefore, the apostle exhorts us "To be careful for nothing," he adds, * * but in everything by prayer and sup- plication, with thanksgiving, let your requests be made known unto God." Faith and de- votion, acting with energy, subdue the corrosive power of solicitude, without in the least im- pairing any faculty of the mind, or any sensi- bility of the heart. Apathy sometimes creeps upon the mere man of the world. He grows less anxious, but becomes listless. The animal spirits sink, the powers of the mind stagnate, every means of improvement has lost its use, every motive of action its spring and force. But true religion invigorates as well as heals the disordered soul. It gives the thoughts a new direction and nobler objects, and renders us tranquil and unsolicitous about the troubles and vicissitudes of time, by producing a fixed and intense regard to the grand concerns of eternity. In reference, therefore, to the things which have a power to interest and agitate, it has been pointedly said, "The boy despises the infant, the man the boy, the philosopher both, and the Christian — all." From what has been said, it appears that anxiety is a disease not to be charmed away by a mimic, or a merry song, or a sparkling glass. These and other similar expedients give only a temporary relief; while the patient finds his case afterwards more grievously oppressive. The Gospel of our Lord Jesus Christ brings the sole specific which can cure this dreadful malady. But let those whom it concerns re- collect that the remedy, valuable as it is, will do no good unless it is fully tried. When once it reaches the seat of the complaint, and ope- rates powerfully upon the inner man, the dregs of care and sorrow shall be purged away ; a new tone of life and spirit shall be given to the soul ; and all the scenes of nature and provi- dence shall borrow fresh beauty and interest from the blessings of free, sovereign, and super- abounding grace. — Ricsticus, ANXIETY, Over, a Natural Defect. Almost all men are over- anxious. No sooner do they enter the world than they lose that taste for natural and simple pleasures so remarkable in early life. Every hour do they ask themselves what progress they have made in the pursuit of wealth or honour ; and on they go as their fathers went before them, till, weary and sick at heart, they look back with a sigh of regret to the golden time of their child- hood. — Rogers. ANTIQUITY, Legendary. In old ignorant times, before women were readers, history was handed down from mother to daughter, &c. ; and W. Malmsburiensis picks up his history from the time of the Venerable Bede to his time out of old songs, for there was no historian in England from Bede to him. So my nurse had the history from the conquest down to Charles I. in ballad. The price of writing MSS. before the use of print- ing was 30J. per quire. — Aubrey, ANTIQUITY, Pleasure in Contemplating. In gazing at monuments of antiquity, one of the most natural pleasures which the mind en- joys is being by them fancifully transported to the scenes which they so clearly commemorate. The Roman amphitheatre becomes filled with gladiators and spectators ; the streets of Pom- peii are seen again thronged with people ; the Grecian temple is ornamented with the votive offerings of heroes and of senators ; even the putrid marsh of Marathon teems with noble recollections; while at home, on the battle- ments of our old English castles, we easily figure to ourselves barons proud of their deeds. NOBLE THOUGHTS IN NOBLE LANGUAGE. 33 and vassals in armour, faithfully devoted to their service : in short, while beholding such scenes, the heart glows, until, by its feverish heat, feelings are produced to which no one can be completely insensible : however, when we awaken from this delightful dream, it is difficult, and, indeed, impossible, to drive away the painful moral which, sooner or later in the day, proves to us, much too clearly, that these ruins have outlived, and, in fact, commemorate the errors, the passions, and the prejudices which caused them to be built. But while looking up at the plain, unassum- ing pulpit of an old Lutheran church, one feels, long after one has left it, that all that has pro- ceeded from its simple desk has been to pro- mulgate peace, good- will, and happiness among mankind ; and though, in its old age, it be now deserted, yet no one can deny that the seeds, which, in various directions, it has scattered before the wind are not only vigorously flourishing in the little valley in which it stands, but must continue, there and elsewhere, to produce effects which time itself can scarcely annihilate. — Bubbles from the Brunnen of Nassau. APARTMENT, Ancient. Such were the rooms in which of yore Our ancestors were wont to dwell ; And still of fashions known no more These ling'ring relics tell. The oaken wainscot richly grac'd With gay festoons of mimic flowers, The armorial bearings, now defac'd, All speak of proud and long past hours. The ceiling quaintly carv'd and groin'd. With pendant pediments revers'd ; A by-gone age recalls to mind. Whose glories song hath oft rehears'd. These tell a plain unvarnish'd tale Of wealth's decline and pride's decay ; Nor less unto the mind unveil Those things which cannot pass away. Barton. APPETITE of the Gourmand. There be that make it their glory to feed high, and fare deliciously every day, and to maintain their bodies elementary, search the elements, the earth, the sea, and air, to main- tain the fire of their appetites. They that thus make their bellies their gods do make their glory their shame. I distaste a sordid diet as unwholesome ; I care not to taste and feed on variety of delicates as unhealthful. Nature contented with a few things is cloyed and quelled with over-many ; and digestion, her cook, employed in the concoction of so much variety at once, leaves the stomach too foul a kitchen for health to abide in. Since, then, so to feed may the sooner end my life, and the end of my life is not so to feed, I will be taught by grace not to live to eat, but to eat to live ; and maintain health by a com- petent diet, not surfeit with excess. — Arthur Warwick. APPLAUSE, Human. Love and humility will concur in producing a frame of mind not more distinct from an ar- dent thirst of glory than from that frigid dis- regard or insolent contempt, or ostentatious renunciation of human favour and distinction, which we have sometimes seen opposed to it. These latter qualities may not unfrequently be traced to a slothful, sensual, and selfish tem- per ; to the consciousness of being unequal to any great and generous attempts, to the dis- appointment of schemes of ambition, or of glory, to a little personal experience of the world's capricious and inconstant humour. The renunciation in these cases, how- ever sententious, is often far from sincere, and is even made not unfrequently with a view to the attainment of that very distinction which it affects to disclaim. In some other of these instances, the over-valuation and inordinate desire of worldly credit, however disavowed, are abundantly evident from the merit which is assumed for relinquishing them ; or from that sour and surly humour which betrays a gloomy and corroded mind, galled and fretting under the irritating sense of the want of that which it most wishes to possess. But far different is the temper of a Christian. It is a temper compounded of firmness, and complacency, and peace, and love : and mani- festing itself in acts of kindness and courtesy ; a kindness not pretended, but genuine ; a courtesy not false and superficial, but cordial and sincere. It is unshaken in constancy, un- wearied in benevolence, firm without rough- ness, and assiduous without servility. — Wit- berforce. D 34 NOBLE THOUGHTS IN NOBLE LANGUAGE. APPLAUSE, Vulgar. Popular Applause, and vulgar opinion, may blow up and mount upward the bubble of a vain-glorious mind, till it burst in the air and vanish ; but a wise man builds his glory on the strong foundation of virtue, without expect- ing or respecting the slender props of vulgar opinion. I will not neglect what every one thinks of me ; for that were impudent disso- luteness. I will not make it my common care to hearken how I am cared for of the common sort, and be over-solicitous what every one speaks of me ; for that were a toilsome vanity. I may do well and hear ill, and that's a kingly happiness : I may do ill and hear well, and that's a hypocrite's best felicity. My actions shall make me harmony in my heart's inner chamber : I will not borrow the voices of the vulgar to sweeten my music. — Arthur Warwick. APPLICATION EecLuisite for Improvement. Leisure and application are the great re- quisites for improving the mind : leisure is useless without application ; but application with a very little leisure may produce very material benefit. If you are careful of your vacant minutes, you may advance yourselves more than many do who have every conveni- ence afforded them. — Thos. Young, M.D. APPREHENSION. Alas ! that in our earliest blush Our danger first we feel. And tremble when the rising flush Betrays some angel's seal ! Alas ! for care and pallid woe Sit watchers in their turn, Where heaven's too faint and transient glow So soon forgets to bum ! O. W. Holmes. APRIL Day. All day the low-hung clouds have dropt Their garnered fulness down ; All day that soft, gray mist hath wrapt Hill, valley, grove, and town. There has not been a sound to-day To break the calm of nature ; Nor motion, I might almost say, Of life or living creature ; — Of waving bough, or warbling bird, Or cattle faintly lowing ; — I could have half believed I heard The leaves and blossoms growing. I stood to hear, — I love it well, — The rain's continuous sound ; Small drops, but thick and fast they fell, Down straight into the ground. For leafy thickness is not yet Earth's naked breast to screen. Though every dripping branch is set With shoots of tender green. Sure since I looked at early morn, Those honeysuckle buds Have swelled to double growth ; that thorn Hath put forth larger studs. That lilac's cleaving cones have burst. The milk-white flowers revealing ; Even now, upon my senses first Methinks their sweets are stealing. The very earth, the streamy air. Is all with fragrance rife ! And grace and beauty everywhere Are flushing into life. Down, down they come — those fruitful stores, Those earth-rejoicing drops ! A momentary deluge pours, Then thins, decreases, stops. And here the dimples on the stream Have circled out of sight ; Lo ! from the west, a parting gleam Breaks forth of amber light. APRIL, Description of. O CHARMING Spring, with what delight I watch Thy gradual progress ! I've viewed with joy The earliest snowdrop on the sunny bank, And felt the odour of the ev'ning gale, Whose sweetest fragrance the eye bewrayed Where the first vi'let peeped. Thy temp'rate sun Wakes nature to new life. — Now o'er the vale Big with new life the industrious bee Rifles the op'ning flow'r. The insect tribe Sport in the ev'ning ray, not wearying now The thoughtful man, as with the ceaseless sound Of summer, myriads, o'er their parent stream, Dark'ning the twilight sky; for these called forth NOBLE THOUGHTS IN NOBLE LANGUAGE. 35 To earlier life, the first-bom of the year, Now but remind him that the better time Draws on. Well pleased he views each wintry trace That still remains, and when he hears the wind Shake the green budding boughs, or clatter harsh The bright-leaved ivy to the trunk it clasps. He thinks that soon the summer breeze shall sound Refreshing in the waving foliage. Anoit. Scarce a sickly straggling flower Decks the rough castle's rifted tower : Scarce the hardy primrose peeps From the dark dell's entangled steeps ; O'er the field of waving broom Slowly shoots the golden bloom : And, but by fits, the furze-clad dale Tinctures the transitory gale. While from the shrubb'ry's naked maze, Where the vegetable blaze Of Flora's brightest 'broidery shone. Every chequered charm is flown ; Save that the lilac hangs to view Its bursting gems in clusters blue. Scant along the ridgy land The beans their new-born ranks expand : The fresh- turned soil with tender blades Thinly the sprouting barley shades : Fringing the forest's devious edge, Half- robed appears the hawthorn hedge; Or to the distant eye displays Weakly green its budding sprays. T. Warton. I HAVE found violets. April hath come on, And the cool winds feel softer, and the rain Falls in the beaded drops of summer time. You may hear birds at morning and at eve The tame dove lingers till the twilight falls, Cooing upon the eaves, and drawing in His beautiful bright neck, and from the hills A murmur, like the hoarseness of the sea, Tells the release of waters, and the earth Sends up a pleasant smell, and the dry leaves Are lifted by the grass — and so I know That Nature, with her delicate ear, hath heard The dropping of the velvet foot of Spring. Smell of my violets ! — I found them where The liquid south stole o'er them, on a bank That lean'd to running water. There's to me A daintiness about these early flowers That touches one like poetry. They blow With such a simple loveliness among The common herbs of pasture, and breathe out Their lives so unobtrusively like hearts Whose beatings are too gentle for the world. I love to go in the capricious days Of April and hunt violets; when the rain Is in the blue cups trembling, and they nod So gracefully to the kisses of the wind. It may be deem'd unmanly, but the wise Read nature like the manuscript of Heaven, And call the flowers its poetry. Go out ! Ye spirits of habitual unrest. And read it when the "fever of the world " Hath made your hearts impatient, and, if life Hath yet one spring unpoison'd, it will be Like a beguiling music to its flow. And you will no more wonder that I love To hunt for violets in the April time. N. P. Willis. APRIL, its Loveliness. O FAIR mid- spring, besung so oft and oft, How can I praise thy loveliness enow ? Thy sun that bums not, and thy breezes soft That o'er the blossoms of the orchard blow ; The thousand things that 'neath the young leaves grow, The hopes and chances of the growing year, Winter forgotten long, and summer near. When Summer brings the lily and the rose, She brings us fear ; her very death she brings Hid in her anxious heart, the forge of woes ; And dull with fear, no more the mavis sings. But thou ! thou diest not, but thy fresh life clings About the fainting Autumn's sweet decay. When in the earth the hopeful seed they lay. Wm. Morris. APRIL, the Bride of the Year. Sweet day ! so cool, so calm, so bright ; The bridal of the earth and sky. Sweet dews shall weep thy fall to-night. For thou must die. Sweet rose ! whose hue, angry and brave. Bids the rash gazer wipe his eye ; Thy root is ever in its grave, And thou must die. Sweet Spring ! full of sweet days and roses A box where sweets compacted lie ; My music shows you have your closes, And all must die. 36 NOBLE THOUGHTS IN NOBLE LANGUAGE. ARABS, Descendants of Ishmael. I CONSIDER the prophecy concerning Ishmael and his descendants, the Arabs, as one of the most extraordinary that we meet with in the Old Testament. It was also one of the ear- liest made, and proceeded on the grounds of private reparation, Hagar had not sinned, though she had fled from Sarah with Ishmael, her son, into the wilderness. In that desert there were no inhabitants ; and though Ish- mael's succession was incompatible with God's promise to Abraham and his son Isaac, yet neither Hagar nor he having sinned, justice required a reparation for the heritage he had lost. God gave him that very wilderness, which before was the property of no man, in which Ishmael was to erect a kingdom, under the most improbable circumstances possible to be imagined. His hand was to be against every man, and every man's hand against him. By his sword he was to live, and pitch his tent in the face of his brethren. Gen. xv. 1 8. "Never has prophecy been so completely fulfilled. It (the power of the Arab descend- ants of Ishmael) subsisted from the earliest ages. It was verified before the time of Moses ; in the time of David and Solomon ; subsisted in the time of Alexander, and that of Augustus Caesar ; it subsisted in the time of Justinian, all very distant and unconnected periods ; and I appeal to the evidence of man- kind, without apparent support or necessity, but what it has derived from God's promise only, if it is not in full vigour at this very day? This prophecy alone, in the truth of which all religions agree, is, therefore, of itself a sufficient proof, without other, of the divine authority of the Scriptures." Such are the remarks and reasoning of Mr. Bruce. — Calmet. ARCHANGEL, Description of. Hard by these shores, where scarce his freez- ing stream Rolls the wild Oby, live the last of men ; And half-enlivened by the distant sun. That rears and ripens man as well as plants, Here human nature wears its rudest form. Deep from the piercing season sunk in caves, Here, by dull fires and with unjoyous cheer, They waste the tedious gloom. Immersed in furs, Doze the gross race. Nor sprightly jest nor song, Nor tenderness they know ; nor aught of life Beyond the kindred bears that stalk without. Till morn, at length, her roses drooping all. Sheds a long twilight brightening o'er their fields. And calls the quivered savage to the chase. Tho7)ison. ARCHER Band. Old Drayton has given a very picturesque description of them in his " Poly Olbion ; " and although we cannot believe that Robin Hood's archer band were actually habited as he pretends, the description is still interesting, for it gives a minute picture of the dress and general appearance of the English archers during the sixteenth century : — An hundred valiant men had this brave Robin Hood, Still ready at his call, who bowmen were right good, All clad in Lincoln green, with caps of red and blue ; His fellow's winded horn, not one of them but knew, When setting to their lips their little bugles shrill, The warbling echoes waked from every dale and hill ; Their baldries set with studs, athwart their shoulders cast, To which, beneath their arms, their sheaves were buckled fast ; A short sword at their belt, a buckler scarce a span — Who struck below the knee was counted not a man; All made of Spanish yew, their bows were wondrous strong. They not an arrow drew but was a cloth yard long. ARCHER, Description of. A YOUTH of clean compacted limbe, Who, with a comely grace, in his left hand Holding his bow, did take his steadfast stand, Setting his left leg somewhat forthe before, His arrowe with his right hande makinge sure. Not stoopinge, nor yet standing straighte uprighte ; Then, with his left hand, little 'bove his righte, Stretchinge his arm out, with an easie strength. To draw an arrowe of a yard in length. Master Nichols^ ^^ London Artillerie." NOBLE THOUGHTS IN NOBLE LANGUAGE. 37 ARCHERS, Troop of. BusKE ye, buske ye, my merry yonge menne, For ye shall goe wythe me ; Make ye readye, my wyghte yonge menne, Thatte shootynge will I see ; Then seven score of wyghte yonge menne, Stode at Robyn's knee. A Lyttel Geste of Rohyn Hood. ARCHERY, As Practised in Olden Times. Myself remembreth when a chylde, in native countye mine, A May game was of Robin Hode, and of hys traine that time. To traine up yonge men, striplings eke, and other younger chylde. In shooting, yearely this with solempne feaste was by the guylde Or brotherhoode of townes men done, with sport, and joy, and love, To profit, which in present time, and after- ward, did prove. — R. Robinson. ARCHERY, Description of. May day games of archerie ; The wood and the riveres mysterie ; Pageants, with theyr gallant showe, Tournaments, wythe knyghtes a rowe ; Minstrels, wythe tregitourie. Lays, and tales of fairie ; Alle, thatte deftlye, whyles awaye, Wyntere's nyghte, or summer's daye. Old Ballad. ARCHITECTURE Of Society formed by Nature. Human society is not like a piece of mechan- ism which may be safely taken to pieces, and put together by the hands of an ordinary artist. It is the work of nature and not of man ; and has received, from the hands of its Author, an organization that cannot be destroyed without danger to its existence, and certain properties and powers that cannot be altered or sus- pended by those who have been intrusted with its management. By studying these properties, and directing those powers, it may be modified and altered to a very considerable extent. But they must be allowed to develop them- selves by their internal energy, and to familia- rise themselves with their new channel of exertion. A child cannot be stretched out by engines to the stature of a man, nor a man compelled, in a morning, to excel in all the exercises of an athlete. Those into whose hands the destinies of a great nation are com- mitted should bestow on its reformation at least as much patient observance and as much tender precaution as are displayed by a skilful gardener in his treatment of a sickly plant. He props up those branches that are weak or over- loaded, and gradually prunes and reduces those that are too luxuriant; he cuts away what is absolutely rotten and distempered ; he stirs the earth about the root, and sprinkles it with water, and waits for the coming spring : he trains the young branches to the right hand or to the left ; and leads it, by a gradual and spontaneous progress, to expand or exalt itself, season after season, in the direction which he had previously determined. — Lord Jeffery. ARDOUR, Unrestrained, Disastrous. Pallas ! thou hast failed thy plighted word To fight with caution, not to tempt the sword : 1 warned thee, but in vain ; for well I knew What perils youthful ardour would pursue. That boiling blood would carry thee too far ; Young as thou wert in dangers — raw in war ! O curst essay in arms — disastrous doom — Prelude of bloody fields and fights to come. ^neid, b. xi., 1. 230. ARGUMENT. Let the end of thy argument be rather to dis- cover a doubtful truth than a commanding wit ; in the one thou shalt gain substance, in the other froth ; that flint strikes the steel in vain that propagates no sparkles ; covet to be truth's champion, at least to hold her colours ; he that pleads against the truth takes pains to be overthrown ; or, if a conqueror, gains but vain-glory by the conquest. — Quarks, ARGUMENT against Argument. Argument may be overcome by stronger ar- gument, and force by greater force ; but truth and force have no relation— nothing in com- mon, nothing by which the one can act upon the other. They dwell apart, and will con- tinue to do so till the end of time. — Pascal. 33 NOBLE THOUGHTS IN NOBLE LANGUAGE. ARISTOCRACY in a Country Town. MONS. Egalite was certainly wrong, and met with a fate which one can hardly regret. A sort of retributive justice seems to have decreed destruction against those who break down the barriers of political order in society. Whether, however, we, the magnates of a country town, and his positive antipodes in all matters of order and etiquette, are perfectly right, perhaps admits of some question. If our proceedings were tried by their causes and consequences, T should rather tremble for a favourable verdict ; for hitherto they have produced dissatisfaction, contentions, and even revolutions, instead of the peace and quietness which results from a wise legislation ; but I can hardly force myself to be impartial enough to confess that our prin- ciples are radically bad, I will nevertheless agree that there is a great deal of confusion and apparent contradiction in the application of them. Perhaps this arises from our using only common law, and keeping no accurate records of judgments in previous cases. If we had a regular digest, a real code of statutes, many of the present grievances could scarcely happen; but I will state a few of them, in hopes that the view of our perplexities may induce some benevolent Solon to take the sub- ject into his serious consideration. He must know, then, at the outset that in almost all country towns there are but two classes of inhabitants, and these are technically termed the visited and the not-visited. Be- tween these two the line of demarcation is as strictly kept up as between the Jews and the Samaritans, the castes of the Hindoos, or the whites and the negroes in the West Indies. The former constitute the privileged order, and they maintain their pre-eminence as tenaciously as if their lives and liberties were in debate. The value of it is indisputable ; for no others than the visited can possibly be admitted to a ball, or card-party, or dinner-party, or, in fact, to any desirable party at all. No others are to be noticed in public places ; and, even if met in the street, the not-visited are only to be saluted with a condescending nod of recogni- tion, and by no means with a polite bow de- noting anything like equality. The visited are to have the best seats reserved for them on all public occasions, in which are included the best pews at church. They are to be first served in all shops, and their orders are to be first attended to by all mantua-makers, milliners, tailors, hair-dressers, &c., &c. They are to have the best joints of meat from the butcher ; the best sugar and candles from the grocer (by the way, wax candles ought never to be sold to the not-visited at all) ; the best butter from the farmer, and so forth ; and, in addition, they are also to have the longest credit for all their commodities. It may be imagined that these and a few other valuable and important aristocratic privileges are not always very willingly conceded. The misfor- tune, however, does not lie in this, by any means, so much as in the very great uncertainty about the persons who shall be so happy as to enjoy them — Hinc ilia lachrymcel It is, in- deed, agreed that a combination of certain qua- lifications shall constitute an undisputed claim ; but then it does not follow that a lack of one or even more of such qualifications shall amount in all cases to a forfeiture in toto. Hence the privileges are bestowed with a doubtfulness which seems often to amount to caprice ; and hence, too, the great number of malcontents under the existing order of things, particularly among the borderers, who lie just, and but just, without the pale : but to descend a little more to particulars. The qualifications above mentioned for entitling a candidate to rank among the visited are character, education, manners, and property ; perhaps, I might add also, a something which hardly admits either of a name or a definition, but which, possibly, my readers may understand under the designa- tion of gentlemanly calling or profession. Now, a family who enters a countiy town eligible in all these respects will infallibly be visited, provided, indeed, they have no objection to cards ; though, if they have, the black-balling will not often be recorded in connexion with this item, but usually under the heads of edu- cation and manners. Not, however, as we have just said, that these two qualifications, or any one of the others, are always a sine qiiA non. Cases are continually occurring to the contrary. There is a certain lady, living in the High-street, who, it is affirmed, is irre- vocably excluded ; and there is another lady, with a similar blot on her escutcheon, only a little more sub rosd, who has as large wax- candle-burning-parties as any in the town. There is, again, a gentleman whom fame ac- cuses of a very unpardonable offence, and bur good people join in the accusation ; and there is another towards whom fame has not been more merciful, but whom his neighbours have forgiven. This last instance is said to have happened because the gentleman has a very NOBLE THOUGHTS IN NOBLE LANGUAGE, estimable and amiable wife ; whereas the other one is a bachelor. It certainly looks unjust ; but I do not know that I shall say much against this decision, though the bachelor exclaims about it with all his might. Still, I do think that this point of character is one on which there is too much reason to blame the partiality of our townsfolks ; it is one on which less con- cessions ought to be made than on any other, and yet I fear that it is also one on which they often suffer their judgments to be bribed. They have a trick, too, of shielding on this head those whom, for other considerations, they may be disposed to admit. They say that they have heard such or such a story, but that nobody must believe all he hears ; and ergo, they resolve to be incredulous now. There is much injustice, however, in extending the in- credulity only to their favourites. Education and manners are more visible and tangible matters of legislation ; yet there are as many blunders here, and as many sentences as inequitably passed. There is one of the visited whom you will meet at all times, and who is always most respectfully received and saluted, and yet clips the king's English most abomi- nably, dresses like the setting sun, does not know, as they say, B from a bull's foot ; or in fact, anything in the way of erudition, except whist and quadrille. This sum total of her education, however, serves her turn, and se- cures her ticket of admission ; for she is always ready and willing for a rubber, and loses her money with a great deal of good-humour. On the other side of the question, among the luckless rejected, is a pale, spindle-shanked youth, who some time since came into the town for change of air. He was the son of a mechanic ; but having an uncontrollable taste for painting, had worked, and studied, and starved, existing all the time upon a miserable pittance, that he might attain some knowledge of his darling art. He succeeded : some friends obtained admissions for him to some of our national galleries ; and there, with the quick perception and the ready susceptibility of genius, he caught and appropriated the ex- cellences of the mighty masters whose works were before him. Day after day, week after week, from the earliest to the latest hour, he was always at his task. Still, having entered upon it as a beginner, notwithstanding his talents and application, he had as yet but very few pictures that were fit for sale ; and he had had, besides, no leisure to run after patrons. Thus his slender finances would but just serve to provide him a mean lodging and daily bread when he came down to ; and here, I can hardly venture to record it, though his story was known, and though it was confessed that his stock of information was large, and his manners (I know not why) as polished as though he had been "born a gentleman," he was taken no notice of. The polish and intel- ligence he had by some means or other ac- quired forbade his being treated as a pauper ; and our aristocrats would by no means permit him to be a companion. But it is not, I ima- gine, his origin, but his poverty, which is the ground of his exclusion. The genealogy of many of our great ones is not more digni- fied. Our present mayor is the son of a gar- dener ; our late one, of a shoemaker. Poverty, which Burns aptly, though we must own pro- fanely, notwithstanding we quote it, calls the "unpardonable sin," is a much more certain cause of being not visited than any we have hitherto enumerated. If one of our first fami- lies falls into poverty, the inevitable conse- quence always follows ; they are in the begin- ning pitied, then a sort of protection is extended towards them, afterwards follows condescen- sion, and at last neglect. But we need not appropriate this to our own town ; it is the same everywhere else. Perhaps, however, the most vexatious cause of exclusion from the privileged circles is that which arises from the circumstances of trade or profession ; for here it seems more com- pletely arbitrary and capricious. A brewer, a tanner, a wholesale grocer, are among the visited ; why, then, is a linendraper or an inn- keeper to be excluded? I really do not know. Besides, again, a linendraper who made a for- tune in London, and came to retire among us, is visited — a shoemaker also, in like circum- stances : the question is but the more compli- cated ; I can only say I do not understand it. The contentions and heart-burnings to which it gives rise are more evident than the grounds of the apparently inconsistent decisions. A tragical story also lately happened, which makes me doubly anxious that some philan- thropic lawgiver should promulgate an edict upon the subject. There was a young couple in a distant part of the country who had been brought up together from very early years, and who were much attached. But unhappily Charles had hardly attained the age of twenty-one when fortune frowned j his father died suddenly, and left his aftairs in such confusion that, after giving a very 40 NOBLE THOUGHTS IN NOBLE LANGUAGE. moderate competency to his widow, his sons found themselves obliged to struggle in the world with little or no paternal inheritance. Charles had been brought up in an idle sort of manner, without any regular education for a profession, which it was thought he would hardly need ; and being thus turned adrift, he seemed at sea without a compass. Friends, indeed, talked of a place under government, and some other projects ; but they only talked, they did nothing ; and, mortified and wearied with disappointments and hopes, when a linen- draper's shop in the town presented itself, he determined to accept it. He did so, and ma- naged to subdue his pride and attend to his business. The law of exclusion was indeed still in force ; but he was just now much occu- pied, and had not leisure to think about all the peculiarities in his situation. Not very pru- dently, however, as soon as he was tolerably settled, he began to turn his thoughts towards Sophia ; and she, also, on her part, from mis- taken notions of generosity, was unwilling to listen to the advice of friends, who recom- mended the young people to postpone the marriage, since there was so slender a provision on either side. She saw and pitied in Charles the irritable feelings which too generally ac- company a change of fortune, and could not resolve to increase them by any apparent back- wardness to fulfil her engagement. But a single act of heroism is much easier than the long course of self-denial which it entails. They had not been lorig married before Charles, justly proud of his bride, was anxious that she should likewise receive the homage of their neighbours. Some attentions from them, too, would have been acceptable from other motives than pride. Though not less happy than brides usually are, or profess to be, she was a little dull, now that she had little or nothing to employ her, and was removed from her former friends and acquaintance. But still no visitors made their appearance ; not one of the visited left a card : the not-visited, who practise no etiquette, were out of the question. The new-married couple were rather mortified ; and thinking that they were not noticed, be- cause they were confounded with the common run of shopkeepers — an excluded race — re- solved by some means to establish their claim to gentility. This was, of course, by launching into expenses, A handsome chaise and a capital horse were set up, and Sophia's dress was composed of the costliest articles in her husband's shop. A new room, too, was added to the old-fashioned house, and this room was a drawing-room, the furniture for which was in a style of fashion more suited to their former than their present pretensions. The worst part of the whole system, however, was that Charles thought it ungentlemanly to attend to his busi- ness, and took a great aversion to standing be- hind the counter. He could not bring himself to serve ribbons and muslins to his fastidious customers — customers, too, whom he felt him- self entitled to meet in an evening circle upon a footing of perfect equality. The effect of all this may be easily anticipated : his temper was soured, and his business declined ; while the privileged order, for whose sake the sacrifices were made, only laughed at the ridiculous finery of a shopkeeper, and wondered at his presumption in seeking to be admitted among themselves. Applications from creditors, like- wise, did not fail to be soon added to his vexa- tions, and after awhile they became clamorous. At last he found that there was but one way of appeasing them. He was forced to give up everything, and was made a bankrupt. A new set of mortifications then came upon him ; per- sons of a lower class thought themselves enti- tled to insult, as those of the higher to reject him. Every effort to extricate himself failed ; till one morning the report of a pistol was heard in a back warehouse, and the unfortunate man was no more. I will not say that such circumstances as these often occur ; but no one who knows a country town will doubt that there needs a much more perfect legislation in the matter of its etiquette, and a much more equitable distri- bution of the honours and privileges of its aristocracy. — Spirit of the Age, ARITHMETIC, its Importance. It was said, with truth, by Charles the Twelfth of Sweden that he who was ignorant of the arithmetical art was but half a man. With how much greater force may a similar expres- sion be applied to him who carries to his grave the neglected and unprofitable seeds of faculties which it depended on himself to have reared to maturity, and of which the finiits bring accessions to human happiness more precious than all the gratifications which power or wealth can command. — Du^ald Stewart. NOBLE THOUGHTS IN NOBLE LANGUAGE, 41 ARMOUR of Salvation. O Lord, we wrestle not against flesh and blood, but against rule, against power, and against worldly rulers of the darkness of this world, against spiritual wickedness in heavenly things. For this cause, O most sweet Saviour, put upon us Thy holy armour, that we may be able to resist in the evil day, and stand per- fect in all things. Grant also that we, being thus godly armed, may through Thy power, might, and strength, not only enter battle with our enemies, but also valiantly fight with them, courageously put them to flight, and trium- phantly carry away a glorious victory over them. So shall it come to pass, that we, being valiant conquerors, through Thy help, shall receive at Thy hand manna to eat that is hid ; and a white stone, and in the stone a new name written which no man knoweth, save he that receiveth it. Lord, for Thy mercies' sake, grant us this our petition ; so shall we praise and magnify Thy blessed name for ever and ever. — Becon. ARMOUR, the Best is Caution. The best armour is to keep out of gunshot. This teaches us to avoid, as far as possible, all occasions that lead to sin or to mischief of whatever kind, rather than be drawn into the current, fancying that we shall escape. For an illustration of this, turn to the ancient fable of the Sirens, or, as Lord Bacon, in his *' Wisdom of the Ancients," interprets them, the Pleasures. * ' The habitation of the S irens, ' ' says that wise author, ** was in certain pleasant islands, from whence, as soon as out of their watch-tower they discovered any ships ap- proaching, with their sweet tunes they would first entice and stay the people, and having them in their power would destroy them. So great was the mischief they did, that these isles of the Sirens, even as far off as man can ken them, appeared white with the bones of unburied carcasses. For the remedying of this misery, Ulysses, who was passing that way, caused all the ears of his company to be stopped with wax, and made himself to be bound to the mainmast, with special command- ment to his mariners not to be loosed, albeit himself should require them so to do. But Orpheus disdained to be so bound, and with a shrill and sweet voice, singing the praises of his Gods to his harp, suppressed the songs of the Sirens, and so freed himself Irom their danger. This," he adds, "is very grave and excellent. The first means to shun inordinate pleasures is to withstand and resist them in their beginnings, and seriously to avoid all occasions that are offered to entice the mind. But a remedy, when these assail us, is found under the conduct of Orpheus : for they that chant and resound heavenly praises confound and destroy the voices and incantations of the Sirens. And Divine meditations do not only in power subdue all sensual pleasures, but also far exceed them in sweetness and delight." ARMY, a Noble One. Mowbray, you overween to take it so ; This offer comes from mercy, not from fear : For, lo ! within a ken our army lies ; Upon mine honour, all too confident To give admittance to a thought of fear. Our battle is more full of names than yours. Our men more perfect in the use of arms, Our armour all is strong, our cause the best : Then reason wills our hearts should be as good. Shakespeare. ARRANGEMENTS OP GOD, Wise and Good. The wisdom and goodness of God, in the pro- vidential arrangements which He is pleased to make for the benefit of his fallen creatm-es, may be thwarted or impeded for a time, and in particular instances, by their perverseness or folly ; but the arrangements themselves are not on that account the less wise or good. — Bishop Blomfield. ARRANGEMENTS, Providential. Observe the providence of God in his wise ordering of the affairs of the great house of the world, the whole family of mankind. It is said, that when the Queen of Sheba had seen all the wisdom of Solomon, "and the house that he had built, and the meat of his table, and the sitting of his servants, and the attendance of his ministers, and their apparel, and his cup-bearers, and his ascent by which he went up into the house of the Lord, there was no more spirit in her." I Kings X. 4, 5. There is, indeed, greater ground for admiration and astonishment in beholding the order and provision of the great house of the world ; for Solomon's wisdom, 42 NOBLE THOUGHTS IN NOBLE LANGUAGE. by which he managed the affairs of his house, was but a derived drop of that providence by which God governs the world. — Crane, ART, Exhaustless. Art is exhaustless, but Hfe is short. Eminence is not to be attained without time and energy ; and even after the devotion of a life, how rarely do we witness the union of many excel- lences ! When we reflect on the advantages derivable from art, and on the applications of which it is susceptible to some of the best in- terests of mankind, we cannot but regret that so great a source of human happiness should not be better and more generally cultivated. With reference to music whether in the solemn chant, the choral voices of numbers, the thrilling accents of passion, and the varied delights of instrumental harmony ; — painting and statuary, whether they embody the beauty and the admirable details of the human form or express the lineaments of thought and feel- ing ; and architecture, whether it transform the rude dwellings of the savage into edifices of surpassing grandeur and magnificence, — they yield increased scope, as well as further happiness, purity, and joy, to our moral and intellectual being. — M'-Cormac. ART of Music. It would seem a truth so plain as to need no demonstration, that if the fine arts are to be brought to the aid of religion they should pnt on a dress as unlike that which they wear in their intercourse with the world as possible. To confine the principle to one art, surely every one will agree that religious music should have a character unmistakeably its own ; that whether it expresses strains of joy or sorrow — whether the goodness of God be sung or His mercy supplicated, — the singer and the hearer should at once feel that they are not in the theatre, the concert-room, or the private chamber, but in the house of the Most High.— //«//^/5. ART, the Angel of. When from the sacred garden driven, Man fled before his Maker's wrath, An angel left her place in heaven. And crossed the wanderer's sunless path. 'Twas Art ! sweet Art ! New radiance broke, Where her light foot flew o'er the ground ; And thus with seraph voice she spoke, *' The curse a blessing shall be found." She led him through the trackless wild. Where noontide sunbeam never blazed : — The thistle shrunk— the harvest smiled, And Nature gladdened as she gazed. Earth's thousand tribes of living things At Art's command to him are given. The village grows, the city springs. And point their spires of faith to heaven. He rends the oak — and bids it ride, To guard the shores its beauty graced ; He smites the rock — upheaved in pride, See towers of strength, and domes of taste. Earth's teeming caves their wealth reveal, Fire bears his banner on the wave, He bids the mortal poison heal, And the destroying knife to save. He plucks the pearls that stud the deep, Admiring Beauty's lap to fill ; He breaks the stubborn marble's sleep. Rocks disappear before his skill : With thoughts that swell his glowing soul. He bids the ore illume the page. And, proudly scorning Time's control. Commerces with an unborn age. In fields of air he writes his name, And treads the chambers of the sky ; He reads the stars, and grasps the flame That quivers in the realms on high. In war renowned, in peace sublime. He moves in greatness and in grace ; His power, subduing space and time, Links realms to realm, and race to race. Sprague. ART, Three Radical Parts of. The three radical parts of an art : nature, benefit, and originality. The three primary points of nature and originality : where it can- not be better, where it cannot be otherwise, and where there is no necessity for its being otherwise, — Catherall. ARTS, their Influence. Wherever the arts are cultivated with suc- cess, they almost imperceptibly educate the general taste, and make politeness of mind keep pace with refinement of manners. They are to a highly commercial and opulent state of NOBLE THOUGHTS IN NOBLE LANGUAGE. 43 society what chivalry was to the feudal system ; they wear down its asperities, correct its selfish- ness, relieve the sternness of its action, enliven the dullness of its repose, and mitigate the fierceness of its enjoyments. Where the arts are well understood, fashion cannot be so monstrous or fantastic as where they exert no salutary dominion over the fond love of va- riety. The source of excellence in art being a judicious observation of nature, and a right perception of her principles of beauty and symmetry, a closer adherence to nature will mark the fashions of society polished by their ascendancy than can distinguish the habits of people without the sphere of their influ- ence. Hence the barbaric nations, where there is much wealth, never expend it in such a way as proves they have any notion of the pleasures of refinement. They endeavour to attract ad- miration through the vulgar passion of adorn- ment, which is in a moment excited, and as suddenly expires, rather than create a rational respect by consulting for the praise of en- lightened opinion. — Sidney Taylor. ASPIRATION after Kindred Natures. We pine for kindred natures, To mingle with our own ! For communings more high and full Than aught by mortal known. We strive with brief aspiring Against our bounds in vain. Yet summoned to be free at last, We shrink and clasp our chain. Hemans. ASS no Ass. We all talk of the ass as the stupidest of the browsers of the field ; yet if any one shuts up a donkey in the same inclosure with half a dozen horses of the finest blood, and the party escape, it is infallibly the poor donkey that has led the way. It is he alone that penetrates the secret of the bolt and latch. Often have we stood at the other side of a hedge, contem- plating a whole troop of blood mares and their offspring, patiently waiting, while the donkey was snuffing over a piece of work to which all but he felt themselves incompetent. — Quarterly Review. ASSOCIATIONS, the Beauty of Early. At the corner of Wood Street, when daylight appears. There's a thmsh that sings loud, it has sung for three years : Poor Susan has passed by the spot, and has heard In the silence of morning the song of the bird. 'Tis a note of enchantment ; what ails her ? She sees A mountain ascending, a vision of trees ; Bright volumes of vapour through Lothbury glide. And a river flows on through the vale of Cheap- side. Green pastures she views in the midst of the dale, Down which she so often has tripped with her pail ; And a single small cottage, a nest like a dove's. The one only dwelling on earth that she loves. She looks, and her heart is in heaven ; but they fade, The mist and the river, the hill and the shade ; The stream will not flow, and the hill will not rise. And the colours have all passed away from her eyes. — Wordsworth. ASTRONOMY, a Sublime Study. The heavens afford the most sublime subject of study which can be derived from science. The magnitude and splendour of the objects, the inconceivable rapidity with which they move, and the enormous distances between them, impress the mind with some notion of the energy that maintains them in their motions, with a durability to which we can see no limit. Equally conspicuous is the goodness of the Great First Cause, in having endowed man with faculties by which he can not only ap- preciate the magnificence of His works, but trace, with precision, the operation of His laws, use the globe he inhabits as a base where- with to measure the magnitude and distance of the sun and planets, and make the diameter of the earth's orbit the first step of a scale by which he may ascend the starry firmament. Such pursuits, while they ennoble the mind, at the same time inculcate humility, by showing that there is a barrier which no energy, mental or physical, can ever enable us to pass ; that, however profoundly we may penetrate the 44 NOBLE THOUGHTS IN NOBLE LANGUAGE. depths of space, there still remain innumerable systems, compared with which those apparently so vast must dwindle into insignificance, or even become invisible ; and that not only man, but the globe he inhabits, — nay, the whole system of which it forms so small a part, — might be annihilated, and its extinction be un- perceived in the immensity of creation. — Somcrville. ASTRONOMY, Annular. First Mercury completes his transient year. Glowing, refulgent, with reflected glare ; Bright Venus occupies a wider sway. The early harbinger of night and day ; More distant still our globe terraqueous turns, Nor chills intense, nor fiercely heated burns ; Around her rolls the lunar orb of light. Trailing her silver glories through the night : On the Earth's orbit see the various signs, Mark where the Sun, our year completing, shines, First the bright Ram his languid ray improves ; Next glaring wat'ry thro' the Bull he moves ; The am'rous twins admit his genial ray ; Now burning, thro' the Crab he takes his way ; The Lion flaming, bears the solar power ; The Virgin faints beneath the sultry shower. Now the just Balance weighs his equal force. The slimy serpent swelters in his course ; The sabled Archer clouds his languid face ; The Goat, with tempests, urges on his race ; Now in the water his faint beams appear. And the cold fishes end the circling year. Beyond our guns the sanguine Mars displays A strong reflection of primeval rays ; Next belted Jupiter far distant gleams. Scarcely enlightened with the solar beams ; With four unfixed receptacles of light. He tours majestic through the spacious height : But further yet the tardy Saturn lags, And five attendant luminaries drags ; Investing with a double ring his pace. He circles through immensity of space. Chattaion. ASTRONOMY, Influences of. Of all the sciences astronomy is by far the most ancient ; because the objects of it attracted the first notice of mankind, who, when they lost the knowledge of God, worshipped the great luminaries of heaven, as the source of being and the fountain of happiness. Thus we read in that exquisite specimen of primitive poetry which distinguished the earliest age of genius — the book of Job— in allusion to the idolatry which prevailed at that period : " If I beheld the sun when it shined, or the moon walking in brightness ; and my heart hath been secretly enticed, or my mouth hath kissed my hand ; this also were an iniquity to be punished by the judge, for I should have denied the God that is above." The wisest of the heathen nations fell into this error, and little doubt can be entertained that the polytheism of them all, however varied and enlarged, had no other origin than the idea of divinity residing in the host of heaven. To counteract this evil, and to show that the heavenly bodies were all the work of one supreme intelligence, the legislator and historian of the Hebrews dwells particularly upon the creation of the sun and moon, and their re- spective uses ; after which he emphatically adds, that the same God "made the stars also." In studying the interior construction of the heavens, all the powers of expression sink under the grandeur and magnificence of the picture. Innumerable strata of radiant stars, sparkling in parallel rows, and lost in immen- sity, seem to invest the universe like so many blazing zones, and to whatever point of the spacious arch our visual powers are directed, we are dazzled and overwhelmed by a series of successive and endless splendours. We cannot even cast our eyes above us without feeling our minds expanded with admiration and our hearts warmed with devotion. In an age o« ignorance and barbarism the heavens taught idolatry and superstition ; but now that know- ledge is more generally diffused, and men are better informed, they should inspire gratitude and piety. They borrow all their brightness from the great fountain of light and life, and expend it liberally for our use, to teach us that all our endowments are likev/ise bestowed for the benefit of others as well as our own. We learn from their inviolable steadiness and order, the incalculable advantages of regularity in our conduct and exactness in discharging the duties of life. Clouds may intercept their lustre, but cannot interrupt their tranquillity ; and the upper regions are never more serene than while the lower are convulsed with storms ! The obedience of the clouds to the primary institutions of their Maker is a standing con- demnation of our habitual aberrations Irom the laws which He prescribes and the precepts NOBLE THOUGHTS IN NOBLE LANGUAGE. 45 He enjoins. Their beauty, which arises more particularly from their answering so perfectly their respective destinations, reproaches our moral deformity, their harmony, our mutual dissensions, and their combined utility, our want of public and of private worth. Under the direction of the heavens, naviga- tion has long been cherished and improved to an astonishing degree. Through many a bois- terous sea and stormy night the mariner has steered his course by no other guide than his compass and the stars, and to all they may become a source of pleasure and a chart of duty. The light of our days and the ornament of our nights are from the heavens ; and why may not they be also converted into ministers of wisdom as well as objects of admiration? Their effulgence adorns our world and tran- sports our hearts ; they shed lustre and visi- bility on all about us, and we would have them as useful to the soul as to the body, and as im- proving to the heart as they are pleasing to the sight. — Baseley, ASTRONOMY, Its Continual Revelations. By the discoveries of modern philosophy, and the aids which invention has supplied to the means afforded us by Nature for ex- ploring the recesses of the higher regions, in- numerable globes of superior magnitude and resplendence are perceived, ranged in order, and accumulated in groups, or clustered like grapes on a vine, shining in countless variety, each more glorious than our sun, one dazzling constellation above another, crowding the boundaries of space. Who knows but these constellations of radiant orbs, blazing on all sides with the brightness of so many suns in meri- dian majesty, may illuminate the grand empy- real route which leads to the palace of the Great King; or, that all this transcendant splendour may be no more than the exterior lustre of His residence, who dwells in light inaccessible and full of glory. With S|Uch magnificent constellations of flaming worlds are the precincts of the celestial mansions studded and adorned. And these wonderful prospects, imperfect and confused as seen by our limited and obscure organs, abun- dantly demonstrate the richness even of ex- terior creation, and indicate the beauteous gradation and variety in the splendours which distinguish the heaven of heavens. — Baseley. ASTRONOMY, Its Stupendous Proportions. One of the greatest circumstances which fixes the attention in the contemplation of the heavenly bodies that form our system is the surprising distances at which they are placed, and the stupendous amount of space which they occupy by their circuits. Our earth is about 90 millions of miles from the sun ; Saturn is above 800 more millions further off ; and the next and most remote that we know, which is connected with us, the Uranus, is twice that mighty distance.* The fact is sublime, and vast beyond the power of our words to express, or of our ideas to conceive. This last planet of our system rolls in an oval circuit, of which 1,788 millions of miles is the diameter ; and, therefore, goes round an area of 5,000 millions of miles. Our system occu- pies this amazing portion of space ; and yet is but one small compartment of the indescribable universe. Immense as is an area of 5jO0O millions of miles, yet it is but a very little part of the incomprehensible whole. Above 100,000 stars, apparently suns like ours, shine above us ; and to each of these that analogy would lead us to assign a similar space, but of such marvellous extent and being, although visibly real from the existence of the shining orbs that testify its certainty to us, the mind, with all its efforts, can form no clear and dis- tinct idea. Another consideration is astounding : — when we gaze, in a clear evening, on the bright Jupiter, we are seeing an object that is 487 millions of miles from us. But when we look at the bright Orion, or the Great Bear, we are beholding substances which are ten thousand times that remoteness from us. The idea frequently overwhelms me, as I stand and view them, and think that I, a petty human being, have the faculty, and can exercise the power, of looking through millions of millions of miles of extended space, and that such an amazing ex- panse is really visible to my eye, and percep- tible by my conscious, though in comparison, insignificant soul. — The Sacred History of the World. ♦Mr. Hornsby has made the following calculations of the absolute distances of the planets from the sun in English miles : — Mercury . Venus . . . Our Earth. 36,281,700 67,795.500 93,726,900 Mars .... 142,818,000 Jupiter .. 487,472,000 Saturn 894,162,000 The Uranus is twice that of Saturn, 46 NOBLE THOUGHTS IN NOBLE LANGUAGE. ASTRONOMY, Love of. I LOVE to rove amidst the starry height, To leave the little scenes of Earth behind, And let Imagination vising her flight On eagle pinions swifter than the wind. I love the planets in their course to trace ; To mark the comets speeding to the sun, Then launch into immeasurable space. Where, lost to human sight, remote they run. I love to view the moon, when high she rides Amidst the heav'ns, in borrowed lustre bright; To fathom how she rules the subject tides. And how she borrows from the sun her light. O ! these are wonders of th' Almighty hand, Whose wisdom first the circling orbits planned. T. Rodd. ASTRONOMY, Study of. Science, regarded as the pursuit of truth, must ever afford occupation of consummate interest, and subject of elevated meditation. The contemplation of the works of creation elevates the mind to the admiration of what- ever is great and noble, accomplishing the object of all study, which, in the elegant lan- guage of Sir James Mackintosh, "is to inspire the love of truth, of wisdom, of beauty, — especially of goodness, the highest beauty, — and of that supreme and eternal mind, which contains all truth and wisdom, all beauty and goodness. By the love of delightful contem- plation and pursuit, of these transcendant aims, for their own sake only, the mind of man is raised from low and perishable objects, and prepared for those high destinies which are appointed for all those who are capable of them." In tracing the connection of the physical sciences, astronomy affords the most extensive example of their union. In it are combined the sciences of number and quantity, of rest and motion. In it we perceive the operation of a force which is mixed up with everything that exists in the heavens or on earth ; which pervades every atom, rules the motions of animate and inanimate beings, and is as sensi- ble in the descent of a rain-drop as in the Falls of Niagara, in the weight of the air, as in the periods of the moon. The heavens afford the most sublime subject of study which can be derived from science. The magnitude and splendour of the objects, the inconceivable rapidity with which they move, and the enormous distances between them, impress the mind with some notion of the energy which maintains them in their motions, with a durability to which we can see no limit. Equally conspicuous is the goodness of the great First Cause, in having endowed man with faculties by which he can not only appreciate the magnificence of His works, but trace with precision the operation of His laws, use the globe he inhabits as a base wherewith to measure the magnitude and distance of the sun and planets, and make the diameter of the earth's orbit the first step of a scale by which he may ascend to the starry firmament. Such pursuits, while they ennoble the mind, at the same time inculcate humility, by showing that there is a barrier which no energy, mental or physical, can ever enable us to pass ; that, however profoundly we may penetrate the depths of space, there still remain innumerable systems, compared with which, those ap- parently so vast must dwindle into insigni- ficance, or even become invisible ; and that not only man, but the globe he inhabits, nay the whole system of which it forms so small a part, might be annihilated, and its extension be unperceived in the immensity of creation. — Mrs. Somerville. Give me the ways of wand'ring stars to know; The depths of heav'n above, and earth below. Teach me the various labours of the moon. And whence proceed eclipses of the Sun ; Why flowing tides prevail upon the main, And in what dark recess they shrink again ; What shakes the solid earth ; what cause delays The summer nights, and shortens winter days. Virgil. I AM by all means for encouraging the con- templation of the celestial part of the world, and the shining globes that adorn it, and especially the sun and moon, in order to raise our admiration of the stupendous power and wisdom of Him who was able to frame such immense bodies ; and, notwithstanding their vast bulk, and scarce conceivable rapidity, keep them for so many ages constant both to the lines and degrees of their motion, without interfering with one another. And doubtless we ought to return thanks and praises to the Divine goodness for having so placed the sun and moon, and deteimined the former, or else the earth to move in particular lines for the good of men and other animals ; and how dis- advantageous it would have been to the in- NOBLE THOUGHTS IN NOBLE LANGUAGE. 47 habitants of the earth if the luminaries had moved after a different manner. I dare not, however, affirm that the sun, moon, and other celestial bodies were made solely for the use of man ; much less presume to prove one system of the world to be true and another false ; because the former is better fitted to the con- venience of mankind, or the other less suited, or perhaps altogether useless to that end. — Boyle. ASTRONOMY, The Poetry of Heaven. Astronomy is the very region in which the spirit of poetry finds itself in its own element : it there spreads abroad its pinions and largely roams from star to star, from system to system, exulting amidst the magnificence of intermin- able space. The following are a few gems which sparkle in the coronet of the genius of astronomy : O that I were the great soul of a world ! A glory in space ! By the glad hand of Omnipotence hurled Sublime on its race ! Reflecting the marvellous beauty of heaven. Encircled with joy. To endure when the orbs shall wax dim, that are given Old Time to destroy. William Kentiedy. There take thy stand, my spirit : — spread The world of shadows at thy feet ; And mark how calmly, over head. The stars like saints in glory meet : While hid in solitude sublime, Methinks I muse on Nature's tomb. And hear the passing foot of Time Step through the gloom. James Montgomery. The sun, rejoicing round the earth, announced Daily the wisdom, power, and love of God. The moon awoke, and from her maiden face, Shedding her cloudy locks, looked meekly forth. And with her virgin stars walked in the heavens, — Walked nightly there, conversing as she walked. Of purity, and holiness, and God. Robert Pollok. ASTRONOMY, The 'Workings of Divine Wisdom. He who cannot see the workings of a Divine wisdom in the order of the heavens, the change of the seasons, the flowing of the tides, the operations of the wind and other elements, the structure of the human body, the circulation of the blood through a variety of vessels won- derfully arranged and conducted, the instinct of beasts, their tempers and dispositions, the growth of plants, and their many effects for meat and medicine: he who cannot see all these and many other things as the evident contrivances of a Divine wisdom is sottishly blind, and unworthy of the name of a man. — Jones of Nay land. ATHEISM, a Base, Ignoble Thing. They that deny a God destroy man's no- bility ; for certainly man is of kin to the beasts by his body ; and if he be not of kin to God by his spirit, he is a base and ignoble creature. It destroys, likewise, magnanimity, and the raising of human nature. For, take an example of a dog, and mark what a gene- rosity and courage he will put on when he finds himself maintained by a man, who to him is instead of a God, or better nature ; which courage is manifestly such as that crea- ture, without that confidence of a better nature than his own, could never attain. So man, when he resteth and assureth himself upon Divine protection and favour, gathereth a force and faith which human nature in itself could not obtain. Therefore, as atheism is in all respects hateful, so in this, that it depriveth human nature of the means to exalt itself above human frailty. — Lord Bacon. ATHEISM, Absurdity of. To deny the being of a God is not only im- pious, but irrational : it is to deny and to con- tradict true reason. The psalmist calls that man a fool who says in liis heart, "There is no God" (Psa. xiv. i). If idolators are charged with brutishness that worship false gods (Jer. X. 14, 1 8), how much more the atheist who denies a God? And if the apostle saith of them, that " their foolish hearts were dark- ened," when they degraded Him with their vain rites and modes of worship, how much more are such darkened with folly that deny His being and existence ? Though hell be the seat of perfect wicked- ness, yet this speculative atheism is not to be found there. The devils themselves believe and tremble. What a monstrous thing, then, 48 NOBLE THOUGHTS IN NOBLE LANGUAGE. is it, that it should be found upon earth ! and especially in that part of the earth where men have not only the book of nature, but the written word of the God of nature, as a com- ment upon the works of it ! How monstrous for men to think it a display of wit to be able to dispute against a Deity, and a piece of gal- lantry to live above the fear of their Maker. — M. Barker. ATHEISM Confutes Itself. The being of God, or the existence of a great first Cause, is made known to us by the works of creation and providence. It is impossible that the universe could have given itself a being. The heavens could not have made themselves, nor the earth itself: for, in that case, they must have been before themselves. Their acting before their existing is impossible to reason. It is a true saying in philosophy, that operations always follow the creature's being, both as to time and the manner of working. And also, nothing is produced or brought into actual being but by some being that does actually exist. Consequently, this creation must have been brought into being by some agent that existed before it. And what can that be but God? The Carpocratians of old are said to have maintained that the world was made by angels ; but who, then, made those angels? Much less could it be made by men ; for they under- stand but little of the structure of the universe now it is reared. And how came man himself first to be ? We must have recourse to a first being ; and who can that be but ** God, who made of one blood all nations of the earth ? " It was the fond and fanciful opinion of cer- tain heathen philosophers, particularly of Epicurus, that the universe was framed by the fortuitous concourse of innumerable atoms of various forms, figures, and qualities, which from eternity danced up and down in infinite space ; that those which were heaviest fell lowest and made the earth, those that were lighter took their place above them, those which were moist coalesced into water, and those that were thin and rare into air and the superior elements. But of this opinion we need no other confutation than the exact order of everything in nature, which never could have been the result of chance or accident. This could no more happen than a house exactly built could come into such a state or frame by the casual meeting together of stones and timber. But from whence came these atoms : did they make themselves ? That is impossible ! Were they eternal ? How came they then to be changed from what they were ? for whatever is from eternity must needs be the same to eternity. — Sir Charles Wolseley. ATHEISM, The Folly of, Shown from Nature. The meanest insect we can see, the minutest and most contemptible weed we can tread upon, is really sufficient to confound atheism, and baffle all its pretensions. How much more that astonishing variety and multiplicity of God's works, with which we are continually surrounded ! Let any man survey the face of the earth, or lift up his eyes to the firmament ; let him consider the nature and instincts of brute animals, and afterwards look into the operations of his own mind : will he presume to say, or to suppose, that all the objects he meets with are nothing more than the result of unaccountable accidents and blind chance? Can he possibly conceive that such wonderful order should spring out of confusion ? or that such perfect beauty should be ever formed by the fortuitous operations of unconscious, in- active particles of matter? As well — nay, bet- ter, and more easily, might he suppose that an earthquake might happen to build towns and cities ; or the materials carried down by a flood fit themselves up without hands into a regular fleet ; for what are towns, cities, or fleets in comparison of the vast and amazing fabric of the universe ? — Dr. Balguy. I HAVE long thought that the motions of the heavenly bodies, the propagation and growth of animals and plants, the faculties of the human mind, and even the ability of moving my hand up and down, by a simple volition, afford, when deliberately reflected on, more convincing arguments against atheism than all the recondite lucubrations of the most profound philosophers. In a word, the argument for the existence of God, which is drawn from a contemplation of nature, is so clear and so strong, that the most ignorant can comprehend it, and the most learned cannot invent a bet- ter. — Bishop Watson. To study God, God's student, man, was made; To read Him as in Nature's text convey'd, NOBLE THOUGHTS IN NOBLE LANGUAGE. 49 Not as in heav'n ; but as He did descend To earth, His easier book : where to suspend And save His miracles, each little flower. And lesser fly, shows His familiar pow'r ! Sir IV. Davenant. ATHEIST Confounded. KiRCHER, the astronomer, having an acquaint- ance who denied the existence of a Supreme Being, took the following method to convince him of his error. Expecting him on a visit, he placed a handsome celestial globe in a part of the room where it could not escape the notice of his friend, who, on observing it, in- quired whence it came, and who was the maker. "It was not made by any person," said the astronomer. "That is impossible," replied the sceptic ; **you surely jest." Kircher then took occasion to reason with his friend upon his own atheistical principles, explaining to him that he had adopted this plan with a design to show him the fallacy of his scepticism. " You will not," said he, " admit that this small body originated in mere chance, and yet you contend that those heavenly bodies, to which it bears only a faint and diminutive re- semblance, came into existence without author or design. " He pursued this chain of reasoning till his friend was totally confounded, and cordially acknowledged the absurdity of his notions. ATHENS, Causes of its Decline. To the decline of Athens peculiar causes con- tributed, which I may date from the beginning of the Peloponnesian war. The country being in possession of the enemy, a rural population was crowded into the city, and either thrown out of employment or engaged in pursuits that changed and did not improve their character. Then was the old farmer glad to earn his few obols in the Helisea ; the stout yeoman became the sentinel of the garrison or the sans-culotte of the Piraeus. Then came the plague, with all its demoralizing effects ; then the calamities of the war, and the intestine commotions at its close. The wrongs suffered by the people during the interregnum of the oligarchy, and still more by the tyranny imposed by the Lacedaemonians, roused the vindictive feelings of their nature, and kept alive a restless mis- trust and jealousy against all men whom, by reason of their wealth, station, or talents, they suspected to be desirous of innovation. Peace and the Commonwealth were restored, but Athens was no longer the same. To recruit her population, thinned by the ravages of war, she had been compelled to naturalize a multi- tude of slaves and foreigners, whose admixture corrupted her blood, her manners, and her language. A love of shows, festivals, and idle pleasures impaired the courage and industry of the people. This led to the disuse of military service, and employment of mercenary troops ; the citizens remaining at home to receive fees and largesses. The Athenian never possessed the stem virtue of the ancient Roman ; still, he once had a proud spirit and a high sense of national honour. Now his pride was lowered, his energies enfeebled ; and, at the time to which I am carrying the reader, Athens tottered to her fall ; Phocion despaired of his country- men, and Demosthenes was unable to preserve them. — Kennedy. ATHENS, its Development. I AM sure when we read of what Athens did, the feeling which we shall have at the best moments of our life will not be this: "It would have been more right, that the powers which were in the mind of this people should not have been called forth," or even this, "It would have been better that they should have been called into less active exercise." Such thoughts will probably have occurred to all of us ; at times we shall have yielded to them entirely ; but I do not think it can be the con- clusion in which we at last rest, or the conclu- sion to which we have been led by the deepest sense of what is honest and true. That sense, I think, must force us to say, whatever power God has given to a man, he ought to use it, and we should do all we can that he may be able to use it. — Maurice. ATMOSPHERE at Sea. An evening atmosphere at sea is sometimes very splendid. " For half an hour before and after sunset," says the Rev. Mr. Stewart, "the whole heavens, except a quarter circle in the west, was covered by dense lowering clouds. The elevation of the unshaded was not more than fifty ; and under it, on the furthest hori- 50 NOBLE THOUGHTS IN NOBLE LANGUAGE. zon, a line and a mass of vapour extended, so greatly resembling a distant coast, that, if we had not known it to be impossible, no vision or glasses could have satisfied us that it was not the American continent. The rays of the sun, entirely shut out by the heavy canopy above, came to us only in splendid reflections from this fairy realm, and presented a succes- sion of mountains, and groves, and spires, and turrets, and towers, all in the richest colouring, and glittering with silver. Suddenly the sun burst from behind its dark drapery, and in an instant the whole mass of clouds, over and around us, was changed from the black- ness of night to the brightest crimson ; while the sea, which was before shrouded as in a funeral pall, gleamed with the mingled reflec- tions of purple and gold." ATMOSPHERE, Constitution of the. Man, forgetting how insignificant he is, and how limited his utmost knowledge, is too apt to measure Omnipotence by the standard of his own narrow intellect ; and to be guided by his own selfish feelings, in judging of the ex- tent of Divine benevolence. That the earth, a minute fraction, as it is, of a great and won- derful system, should be amenable to the general laws by which the whole system is governed, is, at the least, exceedingly pro- bable. Of such general laws, of their changes, of their aberrations, or of their influences, we, situated in this extremity of the universe, can- not see the object. What, therefore, appears to us anomalous or defective, may in reality be parts of some great cycle or series too vast to be comprehended by the human mind, and known only to beings of a higher order, or to the Creator Himself. So, again, amidst the desolation of the hurricane, or of the thunder- storm ; in the settled affliction of malaria, and in the march of the pestilence ; the goodness of the Deity is impugned — His power, even, is regarded doubtfully. But what, in truth, are all these visitations but so many examples of the "unsearchable ways" of the Almighty? "He sits on the whirlwind, and directs the storm : " a hamlet is laid waste ; a few indi- viduals may perish ; but the general result is good — the atmosphere is purified, and pesti- lence, with all its train of evils, disappears. Nay, however inscrutable the object of the deadly malaria itself, do we not see one end which it serves — namely, to stimulate the rea- soning powers and the industry of man ? By his reason man has been guided to an anti- dote beneficently adapted for his use, which has stripped malaria of half its terrors. By .his industry the marsh has been converted into fertile land, and disease has given place to salubrity. When, therefore, we duly consider all these things, when we reflect also on the number, the properties, the various conditions of the matters composing our globe, the wonder surely is, not that a few of these matters occa- sionally exist as foreign bodies in the atmo- sphere, but that others of these matters are not at all times diffused through it, and in such quantity as to be incompatible with organic life. Thus the original constitution of the atmosphere, and the preservation of its purity against all these contaminating influences, may be viewed as the strongest arguments we pos- sess in demonstration of the benevolence, the wisdom, and the omnipotence of the Deity — benevolence in having willed such a positive good ; wisdom in having contrived it ; and omnipotence in having created it, and in still upholding its existence. — Front. ATMOSPHERE, its Catholicity. The atmosphere, which we cannot see, but which we feel investing us wherever we go, whose density we can measure to a certain height, whose purity is essential to existence, whose elastic pressure on the lungs, and in and around the frame, preserves man in that noble attitude which lifts his head towards the skies, and bids him seek there an eternal home — the at- mosphere, which is neither an evaporation from earth nor sea, but a separate element bound to the globe, and punctually accompanying it in its motions round the sun — can we for a moment imagine that we are indebted for it to some fortuitous accident? If there were no atmosphere, and if we could exist without one, we should not hear the most powerful artillery discharged at the distance of a single pace ; we should be deprived of the music of the sea, the minstrelsy of the woods, of all the artificial combinations of sweet sounds, and of tlie fascinating tones of the human voice itself. We might make our wants and our feelings perceptible to each other, by signs and gesti- culations, but the tongue would be condemned to irremediable silence. The deliberations of assemblies of men, from which laws and the NOBLE THOUGHTS IN NOBLE LANGUAGE. 51 order of society have emanated, could never have taken place. The ti-ibes of mankind would wander over the earth in savage groups, incapable of civilization, and the only arts they could ever know would be those that might enable them to destroy each other. Language must be spoken before it can be represented by symbols. Without an atmo- sphere, therefore, we should have had no records, traditional or documentary, of past ages. Each generation would have had to depend upon its own experience, and the generations now arrived at maturity would have been no wiser than those which lived before the Flood. We should have had no press, no mathematics or astronomy, no elo- quence or poetry, no steamboats, railroads, or manufactures. Clothed in the skins of wild beasts, we should have sought shelter in the mountains and forests, have been incapable of preserving revelation, and have never obtained from our own intelligence any idea of the rank we fill in created being. Let any man examine the ear either of one of his fellow men or of the lower animals, and say whether it is not ex- quisitely fitted for the reception of sound, which can only be propagated through the medium of the atmosphere. Can it be doubted, then, that the ear was made for the atmosphere, or the atmosphere for the ear ? The atmosphere, immense as its volume is, surrounding the globe on all sides to the height of forty miles or more, is never in our way. W^e raise our hand and put it aside, but the fluid, from its elasticity, soon resumes its place. It diffuses and tempers the heat of different climates, circulates from the pole to the equa- tor, sustains the clouds in an expanded form, and thus equally divides their waters over the surface of the earth, and exercises an imme- diate agency in the generation and direction of the winds, which tend perpetually to i-estore the equilibrium of genial warmth and moisture. We already know that without it the ear would be useless. If there were no atmosphere, the eye also would be comparatively inefficient ; we should see nothing except objects on which the sun's rays fell directly or by reflection, dazzling the sense in either case. The atmo- sphere, by its refracting power, economizes the separate sunbeams, melting, as it were, the lines of fire into a fluid, and filling the space in which we live and move with a degree of illumination admirably tempered to the sen- sibility of the most delicate of all our organs. Thus we perceive an indissoluble connection between the ear, the eye, and all the conve- niences and refinements which, through the ministry of sound and light, society enjoys. Relations such as these, perfected by machinery the most simple, are so manifestly the results of an intelligent and beneficent power, that we must shut our ears to sound and our eyes to light before we can doubt that such a power ?>, and is Divine. — Quarterly Review. ATMOSPHEEE, its Complex Nature. If it were possible, with the bodily, as wath the mental eye, to behold the constitution of the atmosphere which surrounds our earth, we should view a compound probably the most complex in nature j for into this circum- ambient ocean of air are carried up whatever exhalations arise, not only from the earth itself, but from every organised form of matter, whether living or in a state of decomposition, that is found upon the earth's surface ; the dews of morning, the balms of evening ; the fragrance of every plant and flower; the breath and characteristic odour of every ani- mal ; the vapour invisibly arising from the surface of the whole ocean and its tributary streams ; and lastly those circumscribed and baneful effluvia, however generated, which, when confined to definite portions of the atmosphere, produce those various forms of fever which infest particular districts ; or those more awful and mysterious miasmata, which, arising in some distant region, and advancing by a slow but certain march, carry dismay and death to the inhabitants of another hemisphere. Such is the complex character of the atmo- sphere ; and, indeed, from this assemblage of vapours contained in it, it has received its peculiar appellation, being the receptacle, or magazine, as it were, of terrestrial exhalations. All these various exhalations, however, may be considered as foreign to the constitution of the air, being neither constantly nor necessarily present anywhere ; all, with the exception of that aqueous vapour which is continually rising from the surface of the earth, as well as of the ocean, and every lake and river. But in addition to this aqueous vapour, the air is also charged, to a variable extent, with light, and heat, and electricity ; of which the two first are so obviously adapted to the wants of man as to demand immediate attention. Electricity is probably of equal importance, in its relation to man ; but the true character of that relation, 52 NOBLE THOUGHTS IN NOBLE LANGUAGE. and the mysterious influence it exerts over the existence of mankind, have not yet been suffi- ciently developed to call for a distinct con- sideration on the present occasion. — Kidd. ATMOSPHERE, Its Constitution Adjusted to Animal and Vegetable Life. The air we breathe, and from which plants also derive a portion of their nourishment, consists of a mixture of oxygen and nitrogen gases, with a minute quantity of carbonic acid, and a variable proportion of watery vapour. Every hundred gallons of dry air contain about 21 gallons of oxygen and 79 of nitrogen. The carbonic acid amounts only to one gallon in 2,500, while the watery vapour in the atmo- sphere varies from i to 2\ gallons (of steam) in 1,000 gallons of common air. The oxygen in the air is necessary to the respiration of ani- mals, and to the support of combustion (burn- ing of bodies). The nitrogen serves principally to dilute the strength, so to speak, of the pure oxygen, in which gas, if unmixed, animals would live, and combustibles bum, with too great rapidity. The small quantity of carbonic acid affords an important part of their food to plants, and the watery vapour in the air aids in keeping the surfaces of animals and plants in a moist and pliant state; while, in due season, it descends also in refreshing showers, or studs the evening leaf with sparkling dew. There is a beautiful adjustment in the consti- tution of the atmosphere to the nature and necessities of living beings. The energy of the pure oxygen is tempered, yet not too much weakened, by the admixture of nitrogen. The carbonic acid, which alone is noxious to life, is mixed in so minute a proportion as to be harm- less to animals, while it is still beneficial to plants ; and when the air is overloaded with watery vapour, it is provided that it shall descend in rain. These rains at the same time serve another purpose. From the surface of the earth there are continually ascending vapours and exhalations of a more or less noxious kind ; these the rains wash out from the air, and bring back to the soil, at once purifying the atmosphere through which they descend, and refreshing and fertilizing the land on which they fall — Johnston. ATONEMENT. Respecting atonement, it is to be observed that it summarily consists in an exhibition of the righteous displeasure of God against sin, made in some other way than in the punish- ment of the sinner. The real abhorrence in which God holds the character of the sinner would be no more than truly and fully ex- pressed in his eternal punishment. It is of the utmost importance that this disposition of the Divine mind should appear in the government of God, because this is his eternal glory. Without this infinite purity and hatred of iniquity, he could not be God, be absolutely perfect. If Divine government can be ad- ministered in such a way without the punish- ment of the sinner, as properly to delineate this disposition of the Divine mind to the views of creatures, the Divine character will not suffer by the pardon of the sinner ; and in whatever way this disposition of the Divine mind be delineated, whether it be in the pun- ishment of the sinner, or in some other mode not less expressive, the ends of Divine govern- ment, in general, are answered. One great end of the coming and death of Christ was to delineate this disposition of the Divine mind, and make a full and sensible exhibition of it. In his sufferings and death, this Divine purity, and hatred of iniquity, were sensibly and gloriously expressed. In the sufferings of Christ, God gives us to see that his own infi- nite mind is full of displeasure against sinners. Christ's sufferings and death are a glass in which that character of God, which we read in the threatenings and curses of the law, may become visible and conspicuous. After all that Christ has done and suffered, if God pardons and saves the sinner for his sake, it will afford us no reason to believe that there is less aversion in the Divine mind from the cha- racter of the sinner, than the threatenings and curses of the law would naturally suggest. In this way, therefore, the honour of the law is preserved, though the sinner be saved. — West. ATTACHMENT of the Dog. Does any one doubt the reality of a dog's attachment to his master after death ? Let him take the following illustration related by Napo- leon with reference to one of his great actions in Italy, when he passed over the field of battle before the dead bodies had been interred. We quote from the "Journal of the Private Life NOBLE THOUGHTS IN NOBLE LANGUAGE. 53 and Conversations of the Emperor Napoleon at St. Helena," by the Count de las Casas : — "In the deep silence of a moonlight night (said the Emperor) a dog, leaping suddenly from the clothes of his dead master, rushed Tipon us, and then immediately returned to his hiding-place, howling piteously. He alter- nately licked his master's hand, and ran towards us ; thus at once soliciting and seeking revenge. Whether owing to my own particular turn of mind at the moment, the time, the place, or the action itself, I know not, but <;ertainly no incident on any field of battle •ever produced so deep an impression on me : I involuntarily stopped to contemplate the -•scene. This man, thought I, perhaps has friends in the camp or in his company, and here he lies forsaken by all except his dog ! What a lesson Nature here presents through the medium of an animal ! What a strange being is man ! and how mysterious are his im- pressions ! I had without emotion ordered battles which were to decide the fate of the army, I had beheld with tearless eyes the execution of those operations by which numbers of my countrymen were sacrificed, and here my feelings were roused by the mournful ho wl- ings of a dog ! Certainly at that moment I •should have been moved by a suppliant enemy, I could very well imagine Achilles surrendering •up the body of Hector at the sight of Priam's iears." ATTEMPT, a Certain Nobility in. If a man perform that which hath not been attempted before, or attempted and given over, •or hath been achieved, but not with so good circumstance, he shall purchase more honour than by affecting a matter of greater difficulty, or virtue, wherein he is but a follower. — Bacon. ATTEMPTS, First. **It will do" is a very bad saying. What draw still nearer, and the extraordinary ap- pearance is gradually but sensibly diminish- ing. At last they meet, and perhaps the man that I had taken for a monster proves to be my own brother." Happy would it be for the Christian world if the following admirable maxim, used by one of the ancient fathers, were universally adopted, and acted upon with uniform consistency: "In necessary things, unity ; in non-essentials, liberty ; in all things, charity." Candour should guide and influence our minds, in judging the actions and principles of men employed in the sphere of civil government. Those who enact or administer the laws of the land, or direct the councils of state, have a much more arduous task to perform than lookers-on generally imagine. Amidst all the complexity and difficulty of their work, justice certainly requires that their measures should be calmly canvassed and fairly represented. But political faction and violence throw away the scales of justice and the rules of equity and moderation. They see nothing but a system of tyranny, supported by a dense and i continually accumulating mass of corruption. On the other hand, there are not a few of the advocates and admirers of the dominant party who go just as far to the other extreme. These complacent politicians can find nothing wrong, nothing redundant or deficient in the machine NOBLE THOUGHTS IN NOBLE LANGUAGE. 99 of state, nothing irregular or oppressive in its workings and movements. Does candour, then, call us to give full credit to every fine flattering statement which issues from the Cabinet Coun- cil? To take apologies, declarations, and promises, without asking or expecting any comment, evidence, or pledge ? The smooth- tongued placeman will say Aye, and the fac- tious patriot. No ; but the candid man will say, I like to compare words and deeds, and care- fully discriminate, though in so doing I may offend those who are wholesale dealers in panegyric or invective. Candour should guide and govern our minds in judging the actions and motives of men engaged in the ordinary affairs of private life. In this sphere, the virtue we are now re- commending is in daily and hourly demand, and of high and incalculable value. But here also we rnust beware of counterfeits. A smooth and specious deportment, a countenance clothed with perpetual smiles, and an address distin- tinguished by gentleness and insinuation, may be assumed for selfish ends. A truly candid man is neither carried away by gloomy, ungen- erous suspicion, nor by weak, yielding credulity'; and the materials and whole constitution of his mind must be entirely changed before he could become a knave or a dupe. But the exercise and benign influence of candour in private life deserve to be more particularly noticed. A man of an upright, open, ingenuous, and amiable spirit will not suffer himself to be imposed upon by loose and idle reports raised by malice or meddling impertinence, and wafted by every wind of accident. Before he forms an unfavourable opinion of anyone, he takes care to get authentic information ; and when facts are duly sifted, and separated from dark surmises, his decision is according to evidence. He finds and readily acknowledges some good qualities in those whose general conduct he is obliged to condemn. In con- struing actions of a doubtful kind, he either suspends his judgment or leans to the favour- able side. Knowing the force and danger of party attachments and personal resentments, he guards against their insiduous influence ; and in any matter which affects the interest or character of another, feels anxious that his mind may be determined by the simple facts of the case. The spirit of candour is mild, conciliatory, and 'pleasant. It interposes to prevent many revengeful blows, and when too late to effect this purpose, heals the wounds which have been given. It breaks the bone of contention, and extinguishes the sparks of animosity ere they burst into a flame. Were candour entirely withdrawn, the social intercourse of life would be soon overflowed with hatred, rancour, and acrimony. Envy and malignity are ever busy to open new sluices, and circulate in a thou- sand secret and unobserved channels the waters of bitterness and strife. To the miti- gating and salutary influence of a candid spirit we chiefly owe the satisfaction and enjoyment which the mutual good offices of friendship and society impart. Let us, then, cherish and cultivate a temper on which so much of the peace and harmony, order and happiness, of private life depends. Candour is an eminent branch of the charity which suf- fereth long and is kind : vaunteth not itself, is not puffed up, doth not behave itself unseemly, seeketh not her own, is not easily provoked, thinketh no evil. — Evangelist. OABE, Cast it on God. The children of God have the only sweet life. The world thinks not so, rather looks on them as poor, discontented, lowering crea- tures ; but it sees not what an uncaring, truly secure life they are called to. While others are turmoiling and wrestling, each with his pro- jects and burdens for himself, and are at length crushed and sinking under them — for that is the end of all that do for themselves — the child of God goes free from the pressure of all that concerns him, it being laid over on his God. If he use his advantage, he is not racked with musings, ** Oh ! what will become of this and that ? " but goes on in the strength of his God as he may, offers up poor but sincere endea- vours to God, and is sure of one thing, that all shall be well. He lays his affairs and him- self on God, and so hath no pressing care ; no care but the care of love, how to please, how to honour his Lord. And in this, too, he de- pends on Him, both for skill and strength ; and, touching the success of things, he leaves that as none of his to be burdened with, casts it on God, and since He careth for it they need not both care. His care alone is sufficient. Hence springs peace, inconceivable peace. ** Be careful for nothing, but in everything, by prayer and supplication, with thanksgiving, let your requests be made known unto God. lOO NOBLE THOUGHTS IN NOBLE LANGUAGE, And the peace of God, which passeth all un- derstanding, shall keep your hearts and minds through Christ Jesus." — Leighton. CAEE, Providential, Universal. Taley has beautifully, and with his usual feli- city, described the unity and universality of Providential care, as extending from the con- struction of a ring of 200,000 miles' diameter, to surround the body of Saturn, and be sus- pended, like a magnificent arch above the heads of his inhabitants, to the concerting and providing an appropriate mechanism for the clasping and reclasping of the filaments in the feather of the humming-bird. The geologist descries a no less striking assemblage of curious provisions and delicate mechanisms, extending from the entire circumference of the crust of one plant to the minutest curl of the smallest fibre in each component lamina of the pen of the fossil loligo. He finds these pens uni- formly associated with the same peculiar provi- sion of an internal ink-bag, which is similarly associated with the pen of the living loligo in our actual seas ; and hence he concludes that such a union of contrivances so nicely adjusted to the wants and weaknesses of the creatures in which they occur could never have resulted from the blindness of chance, but could only have originated in the will and intention of the Creator. — Buckland. CARICATURE, Faculty of, Not to be Coveted. The great moral satirist Hogarth was once drawing in a room where many of his friends were assembled, and among them my mother. She was then a very young woman. As she stood by Hogarth, she expressed a wish to learn to draw caricature. * ' Alas, young lady, " said Hogarth, " it is not a faculty to be envied. Take my advice, and never draw caricature ; by the long practice of it, I have lost the en- joyment of beauty. I never see a face but distorted ; I never have the satisfaction to be- hold the human face divine. " "We may sup- pose that such language from Hogarth would come with great effect : his manner was very earnest, and the confession is well deserving of remembrance. — Bishop Sandford. CASTLES in the Air. The habit of castle-building, as it is called, in which so many persons are accustomed to employ their vacant and solitary hours, is yet far from being either an innocent or a safe ex- ercise of the mind. To be constantly dwell- ing on imaginary pictures of grandeur or felicity, feeding the vanity and inflaming the desires with visions of prosperity which cir- cumstances forbid us to realize, has an obvious tendency to make us restless and dissatisfied in the station assigned to us by Providence, and envious of the superior advantages of those above us. Indeed, if we look narrowly to the sources from which this habit proceeds, and the dispositions of mind with which it is connected, we shall need nothing more to con- vince us how utterly repugnant it is to the humble, self-denying, and unworldly spirit of the true Christian. For in the first place, in the great majority of cases the root from which these vain imaginations spring, the aliment on which they feed, and the fruit which they nourish to a monstrous growth, is pride. The dreams of the castle-builder are dreams of self- exaltation and self-applause : the tower which in imagination he builds up to Heaven is de- signed for his own elevation and glory. Self- flattering visions of this sort are well designated by Bishop Taylor as ''fancies of vanity, and secret whispers of the devil of pride." " Some fantastic spirits," he says, "will walk alone, and dream waking of greatnesses, of palaces, of excellent orations, full theatres, loud ap- plauses, sudden advancement, great fortunes, and so will spend an hour with imaginative pleasure ; all their employment being nothing but fumes of pride, and secret indefinite de- sires and significations of what their heart wishes. " Let the dreams of the castle-builder, how- ever, be not so immediately ministering to pride and vain-glory, upon what objects at best will they be employed, and in what di- rection will they be turned ? To riches, power, luxury, worldly pleasures, sensual enjoyments, and the like. Such are the objects on which they invariably dwell, and such are the appe- tites and affections which they must powerfully tend to stimulate and inflame. How unsuit- able, then, is such an employment Of the thoughts to one whose profession it is, and whose constant aim it ought to be to "set his affections on things above, not on things of the earth," to mortify the pride of life and NOBLE THOUGHTS IN NOBLE LANGUAGE. lOI the love of this world, and to have his con- versation in Heaven ! It is to the young espe- cially, whose ardent hopes and lively imagina- tions particularly expose them to the dangers of an unbridled exercise of the fancy, and to fond and glittering dreams of worldly prospe- rity, that the apostle addresses the emphatic warning to be sober-minded. What dispo- sition of mind can be conceived more totally opposed to that which inspires the wild visions of the castle-builder l—rophron. CATARACT. The roar of waters ! — from the headlong height Velino cleaves the wave-worn precipice ; The fall of waters ! rapid as the light The flashing mass foams, shaking the abyss ; The hell of waters ! where they howl and hiss, And boil in endless torture ; while the sweat Of their great agony, wrung out from this Their Phlegethon, curls round the rocks of jet That gird the gulf around, in pitiless horror set, And mounts in spray the skies, and thence again Returns in an unceasing shower, which round. With its unemptied cloud of gentle rain, Is an eternal April to the ground. Making it all one emerald : — how profound The gulf ! and how the giant element From rock to rock leaps with delirious bound. Crushing the cliffs, which, downward worn and rent With his fierce footsteps, yield in chasms a fear- ful vent To the broad column which rolls on, and shows More like the fountain of an infant sea Tom from the womb of mountains by the throes Of a new world, than only thus to be Parent of rivers, which flow gushingly. With many windings, through the vale : — Look back ! Lo ! where it comes like an eternity, As if to sweep down all things in its track. Charming the eye with dread, — a matchless cataract. Horribly beautiful ! but on the verge, From side to side, beneath the glittering morn. An Iris sits, amidst the infernal surge. Like hope upon a death-bed, and, unworn Its steady dyes, while all around is torn By the distracted waters, bears serene Its brilliant hues with all their beams unshorn : Resembling, 'mid the torture of the scene, Love watching Madness with unalterable mien. Byron, CATHEDRALS, Our. For my part, I am old-fashioned enough to prefer God's sanctuary to a room, and the prayers of the Church to any of recent date. They chime in with our everlasting sympathies. I love, too, with special love, an old cathe- dral : all its inspirations are heavenly ; I seem to tread on holy ground — " the pillared arches over my head, and beneath my feet the bones of the dead. " I love its " long-drawn aisles and fretted vaults ; " its clusters of arches, so like the sacred grove of the Jewish temple, and whose forms the art of man has haply borrowed from the sylvan beauties of nature. I love the subdued mellow light which streams through painted glass, where angels and archangels, and all the company of heaven, and saints and martyrs, and holy men of yore, are emblazoned in bright array. I love to worship when and where my fathers worshipped ; and to feel that every scroll, every stone, every relic of bygone days, is the outward and visible emblem of the faith once delivered to the saints, perpetuated in the Church, and through her ordained ministers appointed to be preached until time itself shall be no more. Bishop after bishop, priest after priest, lie buried in Christchurch Cathedral, Dublin ; since the earliest among them had knelt, and prayed, and blessed his flock, on the very spot, perhaps, where I then stood, I knew that a thousand years had become as one day : but the same everlasting Gospel which they preached was in my hand ; the same prayers, the same songs of praise rose up on high ; and glory was ascribed to the same Triune Jehovah, "as it was in the beginning, is now, and ever shall be, world without end. " The same apos- tolical exclamation, with which the Book of Life closes, sealed our assent to the same things — nothing added, nothing taken away. But how did that word resound in my ears ? 102 NOBLE THOUGHTS IN NOBLE LANGUAGE, Not in the unmeaning lifeless form which modern innovation has substituted for ancient practice : it rose and fell in accents loud, solemn, and universal ; accents which every voice might have responded to, every ear heard, and every heart felt to its inmost core, throughout that immense edifice. — Anon. CENSURE, a Tax. Censure, says an ingenious author, is the tax a man pays to the public for being eminent. It is a folly for an eminent man to think of escap- ing it, and a weakness to be affected with it. All the illustrious persons of antiquity, and, indeed, of every age in the world, have passed through this fiery persecution. There is no de- fence against reproach but obscurity ; it is a kind of concomitant to greatness, as satires and invectives were an essential part of a Roman triumph. — Addison. CHALLENGE Courteously Given. I NEVER in my life Did hear a challenge urged more modestly, Unless a brother should a brother dare To gentle exercise and proof of arms. Shakespeare. CHANCE Hath no Governance. In this state of universal uncertainty, where a thousand dangers hover around us, none can tell whether the good that he pursues is not evil in disguise, or whether the next step will lead him to safety or destruction ; nothing can afford any rational tranquillity but the convic- tion that, however we amuse ourselves with ideal sounds, nothing in reality is governed by chance, but that the universe is under the per- petual superintendence of Him who created it ; that our being is in the hands of omnipotent goodness, by whom what appears casual to us is directed for ends ultimately kind, and good, and merciful ; and that nothing can finally hurt him who debars not himself from the Divine favour. — Dr. Johnson. CHANGE. The wind is sweeping o'er the hill, It hath a mournful sound, As if it felt the difference Its weary wing hath found. A little while that wandering wind Swept over leaf and flower : For there was gi-een for every tree. And bloom for every hour. It wandered through the pleasant wood, And caught the dove's lone song ; And by the garden beds, and bore The rose's breath along. But hoarse and sullenly it sweeps. No rose is opening now — ■No music, for the wood-dove's nest Is vacant on the bough. Oh, human heart and wandering wind. Go look upon the past ; The likeness is the same with each, Their summer did not last. Each mourns above the things it loved — One o'er a flower and leaf; The other over hopes and joys. Whose beauty was as brief. Landon. What exhibitions various hath the world Witness'd of mutability in all That we account most durable below ! Change is the diet on which all subsist. Created changeable, and change at last Destroys them. Cowper. CHANGE, The. It was a still and solemn hour. Serene and motionless and deep — All sterner forms, and things of power. Were fled, or wrapped in quiet sleep ; The sun had sunk and left no trace Of all his bright and glorious race. There was no varying tinge of light Around the calm clear breadth of sky, And yet the dark gray hue of night Veiled nought in its obscurity ; But every fairy form was clear As the blue circle of the sphere. The hills that were around me rose Shadowless in the silent air. But lifeless things had that repose Which living things in slumber wear, A seeming consciousness of rest — A sense of being unexpressed. And while my eye upon the scene Gazed with a fixed intensity, There seemed a glowing light within. By which the ocean, earth, and sky. Things of all form and feeling shone. As Nature had unbound her zone. NOBLE THOUGHTS IN NOBLE LANGUAGE. 103 I seemed to wander thro' a wide And spacious storehouse where were placed, All things that were, before the tide Of earthly being yet had traced Upon them lines — her hand traced not, Or change had marred the harmonious plot. I saw each mighty planet roll Thro' the blue empyrean heaven, Under a seraph's glad control, To whom the glorious charge was given, His voice was blending, sweet and clear, With those that ruled the tuned sphere. I saw the elements ere joined To form this world, in crystal light Preserved apart, pure, uncombined, Their fountain orbs were sethery bright With the distinct celestial flame That gave each one its strength and name. And on the azure pavement lay, Like angel tresses, wove not yet. Those beauteous threads of light that play Around us when the sun is set, Or bind upon the heaven's high brow The broad and many-tinctured bow. And there where all those fair bright things, That seem with quicker life endued. Waving their small and golden wings. In air that not a soil embued, And all those forms of giant mould Of whom the wondrous tale is told. Rev. H. Stebbing, M.A. CHARACTER, Artificial, Defeats its own Purpose. An extensive acquaintance with strange people and countries has satisfied me completely that the assumption of an artificial character gene- rally defeats its own purpose ; as hauteur, where it does not naturally exist, is apt to be fatal to consistency, and thus destroys, or rather prevents, the establishment of confi- dence. Judging from experience alone, I would say that, in treating with the natives of countries Httle acquainted with our manners, nothing is so important as to observe the ab- sence of every kind of disguise, because the smallest discovery of inconsistency on our part is sure to be considered by them as dupli- city, whether it be so or not ; and this suspi- cion at once puts confidential intercourse out of the question. — Basil Ball. CHARACTER, Final. With that character, whether of virtue or of vice, with which a man leaves the world, with that he must appear before the judgment seat of Christ. In that moment, therefore, in which his present life ends, every man's future condition becomes irreversibly determined. In this to every one — "The coming of the Lord draweth nigh, " the Judge is at the door, let us " watch,, therefore, and pray;" watch over ourselves, and pray for the succours of God's grace, that we may be able to stand be- fore the Son of Man. Nor shall vigilance and prayer be ineffectual. On the incorrigible and perverse, — on those who mock at God's threatenings and reject His promises, — on these only the severity of wrath will fall. But for those who lay these warnings seriously to heart, who dread the pollution of the world, and flee from sin as from a serpent, who fear God's displeasure more than death, and seek His favour more than life, though much of frailty will to the last adhere to them, yet these are the objects of the Father's mercy — of the Redeemer's love. For these He died — for these He pleads ; these He supports and strengthens with His Spirit — these He shall lead triumphant with Him to the mansions of glory, when Sin and Death shall be cast into the lake of fire. — Bishop Horsley. CHARACTER, Jealousy and Suspicion Hateful in. Righteously have jealousy and suspicion been ever regarded as among the meanest and most hateful features of the human character, as features which cannot coexist with any gentle or generous feeling. And as they poi- son the heart in which they lurk, so do they not only blight the happiness, but degrade the character, of those who come under their shadow. To think and believe ill of our brethren is the very way to make them what we believe them to be. To think and believe well of them encourages them and makes them better. Your despair of them drives them also to despondence. Your hope of them fills them with hope. The one dismays them, almost as if they saw the spectre of their sins stalking abroad in the sight of the world ; the other is like the angel of their better nature, cheering them and beckoning them forward. The most conspicuous examples of this are those of such frequent occurrence in war ; where there I04 NOBLE THOUGHTS IN NOBLE LANGUAGE, is the most immediate occasion for combined energy, and where the noblest, and perhaps the most valuable, quality in the character of a general is confidence in his soldiers. Your hearts must have glowed when you heard of that heroic and sublime battle-cry, "England expects every man to do his duty." What, then, must have been its power on those who heard it, with the enemy full in sight ? The spirit that gave it could not but conquer. Well might he feel that in giving it he had done the utmost he could do ; and the shout that replied to it from the whole fleet was an instantaneous assurance of victory. This, too, was one of the victories of Faith. So will it ever ht.—Hare. CHARACTER, Literary, Too Superficial. ".Thirty years ago," says Montgomery, ** there was scarcely a poet living among us, except Cowper and Peter Pindar. There are now as many authors of volumes of verses as days in the year — we had almost said hours. The works of thirty of these may perhaps be re- membered for thirty years to come. " Had this writer, to whom the world is greatly indebted, remarked on the prose productions of "The Age," he would have alluded to their increase as equally prodigious, and to the probable con- signment of a large number of them at a very early period to oblivion. Indeed, this process of poetical and prosaic incubation, if the ex- pression may be allowed, has become general ; every one seems determined to " hatch " some- thing, emulous of giving existence, though it be to an object utterly contemptible. The extent of this disposition is apparent on glancing at the almost endless variety of vo- lumes which have issued from the press within the last few years ; it will be still more so, if we look in other directions. Even epistolary correspondence is now very different to what it once was. Common-place statement fre- quently retires to make way for sentiment, scraps of verses, and allusions, tinged with all the hues of a flower-garden ; and his circle of friends must be small, who is not sometimes doomed to read the letters of "a genius," either masculine or feminine, who cannot be taught the difference between the turgid and the beautiful, the bathos and the sublime. The fable of ** The Boys and the Frogs " often re- curs as we turn by an instinct, somewhat phlegmatic perhaps, to the editor's "notices" in our periodical literature. Often must they produce living "illustrations " of many of the characters in Collins's celebrated Ode, not ex- cepting Revenge, who, when he glanced at the Magazine cover — Impatient rose, And threw his ink-stained pen in thunder down. To read what produces such effects is amus- ing ; to imagine their influence is more so ; but, lovers of our race, we rarely wish to be- hold the reality. A publisher's private room would furnish some scenes to those who have little of " the milk of human kindness" exceed- ingly diverting. As they looked from the "loop-hole of retreat " they would see the author, who, after calling several times in vain, had the happiness to be introduced to the dis- tinguished Ijibliopolist, who, he hoped, would form a pedestal for his "monument more durable than brass. " Many instances would be beheld of the ambition of the clergyman of whom Beloe tells us (who made the calcula- tion), that as his sermon was so much admired in his own little parish it would be equally so in all parishes, and therefore insisted on having several thousands printed. Some cases would be witnessed of consternation equal to his, when he saw the sale of twenty copies deducted from an amount of more than six hundred pounds ; and let those most familiar with * ' the Row " declare, if there would be more than one or two, who, like Mr. Bowyer, to whom he applied, would print only fifty copies, make a present of them to him, and say, that he hoped it would teach him a lesson he would not easily forget. The waste-paper of pub- lished abortions would form a mountain ; but to place on it the MS. waste-paper, fully in- tended for the public eye, would be to pile " Pelion on Ossa." If sighs, and groans, and tears, have been numerous as the drops of the Thames, over productions which died as soon as they were ushered into life, the drops of the Atlantic would perhaps scarcely equal in num- ber the pangs produced by the impossibility of springing into literary existence at all. To advance a step further : while we have recently had works which would do honour to any country and any period, " light reading " has increased in a ratio so unprecedented that it cannot be regarded, in the exercise of a sound judgment, without some apprehension and re- gret. The fact that much is written which never reaches the printer, connected with what NOBLE THOUGHTS IN NOBLE LANGUAGE. 105 is equally indubitable, that much that is pub- lished is ephemeral, leads to the conclusion that the intelligence of the present day is more superficial than solid ; that it has more of glitter than of gold. The public mind acts as a mould to the press, and the press acts as a mould to the public mind. Correct the latter, and the former will be improved ; improve the former, and the latter will be corrected. Advancement in true knowledge will be attended by a dis- taste for a gay and showy ignorance ; and in proportion as the works that cherish it cease to be patronised they will cease to be produced. Cheerfully do we concede that there should be a large number of works adapted, while they afford some information, to recreate the intel- lectual powers ; our objection lies against a too general application to them. We would have them regarded as the dessert, but not as the aliment on which they should constantly feed. History, observation, and experience support us in maintaining it. The noblest spirits of past times knew that if a particle of gold might sometimes be gathered from the mountain rill, it is found in a mass beneath the surface of the earth ; and they acted accordingly. A series of ideas carefully deposited in their minds on any subject was not ** a row of whitings' eyes for pearls." When they offered intelligence to others their communications told their hearers, or readers, that they were not like a dying em- ber, which had only one spark to emit, but like the fire on pagan altars, ever diffusing its radiance. The same remarks will apply to those who follow with equal steps ; and none will ever be fitted to wear their mantle who do not fix their eyes on a high point, struggle with energy and perseverance to reach it, and even find themselves at the close of their career further from the object of desire than they imagined they were at its commencement. The men who have cast a glory over the sci- ences and literature of our country were not accustomed to think superficially, to read by '*fits and starts," or to write much "im- promptu." An opposite course makes many unlike them in the present day, and should be guarded against by all who are solicitous for the honour of their understandings and for the interests of that section of the world to which they are required to contribute. The means to be employed for securing the respect- ability and usefulness of the intellect are the same. Feebleness of mind, as the result of indolence or conceit, is discreditable, and inca- pacitates the individual for exertion ; while the intellect, stimulated by humility, and invigo- rated by effort, obtains distinction and confers benefit. Accomplishment, as it is called, is too much confounded with education. To bedeck the mind is one thing, to discipline it is another — but few remember the distinction. Until the truth of this assertion is felt v/e shall find many of the young imagining that they have passed through the whole circle of knowledge, though Sir Isaac Newton traversed but a part ; and what is more, the vanity, arrogance, and dogmatism inseparable from such a supposition will be discovered. The *' Age " in which we live wants more mental energy, and this can be obtained only as the result of more deter- mined and continued application, to which, unhappily, there appears much indisposition. One of the most eloquent and intellectual of philosophers thus urged and encouraged the efforts of his students — "In some former severe discussions like the present, I en- deavoured to extract for you some little con- solation from that very fortitude of attention which this discussion required — pointing out to you the advantages of questions of this kind in training the mind to those habits of serious thought and patient investigation which, con- sidered in their primary relation to the intel- lectual character, are of infinitely greater im- portance than the instruction which the ques- tion itself may afford, " Generosos animos labor nutrit" In the discipline of reason, as in the training of the Athletae, it is not for a single victory which it may give to the youth- ful champion that the combat is to be valued, but for that knitting of the joints and hardening of the muscles — that quickness of eye and collectedness of effort, which it is forming for the struggles of more illustrious fields. The logic of the present age, we conceive, is as defec- tive as its philosophy, if, admitting as we do this definition, that "it is the art of using reason well in our inquiries after truth, and the communica- tion of it toothers." Intelligence is, generally speaking, too miscellaneous to be on many points particular or accurate ; indistinctness and con- fusion of thought are suffered to remain in the mind, without an effort to arrive at correct and discriminating conceptions ; and conclusions are reached by any path, in haste, instead of gaining them by fair and legitimate deduction. The aim should be to gather general princi- ples on all the subjects to which the attention is directed. "There are," says Mr. Locke, " fundamental truths that lie at the bottom. io6 NOBLE THOUGHTS IN NOBLE LANGUAGE. the basis on which a great many others rest, and in which they have their consistency. There ai-e teeming truths, rich in store, with which they furnish the mind, and, like the light of heaven, are not only beautiful and entertaining in themselves, but give light and evidence to other things, that, without them, could not be seen or known. Such is that admirable discovery, that all bodies gravitate to one another, which may be counted ' the basis of natural philosophy. Our Saviour's great rule, — 'that we should love our neighbours as ourselves,' is such a fundamental truth for the regulating human society, that, I think, by that alone one might without difficulty determine all the cases and doubts in social morality. These and such as these are the truths we should endeavour to find out and store our minds with. " Improvement in these respects would operate, we conceive, a most desirable and important change. The common- place book might be smaller, but the mind would be better stored, — the imagination might have less play, but the judgment would have more exercise, — the "reading-room" might be thinly attended, but "the study" would have more of its proprietor's time, — the press might yield fewer volumes, but what it offered would be of greater worth, — the characteristics of the next "Age" might be less striking and dazzling, but they would indicate one more happy and useful than 'Ccvx^.—Beta. CHARACTER, Manifestion of. "When you see a dog following two men," says Mr. Ralph Erskine in one of his sermons, "you know not to which of them he belongs while they walk together ; but let them come to a parting road, and one go one way, and the other another way, then you will know which is the dog's master. So, at times, religion and the world go hand in hand. While a man may have the world and a religious profession too, we cannot tell which is the man's master, God or the world ; but stay till the man come to a parting road ; God calls him this way, and the world calls him that way. Well, if God be his master, he follows religion, and lets the world go ; but if the world be his master, then he follows the world and the lusts thereof, and lets God and conscience and reh- gion go." CHARACTER, The Dearest Earthly Possession. Character is the dearest earthly possession, inasmuch as it is that alone which can secure and render permanent every other. To be without character is to be without honour or friendship in our intercourse with mankind, and without principle or self-approbation in the retirement of our own bosoms. The evil feelings which lead a man to disregard his own reputation and the estimation of society at large, are precisely those which render callous every amiable disposition of his heart, and deafen him to the voice both of outward and inward applause. Yet there cannot fail to be moments in the history of such a man, when, lost and degraded as he is, the voice of former days reaches his ear in a tone of unutterable reproach, and reminds him of comfort destroyed, of character lost, of respectability forfeited, of the rise and increase of habits, both of thought and action, which have led him, step by step, to a distance from honour and happiness, which he could not once have contemplated without a shudder. And the recklessness of despair, which such reminiscences too fre- quently produces, can only be judged of by those who have witnessed the miserable wan- derer from the path of fair and virtuous fame, abandoning himself, in all the delirium of an- ticipated ruin, to pursuits which he knows will end, as they inevitably must, in utter and irremediable degradation — in moral, spiritual, eternal death. Immensely important, then, must be the cultivation of proper principles, the education of the moral character, the patient and careful watching to be maintained over the develop- ment of habits of thought and feeling, all of which, at no distant period, must operate so powerfully as ingredients in personal and rela- tive character. Self-cultivation, or the correc- tion of whatever is evil — the improvement of whatever is lovely and of good report, accord- ingly rises in importance in proportion to our views of the desirableness or necessity of at- taining and maintaining a high standard of individual excellence and of social order. These observations accordingly are offered under the impression that, while every man possesses a character (in the common accep- tation of the term) which it would be ruin to lose, — formed, however, upon no deter- minate principles, and grounded only upon the merely negative merit of his having done NOBLE THOUGHTS IN NOBLE LANGUAGE. 107 nothing to forfeit it — there is an excellence of character which can only be acquired by pa- tient and unwearied endeavour. It must be founded upon the conviction that intellectual attainments are those which can alone exalt the mind ; that pure and virtuous feelings are those which can alone adorn it ; that piety is that which can alone ennoble it ; and that the conjoined influence of these are requisite to the formation and maturity of a character which opens up the path of happiness to man on earth, and the enjoyment of higher and nobler felicity beyond the ^rave. — Anon. CHAEACTER Tested. On approaching water I had an opportunity of observing that the worst characters have least control over their appetites in cases of extreme privation. It was a standing order which I insisted on being observed when I was in Australia, that no man should quit the line of route to drink without my permission. There was one, notwithstanding, who never could in cases of extremity resist the temptation of water, and who would rush to it regardless of all consequences. Now it happened finally that this man continued to be an iiTeclaimable character, and six years after this journey he had lost all the advantages he had gained by his services on this occasion. (For the man was a convict, and had been permitted to en- counter the dangers of discovery in the interior of Australia as a means of regaining, partially at least, his freedom. ) — Mitchell. CHARACTER, Variety in Human. We have different forms assigned to us in the school of life — different gifts imparted. All is not attractive that is good. Iron is useful, though it does not sparkle like the diamond. Gold has not the fragrance of a flower. So, different persons have different modes of excel- lence, and we must have an eye to all. — Wil- berforce. CHARITY, a Quieting Virtue. What else is love, but a sweet breathing of the Holy Spirit upon our passions, whereby the Holy Ghost doth, as it did in the beginning of Genesis, move by a cherishing, quieting virtue upon the sea of our passions ? Did not the same Spirit come to Elijah in a soft whisper? He walks not in a whirlwind to raise a tem- pest in our affections. Now, when we have received this shred or portion of the Holy Spirit, which is charity, how evenly and tem- perately do we behave ourselves to God, and all the world besides ! How willingly and obediently do we submit ourselves to the per- formance of whatsoever our faith for God's word doth enjoin us ! . . . Almost all the virtues that can be named are en wrapt in one virtue of charity and love : — for "it suffereth long," and so it is longanimity ; it **is kind," and so it is courtesy ; it " vaunteth not itself," and so it is modesty; it "is not puffed up," and so it is humility ; it *' is not easily provoked," and so it is lenity ; it " thinketh no evil," and so it is simplicity ; it *' rejoiceth in the truth," and so it is verity ; it * ' beareth all things, " and so it is fortitude ; it ** believeth all things," and so it is faith; it **hopeth all things," and so it is confidence; it "endureth all things," and so it is patience; it "never faileth," and so it is perseverance. — Chilling- worth. CHARITY, a Debt of Mercy and Pity. There is a debt of mercy and pity, of charity and compassion, of relief and succour, due to human nature, and payable from one man to another ; and such as deny to pay it the dis- tressed in the time of their abundance may justly expect it will be denied themselves in a time of want. " With what measure you mete " (in acts of charity as well as acts of justice), " it shall be measured to you again." Biirkitt. CHARITY: Christ our Example. I HAVE learned from Jesus Christ himself what charity is, and how we ought to practise it ; for he says, " By this shall all men know that ye are my disciples, if ye love one another. " Never can I, therefore, please myself in the hope that I may obtain the name of a servant of Christ, if I possess not a true and unfeigned charity within me. — St. Basil. CHARITY, Definition of. Charity is the love of God for himself, and the love of man for the love of God, which is best shown by helping him forward in the way io8 NOBLE THOUGHTS IN NOBLE LANGUAGE, of his salvation. No man loves God who does not love his neighbour ; nor can any love his neighbour truly who does not first love God. Charity gives perfection to the will, as faith does to the understanding. Faith begets charity, and charity increases faith, which without charity will go out, as a lamp that has no oil. By sin faith is darkened, and by de- grees totally extinguished. Faith increased renders charity vigorous ; faith is the root ; the works of charity are the branches bearing fruit ; and the branches can bear no fruit but so far only as the root supplies them with sap. Without this they dry up and are withered. Without these, man is all sin, or has nothing towards salvation. — Elenchus Mat. Theol. CHARITY Endureth. Knowledge shall fail, and prophecy shall cease : Yea, constant faith and holy hope shall die, One lost in certainty, and one in joy ; While thou, more happy power, fair Charity, Triumphant sister, greatest of the three. Thy office and thy nature still the same. Lasting thy lamp, and unconsumed thy flame. Still shalt survive : Shalt stand before the host of heaven confest. For ever blessing, and for ever blest ! — Prior. CHARITY from the Love of Jesus. Think not you are charitable if the love of Jesus and His brethren be not purely the motive of your gifts. Alas ! you might not give your superfluities, but ** bestow all your goods to feed the poor ; " you might even *' give your body to be burned for them," and yet be utterly destitute of charity, if self-seek- ing, self-pleasing, or self-ends guide you ; and guide you they must, until " the love of God be by the Holy Ghost shed abroad in your heart. " — Haweis. CHARITY, Necessity of. It is the bent of the basest and most worthless spirits to be busy in the search and discovery of others' failings, passing by all that is com- mendable and imitable. But the more excel- lent mind of a real Christian loves not unne- cessarily to touch— no, nor to look upon them — ^but rather turns away. Such never un- cover their brother's sores but to cure them, and no more than is necessary for that end. They would willingly have them hid, that neither they nor others might see them. Con- sider thou often that love which covers thine, that blood which was shed to wash off thy guilt. — Abp. Leighton. CHARITY resteth not on Fortune. It is not in everybody's power, because he has not a fortune answerable to it, to form a standing habit of charity, by redressing the injured, relieving the distressed, and cherish- ing men of merit ; but it is in everybody's power to beget in himself this lovely disposi- tion of mind, by studying to adjust his temper to theirs with whom he lives, by complying with their humours as far as he innocently can, by soothing their distresses, bearing with their infirmities, and by incommoding himself in some points to gratify others. On the con- trary, the indulgence of an occasional fit of ill- humour paves the way to an habitually bad temper. And to those who think it a small matter, Solon's answer is a very just one : "Yes, but custom is a great one." Did we consider seriously that as often as we are exerting a spirit of needless contradiction, or venting an ill-natured wit to mortify those about us, we are cherishing a principle of ill- will, the very temper of the damned, it would, it is to be hoped, put some stop to this prac- tice. But here the misfortune lies : men are more ambitious to display the abilities of the head than to cultivate the good qualities of the heart. Though the latter are in every- body's power, the former few have any title to. — Seed. CHARITY, Thoughts on. Nothing seems much clearer than the natural direction of charity. Would we but all relieve, according to the measure of our means, those objects immediately within the range of our personal knowledge, how much of the worst evils of poverty might be alleviated ! Very poor people, who are known to us to have been honest, decent, and industrious, when industry was in their power, have a claim on us, founded on that our knowledge, and on vicinity and neighbourhood, which have in themselves something sacred and endearing to every good NOBLE THOUGHTS IN NOBLE LANGUAGE. 109 heart One cannot, surely, always pass by, in his walks for health, restoration, or delight, the lone way -side beggar, without occasionally giving him an alms. Old, care-worn, pale, drooping, and emaciated creatures, who pass us by without looking beseechingly at us, or even lifting their eyes from the ground, cannot often be met with without exciting an interest in us for their silent and unobtrusive sufferings or privations. A hovel here and there, round and about our own comfortable dwelling, at- tracts our eyes by some peculiar appearance of penury, and we look in now and then upon its inmates, cheering their cold gloom with some small benefaction. These are duties all men owe to distress ; they are easily discharged, and even such tender mercies as these are twice blessed. — Professor Wilson. CHARITY, To be Inculcated in Childliood. Children should be inured as early as pos- sible to acts of charity and mercy. Constantine, as soon as his son could write, employed his hand in signing pardons, and delighted in con- veying through his mouth all the favours he granted. A noble introduction to sovereignty, which is instituted for the happiness of man- kind. — Jortin. CHARITY to Man. Man is God's image : but a poor man is Christ's stamp to boot. Both images regard. God reckons for him ; coimts the favour His. Write ** So much given to God." Thou shalt be heard. Let thy alms go before, and keep heaven's gate Open for thee ; or both may come too late. Herbert. CHARITY to One Another. Above all things have fervent love one to an- other, for love will make you pardon a multi- tude of faults in each other, whereby in your present persecuted state ye will be the more disposed to assist each other. — Macknight. Whoever would entitle himself after death, through the merits of his Redeemer, to the noblest of rewards, let him serve God through- out life in this most excellent of all duties, doing good to our brethren. Whoever is sensible of his offences, let him take this way especially of evidencing his repentance. — Abp. Seeker, CHARITY, True. The drjring up a single tear has more Of honest fame, than shedding seas of gore. Byron, CHASTENING, from God. When we, for drinking in iniquity like water, had deserved to drink of the cup of fury to the bottom, dregs and aU, God maketh us but sip a little overflow of this very brim ; and when He might in justice lash us with scorpions. He doth but scourge us with rushes. — Bp. Sander- son. The apostle saith, ** He receiveth none but whom He scourgeth. " This (the present life) is the time of scourging, and the time to come is the time of rest, ease, and bliss. And surely it is a great token that we be in the favour of God, when he doth scourge us, and trieth and fineth us like gold in the fire, whilst we be in this world : as contrary, it is a great token of His indignation towards us, to suffer us, living evil, to continue in prosperity, and to have all things after our will and pleasure, and never to trouble us or punish us with adversity. — A Necessary Doctrine^ cr»f., 1543. My soul shall cry to Thee, O Lord ! To Thee, supreme incarnate Word ! My rock and fortress, shield and friend ; Creator, Saviour, source, and end ! Yea, Thou wilt hear thy servant's prayer. Though death and darkness speak despair. Bowdler. The chastenings of Heaven if properly em- ployed will prove inestimable blessings ; and though in health and prosperity we may not, and perhaps should not, have the same kind of seriousness which is brought on by God's visitations, it would be well if we were at all times to act imder the influence of the feelings which calamity inspired, and put in practice the resolutions formed in the season of adver- sity. For the warnings of Heaven, whatever be their nature, we are answerable ; they, too, are talents ; and unless we improve them, we shall be counted unprofitable servants. — Bp. Jebb. no NOBLE THOUGHTS IN NOBLE LANGUAGE. CHASTENING, its Necessity. The light would never be so acceptable were it not for that usual intercourse of darkness. Too much honey doth turn to gall, and too much joy, even spiritual, would make us wanton. . . . God will have them that shall walk in light to feel now and then what it is to sit in ** the shadow of death." — Hooker. CHASE, the, Pathetically Described. At first in speed He, sprightly, puts his faith ; and, roused by fear. Gives all his swift aerial soul to flight. Fleeter than the winds He bursts the thickets, glances through the glades. And plunges deep into the wildest wood. Oft in the full descending flood he tries To lose the scent, and lave his burning sides : Oft seeks the herd ; the watchful herd, alarmed. With selfish care, avoid a brother's woe. What shall he do ? His once so vivid nerves. So full of buoyant spirit, now no more Inspire the course ; but fainting, breathless toil, Sick, seizes on his heart ; he stands at bay, And puts his last weak refuge in despair. The big round tears run down his dappled face. He groans in anguish, while the growling pack. Blood-happy, hang at his fair jutting chest. And mark his beauteous chequered sides with gore. Thomson. CHEERFULNESS, A Preparation for Gratitude. The cheerfulness of heart which springs up in us from the survey of Nature's works is an admirable preparation for gratitude. The mind has gone a great way towards praise and thanksgiving that is filled with such secret gladness. A grateful reflection on the supreme cause who produces it sanctifies it in the soul, and gives it its proper value. Such an habitual disposition of mind consecrates every field and wood, turns an ordinary walk into a morning or evening sacrifice, and will improve those transient gleams of joy which naturally brighten up and refresh the soul on such occa- sions into an inviolable and perpetual state of bliss and happiness. — Addison. CHEERFULNESS, Peculiar to Man. Cheerfulness, which is a quality peculiar to man — a brute being capable only of enjoy- ment — opens, like spring, all the blossoms of the inward man. Try for a single day, I beseech you, to preserve yourself in an easy and cheerful frame of mind ; be but for one day, instead of a fire- worshipper of passion and hell, the sun-worshipper of clear self- possession, and compare the day in which you have rooted out the weed of dissatisfaction with that on which you have suffered it to grow up, and you will find your heart open to every good motive, your life strengthened, and your breast armed with a panoply against every trick of fate ; truly you will wonder at your own improvement. — J. P. Richter. CHEERFULNESS, Suggestive of Harmony. Cheerfulness and a festival spirit fills the soul full of harmony. It composes music for churches and hearts ; it makes and publishes glorifications of God; it produces thankful- ness, and serves the ends of charity ; and when the oil of gladness runs over, it makes bright and tall emissions of light and holy fires, reaching up to a cloud, and making joy round about. And, therefore, since it is so innocent, and may be so pious and full of holy advan- tage, whatsoever can innocently minister to this holy joy does set forward the work of religion and charity. — Jeremy Taylor. CHILDHOOD, its Confiding Love. And thou, my boy ! that silent at my knee Dost lift to mine thy soft, dark, earnest eyes, Fill'd with the love of childhood, which I see Pure through its depths, a thing without disguise ; Thou that hast breathed in slumber on my breast. When I have check'd its throbs to give thee rest ; Mine own ! whose young thoughts fresh before me rise ! Is it not much that I may guide thy prayer. And circle thy glad soul with free and health- ful air ? NOBLE THOUGHTS IN NOBLE LANGUAGE. Ill Why should I weep on thy bright head, my boy? Within thy father's halls thou wilt not dwell, Nor lift their banner, with a warrior's joy, Amidst the sons of mountain chiefs, who fell For Spain of old. Yet what if rolling waves Have borne us far from our ancestral graves ? Thou shalt not feel thy bursting heart rebel As mine hath done ; nor bear what I have borne. Casting in falsehood's mould the indignant brow of scorn. Hemans. CHILDHOOD, its Innocence. I REMEMBER, I remember The fir-trees dark and high, I used to think their tiny tops Were close against the sky : It was a childish ignorance, But now 'tis little joy. To know I'm farther off from heaven Than when I was a boy. T. Hood. CHILDHOOD, Virtuous, a Good Life Ensues. Where a virtuous and a godly childhood goeth before, there a godly and virtuous age follows after, Bp. Jewell. CHILDEEN at the Sea-side. So many children are brought down to our watering-place that when they are not out of doors, as they usually are in fine weather, it is wonderful where they are put ; the whole village seeming much too small to hold them under cover. In the afternoons you see no end of salt and sandy little boots drying on upper window-sills. At bathing-time in the morning the little bay re-echoes with every shrill variety of shriek and splash — after which, if the weather be at all fresh, the sands teem with small blue-mottled legs. The sands are the children's great resort. They cluster there like ants : so busy burying their particular friends, and making castles with infinite labour, which the next tide over- throws, that it is curious to consider how their play, in the music of the sea, foreshadows the realities of their after lives. It is curious, too, to observe a natural ease of approach that there seems to be between the children and the boatmen. They mutually make acquaintance, and take individual likings without any help. You will come upon one of those slow, heavy fellows sitting down patiently mending a little ship for a mite of a boy, whom he could crush to death by throw- ing his lightest pair of trousers on him. You will be sensible of the oddest contrast between the smooth little creature and the rough man who seems to be carved out of hard-grained wood — between the delicate hand expectantly held out, and the immense thumb and finger, that can hardly feel the rigging of thread they mend — between the small voice and the gruff growl — and yet there is a natural propriety in the companionship, always to be noted in confidence between a child and a person who has any merit of reality and genuineness, which is admirably pleasant. — Dickens. CHILDREN, the. When the lessons and tasks are all ended. And the school for the day is dismissed. And the little ones gather around me. To bid me "good-night " and be kissed ; Oh the little white arms that encircle My neck in a tender embrace ; Oh the smiles that are halos of heaven. Shedding sunshine of love on my face. And when they are gone I sit dreaming Of my childhood too lovely to last ; Of love that my heart will remember. While it wakes to the pulse of the past, Ere the world and its wickedness made me A partner of sorrow and sin ; When the glory of God was about me. And the glory of gladness within. O, my heart grows weak as a woman's, And the fountains of feeling will flow. When I think of the paths steep and stony, Where the feet of the dear ones must go ; Of the mountains of sin hanging o'er them, Of the tempest of fate blowing wild ; O, there's nothing on earth half so holy As the innocent heart of a child. They are idols of hearts and of households ; They are angels of God in disguise ; His sunlight still sleeps in their tresses ; His glory still gleams in their eyes. Oh those truants from home and from heaven. They have made me more manly and mild, And I know now how Jesus could liken The Kingdom of God to a child. 112 NOBLE THOUGHTS IN NOBLE LANGUAGE. I ask not a life for the dear ones, All radiant, as others have done ; But that life may have just enough shadow To temper the glare of the sun ; I would pray God to guard them from evil. But my prayer would bound back to myself ; Oh a seraph may pray for a sinner, But a sinner must pray for himself. The twig is so easily bended, I have banished the nile and the rod ; I have taught them the goodness of knowledge. They have taught me the wisdom of God. My heart is a dungeon of darkness. Where I shut them from breaking a rule ; My frown is sufficient correction ; My love is the law of the school. I shall leave the old house in the autumn, To traverse its threshold no more ; Ah ! how I shall sigh for the dear ones That mustered each morn at the door ! I shall miss the '* good nights " and the kisses, And the gush of their innocent glee. The group on the green, and the flowers That are brought every morning to me. I shall miss them at morn and at eve, Their song in the school and the street ; I shall miss the low hum of their voices, And the tramp of their delicate feet. When the lessons and tasks are all ended. And Death says *' The school is dismissed !" May the little ones gather around me, To bid me ** good night " and be kissed. Dickens. CHILDREN, Consolation for the Loss of. Better that the light cloud should fade away into Heaven with the morning breath, than travail through the weary day to gather in dark- ness, and end in storm ! — Bulwer. CHILDREN Instrumental as Instructors. I HAVE lately seen a plan adopted which I think likely to prove useful, and well calculated to counteract, in a measure, the disadvantages to which boys at day-schools are exposed from the indifferent characters of many of their parents. A supply of cards is provided, containing each one short text, proverb, or short fact in geography, natural history, natural philosophy, or domestic economy ; and I think that short spelling-lessons and easy lessons in language might be included. A different card is lent to each child every evening, to be brought back the next morning, when some account of its contents is required. Great ad- vantage might accrue from thus enabling our poorer families to accumulate, as it were by morsels, accurate information on various sub- jects. I am persuaded that the parents, on meeting their children after the day's work, would soon become as anxious to inquire about the evening's lesson as the children would be to exhibit it. The proverb, or text, or fact, would often be the means of enlivening their frugal meal by the rational conversation arising out of it. Thus the suitableness of the moral lesson to the peculiar circumstances of the family might afford great though indirect bene- fit. At the same time the facts relating to heat, the properties of substances, &c, , would awaken intelligent interests either in the or- dinary domestic operations or in the employ- ment of the family. — Mrs. Tuchjield. CHILDREN, Not to be Enervated by too much Aid. The instinctive love of self-preservation in children amongst the highe r classes is seldom so active as in those who are less objects of care and solicitude ; because, being accustomed to depend on the watchfulness of others, they lose that quick perception of danger which is as natural to infants as it is to animals. The eagerness for knowledge also, which is born with all children, becomes surfeited by over-indulgence, and enervated by too much aid. But the curiosity of young people should be excited on all useful subjects, and ought to receive such assistance as shall encourage their own minds to work out the rest. — Sinclair. CHILDREN, Responsibility of. They incur the guilt of an impious robber or thief, who take not the greatest pains to bring up and form those they have consecrated by baptism to the Lord Christ, to the obedience of Christ. For by this neglect, as much as in them lies, they again rob God of the children they gave up to him, and betray and enslave them to the devil. — Bucer, NOBLE THOUGHTS IN NOBLE LANGUAGE. "3 CHILDREN Soften and Humanize. Of all sights which can soften and humanize the heart of man, there is none that ought so surely to reach it as that of innocent children enjoying the happiness which is their proper and natural portion. — Southey. CHILDREN, The Very Centre of Loving Instinct. It is a happy instinct which enables us to value these little prizes so highly, and a curious thing to reflect, as we stumble through the parks, knee deep in children, that there is not one little unit in those diminutive millions that has not (God bless it !) a circle of admiring rela- tives, to whom it is the prettiest, the dearest, the cleverest, in fact, the only child that was ever worth a thought. — Woman's Thoughts. I CHILDREN, Treatment of. Lord Burghley gives the following advice to his son concerning the treatment of children : — *' Bring thy children up in learning and obedi- ence, yet without outward austerity. Praise them openly, reprehend them secretly. Give them good countenance, and convenient main- tenance, according to thy ability, otherwise thy life will seem their bondage, and what portion thou shalt leave them at thy death they will thank death for it and not thee. And I am persuaded that the foolish cockering of some parents, and the over-stem carriage of others causeth more men and women to take to evil courses than their own vicious incli- nations. Marry thy daughters in time, lest they marry themselves." As to the sons, Lord Burghley disapproves of sending them to travel, at least he would not have them cross the Alps : he says, "If by travel they get a few broken languages, that shall profit them no- thing more than to have one meat served in divers dishes." In point of fact, however, travel is good, or evil, or neither, according to the degree in which the traveller has been pre- viously prepared to turn to good account, or bad account, or no account at all, the oppor- timities which travel oflfers. Lord Burghley then expresses a strong opinion against train- ing up sons to a warlike profession ; and adds on this point, '* It is a science no longer in re- quest than use ; for soldiers in peace are like chimneys in summer. " CHILD'S Thoughts about a Star. There was one dear charming star that used to come out in the sky before the rest, near the church-spire, above the graves. It was larger and more beautiful, they thought, than all the others. And every night they watched for it, standing hand in hand at a window. Whoever saw it first cried out, " I see the star !" And often they cried out both together, knowing so well when it would rise, and where. So they grew to be such friends with it, that, before lying down in their beds, they always looked out once again, to bid it good night; and when they were turning round to sleep, they used to say, ** God bless the star !" But while she was still very young, oh ! very, very young, the sister drooped, and came to be so weak that she could no longer stand in the window at night ; and then the child looked sadly out by himself, and when he saw the star, turned round and said to the patient pale face on the bed, •* I see the star !" and then a smile would come upon the face, and a little weak voice used to say, **God bless my brother and the star !" And so the time came all too soon ! when the child looked out alone, and when there was no face on the bed ; and when there was a little grave among the graves, not there before ; and then the star made long rays down towards him, as he saw it through his tears. Now, these rays were so bright, and they seemed to make such a shining way from earth to heaven, that when the child went to his solitary bed he dreamed about the star; and dreamed that, lying where he was, he saw a train of people taken up that sparkling road by angels. And the star, opening, showed him a great world of light, where many more such angels waited to receive them. All these angels who were waiting turned their beam- ing eyes upon the people who were carried up into the star ; and some came out from the long rows in which they stood, and fell upon the people's necks, and kissed them tenderly, and went away with them down avenues of light, and were so happy in their company, that lying on his bed he wept for joy. But there were many angels who did not go with them, and among them one he knew. The patient face that once had lain upon the bed was glorified and radiant, but his heart found out his sister among all the host His sister's angel lingered near the entrance of the star, and said to the leader among those who had brought the people thither : "Is my brother 114 NOBLE THOUGHTS IN NOBLE LANGUAGE, come?" And he said, ** No." She vras turn- ing hopefully away, when the child stretched out his arms, and cried, "O, sister, I am here! Take me !" and then she turned her beaming eyes upon him, and it was night ; and the star was shining into the room, making long rays down towards him as he saw it through his tears. From that time forth, the child looked out upon the star as on the home he was to go to, when his time should come ; and he thought that he did not belong to the earth alone, but to the star too, because of his sister's angel gone before. — Dickens. CHRIST a Shield. As long as you continue out of Christ the Devil is omnipotent against you ; but once united to Him, and you may regard Satan as a conquered enemy ; you are placed beneath the cover of that shield from which the fiery darts of the wicked one fall harmless and in- nocuous. Even when temptations are at the worst, when every faculty of your soul seems in league with the tempter, still cling to the Redeemer with mighty prayer ; and, weak and helpless though you be. He will fulfil His pro- mise, and make you more than conqueror, for His own sake who loved you. So shall you be enabled, at the last, to tak6 up the trium- phant song of the redeemed, ** We overcame by the_blood of the Lamb."— ^. Blunt. CHRIST. A Sketch of the Character of Jesus. I CONFESS that the majesty of the Scriptures astonishes me ; that the sanctity of the Gospel speaks to my heart. View the books of the philosophers with all their pomp — what a littleness have they when compared with this ! Is it possible that a book at once so sublime and simple should be the work of men ? Is it possible that he whose history it records should be himself a mere man? Is this the style of an enthusiast or of an ambitious sec- tary? What sweetness, what purity, in his manners ; what affecting grace in his instruc- tions ; what elevation in his maxims ; what profound wisdom in his discourses ; what pre- sence of mind, what delicacy, and what just- ness in his replies ; what empire of his pas- sions ! Where is the man, where is the philosopher, who knows how to act, to suffer, and to die, without weakness and without ostentation ? When Plato paints his imagi- nary just man, covered with all the ignominy of guilt, and deserving all the honours of vir- tue, he paints Jesus Christ in every stroke of his pencil. The resemblance is so strong that all the Fathers have perceived it, and that it is not possible to mistake it. What preju- dices, what blindness, must they have, who dare to draw a comparison between the son of Sophroniscus and the son of Mary ! What distance is there between one and the other ! As Socrates died without pain and without disgrace, he found no difficulty in supporting his character to the end ; and, if this easy death had not shed a lustre on his life, we might have doubted whether Socrates, with all his genius, was anything but a sophist. They say that he invented morality. Others before him had practised it : he only said what they had done ; he only read lessons on their examples. Aristides had been just before So- crates explained the nature, of justice ; Leo- nidas had died for his country before Socrates made it the duty of men to love their country ; Sparta had been temperate before Socrates praised temperance ; Greece had abounded in virtuous men before he defined virtue. But where could Jesus have taken among his coun- trymen that elevated and pure morality of which he alone furnished both the precepts and the example? The most lofty wisdom was heard from the bosom of the most furious fanaticism ; and the simplicity of the most heroic virtues honoured the vilest of all people. The death of Socrates, serenely philosophising with his friends, is the most gentle that one can desire ; that of Jesus expiring in torments, injured, derided, reviled by a whole people, is the most horrible that one can fear. When Socrates takes the poisoned cup he blesses him who presents it, and who at the same time weeps ; Jesus, in the midst of a horrid punish- ment, prays for his enraged executioners. Yes : if the life and death of Socrates are those of a philosopher, the life and death of Jesus Christ are those of a God. Shall we say that the history of the Gospel is invented at pleasure ? My friend, it is not thus that men invent ; and the actions of Socrates, concerning which no one doubts, are less attested than those of Jesus Christ. After all, this is shifting the difficulty instead of solving it ; for it would be more inconceivable that a number of men should forge this book in concert than that NOBLE THOUGHTS IN NOBLE LANGUAGE, lis one should furnish the subject of it. Jewish authors would never have devised such a man- ner, and such morality ; and the Gospel has characters of truth so great, so striking, so perfectly inimitable, that its inventor would be still more astonishing than its hero. — Rousseau. CHRIST, His Intercession. O Lamb of God ! before thy wounds I bow ; Not where thine image hangs, but where thy throne Rises above all heavens ; even there, where thou Unceasing intercedest for thine own : To me, unworthy, may such grace be shown To bear thy cross and passion on my soul, Dead unto sin and self ; and let no part Unmortified remain, but be the whole A sacrifice to thee ; and let thy smart, Thy "unknown agony," thy tears, thy pain. Thy stripes, thy shame, thy wounds, thy death, transfuse Their hidden virtue that the soul renews, Till all my sins with thee be crucified and slain. British Magazine. CHBIST Inductive to the Father. What becomes of all this dismay and confu- sion of spirit when we look upon the Father and know Him only through the Son ? Where is our dread, and where our failure of heart, when we behold in the form of a brother Him who was the only -begotten of the Father, the express image of the invisible God? Yes : the fulness of the Divine Grace and truth hath shone upon us ; but it hath shone upon us in the mild aspect of a human countenance ; it hath spoken to us with a human voice ; it hath even wept human tears, and hath felt and suffered, if we may so speak, with a human heart. All the tenderest emotions of earth, and all the most exalted attributes of Heaven, seem to have made a blessed league for our consolation. — Lebas. CHRIST, Meekness and Gentleness of. Those who have minutely studied the cha- racter of the Saviour (as the grand and lovely features of it were called forth during his abode in our world), will find it difficult to determine whether there is most to admire or to imitate in it — there is so much of both. Many features in his character are, indeed, inimitable in any degree. We can neither copy the authority of his omnipotence nor im- bibe the spirit of his omniscience ; he must stand alone on the sea of Tiberias calming the tempest, and at the sepulchre of Bethany raising the dead, and thus tread all the field of miracles, as he trod the wine-press of the wrath of God ; for of the people there can be none with him. The Nathaniels must be content to pray under their fig trees undis- covered by human eyes, and many may be devils at the sacramental table without being detected by the officiating minister ; for the gift of "discerning spirits," and the power of working miracles, died with the Apostles, and resides now only in the person of Christ. In the higher walks of his life, it is, there- fore, equally useless and unnecessary to pro- pose the example of the Saviour as a model for imitation, or as furnishing maxims for our conduct in life ; there we can only admire and adore, without the least hope of acquiring any resemblance to his miraculous excellen- ces. But far different is the state of the case in regard to the virtues of his character and the spirit of his miracles, for our ordinary actions may be done in the temper of his mighty works, and the every-day duties of life and godliness may be discharged in the same disposition which led him to heal the sick and raise the dead. If, therefore, we cannot say to our buried Lazaruses, "Come forth," we can cherish the tenderness which * ' wept " at the tomb. If we cannot rebuke fever in a house, we can soothe the family by sympa- thizing attentions. If we cannot turn water into wine, we can be thankful for a cup of cold water, and administer it in love, when we have nothing better to take or give, and thus have the spirit, although not the splendour of the Saviour's actions, running through and irradiating our own doings. In regard to our relative duties, nothing ex- traordinary is expected from us. No bereaved mother looks to us for the restoration of her only son from the bier, nor any suffering friend for health. All that they calculate upon or expect is cordial sympathy and fervent prayer, so that the spirit of Christ's miracles will fully meet all relative desires. Now, what was the spirit that distinguished the benevolent actions of the Saviour? Not ostentation, for he wished to hide some of his ii6 NOBLE THOUGHTS IN NOBLE LANGUAGE. mightiest works ; not partiality, for his kind- ness was as general as it was generous ; not caprice, for he was uniformly accessible to all ranks, and, like the sun, rose every day of his ministry upon the dark world in light and warmth. His temper could be calculated upon to a certainty, at all times and under all circumstances, and those who had been charmed by his gracious words and gentle manners on the Mount of Olives were sure when they left his feet to find on their return the same looks of love on his face and the same law of kindness on his lips. So uniform was he in his whole character while on earth that the apostolic boast was, "Jesus Christ, the same yesterday, to-day, and for ever !" Now, the mild and lovely character of the Saviour may be, and ought to be, employed, both as an encouragement to come unto him for salvation, and as an example to be copied by all who have committed their souls into his hands. It is an encouragement to apply to him for salvation. For it is not by the death of Christ only that we learn his willingness to save unto the uttermost ; that, indeed, places his good will towards man beyond all reason- able doubt, because no greater proof of it could be given than dying that we might live. Demonstration can go no farther, but the same conclusion may be fairly drawn from the uniform meekness and gentleness of his cha- racter. These form the steady daylight of his love to man, as his sufferings and death are that love "shining in the greatness of its strength." Indeed, he intended the sweetness of his temper and the suavity of his manners to illustrate and exemplify both the genius of his Gospel and the loving-kindness of God. Hence the explicit assurance, ** He that hath seen me hath seen the Father also. " We are therefore warranted to apply unto God and the Lamb as freely as the mothers of Israel brought their infants to be blessed, as freely as the friends of the sick brought them to be healed, as freely as the publicans and sinners came to sit at Jesus' feet. And if we would not hesitate, were he on earth, to present our infants to him for his blessing, we need not hesitate to venture our souls upon his atoning blood. His heart is as open to welcome now as his arms were then. Give him, my soul, thy cause to plead, Nor doubt the Father's grace. But his character is intended also, and should be employed as an example to copy. The meekness and gentleness of Christ are as binding in their practical authority as they are encouraging in their benevolent aspect. They are not, however, so much imitated as they are admired, but rather complimented than copied. Indeed, there are heavy complaints and charges current against many of the avowed followers of Christ. It is thought and said that in the present day they are not charac- terised by meekness nor gentleness. They ought to be like the cherubim upon the ancient mercy-seat, of the same metal and polish as the propitiatory which they stand upon ; and if in general they are not so, it is imperative on your journal, as well as the pulpit, both to expose and improve the wrong spirit and the wrong manners of the age, that all who have been " cast in the mould of the Gospel " may be polished as well as moulded. Now, without joining issue with the sweep- ing charges just referred to, it must be acknowledged that some of the avowed fol- lowers of Christ are unamiable both in their spirit and deportment. Some of them are consequential, and others capricious ; some reserved, and others morose ; some irritable, and others peevish ; some rash, and others captious. These things ought not to be. But still, whilst we deplore and condemn them as unchristian, we ought to bear in mind how much worse the persons chargeable with them must have been if they had no religion ; for if they are disagreeable, notwithstanding all the restraints of conscience, they must have been intolerable without them. As a good man once said of his wife when a neighbour won- dered how he could bear her unhappy temper, * ' I keep thinking how much worse it would be if she had no grace." And the fact is, it is with some minds as with some fields — there are thorns and briars in them even after much pains have been taken to cultivate the soil ; and although this cannot be too deeply lamented, we must not forget what the soil would have been without cultivation. It is not intended by these remarks to pal- liate, or apologize for, wrong tempers, but simply to present the case in all its bearings and aspects. It ought, therefore, to be stated explicitly that it is the difficulty of conquering them rather than reluctance to relinquish them, which keeps so many serious persons in bond- age to bad tempers. They have tried to overcome them, and failed ; and, therefore, they are tempted to invent, or avail themselves of excuses for what seems, in their case, un- conquerable. But the fallacy of these excuses NOBLE THOUGHTS IN NOBLE LANGUAGE. 117 is demonstrable, and ought to be demonstrated to all professed Christians, that they may not have recourse to them, either openly or se- cretly. Some excuse their bad tempers upon the plea that they are constitutional or natural. But if this were a valid excuse for any wrong temper, it would be so for any vice, and might be employed to palliate lust, intemperance, and revenge ; for the slaves of these vile pas- sions find them equally constitutional ; — if that could justify them. We ought, therefore, to be exceedingly cautious how we sanction a maxim which may be interpreted in behalf of any sin ; for although we may want it only to excuse a failing, others may employ it to excuse a gross fault. It is certain, however, that some tempera- ments are naturally sweeter than others, and that some persons, without any effort, can be both meeker and gentler than others who make great efforts to "rule their spirit." Immense differences in this respect are discernible in the same family, and show themselves in chil- dren before temper can be an acquired habit of the mind. Now this obvious truth may be allowed to have all the weight, both as fact and argument, which any one, who has not 3. selfish purpose to answer, can desire ; but what then? If the natural temper of my mind be irritable, or peevish, or capricious, the Gospel is able and intended to subdue it, — demands its subjugation to the "mind of •Christ ; " insists upon it as an essential part of Christian character. Unless, therefore, I watch and pray against the besetting sin of my spirit, my professed allegiance to Christ is mere pretence, whatever reliance upon him I may avow. — Evangelist. CHRIST, the Last Hope. What gentle voice is that which soothes my sleep ? Who comes to seek where I in exile dwell ? Whose hand is that, in my abasement deep. That lifts, and guides, and tempts me from my cell ? Oh ! 'twas that very hand unloos'd the chains, That bound my tottering steps in earliest years ! The very voice that solac'd infant plaints, And said, "My little one, dismiss thy tears !" No, thou art not estranged and pass'd away ! Thou dost descend from thy immortal skies ; And 'midst the fleeting vapours, light as they, Thine image mingles with the evening ray, And my eye follows as I see thee rise ! The fair illusion vanishes in vain ; I suffer, but I hope and daily wait That hour, when, springing from earth's power- ful chain, I shall behold thee in thy happiest state j In those bright heavens where each enraptured soul Burns like the incense on an altar's fires ; In realms where holy love of life's the whole, And each in each the mutual flame inspires ! F. A. Cox, LL.D. CHRIST, the Sufferings of. Not only were Christ's sufferings for those that neither deserved nor sought after deliverance, but for those that were enemies : * ' When we were enemies, we were reconciled to God by the death of his son," Rom. v. 10. " And you that were sometimes alienated, and enemies in your mind by wicked works, yet now hath he reconciled, " Col. i. 2 1. And the enmity was so perfect, that it corrupted the best habits of our minds, and turned them into an abstracted kind of enmity. The very wisdom of the flesh is earthly, sensual, and devilish, James iii. 15 ; so that there was not only in our nature an absence of any good that might move God to do anything for us, and an absence of that life which might be solicitous for itself; but there was a positive malignity in our nature against that God who should pardon ; against that Christ who should atone ; against that grace and Spirit who should sanctify. We were ac- tuated with those vile affections and lusts that looked upon a Saviour with no less aversion and spite than those devils did that cried out of the possessed man, * * Art thou come to tor- ment us before our time ? " And yet for these, and such as these, our Saviour died. Nay, some of those who had actually joined to shed his blood found the efficacy of that very blood which they shed, Heb. xii. 24, not crying for revenge against them, but mercy for them, and healing those who had cruelly spilt it. The efficacy of that blessed prayer of his, " Father forgive them, they know not what they do," within some few months after his death did first wound their hearts with a sense of their ii8 NOBLE THOUGHTS IN NOBLE LANGUAGE. guilt, and then healed them by the application of his blood, Acts, ii. 23, Z'].—Sir M. Hale. CHRISTIAN Energy. The new creature is not as a lifeless engine, as a clock or watch, or ship, where every part must be set in order by the heart and hand of man, and so kept and used : but it is like the frame of our own nature, even like man, who is a living engine, where every part is set in its place and ordered by the Crea- tor, and hath in itself a living and harmoni- cal principle, which disposeth it to action, and to regular action, and is so to be kept in order and daily exercise by ourselves, as yet to be principally ordered and actuated by the Spirit which is the principal cause. — Baxter. CHRISTIAN, His True Greatness, Charity. Ask St. Paul what it is that makes a Christian to be a great man. He will tell you that it is neither any natural accomplishment, nor any preternatural gift, but Charity. It is Charity alone that makes a man great ; and the reason is this, that the excellence of all things and of all persons is measured by their utility. He who doth the most good is the greatest man. Power, authority, dignity, honours, wealth, and station, these are so far valuable as they put it into the hands of men to be more exemplary and more useful than they could be in an obscure and private life. But then these are means conducing to an end, and that end is goodness. — Jortin. CHRISTIANITY, FuU of Grace. It is a refiner as well as a purifier of the heart; it imparts correctness of perception, delicacy of sentiment, and all those nicer shades of thought and feeling which constitute elegance of mind. Why, then, should piety and in- elegance be associated? or, why should an absence of the graceful characterise religious persons so often, that awkwardness, and even vulgarity, are regarded by many as the usual concomitants of extraordinary seriousness? — Mrs. John Sanford. CHRISTIANITY, The Very Essence of Truth. It is the truth divine, speaking to our whole being : occupying, calling into action, and satisfying man's eveiy faculty, supplying the minutest wants of his being, and speak- ing in one and the same moment to his reason, his conscience, and his heart. It is the light of reason, the life of the heart, and the strength of the will. — Pierre. CHRISTIANITY, its Exalting Influence. There was never found in any age of the world, either philosophy, or sect, or religion, or law, or discipline, which did so highly exalt the good of communion, and depress good private and particular, as the holy Chris- tian faith : whence it clearly appears that it was one and the same God that gave the Chris- tian law to men, who gave those laws of nature to the creatures, — Bacon. CHRISTIANITY, Its Truth and Importance. Nothing is more common than to hear men excuse their indifference or inattention to re- ligion, by alleging the vast variety of opin- ions on the subject as an insuperable obstacle. They affect to believe nothing but the im- possibility of coming to any fixed belief or certainty ; fear to take one step of inquiry, lest they should get into an intricate maze without a clue to guide them, or plunge in a dark labyrinth, from which they can find no egress. But does not a variety of opinions pre- vail on every topic which occupies the thoughts and interests the passions of man ? Are clash- ing sentiments and thorny controversies con- fined to theology ? Are they not found in the regions of science and literature, law and civil policy, trade and commerce ? Such questions admit but of one answer, and of course pre- clude debate. We ask then, again, is ignorance better than knowledge, or anarchy better than government and good order, because men dif- fer about the best modes of acquiring and com- municating the one, of establishing and main- taining the other ? Are the hungry to refuse food, or the sick medicine, because physicians are not agreed as to the rules of diet, and the fittest methods of removing disease ? It must be acknowledged, that it is chiefly in matters NOBLE THOUGHTS IN NOBLE LANGUAGE. 19 which touch their future and immortal inter- ests that men seize any pretext to give them- selves up to scepticism and careless indifference. The numerous errors which have sprung up and spread abroad in the world should render us more earnest and unwearied in the search of truth. The religion of Christ is the only re- ligion which will stand the test of a strict and thorough examination. There we find firm footing for our faith, ample satisfaction for our reason, and objects fitted to engage the best affections of the heart. In pointing out the various kinds of evidence by which Christianity is sustained and recommended, a large field of discussion opens, but we must be content in this paper merely to glance at the fulfilment of prophecies, the attestation of miracles, the character of the apostles, and the success which attended their ministry'. Christ foretold that his disciples should be brought before rulers and kings — should be bitterly reviled and persecuted for his name's sake. Scarcely had they commenced their mission, and their arduous work, before they found his words verified. We cannot read that interesting portion of sacred history, the Acts of the Apostles, without being forcibly struck with the very remarkable accomplish- ment of Our Lord's predictions, in the treat- ment met by his servants. He who perfectly knew all hearts and all events had so graphi- cally sketched their course, and the calamities attending it, that, however tried and buffeted, they were not surprised. If we turn our at- tention to the predictions of the New Testa- ment in general, and compare them with the records of history, they will furnish evidence in favour of Christianity, which cannot easily be resisted. Who can contemplate the ruin and overthrow of Jerusalem — the total and long-continued dispersion of the Jews — the rise, reign, and decline of Antichrist, without being convinced that those who so accurately foretold these events, must have spoken and written under the immediate inspiration of that God who seeth the end from the beginning, and calleth the things which are not as though they were ? Some of the facts here referred to, particularly the present state of the seed of Abraham, and the distinctive character of Popish tjnranny and Mahometan delusion, have often drawn concessions from men little dis- posed to give the subject all the serious con- sideration it demands. When Jesus Christ sent forth his servants to preach the Gospel, he gave them power to work signs and wonders, to confirm it. After Peter and John had healed the poor cripple at the gate of the temple, who had been forty years in that helpless state, how did fear, envy, hatred, and malice rouse and agitate the chief priests and rulers of the Jews ! The Apostles were imprisoned for the first time, but their bitterest enemies could neither conceal nor sup- press the fact, with which they were so galled and vexed. *' For that indeed," say they, ** a notable miracle hath been wrought by them, is manifest to all that dwell in Jerusalem, and we cannot deny it." But this was only the opening scene, the commencement of a series of most extraordinary events. The miracles wrought by the Apostles, whether considered in their nature and object, or in the publicity and open daylight in which they were per- formed, bear no resemblance to the low tricks and juggling artifices of impostures. Demons fled, diseases vanished, and even Death resigned his prey and his prisoners, at their word. These miracles were the stamp and signature of heaven added to the doctrine of the Gospel. The hand of Omnipotence thus set a seal to the truth, which nothing but wilful blindness and obduracy could gainsay or resist. Nor is the character of the Evangelists and Apostles a point of small consequence in this inquiry. The witnesses and ministers of Christ were men of tried integrity, of eminent disin- terestedness, and of heroic fortitude. We be- hold in them no appearance of artful policy arid latent craft; but a noble simplicity, an in- genuous frankness, runs through all their words and actions. They never aspired after earthly possessions and honours, but cheerfully sacri- ficed everything dear in this world, rather than renounce the cause of Christ. It is impossible not to admire that singular union of meekness and magnanimity which they displayed in the presence of judges and kings, when called to repel the cruel and unjust accusations of their enemies. The far-famed sages of Greece and Rome exhibit no such mild suavity, such calm constancy, such true greatness of mind and dignity of character as these humble fishermen of Galilee evinced. The success which attended the labours of the Apostles carries in it a strong evidence in favour of Christianity. The Gospel spread with astonishing rapidity, xmaided by the wealth, the learning, the policy, and the power of the world ; nay, with all these combined against it, how did it surmount the strongest barriers and bulwarks of superstition, disperse NOBLE THOUGHTS IN NOBLE LANGUAGE. the thickest clouds of ignorance and prejudice, and overlurn the most rooted and inveterate systems of idolatry ! How did it reclaim the wanderer, purify the sensualist, and raise the gloomy savage to refinement and benevolence ! How did it prostrate pride, subdue lust, ex- tinguish malice and revenge ! Gamaliel, in the great Jewish council, though surrounded by blind bigots and rancorous tyrants, dis- played much good sense and candour, when he pleaded that forl:)earance might be shown towards the Apostles, " For if, " said he, " this council, or this work be of men, it will come to nought ; but if it be of God, ye cannot overthrow it ; lest haply ye be found even to fight against God." Let the sound reasoning of Gamaliel be viewed in the light of experi- ence, and referred to the test of facts. We have seen that this council and work is of God. Ten thousand times opposed in every way which human ingenuity or infernal malice could contrive, it remains invincible. As we live at a time when infidelity, with brazen brow and envenomed tongue, has dared to repeat unnumbered stale cavils and horrid blasphemies, I may be permitted to invite the reader's attention to this deeply-interesting subject. Young people especially ought to be early established in the knowledge and faith of our holy religion. It is not enough to embrace Christianity as a national and hereditary form ; to yield that sort of vague deference to the Bible which the Hindoos give to the Shaster, or the Mahometans to the Koran. We wish our rising youth to prove the solidity of the principles they espouse, and to be duly armed against the subtilty of the sceptic, the in- fidelity of unbelievers and atheists, and the ribaldry of the scoffer. We assure them that the sacred edifice of revelation will lose nothing by being examined, for its very outworks are impregnable, and the treasure within is above all price. The holy Scriptures have descended to us, accompanied with a mass of evidence which defies the arguments and assaults of infi- delity. Whether we consider the unimpeach- able character of the sacred penmen, the har- mony and consistency of their testimony, the attestation of numerous stupendous and most beneficent miracles, the accomplishment of prophecies, continuing down to our own age, and consequently growing more full and splen- did, as the stream of time in its progress accu- mulates events, or the success of a religion opposed to all the corrupt propensities and evil habits of mankind ; we are by all these trains of thought and processes of reason led to the same triumphant conclusion. And the same candid and patient investiga- tion which satisfies the mind of the truth of Christianity tends to impress us with a sense of its unutterable importance. All the disco- veries of philosophy, and all the admired pro- ducts of genius, and art, and taste, are light as chaff, worthless as dross, compared with the precious truths and blessings of the Gospel. Here, and here only, is the fountain of life opened, and the charter of heavenly liberty displayed; here freedom and peace flow through the channel of Divine promises, into the ardent thirsting soul of the devout penitent ; here hope catches a glimpse of immortality, and joy a kindling glow, that fills and animates the heart. The moment we see the truth of Chris- tianity, we are chargeable with the grossest inconsistency if we yield not to its transform- ing and benign influence. A nominal and national religion, a system of forms and cere- monies, and decencies, which leaves the con- science unawakened, and the heart unrenewed, will be of no advantage to us. When once the value and importance of Christianity are truly felt, everything will become subordinate to the welfare of the immortal soul. And ex- perience will then demonstrate the justice of what apostolic authority has affirmed, "That godliness is profitable unto all things, having a promise of the life that now is, and of that which is to come." — R. CHRISTIANITY, True Spirit of. There is not a more effectual way to revive the true spirit of Christianity in the world than seriously to meditate on what we com- monly call the four last things ; Death, Judg- ment, Heaven, and Hell ; for it is morally impossible men should live such careless lives, should so wholly devote themselves to this world and the service of their lusts, should either cast off the fear of God and all reverence for his laws, or satisfy themselves with some cold and formal devotions, were they possessed with a warm and constant sense of these things. For what manner of men ought we to be, who know that we must shortly die, and come to judgment, and receive according to what we have done in this world, whether it be good or evil, either eternal rewards in the kingdom of heaven, or eternal punishments with the devil and his angels. — Sherlock. NOBLE THOUGHTS IN NOBLE LANGUAGE. 121 CHRISTIAN Warfare. Soldier, go — but not to claim Mouldering spoils of earth-born treasure, Not to build a vaunting name. Not to dwell in tents of pleasure. Dream not that the way is smooth, Hope not that the thorns are roses ; Turn no wishful eye of youth Where the sunny beam reposes ; — Thou hast sterner work to do, Hosts to cut thy passage through : Close behind thee gulfs are burning — Forward ! — there is no returning. Soldier, rest — but not for thee Spreads the world her downy pillow ; On the rock thy couch must be, While around thee chafes the billow : Thine must be a watchful sleep, Wearier than another's waking ; Such a charge as thou dost keep Brooks no moment of forsaking. Sleep, as on the battle-field, Girded — grasping sword and shield : Those thou canst not name nor number Steal upon thy broken slumber. Soldier, rise — the war is done : Lo, the hosts of hell are flying ; 'Twas thy Lord the battle won ; Jesus vanquished them by dying. Pass the stream — before thee lies All the conquered land of glory ; Hark ! — what songs of rapture rise, These proclaim the victor's story. Soldier, lay thy weapons down, Quit the sword, and take the crown ; Triumph ! all thy foes are banished. Death is slain, and earth has vanished, Charlotte Elizabeth. CHRISTIANS, the Early, Their Joyfulness. Oh what cheerfulness, strength, and pleasure <3id the primitive Christians reap from the unity of their hearts in the way and worship of God ! Next to the delight of immediate com- munion with God himself, there is none like that which arises from the harmonious exercise of the graces of the saints, in their^ mutual duties and communion one with another. How are their spirits delighted and refreshed by it ! What a lively emblem is there of heaven ! — Flavel. CHRIST'S Commission to the Apostles. Our Lord's commission to the apostles for preaching the gospel was extensive as the human species. The middle wall of partition between Jews and Gentiles being demolished, those first ministers of Christ were not only permitted, but required, as Providence gave opportunity, to proclaim the glad tidings wherever they came, without any exception of nations, of rank, or of character. The pre- rogatives connected with carnal descent from Abraham, the covenant made at Sinai, and the Mosaic economy, being all abolished, those ambassadors of Heaven were commanded to publish pardon, and proclaim peace through Jesus Christ, by faith in his blood, among all nations, beginning at Jerusalem. — Booth. CHRISTMAS Eve. The days of childish bustle and turmoil were past. The anxiously-expected and dreaded day of school examination was over, and the deep and troubled stirring of the heart which it had occasioned was hushed to rest. And though the strivings and emulation which had racked my bosom to obtain honour on that day had not been in vain, and I had borne away the wished-for prize from the field of competition, I was not happy. The feelings of intense anxiety which had stung me to un- usual exertion had sunk into listless apathy, and left me the victim of the most distressing languor. 1 well remember the day before our annual family meeting that year — I awoke with the sun, and looked out upon the de- lightful prospect from my chamber window, covered with a beautiful hoar-frost. Nature seemed to be arising, like a hoary-headed pil- grim, to pursue the toils of the day. A thick mist rolled along the valley, which forms a bed for the picturesque and winding Trent. The village which gave me birth was dimly visible beyond it. I could just recognize the neat whitewashed house, with its back to the river, and the adjoining garden, where my feet trod the first step on their pilgrimage through the wilderness. Memoiy was busy with departed hours. Eyes that had smiled upon my entrance into the world were now for ever closed in death. The thoughts that crowded upon me were in unison with the tone of my feelings ; and long and bitterly did I weep. The hours of that day, though cheated by 122 NOBLE THOUGHTS IN NOBLE LANGUAGE, frequent references to my favourite authors, and diversified by frequent ramblings round the adjacent fields, passed slowly and heavily away. I could not have accounted for the dejection that pressed upon my spirits : it was involuntary but powerful, and I was perhaps but too much inclined from my earliest years to cherish dark and melancholy thoughts. Towards evening I became nervous and wretched ; I again put Cowper into my pocket, and wandered forth in search of some object, which, if it did not lighten my spirits of all their load, might at least dissipate some of those thoughts which had made me the victim of e7iiiui and despondency. Insensibly my thoughts flowed into a smoother channel. The particular season recurred to my mind with a force and interest which roused me to reflection, and induced a train of pleasing thoughts and associations, which divested pleasure of the gloom which had enshrouded it, and presented it to the warm eye of imagi- nation, **a living and a breathing form of light." The stars above me were the same which had echoed back the song of salvation that rung over the fields of Bethlehem. The moon, walking in her brightness, was the same which then heralded the rising of the Sun of Righteousness. These were they which had witnessed the sojourn of the Redeemer upon earth, which had shone over him in the wilder- ness, which had heard his midnight supplica- tions, which, like him, had been obscured for a season in the darkness of the grave, to burst forth with renewed effulgence and additional glory. And years and ages had passed away since the great work was accomplished ; yet, like them, the salvation of Israel has not di- minished in splendour, or been sullied in its brightness, — yea, it shall outlive all these, gathering lustre in its path, till it becomes a sun which *' shall not go down," in the king- dom of eternal joy. Evening had deepened into darkness before I returned from my walk. My heart had risen to a degree of real and sensible pleasure, which more than compensated for the misery of the day. A turn of the road brought music to my ear. It came from a neighbouring hill, where a few children were raising their simple song, in commemoration of the advent of our Lord. The words I could not distinguish, — the music, sweet, but unembellished, breathed of hope and happiness. Their song died away slowly on the ear of the evening, and, as the last note swelled with a "Hallelujah !" I could not help thinking that it was the re- verberation of that cry, *' Hosannah ! Blessed is he that cometh in the name of the Lord ! " — if it were not the first note of that song which shall crown the completion of our brightest hopes in the land of peace — *' Bless- ing and honour and glory and power be unto Him that sitteth upon the throne, and unto the lamb for ever ! " — M. CHRISTMAS Meeting. On rolled suns and seasons — the old died — the elderly became old — and the young, one after another, were wafted joyously away on the wings of hope, like birds, almost as soon as they can fly, ungratefully forsaking their nests, and the groves in whose safe shadows they first essayed their pinions ; or like pinnaces, after having for a few days trimmed their snow-white sails in the land-locked bay, close to whose shores of silvery sand had grown the trees that fur- nished timber both for hull and mast, slip their tiny cables on some summer-day, and gathering every breeze that blows, go dancing over the waves in sunshine, and melt far off" into the main ! Or, haply, some were like fair young trees, transplanted during no favourable season, and never to take root in another soil, but soon leaf and branch to wither beneath the tropic sun, and die almost unheeded by those who knew not how beautiful they were beneath the dews and mists of their own native clime. Vain images ! and therefore chosen by fancy not too painfully to touch the heart ! For some hearts grow cold and forbidding in selfish cares — some, warm as ever in their own gener- ous glow, were touched by the chill of fortune's frowns, that are even worse to bear when sud- denly succeeding her smiles — some, to rid them- selves of painful regrets, took refuge in forget- fulness, and closed their eyes to the past — duty banished some abroad, and duty imprisoned some at home— estrangements there were, at first unconscious and unintended, yet, ere long, though causeless, complete — changes were wrought insensibly, invisibly, even in the in- nermost nature of those who had been friends — unrequited love broke some bonds — requited love relaxed others — the death of one altered the coiiditions of many — and so — year after year — the Christmas meeting was interrupted — deferred — till finally it ceased. For when some things cease — for a time — that time turns out to be for ever. Survivors of those happy NOBLE THOUGHTS IN NOBLE LANGUAGE. 123 circles ! wherever ye be — should these imper- fect remembrances of days of old, chance, in some thoughtful pause of life's busy turmoil, for a moment to meet your eyes, let there be a few throbs of revived affection in your hearts — for his, though "absent long, and distant far," has never been utterly forgetful of the friend- ships that charmed his youth. To be parted in body is not to be estranged in soul — and many a dream — and many a vision, sacred to nature's best affections, may pass before the mind of one whose lips are silent. "Out of sight out of mind" is rather the expression of a doubt — of a fear — than of a belief or convic- tion. The soul surely has eyes that can see the object it loves, through all intervening darkness — and of those more especially dear it keeps within itself almost undimmed images, on which, when they know it not, think it not, believe it not, it often loves to gaze, as on a relic imperishable as it is hallowed. — Christmas Dreams. CHURCH, Bom to Suffer. It belongs in truth to the Church of God to suffer blows, not to strike them. But at the same time let it be remembered that the Church is an anvil which has worn out many a ham- mer. — Beza. CHURCH, God's Glory in the. The Church of Christ is the house of Christ ; for he hath "builded the house," and is as a "Son over his own house, whose house are we ;" and, as a wise man, he hath built his house upon a rock, and what is so built shall not fall . . . This is the congregation of those persons here on earth which shall hereafter meet in heaven. These are the vessels of the Tabernacle, carried up and down, at last to be translated into, and fixed in, the Temple. — Bj>. Pearson. CHURCH, its Extensive Influence. Get upon a hill, if you can find one, in Suffolk or Norfolk ; and you may find plenty in Hampshire, and Wiltshire, and Devonshire ; look at the steeples, one in every four square miles at the most, on an average. Imagine a man of some learning, at the least, to be living in a commodious house, by the side of one of these steeples ; almost always with a wife and family ; always with servants, natives of the parish, gardener, groom, and all other servants. A huge farmyard ; barns, stables, thrashers, a carter or two, more or less glebe, and of farming. Imagine this gentleman having an interest in the productiveness of every field in his parish, being probably the largest corn-seller in the parish, and the largest rate-payer ; more deeply interested than any other man can possibly be in the happiness, morals, industry, and sobriety of the people of his parish. Imagine his innumerable occasions of doing acts of kindness, his immense power in pre- venting the strong from oppressing the weak ; his salutary influence coming between the hard farmer, if there be one in his parish, and the feeble or simple-minded labourer. Imagine all this to exist, close alongside of every one of those steeples, and you will at once say to your- self, "Hurricanes or earthquakes must de- stroy this island before that church can be overset." And when you add to all this, that this gentleman, besides the example of good manners, of mildness, and of justice, that his life and conversation are constantly keeping him before the eyes of his parishioners ; when you add to all this, that one day in every week he has them assembled together to sit in silence, to receive his advice, his admonitions, his in- terpretations of the will of God, as applicable to their conduct and their affairs, and that too, in an edifice rendered sacred in their eyes, from their knowing that their forefathers assem- bled there in ages long passed, and from its being surrounded by the graves of their kin- dred, when this is added, and when it is also recollected that the children pass through his hands at their baptism : that it is he who cele- brates the marriages, and performs the last sad service over the graves of the dead : when you think of all this, it is too much to believe it possible that such a church can fall. — Cobbett. The total number of benefices, or, more properly, separate incumbencies in this country, is about 10,700; the number of church places of worship within these districts is considerably greater. In each of these places is heard the sound of the Sabbath -bell, reminding all that hear it of the return of God's holy day, and inviting them to his house of prayer. Doubt- less, there are many persons who discover nothing attractive in the sound, nothing holy in the work to which it calls them. But to a large body of our countrymen the door of that 124 NOBLE THOUGHTS IN NOBLE LANGUAGE. house is not opened in vain ; and multitudes of them are led thither every week to listen to the glad tidings of the Gospel, and to unite in the services of Christian worship. Can any sensible man question, as it respects the popu- lation generally, the mighty effects of these weekly associations, and these regular means of grace ? Can it be doubted that a vast in- fluence is thus everywhere at work, operating beneficially upon the moral feelings and cha- racter of the people at large ? Can any deno- mination of men truly say, " We are not the better for it " l—Dr. Dealtry. CHURCH of Christ. The strength of a branch is not derived from itself, but from the virtue of the parent stem. And so the Christian, weak in himself, is strong in the strength of Christ ; he can do all things, bear all things, hope all things, suffer all things, "through Christ who strengtheneth him. " For the stock to which the disciple be- longs is a corrupted stock, condemned before God, producing evil fruit ; and the end of such trees is to be burned : * ' every tree that bringeth not forth good fruit is hewn down and cast into the fire." But the branches which are grafted in Christ do not perish ; they bring forth the fruits of the Spirit here on earth, and hereafter God removes them, and transplants them into His heavenly kingdom • . . Every soul, therefore, must be a branch grafted into Him, that it may live and flourish for ever in His vineyard. — Bp. J. B. Sumner. CHURCH, One only Catholic. We believe that there is one Church of God, catholic and universal, and dispersed through- out the whole world. . . . This Church is the kingdom, the body, the spouse of Christ ; Christ alone is the Prince of this kingdom ; Christ alone is the head of this body ; Christ alone is the Bridegroom of this spouse. — Bj>. Jewell. CHURCH, Romish. We have only departed from that church which may err ; which Christ, who cannot err, so long since foretold should err ; and which we see clearly with our eyes has departed from the holy fathers, the apostles, Christ himself, and the primitive and catholic Church. . . We have brought back religion, which was foully neglected and depraved by them, to her ori- ginal and first state. — Bp. Jezvell. CHURCH, the True. I HAVE said oft, and have given warning, and again shall give warning, that to be the true Church of Christ which retaineth the doctrine of the Son of God and his ceremonies, nor swcrveth from them any whit ; this Church Christ never forsaketh : with this he doth par- ticipate the gifts of His Spirit and virtues. This Church is the pillar and stable founda- tion of truth, because in it soundeth the voice of the Son of God. . . Christ is her head, from whom into all the body, in manner as oil did from the head of Aaron, life, justice, wisdom, peace, health, floweth and springeth. —Archd. Philpot. How can two or three be gathered together in Christ's name who are manifestly separate from Christ and His Gospel? . . . He is not "with them;" but He is with the single- hearted ; with them that live in peace, fearing Him, and keeping His commandments. Yea, with these, though but two or three, He hath said, He is. — St. Cyprian. CHURCH, The True, Departure from Heretical. Though the Popish hypocrites succeed Christ and His apostles, and have their Scripture, yet they be fallen from the faith and living of them. And we depart from them unto the true Scrip- ture, and unto the faith and living thereof, and rebuke them in like manner. And as they which depart from the faith of the true Church are heretics, even so they that depart from the church of heretics . . . are the true Church ; which thou shalt always know by their faith examined by the Scripture and their profession, and consent to live according unto the laws of (:iO^. — Tyndale. CHURCHYARD. Quite round the pile, a row of reverend elms, Coeval near with that, all ragged show. Long lash'd by the rude winds ; some rift half down NOBLE THOUGHTS IN NOBLE LANGUAGE. 125 Their branchless tnmks ; others so thin at top, That scarce two crows could lodge in the same tree. Blair. Beneath those rugged elms, that yew tree's shade, "Where heaves the turf in many a mould'ring heap. Each in his narrow cell for ever laid. The rude forefathers of the hamlet sleep. Gray. CHURCHYARDS, Thoughts on. I AM fond of churchyards. I love to wander amid the graven stones, or to sit and meditate in the midst, as it were, of those who have reached that bourne to which myself and all around me are hastening. I am of the poet's opinion, that the contemplative mind, Exempt from public haunt. Finds tongues in trees, books in the running brooks. Sermons in stones, and good in every thing. It will be at once seen that I do not refer to those crowded burial-places which are to be found in cities and large towns, and which from their situation echo to the constant din of traffic, and the roar and ribaldry of dissipa- tion, conveying to the mind the idea of a mere warehouse for the reception of human carcasses, rather than the sacred sanctuary of our departed fellow- creatures. No, I allude to those green and secluded spots, where — Each in his narrow cell for ever laid. The rude forefathers of the hamlet sleep, to those peaceful enclosures within which the mind may devote itself to uninterrupted con- templation. What a pensive pleasure have I frequently experienced in the still summer evening, on arriving at one of these sacred depositories, when all was silent and repose, and I felt that the place was indeed dedicated to the de- parted ; when the sounds of occupation that reached me from a distance did not disturb, but harmonized with, the scene around me. I remember on a recent occasion of this kind, after having made a short pause, seated on the stile of the churchyard, I directed my eyes towards the little village through which I had passed in my way thither, but which was now hid from me by the foliage of the intervening trees, with the exception of two or three small cottages which made their appearance between them. In passing through it, I had beheld cheerful-looking cottages and farm-houses, mantled with honeysuckle or clematis, whose odoriferous flowers were scenting the evening air ; while the thin gray columns of smoke that rose into the unclouded sky informed me that the early supper of the husbandman was preparing. The villagers, returned home from the labour of the day, were chatting in little groups around the door ; and the reflec- tion rushed in upon me that these houses were once the residence of those who mouldered be- neath me ; that these individuals were their sons and grandsons ; and could I resist pursu- ing the reflection further, and looking forward to that approaching period when these habita- tions shall be the dwelling-places of another generation — when these cheerful and healthy rustics shall be "gathered unto their fathers'* beneath the earth on which I then stood ? "What I most dislike are the inscriptions on the tombstones, which are usually calculated to mar that solemnity of feeling which the silent eloquence of the graves themselves has inspired. If they informed us merely of the name, era, and pursuits of the deceased, and, where anything of moment attached to him, of that also, they would be pleasing and instruc- tive records ; but there is usually added some rugged or ludicrous attempt at poetry or igno- rant perversion of Scripture, which is generally silly, and frequently blasphemous. There are exceptions to these remarks, but they are ex- ceptions. I very much admire the churchyards in "Wales ; there is a neatness and cleanliness in the graves themselves, and an appearance of reverence and care in their preservation, which is very pleasing, and which is but rarely met with in England. I shall never forget my visit to Cathedral, in South Wales. It is a very ancient Catholic building, partly in ruins ; but one portion of it, the rents in which have been repaired in a style of archi- tecture more recent and much less gorgeous, is now the Protestant chiu-ch ; but its oaken pews and pulpit afford evidence that it is by no means modem. I observed some statues still retaining the human form, but worn per- fectly plain by age ; and many of the Protest- ant inscriptions were illegible. Out of doors, too, were tombstones of every intermediate date, from a very early period to that present year. "What a peacemaker, I thought, is the grave ! Here have been interred the wily monk, the self-torturing devotee, and a hun- dred victims of a bigoted and superstitious creed. They have mouldered, and their dust 126 NOBLE THOUGHTS IN NOBLE LANGUAGE. has been dug up to form graves for their here- tical successors ! How would they have shrunk with horror could they have foreseen this sacrilegious innovation? Yet the grass springs as greenly ; the daisies are as nume- rous and as vigorous ; the rosemary smells as sweetly ; and the sun shines as brightly on the whole, as if they had never existed — as if the years in which they lived had no record in the annals of time. I was quite captivated by that beautiful churchyard ; it is screened on two sides by trees ; from a third are beheld fields of waving com ; and to the very edge of the fourth ex- tend the little orchards of the peasantry, filled with fruit trees, which were thickly tenanted by birds, and over the tops of which the cot- tage chimneys were just visible. I stayed during the whole of the morning, and then de- parted unwillingly, although I had many miles to travel. I was not disturbed, excepting now and then by a little female peasant crossing the path, with her short home-spun gown, bare feet, and a head either bare or covered with a hat similar in shape to those worn by men — an interruption which only rendered the scene more impressive. I noticed one grave par- ticularly ; it was that of a young man who had died two or three years previously ; it was so neatly railed round, the rosemary was so pret- tily trimmed, the weeds were so carefully ex- cluded—surely, thought I, these are the traces of a sister's hand, or perhaps of that of some hapless maiden who was about to be united to him by a tie still closer and more en- dearing ! It may be a weakness, but I should wish to be buried in a spot such as that in which I passed those few delightful hours. — Ano7t. CIRCUMSTANCES. Circumstances are the rulers of the weak ; they are but the instruments of the wise.— Lover. CITIES, Importance of. If the history of cities and of their influence on their respective territories be deducted from the history of humanity, the narrative remain- ing would be, as we suspect, of no very attrac- tive description. In such case, the kind of picture which human society must everywhere have presented would be such as we see in the condition, from the earliest time, of the wan- dering hordes of Mongolians and Tartars, spread over the vast flats of Central Asia. In those regions scarcely anything has been "made" by man. But this most happy cir- cumstance, as it seems to be accounted — this total .absence of anything reminding you of human skill and industry — has never been found to realize our poetic ideas of pastoral beauty and innocence. It has called forth enough of the squalid and of the ferocious, but little of the refined, the powerful, or f'le gene- rous. If anything be certain, it would seem to be certain that man is constituted to realize his destiny from his association with man, more than from any contact with places. The great agency in calling forth his capabilities, whether for good or for evil, is that of his fel- lows. The picturesque, accordingly, may be with the country, but the intellectual, speaking generally, must be with the town. Agriculture may possess its science, and the farmer, as well as the landowner, may not be devoid of intel- ligence ; but in such connexions, the science and intelligence, in common with the nourish- ment of the soil, must be derived, in the main, from the studies prosecuted in cities, and from the wealth realized in the traffic of cities. If pasture is followed by tillage, and if tillage is made to partake of the nature of a study and a science, these signs of improvement are pecu- liar to lands in which cities make their appear- ance, and they become progressive only as cities become opulent and powerful. — Dr. Vaughan's Age of Cities. CITIZENS of the World. * ' What a piece of work is man ! How noble in reason, how infinite in faculties, in form and moving how express and admirable, in action how like an angel, in apprehension how like a god— the beauty of the world, the paragon of animals !" Why is it that this splendid description is so seldom realized ? Education is carried to the highest pitch of refinement, and the press teems with productions tending alike to illustrate the beauties of morality, to refine and polish the ideas, to exalt the heart, and improve the manners. He that runs may read, and the commonest understanding may profit by the lesson. The lash that assails vice in all its shapes, and the shafts of ridicule pointed at folly, might teach us to look a little NOBLE THOUGHTS IN NOBLE LANGUAGE. I'Z'J into ourselves, and to shun those rocks and quicksands that will render us the scorn or hatred of our fellow men. Yet are we, generally speaking, the slaves of habit and circumstance. In comparatively few instances will the mind exert its noble faculties, disperse the mists of prejudice, and soar above those debasing pursuits of life which are too apt to take possession of the soul, to the exclusion of those liberal sentiments which the young and ardent hope to meet in this enlightened age. It is in vain that we cherish Grand views of human kind Of men to gods exalted, and refined ; we find them — False views — like that horizon's fair deceit. Where heaven and earth but seem, alas ! to meet. Selfishness and vanity are the primary causes of all the frailties that flesh is heir to. We fancy ourselves wise in the midst of foolish- ness ; affectation spoils our manners, and worldly-mindedness contracts our hearts ; con- sideration for our own comfort and our own convenience lessens our regard for the happi- ness of others, and nothing is good, nothing excellent, which is not exactly according to our taste or fancy. Yet we were not bom for this, as Hamlet tells Ophelia — "God has given you one face, and you make yourselves another." So men gifted with noblest attri- butes immerse themselves in mannerism, fol- lowing more frequently the dictates of instinct than the suggestions of reason, to whom the voice of the sage is as the chirping of spar- rows ; who rise from the perusal of the page of wisdom unbenefited by the feast ; who see without perceiving, and hear without giving themselves the trouble to understand ; dedi- cated to one pursuit, involved in one ob- ject, they will rigidly condemn, or sarcastically sneer at, the labours, the expectations, and the amusements of those whose tastes and talents differ from their own. We have mer- chants, artists, soldiers, statesmen, lawyers, men of fashion, men of business, and men of letters, but few citizens of the world — few who, knowing their own pretensions, feeling their own deficiencies, and despising the merely fortuitous circumstances of life, will not presume when placed amid the less gifted portion of society, or stand abashed in the pre- sence of greatness, whose nice discrimination will show things as they really are, and not as prejudice or vanity would paint them, who will detect beauties where others see nothing but deformity, separate the good from the evil, and, attached to no particular school of art, will admit the excellences and point out the errors of all gracefully, and without the wish or the appearance of dictation. Such a cha- racter is the universal friend of mankind, and whilst he increases the happiness of others, he avoids the mortification, enmii^ and disgust which are the invariable portion of those who contract their ideas to a narrow scale, and live in the atmosphere of their own feelings. The hero of Cumberland's drama, presuming upon his voyages round the globe, boasted that he had seen the world, and there are those who have traversed Europe without being able to bring home any information, except that in a certain town they drank port wine out of tumblers. Neither travel nor reading can enlarge the mind, unless they should be taken up with some wish to derive instruction, some motive beyond the dissipation of an idle hour. These are such evident facts that the dry recapitulation of mere truisms may appear superfluous and impertinent, yet no observant person, mixing at all in society, can fail to re- mark the inanity, the arrogance, and the ig- norance which characterises a very large portion of that extensive class, the middling rank of life. For instance, what do you find amid the inhabitants of a commercial city? Generally pure, unmixed, sordid avarice ; some, absorbed in the calculation of profit and loss, brood eternally over their gains, thinking of no earthly thing save the best method of grasping and monopolizing to the prejudice of their neighbours ; others ostentatiously dis- play their riches, and place their chief delight in pampering their appetites, boasting of their property, and proving their title to the denomination of wealthy by the splendour of their apartments. If they feel conscious of their mental deficiencies they endeavour to hide it by affecting to deride all the distinc- tions of talent, learning, or birth, and hating that which they can never hope to possess. They scoff at all that is beautiful and estimable in the world, and these are the persons who, besotted in ignorance, indulge the pride of their hearts by the exposure of their own dul- ness, conceit, and pretension. CacafogJis, who fancy that everything on earth is subservient to the filthy lucre they have heaped together, never dreaming that aught beneath the sun is not purchasable by their gold. Visit their concert-rooms and their libraries, and you will find this sentiment either openly avowed or constantly insinuated. Some profess to 128 NOBLE THOUGHTS IN NOBLE LANGUAGE. patronise those things, that merely the poor authors may get bread to eat, fancying every purchase they make and every admission they pay, a bounty never to be too gratefully acknowledged, whilst the true curmudgeon hugs himself in the tenacity with which he retains his coin, despite the temptations with which he is surrounded, and the whole com- munity sport their blunders, misconceptions, and sordid notions, to the amusement and disgust of the enlightened. Have these men souls? and can we de- signate them with the title of intellectual beings? Enter the resorts of fashion, and amid the well-born and well-educated, you will find the merest trifles usurping sole dominion over the mind ; the tie of a cravat the most important object to one, and the upper end of a table the height of ambition in another. The Nabob of the east, accustomed to Asiatic homage, calls his native country uncivilized, because he is occasionally jostled in the streets by an humble passenger. Miss Kent, of Kent Hall, in the county of Kent, the belle of a provincial ball-room, where the number of her father's acres procured her the best partners, and the place of honour, is astonished to find herself a mere cypher at Cheltenham, condemned to act wall-flower, and to witness the adoration paid to title and to beauty : nor is her mortification greater than that which awaits the young 'squire, her brother, when he sees his own greys eclipsed by the team of a wealthy upstart, or more amusing than the consternation of papa, when stripped of the consequence which attended him at county meetings, elections, and public dinners. The acknowledged leader of ton will tread the same dull routine of watering-place amusements, till he is compelled to hide his gray hairs imder a wig, rather than run the risk of being overlooked or undervalued in the metropolis, preferring the summit of a mole- hill to the bottom of a mountain. To feel ourselves suddenly struck down from some real or fancied elevation is the most disagreeable of all electric shocks. The post-captain sighs at the remembrance of commissioned glories, and the pride of Portsmouth High Street, as he blazed about in his epaulettes and gold-laced hat. Alas ! he is now obliged to quail under the lancer's banner, and is only remarkable for his quarter-deck step, as he rolls along to join a group of yellow admirals and bilious Asiatics, warm in maudlin politics and skim- ble-skamble criticism. The military man, even upon his slender half-pay, will give himself the air of going late to parties, sitting still when he is wanted to dance, and voting the fat dowager's substantial dinners a horrid bore. Scandal is the aliment and recreation of all, the invention of the malicious, and amusement of the thoughtless. Are these pursuits, occupa- tions, and interests for reasonable beings ? or have they not been manufactured in the gross by some of Nature's journeymen? Penetrate the recesses of the learned, and you will find rust and pedantry obscuring the light of know- ledge ; admiring the voluminous expositions of the sage, delighted with the classic treasures which the indefatigable reseaixhes of the man of letters have bestowed upon the less diligent, yet is a personal acquaintance with authors, whose talents have exalted them to the highest degree in our estimation, frequently productive of disappointment ; their conversation smells of the lamp, they despise the polished graces, and the minor talents, and they contract habits of eccentricity, which unfit them to mix in social life. Descend a little lower in the scale of authors, and view those who have deserted the antique venerable edifices, where the accumulation of ages have heaped up piles of books, whose magnitude of size, and multipli- city of numbers, seem to form an impenetrable barrier round the mighty Messieurs who hold the keys of knowledge : these men mix freely with the world, and to them we are indebted for all the lighter productions of genius ; and in these, whose divine conceptions astonish and delight the dazzled soul — whose brilliant imaginations conduct the spell-bound reader through a region of enchantment, giving to the heart, weary of the troubles and turmoils of earth, an ideal universe, filled with happy and beautiful creations, — whose exquisite fancies, delicate pleasantries, and playful descriptions increase the sum of innocent enjoyment, and whose splendid demonstrations, accurate deli- neations, and powerful arguments direct the judgment, and improve the heart : yet in these we meet with debasing qualities which drag the idol from the proud pedestal erected by an admiring world, and leave him writhing in the dust. Envy is the besetting sin of this class ; I alternately poets and critics, they level the most bitter sarcasms at the slightest errors committed by their contemporaries, forgetful that they also have been guilty of writing a book, wherein the observant reader may detect instances in every page, to prove that perfection is not the attribute of mortality ; recrimination NOBLE THOUGHTS IN NOBLE LANGUAGE. 29 succeeds attack, blow produces blow, until the warfare extends from the laurel- crowned laureate to the obscure conductor of an ephemeral news- paper. Wantonly abusing the power afforded them by that stupendous engine, the press, the sage directors of the public taste, unmindful of the liberality, the candour, and the justice which should direct their strictures, are only bent upon displaying their own wit at the expense of the unfortunates who are obnoxious to their clutch ; and, swayed by a difference of political sentiment, or by personal dislike, employ the whole weight of their influence to ex- tinguish the rising flame of genius. Poets have been stricken to the grave by the merciless criticisms of anonymous writers, pur- suing their victims with the tenacity of a blood- hound, and mangling their prey with equal ferocity — the catalogue of broken hearts, of misfortunes, blighted hopes, and ruined repu- tations, is of frightful magnitude ; and those whose pens have been guided by deliberate malice, or thoughtless levity, unless dead to every feeling of humanity, must experience a pang of remorse, as they see the flowers, which public favour would have expanded into bloom and beauty, withered beneath their baneful influence. This is a shocking picture of human nature; but unless we walk hood-winked through the world, we cannot deny its truth. Blessed with a religious faith, which encourages all the sweet and social charities of life, is the practice of these duties, in their intercourse with each other, too much to expect from the professors of Christianity? And furnished with the brightest models of the beau ideal, and surrounded on all sides by the purest founts of knowledge, may we not hope, without encroaching upon the regions of Utopia, to see the great mass of mankind, all to whom fortune has given the means and the leisure to improve their talents, employ the high capabilities of their souls, too long suffered to remain dor- mant, disengage themselves from the cumbrous trammels of inordinate pride, and banishing party-prejudice and the enslaving habits arising from neglect or indifference in early education, become rational, intellectual, and benevolent beings, new bom in the image of their bountiful Creator, heirs of immortality, worthy of their ' high origin, philanthropists, philosophers. Citizens of the World !- S. CITY, Nameless. A NAMELESS city in a distant sea. White as the changing walls of faerie. Thronged with much people, clad in ancient guise, I now am fain to set before your eyes : There, leave the clear green water and the quays, And pass betwixt its marble palaces, Until ye come unto the chiefest square ; A bubbling conduit is set midmost there. And round about it now the maidens throng, With jest and laughter, and sweet broken song. Making but light of labour new begun While in their vessels gleams the morning sun. Wm. Morris. CITY, Thoughts for the. Out on the city's hum ! My spirit would flee from the haunts of men. To where the woodland and leafy glen Are eloquently dumb. These dull brick walls, which span My daily walks, and which shut me in ; These crowded streets with their busy din — They tell too much of man. Oh ! for those dear wild flowers Which in the meadows so brightly grew. Where the honey-bee and blithe bird flew That gladdened boyhood's hours. Out on these chains of flesh ! Binding the pilgrim, who fain would roam To where kind Nature hath made her home, In bowers so green and fresh. But is not Nature here ? From these troubled scenes look up and view The orb of day, through the firmament blue. Pursue his bright career. Or, when the night-dews fall. Go watch the moon, with her gentle glance Flitting over that clear expanse, Her own broad star-lit hall. Mortal the earth may mar, And blot out its beauties one by one. But he cannot dim the fadeless sun, Or quench a single star. And o'er the dusky town The greater light that ruleth the day. And the heavenly host in their night array, Look gloriously down. K I30 NOBLE THOUGHTS IN NOBLE LANGUAGE. So, 'mid the hollow mirth, The din and strife of the crowded mart, May we ever lift up the eye and heart To scenes above the earth. Blest thought, so kindly given, That though he toil with his boasted might, Man cannot shut from his brother's sight The things and thoughts of heaven. Winslow. CIVILIZATION, Its distinguishing Characteristic, Sociality. Civilization is inherent in the nature of man, one of whose distinguishing character- istics is sociability. It is compounded, like all human things, of good and evil; but the advantages far outweigh the disadvantages. It is our duty to strive to meliorate it, to diminish the evils which it has produced, or which are attached to it, and to augment the benefits which it is capable of diffusing over the whole human race. The division and employment of men are not only the two principal effects, but in their turn the most important causes of civili- zation and its advancement. Our civilized society consists of two great classes. One com- prehends the idlers, or those who do nothing for themselves, but live by the labour and toil of others ; and in politics, as in morals, it is a great evil not to do good, and every useless citizen may be considered as a pernicious man. The other class is that of the active and indus- trious members of society. This is subdivided into two parts, one consisting of persons whose labour and activity produce beneficial results, the other including those whose employments are barren and fruitless, nay, often detrimental. In our civilized societies we cannot reckon that more than one-twentieth of the persons composing them are engaged in really pro- ductive occupations. This twentieth has to feed, support, direct, and control, by its labour, the other nineteen-twentieths, composed of the useless idlers, the pernicious labourers, and the unproductive individuals. Let us establish a new proportion beneficial to society; let us exert our skill to direct to a useful purpose that individual and general activity which is too often ill-managed and unprofitably applied ; let us form an immense mass of well-combined efforts, and augment our powers a hundred- fold by employing them better. — Art oj Em- ploying Time. CLEANLINESS, The Sure Means of Heafth. The frequent use of the bath, and scrupulous attention to cleanliness, are among the surest means of restoring health to those who are sick, and securing it to those who are well. It is an astonishing fact that few countries in the world are so badly supplied with proper bath- ing-places as England, and that (taking the people in the mass) there are few among whom the use of the bath is less general than among the English. And yet we consider ourselves, and, indeed, especially pride ourselves on being a very cleanly people. We suspect there is some truth in a sarcastic remark which we met with a few years ago — *' A Frenchman in the middling ranks of life often puts on a dirty shirt over a clean skin, but an Englishman of the same condition still oftener puts on a clean shirt over a dirty skin." The extravagant price paid even in London for a bath is proof enough that the use of it is very confined. If it were more general, there would be a competition of speculators in that line, and the number of baths would be increased, and the prices low- ered. As less is paid for a bath now than was paid in 1 815, we may perhaps conclude that there are more bathers than formerly, and that the salutary practice is rather on the increase among us. Before the last peace, there were few of our provincial towns that had public baths of any kind, and in many of the northern parts of the island no such vessel as a bath had ever been seen. To speak of London alone, with its admirable supply of water and fuel, with the ingenious contrivances lately invented to economize fuel, and generate and diffuse heat at small expense, we think it might be practicable to let the poor man have his bath for two or three pence. Indeed, there can be no doubt but that it would be practicable if the purifying and most salutary practice of bathing were to become general among the people. If the working classes were once tempted hy low prices, we think it pretty certain that they would contract the habit to such an extent as to make low prices pay those who should speculate in such establishments. — Quarterly Journal of Education, CLERICAL Visits, Importance of, to the Sick. Among the duties of the pastoral office, those which belong to the pulpit have been more NOBLE THOUGHTS IN NOBLE LANGUAGE. 131 frequently and zealously enforced than those which are discharged in private ; yet it re- quires little attention to perceive the great and incalculable value of the latter. The nainister of religion who most assiduously visits the dwellings of sickness and sorrow has the finest opportunities of usefulness. If, as Herbert observes, * * a pastor is the deputy of Christ, for the reducing of man to the obedience of God," it will be granted also, that for such an office the greatest and hardest preparation is within. The man cannot teach who has never himself been taught : nor feelingly enter into the con- flicts of others who has had none of his own. " The parson is full of charity ; all his works relish of it; and he is kind and condescending. "Wherefore neither disdaineth he to enter into the poorest cottage, though he even creep into it ; for both God is there, and those for whom Christ died. When any of his cure is afflicted, he fails not to afford his best comforts. He is a father to his flock. When any sins, he pities him as a father ; when any wrongs even him- self, he considers him as a child, and treats him accordingly; expecting, and waiting, and hop- ing, and labouring, and praying, for his amend- ment." Affliction has a tendency to sober the mind, to touch and soften the heart, to render those who have been careless and obdurate susceptible of thought and feeling. Such a season is tbo precious to be lost, and the faith- ful and affectionateminister of Christ promptly embraces and wisely improves it. While the sufferer feels his clay tabernacle shaking, and finds himself involved in the thickening shadow of death, the messenger of mercy, the inter- preter of the oracles of God, has a deeply interesting and most arduous work to perform. He expatiates on the awful evil and demerit of sin, and the enduring efficacy of a Saviour's atoning blood ; he searches the disease of the soul, and points to the only adequate remedy by which it may be removed. With what tenderness and solicitude does he watch the movements of conviction, and meet the first trembling accents of serious inquiry ! How judiciously he opens the rich treasures of free and sovereign grace ! How faithfully he de- monstrates the danger of depending on self- righteous notions ; at the same time exhibit- ing and warmly recommending the only refuge where safety can be found. How gently he reproves, how patiently he instructs, how fer- vently he prays ! Sometimes pastoral visits thus conducted prove of great benefit to the sick ; and, at other times, when the patient remains unaf- fected and unreclaimed, those relatives who hang round his bed receive impressions which time cannot erase. It will not be denied that there is something in scenes of this kind emi- nently calculated to awaken the best sympathies of the heart. The minister of Christ, who seizes these opportunities of visiting the afflicted often sees the good effect produced by them, in abating prejudice, in conciliating affection, in closing the inlets of crime and temptation. Some, ashamed of neglecting the public worship of God, are by this means brought under the sound of the Gospel ; and others are induced to show some attention to the duties of religion in their families, who, though previously in the habit of entering the sanctuary on the return of the Sabbath, had lived as heathens at home. The pastor himself finds the benefit of these official duties. He learns such lessons con- cerning the emptiness of this world, and the importance of the world to come, as no college can teach ; he gains such clear and affecting views of human nature and human life, as none of the books of his library, however in- tensely studied, can give. It must surely be admitted, that the momen- tous duty of which we are treating, is seldom discharged with fidelity and judgment. As regards attention to this part of their office, the clergy of England may be divided into three classes. The first, and by far the largest class, con- sists of those who scarcely ever visit the poor, the sick, and the afflicted. They have been well characterized by Mr. Crabbe, a living poet, himself in holy orders : As blithesome youths, who think their weekly task Is all that God or man can fairly ask. They are expert in hunting, sporting, playing cards, dancing at balls, clapping at theatres ; but there is nothing congenial to their feelings and habits in the scenes of sorrow and cala- mity. It is a fixed rule with these gay convi- vial parsons never to enter a sick chamber un- less they are sent for with pressing importunity. But, indeed, it rarely happens that their visits in these circumstances are required ; most people readily perceiving that such pleasure- loving teachers of religion can be of little service to a dying man. Greatly as ignorance prevails, few really expect to gather grapes from thorns, or figs from thistles. And besides, licentious clergymen, who wish not their amusements to be broken in upon by the sons and daughters of adversity, take effectual 32 NOBLE THOUGHTS IN NOBLE LANGUAGE. methods to guard their ease. A man of this character related the following circumstance to a friend of mine : — Being requested to visit a poor sick woman, on entering the cottage he asked for what purpose she had sent for him. "Oh! Sir," she exclaimed, "I would see Jesus. Oh ! that I could touch the hem of his garment ! " I replied, " But that, good woman, is impossible, for he has not been seen on earth these eighteen hundred years ; and as to his garment, there is not a tatter or thread of it left anywhere. I will read you a prayer if you wish it, but you had better send for the doctor ; he will do you more good than I can." After relating the story, with an air of triumph, he exclaimed, ** Now what is the use of troubling such sick-brained enthusiasts with any discourse upon religion?" Yet this man, who was the jovial associate of the gay and dissolute, was vigilant to a proverb in securing the full value of his tithes and fees. A fact occurred in my neighbourhood only a few days ago which might thrill the blood with horror. A poor man, sunk in melancholy, called upon the parish parson ; and being asked what he wanted, replied ** that his mind was very unhappy, and he wished to get some com- fort." The clergyman answered, "that he had no time to attend to him. " The wretched creature called twice after, without gaining ad- mission, and next day committed suicide. On such facts as these it is not necessary to make any comment. There is a second class of clergymen, who display considerable diligence in visiting the sick, but their attentions seem almost con- fined to the decencies and forms of religion. Unacquainted with the extent and spirituality of the divine law, and estranged from the grand peculiarities of the Gospel of Christ, their hope, and their zeal, and their assiduity, have all the leading characteristics of the ancient Pharisee. When these men visit the sick, they are often truly in earnest to accom- plish their object. They hurry "over the pre- scribed prayers, till they come to the absolution, and when the sacrament has been given the patient is made to believe that he has nothing to fear, but may die in peace. No papist has more trust in the efficacy of Extreme Unction, than persons of this cast have in the administration of the Eucharist to those who are just struggling with the last enemy. If the sectarists are evidently making progress in any part of the country, the bigotry of these Phari- saic guides imparts additional ardour to their zeal. I shall here relate a circumstance which took place not many months since, about three miles from the place where I am now writing. A clergyman of large property, who visits the poor, and is known to be very liberal to them in their necessities, went to see a sick woman, the member of a dissenting church. He re- lieved her wants, and entreated her to abandon the sectarists, but without success. As she grew worse, he repeated his visits, and every time begged her most earnestly to receive the sacrament from his hands. At last she told him positively she could not in conscience yield to his request: "Then," said he, "I leave you, and remember there is nothing but outer darkness before you." This account she gave to her worthy pastor, who has long been on the list of my own best friends. There is a third class of clergymen, enlightened by the principles and animated by the spirit of the Gospel, whose visits to the sick and afflicted are of the highest importance. Without spar- ing the rich, or despising the poor, they are ever ready to instruct the ignorant, to warn the pro- fligate, to rouse the careless and supine, to com- fort the disconsolal e, and to heal the wounded spirit, by infusing the precious balm of Gilead. It is gratifying to reflect that this valuable class of men has of late years greatly increased, and is still increasing amongst us. When any one of them first enters his ministerial course, where vice and irreligion had previously spread their baneful influence, he has usually to meet much opposition and reproach ; but after a while, his blameless and benevolent conduct wears away prejudice, and puts even loud-tongued calumny to silence. Auranius, about ten years ago, came into a country parish, where previously there had scarcely been a vestige of sterling piety. He has laboured with unwearied assiduity and affectionate zeal, and the blessing of heaven has signally crowned his efforts. The moral aspect of the parish, as occasional visitants have often remarked, is strikingly changed for the better. The gross profanation of the Sabbath is no longer seen : the voice of blasphemy and strife is no longer heard. The children of the poor are kindly and constantly taught in a well- conducted Sunday-school ; and the church, which used formerly to be almost deserted, is now full of attentive worshippers. Auranius being of a delicate frame and weak voice, is not a powerful preacher ; nor is he distinguished by any brilliant talent, or vast store of learning. Tht grand attraction of this useful pastor is in NOBLE THOUGHTS IN NOBLE LANGUAGE. 33 the kindliness of his heart and the condescen- sion of his manners. He first gained the good- will of the people by his constant visits to the poor, the needy, and the wretched. He did not wait to be solicited, but sought out the sons and daughters of affliction, and evidently found his sweetest luxury in doing them good. Firm in his adherence to the truth, and in his oppo- sition to everything vicious, he yet displays a mild suavity and gentleness in his general deportment. He now commonly goes by the name of the "good vicar," and is equally beloved and revered. What is the praise of eloquence, or the fame of learning, compared to the honour and plea- sure of receiving the blessing of him who was ready to perish, and making the widow's heart to sing for joy? When a Christian pastor lives, like Auranius, in the hearts of his peo- ple, we behold the justice of Hooker's beauti- ful and oft-repeated aphorism, and cheerfully acknowledge, that ' ' the life of a pious clergy- man is visible rhetoric. " A man of this cha- racter, in the discharge of his official duty meets with many touching incidents, which are rarely made known to the world ; for death-bed scenes are at times disclosed which are admir- ably calculated to interest the strongest sym- pathies of the heart. The more remarkable circumstances of this kind which occur ought, we think, to be recorded ; whether they should be published may be a point far more difficult to decide. Reasons arising out of delicacy and discretion forbid some of these incidents com- ing before the world while the present genera- tion continues ; but others are of a kind which cannot be too soon or too widely communicated. How useful and interesting were the pastoral visits of the late excellent Legh Richmond ! And while being dead he yet speaketh in the "Dairyman's Daughter" and the "Young Cot- tager," who can calculate the amount of good these valuable little tracts may yet effect ? There is something fascinating to a young man in the popularity which the eloquent effusions of the pulpit and platform call forth ; but there is a sphere for benevolent exertion less dazzling, but not less important, in the domestic recesses and secrecies of retirement. The work of Dr. Warton, entitled * * Pastoral Conversations," does not furnish a model fit for imitation ; but it may supply hints worthy the attention of faitliful ministers of every denomination. Happy will that evangelical labourer be, who, in taking final leave of his people, can make his solemn appeal to them, and say, " I call you to record that I am clear from the blood of all men ; I have kept back nothing that was profitable to you, but have showed you, and have taught you publicly, and from house to house, testifying both to the rich and the poor, the old and young, the learned and the illiterate, repentance toward God, and faith toward our Lord Jesus Christ." — Ton. CLOXJDLAND, a Glorious Land. Oh, it is pleasant, with a heart at ease, Just after sunset, or by moonlight skies, To make the shifting clouds be what you please; Or let the easily persuaded eyes Own each quaint likeness issuing from the mould Of a friend's fancy ; or, with head bent low, And cheek aslant, see rivers flow of gold 'Twixt crimson banks ; and then, a travel- ler, go From mount to mount through Cloudland, glorious land ! Or, list'ning to the tide, with closed sight, Ee that blind bard, who, on the Chian strand, By those deep sounds possessed with inward light. Beheld the Iliad and the Odyssee Rise to the swelling of the voiceful sea. Coleridge. CLOUD, The, hath its Rainbow. No cloud can overshadow a true Christian but his faith will discern a rainbow in it. — Bishop Home. COAST Blockade. A STEADY, trusty, well-conditioned, well-con- ducted set of men, with no misgiving about looking you full in the face, and with a quiet, thorough-going way of passing along to their duty at night, carrying huge sou' -wester cloth- ing in reserve, that is fraught with all good prepossession. They are handy fellows — neat about their houses, industrious at gardening, would get on with their wives, one thinks, in a desert island, and people it, too, soon. — Dickens. CODE, Dr. Franklin's Moral. The great American philosopher and states- man, Benjamin Franklin, drew up the follow- ing list of moral virtues, to which he paid con- 134 NOBLE THOUGHTS IN NOBLE LANGUAGE. stant and earnest attention, and thereby made himself a better and a happier man : — Temperance. — Eat not to fullness ; drink not to elevation. Silence. — Speak not but what may benefit others or yourself ; avoid trifling conversation. Order. — Let all your things have their places; let each part of your business have its time. Resolution. — Resolve to perform what you ought ; perform without fail what you resolve. Frugality. — Make no expense, but do good to others or yourself; that is, waste nothing. Industry. — Lose no time ; be always em- ployed in something useful ; cut off all unne- cessary actions. Sincerity. — Use no hurtful deceit ; think in- nocently and justly ; and, if you speak, speak accordingly. justice. — Wrong none by doing injuries, or omitting the benefits that are your duty. Moderation. — Avoid extremes ; forbear re- senting injuries. Cleanliness. — Suffer no uncleanliness in body, clothes, or habitation. Tranquillity. — Be not disturbed about trifles, or at accidents commonplace and unavoidable. Humility. — Imitate Jesus Christ. The same great man likewise drew up the following plan for the regular enjoyment of his time ; examining himself each morning and evening as to what he had to do, what he had done, or left undone ; by which practice he was better able to improve his future conduct : The morning question is, What good shall I do to-day ? From 6 till 8 : Rise, wash, and address Al- mighty God ; contrive the day's business, and take the resolution of the day ; prosecute the present study ; and breakfast. From 8 till i : Work. Between i and 2 : Read or look over my accounts, and dine. From 2 till 8 : Work. The evening questions are, What good have I done to-day? What have I left undone which I ought to have done? From 8 till 1 1 : Put things in their places ; amusement ; supper ; examination of the day ; address the Almighty. From 1 1 till 6 : Sleep. A steady perseverance in some plan for the arrangement of our time, adapted to circum- stances, cannot fail improving our general con- duct in life, and rendering us better members of society and better Christians. COLD, Signs of. The sheep, before the pinching heaven, To sheltered dale or down are driven, Where yet some faded herbage pines, And yet a watery sunbeam shines ; In meek despondency they eye The withered sward and wintry sky. The shepherd shifts his mantle's fold. And wraps him closer from the cold ; His dogs no merry circles wheel. But, shivering, follow at his heel ; A cowering glance they often cast. As deeper moans the gathering blast. Sir Walter Scott. COOK, a Man of Men. A MASTER cook ! why, he is the man of men. For a professor ; he designs, he draws. He paints, he carves, he builds, he fortifies, Makes citadels of curious fowl and fish. Some he dry-ditches, some motes round with broths, Mounts marrow-bones, cuts fifty-angled cus- tards, Rears bulwark pies ; and for his outer works He raiseth ramparts of immortal crust. And teacheth all the tactics at one dinner — What ranks, what files, to put his dishes in, The whole art military ! Then he knows The influence of the stars upon his meats. And all their seasons, tempers, qualities ; And so to fit his relishes and sauces. He has nature in a pot 'bove all the chemists Or bare-breech'd brethren of the rosy cross. He is an architect, an engineer, A soldier, a physician, a philosopher, A general mathematician. Ben yonson. CONDUCT, Amiable. Two great branches of amiable conduct are mildness in bearing injuries and bounty in re- lieving necessities : one of them expressly made the condition of our being forgiven ; the other the foundation of our being rewarded. But to these we must add every other act of a generous and disinterested, a candid and sym- pathizing heart ; every instance of gentleness to the faults and condescension to the weak- nesses of men ; moderation and humility in advantageous circumstances, and patient com- posedness in low and afflicted ones ; every or- namental, as well as more substantial, duty of NOBLE THOUGHTS IN NOBLE LANGUAGE. 135 life ; affability of conversation, obliging atten- tions, kind compliances ; whatever will make our common jom-ney through the world mutu- ally comfortable and pleasing, without making it dangerous ; and exhibit religion in its native cheerfulness, as a reasonable service paid to an infinitely good Being. For all these things constitute a much more valuable part of Chris- tian practice than many seem to be aware of. Indeed, piety and virtue, however unpolished, deserve high esteem ; and it would be a most unhappy mistake to prefer superficial accom- plishments before intrinsic worth. But still, both religion and morals, disguised under a forbidding look, appear so much less to advan- tage than when they wear an inviting one, that we wrong our profession, as well as our- selves, if we neglect to show it in as much beauty as a modest simplicity will permit ; and thus to adorn the doctrine of God our Saviour in all things. — Archbishop Seeker. CONFESSION to God. O THOU terrified soul, go and count up to thy God all thy tribulations ; tell Him of all thy cares ; His ear is open to thee ; lay them all before Him ; and then, in "the multitude of sorrows which thou hast in thy soul, His com- forts shall refresh thy heart ;" but beware that thou betake thyself to no other comforter ; be- ware that thou look and trust unto Him alone. Yea, "Look at the generations of old, and see ; did ever any trust in the Lord, and was con- founded, or did any abide in His fear, and was forsaken ?" In every necessity the city of refuge is prepared ; the bosom of our Father is open ; the hole in the rock is cleft ; the tenderness of your God is made manifest ; he who can refuse so sweet and gracious a hiding- place as this desen-eth indeed to be abandoned to the mercy of his enemies ! — St. Bernard. CONFIDENCE to be Respected. Who poisons confidence, he murders The future generations. Coleridge. lies in not suffering trifles to vex one, and in prudently cultivating an undergrowth of small pleasures, since very few great ones, alas ! are let on long leases. — Sharp's Essays. COMFORT, Secrets of. Though sometimes small evils, like invisible insects, inflict pain, and a single hair may stop a vast machine, yet the chief secret of comfort COMFORTS and Cares. " Comforts and cares ! a strange subject truly ! a combination like that of some of the ancient masks ; one side fair and lovely as Venus, and the other grim and hideous as the snaky Medusa : well, well, Mr. Essayist, give me the * comforts,' and let them have the •'cares' who will." "But stop, gentle reader, and permit the inquiry — Is the request you make quite reason- able ? It is acknowledged, in limine, that you may have cares without comforts, but it will ordinarily be found that you cannot have com- forts without cares. No ! marry the widow you love, and you must take her children. Now, then, for the proof." Many are the inconveniences attendant on limited means, to say nothing of poverty — and hence the aim and effort to make " a comfort- able provision," or, according to the common acceptation of that phrase, to secure wealth, independence, abundance. And in the accom- plishment of this object, there will doubtless be a relief from some anxieties ; but even then fortune may only play a rat-catcher's trick, who substitutes a new brood for every old one he destroys. The man, for instance, on whom descends "a golden shower," either as the re- ward of years of toil, or as the solid proof of some relation's partiality, arrives at once at the conclusion that a great alteration must take place in his external appearance. Commonly, the dwelling long inhabited by himself and his family is denounced as altogether unsuit- able ; another spot is chosen — erection or alteration is indispensable, and consequently the discovery is made that the timber and stone, and bricks and mortar, contribute greatly to our comfort, yet that their arrangement and combination are prolific in cares. But these are only like the fugleman who gives the cue to a multitude : — grounds are to be laid out, about the order and ornaments of which there are many conflicting opinions ; water has to be drained off as a foe, or invited into the domain as the presiding genius of the beautiful and picturesque ; suites of apart- ments are to be furnished, which, like a young orchestra, can only be harmonized after a sue- NOBLE THOUGHTS IN NOBLE LANGUAGE. cession of interruptions, disappointments, and discords ; the lottery of horses must be entered, wherein, notwithstanding the high price of tickets, are many blanks to a prize ; servants are to be engaged, some of which need, per- haps, the surveillance of a menagerie ; and at length, not without sundry * ' chapters of acci- dents," the new drama may begin. Impossible is it, however, that it may com- mence with festivities ; that it can long be comic : the scene of retirement may exhibit, on minute inspection, many inconveniences overlooked in the glare of expectation. The depositories of property may be assailed by in- discretion or fraud ; tenants are not always re- markable for punctuality or integrity ; hono- rary stations are not unfrequently posts of deep solicitude ; beneficiaries are often ungrateful ; and as for " distant connexions," their claims demand the wisdom of Solomon, the patience of Job, and the wealth of Croesus. So nume- rous, indeed, are cares in such circumstances, that it is by no means unusual for the rich, sickening at the deceitful splendour which sur- rounds them, to think they should have been much happier if born in a humble station ; and for those who have been raised to opu- lence, to sigh for the comforts enjoyed in their former sphere. A similar care may be found in the formation of acquaintance. In early life the desire is ardent to "enter the world;" and in after years, should removal take place from one spot, there is a strong disposition in some minds to secure an introduction to all the intercourse of others. And assuredly we are indebted for many comforts to judicious and enlightened friendship; but these are derivable from a select circle, rather than from a general range among those of our own grade. Unhappily, however, this is commonly forgotten ; " the more the merrier" is the sage expression of feeling ; and the idea widely obtains that our pretensions to gentility or fashion can only be supported by connection with those around on whom the same stamp has been fixed. Acting on this principle, many cares must inevitably occur. For if the extension of ac- quaintance exhibit more excellence to the view, it discloses also a vast preponderance of im- perfection. With this are also other sources of disquietude ; as in a machine, the multipli- cations of its parts increases the difficulty of keeping them in harmonious action, and the hazard if any of them fail, while, in propor- tion to the simplicity of its structure, is the care with which it is overlooked when right and corrected when wrong ; so it is in society. Besides, comfort arises from a correspondence between the individual's circumstances and his- dispositions and habits : but however these may be met in certain cases, yet just as his circle extends will the chances of that accordance in any given period be lessened. Indeed, the sine qud non of continuance in ** the world," is acquiescence in its laws, and the adoption of its modes, and consequently the sacrifice of personal conviction to general opinion. Only pass the mystic line, and then violate its cus- toms if you dare. The hours prescribed for various purposes must be thus employed by you, though others would be far more con- venient : — should a party uf a certain class be formed, though you would infinitely prefer being at home, you must go : if on you its re- ception devolves, it cannot be evaded, though you would gladly renounce all its "honour and happiness ; " while amusements not at all to your taste must be participated, unless you are proof against ridicule and reproach. Nor should it be overlooked, that such connexions invariably entail a variety of by no means minor endurances ; such as listening to the imperti- nences of one who has *' read little, thought less, and knows nothing," — to another, whose ecclesiastical and political opinions are diame- trically opposed to your own, — to a third, who can give the private history of every family in your neighbourhood, — to a fourth, whose Joe Millerisms are sui-feiting, — to a fifth, who mis- takes pedantry for erudition, — to a sixth but here we must pause, or this paper will be filled without even a tithe of the catalogue of living disagreeables. Among the numerous examples which might yet be cited, wherein the disastrous partnership between comforts and cares is apparent, we select only another ; — namely, that of children ; and none but a gloomy misan- thrope will doubt that the exercise of "Philo- progenitiveness " is highly pleasurable. The planter of a forest, the sculptor of a statue, the author of an epic, — have their peculiar and re- spective gratifications ; but what are these, . compared with the delight of him who gazes on' his offspring? To him there are times in which every line is beauty, and every sound is music : when his children are present, he feels himself at home ; " when absent, he seems to have entered another dwelling ; and when onre of them is snatched away by the great invader j of domestic bliss, a spring of sorrow appears to NOBLE THOUGHTS IN NOBLE LANGUAGE. 137 be opened, whose waters can be checked by no earthly power. At no period, however, can the bosom of an afifectionate parent be divested of anxiety. With the comfort of engaging childhood, there is the care arising from its ills and dangers ; with the comfort of a youth of promise, there is the case of education, beset with perils ; with the comfort of increasing years, there is the care of settlement in life ; and even with the comfort derived from the successes of mature age, there is the care of retaining or in- creasing what is possessed ; while with a new generation a new series of disquietudes spring into existence. The consideration of these things we would therefore commend to the reader as an antidote to that intense desire of possessing what is not enjoyed, so common to the human breast, and which, unrestrained, is fatal to that tranquillity which is the basis of happiness. Should he be some individual pining after wealth, let him see that in its acquisition he might find no increase of enjoyment, since the cup of abundance might ordinarily bear with propriety the motto " Plus aloes quam mellis habet." And, like the glittering of an idiot's toy. Might fancy mock his vows. Should the eye of one who has an ardent spirit, spurning with dissatisfaction and con- tempt the limited circle in which it moves, scan these lucubrations, be it known that the highest and purest joys of social intercourse are derived from the few, not from the many, — that they fly the scenes of splendour and gaiety, and are to be participated only in our own country, and in spots as quiet and sacred as our own fireside. And should a husband and a wife peruse this page, who wish that their almost solitary table were, like their neigh- bours', decked with "olive-branches," let them remember that though they are denied joys in which others exult, they do not writhe under agonies which have brought many to the grave. "All human situations," says Franklin, " have their inconveniences; we feel those that we find in the present, and we neither feel nor see those that exist in another. Hence we make frequent and troublesome changes with- out amendment, and often for the worse. In my youth I was a passenger in a little sloop, descending the river Delaware ; there being no wind, we were obliged, when the ebb was spent, to cast anchor, and to wait for the next. The heat of the sun on the vessel was excessive, the company strangers to me, and not very agreeable. Near the river side, I saw M'hat I took to be a pleasant green meadow, in the middle of which was a large shady tree, where it struck my fancy I could sit and read, and pass the time agreeably, till the tide turned. I therefore prevailed with the captain to put me ashore. Being landed, I found the greatest part of my meadow was really a marsh, in crossing which, to come at my tree, I was up to my knees in mud ; and I had not placed myself under its shade five minutes, before the mosquitos in swarms found me out, attacked my legs, hands, and face, and made my read- ing and my rest impossible ; so that I returned to the beach, and called for the boat to come and take me on board again, where I was obliged to bear the heat I had strove to quit, and also the laugh of the company. Similar cases in the affairs of life have often fell under my observation." He, then, undoubtedly has most care who is constantly aspiring after something beyond him ; and he has most comfort who fully obeys the Divine injunction — "Be content with such things as ye have. " — A Looker-on. COMMANDMENTS, Keeping God's. One thing take home with you to eternity, "that every indulgence in any sin is a sure argument of an infidel : " be you never so proud and confident of your faith, and justifica- tion by it ; be you never so resolute that the " Lord liveth ; " yet, if your obedience be not uniform, if you embrace not what you assent to, ' ' surely you swear falsely. "... Let your lives witness the sincerity of your profession ; let not a dead carcass walk under a living head. . . . Let me see you move and walk, as well as breathe, that I may hope to see you "saints" as well as "Christians." — Hainmotid. The life that makes the heart to beat, The light that from the heavens doth shine, My daily strength, — the bread I eat, — All, all, great Lord of Life, are thine. Then let me seek Thee daily, Lord, At morn, at noontide, and at even ; And do Thy will, and know Thy word, That I may be Thy child in heaven ! W. Martin. 138 NOBLE THOUGHTS IN NOBLE LANGUAGE. COMMERCE, Advantages of. As the same country is rendered richer by the trade of one province with another; as its labour becomes thus infinitely more divided, and more productive than it could otherwise have been ; and as the mutual interchange of all those commodities which one province has and another wants, multiplies the comforts and accommodation of the whole, and the country becomes thus, in a wonderful degree, more opulent and more happy ; so the same beauti- ful train of consequences is observable in the world at large, that vast empire of which the different kingdoms may be regarded as the provinces. In this magnificent empire, one province is favourable to the production of one species of produce, and another province to another. By their mutual intercourse mankind are enabled to distribute their labour as best fits the genius of each particular country and people. — Mills, COMMERCE, Its Influence upon Morals and Manners. Upon the extent of the commerce of a country depends much of the character of its morals. Old virtues and vices dwindle away, and new ones appear. The old members of a rising commercial society complain of the loss of sim- plicity of manners, of the introduction of new wants, of the relaxation of morals, of the pre- valence of new habits. The young members of the same society rejoice that prudery is going out of fashion, that gossip is likely to be replaced by the higher kind of intercourse which is introduced by strangers, and by an extension of knowledge and interests : they even decide that domestic morals are purer from the general enlargement and occupation of mind which has succeeded to the ennui and selfishness in which licentiousness often origi- nates. A highly remarkable picture of the two conditions of the same place may be ob- tained by comparing Mrs. Grant's account of the town of Albany, New York, in her young days, with the present state of the city. She tells us of the plays of the children on the green slope which is now State Street ; of the tea-drinkings and working parties, of the gos- sip, bickerings, and virulent petty enmities of the young society, with its general regularity and occasional backsliding ; with the gentle despotism of its opulent members, and the more or less restive or servile obedience of the subordinate personages. In place of all this, the stranger now sees a city with magnificent public buildings and private houses filled with the products of all the countries of the world. The inhabitants are too busy to be given to gossip, too unrestrained in their intercourse with numbers to retain much prudery : social despotism and subservience have become im- possible : there is a generous spirit of enter- prise, an enlargement of knowledge, an ameliora- tion of opinion. There is, on the other hand, perhaps, a decrease of kindly neighbourly re- gard, and certainly a great increase of the low vices which are the plague of commercial cities. — Harriet Mariineati. COMMERCE, Moral Influence of Foreign. It is unquestionably true that wealth produces wants, but it is a still more important truth that wants produce wealth. Each cause acts and re-acts upon the other ; but the order, both of precedence and of importance, is with the wants which stimulate to industry ; and with regard to these, it appears that, instead of being always ready to second the physical powers of men, they require for their development "all appliances and means to boot." The greatest of all difficulties in converting uncivilized and thinly peopled countries into civilized and populous ones, is to inspire them with the wants best calculated to excite their exertions in the production of wealth. One of the greatest benefits which foreign commerce confers, and the reason why it has always appeared an almost necessary ingredient in the progress of wealth, is its tendency to inspire new wants, to form new tastes, and to furnish fresh motives for industry. — MaltJms. COMMERCE, Obligations of Government to Encourage. All men ought to find on earth the things they stand in need of. In the primitive state of communion they took them wherever they happened to meet with them, if another had not before appropriated them to his own use. The introduction of dominion and property could not deprive men of so essential a right, and consequently it cannot take place without leaving them, in general, some means of pro- curing what is useful or necessary to them, NOBLE THOUGHTS IN NOBLE LANGUAGE. 139 That means is commerce; by it every man may still supply his wants. Things being now become property, there are no means of obtain- ing them without the owner's consent ; nor are they usually to be had for nothing ; but they may be bought or exchanged for other things of equal value. Men, are, therefore, under an obligation to carry on that commerce with each other, if they wish not to deviate from the views of nature ; and this obligation extends also to nations and states. It is sel- dom that nature is seen in one place to produce everything necessary for the use of man ; one country abounds in corn, another in pastures and cattle, a third in timber and metals, &c. If all these countries trade together, as is agreeable to human nature, none of them will be without such things as are useful and neces- sary ; and the views of Nature, our common mother, will be fulfilled. Further, one country is fitter for some kind of products than another, as, for instance, fitter for the vine than for til- lage. If trade and barter take place, every nation, on the certainty of procuring what it wants, will employ its land and industry in the most advantageous manner ; and mankind in general prove gainers by it. Such are the foun- dations of the general obligation incumbent on nations reciprocally to cultivate commerce. — Vattel. COMMERCIAL World. Though in every age there are some who, by bold adventures, or by favourable accidents, rise suddenly to riches, yet it is dangerous to indulge hopes of such rare events ; and the bulk of mankind must owe their affluence to small and gradual profits, below which their expense must be resolutely reduced. — Dr. Johnson. COMPANION, a Good One Inestimable. A COMPANION that is cheerful and free from swearing and scurrilous discourse is worth gold. I love such mirth as does not make friends ashamed to look upon one another next morn- ing ; nor men, that cannot well bear it, to repent the money they spend when they be warmed with drink. And take this for a rule': you may pick out such times and such com- panions, that you may make yourself merrier for a little than a great deal of money ; for " 'Tis the company and not the charge that makes the feast." — Izaak Walton. COMPANION is but Another Self. The affairs of this life are the highways of the Kingdom of Heaven ; thou mayest walk in them, but not with the wicked, for it is some evil even to be near evil, A companion is but another self ; wherefore it is an argument that a man is wicked, if he keep company with the wicked. — St. Clement. COMPANIONS, Bad, to be Shunned. I BESEECH you, shun proud men, envious men, backbiters, liars, forsworn men, and men de- spising their salvation, who are dead to virtue, and joy in their own lusts, and want God's joy. Wherever thou shalt hear such, shun them, and come thou not with such men, if thou canst not dissuade them from their error. Use thou the fellowship of perfect men, and turn not away thine ears from their words. For the words of men that fear God are the words of life and holiness of soul to them that hear and perceive them. As the sun rising driveth away the mist, so the teaching of holy men casteth away the darkness from our hearts. — WycUp. COMPANIONS, Evil, their Influence. Unity with wicked companions is one of the strongest chains of hell, and binds us to a par- ticipation both of sin and punishment. — Sibbs. COMPANIONS, Faithful Ones. Faith, in its practical exercise, has for its object the whole word of God, and forms its estimate of all things, with which the soul is at present connected, according to the standard of Scripture. Faith will be of daily use to thee as a preservative from a compliance with the corrupt customs and manners of the world. The believer, though in the world, is not of it. By faith thou shalt triumph over its smiles and enticements ; thou wilt mix with the world so far as is necessaiy in the discharge of the duties of that station of life in which the pro- vidence of God has placed thee, but no further. Thy leisure and inclinations will be engaged in a different pursuit. They who fear the Lord will be thy chosen companions ; and the blessings thou derivest from the word, and from the throne, and ordinances of grace, will I40 NOBLE THOUGHTS IN NOBLE LANGUAGE. make thee look upon the poor pleasures and amusements of those who live without God in the world with a mixture of disdain and pity ; and by faith thou wilt be proof against its frowns. Thou wilt obey God rather than man. Thou wilt have no fellowship with the unfruit- ful works of darkness, but will rather reprove them." Whatever loss thou sufferest in this cause, thou wilt account thy gain ; and whatever disgrace, thy glory. —J. Newton. COMPANIONS in Heaven. Hast thou enjoyed those companions here. Whose love and fellowship delightful are ? Thou shalt, when thou from sight of those are gone. Of that high order be installed one Which never did false brother entertain, Whereof ev'n God himself is Sovereign ; And in whose company thou shalt possess All perfect dear and lasting friendliness. Yea, there ev'n those whom thou on earth hast loved In life-time, with such love as is approved. Thou shalt enjoy again, and not alone Their friendship, but the love of every one Of those blest men and women, who both were. And are, and shall be till our Judge appear. G. Wither. COMPANIONSHIP with the Godly. The more men grow in wickedness and pro- faneness the less they ought to be loved and liked by us. It is true godliness that should join us in mutual friendship one with another, and unite our affection one toward another. The more godliness appeareth to be in them, the nearer ought to be our conjunction with them ; and as they grow in good things, so ought our love to increase towards them. As to those that frequent no company but of wicked persons, may we not truly conclude of them, that they are like to them with whom they sort, and to whom they resort? The prophet saith, "I am a companion of all that fear Thee!" But these may say, "I am a companion of them that forsake Thee." He saith, " Do I not hate them that hate Thee ? " But these men say, " Do not I love them that hate Thee, and hate them that love Thee ? " Yea, they hate the godly in their hearts, and the more grace appeareth in them, the more do they despise them. . . . But, ifwe belong to God and his kingdom we must of necessity be of the " Communion of Saints. "—^/^^;w//. COMPARISONS. Sometimes when at night Beneath the moon I watched the foam fly white From off our bows, and thought how weak and small Showed the Rose-Garland's mast, that looked so tall Beside the quays of Bremen. Wm. Morris. COMPASSION, a Graceful Emotion. Compassion is an emotion of which we ought never to be ashamed. Graceful, particularly in youth, is the tear of sympathy, and the heart that melts at the tale of woe ; we should not permit ease and indulgence to contract our affections, and wrap us up in a selfish enjoy- ment. But we should accustom ourselves to think of the distresses of human life, of the solitary cottage, the dying parent, and the weeping orphan. Nor ought we ever to sport with pain and distress, in any of our amuse- ments, or treat even the meanest insect with wanton cruelty. — Dr. Blair. COMPORTMENT, be Wary in. Be wondrous wary of your first comportments j get a good name, and be very tender of it afterwards : for 'tis like the Venice-glass, quickly cracked, never to be mended, though patched it may be. To this purpose, take along with you this fable. It happened that Fire, Water, and Fame went to travel together (as you are going now) ; they consulted, that if they lost one another, how they might be retrieved, and meet again. Fire said, "Where you see smoke, there you shall find me." Water said, *' Where you see marsh, and moorish low gi-ound, there you shall find me." But Fame said, * ' Take heed how you lose me ; for, if you do, you will run a great hazard never to meet me again : there's no retrieving of me. '* — Howell. NOBLE THOUGHTS IN NOBLE LANGUAGE. 141 COMPOSITION, Nature and Art Necessary in. Cicero has somewhere asserted that if to a good natural understanding there be joined an accession or confirmation of learning and dis- cipline, there will then remain something noble and singular ; or, as Stoboeus says, Without art nature can never be perfect ; and without nature art can claim no being. This maxim is peculiarly applicable to authors ; for the greatest natural genius that ever existed would make but a sorry appearance were all his ideas expressed tumultuously as they arose in his mind, no attention being paid to methodical arrangement and elegance of language ; and, on the other hand, the smoothest style and sweetest rhythm of poetry, without naivete and that natural grace which may be termed origi- nal genius, will not bear the eye of an Aristar- chus. It was said of the illustrious, the incompar- able Virgil, "that he brought forth his verses like a bear, and afterwards formed them by licking." This is the precise illustration of the position we have assumed ; it was nature that furnished ideas, but art alone polished and rendered musical to the ear of the critic the immortal poems which, for so many ages, have been the delight and admiration of man- kind. The elder Scaliger, when speaking on this subject, says that he made a quantity of verses in the morning, which, before night, he was accustomed to reduce to a less number. This notice of Scaliger naturally reminds us of the celebrated answer of Euripides, the prince of tragedians, to one Alcestis, an ignoble scribbler of his day, which Valerius Maximus has recorded : — " When it was related to Alcestis that Euripides in three days had produced but three verses, and those with some difficulty and labour, the former boasted that he could, with ease, have written a hundred even in a shorter period. ' Probably,' replied Euripides ; ' but here is the difference ; thy verses will not last those three days ; mine will last to the end of time.'" From these premises we must then conclude that the two great requisites to form a good writer are nature and art ; nature, or rather natural wit, is the power of displaying the intellectual treasures of the mind, at the im- pulse of the moment, and of at once collecting and arranging our ideas so as to illustrate any subject which may be proposed, without any previous application or forethought. In this definition we entirely exclude all reference to art ; the ideas, as they arise, are at once ex- pressed — no purity of diction or elegance of language is considered, and the speaker, hurried on by the impetuosity of his feelings, is often- times guilty of solecisms ; nay, a certain mad- ness (if we may use the expression) is some- times discoverable, which is one great index of original genius and natural wit. This, indeed, was the decided opinion of Aristotle, who said, " Nullum magnum ingenium sine mistura dementise fuit. Nee protest grande aliquid et supra caeteros loqui nisi mota mens." This we may venture to call the very perfection of nature, when the mind is so entirely wrapt and engrossed with the subject before it, that it contemns all common and known conceptions, and rises, by a divine instiftct as it were, to the very acme of human excellence. Hence Lipsius affirmed — *' Poetam neminem praestan- tem fuisse sine parte quadem uberiore divinse aurae." This assertion may be with equal jus- tice applied to prose authors, and for this reason alone the appearance of elegant and sound writers, in both departments, is so rare amongst us. Perhaps there is nothing more requisite to form a correct style than the frequent exercise of those natural parts which we have just men- tioned. We must consider that *' Rome was not built in a day ; " that no one can suddenly arrive at the dignity of the ancients ; but on this account ought we to despair ? Certainly not. To rational minds this should rather prove a stimulus to greater exertions. For that genius which is capable of appreciating the distinguished merits of the philosophers and poets of old, feels a glow of emulation warm his heart, and a thirst for glory seize his mind, which leads him to scorn the many diffi- culties of the ascent, and to redouble his efforts to reach the temple of fame, in order that he may become a worthy associate of such illus- trious men. This eminence can only be attained by industry. W^e must render ourselves well ac- quainted with the writers whom we are desirous of emulating ; must dwell on their various beauties with undeviating attention ; and, as old Benjonson truly observes, "must be able to con- vert the substance or riches of another writer to our own use." But to be capable of doing this with propriety, the matter must be well digested, lest a too servile imitation is discover- able, and our writings appear rather those of 142 NOBLE THOUGHTS IN NOBLE LANGUAGE. a compiler than of an original author. Let us make our imitation decorous — observe how the best writers have imitated and follow them. Cull the sweets from the fairest and choicest flowers, and turn all into honey. To be able to extract these beauties, various reading and exactness of study are especially requisite, for these lead to a comparison of theories, and enable us to decide with greater propriety on literary works. We obtain an insight into the several styles of authors ; see with clearness the arrangement of matter, and, out of the perfections of science, note with precision the vices which to the eye of the casual reader are concealed ; and cull a fine idea or rich vein of wit from the mass of bombast or absurdity which may possibly surround it ; clothe it in fairer array ; purge the dross from it, and produce it to the world as an original. By laying down these maxims of literary policy, we may possibly be accused of eulogiz- ing plagiarism ; far from it — our wish is to see dull wits softened and sharpened by an atten- tive perusal of those giants of literature who have been but too much neglected ; in whose mines may be discovered the ore, which, puri- fied in the fire, will conduce far more to our stock of knowledge than the crude, undigested productions which have been forced upon the public ; and, in some instances we fear, cor- rupted the tastes and understandings of men who promised better things. How much wiser would it have been to have learnt from Aris- totle "how to judge rightly of others and what we ought to imitate specially in ourselves." In this consists art, which is as great a requisite for the formation of a perfect writer as natural wit or original genius ; and, to attain this, we had need be disciples of Pythagoras, and con- tentedly give up three years of life to the laud- able pursuit of listening attentively to the opinions of others, and accustoming ourselves ever after to digest the various sentiments and opinions we may have heard in the course of the day (whether in our intercourse with man- kind, or our communion with their writings) previously to our betaking ourselves to re- pose. Such are the acquirements absolutely neces- sary for the formation of a writer of merit ; and however much we may excel in any single department, with whatever natural genius we may be endowed, whatever acquirements we may have obtained, still these individual advan- tages will profit us but little ; and unless there is a happy mixture of the remainder, we shall vainly aim at pre-eminence in composition. We are convinced that in placing the subject in this point of view, we may possibly lay our- selves open to an imputation of egotism ; but surely this is unjust. Does it follow, of neces- sity, that he who invented the game of chess (as a celebrated French writer observed on a similar occasion) should consequently be the greatest proficient in it ? Assuredly not ; — on the contrary, a man who is conscious of his own deficiencies is far more capable of com- menting upon them than a person who is igno- rant of the subject. The former dilates upon his own defects, and having felt the disadvan- tages and inconveniences of them, is anxious to warn others from splitting on the same rock upon which he himself has foundered ; whereas the latter treats the affair with a supercilious kind of negligence, arising in some measure from ignorance, but in a far greater degree from an arrogant self-sufficiency which leads him to suppose that he himself is entirely free from the errors and vices he so severely lashes. This is seen in a peculiar manner amongst gentlemen of the clerical profession ; as the judgment of the young divine ripens he becomes more conscious of the importance of his duties ; pays greater attention to the subject ; feels the negligence, if not levity, with which he has performed many of the most solemn duties of his office, and gradually reforms. Surely no one will be found bold enough to deny that the discourses delivered from the pulpit by a man who is thus feelingly awake to the high and important duties of his office, are far more impressive and far more likely to win the atten- tion of his audience than those delivered in the beginning of his ministry, when he per- formed his clerical engagements rather as a mechanical operation than as a solemn duty. This line of argument is equally applicable to composition. Great mental acquirements, in the first place, enable a writer to grasp the subject with increased power ; they bring vividly to his mind the various parallel pas- sages which his extensive readings may have furnished, and teach him the method of arguing with perspicuity and elegance, and alluring as it were the reader to his own opinion. In order, therefore, to form an excellent style, we consider natural genius, application, persever- ance, imitation, and art, as absolutely re- quisite ; and without these we venture to affirm that no one will ever soar above mediocrity. S. NOBLE THOUGHTS IN NOBLE LANGUAGE, 143 CONCLUSIONS, Hasty, are the Marks of a Fool. A WISE man doubteth; a fool rageth, and is confident : the novice saith, I am sure that it is so ; the better learned answers, Peradven- ture it may be so, but I prithee inquire. Some men are drunk with fancy, and mad with opinion. It is a little learning, and but a little, which makes men conclude hastily. Experience and humility teach modesty and fear. — Jeremy Taylor. CONSCIENCE is a Clock Which, in one man, strikes aloud and gives warning ; in another, the hand points silently to the figure, but strikes not. Meantime, hours pass away, and death hastens, and after death comes judgment — Jeremy Taylor. CONSCIENCE, A Good. Be mine that silent calm repast, A conscience cheerful to the last : That tree which bears immortal fruit. Without a canker at the root ; That friend which never fails the just. When other friends desert their trust. Dr. Cottoji. What is there in all the pomp of the world, the enjoyment of luxury, and the gratification of passion, comparable to the tranquil delight of a good conscience ? It is the health of the mind. It is a sweet perfume that diffuses its fragrance over everything near it without ex- hausting its store. Unaccompanied with this, the gay pleasures of the world are like brilliants to a deceased eye, music to a deaf ear, wine in an ardent fever, or dainties in the languor of an ague. To lie down on the pillow after a day spent in temperance, in beneficence, and piety, how sweet is it ! How different from the state of him who reclines at an unnatural hour, vnth his blood inflamed, his head throbbing with wine and gluttony, his heart aching with rancorous malice, his thoughts totally estranged from Him who has protected him in the day, and will watch over him, ungrateful as he is, in the night season ! A good conscience is in- deed the peace of God. Passions lulled to sleep, clear thoughts, cheerful tempers, a dis- position to be pleased with every obvious and innocent object around ; these are the effects of a good conscience ; these are the things which constitute happiness ; and these con- descend to dwell with the poor man, in his humble cottage, in the vale of obscurity. In the magnificent mansion of the proud and vain, glitter the exteriors of happiness — the gilding, the trapping, the pride, and the pomp ; but in the decent habitation of piety is oftener found the downy nest of heavenly peace ; that solid good, of which the parade of the vain, the frivolous, and voluptuous, is but a shadowy semblance. — Christian Philosophy. CONSCIENCE, A Guilty. Withal he heard the bittern's boom. And tho' without the fir-wood's gloom They now were come, yet red and low The sun above the trees did show ; And in despite of hardihead, The old Squire had a mortal dread Of lying in the wood alone When that was done that should be done. Wm. Morris. When the conscience is thoroughly afraid with the remembrance of sins past, and the devil assaileth thee with great violence, going about to overwhelm thee with heaps, floods, and whole seas of sins, to terrify thee, and draw thee from Christ, then arm thyself with sucli sentences as these : " Christ, the Son of God, was given, not for the holy, the righteous, worthy, and such as were his friends ; but for the wicked sinners, for the unworthy, and for his enemies. " Wherefore if S atan say, ' ' Thou art a sinner, and therefore must be damned ; " then answer thou and say, * ' Because thou sayest I am a sinner, therefore will I be righteous and be saved : " and if he reply, "Nay, but sinners must be damned," then answer thou and say, *' No ; for I fly to Christ, who hath given himself for my sins ; and there- fore, Satan, in that thou sayest I am a sinner, thou givest me armour and weapons against thyself, that with thine own sword I may cut thy throat, and tread thee under my feet." Matt. xi. 28 ; Rom. v. 6, 8, — Luther. CONSCIENCE, a Great Principle. Conscience is a principle, the power of which is felt and acknowledged by all, and which pe- culiarly distinguishes the rational from the 144 NOBLE THOUGHTS IN NOBLE LANGUAGE. animal creation. Where there is no responsi- bility, there can be no room for conscience, which is universally in man as an involuntary judge of right and wrong ; which will often prevent action, or the indulgence of thought, by its monitions ; and which will pass sentence upon conduct, almost before there has been time to review it. Conscience may be more or less enlightened and sensitive, according to the amount of knowledge possessed by individuals, and according to the moral culture it may have received ; or it may, in some instances, be rendered fastidious by overmuch care ; or it may be blunted by want of attention ; it may be scrupulous over things trifling or indifferent, while it may be omnivorous over barriers of real importance ; it may be superstitious over appearances, while it may be regardless of principles ; it may most unjustly suffuse the countenance of innocence with the crimson hue of shame, where no cause for shame exists, and where the suspicion of its possibility has been the only source of its production ; while, in other instances of seared, moral sense, it will turn the brow of unattainted. defiance to the world, as a covering to a secret history of heartlessness and crime. Yet in all these cases of ignorance, of deficient information, of per- version, or of crime, it is still conscious — still the principle originally good, but perverted to error, and imperfect from the natural imperfec- tions of fallen man. — Newnham. CONSCIENCE, a Moral Feeling. Conscience is the moral feeling of a man with respect to his actions ; whether a man's actions be right or wrong in his own estimation, depends upon his judgment ; thus conscience depends upon judgment. The judgment of man consists of his reason or mind, and his information or knowledge, — as the knowledge of a law which his reason considers of binding authority ; thus again, conscience depends upon a man's knowledge. If a man's moral feeling is filled with approbation and delight, after an action has been tried by his judgment, he is said to have a clear and good conscience : so, if a man is filled with remorse and regret, after any of his actions have been so tried, he is said to have a guilty conscience. But a man may, on such an occasion, neither feel self- approbation nor remorse, and then, and it is a fearful state, his conscience is seared and dead. Thus conscience, when it exists, and it exists in every breast until extinguished by repeated opposition and neglect, punishes the trans- gressor of a law, and rewards the obedient. "And therefore," to use the words of the eloquent Jeremy Taylor, "conscience is called the Household Guardian, the Domestic God, the Spirit or Angel of the place ; and when we call God to witness, we only mean that our own conscience is right, and that God and God's vicar, our conscience, know it." Whether, then, any particular action be against my conscience, depends upon the ver- dict of my judgment passed upon such action, depends upon what rule or law respecting such action is known to my reason or mind. May I smuggle goods, if I am ready on discovery to pay the penalty ? This depends on two ques- tions. I. Are the revenue laws binding on me? 2. Do they give an option, either to obey or pay the penalty? It is quite clear that revenue and all municipal laws not con- trary to the law of God are binding on the subject. It is equally clear that they do not give an option ; the penalty is not intended to be a substitute for the performance of their requirements, but it is the best means the legislature can devise to prevent the infraction of its demands. Hence it follows that the municipal laws in question cannot be safely broken on the ground that we are ready, if called upon, to pay the penalty. And I ven- ture to say, happy is it for the State and society that the observance of the laws is a matter of conscience. "The voice within, which approves or disapproves, has in it a re- straining force more powerful than a thousand gibbets." — Laxv Magazine. CONSCIENCE, A ReUgious. Religion is a pleasure to* the mind as it re- spects practice, and so sustains the name of conscience. And conscience undoubtedly is the great repository and magazine of all those pleasures that can afford any solid refreshment to the soul. For when this is calm, and serene, and absolving, then properly a man enjoys all things— and, what is more, himself; for that he must do before he can enjoy any- thing else. But it is only a pious life, led ex- actly by the ruler of a severe religion, that can authorise a man's conscience to speak comfort- ably to him. It is this that must word the sentence before the conscience can pronounce it, and then it will do it with majesty and NOBLE THOUGHTS IN NOBLE LANGUAGE. 145 authority : it will not whisper, but proclaim a jubilee to the mind ; it will not drop, but pour in oil upon the wounded heart. And is there any pleasure comparable to that which springs from hence ? The pleasures of conscience are not only greater than all other pleasures, but may also serve instead of them ; for they only please and affect the mind in transitu, in the pitiful narrow compass of actual fniition ; whereas that of conscience entertains and feeds it a long time after with durable, lasting re- flections. The second ennobling property of it is, that it is such a pleasure as never satiates nor wea- ries : for it properly affects the spirits, and a spirit feels no weariness, as being privileged from the causes of it. But can the epicure say so of any of the pleasures that he so much doats upon ? Do they not expire while they satisfy, and, after a few minutes' refreshment, determine in loathing and unquietness ? How short is the interval between a pleasure and a burden — how indiscernible the transition from one to the other ! Pleasure dwells no longer upon the appetite than the necessities of nature, which are quickly and easily provided for, and then all that follows is a load and an oppres- sion. Every morsel to a satisfied hunger is only a new labour to a tired digestion. Every draught to him that has quenched his thirst is but a farther quenching of nature, a provision for rheum and diseases, a drowning of the quickness and activity of the spirits Those that are so fond of applause, while they pursue it, how little do they taste it when th ey have it ! Like lightning, it only flashes upon the face, and it is gone ; and it is well if it does not hurt the man. . , . . If it be a pleasure to be envied and shot at, to be maligned standing, and to be despised falling, to endeavour that which is impossible, which is to please all, and to suffer for not doing, it then is a pleasure to be great, and to be able to dispose of men's fortunes and preferments. .... And then, lastly, for company : though it may reprieve a man from his melancholy, yet it cannot secure him from his conscience, nor from sometimes being alone. And what is all that a man enjoys, from a week's, a month's, or a year's converse, comparable to what he feels for one hour, when his conscience shall take him aside and rate him by himself? South. CONSCIENCE, a Testimony to God. In addition to the notices of the existence and perfections of the Deity furnished by the works of creation, it has pleased the Supreme Being to superadd a witness, whose testimony, though it may indeed be slighted or perverted, is incapable of being destroyed. This common possession of the human race, while it shines with various degrees of clearness, sheds light upon every rational being. Conscience is, indeed, the vicegerent of the Deity ; and as all moral government must necessarily be admin- istered by moral sanctions, the wisdom of establishing a tribunal in every man's bosom is obvious. While, however, the faculty by which we sit in judgment upon ourselves is a distinction which ennobles our nature, the abuse of it must proportionably enhance our condemnaticn. As sin is the transgression of law ; so, if it could be proved that intelligent creatures are without law, it would of course result that, as they are not under the moral government of the Deity, they can have nothing either to hope or fear from his legisla- tive authority. Nor is the influence of con- science less extensive than its utility is evident. By allying itself with our hopes and with our fears, with our memory and with our prospects, it either sweetens or embitters the cup of life by the ingredients which it blends with it. The favourable verdict of our fellow creatures, as it is frequently founded on ignorance, is only to be valued when it is the echo of the inward witness — the reflected light of a virtuous action. In proportion as conscience is enlightened or obscured, the standard of morality will be elevated or depressed. Christianity exalts the standard to the highest degree ; for this sub- lime theory of morals makes no distinction between the indulged desire of evil and the perpetrated deed. It is obvious, therefore, that while guilt may be more easily contracted under this spiritual code, it will acquire at the same time a deeper degree of moral turpitude. This inward monitress may, however, be slighted and contemned, until her decisions lose their authority, and her remonstrances their effect. The tempest of reproof may subside into a fatal calm, that shall be at once the signal and the cause of our destruction. The tendency of infidelity to produce this fear- ful state of conscience is remarkably illus- trated by the following fact : — ** Mr. Mallet, it is well known, was a great L 146 NOBLE THOUGHTS IN NOBLE LANGUAGE. free-thinker, and as free a speaker of his free thoughts. At his own table, the lady of the house, who was a staunch advocate for her husband's opinions, would often, in the warmth of argument, say, 'Sir, we Deists,' &c. The lecture upon the non credenda of the free- thinkers was repeated so often, and urged with so much earnestness, that the inferior domestics became soon as able disputants as the heads of the family. The fellow who waited at table being thoroughly convinced that, for any of his misdeeds, he should have no after account to render, was resolved to profit by the doctrine, and made off with many things of value, par- ticularly the plate. Luckily, he was so closely pursued that he was brought back with his booty to his master's house, who examined him before some select friends. At first, the man was sullen, and would answer no questions ; but being urged to give a reason for his infa- mous behaviour, he resolutely said, *' I have heard you so often talk of the impossibility of a future state, and that after death there was no reward for virtue, nor punishment for vice, that I was tempted to commit the robbery.' * Well, but you rascal,' replied Mallet, 'had you no fear of the gallows?' — ' Sir," said the fellow, looking sternly at his master, * what is that to you, if I had a mind to venture that ? You had removed my greatest terror ; why should I fear the least? ' ''—Beth. thing, and a dumb conscience which says nothing, is in as miserable a condition as a man can be on this side of hell. — P. IIcnry\ CONSCIENCE, Quiet. Two things may quiet any man's conscience under the greatest guilt. i. Is there not a sufficient sacrifice? Is there not satisfaction and atonement in the blood of Christ? Is not this a sufficient sacrifice? 2. Is it not thine? This I know unbelief is apt to stagger at; but therefore do but lay thy hand upon the head of the sacrifice, confess thy sins over the head of thy burnt-offering, lay thy burdens upon him by faith, and he is thine, and all that he hath done and suffered was for thee, and shall be as effectual for thy good, as avail- able and effectual with the Lord for thee, as if thou thyself hadst suffered, yea, infinitely more. (Lev. i. 4 ; Rom. viii. i j John vi. 35-37 ; x. 2.'J-2().)— Mather, CONSCIENCE, Seared. He that hath a blind conscience which sees nothing, a dead conscience which feels no- CONSCIENCE, the Monitor Within. Conscience raises its voice in the breast of every man, a witness for his Creator. He who resigns himself to its guidance, and he who rejects its warnings, are both compelled to acknowledge its power ; and whether the good man rejoices in the prospect of immor- tality, or the victim of remorse withers be- neath an influence unseen by human eye, and shrinks from the anticipation of a reckoning to come, each has forced upon him a convic- tion, such as argument never gave, that the being which is essentially himself is distinct from any function of the body, and will sur- vive in undiminished vigour, when the body shall have fallen into decay. — Abercrombic. CONSCIENTIOUSNESS. When you see men pay a great regard to God and His laws, honouring His holy name, and His word, and everything belonging to Him ; — when you see them just, and kind, and mer- ciful, and not given to revenge, but ready to forgive, and give, and love, as becomes the followers of Christ — when you see them tem- perate and chaste, modest and humble, and dealing with others as they themselves would be dealt with, you will have reason to take these for good Christians if you are convinced that they do these things out of love and obe- dience to God, and as the fruit of faith in the Lord Jesus Christ. — Bishop T. JVilsojt. CONSISTENCY, Its Harmonizing Tendency. Consistency, like the principle of gravita- tion which regulates the motion of the planet- ary system, is that ingredient in human cha- racter which harmonizes every quality of the mind, and preserves in unison principles and feelings which, however excellent and lovely in themselves, from having no point of con- tact, would render the mind of their possessor a chaos, and exert an irregular and contradic- tory influence on his habits of action. If a man's mode of thinking and acting be uniform NOBLE THOUGHTS IN NOBLE LANGUAGE. 147 and consistent, he secures the reputation of possessing strength of mind adequate to the task of judging and deciding for himself upon such mode as is most consonant with his own ideas of expediency and propriety. The very decision of character it manifests is honour- able to him, inasmuch as it cannot proceed from obstinacy or bigotry to preconceived opinions, such principles never carrying them- selves out into determined and consistent ac- tion. Consistency of character must arise from a clear conviction of the excellence of certain prin- ciples adopted, and certain habits formed, an infringement upon which would be considered as a dereliction of duty. Neither can it be formed upon any other than excellent princi- ples, being in its very nature opposed to wrong. A bigot is inconsistent, because he will not allow freedom to reason, nor force to argu- ment, founded upon any other ideas of truth than those which he has adopted. A pas- sionate man is inconsistent, because he is not governed by the dictates of sober judgment, but by the impulses of excited feeling. A proud man is inconsistent — because he argues from comparison of great things to small, and not also of small things to great ; he views his possessions and attainments as greater than those of many around him, but does not also reflect upon his inferiority to many who are in real worth far above him. On the contrary, a man of liberal feelings is consistent, because he allows the same freedom of opinion to others which he claims for him- self. A temperate man is consistent, because he does not suffer himself by excess of feeling to be betrayed into the commission of impru- dences, but is rather governed by the dictates of reason and experience. A humble man is consistent, because, from his ideas of himself, he will never form false estimates of his own worth ; his humility will arise from such a view of his own character as will have a regu- lating influence upon his conduct in his inter- course with mankind. It is thus evident that consistency, from the nature of its principles, must be founded upon worth of character ; and a little reflec- tion will make it equally evident that worth of character, if not regulated by consistency, will lose half its value. Gold in the ore is a trea- sure ; but it is when it has passed through the refiner's hands, and has received the stamp of currency, that it becomes of acknowledged value, and fit for adaptation to all the Circum- stances and conveniences of life. So the es- sential pai-ts of a man's character may be of undoubted worth, while there still needs a pre- siding and overruling principle, which only can bring all the springs of action into united and harmonious operatkjn. It is on this account that a habit of consist- ency is particularly insisted upon here, before entering upon the several points of character which it will be necessary hereafter to notice. It is the want of consistency which has caused more secret uneasiness, and more relative dis- cord, than almost any other failing connected with a man's character. It has been in every age execrated as the assassin of religious cha- racter and peace, introducing anarchy and con- fusion into the repose of Christian Churches, casting stains upon garments which ought to be kept unspotted from the world, and by evil influence directly, and bad example indirectly, throwing a reproach upon the cause of Chris- tianity, and making the tongues of its enemies to blaspheme. — /r. S. M. CONSOLATIONS from Revelation. The Patriarch's hope, the Prophet's theme. The pious Christian's heartfelt joy, At length is come : its matchless scheme Hath been proclaim'd from heaven on high : Light, life, and immortality Now shine reveal'd ; beyond the tomb The Christian's vision can descry A blissful rest — a tranquil home. Barton. When the storm of evil rages around us we run for shelter to our home, where we feel secure, if not happy. It is here that the labourer retires after the toils of the day, to rest himself in peace. To this much-loved place the traveller bends his steps, and however re- mote or oppressed. The thought of home his spirit cheers. No more he grieves for troubles past. Nor any future trial fears. So he may safe arrive at last. So sacred is this retreat from sorrow held that it is guarded by the strongest fences of human law ; and the poor man feels as safe in his shattered hovel as the lordly baron whose castle is surrounded by impregnable walls. But, alas ! this interior sanctuary of the great temple of social life is exposed to the visita- tions of evil ! It may become — nay, it often does become — the chamber of affliction, the mausoleum of death. It is here that we sus- tain our greatest losses, and it is here that the cup of woe is often filled with its most bitter inc:redients. 148 NOBLE THOUGHTS IN NOBLE LANGUAGE. It is but rarely that we are much affected by the decease of those with whom we have not been living in habits of intimacy ; but when Death comes up into our chambers — when he makes the wife a widow, and leaves the children fatherless — when he puts our friend from us, or thrusts our lover or our companion into darkness, then we send forth the cries of lamen- tation and bitter weeping. The sight of the corpse, cold, motionless, and insensible, tend- ing to decay and corruption, is appalling— es- pecially when we reflect that is all that now remains on earth of one whose wisdom once guided us, when in the labyrinth of difficulty, whose influence was a shield to defend us from the shafts of envy or of malice, and whose friendship was the sweet balm of our life. But the scene becomes still more appalling when we consider it as a correct representation of the state to which we shall soon be reduced. It is true that the Christian, when gazing on the sublime visions which the Gospel discloses to his faith, will sometimes speak with rapture of the glory to be revealed in him ; but recol- lecting that he must previously pass through the dark Valley of the Shadow of Death, a sudden tremor will often come over him. What is it to die? What is the sensation which just pre- cedes the extinction of life ? What are the feel- ings ? What the anticipations of the soul, when standing on the verge of an eternal world? Who can tell? Who wonders, if in the imme- diate prospect of an event which is to dissolve our connection with earth, and introduce us to a state of endless happiness, or endless woe, the love of life should dictate the prayer of the Psalmist — **0 spare me, that I may recover strength, before I go hence, and be no more." The tomb of a departed friend is a dreary place, but if he died in the faith of our Lord Jesus Christ, it is illumined by the light of life. We may visit it, and wet it with the dew- drops of grief, but we must not sorrow as others who have no hope. In the midst of our mournings, we must not forget our consola- tions. These are various : and calculated not only to diminish the violence of our distress, but to induce a spirit of devout gratitude and resignation to the sovereign will of our Father who is in heaven. **I was dumb, I opened not my mouth ; because thou didst it." There is a charm in human friendship which no language can describe ; but on no occasion does it operate with so much effect as in the season of affliction. There sits the mourner — but he sits solitary and alone — he weeps — he sighs — he gives utterance to the most heart- rending exclamations of grief, and chooses death rather than life. But what a change will the voice of a sympathizing friendship produce. It will raise up his disconsolate spirit into the light of joy and peace — will diffuse over his countenance the beams of a cheerful pleasantry, and reconcile him to his losses. But we want some more effective sympathy — some more powerful consolations than human friendship can supply, to soothe the anguish of the mind, when death has taken from us the objects of our strongest attachments. It is then we feel constrained to withdraw our dependence on man, to repose confidence in the living and the true God ; and at no other period in the history of woe are the Scriptures read with such deep and intense interest. The scene of Bethany rises before our imagination — vivid and strong, as when Jesus wept at the grave of his friend ; and we read the reply which he gave to Martha with emotions almost equal to those which agitated her breast at the time of its utterance. "Jesus said unto her, I am the resurrection and the life : he that believeth in me, though he were dead, yet shall he live : and whosoever liveth and believeth in me shall never die. " The following paragraph, which is selected from one of the Apostolic letters addressed to the church of the Thessalonians, contains ample reasons why believers in every age should blend the anticipations of hope with the moanings of sorrow, when bending over the graves of their deceased Christian friends. "But I would not have you to be ignorant, brethren, concerning them which are asleep, that ye sorrow not, even as others which have no hope. For if we be- lieve that Jesus died and rose again, even so them also which sleep in Jesus will God bring with him. For this we say unto you by the word of the Lord, that we which are alive and remain unto the coming of the Lord shall not prevent them which are asleep. For the Lord himself shall descend from heaven with a shout, with the voice of the archangel, and with the trump of God : and the dead in Christ shall rise first : then we which are alive and remain, shall be caught up together with them in the clouds, to meet the Lord in the air : and so shall we ever be with the Lord. Wherefore comfort one another with these words." — (i Thess. iv. 13—18.) The very expression which is employed by the inspired writer to describe the death of be- lievers is calculated to impart consolation. They sleep. They sleep in Jesus. The Apostle, NOBLE THOUGHTS IN NOBLE LANGUAGE. 149 quoting on this occasion the language which our Lord employed when speaking of his de- parted friend, ** Our friend Lazarus sleepeth ; but I go, that I may awake him out of sleep." We are not to suppose, like some of our modern professors, that this expression gives any sanction to the belief that the soul of a be- liever exists in an unconscious state from the hour of his decease till the morning of the re- surrection. Such an opinion may have the sanction of a proud and vain philosophy, which has never bowed in submission to the authority of revelation, but against it are directed the most plain and unequivocal assertions of the Scripture. Our Lord, when replying to the fervent prayer of the dying thief, says, " To-day shalt thou be with me in paradise." The Apostle, when writing to the church at Corinth, says, "Therefore we are always confident, knowing that whilst we are at home in the body, we are absent from the Lord. We are confident, I say, and willing rather to be absent from the body, and to be present with the Lord." On another occasion, when writing to the Philippians, he says, * ' For me to live is Christ, and to die is gain. But if I live in the flesh, this is the fruit of my labour ; yet what I shall choose, I wot not. For I am in a strait betwixt two, having a desire to depart, and to be with Christ, which is far better. " When he says, *' For me to live is Christ," he declares that the present life is to him a source of enjoy- ment and honour ; but to depart would be an augmentation of his bliss. But how so, if after his departure he was to exist in an unconscious state of being? Can we imagine that he pre- ferred an unconscious existence to the power of thought, of reflection, of anticipation? Can we imagine that he preferred the inactivity of unconscious repose to the pleasure of success- ful labour ? Can we imagine that he wished to have his intimate and holy fellowship with Christ, and with his Christian brethren, broken off, that he might go and lay down in silence amidst the corruptions of the grave ? Would this state of uselessness and unconsciousness have been far better than a life of unparalleled usefulness and enjoyment ? Oh, no. It would have been felt by him as a cold, chilling damp, which would have invested the grave with a gloom too horrifying for calm and complacent contemplation ; but knowing that he should be with Christ as soon as he left the body, he ex- claims, with devout rapture, " To die is gain." If to be absent from the body is to be present with the Lord j and if the loss of life be a gain, our sorrow concerning them which sleep ought to be turned into joy, because they are with the Lord Jesus, and in the full participation of the glories of the celestial world. The expression which is employed as de- scriptive of their death suggests the absence of all terror. We grant that a Christian may sometimes feel a high degree of terror when anticipating his own decease ; but when does he feel it? When death is at a distance, and he stands, as in the centre of all the endear- ments of life. When his wife is hanging on his arm ; when his children are playing around him; when his friends are encompassing his path ; and when he feels the claims of domes- tic and social life pressing in upon his attention wi,th undiminished force. But when the time comes that he must die, the terror goes off his spirit, as the gloom of night proves more favourable to the quietude of sleep than the light of day, and he becomes astonished at his own composure. What is this absorbs me quite ? Steals my senses, shuts my sight. Drowns my spirits, draws my breath ? Tell me, my soul, can this be death ? ** Can this be death, which I have so long and so often dreaded, that now comes, not as the king of terrors, but as an angel of mercy, whose presence calms the agitated feelings — diffusing peace and joy?" The state of a believer after death is another source of consolation. He sleeps in Jesus. When he dies he resigns all his possessions, and every tie which bound him to earth is dissolved ; but having passed through the dark valley, he is immediately presented faultless before the presence of the Divine glory ; and while the paroxysms of grief occasioned by his departure are agonising our breasts he is receiving the congratulations of the spirit? of the just made perfect, — his union with the Lord Jesus having been publicly acknowledged and confirmed for ever. Think of this, ye bereaved mourners, when gazing on the lifeless form, or bending over the grave of a deceased friend ! He still lives, and lives a nobler, a happier, a purer life than he lived on earth — in a better world — in more exalted society — engaged in exercises more congenial to his taste ; and is, while you are weeping here below, unituig with a multitude which no man can number, in ascribing ** Salvation to our God which sitteth upon the throne, and unto the Lamb. " Rest, happy spirit ! we will not recal thee to earth ; we will not wish to see thee again defiled I50 NOBLE THOUGHTS IN NOBLE LANGUAGE. by sin — again pierced by sorrow — again a sojourner in this vale of tears ! Having reached the goal, and received the prize, we will not ■wish to see thee again entangled by the weights, and beset by the sins, which retard and embitter our course ; but will anticipate with solemn awe the approach of that hour when we also shall enter into the joy of our Lord. The certainty of the resurrection and trans- formation, preparatory to the final consumma- tion of their endless felicity, is another source of consolation. The corpse of the departed Christian is carried to the tomb, vv^here the rites of sepulture are performed — ashes to ashes, and dust to dust; but " if we, believe that Jesus died and rose again, even so them also which sleep in Jesus will God bring with him. For the Lord himself shall descend from heaven with a shout, with the voice of the archangel, and with the trump of God ; and the dead in Christ shall rise first." The same body which is deposited in the grave will be raised and reanimated, but it will undergo a surprising change in its qualities and appear- ance. '* It is sown in corruption : it is raised in incorruption : it is sown in dishonour ; it is raised in glory : it is sown in weakness j it is raised in power : it is sown a natural body ; it is raised a spiritual body. There is a natural body, and there is a spiritual body. " " For our conversation is in heaven ; from whence also we look for the Saviour, the Lord Jesus Christ ; who shall change our vile body, that it may be fashioned like unto his glorious body, accord- ing to the working whereby he is able even to subdue all things unto himself." "So when this corruptible shall have put on incorruption, and this mortal shall have put on immortality, then shall be brought to pass the saying that is written, Death is swallowed up in victory. O death, where is thy sting ! O grave, where is thy victory ! The sting of death is sin, and the strength of sin is the law. But thanks be to God, which giveth us the victory through our Lord Jesus Christ." But how is this trans- formation to be effected ? How ! By him who is able to subdue all things to himself. Of this we have no doubt, who believe in the Divine authority of the Scriptures ; and though in- fidels may advance their metaphysical objec- tions against it, yet they possess no force, be- cause the event is to be brought to pass, not by the contrivance of human wisdom, but by the power of God. And who can fix limita- tions to Omnipotence, and say what it cannot effect? When, therefore. Christian brethren, you are weeping at the grave of a departed friend, remember that he is still alive ; that he is be- holding the glory of the Lol-d Jesus — associa- ting with the angels of light, and the spirits of just men made perfect ; and that the body which is now mouldering to decay will be raised in a more beauteous and glorious form, to dwell for ever with the Lord — "Wherefore comfort one another with these words. " But do not retire from the spot, rendered sacred by such holy musings, without anticipating your own decease, and the glory that will follow. Yes, very soon the intercourse which death has broken off will be renewed, never again to be interrupted. You will associate with the pious friends who have preceded you ; will partake of their honours and their bliss, and mingle in the Saviour's train when he descends from heaven with a shout, with the voice of the archangel, and with the trump of God, and witness the awful solemnities of the last day, undismayed by terror — uniting with the rest of the redeemed in singing — Thanks be to God, who giveth evermore The victory, through Jesus Christ our Lord. Such is the joyful anthem ; but before Its full, triumphal echoes can be poured Through heaven's high courts, and God can be adored By thee in that beatitude, thou must Be born again ; and then, by grace restored Unto his favour, even from the dust Thou shalt be raised again, to join the good and just. Y. CONSUMMATION, a Blessed. There came Sudden remembrance, vivid as a flame. Of everything that she had done on earth. Although it all seemed changed in weight and worth, Small things becoming great, and great things small. And godlike pity touched her therewithal. For her old self, for sons of men that die ; And that sweet new-born immortality Now with full love her rested spirit fed. Wm, Morris. CONTENT is Wealth. A POOR man that hath little, and desires no more, is in truth richer than the greatest monarch that thinketh he hath not what he should or what he might, or that grieves there is no more to have. — Bishop Hall. NOBLE THOUGHTS IN NOBLE LANGUAGE. 151 CONTENT, Real. My mind to me a kingdom is ; Such perfect joy therein I find As far exceeds all earthly bliss, That Cjod or nature hath assigned. Though much I want that most would have, Yet still my mind forbids to crave. Content I live, this is my stay ; I seek no more than may suffice : I press to bear no haughty sway ; Look what I lack, my mind supplies. Lo ! thus I triumph like a king, Content Avith that my mind doth bring. I see how plenty surfeits oft. And hasty climbers soonest fall ; I see that such as sit aloft Mishap doth threaten most of all : These get with toil, and keep with fear ; Such cares my mind could never bear. No princely pomp nor wealthy stoi'C, No force to win a victory ; No wily wit to salve a sore. No shape to win a lover's eye ; To none of these I yield as thrall ; For why ? my mind despiseth all. Some have too much, yet still they crave, I little have, yet seek no more ; They are but poor, though much they have, And I am rich with little store. They poor, I rich ; they beg, I give ; They lack, I lend ; they pine, I live. I laugh not at another's loss, I grudge not at another's gain ; No worldly wave my mind can toss, I brook that is another's bane : I fear no foe nor fawn on friend — I loathe not life nor dread mine end. My wealth is health and perfect ease, My conscience clear, my chief defence ; I never seek by bribes to please, Nor by desert to give offence. Thus do I live, thus will I die — Would all do so as well as I. I joy not in no earthly bliss, I weigh not Croesus' wealth a straw ; For care, I care not what it is — I fear not fortune's fatal law ; My mind is such as may not move For beauty bright, or force of love. I wish but what I have at will, I wander not to seek for more ; I like the plain, I climb no hill ; In greatest storms I sit on shore, And laugh at them that toil in vain To get what must be lost again. I kiss not where I wish to kill, I feign not love where most I hate ; I break no sleep to win my will, I wait not at the mighty's gate ; I scorn no poor, I fear no rich — I feel no want, nor have too much. Some weigh their pleasures by their lust. Their wisdom by their rage of will ; Their treasure is their only trust, A cloaked craft their store of skill ; But all the pleasure that I find Is to maintain a quiet mind. Sir E. Dyer. CONTENT, the Chief Good. Content is the mark we all aim at, the chief good and top of felicity, to which all men's actions strive to ascend ; but it is solely proper to God's wisdom to engross all true content into his own hand, that he may sell it to saints by retail, and enforce all men to buy it of him, or want it. Hence is it that a godly man, in his mean estate, enjoys more content in God than a king or emperor in his earthly glory and mag- nificence. I will, then, strive to purchase me a patent of content from him that hath the monopoly thereof ; and then, if I have little in estate, I shall have much in content ; godliness shall be my great riches, whilst I am contented with what I have. — Arthur Warwick. CONTENT, Two Sorts of. There are two sorts of content : one is con- nected with exertion, the other with habits of indolence. The first is a virtue, the other a vice. Examples of both may be found in abundance in Ireland. There you may some- times see a man in sound health submitting day after day to evils which a few hours' labour would remedy ; and you are provoked to hear him say, " It will do well enough for me — didn't it do for my father before me ? I can make a shift with things for my time ; anyhow, I'm content." This kind of content is indeed the bane of industry. But instances of a different sort may be found in various of the Irish peasantry. Amongst them we may behold men struggling with adversity with all the strongest powers of the mind and body, 152 NOBLE THOUGHTS IN NOBLE LANGUAGE. and supporting irremediable evils with a degree of cheerful fortitude which must excite at once our pity and admiration. — Miss Edg- worth. CONTENT, witli a Sense of Duty. For my part, though I love the lochs, and moors, and mountains, as well as do the wild swans and the red deer, yet could I, were there necessity for 't, be every bit as happy in a flat in the darkest lane o' Auld Reekie. Wherever duty calls him, and binds him down, there a man may be happy, ay, even at the bottom of a coal-pit that runs a mile aneath the sea, with waves and ships roaring and rowing a thousand fathoms over the shaft. Woe for us were there not great happiness and great virtue in towns and cities ! Let but the faculties of the mind be occupied for sake of the affections of the heart, and your eye may shine as cheerfully on a smoky dead brick wall as on a ledge of living rock, forming an ampitheatre round a loch or an arm of the sea. Would I love my wife and my weans less in the market than the forest ? Would I be affected otherwise by burying one of them — should it so please God — in Yarrow kirkyard than in the Greyfriars ? If my sons and my daughters turn out well in life, what matters it to me if they live by the silver streams or the dry Nor-loch ? Vice and misery as readily — as inevitably — befall mortal creatures in the sprinkled domiciles that from the green earth look up through among trees to the blue heavens, as in the dungeon- like dwellings, crowded one above another, in closes where it's aye a sort of glimmering night. And Death visits them all alike with as sure a foot and as pitiless an eye. And when- ever, and wherever, he comes, there's an end of all distinctions — of all differences of outward and material things. Then maun all look alike for comfort to one source, and that's no the skies theirsels, beautiful though they be, canopying the dewy earth with a curtain wrought into endless figures, all bright with the rainbow hues, or almost hidden by houses from the sight of them that are weeping among the dim city lanes — for what is't in either case but a mere congregation of vapours ? But the mourner maun be able, with the eyes of Faith, to pierce through it all, or else of his mourn- ing there will be no end — nay, nay, the more beautiful may be the tent in which he taber- nacles, the mair hideous the hell within his heart ! The contrast between the strife of his own distracted spirit and the calm of the peaceful earth may otherwise drive him mad, or make him repent the hour when he was- born into a world in vain so beautiful. — Wilson. CONTENTMENT. Thenceforth in bliss and honour day by day His measured span of sweet life wore away. A happy man he was ; no vain desire Of foolish fame had set his heart a-fire ; No care he had the ancient bounds to change^ Nor yet for him must idle soldiers range From place to place about the burdened land^ Or thick upon the ruined cornfields stand ; For him no trumpets blessed the bitter war. Wherein the right and wrong so mingled are That hardly can the man of single heart Amid the sickening turmoil choose his part. For him sufficed the changes of the year, The God-sent terror was enough of fear For him ; enough the battle with the earth. The autumn triumph over drought and dearths Wm. Morris. *' Fair Sir," the carle said, " I am poor enow^ Tho' certes food I lack not easily ; My name is Christopher a-Green ; I sow A little orchard, set with bush and tree, And ever there the kind land keepeth me ; For I, now fifty, from a little boy Have dwelt thereon, and known both grief and! joy. IVm. Morris. Now long a lord, and clad in rich attire. In his fair hall he sat before the wine, Watching the evening sun's yet burning fire, Thro' the thick branches of his pleasaunce shine, In that mood when man thinks himself divine,, Remembering not whereto we all must come, Not thinking aught but of his happy home. IVm. Af orris. Thou art poor : what difference is there be- twixt a greater man and thee, save that he- doth his businesses by others, thou doest them thyself? He hath caters, cooks, bailiffs, stewards, secretaries, and all other officers for his several services : thou providest, dressest, gatherest, receivest, expendest, writest for thy- self. His patrimony is large : thine earnings small. If Briareus feed fifty bellies with his hundred hands, what is he the better than h^e- that with two hands feedeth one ? He is NOBLE THOUGHTS IN NOBLE LANGUAGE. 153 served in silver : thou in a vessel of the same colour, of lesser price ; as good for use, though not for value. His dishes are more dainty ; thine as well relished to thee, and no less wholesome. He eats olives, thou garlic : he mislikes not more the smell of thy sauce than thou dost the taste of his. Thou wantest somewhat that he hath : he wisheth something which thou hast, and regardest not. Thou couldst be content to have the rich man's purse ; but his gout thou wouldst not have : he would have thy health, but not thy fare. If we might pick out of all men's estates that which is laud- able, omitting the inconveniences, we would make ourselves complete ; but if we must take all together, we should perhaps little advantage ourselves with the change ; for the most wise God hath so proportioned out every man's con- dition, that he hath some just cause of sorrow inseparably mixed with other contentments, and hath allotted to no man living an absolute happiness, without some grievances ; nor to any man such an exquisite misery, as that he findeth not somewhat wherein to solace him- self, the weight whereof varies according to our estimation of them. — Bishop Hall. CONTENTMENT, the True Source of. There never was any system besides that of Christianity which could effectually produce in the mind of man the virtue of contentment. In order to make us content with our present condition, many of the ancient philosophers tell us that our discontent only hurts ourselves, without being able to make any alleviation in our circumstances ; others, that whatever evil befalls us is derived to us by a fatal necessity, to which the gods themselves are subject ; while others very gravely tell the man who is miser- able, that it is necessary he should be so to keep up the harmony of the universe, and that the scheme of Providence would be troubled and perverted were he otherwise. These and the like considerations rather silence than satisfy a man. They may show him that his discontent is unreasonable, but are by no means sufficient to relieve it They ather give despair than consolation. In a word, a man might reply to one of these com- forters as Augustus did to his friend, who advised him not to grieve for the death of a person whom he loved, because his grief could not fetch hira back again : " It is for that very reason," said the Emperor, "that I grieve." Religion bears a more tender regard for human nature. It prescribes to a very miserable man the means of bettering his condition ; nay, it shows him that the bearing his afflictions as he ought to do will naturally end in the re- moval of them. It makes him easy here, because it can make him happy hereafter. Upon the whole, a contented mind is the greatest bless- ing a man can enjoy in the present world ; and if in the present life his happiness arises from the subduing of his desires, it will arise in the next from the gratification of them. — Addison. CONTENTMENT, Various Kinds of. Every one must perceive that an almost uni- versal discontent with their condition pervades mankind. Every one is anxious to change his own state for another, in which he imagines he shall be more happy. Religion reverses this disorder of the mind, which springs from the corruption of our nature : it shows us our un- worthiness on account of sin ; and while it produces content with the place we are in, it makes us dissatisfied with ourselves ; so that the state and external condition in which we are found will have very little influence upon the mind. The man of the world is reconciled to his sins, and not to his state. TIjc man of piety is in hostility to his sins, and reconciled to his state. The men of the world are always changing their state, and imagining a happiness which continually flies from them. It is the same in every period of life. In youth, the objects of the world not being tried, they think themselves at liberty to take excursions after happiness, and place it in the gratification of their passions. Weary of these, they become men, and affect a grave and dignified course : they then pursue riches, and aspire after grandeur and conse- quence, but soon find that these have their cares and anxieties. When they become old, they look with equal contempt upon both periods ; for both appear to them like a confused dream that leaves nothing but a succession of images which have lost their charms. But piety will produce satisfaction with our condition, and prevent the indulgence of the passions. In fact, in every way and at all periods it will preserve them ; in youth, in manhood, and in advanced age. It will teach men that they have one solid good to obtain, and that time is short for obtaining it. Dejection and' gloom can have no place in that man who, having spent his life in serving 154 NOBLE THOUGHTS IN NOBLE LANGUAGE. God, looks forward to ** glory, honour, and immortality;" for he **runs without being weary, and walks without being faint." He has exchanged the vigour of youth for the full growth of the Christian, and is ready to say with the apostle, " I have fought a good fight, I have finished my course, I have kept the faith : henceforth there is laid up for me a crown of righteousness, which the Lord, the righteous Judge, shall give me in that day." — Robert Hall. CONTENTMENT and Gratitude. I HAVE somewhat of the best things ; I will thankfully enjoy them, and will want the rest with contentment. — Bishop Hall. CONTENTMENT and Resignation. It is recorded of Fenelon, that when his library was on fire, "God be praised," said he, "that it is not the habitation of some poor man." How peculiarly placid must the inind of Dr. Watts have been, when, in the prospect of death, he said, "I bless God I can lie down with comfort at night unsolicitous whether I awake in this world or another ! " CONTENTMENT from God. There is on the mind of a Christian that secret influence in the very disposition of love to God, which will of itself turn to good everything that comes from the God whom we love, and the Saviour on whom we fully and implicitly rely. . . . Viewing everything in the glass, or by the lamp of God's word, the Christian ingeniously, so to speak, finds in everything a reason for loving and fearing, serving and obeying God. Every event works for his good, because he is resolved it shall do so ; and every result satisfies, pleases, rejoices him, because he is persuaded it ought to do so. Loving God, he has a confidence that he is beloved of God. " We know that all things work together for good." But to whom is this knowledge vouchsafed? Truly, to those only who "love God" — to those who are "the called according to his purpose." His purpose is our sanctification, and that we should be "conformed to the image of his Son." To such truly, to such only, does that blessing apply, so frequently, indeed, and but too rashly, appropriated by many others, "All is for the hQS\..''—Archd. C. jf. Hoare. CONTENTMENT, Not Tacit Acquiescence. Contentment by no means involves a tacit acquiescence in the infirmities of our condition ; and the man of noble and elevated mind will not only aim at the perfection of his art or science from that abstract love of knowledge, which Sir H. Davy has beautifully observed "is in fact, in its ultimate and most perfect development, the love of infinite wisdom, and unbounded power, or the love of God," but may also safely cherish the belief, that every contribution he makes to the establishment of general laws will ultimately have its practical bearing upon the condition of humanity, and that future generations, if not his own, will be benefited by it. — Anoft. CONTRADICTION, Flat. If any man will oppose or contradict the most evident truths it will not be easy to find arguments wherewith to convince him. And yet this, notwithstanding, ought neither to be imputed to any inability in the teacher, nor to any strength of wit in the denier, but only to a certain dead insensibility in him. — Epictettis. C ONTRADICTION From a Shallow Mind. In unclear and doubtful things be not pertina- cious, as the weakest minds are readiest to be upon seeming i-eason, which, when tried, will possibly fall to nothing ; yet they are most assured, and cannot suffer a different thought in any from their own. There is naturally this proneness in every man's mind, and most, I say, in the shallowest ; a kind of fancied in- fallibility in themselves, which makes them contentious, contrary to the apostle's rule, "Let nothing be done through strife or vain glory," Philem. ii. 3, and as earnest upon differing in the smallest punctilio as in a high article of faith. Stronger spirits are usually more patient of contradiction, and less violent, especially in doubtful things ; and they who see furthest are least peremptory in their determinations. NOBLE THOUGHTS IN NOBLE LANGUAGE. 155 The apostle, in his second epistle to Timothy, hath a phrase, "the spirit of a sound mind :" it is a good sound constitution of mind, not to feel every blast ; either of seeming reason, to be taken with it ; or of cross opinion, to be offended at it, — Lei-^/ifon. CONTBOL of Self. That last best effort of thy skill. To form the life, and nile the will. Propitious Power ! impart. Teach me to cool my passion's fires. Make me the judge of my desires. The master of my heart. Raise me above the vulgar's breath, Pursuit of fortune, fear of death. And all in life that's mean ; Still true to reason be my plan, Still let my actions speak the man. Through every various scene. Akcnsiiie. CONTROVERSY, at Times Abusive. Religious controversy has often been made interesting to the public when it was strongly seasoned with gross abuse, slanderous mis- statements, amusing or romantic narrative, M'it, sarcasm, highly-wrought eloquence, or other attractions which the public taste admires. But religious argument, composed with sobriety, and put forth in the spirit of truth and peace, has no right to expect popular favour. — Bishop Hopkins. CONTROVERSY, Religious. When a man first turns his thoughts to reli- gion nothing is apt so much to surprise and discourage him as the vast diversity of opinions which he finds on this subject. It is true, in- deed, that among ourselves the Bible is gene- rally allowed to be the rule of faith and prac- tice, the measure and standard to which we must refer, and the umpire whose ultimate sen- tence precludes any further appeal ; but then many and arduous efforts are required to ascer- tain the sense and meaning of the Sacred Scriptures. Now it happens that amidst the different views and clashing judgments of com- mentators and divines, churches and sects, the young inquirer is too often either repressed and sunk into apathy, or roused and kindled into contentions and unhallowed zeal. The extremes are almost equally dangerous, and ought certainly to be deprecated by all the friends of truth and piety. Those who are ever ready to shrink appalled and horror-struck from the slightest approach of religious controversy should recollect that the chaff and husk cannot be separated from the wheat without sifting, nor the alloy and dross from the precious metals without the furnace ; and if some dust, and heat, and toil, and trouble, necessarily attend these operations, they must be submitted to without complaint, or else we can neither have fine bread nor fine gold, unless some miracle be wrought for us. There is, perhaps, no state of mind so unfa- vourable to Christianity as a state of cold and fixed indifference. The obvious tendency of the great mass of mankind is to this listless spirit of acquiescence. Dr. Mason has well observed "That what they have always seen before their own eyes, followed in their own practice, and received by tradition from their fathers, men generally support, as having on its side the double advantage of prescription and right. Without exercising much thought on the matter, they have a sort of quiet heredi- tary notion that it always v/as as it is, and it is as it ought to be. " When persons of this su- pine and slumbering spirit are asked to state the grounds of their faith, or give a reason of the hope that is in them, they draw back, pro- fessing to hate disputes and to dread innova- tions. Can any one have read the records oi' history without perceiving that almost every revival of Christian piety since the first propa- gation of the Gospel has been accompanied with many sharp controversies? Can the names of Huss and Luther, Wycliffe and Knox, Baxter and Burnet, be mentioned with- out calling up recollections which, on such a theme, supersede the necessity of arguments, by supplying, as it were, their place? "When," says Milton, " I call to mind at last, after so many dark ages, wherehi the huge overshadow- ing train of errors had almost swept all the stars out of the firmament of the church, how the bright and blissful reformation by divine power struck through the black and settled night of ignorance and anti-Christian tyranny, methinks a sovereign and reviving joy must needs rush into the bosom of him that reads or hears ; and the sweet odour of the return- ing Gospel embathe his soul with the fra- grancy of heaven. Then was the sacred Bible sought out of the dusty corners where profane 156 NOBLE THOUGHTS IN NOBLE LANGUAGE. falsehood and neglect had thrown it, the schools opened, divine and human learning raked out of the embers of forgotten tongues, the princes and cities trooping apace to the newly erected standard of salvation, the martyrs, with the unresistible might of weak- ness, shaking the powers of darkness, and scorning the fiery rage of the red dragon. " If, however, some advantages may arise from religious controversy, it must be granted that numerous evils are often blended with it. In contending for a point of faith, charity is sometimes lost by both parties. Arguments are sharpened with invectives, and wounding personalities provoke bitter recriminations. It is impossible to look into the volumes of many polemical divines without deploring that virulence of rancour which is so copiously poured forth over their pages. Lord Bacon has, indeed, affirmed ** that bitter and earnest writing is not hastily to be condemned, for men cannot contend coldly and without affec- tion about things which they hold dear and precious." But, making every fair allowance, the evils of such controversy ought neither to be disguised nor palliated. The mind cannot be prepared to investigate the principles and institutions of religion, when anger and animo- sity have gained a predominant interest over it. These passions raise fumes and vapours which obscure and bedim the light of intellect. Matters of minor consequence in the heat of dispute are magnified and represented as things of vital importance. From the language of these fierce and relentless combatants, if the definition of a term should differ but a shade, or the adjustment of a sentence or a circum- stance should vary but ahair's-breadth, it might be thought that the whole fabric of revealed religion was in the utmost danger. It is a pity that we do not more strenuously endeavour to temper zeal with knowledge, and both with charity. It has been said that iron made red hot, though somewhat en- larged in bulk, is not the least increased in weight ; and the same may be truly spoken of arguments. To assert that there should be no contro- versy were, in effect, to assert that an universal and perpetual embargo ought to be laid upon the exercise of thought and reason. The first requisite in this affair is, to keep truth con- stantly in view, and make it our grand object. And how few in this respect can with sincerity adopt the emphatic language of the ever me- morable John Hales !— " The pursuit of truth," said he, "hath been my only care from my earliest days. For this I have forsaken all hopes, all friends, all desires that might bias me, and hinder me from driving right at what I aimed. For this I have spent my money, my means, my youth, my age, and all I have. If, with all this cost and pains, my purchase is error, I may safely say, to err has cost me more than it has many to find the truth ; and truth shall give me this testimony at least, that if I have missed her, it was not my fault but my misfortune. The next requisite is humility. A meek and unassuming Christian will, even in maintaining the cause of God, distinguish between zeal and vehemence. His desire to confute the arguments of an opponent is joined with a tender and benign solicitude to conciliate his good-will. So far is he from entering the field of polemics with poisoned weapons, that he rather carries a healing balm ; and when his adversary surrenders, neither triumph nor parade follows the victory. The last and best requisite I shall mention in religious controversy is a spirit of devotion. He who earnestly seeks light and wisdom, guidance and grace, from above, stands prepared for every kind of conflict. His misapprehensions and prejudices may fall, but the girdle of truth with which he is girded cannot be torn fi-om him. If he is less profound in the learning, and less expert in the logic of the schools, his. mind is imbued and seasoned with that piety, the happy influence and power of which far surpasses whatever science, art, labour, inge- nuity, and eloquence can reach and attain. — Ricsiiciis. CONVERSATION. There are certain epochs of conversation traceable in the different stages of society. In the most barbarous times, war, the chase, and supernatural appearances are the usual cha- racteristics of it. To a more advanced stage, fables of love adventures, and the ruder kind of poetry ; and to supply the defects of talk, bards are called in to recite their verses, and fools to supply jests, and furnish a subject for them. To a still further advanced stage, during the struggles of despotism and liberty, politics- form a ruling topic. In the most refined state, when the government is settled, and when in- dustry and opulence have generated luxurious, habits and an improved cultivation of mind, the arts, theatres, new romances, and poetry^ NOBLE THOUGHTS IN NOBLE LANGUAGE. 157 and finally, the sciences, philosophy, and re- ligious truths, are found to be the reigning sub- jects of conversation. Proverbs, puns, rebuses, charades, so common fifty years ago, are now- expelled from polite society. — Essays on Con- versation and 071 Quackery. CONVERSATION, Address in. Is it not an extraordinary circumstance that, although conversation is an art which every man is obliged continually to practise, and on which so much of our social happiness depends, we so rarely meet with any who excel in it ? I have frequently, when surrounded at a dinner- table, or on entering a drawing-room with well- informed and agreeable men, and elegant and refined women, from whose conversation I have looked for the highest gratification, seen my anticipated pleasure destroyed, and the harmony of the company broken, by some 7nal- a-propos observation or ill-timed discussion. The truth is that the conversation of most men is disagreeable, not from any deficiency in wit or judgment, but from a want of that refinement and good breeding which may be properly called discretion or tact. Few know where to proceed, and where to stop ; few are acquainted with that exact boundary beyond which an argument ought never to be pressed. Most aim at being distinguished rather than entertaining, and speak more to gratify some particular passion or vanity of their own than to contribute to the amusement or information of others. Almost every man has some favourite study or pursuit to which he is pecu- liarly devoted, and on which he may be enabled to communicate the most correct and judicious information. But he should remember, that however pleasing this subject may be for him to discourse upon, it may not be equally so to others ; and that which is to him an agreeable topic may be to some uninteresting, or to some offensive. This consideration ought to put every one especially on his guard, and prevent him from introducing a subject to which he is but too partial — I mean himself. If we consider for an instant, we shall be con- vinced of the impolicy as well as the bad taste of talking of ourselves. Surely it cannot be to our interest to expose our failings ; still less is it advisable to boast of our virtues ; as for our domestic affairs, how entertaining it must be for a stranger to learn that a lap-dog has got the phthisic, or that a tradesman or a ser- vant is a knave or a fool ! — Anon. CONVERSATION, Definition of. Conversation is the daughter of reasoning, the mother of knowledge, the breath of the soul, the commerce of hearts, the bond of friendship, and the nourishment of content. CONVERSATION, Instructive. The pith of conversation does not consist in exhibiting your own superior knowledge on matters of small consequence, but in enlarg- ing, improving, and correcting the information you possess by the authority of others. — Sir Walter Scott. CONVERSATION, its Uses. There is not an individual, however shallow and ignorant, who may not be superior to an- other in some point, or useful to him in some way or other, and consequently from whom he may not derive more or less benefit. On this observation is founded the art of conver- sation. If you happen to be in the company of a lawyer, turn the conversation to the courts, their organization, their forms, the consequent advantages and disadvantages, and the abuses which may have crept into, or been banished from, the administration of justice. If you are with a merchant, a banker, or a shopkeeper, you direct your inquiries to the nature of his speculations, and to the interests of the class to which he belongs ; you acquire a notion of commercial intercourse, considered in detail in society, or in trade, viewed on a large scale, in its connection with the prosperity of a coun- try, and in the communications which it esta- blishes between different and distant nations. A military man, if you have the art to ques- tion him concerning that branch of the service with which he is familiar, will explain to you the internal mechanism of a corps, and will make you a spectator, as it were, of its evolu- tions and manoeuvres. He will give you in- teresting and instructive descriptions of the battles at which he has been present. It will frequently happen that objects which appear the most remote from the ordinary sphere of your occupations and your thoughts, will pre- 158 NOBLE THOUGHTS IN NOBLE LANGUAGE. sent to your mind observations or processes which may be beneficially applied to the science or pursuit that especially engages your attention. We ought, according to Bacon, to listen to, nay, even sometimes to seek the company of superstitious persons, vi'ere it only for the pur- pose of closely observing superstition, a very common disease, from which we cannot well preserve ourselves unless we are acquainted with it. You will profit by the experience of the aged ; trie artist and the scholar will give you a relish for the beautiful; the chemist, the na- turalist, the physician, the farmer, will furnish you with elementary notions of the science which each of them has more particularly studied. The artisan and workman will ini- tiate you into those mechanical details which ought neither to be neglected nor despised. The most trivial objects are capable of acquir- ing a degree of utility in a comprehensive mind, which can properly arrange all it knows. Every individual has lived in some sphere or other, traversed a more or less extensive circle of ideas and observations, and can impart more or less information to him who possesses the art of extracting it. — The Art of Employing Time. CONVERSATION, Pleasurable when Truthful. This liberty in conversation (fiction and exag- geration) defeats its own end. Much of the pleasure and all the benefit of conversation depends upon our opinion of the speaker's veracity. — Paley. CONVERSATION, Tedious. With some persons, conversation is nothing but a string of stories. Now, though nothing enlivens conversation more than apt anecdotes, a continual succession of them is cloying, but the misfortune is that anecdote-mongers are but too apt to repeat the same on every occasion. It is a curious matter of observation, how very seldom people change their illustrative stories, so that amongst those who live very much with one another, the same story is expected on the same occasion, as much as the known songs of a gentleman singer. So treacherous is the memory of some story- tellers that they have been known to tell the same story, in the same words, to the same person — even to him who had before imparted it to the company in the course of the same evening. The " Connoisseur " calls old story-tellers the cuckoos of conversation. Some watch for an opportunity to introduce a favourite story , some bring it in without any regard to the subject on the tapis. Others are so economi- cal of their stories as to whisper them first to their neighbours, till they have excited a fit of laughter in which the rest of the company wish to partake. Certainly — ' * A story in which native humour reigns Is often useful, always entertains : A graver fact enlisted on your side May furnish illustration, well applied ; But sedentary weavers of long tales Give me the fidgets, and my patience fails ; 'Tis the most asinine employ on earth. To hear them tell of parentage and birth. And echo conversation dull and dry, Embellish'd with ' He said,' and ' So said I !* At every interview their route the same, The repetition makes attention lame : We bustle up with unsuccessful speed. And in the saddest part cry ' Droll indeed ! ' " Many wits have been known to prime them- selves with stories for the party they were going to join. A gentleman called on Wilkes, and not finding him at home, sat down to wait his return, and to amuse himself in the interim took up a French book of anecdotes, many of which were marked. Mr. Wilkes did not come back, as was expected, and the gentleman went away. He met Wilkes, however, with some common friends at dinner, and to his great amusement heard all the anecdotes which he observed marked in the book most ingeniously and adroitly introduced in the course of the evening. — Essays ojt Conversation and on Quackery. COQUETTE, Three Sonnets to a. Caress' D or chidden by the dainty hand, And singing airy trifles this or that. Light Hope at Beauty's call would perch and stand, And run thro' every change of sharp and flat j And Fancy came and at her pillow sat. When sleep had bound her in his rosy band, And chased away the still-recurring gnat, And woke her with a lay from fairy land. NOBLE THOUGHTS IN NOBLE LANGUAGE. 159 But now they live with Beauty less and less, For Hope is other Hope, and wanders far, Nor cares to lisp in love's delicious creeds ; And Fancy watches in the wilderness, Poor Fancy, sadder than a single star That sets at twilight in a land of reeds. The form, the form alone is eloquent ! A nobler yearning never broke her rest Than but to dance and sing, be gaily drest, And win all eyes with all accomplishment : Yet in the waltzing-circle as we went. My fancy made me for a moment blest To find my heart so near the beauteous breast That once had power to rob it of content. A moment came the tenderness of tears, The phantom of a wish that once could move, A ghost of passion that no smiles restore — For ah ! the slight coquette, she cannot love, And if you kiss'd her feet a thousand years. She still would take the praise, and care no more. j Wan Sculptor, weepest thou to take the cast I Of those dead lineaments that near thee lie ? Oh sorrowest thou, pale Painter, for the past. In painting some dead friend from memory? Weep on : beyond his object Love can last : His object lives : more cause to weep have I : My tears, no tears of love, are flowing fast. No tears of Love, but tears that Love can die. I pledge her not in any cheerful cup. Nor care to sit beside her where she sits — Ah pity — hint it not in human tones. But breathe it into earth, and close it up With secret death for ever in the pits Which some green Christmas crams v/ith weary bones. Tennyson. CORRUi»TI0N of Faith, a Fearfiil Injury. The person who corrupts the faith or taints the morals of another may commit such an injury as the whole world could not compen- sate : and if he draw his brother into sin, it is hardly to be conceived, much less to be ex- pressed, how wide this sin may extend, and what numbers it may be the cause of corrupt- ing and ruining hereafter. Thus, not only in- fidel authors or infidel companions may do great mischief, but also all other authors, and all other companions who entice and ensnare, and who insinuate the poison of vice by the wit and mirth, the agreeableness and pleasantry, with which they know how to disguise and set it off. — Tucker, CORRUPTION, Rewarded of this World. I SEE corruption so largely rewarded that I doubt not but I should thrive in the world, could I get but a dispensation for my conscience for the liberty of trading. A little flattery \vould get me a great deal of favour, and I could buy a world of this world's love with the sale of this little trifle, honesty. Were this world my home, I might perhaps be trading ; but alas ! these merchandize yield less than nothing in Heaven. I would willingly be at quiet with the world, but rather at peace v/ith my con- science. The love of men is good while it lasteth : the love of God is better, being ever- lasting. Let me, then, trade for those heavenly merchandize ; if I find these other in my way, they are a great deal more than I look for, and (within little) more than I care for. — Arthur Warwick. COUNTRY Gentleman. A COUNTRY gentleman naturally stands in a great station, as he is one of the strongest links in society between government and the lower orders of mankind ; and he is a real blessing to the district where he lives, when he unites the three great characteristics of a country gentleman, a good neighbour, and a good magistrate. — ICejit. COUNTRY, Love of. Men almost universally prefer their native country before every other, on account of what they consider to be its singular beauty or superior natural advantages. It is a well- known fact that they who are natives of a dreary and barren region are as strongly at- tached to the land of their nativity, as they are whose native country is of the most fertile and beautiful description ; a striking proof of which is furnished by the people of Iceland, who are remarkably attached to their country, although it is truly "a dismal situation, waste and wild." The same principle is powerfully displayed in the simple and affecting picture drawn by a poor African, when speaking of his native home, as given by Mr. Riland, in his "Memoirs of a West Indian Planter. "Ah, sir," said poor old Coesar, "everyone loves his native land ; the places where his fathers lived, the trees, flowers, and animals ; and I think with pleasure now, even upon the dreadful snakes, because they belong to my i6o NOBLE THOUGHTS IN NOBLE LANGUAGE. country. God made our part of Africa such as any man might love. The sky is there not constantly covered with cold clouds, and always dripping with rain, though we had our rainy seasons ; but then they were more regular, and we knew when to expect them. The sun does not there bathe his beams in mists and fogs, but pours its kindly heat on all things ; and you can't imagine how fast it makes the plants grow; the wide-spread trees give cool shadows, superior (but you will smile at me) to the finest palaces I ever saw in Europe ; all was delightful except the curse of the slave-trade. " — Cartel's LecHires on Taste. COUEAGE, Holy. Bernard de Palissy, a native of Agen, in France, was a maker of earthenware, at Saintes, and distinguished himself by his know- ledge and talents. He composed a number of scientific and practical works, which have been repeatedly republished ; and the last edition, in 1777, is enriched with notes by the celebrated Faujas de St. Fond. This able and w^orthy man was a Calvinist, and the French king, Henry IH. said to him one day that ** he should be compelled to give him up to his enemies unless he changed his religion." "You have often said to me. Sire," was the undaunted reply of de Palissy, "that you pitied me ; but as for me, I pity you, who have given utterance to such words as, *I shall be compelled. ' These are unkingly words ; and I say to you in royal phrase, that neither the Guises, nor all your people, nor yourself, are able to compel a humble manufacturer of earthenware to bend his knee before statues." Bernard was a man of humour as well as of courage ; he would sometimes say, alluding to his trade and his trust in Providence, "My only property in heaven and earth. " COURAGE Is the Health of the Soul. The beauty of the soul is temperance and righteousness; the health of the soul is courage and prudence : as the base man is de- testable in our eyes, so is the covetous ; so is he that gives himself up to evil practices. . . . Our body is corruptible, but our soul is incorrupti- ble. Oh ! then, let us not make that corruptible also : corrupt not the soul. The corruption of the body shall put on incorruption, but that of the soul, — never ! It is a corruption which hath no end ; a deathless death. . . . Covetous- ness is corruption ; corruption beyond any other more dangerous, and leading to idolatry. Let us shun the corruption ; let us choose the incorruption. Hast thou acted a covetous part by any one ? The fruits of thy covetous- ness perish, but the covetousness remaineth ; a corruption which is the foundation of incor- ruptible corruption. The enjoyment truly passeth away, but the sin remaineth imperish- able. — St. Chrysostom. COURAGE, Necessitated. I SAW once a falcon let fly at a heron, and observed with what clamour the heron enter- tained the sight and approach of the hawk, and with what winding shifts he strove to get above her, labouring even by bemuting his enemy's feathers to make her flag-winged, and so escape ; but when at last they must needs come to a necessitated encounter, resuming courage out of necessity, he turned face against her, and striking the hawk through the gorge with his bill, fell down dead together with his dead enemy. This fight seemed to me the event of a great suit in law, where one, trusting to his cause's potency more than his cause's equity, endeavours to disinherit his stubborn neighbour by colourable titles to his land. Here may you hear the clamorous obloquies of the wronged, and see the many turnings and winding meanders in the law sought out to get above his adversary ; and lastly, when the issue must come to trial, oftentimes in the grapple they both sink to beggary by the law, whilst lawfully they seek to get above each other. Hence, warned against potent enemies, I will always pray, * ' Lord, make me not a prey unto their teeth ; " and against an equal or inferior I will not borrow the law's extreme right to do him extreme wrong ; nor fall to law with anybody till I fall by law to be nobody. I will not do that to have my will, which will undo myself of what I have by my wilfulness. — A. Wanvick. COURAGE, True. To struggle when hope is banished ! To live when life's salt is gone ! To dwell in a dream that's vanished ! To endure, and go calmly on ! NOBLE THOUGHTS IN NOBLE LANGUAGE. i6i COURTESY, True, must be of the Heart. Religion doth not prescribe, nor is satisfied with such courtesy as goes no deeper than words and gestures, which sometimes is most contrary to that singleness which religion owns. These are the upper garments of malice, saluting him aloud in the morning whom they are undermining all the day. Or sometimes, though more innocent, yet it may be trouble- some merely by the vain affectation and excess of it. Even this becomes not a wise man, much less a Christian. An over study or acting of that is a token of emptiness, and is below a solid mind : though Christians know such things, and could out-do the studiers of it, yet they, as indeed it deserves, do despise it Nor is it that graver and wiser way of external plausible deportment that answers fully this word ; it is the outer half indeed, but the thing is a radical sweetness in the temper of the mind that spreads itself into a man's words and actions ; and this is not merely natural, a gentle, kind disposition, which is indeed a natural advantage that some have, but is spiritual, a new nature descended from heaven ; and so in its original and kind far excelling the other : it supplies it, where it is not in nature, and doth not only increase it where it is, but elevates it above itself, renews it, and sets a more excellent stamp upon it. Religion is in this mistaken sometimes, in that men think it imprints an ungodly roughness and austerity upon the mind and carriage. It doth, indeed, bar and banish all vanity and lightness of be- haviour, and all compliance and easy partaking with sin. Religion strains, and quite breaks that point of false and injurious courtesy, — to suffer thy brother's soul to run the hazard of perishing, and to share in his guiltiness, by not admonish- ing him after that seasonable, and prudent, and gentle manner (for that indeed should be studied), which becomes thee as a Christian, and that particularly respectful manner which becomes thy station. These things rightly qualifying it, it doth no wrong to good man- ners and the courtesy here enjoined, but is truly a part of them, by due admonitions and reproofs to seek to reclaim a sinner ; for it were the worst unkindness not to do it. Thou shalt not hate thy brother, thou shalt not in any wise rebuke thy neighbour for his short- comings, and not suffer sin upon him. — Leighton. COURTIER. " Dulcis inexpertis, cultura potentis amici, expectis metuit." Untried, how sweet a court attendance, When tried, how dreadful the dependance ! COVENANT, The New, is Christ and Faith. The whole new covenant consists of these two words, *' Christ" and "Faith : " Christ be- stowed on God's part. Faith required on ours ; Christ the matter, — Faith the condition of the covenant. . . . Faith truly justifying is nothing in the world but the receiving of Christ. Christ and his sufferings and full satisfaction was once on the cross tendered, and is ever since by the Gospel and its ministers offered to the world ; and nothing is required of us but an hand and an heart to apprehend and receive; and to **as many as receive him he gives power to become the sons of God." Now this receiving of Christ is the taking or accept- ing of the righteousness of Christ, and so making it our own. Christ's blood, if not caught up in our hearts by faith, but suffered to be poured out upon the earth, will prove no better than that of Abel, "crying for judgment from the ground ; " clamorous, and its voice towards heaven, for vengeance. — Hammond. COVETOUSNESS. When covetousness gains a complete as- cendancy, engrossing the whole man, it forms that compound of all that is mean and des- picable, that monster of moral deformity, usually called a miser. In our day the tribe is not very numerous, which is a matter of grati- tude, for should they multiply they would cer- tainly create a desert around them. I know of no passion which so deeply agitates and degrades, so effectually enslaves and destroys the soul, as covetousness. The man who sets his heart upon riches must necessarily be a stranger to peace and enjoyment. Fear, care, anxiety, suspicion, and jealousy place him on a constant rack. To the toil of getting is added the trouble of keeping his pelf. Avarice is insatiable as the grave, or rather as a gulf without bottom. The more this passion is suppHed with fresh fuel the more vehement is the flame. — Rusticiis. 1 62 NOBLE THOUGHTS IN NOBLE LANGUAGE. COVETOUSNESS, its Utter Blindness. The only instance of a despairing sinner left upon record in the New Testament is that of a treacherous and greedy Judas. Nor let us vainly suppose ourselves above the reach of this lust : for who shall presume to be secure, when a friend, a disciple, an apostle, a preacher of righteousness, a worker of miracles, was yet seduced to sell his Master and his soul upon so sordid a consideration as thirty shekels of sil- ver? This ought to put us all upon our guard ; and the fate of Judas stands as a monument and eternal admonition to all that "make gold their god," and the ** fine gold their confi- dence : " a warning not only of their prone- ness to do wickedly, but of the bitter fruits of doing so. — Stanhope. COVETOUSNESS, the Beginning of. There is not a vice which more effectually contracts and deadens the feelings, which more completely makes a man's affections centre in himself, and excludes all others from partaking in them, than the desire of accumulating pos- sessions. "When the desire has once gotten hold on the heart, it shuts out all other con- siderations but such as may promote its views. In its zeal for the attainment of its end, it is not delicate in the choice of means. As it closes the heart, so also it clouds the under- standing. It cannot discern between right and wrong ; it takes evil for good, and good for evil: it calls darkness light, and light darkness. Beware, then, of the beginning of covetous- ness, for you know not where it will end. — Mant. COVETOUSNESS, the Cure of. If moral evils were as easy to be removed as to be discovered and described, the work of reforming the world might be quickened in its progress. No vice, for instance, has been more correctly delineated than covetousness ; none pursued and attacked with more energy and ardour ; yet the monster remains unsubdued, and stalks forth, imprinting the giant footsteps of desolation. An avaricious temper has been detected through the most specious disguises, traced in all its workings, pourtrayed in all its symptoms ; but who has been able successfully to prescribe for its cure ? This is the inquiry of most real consequence, and that which un- questionably involves the most difficulty. I am perfectly aware that many have represented avarice, in its advanced stages, as absolutely incurable ; but this, at least in my judgment, is going too far, and tends to paralyze every effort by cutting off hope. I am free to own that few, very few instances have been known of success, to encourage our hopes and en- deavours ; but rash and sweeping assertions are not, on this ground, to be warranted as just. It. should ever be remembered that the sole efficient course in the cure of every malady of the human mind is divine grace. The power of grace must not be subjected to any arbitrary limits of our fixing. Let the energy of free sovereign grace be once put forth, and even the demon of avarice will be dislodged and expelled. What ! my incredulous reader may cry, the churlish miser changed into a melting and generous philanthropist ! — then we might think the age of miracles restored. That I may not startle by offering anything which carries in it an appearance of paradox, I will grant that there is most hope of success where covetousness is found in its milder form, with many lights and shades and redeeming qualities about it. Frincipiis obsta — take it, if possible, in time. And admitting what is above affirmed, the necessity of supernatural power and the operation of divine grace, the question is — what are the proper means to be used on our part ? I. Let those who are concerned at all in this inquiry examine themselves closely and faith - fully, to ascertain how far this dread malady has spread. It may be discovered by a careful and minute inspection of certain symptoms, more or less obvious. Till this be done, no- thing else can be done or will be fairly at- tempted. Dr. Young has said, To know ourselves diseased is half the cure. There is more truth than is usually found in so narrow a compass wrapt up in this aphorism. But then, as the same poet tells us (who deals more in facts than fictions), wit, or false philo- sophy, comes with A thousand phantoms, and a thousand spells, A thousand opiates scattered, to delude. To fascinate, inebriate, lay asleep. And the fool'd mind delightfully confound. A man who thinks himself in perfect health will neither seek a remedy, nor if one of the highest value is kindly and freely offered will he take the trouble to apply it. Think how insidious, how dangerous, how ruinous, is the love of the world. Consider on NOBLE THOUGHTS IN NOBLE LANGUAGE, 163 this point the solemn warning of our Lord and Saviour, who has not only marked the malig- nity of sin in general, but also pointed it out in most of its specific and deleterious forms. He perfectly knew what was in man, perceived at a glance all the hidden recesses and subtle workings of the heart, and could trace forward the first rising of an evil passion to its last awful consequences ; and hence his grave and momentous admonition — "Take heed, and be- ware of covetousness ! " It insinuates itself by avenues too minute and latent to be observed, except intense and incessant vigilance be ex- erted ; it steals by imperceptible approaches and degrees over the soul. Does money accumulate? — "Beware of covetousness!" The widening sphere, the multiplying engage- ments, and the increasing profits of business, are full of fascination. Does active zeal, with promptitude to do good and join the benevo- lent few in their arduous exertions, begin to relax and abate? — "Beware of covetousness !" Does Fancy, in romantic solitary musing, build her castles and airy structures, and beautify and garnish her enchanting scenes, all from some lucky heap of gold, dropped out of For- tune's lap ? — " Beware of covetousness ! " Let the monitoi-y warning ring in your ears, when- ever any sign of danger or symptom of the dis- ease is perceived. 2. Adopt not a few loose maxims and em- pirical nostrums, but a system of sound princi- ples and tried measures, which will act as alteratives. Such a system will teach you to employ your calculating powers in comparing the riches of earth with the riches of heaven, and will weaken the love of the world, by increasing the love of God ; such a system will deeply impress upon your heart the responsibility of property, of time, of every entrusted talent ; and, feeling you are but stewards, you will neither dare to waste nor to hoard your master's goods ; such a system will engage you in an active, cheerful, unwearied course of Christian charity : relieving the needy, visiting the sick, comforting the disconsolate. It is well known that some bodily diseases, which have been generated and nurtured by ease and indulgence, can be worked off only by toil and labour. There is a process somewhat similar necessary for removing the maladies of the soul ; but in neither case will single desultory efforts avail. Where a Christian feels the in- cipient power of covetousness, let him put forth his hand and his heart in some refnilar connected course of self-denial and charity. Giving, in such a case, will not be left to in- cidental calls, but be settled into a plan, and rise in proportion as his means accumulate. There may then be expected a holy jealousy and vigilance ; and the account book which states his monthly, quarterly, and annual con- tributions will be as carefully inspected as his trade ledger. The pleasures which grow out of habitual benevolence supply a considerable means of counteracting a covetous disposition. In the beginning these pleasures are feeble, but ripen and mature by time, like the fruit of the generous vine. Contrast the sweet joys of a Gilpin, a Howard, a Reynolds, or any of the gi-eat exemplars of philanthropy, with the bitter rankling cares of a Vaudille, an Ostervald, and an Elwes, 3. For the cure of covetousness, as well as every other mental malady, it is necessary to apply earnestly to the Great Physician of souls. In the sacred inspired Book we have recipes of fully-attested efficacy — directions which are absolutely infallible. Whatever be the dis- orders and debilities of the inner man, here they are described and approved, and here approved specifics are prepared to remove them. Let him who feels the encroaching spirit of the world, and fears its increase, have constant recourse to the throne of grace. Let him pray with David — " Lord incline my heart to thy testimonies, and not to covetousness ; " with Agar — "Two things have I required of thee, deny me them not before I die : Remove far from me vanity and lies; give me neither poverty nor riches ; feed me with food con- venient for me." The precepts of Seneca and Epictetus, the boasted doctrine of philosophy, and the rigid discipline of superstition, do not reach the heart. The grace of God, which flows through the channel of devotion, will alone sufhce to lighten our darkness, to strengthen our weak- ness, to lift up our grovelling thoughts, to ex- pand our contracted ideas, to quicken and spiritualize our dull and gross affections, to kindle, animate, and refine our best desires, hopes, and joys. " His money perish with him," said the pious Marquis of Vico, "who prefers not one hour's communion with Christ before all the riches and pleasures of the world ! " It is when the heart is fully set upon the glory of God and the bliss of heaven that earthly treasures cease to charm us, and are accounted as dross. — Rusticus. 1 64 NOBLE THOUGHTS IN NOBLE LANGUAGE, CREATION, A History of God's Government. The history of creation is, itself, the history of God's government ; and nothing short of absolute idiotism, rather than mere ignorance, could believe it possible that this incalculably complicated, multifarious, and inconceivably extended universe could preserve its order without a government. — MacCulloch, CREATION, a New One. God's Spirit does not destroy reason, but heightens it. God opens the heart, and creates a new one ; and without this creation, this new principle of life, we may hear the Word of God, but we can never understand it ; we hear the sound, but are never the better. Un- less there be in our hearts a secret conviction by the Spirit of God, the Gospel itself is a dead letter.— ^/^. J. Taylor. CREATION, Boundlessness of the. About the time of the invention of the tele- scope, another instrument was formed, which laid open a scene no less wonderful, and re- warded the inquisitive spirit of man. This was the microscope. The one led me to see a sys- tem in every star ; the other leads me to see a world in every atom. The one taught me that this mighty globe, with the whole burden of its people and its countries, is but a grain of sand on the high field of immensity ; the other teaches me that every grain of sand may harbour within it the tribes and the families of a busy population. The one told me of the in- significance of the world I tread upon ; the other redeems it from all its insignificance ; for it tells me that in the leaves of every forest, and in the flowers of every garden, and in the waters of every rivulet, there are worlds teeming with life, and numberless as are the glories of the firmament. The one has sugges- ted to me that beyond and above all that is visible to man there may be fields of creation which sweep immensely along, and carry the impress of the Almighty's hand to the re- motest scenes of the universe ; the other sug- gests that within and beneath all that minute- ness which the aided eye of man has been able to explore, there may be a region of invisibles ; and that, could we draw aside the mysterious curtain which shrouds it from our senses, we might see a theatre of as many wonders as as- tronomy has unfolded, a universe within the compass of a point so small as to elude all the powers of the microscope ; but where the wonder-working God finds room for the exer- cise of all his attributes, where he can raise another mechanism of worlds, and fill and ani- mate them all with the evidence of his glory. — Chalmers. CREATION, Glories of. " Let there be light ! " and Chaos fled Back to his midnight cell, And Light, the earliest gift of Heaven, On cradled Nature fell. Earth from the encroaching waters rose. Strong Ocean knew his place. Bold rivers forced their unknown ways. Young streams began their race. Forth came the Sun, that monarch proud. And at his genial rays The springing groves and pencilled flowers Put on new robes of praise. But when his weary couch he sought, Behold, the Regent Queen, Enthroned on silver car, pursued Her nightly course serene ! And glorious shone the arch of Heaven, With stars serenely bright. That bowed to every passing cloud Their coronets of light. Life roamed along the verdant mead. Life glided through the flood. And tuneful 'mid the woven boughs. Watched o'er the nestling brood. But then, with undisputed might. That Architect Divine, His own immortal essence breathed Into a clay-built shrine ; And stamped the image on the man. And gave him kingly power. And brought him to a home of love In sinless Eden's bower. Then music from undying harps The young creation blest. And forth the first-born Sabbath spread Its dove-like wing of rest It came with holy gladness fraught, With pure benignant ray, And God himself the lesson taught, To keep the Sabbath day. Mrs. Sigourney. NOBLE THOUGHTS IN NOBLE LANGUAGE. i6s CREATION, its Loving Beauty. That delicate forest flower With scented breath, and looks so like a smile, Seems, as it issues from the shapeless mould, An emanation of the indwelling Life, A visible token of the upholding Love, That are the soul of this wide universe. My heart is awed within me when I think Of the great miracle that still goes on In silence round me — the perpetual work Of thy creation, finish'd, yet renew'd For ever. Written on thy works I read The lesson of thy own eternity. Lo ! all grow old and die — but see, again, How on the faltering footsteps of decay Youth presses — ever gay and beautiful youth In all its beautiful forms. These lofty trees Wave not less proudly that their ancestors Moulder beneath them. Oh, there is not lost One of earth's charms ! upon her bosom yet. After the flight of untold centuries. The freshness of her far beginning lies, And yet shall lie. Life mocks the idle hate Of his arch enemy, Death — yea, seats himself Upon the tyrant's throne — the sepulchre — And of the triumphs of his ghastly foe Makes his own nourishment. For he came forth From thine own bosom, and shall have no end. Bryant. CREATION, Man's Library. Creatio^s^ was Adam's library; God bade him read the interesting volumes of his works, which were designed to make known the Divine character. To gratify curiosity only, in the study of the creatures, is to lose sight of bheir end in relation to man. I would have my dear children see God in everything. It is not merely a transitory emotion I wish to raise in their minds, but a habit of referring, in all they see, to their Maker with delight and i-everence. I will never consent to shut God -out of his own universe, or to divorce science and religion, which he has joined together, to ■dwell with each other in unity and love. — Legh Richmond. The visible creation, it has been well said, -was Adam's library. There may be times, places, and occasions, in which a page out of ^ book in that library may impart not only in- struction to the head, but consolation to the heart. When that persevering traveller, Mungo Park, was, at one period of his perilous course. fainting in the vast wilderness of an African desert, naked and alone, considering his days as numbered, and nothing appearing to remain for him but to lie down and die, a small moss flower of extraordinary beauty caught his eye. " Though the whole plant," said he, "was not larger than one of my fingers, I could not contemplate the delicate conformation of its roots, leaves, and capsules, without admiration ! Can that Being who planted, watered, and brought to perfection, in this obscure part of the world, a thing which appears of so small importance, look with unconcern upon the situation and sufferings of creatures formed after his own image? Surely not. Reflections like these would not allow me to despair ; I started up, and disregarding both hunger and fatigue, travelled forwards, assured that relief was at hand ; and I was not disappointed. " And with the disposition to wonder and adore, in like manner, no branch of natural history can be studied without increasing that faith, love, and hope, which we also, every one of us, need, in our own journey through the wilder- ness of life. — Stanley. CREATION, To be Contemplated with Advantage. Thy desire, which tends to know The works of God, thereby to glorify The great work-master, leads to no excess That reaches blame, but rather merits praise The more it seems excess ; For wonderful indeed are all his works ! Pleasant to know, and worthiest to be all Had in remembrance always with delight. But what created mind can comprehend Their number, or the wisdom infinite That brought them forth, but hid their causes deep ? Milton. CREATOR, His Plenitude of Power. From the beauty of those things which are obvious to the eyes of all, we acknowledge that his inexpressible beauty excels that of all the creatures ; and from the magnitude of those sensible bodies that surround us we conclude the infinite and immense goodness of their Creator, whose plenitude of power exceeds all thought, as well as expression. — -5"/. Basil. i66 NOBLE THOUGHTS IN NOBLE LANGUAGE, CREDULITY, a Source of Error. Credulity is a far greater source of error than superstition, for the latter must be always more limited in its influence, and can exist only, to any considerable extent, in the most igno- rant portions of society, whereas the former diffuses itself through the minds of all classes, by which rank and dignity are degraded, its valuable labours confounded with the vain pre- tensions of empiricism, and ignorance is enabled to claim for itself the prescriptive right of delivering oracles, amidst all the triumphs of truth and the progress of philoso- phy. Credulity has been justly defined, belief without reason, while scepticism, its opposite, is reason without belief, and the natural and invariable consequence of credulity ; for it may be observed that men who believe without reason are succeeded by others whom no rea- soning can convince. — Paris. CRIMES and Punishments. Of crimes, empoison'd source of human woes, Whence the black flood of shame and sorrow flows. How best to check the venom's deadly force. To stem its torrent, or direct its course. To scan the merits of vindictive codes. Nor pass the faults humanity explodes, I sing— what theme more worthy to engage The poet's song, the wisdom of the sage ? Ah! were I equal to the great design. Were thy bold genius, blest Beccaria! mine. Then should my work, ennobled as my aim, Like thine receive the meed of deathless fame. O Jay ! deserving of a purer age, Pride of thy country, statesman, patriot, sage. Beneath whose guardian care our laws assume A milder form, and lose their Gothic gloom. Read with indulgent eyes, nor yet refuse This humble tribute of an artless muse. Great is the question which the learn'd con- test, What grade, what mode of punishment is best ; In two famed sects the disputants decide. These ranged on Terror's, those on Reason's side ; Ancient as empire Terror's temple stood, Capt with black clouds, and founded deep in blood ; Grim despots here their trembling honours paid. And guilty offerings to their idol made : The monarch led — a servile crowd ensued. Their robes distain'd in gore, in gore imbrued ; O'er mangled limbs they held infernal feast, Moloch the god, and Draco's self the priest. Mild Reason's fane, in later ages rear'd. With sunbeams crown'd, in Attic grace appear'd ; In just proportion finish'd every part. With the fine touches of enlighten'd art. A thinking few, selected from the crowd. At the fair shrine with filial rev'rence bow'd ; The sage of Milan led the virtuous choir, To them sublime he strung the tuneful lyre ; Of laws, of crimes, and punishments he sung, And on his glowing lips persuasion hung : From Reason's source each inference just he drew. While truths fresh polish'd struck the mind as new : Full in the front, in vestal robes array'd. The holy form of Justice stood display'd : Firm was her eye, not vengeful, though severe, And e'er she frown'd she check'd the starting tear. A sister form, of more benignant face, Celestial Mercy, held the second place ; Her hands outspread, in suppliant guise she stood. And oft with eloquence resistless sued ; But where 'twas impious e'en to deprecate, She sigh'd assent, and wept the wretch's fate. In savage times, fair Freedom yet unknown. The despot, clad in vengeance, fill'd the throne ; His gloomy caprice scrawl'd the ambiguous code. And dyed each page in characters of blood. The laws transgress'd, the prince in judgment sate. And Rage decided on the culprit's fate : Nor stopp'd he here, but, skill'd in murderous art, The sceptred brute usurp'd the hangman's part ; With his own hands the trembling victim hew'd. And basely wallow'd in a subject's blood. Pleased with the fatal game, the royal mind On modes of death and cruelty refined : Hence the dank caverns of the cheerless mine. Where shut from light the famish'd wretches pine ; The face divine in seams unsightly sear'd. The eyeballs gouged, the wheel with gore be- smear'd. The Russian knout, the suffocating flame, And forms of torture wanting yet a name. NOBLE THOUGHTS IN NOBLE LANGUAGE, 167 Nor was this rage to savage times confined ; It reach'd to later years and courts refined. Blush, polish'd France, nor let the muse re- late The tragic story of your Damien's fate ; The bed of steel, where long the assassin lay, In the dark vault, secluded from the day : The quivering flesh which burning pincers tore. The pitch, pour'd flaming in the recent sore ; His carcase, warm with life, convulsed with pain. By steeds dismember'd, dragg'd along the plain. As daring quacks, unskill'd in medic lore, Pi-escribed the nostrums quacks prescribed before ; Careless of age or sex, whate'er befall. The same dull recipe must serve for all : Our senates thus, with reverence be it said, Have been too long by blind tradition led : Our civil code, from feudal dross refined. Proclaims the liberal and enlighten'd mind ; But till of late the penal statutes stood In Gothic rudeness, smear'd with civic blood ; What base memorials of a barbarous age — What monkish whimsies sullied every page ! The clergy's benefit, a trifling brand. Jest of the law, a holy sleight of hand : Beneath this saintly cloak what crimes abhorr'd. Of sable dye, were shelter'd from the lord ; While the poor starveling, who a cent pur- loin'd. No reading saved, no juggling trick essoin'd ; His was the servile lash, a foul disgrace. Through time transmitted to his hapless race ; The forte and dure, the traitor's motley doom. Might blot the story of imperial Rome. What late disgraced our laws yet stand to stain The splendid annals of a George's reign. Say, legislators, for what end design'd This waste of lives, this havoc of mankind ? Say, by what right (one case exempt alone) Do ye prescribe that blood can crimes atone ? If, when our fortunes frown, and dangers press, To act the Roman's part be to transgress ; For man the use of life alone commands ; The fee residing in the grantor's hands. Could man, what time the social pact he seal'd. Cede to the state a right he never held ? For all the powers which in the state reside Result from compact, actual or implied. Too well the savage policy we trace To times remote, Humanity's disgrace ; E'en while I ask, the trite response recurs, Example warns, severity deters. No milder means can keep the vile in awe. And state necessity compels the law. But let Experience speak, she claims our trust ; The data false, the inference is unjust. Ills at a distance men but slightly fear ; Delusive Fancy never thinks them near : With stronger force than fear temptations draw. And cunning thinks to parry with the law. " My brother swung, poor novice in his art. Pie blindly stumbled on a hangman's cart ; But wiser I, assuming every shape. As Proteus erst, am certain to escape." The knave, thus jeering, on his skill relies. For never villain deem'd himself unwise. Sir John Honeywood. CRIMES, Causes of the Recent Increase of. General declamation on the growth and pre- valence of vice is entitled to little notice ; it is common in every age and under every variety of circumstances. But the case is quite different when appalling statements are brought forward which are the result of minute and patient inquiry. The printed report of the Parliamen- tary Committee appointed to investigate this matter exhibits a dreadful increase of crimes. It appears that the increase of population in this country from 1 80 1 to 1 82 1 was rather more than three millions, being above one- fourth of the whole now existing. This increase, however, does not account for the increase of crime which would seem to have taken place ; the committals being, according to these returns, in 1826 fourfold what they were in 1806. Those committed for trial in England and Wales stand as follows : — for 1806 4,319 ; for 1816, 9,081 ; for 1826, 16,147. It appears then, not from vague rumours and satiric invectives, but from authentic documents and facts, that crimes are multiplying among us with a progressive and accelerated rapidity which may well create astonishment and alarm. The Select Committee consider low wages, the practice of making up the labourer's pay from the poor rates, and the habit of poaching, induced by the great increase of pre- serves for game, as the chief causes of the evil. 1 68 NOBLE THOUGHTS IN NOBLE LANGUAGE. As to the last of these, I shall make no remarks : the game laws have long been considered by all sportsmen a nuisance— and yet every effort to amend them is defeated in Parliament. When the low wages of labour, or the want of labour is mentioned as a cause of this sad degeneracy of the times, every thinking man who looks to more than one or two links in a chain of consequences, will naturally ask whether this cause is not itself an effect, which may be traced to something wrong, either in our laws as they at present stand, or in the manner in which they are administered. No position in political economy is more generally admitted, or indeed more clearly demonstrated, than that wages and labour, supply and demand, will find their proper level, and regulate each other for the general good, if no artificial barriers are raised, or officious meddling inter- ference is interposed. Can we expect that either agriculturists or manufacturers will be so disinterested as to give more money when they can get their work done for less? There is a manifest redundance of labourers from the excess of a population which within the last twenty-five years has increased in a ratio beyond all former precedent. The cause of this redun- dance is the system of the poor laws, which, as now generally administered, presses heavily on the resources of the middle classes, and cuts up by the root, the industry, sobriety, and prudence of the lower orders. I will not say, where is that honest pride? for I like not the term ; but where is that independence and manly spirit which once distinguished our English peasantry ? — where the promptitude, enter- prise, temperance, and thrifty domestic man- agement which were wont to appear in our cottagers ? They are vanished ; and we now see little sense of the value of character, because character has small weight in settling the labourer's proportion of comforts. The paro- chial system has nearly reduced the industrious and idle, the honest and the dishonest, the sober and profligate to the same level. Sensi- ble men have long seen the mischief spreading and gaining ground ; and no one has pointed it out, and disclosed its latent sources and dire effects, with more ability than the eloquent and worthy Dr. Chalmers ; but when anything is proposed to counteract it, a thousand voices cjy out on the danger of innovation. The enactments of Parliament, with reference to the poor laws, are a wood of perplexity, in which the very barristers and judges are often lost. Whether the legislature will seriously do anything to remedy the evil, is very doubtful ; since, as Ilallam has remarked, "it has always been more inclined to stave off an immediate difficulty, by some patchwork scheme of modi- fications and suspensions, by accumulating statute upon statute, than to consult for posterity in the comprehensive spirit of legal philosophy." But, leaving the consideration of laws, a wide field presents itself in the department of morals. By looking into the calendars of our county prisons, the greater part of those who are committed and confined there stand charged with poaching, pilfering, fraud, and forgery. Now, such as have made themselves acquainted with the previous conduct and habits of these culprits have found that Sabbath-break- ing was the ordinary commencement of their licentious course. From violating the com- mands of God they proceeded to trample on the laws and rights of men. By herding with loose companions on that sacred day which is set apart for religious duties, they were led into the paths of folly and dissipation, and schooled in all the mysteries and arts of vice. It is notorious that the Sabbath has of late been profaned with an unblushing effrontery which formerly would not have been borne. In London and the large towns masters too gene- rally leave their apprentices and servants to spend the Sunday as they like ; concluding that their own interests are sufficiently secured, if they exert a prudent vigilance over them the other six days of the week. How short-sighted and defective this policy is, even in regard to secular business, must be evident to every one who can trace effects up to their causes. When young people of both sexes are permitted to devote the Lord's-day to tea-gardens and taverns, to pleasure excur- sions by land and water, or to any other schemes of amusement and gratification which they can imagine and devise, is it surprising that they should contract habits of profane ex- pense, and eventually have recourse to unlaw- ful means, when other resources fail ? Or can we wonder that those who are left to rush into Bacchanalian revels on the Sabbath should soon grow impatient of regular control and subordination during the week ? The passions cannot be let loose and chained up, like certain animals, at fixed and appointed intervals. The increase of crimes has, within a few years, been, I doubt not, much owing to the impulse which men of rank and fortune have given to the profligacy of the i lower orders. There were always libertines NOBLE THOUGHTS IN NOBLE LANGUAGE. 169 and sensualists among the great ; but in former times they took care to keep their own circle, and never descended to mix with the plebeian crowd. It remained for our age to see baronets and noblemen associating with butchers and low-bred blackguards around the same pugilistic ring. "And why not?" exclaims the practised adept — the ofiicial reporter of their glorious deeds; "they are all, whether clad in purple or russet, graced with coronets or cleavers, on foot or in car- riages, equally gentlemen of the fancy : " and the brave exploits of the champions are re- warded with purses of gold, and published with as much form and pomp as the gazette of military and naval victories. Thus, those who ought to lend the influence derived from their rank, education, and power, to repress vice and encourage virtue, are the chief agents in demoralizing the people. Prize-fighting, gaming, intemperance, lewd- ness, with everything which can brutalize the mind and blacken the character, find shelter under the patronage of grandeur and opulence. Are we, while things remain in this state, to be astonished at the increase of crimes ? But what can be done ? The accumulating mass of vice is not to be removed by temporiz- ing expedients. Men of dissolute habits and degraded characters are in firm league to sup- port each other. We may build new prisons, and with ill-directed tenderness furnish them with new conveniences and accommodations ; we may amplify the power of the police, and employ more catchpole paws to seize their slippery prey ; we may set up a few more splendid charities for the relief of indigence ; but all these will not rectify a system radically wrong. While, however, the prospect is gloomy and appalling, I would by no means wish to infuse a feeling of despondency. Let every good man gird himself to the combat, and do all he can to repress the Avickedness of the times. Who can tell how n.uch indivi- duals may be able to accomplish when they set themselves resolutely to the task ? Who can tell but the House of Commons may be roused to new energy by the stinging report of its own Select Committee? It is some proof of honesty and courage, to tell those gentlemen who are so fond of dogs and guns that, instead of study- ing to preserve game, they ought to make it their business to preserve the morals of the people. Christians are solemnly bound, by all that is sacred and dear to them, to exert every power, to employ every practicable measure and possible means for checking the torrent of iniquity, and guarding our unwary youth from the allurements of folly and siiL — Rtts- tiCHS. CHITICISM. So the struck eagle stretched upon the plain. No more through rolling clouds to soar again, Viewed his own feather on the fatal dart, And winged the shaft that quivered in his heart : Keen were his pangs, but keener far to feel He nursed the pinion which impelled the steel. While the same plumage that had warmed his nest Drank the last life-drop of his bleeding breast Byron. DARKNESS, Likened to a Raven. Smoothing the raven down Of darkness, till it smiled. Milton. DAWN, Likened to a Bride. Soft as a bride, the rosy dawn From dewy sleep doth rise, And, bathed in blushes, hath withdrawn The mantle from her eyes ; And, with her orbs dissolved in dew. Bends like an angel softly through The blue-pavilioned skies. Mrs. A. B. Welby. DAY, a Rainy. It rains ! What lady loves a rainy day ? She loves a rainy day who sweeps the hearth. And threads the busy needle, or applies The scissors to the torn or thread-bare sleeve; Who blesses God that she has friends at home ; Who, in the pelting of the storms, will think Of some poor neighbour that she can befriend ; Who trims the lamp at night, and reads aloud To a young brother tales he loves to hear ; Such are not sad even on a rainy day ! Tennyson. DAY, How to Pass the. Arise early ; serve God devoutly, and the world busily ; do thy work wisely ; give thine I70 NOBLE THOUGHTS IN NOBLE LANGUAGE. alms secretly ; go by thy way sadly (gravely) ; answer the people demurely ; go to thy meat appetitely ; sit thereat discreetly ; of thy tongue be not too liberal j arise therefrom temperately. Go to thy supper soberly, and to thy bed merrily, and sleep surely. — Dame Julia Banus. DAY by Day, Unheeded. Summer ebbs ;— each day that follows Is a reflux from on high, Tending to the darksome hollows Where the frosts of winter lie. He who governs the creation, In his providence assign'd Such a gradual declination To the life of human kind. Yet we mark it not ; — fruits redden, Fresh flowers blow, as flowers have blown, And the heart is loth to deaden Hopes that she so long hath known. Be thou wiser, youthful Maiden ! And, when thy decline shall come, Let not flowers, or boughs fruit -laden, Hide the knowledge of thy doom. Now, even now, ere wrapp'd in slumber. Fix thine eyes upon the sea That absorbs time, space, and number ; Look towards eternity ! Follow thou the flowing river. On whose breast are thither borne All deceived, and each deceiver, Through the gates of night and morn, Through the year's successive portals ; Through the bounds which many a star Marks, not mindless of frail mortals, "When his light returns from far. Thus when thou with Time hast travell'd Tow'rds the mighty gulf of things, And the mazy stream unravell'd With thy best imaginings : Think, if thou on beauty leanest, Think how pitiful that stay, Did not virtue give the meanest Charms superior to decay. Duty, like a strict preceptor. Sometimes frowns, or seems to frown ; Choose her thistle for thy sceptre. While thy brow youth's roses crown. Wordsworth. DAY-DREAMS, On the Folly of Indulging in. That creatures possessed of reason, and re- sponsible to the great Judge of the universe for the use and abuse of every faculty and talent, should throw the reins upon the neck of a freakish, ungoverned imagination, and voluntarily suffer themselves to be dragged into the wildest vagaries, would appear loo strange to be credible, had we not the fullest evidence of the fact. One might suppose that the predominance of fancy, sketching ideal scenes of wealth, grandeur, power, and plea- sure of a character too puerile and ludicrous for communication to the most intimate friend, could be found only in persons on the very verge of insanity, if not passed over the boundary line. But were this the criterion of judgment, where should we find bedlams to receive one out of a thousand of the maniacs now at large? A man infected with this malady "expatiates in boundless futurity, and culls from all imaginable conditions that which for the present moment he should most desire, amuses his desires with impossible enjoyments, and confers upon his pride unattainable do- minion. The mind dances from scene to scene, unites all pleasures, in all combinations, and riots in delights which nature and fortune, with all their bounty, cannot bestow. In time some particular train of ideas fixes the atten- tion ; all other intellectual gratifications are rejected ; the mind, in weariness or leisure, recurs constantly to the favourite conception, and feasts on the luscious falsehood whenever she is offended with the bitterness of truth. By degrees the reign of Fancy is confirmed ; she grows first imperious, and in time despotic. Then fictions begin to operate as realities, false opinions fasten upon the mind, and life passes in dreams of rapture or anguish." The egregious folly of indulging these airy visions is at once palpably manifest. They occasion a most deplorable waste of time, which ought to be carefully consecrated to improvement and utility. Every practicable pursuit, every arduous and honourable work, must stand still, while imagination is devising and decorating romantic fabrics of bliss. The optative mood has here no connection with the active voice or active hand. Doubting Castle, in Banyan's allegoiy, greatly hindered the journey, and weakened the strength of poor Christian ; but it may admit a question, whether Wishing Castle has not proved at least equally NOBLE THOUGHTS IN NOBLE LANGUAGE. 171 injurious. The latter, indeed, is not kept by a giant with a voice of thunder and a huge Herculean club, but by a fair sorceress, with a musical pipe, and a magical wand, and a thousand spells of enchantment. How many are wearing away the prime of life, in the soft bonds of this inglorious and infatuating cap- tivity? When imagination is indulged in visions of affluence, honour, and delight, the higher faculties of the soul are impaired, and a sickly fastidious habit is formed. Understanding is first driven from the helm, and then fettered and famished in the dark hold. He that has no command of himself is the sport of ten thousand fallacies and delusions. Wantonness becomes weakness, and weakness issues in slavery and contempt. "There is scarce anything," says Mr. Locke, "more for the improvement of knowledge, for the ease of life, and the dispatch of business, than for a man to be able to dispose his own thoughts. " This high prerogative, the fond, musing, idle visionary, forfeits and resigns ; and instead of controlling his own thoughts, is a hapless captive, wholly under their absolute control. Nor can any one yield to such folly without incurring guilt What we are ashamed to do and say before men, we should be afraid to think before God. The reveries of a loose, disordered fancy too often disturb and pollute the hallowed hours and exercises of religion ; and when the bewildered mind awakes to a serious sense of its responsibility, what pangs of anguish and remorse must be felt } W' ho can bear the idea of frivolity and trifling, followed out deliberately on a system mentally organized in the awful presence of an omniscient Judge, who has given us positive assurance that the secrets of all hearts shall be laid open ? Who can bear the idea of having the whole history, not of his doings only, but also of his latent business and cogitations, read before assembled multitudes ? This is a serious view of our subject, which may well strike the most gay and careless. Reader, art thou daily playing the fool in the idle regions of Romance ? contriving plans and projects in the lofty spirit of Quixotic chivalry? planting, building, beautifying, in a new and most magnificent style ? conquering all difficulties and oppositions, commanding all agencies, and events, and vicissitudes, within the line and limits of possibility? Perhaps a frank and minute disclosure is almost too much to be expected ; for hov/ever ready men are to tell their night-visions, their day-dreams are not so easily drawn from them. On what principle is this reluctance to be accounted for or explained ? Is it that having laid out and embellished some exquisite domain where no- thing is seen but beauty, nothing is heaped but harmony, nothing is tasted or felt but rapture, they fear even a whisper, to leveal the secret might cause them to be served with a writ of ejectment, or expose their paradise to rude in- vaders ? Or is it that the magnificent outline is not yet filled up, nor the scheme of match- less felicity yet complete, because the merchant has certain enterprises to accomplish before he can become a prince and rise to the throne ; and the labourer has still to find the gold mine or the miser's vast legacy required before he can be made a prince ? Reader, notwithstand- ing the reluctance which perchance thou mayest feel to comply with this proposal, I do strongly recommend thee to choose a faithful confessor, and reveal to him some of thy fairest visions of terrestrial felicity. Tell them freely, though faltering accents and burning blushes betray thy guilt and shame ; tell them, I say, whatever penances and privations may be the inevitable consequences. A serious poet has said — Our waking dreams are fatal : how I dreamt Of things impossible ! (could sleep do more ?) Of joys perpetual, in perpetual change ; Of suble pleasures on the tossing wave ; Eternal sunshine in the storms of life ! How richly were my noon-tide trances hung With gorgeous tapestries, of pictured joys, Joy beyond joy, in endless perspective ! It is not enough, however, to be convinced of the folly of castle-building ; the process, wild and ridiculous as it is, often goes on against all the feeble and ineffectual remonstrances of reason. It is necessary that some employment laudable in itself, and connected with purposes of utility, should fully occupy our time and thoughts. Business which commands, and even concentrates the whole attention of the mind, may be requisite to answer this end : for the webs which fancy weaves with dex- trous art, and dyes with brilliant colours, are torn to pieces and swept away by the storms and rude shocks of commercial enterprise and activity. Nor is intellectual labour, when steadily directed to a specific object, less cal- culated to scatter these wretched puerile illu- sions. " If," says the late excellent Miss Smith, "the acquisition of knowledge were not an end worthy to be gained, still study would be valuable on its own account, as tend- ing to strengthen the mind, just as a walk is 172 NOBLE THOUGHTS IN NOBLE LANGUAGE. beneficial to our health though we have no particular object in view. And certainly, for that most humiliating mental disorder, the wan- dering of the thoughts, there is no remedy so efficacious as intense study." But as neither corporeal nor mental exertions can be unre- mitting, how are the intervals of leisure to be guarded? This is an inquiry of the highest moment ; and surely it is not saying too much to affirm that a watch-tower ought to be raised from which reason and resolution may easily descry, and must instantly disperse, the phan- toms and fallacies of imagination. Nor will the Christian, while earnest and sincere, fail of receiving succours from above. Vigilance and prayer are duties never to be set aside, nor su- perficially and carelessly peiformed ; and he that keeps up the deepest and liveliest con- sciousness of the Divine Presence will be the least liable to indulge the wild and wanton ex- cursions of fancy. Business or study may exclude these loose reveries as unseasonable : religion forbids them as sinful. It is in the recesses of the heart, the interior movements of the mind, that the principle of genuine piety is fixed, and the power of piety in its sa- lutary effects is most eminently displayed. A good man has to lament the incursion of vain thoughts and the excitement of evil passions in his most serious and devout engagements ; but while these are the results of an infirmity which more or less adheres perhaps to every one, the trains of idle and romantic musing to which our attention has been in this paper turned, cannot be admitted and cherished without deli- berate sin. And he who would neither waste his precious time, nor weaken his better powers, nor wound his conscience, nor expose himself to temptations which entangle and en- slave, ought to watch and govern his thoughts, as if he had a window in his bosom, and all could see them. Of one thing, indeed, are we certain, absolutely certain, because it is the. record of inspiration — "That all things are naked and open to the eyes of that God with whom we have to do." — Rusticus. DECAY and Benovation. The myriads of generations of plants and animals that have lived and died, and added their substance to the soil, would be sad in- cumbrances on the face of this fair world, were there not means devised for rendering the mat- ter they contain, and which is no longer useful to themselves, useful to their survivors. This is done by those plants especially which require rich soil and much manure for their support, and which thus, living on the dead, bring back to us again, in the form of fairest fruits and flowers, the refuse filth and offal that are cast upon the dung heap, as Pope says : See dying vegetables life sustain, See life dissolving vegetate again : All forms that perish other forms supply, (By turns we catch the vital breath and die), Like bubbles on the sea of matter borne, They rise, they break, and to that sea return. Were it not for such natural transmutators ; were matter once eaten, uneatable again ; were it not that the present generation lives upon the past, as succeeding generations will live upon the present ; were it not that the same atoms are digested over and over again, the whole earth might be in time devoured, and its inhabitants starve amidst the wreck they had made. Putrefaction and decay are naturally regarded with disgust, and the admirable process of corruption too often turned from with horror. But dissolution is not destruction, and few se- crets are more wonderful than those which such a change reveals ; for it shows the first and the last of a series of extraordinary events, the earliest and the latest of those mysterious trans- formations that all organic beings undergo ; and by which creatures, old, decrepid, and worn out, are, as it were by natural magic, converted into others young, vigorous, and strong. Thus nature is renewed, and death, so much dreaded as a destroyer, should rather be looked on as the renovator of the world. — Burnett. DEAD, Languishing for the. Break, break, break. On thy cold gray stones, O Sea ! And I would that my tongue could utter The thoughts that arise in me. Oh well for the fisherman's boy. That he shouts with his sister at play ! Oh well for the sailor lad. That he sings in his boat on the bay ! And the stately ships go on To their haven under the hill ; But oh, for the touch of a vanish'd hand. And the sound of a voice that is still ! Break, break, break, At the foot of thy crags, O Sea ! But the tender grace of a day that is dead Will never come back to me. Tefinyso7i NOBLE THOUGHTS IN NOBLE LANGUAGE. 73 DEATH, a Dreaded Thing. A dark, inevitable night, A blank that will remain : A waiting for the morning light, Where waiting is in vain ; A gulf where pathway never led To show the depth beneath, A thing we know not, yet we dread — That dreaded thing is Death. Clare. DEATH, a Gentle One. God's finger touch'd him, and he slept. Tennyson. DEATH, a Pause Before. There is a pause near death, when men grow bold Towards all things else. SJiakespeare. Before that awful pause, whenever the thought is brought home to us, we feel our- selves near enough to grow indifferent to them, and to perceive the vanity of all earthly pur- suits, those only excepted which have the good of our fellow-creatures for their object, and tend to our own spiritual improvement. — SoiUhey, DEATH, a Peaceful, how Obtained. Remember, the happy, peaceful death of the righteous man can only be obtained or hoped for by those who have lived the life of the righteous. Remember that every guilty com- pliance with the humours of the world, every sinful indulgence of our own passions, is laying up cares and fears for the hour of darkness ; and that the remembrance of ill-spent time will strew our sick bed with thorns, and rack our sinking spirits with despair ! — Bishop Heber, DEATH, a Prodigious Change. Thrice welcome Death ! That, after many a painful, bleeding step, Conducts us to our home, and lands us safe On the long wished-for shore ! Prodigious change ! Our bane tum'd to our blessing ! Death, disarm' d. Loses his fellness quite. All thanks to Him Who scourged the venom out \— Blair. DEATH, A Theme of Universal Interest. The lightest heart, the least thoughtful mind, has no disbelief of death. The distance of the dark cloud in which he comes, sailing through the bosom of futurity, may be miscal- culated ; but the world unhesitatingly owns he is coming, and will at last be here. In almost every other particular of existence the fortunes of men differ ; but to die is common to all. The stream of life runs in a thousand various channels, but run where it will — brightly or darkly, smoothly or languidly — it is stopped by Death. Though invisible, he is always abroad on the earth. The trees drop their leaves at the approach of the Winter's frost ; man falls at the presence of Death. Every successive generation he claims for his own, and his claim is never denied. To die is the condition on which we hold life ; rebellion sickens with hopelessness at the thought of re- sisting death : the very hope of the most des- perate is not that death may be escaped, but that he is eternal ; and all that the young, the careless, and the dissipated attempt is to think of him as seldom as they can. No man, therefore, will deny that whatever can be said of death is applicable to himself. The bell that he hears tolled may never toll for him ; there may be no friend or children left to lament him ; he may not have to lie through long and anxious days, looking for the coming of the expected terror ; but he knows that he must die ; he knows that in whatever quarter of the world he abides — whatever be his circumstances — however strong his present hold of life — however unlike the prey of death he looks — that it is his doom beyond reverse to die. — Stebbin^. DEATH, a Transition. Death is something so strange that it with- stands all experience ; one thinks it impossible to seize a beloved object. It always presents itself as an incredible and unexpected event ; and this transition from an existence we know to one of which we know nothing, is some- thing so violent that it cannot take place with- out the greatest shock to survivors. — Goethe. DEATH-BED, A. A death-bed's a detector of the heart : Here tired Dissimulation drops her mask : Virtue alone has majesty in death. Young. 174 NOBLE THOUGHTS IN NOBLE LANGUAGE. DEATH, Early. Too, too prophetic did thy wild note swell, Impassioned minstrel ! when its pitying wail Sighed o'er the vernal primrose as it fell Untimely, withered by the northern gale. Thou wert that flower of promise and of prime ! Whose opening bloom 'mid many an ad- verse blast Charmed the lone wanderer through this desert clime, But charmed him with a rapture soon o'er- cast, To see thee languish into quick decay. Yet was not thy departing immature ? For ripe in virtue thou wert reft away, And pure in spirit, as the blest are pure ; Pure as the dew-drop, freed from earthly leaven. That sparkles, is exhaled, and blends with heaven ! T. Park. DEATH, Fear of, Seemeth Strange. Oh, what a wonder seems the fear of death ! Seeing how gladly we all sink to sleep ; Babes, children, youths, and men. Night following night, for threescore years and ten. Coleridge. DEATH, Hope in. Yet when the first wild throb is past Of anguish and despair. To lift the eye of faith to heaven. And think — my child is there ; This best can dry the gushing tear, This yields the heart relief. Until the Christian's pious hope O'ercomes a Mother's grief. Dale. DEATH, in Life. We pass These sleep Beneath the forest shade, where deep-leaved boughs Bend over furrows the great Reaper ploughs, And gentle summer winds in mazy sweep Whirl in eddying waves The dead leaves o'er the graves. And the living sigh : Forgotten ones, so soon your memories die. Ye never more may list the wild bird's song, Or mingle in the crowded city's throng. Ye must ever dwell in gloom, 'Mid the silence of the tomb. And the dead reply : God giveth us His life. Ye die. Your barren lives are tilled with tears. For glory, ye are clad with fears. O living ones ! O earthly shades ! We live ; your beauty clouds and fades. Paraphrased from Victor Hugo, DEATH, New-born. To-day Death seems to me an infant child Which her worn mother Life upon my knee Has set to grow my friend and play with me ; If haply so my heart might be beguiled To find no terrors in a face so mild, — If haply so my weary heart might be Unto the newborn milky eyes of thee, O Death, before resentment reconciled. How long, O Death ? And shall thy feet de- part Still a young child's with mine, or wilt thou stand Fullgrown the helpful daughter of my heart. What time with thee indeed I reach the strand Of the pale wave which knows thee, what thou art. And drink it in the hollow of thy hand ? And thou, O Life, the lady of all bliss. With whom, when our first heart beat full and fast, I wandered till the haunts of men were pass'd, And in fair places found all bowers amiss Till only woods and waves might hear our kiss. While to the winds all thought of Death we cast : — Ah, Life ; and must I have from thee at last No smile to greet me, and no babe but this ? I,o ! LoVe, the child once ours ; and Song, whose hair Blew like a flame and blossomed like a wreath ; And Art, whose eyes were worlds by God found fair — These o'er the book of Nature mixed their breath With neck-twined arms, as oft we watched them there : And did these die that thou mightst bear me Death? Dante Gabriel Rossetti. NOBLE THOUGHTS IN NOBLE LANGUAGE, 175 DEATH, No Reluctance to in Many. Of the great number to whom it has been my painful professional duty to have administered in the last hour of their lives, I have some- times felt surprised that so few have appeared reluctant to go to the undiscovered country ''from whose bourne no traveller returns!" Many, we may easily suppose, have manifested this willingness to die from an impatience of suffering, or from that passive indifference which is sometimes the result of debility and bodily exhaustion. But I have seen those who have arrived at a fearless contemplation of the future, from faith in the doctrine which our religion teaches. Such men were not only calm and supported, but cheerful in the hour of death ; and I never quitted such a sick chamber without a hope that my last end might be like theirs. — Sir Henry Half or d. DEATH of a Baby. Why should I repine, That Jesus in His bosom wears A flower that once was mine ? Alton. DEATH of a Baby ; its Mother's Grief. To mark the sufferings of the babe That cannot speak its woe ; To see the infant tears gush forth, Yet know not why they flow ; To meet the meek uplifted eye That fain would ask relief. Yet can but tell of agony ; — This is a mother's grief. Thro' dreary days and darker nights To trace the march of death ; To hear the faint and frequent sigh. The quick and shortened breath ; To watch the last dread strife draw near, And pray that struggle brief, Though all is ended with its close, — This is a mother's grief. To see in one short hour decayed The hope of future years ; To feel how vain a father's prayers, How vain a mother's tears ; To think the cold grave now must close O'er what was once the chief Of all the treasured joys of earth, — This is a mother's grief. Anon. DEATH of a ChUd. And this is death ! How cold and still, And yet how lovely it appears ! Too cold to let the gazer smile, And yet too beautiful for tears. The sparkling eye no more is bright, The cheek has lost its rose-like red ; And yet it is with strange delight I stand and gaze upon the dead. But when I see the fair wide brow, Half-shaded by the silken hair, That never looked so fair as now. When life and health were laughing there, I wonder not that grief should .swell So mldly upward in the breast, And that strong passion once rebel. That need not, cannot be suppressed. I wonder not that parents' eyes In gazing thus grow cold and dim ; That burning tears and aching sighs Are blended with the funeral hymn ; The spirit hath an earthly part That weeps when earthly pleasure flies. And heaven would scorn the frozen heart That melts not when the infant dies. And yet, why mourn ? That deep repose Shall never more be broke by pain ; Those lips no more in sighs unclose, Those eyes shall never weep again. For think not that the blushing flower Shall wither in the churchyard sod ; 'Twas made to gild an angel's bower Within the paradise of God. Once more I gaze — and swift and far The clouds of death and sorrow fly ; I see thee like a new-born star Move up thy pathway in the sky : The star hath rays serene and bright, But cold and pale compared with thine ; For thy orb shines with heavenly light. With beams unfading and divine. Then let the burthened heart be free. The tears of sorrow all be shed, And parents calmly bend to see The mournful beauty of the dead ; Thrice happy — that their infant bears To heaven no darkening stains of sin ; And only breathed life's morning airs Before its noon-day storms begin. Farewell ! I shall not soon forget ! Although thy heart hath ceased to beat. My memory warmly treasures yet Thy features calm and mildly sweet ; 176 NOBLE THOUGHTS IN NOBLE LANGUAGE. But no ! that look is not the last ; We yet may meet where seraphs dwell, Where love no more deplores the past, Nor breathes that withering word — Farewell! Peabody. Death of an Infant Son. We cannot choose but weep ; He was our dearly loved, our only one ; And brightest hopes and joys are with him gone Within the grave to sleep. We hoped to hear his voice In accents sweet lisping his mother's name ; We thought when summer flowers in beauty came, He'd pluck them and rejoice. We hoped he would have knelt With us, to ask a blessing on our home — That discord might not ever near us come, Nor woe be ever felt. We thought he would have trod With us the fields where we delight to rove , And we had plann'd to guide his thoughts to love Nature, and Nature's God. We hoped he would have proved For many years our help, and joy, and pride ; Then taking to himself a happy bride, Love, e'en as we have loved. Yet let us cease our sighs : For he has pass'd from darkness into light. And is united with the Infinite, The Eternal and Allwise. Sydney Giles. DEATH of a Young Child. Her suffering ended with the day ; Yet lived she at its close. And breathed the long, long night away In statue-like repose. Bat when the Sun in all his state Illumined the eastern skies. She passed through Glory's morning gates. And waked in Paradise ! James Aldrich. DEATH of Eminent Persons. There is nothing in history which is so im- proving to the reader as those accounts which we meet with of the deaths of eminent persons. and of their behaviour in that dreadful season. I may also add that there are no parts in his- tory which affect and please the reader in so sensible a manner. The reason I take to be this : there is no other single circumstance in the story of any person which can possibly be the case of any one who reads it. The general, the statesman, or the philosopher, are perhaps characters which we may never act in ; but the dying man is one whom, sooner or later we shall certainly resemble. — Addison. DEATH of the Beloved, True, indeed, it is That they whom death has hidden from our sight Are worthiest of the mind's regard ; with them The future cannot contradict the past — Mortality's last exercise and proof Is undersrone. Wordsworth. DEATH of the Innocent. How the innocent. As in a gentle slumber, pass away! But to cut off the knotty thread of life In guilty men must force stern Atropos To use her sharp knife often. Massin^cr. DEATH of the New-born. One look upon thy face ere thou depart ! My daughter ! it is soon to let thee go ! My daughter ! with thy birth has gush'd a spring I knew not of — filling my heart with tears. And turning with strange tenderness to thee — A love — Oh God ! it seems so — that must flow Far as thou fleest, and 'twixt heaven and me. Henceforward, be a bright and yearning chain Drawing me after thee ! And so farewell ! 'Tis a harsh world, in which affection knows No place to treasure up its loved and lost, But the foul grave ! thou who so late wast sleeping. Warm in the close fold of a mother's heart. Scarce from her breast a single pulse receiving. But it was sent thee with some tender thought. How can I leave thee here ! Alas for man ! The herb in its humility may fall And waste into the bright and genial air. While wc — by hands that minister'd in life Nothing but love to us— are thrust away — NOBLE THOUGHTS IN NOBLE LANGUAGE. 77 The earth flung in upon our just cold bosoms, And the warm sunshine trodden out for ever : Yet have I chosen for thy grave, my child, A bank where I have lain in summer hours, And thought how little it would seem like death To sleep amid such loveliness. The brook. Tripping with laughter down the rocky steps That lead up to thy bed, would still trip on, Breaking the dead hush of the mourners gone. N.P. Willis. DEATH of the Noble and Beloved. He passed — a soul of nobler tone, My spirit loved, and loves him yet. Tennyson. DEATH of the Yoiing. Green be the turf above thee ! Son of my better days ! None knew thee but to love thee ! None named thee but to praise ! Tears fell when thou wert dying, From eyes unused to weep : And long where thou art lying Will tears the cold turf steep. While memory bids me weep thee, Nor thoughts nor words are free ; The grief is fixed too deeply. That mourns a lad like thee ! Halleck. DEATH of the Young and Good. Strength sublime may rise from weakness, Groans be turned to songs of praise j Nor are life's divinest labours Only told by length of days. Young he died — but deeds of mercy Beautified his life's short span. Mary Howitt. DEATH, Resignation in. I LOVED them so. That when the elder Shepherd of the fold Came covered with the storm, and pale and cold, And begged for one of my sweet lambs to hold, I bade him go. He claimed the pet : A little fondling thing, that to my breast Clung always, either in quiet or unrest ; I thought of all my lambs I loved him best, And yet — and yet — I laid him down, In those white, shrouded arms with bitter tears ; For some voice told me, that in after years He should know nought of passion, grief, or fears. As I had known. And yet again That elder Shepherd came; my heart grewfaint. He claimed another lamb, with sadder plaint. Another ! She, who, gentle as a saint, Ne'er gave me pain. Aghast I turned away ; There sat she, lovely as an angel's dream. Her golden locks with sunlight all agleam, Her holy eyes with heaven in their beam ; I knelt to pray : *'Is it thy will? My Father, say, must this pet lamb be given ? O ! Thou hast many such, dear Lord, in heaven ! " And a soft voice said, * ' Nobly hast thou striven; But — peace, be still ! " Oh ! how I wept ! And clasped her to my bosom, with a wild And yearning love — my lamb, my pleasant child : Her, too, I gave — the little angel smiled, And slept. *'Go! go!" I cried: For once again that Shepherd laid his hand Upon the noblest of our household band : Like a pale spectre, there he took his stand, Close to his side. And yet, how wondrous sweet The look with which he heard my passionate cry ! — " Touch not my lamb — for him, oh ! let me die ! " "A little while," he said, with smile and sigh, "Again to meet."' Hopeless I felt ; And when I rose, the light had burned so low. So faint, I could not see my darling go. He had not bidden me farewell ; but oh ! I felt farewell. More deeply far Than if my arms had compassed that slight frame : Though could I but have heard him call my name, "Dear mother" — but in heaven 'twill be the same : There burns my star ! 178 NOBLE THOUGHTS IN NOBLE LANGUAGE, He will not take Then the look of rapture faded. Another lamb, I thought, for only one And the beautiful smile was faint, Of the dear fold is spared to be my sun, As that in some ancient picture My guide, my mourner when this life is done : On the face of a dying saint. My heart would break. And we felt in the lonesome midnight, Oh! with what thrill As we sat by the silent dead. I heard him enter ; but I did not know What a light on the path going downwards (For it was dark) that he had robbed me so ; The feet of the righteous shed ; The idol of my soul— he could not go— When we thought how with faith unshrinking heart, be still ! She came to the Jordan's tide ; Came morning : can I tell And taking the hand of the Saviour How this poor frame its sorrowful tenant kept? Went up on the heavenly side. For waking tears were mine ; I sleeping wept. Phcehe Carey. And days, months, years, that weary vigil The mystery dilated in her look kept. Which, on the darkening death-ground, faintly Alas! ''farewell." caught How often is it said ! The likeness of the Angel shining near ; I sit and think, and wonder too, sometime, Her passing soul flasht back a glimpse of bliss ! How it will seem, when in that happier clime It never will ring out like funeral chime Gsrald Massey. Over the dead. DEATH, the Only Possession. No tears ! no tears ! Nothing can we call our own, but Death ; Will there a day come that I shall not weep ? And that small model of the barren earth. For I bedew my pillow in my sleep. Which serves as paste and cover to our bones. Yes, yes ; thank God ! no grief that clime Shakespeare. shall keep — No weary years. DEATH, to be Thought About. Ay ! it is well : Ay, let us think of Him awhile, Well with my lambs, and with their earthly That, with a coffin for a boat, guide : Rows daily o'er the Stygian moat. There, pleasant rivers wander they beside. And for our table choose a tomb : Or strike sweet harps upon its silver tide — There's dark enough in any skull Ay ! it is well. To charge with black a raven plume ; Through the drear day And for the saddest funeral thoughts | They often come from glorious light to me ; A winding-sheet hath ample room, I cannot feel their touch, their faces see. Where Death, with his keen-pointed style. Yet my soul whispers they do come to me : Hath writ the common doom. Heaven is not far away. How wide the yew tree spreads its gloom, Anon, And o'er the dead lets fall its dew, As if in tears it wept for them. DEATH Scene, The. The many human families That sleep around its stem ! Dying ; still slowly dying, How cold the dead have made these stones, As the hours of night rode by, With natural drops kept ever wet ! She had lain since the light of sunset Lo ! here the best, the worst, the world Was red in the evening sky — Doth now remember or forget, Till after the middle watches — Are in one common ruin hurl'd, As we softly near her trod. And love and hate are calmly met ; When her soul from its prison's fetters The loveliest eyes that ever shone. Was loosed by the hand of God. The fairest hands, and locks of jet One moment her pale lips trembled Is't not enough to vex our souls. With the triumph she might not tell, And fill our eyes, that we have set As the sight of her life immortal Our love upon a rose's leaf, On her spirit's vision fell ; Our hearts upon a violet ? NOBLE THOUGHTS IN NOBLE LANGUAGE. 179 Blue eyes, red cheeks, are frailer yet ; And sometimes at their swift decay Beforehand we must fret : The roses bud and bloom again ; But love may haunt the grave of love, And watch the mould in vain. T. Hood. DEFAMATION, a Perversion of Speecli. It is a grievous perverting the design of speech to use it to the defaming and disquieting our neighbour. It was given us as an instru- ment of beneficial commerce and delectable conversation ; that with it we might assist and advise, might cheer and comfort one another ; we, therefore, in employing it to the disgrace, vexation, damage, or prejudice in any kind, of our neighbour, do foully abuse it ; and so doing render ourselves indeed worse than dumb beasts ; for better far were it that we should say nothing than that we should speak ill. — Bai-roiu. The Apostle James doth amply and excel- lently teach the great importance of ordering the tongue in all a Christian's life. But we are ever learning and never taught. . . In all the disorders of the world the tongue hath a great share. To let pass those irruptions of infernal furies, blasphemies and cursing, lying and uncharitable speeches ; how much are we to account for unprofitable talking ! . . For all the disorders of the tongue the remedy must begin at the heart ; purge the fountain, and then the streams will be clean ; keep thy heart, and then it will be easy for thee to keep thy tongue. It is a great help in the quality of speech to abate in the quantity ; not to speak rashly, but to ponder what we are going to say: " Set a watch before the door of thy lips." He bids us not build it up like a stone wall, that nothing go in or come out ; but he speaks of a door which may be some- times open, oft-times shut, but withal to have a watch standing before it continually. — Abp. Leiohton. DEISM, Defects and Absurdities of. Father of light and life ! Thou Good supreme ! O teach me what is good ! teach me Thyself ! Save me from folly, vanity, and vice. From every low pursuit ! Thomson. It is affirmed by a sacred writer, who was in- timately acquainted with the most civilized and polished states of classic antiquity, that "the world by wisdom knew not God." All the literature of Greece and of Rome more or less illustrates and proves the truth of the assertion. We have only to read a few pages of the works of Homer, and Virgil, or of Cicero on the Nature of the Gods, to be convinced of the in- numerable absurdities of Polytheism. The heavens, and the earth, and the sea, and the hills, and rivers, and springs, and valleys, and almost every object, had their deities ; and most of them were distinguished by all the vices v/hich have ever degraded the world and afflicted humanity. So ill-informed were those who possessed the best information and the loftiest genius that even they knew nothing of the one living and true God. "It is very difficult," says Cicero, **to discover the Creator and Parent of the universe ; and if we could do so, it would be improper to make him known to the common people." Socrates, perhaps the best and the wisest individual who appeared in the heathen world, was a gross idolator. In his last moments he charged one of his friends to offer a cock for him to Esculapius. Truly, *' the world by wisdom knew not God." How is it that the Deist in the present day is better informed as to the Divine character ? Has he superior sagacity, or a more elevated genius than Homer or Virgil — than Socrates or Cicero ? Assuredly not. He has derived his greatest light on this all-important subject from the very volume which he inconsistently rejects. If he has not done so, let him tell us from whence he has derived his more rational sentiments. It is no small proof of the excellence, and of the divine origin of the Scriptures, that they present to us a complete view of the Divine character. They tell us that he is one, and that there are no gods beside him — that he is from everlasting to everlasting — that he is a spirit, and ought to be worshipped in spirit and in truth — that he formed all beings, and all worlds, by his omnipotent word ; and, of course, possesses infinite ability to accomplish the purposes of his will — that he is everywhere present, is intimately acquainted with the most secret recesses of the heart, and that before him the midnight darkness shineth as the day — that the riches of his wisdom, good- ness, and mercy, are unsearchable — that he is spotless in holiness and justice, and cannot but abominate what is wrong, and manifest his dis- pleasure against it — and that he is altogether faithful to his engagements, and unchangeable I So NOBLE THOUGHTS IN NOBLE LANGUAGE, in all his incomparable excellences. These are sentiments not to be found in a few insulated passages, but they form the very substance of divine Revelation. Well might Dr. Young exclaim — Not thus our infidels the Eternal draw, A God all o'er consummate, absolute, Full orb'd— in his whole round of rays complete : They set at odds Heaven's jarring attributes. And with one excellence another wound. From whence did the sacred penmen gain their superior knowledge? Were they more wise than all the sages of antiquity? No. They tell us that their wisdom was given them from above. Can it be fully accounted for in any other way ? With all the glorious light of the Scriptures, what is the view which deists generally give us of the Divine character? Let us examine, and we shall find that it is essentially defective. Lord Bolingbroke says, "It is evident that the Deity is powerful and wise, but that we cannot ascribe either goodness or justice to him. " Voltaire acknowledges that there is a supreme, eternal, incomprehensible Intelli- gence ; but whether he is holy, or just, or good, he does not inform us. Hume contemns the Divine character as revealed to us in the Scriptures, and intimates that men must be much more at their ease, when they regarded their gods as their equals, or as inferior to themselves. Others we might readily mention speak of one God, who is the creator of all, and who, of course, is powerful and wise ; but, with one consent, they pass over the moral at- tributes of the Divine Being as if he did not possess any, and as if they were altogether of no importance. But is this line of conduct becoming or de- fensible ? Should any one write the history of our Alfred and say nothing of his impartial administration of justice, or of his excellent moral qualities, would not such an individual be regarded as having given a miserably imper- fect representation of his subject? And is the Divine character, then, altogether destitute of moral attributes ? Is not God holy, and just, and good ? This must undoubtedly be the case ; if he were destitute of these excel- lences, he could not be God, and could not have been the Father of the world which we inhabit Most assuredly God is good. No man can look abroad on creation with an impartial eye, and not see that his kindness is displayed, more or less, in all the works of his hands. Paley proves that this is the case, on two grounds : first, because, in a vast plurality of instances in which contrivance is perceived among the creatures, the design is beneficial ; and secondly, because the Deity has superadded pleasure to animal sensations, beyond what was necessary for any other purpose ; or when the purpose, so far as it was necessary, might have been effected by the operation of pam. "When," says he, " the multitude of animals is con- sidered, the number of parts in each, their figure and fitness, the faculties depending upon them, the variety of species, the complexity of structure, the success, in so many cases, and felicity of the result, we can never reflect, with- out the profoundest adoration, upon the cha- racter of that Being from whom all these things have proceeded : we cannot help acknowledg- ing what an exertion of benevolence creation was ; of a benevolence, how minute in its care, how vast in its comprehension ! It is a happy world after all. The air, the earth, the water, teem with delighted existence. In a spring noon, or on summer evening, on whichever side I turn my eyes, myriads of happy beings crowd on my view." That God has given us pleasure in many cases beyond what was necessary to the support or preservation of life is evident^ Let us select a single instance. "Assuming; the necessity of food for the support of animal life, it is requisite that the animal be provided with organs fitted for the procuring, receiving, and digesting of its food. It may be also necessary that the animal be impelled by its sensations to exert its organs. But the pain of hunger would do all this. Why add pleasure to the act of eating — sweetness and relish to the food ? Why a new and appropriate sense for the perception of pleasure ? Why should the juice of a peach, applied to the palate, affect the part so differently from what it does when rubbed on the palm of the hand ? Eating is necessary, but the pleasure attending it is not necessary. This is a constitution which can be resolved into nothing but the pure benevolence of the Creator." Thus, God is evidently good. All nature and all being proclaims the delightful senti- ment. It is equally certain that he is just. If he had not an entire love to what is right, and a supreme abhorrence of what is wrong, he could not be God, — nor could he be worthy of the highest esteem of all rational beings. Would not a chief magistrate, who should view the honest and dishonest, the murderer and the NOBLE THOUGHTS IN NOBLE LANGUAGE. i8j humane and benevolent individual, with an equal eye, and who should adopt the same line of conduct towards these widely different persons, be, in the opinion of every one, a most exceptionable character? Would any people long endure the government of such an individual? Certainly not. Who, then, can hesitate to believe that the great Manager of the universe must necessarily detest, and in some way manifest his displeasure against what is wrong ? We are, indeed, certain that he does so. God has given us many plain intimations, to say the least, that this is the case. " It is not so much a deduction of reason," says Bishop Butler, *'as a matter of experience, that we are under the government of God, in the same sense as we are under the government of civil magistrates. Because, the annexing pleasure to some actions, and pain to others, and giving notice of this appointment beforehand, is the proper formal notion of government. Whether the pleasm-e or pain which thus follows on our behaviour be owing to the Author of Nature acting upon \is every moment that we feel it, or to his having at once contrived and executed his own part in the plan of the world, makes no difference. For if civil magistrates could make the sanctions of their laws take place, without interposing at all after they had passed them, without a trial and the formalities of an ■execution, we should be just in the same sense binder their government then as we are now, but in a much higher degree, and in a more perfect manner. God actually exercises domi- nion or government over us at present, by rewarding and punishing us for our actions, in as strict and proper sense of these words, and ■even in the same sense as children, servants, and subjects are rewarded and punished by those who govern them." It appears from the nature of things that the vicious and the virtuous cannot be equally happy, even in the present world ; he, then, who was the Author of this arrangement, inust approve of that which is right and good, and abhor that which is unjust and im- holy. But why does Deism contemn, or overlook the goodness, and justice, and holiness of God ? Can any being, however powerful or wise, be justly admired or beloved, who is destitute of moral grandeur? If so, the most execrable despot that ever disgraced the name of humanity — even a Caligula or a Nero, deser- vedly held up by the historian to everlasting abhorrence, might be justly regarded as an object of esteem and admiration. If there were an individual residing near, and well known to us, whose life was an ex- emplification of every virtue, should we be regardless of his excellences ? Would it not argue that there was something exceedingly defective in our own principles and character ? Can the neglect and disregard of God's moral character, which is so evident both in the writings and in the conduct of deists, pro- ceed from any other principle than a dislike to the Divine Being, on account of hb holiness and purity? And surely, the system which presents to us a God destitute of moral attri- butes, cannot but, on the very face of it, be exceedingly defective and absurd ! — Frank. DEITY Pervades all Things. j If miracles be ceased, yet marvels will never cease. There is no creatmre in the world wherein we may not see enough to wonder at ; for there is no worm of the earth, no spire of grass, no leaf, no twig, wherein we may not see the footsteps of a Deity. The best visible creature is man : now what man is he that can make but a hair or a straw, much less any sen- i sitive creature ? So as no less than an infinite ! power is seen in every object that presents it- } self to our eyes. If, therefore, we look only \ upon the outsides of these bodily substances, ! and do not see God in everything, we are no j better than brutish ; making use merely of our sense, without the least improvement of our I faith or our reason. Contrary then to the I opinion of those men who hold that a wise man ! should admire nothing, I say that a man truly wise and good should admire everything ; or rather, that infiniteness of wisdom and omnipo- tence which shows itself in every visible objecL —Bishop Hall. DELIIUUM, Described. O Thou my all. To help and love me while I live, my father. Say wherefore weeping ? Gaze not sorrowful ! Why art thou pale and withered ? Thy cold bosom Hath cherish'd me, and I have slept — it seem'd A lovely sleep ! Now will I lead thee forth. And thou shall see the sunshine paint the clouds. And fall like raining gold upon thy trees. l82 NOBLE THOUGHTS IN NOBLE LANGUAGE. "Where is the shivering hand ? 'Tis heaven to breathe In these delicious fields. Blow, gentle Avinds ; Kiss my hot cheeks ! Ye cold brooks, gurgle on, "While the whitie flowers do stoop to love your waves. Nay, art thou faint and hungry, my sweet pa- rent? Then rest ye ! I will pull the briars down, And get thee luscious berries ! I will fetch Bread — bread for thee ! Laxvson. DEMOCRACY. On, fairest-born of love and light, Yet bending brow and eye severe On all which pains the holy sight. Or wounds the pure and perfect ear ! Beautiful yet thy temples rise. Though there profaning gifts are thrown ; And fires, unkindled of the skies, Are glaring round thy altar-stone. Still sacred — though thy name be breathed By those whose hearts thy truth deride ; And garlands, pluck'dfrom thee, are wreathed Around the haughty brows of pride. ideal of my boyhood's time ! The faith in which my father stood, Even when the sons of lust and crime Had stained thy peaceful courts with blood ! Still to those courts my footsteps turn. For through the mists that darken there 1 see the flame of freedom bum — The Kebla of the patriot's prayer ! The generous feeling, pure and warm. Which owns the right of all divine — The pitying heart — the helping arm — • The prompt self-sacrifice — are thine. Beneath thy broad, impartial eye, I low fade the lines of caste and birth ! How equal in their suffering He The groaning jnultitudes of earth ! Still to a stricken brother true, "Whatever clime hath nurtured him ; As stoop'd to heal the wounded Jew The worshipper of Gerizim. By misery unrepell'd, unawed By pomp or power, thou see'st a man In prince or peasant— slave or lord- Pale priest, or swarthy artisan. Through all disguise, form, place, or name, Beneath the flaunting robes of sin, Through poverty and squalid shame, Thou lookest on the man within. On man, as man, retaining yet, Howe'er debased, and soil'd, and dim, The crown upon his forehead set — The immortal gift of God to him. And there is reverence in thy look ; For that frail form which mortals wear The Spirit of the Holiest took, And veil'd His perfect brightness there. Not from the cold and shallow fount Of vain philosophy thou art, He who of old on Syria's mount Thrill'd, warm'd by turns the listener's heart. In holy words which cannot die, In thoughts which angels yearn'd to know, Proclaim'd thy message from on high — Thy mission to a world of woe. That voice's echo hath not died ! From the blue lake of Galilee, And Tabor's lonely mountain-side, It calls a struggling world to thee. Thy name and watchword o'er this land I hear in every breeze that stirs. And round a thousand altars stand Thy banded party worshippers. Not to these altars of a day, At party's call my gift I bring ; But on thy olden shrine I lay A freeman's dearest offering : The voiceless utterance of his will — His pledge to freedom and to truth. That manhood's heart remembers still The homage of its generous youth. John G. WhiUler. DESIGN, Artful, always Deceptive. TiiEY who once engage in iniquitous designs miserably deceive themselves when they think that they will go so far and no further ; one fault begets another, one crime renders an- other necessary ; and thus they are impelled continually downward into a depth of guilt which, at the commencement of their career, they would have died rather than have in- curred. — SoiUhcy, NOBLE THOUGHTS IN NOBLE LANGUAGE. 183 DESIRE!, when Fulfilled, Ah ! then it was indeed when first I knew, When all our wildest dreams seemed coming true, And we had reached the gates of Paradise And endless bliss, at what unmeasured price Man sets his life ; and drawing happy breath, I shuddered at the once familiar death. Alas ! the happy day, the foolish day, Alas ! the sweet time, too soon passed away. Wm. Morris. DESIRES, Immoderate. All immoderations are enemies ; as to health, so to peace. He that desires wants as much as he that hath nothing. The drunken man is as thirsty as the sweating traveller. Hence are the studies, cares, fears, jealousies, hopes, griefs, envies, wishes, platforms of achieving, alterations of purposes, and a thousand like ; whereof each one is enough to make the life troublesome. One is sick of his neighbour's field, whose misshapen angles disfigure his, and hinder his lordship of entireness : what he hath is not regarded, for the want of what he can- not have. Another feeds on crusts, to purchase what he must leave, perhaps to a fool ; or, what is not much better, to a prodigal heir. An- other in the extremity of covetous folly, chooses to die an unpitied death ; hanging himself for the fall of the market, while the commons laugh at that loss, and in their speeches epitaph upon him as on that pope, "He lived as a wolf, and died as a dog." One cares not what attendance he dances all hours, on whose stairs he sits, what vices he soothes, what deformities he imitates, what servile offices he doth, in a hope to rise. Another stomachs the covered head and stiff knee of his inferior ; angi-y that other men think him not so good as he thinks himself. Another eats his own heart with envy at the richer furniture, and better estate, or more honour of his neighbour ; thinking his own not good because another hath better. Another vexeth himself with a word of disgrace passed from the mouth of an enemy, which he neither can digest nor cast up ; resolving, be- cause another will be his enemy to be his own. These humours are as manifold as there are men that seem prosperous. For the avoiding of all which ridiculous and yet spiteful incon- veniences the mind must be settled in a persua- sion of the worthlessness of these outward things. — Bishop Hall. DESPAIR, Absolute. In his dramatic poem ol "Anne Boleyn," the Rev. H. H. Milman gives the following graphic description of the despair evinced by his heroine on landing at the Tower of London : — Here — ^here, then, all is o'er ! Oh ! awful walls. Oh ! sullen towers, relentless gates, that open Like those of Hell, but to receive the doom'd. The desperate — Oh ! ye black and massy barriers. But broken by yon barr'd and narrow loop- holes. How do you coop from this, God's sunshine world Of freedom and delight, your world of woe. Your midnight world, where all that live, live on In hourly agony of death ! vast dungeon. Populous as vast, of your devoted tenants ! Long ere our bark had touched the fatal strand, I felt your ominous shadows darken o'er me. And close me round; your thick and clammy air, As though 'twere loaded with dire imprecations, Wailings of dying and of tortured men, Tainted afar the wholesome atmosphere. SIR WILLIAM KINGSTON [to the Guard). Advance your halberts. QUEEN. Oh ! sir, pause — one look, One look ; one last long look, to satiate all my senses. Oh ! thou blue cloudless canopy, just tinged With the faint amber of the setting sun. Where one by one steal forth the modest stars To diadem the sky : — thou noble river Whose quiet ebb, not like my fortune, sinks With gentle downfall, and around the keels Of those thy myriad barks mak'st passing music : — Oh ! thou great silent city, with thy spires And palaces, where I was once the greatest. The happiest — I, whose presence made a tumult In all your wondering streets and jocund marts : — But most of all, thou cool and twilight air. That art a rapture to the breath ! The slave, The beggar, the most base down-trodden out- cast, The plague-struck livid wretch, there's none so vile. So abject, in your streets that swarm with life — > They may inhale the liquid joy Heaven breathes — They may behold the rosy evening sky — They may go rest their free limbs where they will : 1 84 NOBLE THOUGHTS IN NOBLE LANGUAGE. But I, but I, to whom this summer world Was all bright sunshine ; I whose time was noted But by succession of delights — Oh ! Kingston, Thou dost remember, thou wert then Lieu- tenant, 'Tis now — how many years? — my memory wanders — Since I set forth from your dark low-brow'd porch, A bride— a monarch's bride — King Henry's bride ! Oh ! the glad pomp that burned upon the waters — Oh ! the rich streams of music that kept time "With oars as musical — the people's shouts, That call'd Heaven's blessings on my head, in sounds That might have drowned the thunders — I've more need Of blessing now, and not a voice would say it. KINGSTON. Your Grace, no doubt, will long survive this trial. QUEEN. Sir, sir, it is too late to flatter me. Time was I trusted each fond possibility, For hope sate queen of all my golden fortunes ; But now — KINGSTON. Day wears, and our imperious mandate Brooks no delay. Advance. QUEEN. Back, back, I say ! — I will not enter ! Whither will ye plunge me ? Into what chamber ? but the sickly air Smells all of blood — the black and cobweb'd walls Are all o'er-traced by dying hands, who've noted In the damp dews indelible their tale Of torture — not a bed nor straw-laid pallet But bears th' impression of a wretch called forth To execution. Will ye place me there Where those poor babes their crook-back'd uncle murder'd, Still haunt ?— Inhuman hospitality ! Look there ! look there ! fear mantles o'er my ; soul / As with a prophet's robe, the ghastly walls Are sentinel'd with mute and headless spectres, Whose lank and grief-attenuated fingers Point to their gory and dissever'd necks, The least a lordly noble, some like princes : Through the dim loop-holes gleam the haggard faces Of those whose dark unutterable fate Lies buried in your dungeon's depth ; some wan With famine, some with writhing features fix'd In the agony of torture. — Back ! I say : They beckon me across the fatal threshold. Which none may pass and live. Dcaii Milvian. DESPONDENCY. Then down the streets they led him, where of old He, coming back from some well-finished war. Had seen the line of flashing steel and gold Wind upv/ards 'twixt the houses from the bar, While clashed the bells from wreathed spires afar ; Now moaning, as they hailed him on, he said, " God and the world against one lonely head ! " Wm, Morris. DEVOTION, Cultured, by Observing the Works of God. There is no way in which the young can better learn the sentiments of devotion, or the old pre- serve them, than by cultivating those habits of thought and observation which convert the scenes of nature into the temple of God ; which make us see the Deity in every appearance we behold, and change the world, in which the ig- norant and the thoughtless see only the reign of time and chance, into the kingdom of the liv- ing and ever-present God of the universe. Reflections of this kind arise very naturally amidst the scenes we at present behold. In the beautiful language of the wise man, '* The winter is over and gone, the flowers appear on the earth, and the time of the singing of birds is come." In these moments we are witness- ing the most beautiful and astonishing spectacle that nature ever presents to our view. The earth, as by an annual miracle, arises as it were from her grave into life and beauty. It is in a peculiar manner the season of happiness. The vegetable world is spreading beauty and fragrance amidst the dwellings of men. The animal creation is rising into life : millions of seen, and myriads of unseen beings, are enjoy- ing their new-born existence, and hailing with inarticulate voice the power which gave them birth. Is there a time when we can better learn the goodness of the universal God? Is it not wise to go abroad into nature, and asso- NOBLE THOUGHTS IN NOBLE LANGUAGE. i'6- ciate his name with everything which at this season delights the eye and gratifies the heart ? — Alison. DEW, Description of. And that same dew, which sometime on the buds Was wont to swell like round and orient pearls, • Stood now within the pretty floweret's eyes. Like tears that did their own disgrace bewail. Shakespeare. DIFFICULTIES, aU may be Overcome. There are few difficulties that hold out against real attacks ; they fly, like the visible horizon, before those who advance, A passionate de- sire and unwearied will can perform impossi- bilities, or what seem to be such to the old and feeble.^ If we do but go on, some unseen path will open upon the hills. We must not allow ourselves to be discouraged by the ap- parent disproportion between the result of the single efforts and the magnitude of the obsta- cles to be encountered. Nothing good or great is to be obtained without courage and industry ; but courage and industry might have sunk in despair, and the world must have remained unornamented and unimproved, if men had nicely compared the effect of a single stroke of the chisel with the pyramid to be raised, or of a single impression of the spade with the mountain to be levelled. All exertion, too, is in itself delightful, and active amusements seldom tire us. Helvetius owns that he could hardly listen to a concert for two hours, though he could play on an instrument all day long. The chase, we know, has always been the favourite amusement of kings and nobles. Not only fame and fortune, but pleasure is to be earned. Efforts, it must not be forgotten, are as indispensable as desires. The globe is not to be circumnavigated by one wind. We should never do nothing, "It is better to wear out than to rust out," says Bishop Cum- berland, "There will be time enough to re- pose in the grave," said Nicole to l-*ascal. In truth, the proper rest for man is change of occupation. As a young man you should be mindful of the unspeakable importance of early industry, since in youth habits are easily formed, and there is time to recover from de- fects. An Italian sonnet justly as well as elegantly compares procrastination to the folly of a traveller who pursues a brook till it widens into a river, and is lost in the sea. The toils as well as risks of an active life are commonly overrated ; so much may be done by the dili- gent use of ordinary opportunities, — but they must not always be waited for. We must not only strike the iron while it is hot, but till " it is made hot." Herschel, the great astronomer, declares that 90 or 100 hours, clear enough for observations, cannot be called an unproductive year. The lazy, the dissipated, and the fearful should patiently see the active and the bold pass them in the course. They must bring down their pretensions to the level of their talents. Those who have not energy to work must learn to be humble, and should not vainly hope to unite the incompatible enjoyments of indolence and enterprise, of ambition and self- indulgence, I trust that my young friends will never attempt to reconcile them, — Sharp. DIFFIDENCE, Illustrated. The celebrated Aboo Yusuph, who was chief judge of Bagdad in the reign of the Caliph Hadee, was a very remarkable instance of that humility which distinguishes true wisdom. His sense of his own deficiencies often led him to entertain doubts, where men of less know- ledge and more presumption were decided. " It is related of this judge, that on one occa- sion, after a very patient investigation of facts, he declared that his knowledge was not com- petent to decide upon the case before him," "Pray, do you expect," said a pert courtier, who heard this declaration, " that the Caliph is to pay your ignorance? " " I do not," was the mild reply ; "the Caliph pays me, and well, for what I do know ; if he were to attempt to pay ma for what I do not know, the treasures of his empire would not suffice." — Malcolm. DINNER-PARTY. Sounded then the happy glee Of a revelling company ! Sprightly story, witty jest, Hurried servant, greeted guest, Flow of wine, and flight of cork, Stroke of knife, and thrust of fork. W. M. Fraed, 1 86 NOBLE THOUGHTS IN NOBLE LANGUAGE. DISASTER, Productive of Good Effects. It is in periods of apparent disaster, during the sufferings of whole generations, that the greatest improvements in human character have been effected, and a foundation laid for those changes which ultimately prove most beneficial to the species. The wars of the Heptarchy, the Norman Conquest, the contests of the Roses, the Great Rebellion, are appar- ently the most disastrous periods of our annals, those in which civil discord was most furious, and public suffering most universal. Yet these are precisely the periods in which its peculiar temper was given to the English character, and the greatest addition made to the cause of English prosperity ; in which courage rose out of the extremity of misfortune, national union out of foreign oppression, public emancipation out of aristocratic dissen- sion, general freedom out of regal ambition. The national character which we now possess, the public benefits which we now enjoy, the freedom by which we are distinguished, the energy by which we are sustained, are in a great measure owing to the renovating storms which in former ages passed over our country. The darkest periods of French annals, in like manner, those of the successors of Charle- magne, of the English wars, of the contests of religion, of the despotism of the Bourbons, are probably the ones which have formed the most honourable features of the French character ; which have engrafted on the slavish habits of Roman servitude, the generous courage of modern chivalry ; on the passive submission of feudal ignorance, the impetuous valour of victorious patriotism ; which have extricated from the collision of opinions the powers of thought ; and nursed, amidst the corruption of despotism, the seeds of liberty. Through all the horrors of the Revolution the same bene- ficial law of Nature may be discerned ; and the annals of its career will not be thrown away, if, amidst the greatest calamities, they teach confidence in the wisdom which governs, and inspire hatred at the vices which desolate, the world. — Alison. DISCIPLINE, Should not be Unrelaxing Austerity. It is not by rigorous discipline and unrelax- ing austerity that the aged can maintain an ascendant over youthful minds. The constraint which their presence will impose, and the aversion which their manners will create, if the one be constantly awful and the other severe, tend to frustrate the effect of all their wisdom. They must assume the spirit of the companion and the friend ; and mix with the authority of age a proper degree of indulgence to the manners of the young. Instead of lessening the respect due to their years by such con- descension, they take the surest method to in- crease it. Old age never appears with greater dignity than when, tempered with mildness, and enlivened with good humour, it acts as the guide and the patron of youth. Religion displayed in such a character strikes the be- holdei-s as at once amiable and venerable. They revere its power, when they see it adding so much grace to the decays of nature, and shedding so pleasing a lustre over the evening of life. The young wish to tread in the same steps, and to arrive at the close of their days with equal honour. They listen with attention to counsels which are mingled with tenderness, and rendered respectable by gray hairs. For notwithstanding all its presumption youth naturally bends before superior knowledge and years. Aged wisdom, when joined with acknowledged virtue, exerts an authority over the human mind greater even than that which arises from power and station. It can check the most forward, abash the most profligate, and strike with awe the most giddy and un- thinking. — Blair. DISCIPLINE, Moral. The law of habit, when enlisted on the side of righteousness, not only strengthens and makes sure our resistance to vice, but facilitates the most arduous performances of virtue. The man whose thoughts, with the purposes and doings to which they lead, are at the bidding of conscience, will, by frequent repetition, at length describe the same track almost sponta- neously, — even as in physical education, things, laboriously learned at the first, come to be done at last without the feeling of an effort. And so, in moral education, every new achieve- ment of principle smooths the M^ay to future achievements of the same kind ; and the precious fruit or purchase of each moral virtue is to set us on higher and firmer vantage- ground, for the conquests of principle in all time coming. He who resolutely bids away the suggestions of avarice, when they come into conflict with the incumbent generosity ; or the suggestions of voluptuousness, Avhen NOBLE THOUGHTS IN NOBLE LANGUAGE. 187 they come into conflict with the incumbent self-denial ; or the suggestions of anger, when they come into conflict with the incumbent act of magnanimity and forbearance — will at length obtain, not a respite only, but a final deliverance from their intrusion. Conscience, the longer it has made way over the obstacles of selfishness and passion, the less will it give way to these adverse forces, themselves weakened by the repeated defeats which they have sustained in the warfare of moral discipline : or, in other words, the oftener that conscience makes good the supre- macy which she claims, the greater would be the work of violence, and less the strength for its accomplishment, to cast her down from that station of practical guidance and command which of right belongs to her. It is just because, in virtue of the law of suggestion, those trains of thought and feeling, which con- nect her first biddings with their final execution, are the less exposed at every new instance to be disturbed, and the more likely to be repeated over again, that every good principle is more strengthened by its exercise, and every good affection is more strengthened by its indulgence than before. The acts of virtue ripen into habits ; and the goodly and permanent result is the formation or establishment of a virtuous character. — Chalmers. DISCONTENT, Always Exists. The difference of the degrees in which the individuals of a great community enjoy the good things of life, has been a theme of dis- content in all ages ; and it is doubtless our paramount duty, in every state of society, to alleviate the pressure of the purely evil part of this distribution, as much as possible, and, by all the means he can devise, secure the lower links in the chain of society from dragging in dishonour and wretchedness. — Sir J. Herschel. DISCONTENTED, A Word of Advice to the. There's discontent from sceptre to the swain. And from the peasant to the king again. Then whatsoever in thy will afflict thee, Or in thy pleasure seem to contradict thee, Give it a welcome as a wholesome friend. That would instruct thee to a better end. Since no condition from defect is free, Think not to find what here can never be. Alex. Nice holes. DISCORD, Findeth no Place wliere Love is. Let but patience be in the heart, and neither anger, nor discord, nor hatred, will be able to find a dwelling within it ; if they attempt an entrance, how soon will they be expelled and depart from thee, that the home of peace may have continued abiding in that heart where it rejoiceth the God of peace to dwell ! Yea, if the Christian has come forth from fleshly rage and strife, and has entered, meek and tranquil, as from amongst the tempests of the sea, within the haven where is Christ, how can his heart give admittance to anger or discord, knowing that it is forbidden him to render evil for evil, or bear hatred unto his brother ?— Si. Augustine. DISCORD, the Sowers of. The peacemakers shall be called the sons of God, who came to make peace between God and man. What then shall the sowers of discord be called, but the children of the devil ? And what must they look for but their father's portion ? — Si. Bernard. DISCOURSE, Dissertation on. Some in their discourse desire rather commen- dation of wit in being able to hold all argu- ments, than of judgment in discerning what is true ; as if it were a praise to know what might be said, and not what should be thought. Some have certain commonplaces and themes wherein they are good, and want variety; which kind of poverty is for the most part tedious, and, when it is once perceived, ridicu- lous. The honourablest part of talk is to give the occasion, and again to moderate and pass to somewhat else ; for then a man leads the dance. It is good in discourse and speech of conversation, to vary and intermingle speech of the present occasion with arguments, tales with reasons, asking of questions with telling of opinions, and jest with earnest ; for it is a dull thing to tire, and as we say now, to jade anything too far. As for jest, there be certain things which ought to be privileged from it, namely, religion, matters of state, great per- sons, any man's present business of importance, and any case that deserveth pity. — Lord Bacon. 1 83 NOBLE THOUGHTS IN NOBLE LANGUAGE, DISCRETION, most Useful. There are many more shining qualities in the mind of man, but there is none more useful than discretion ; it is this, indeed, which gives a value to all the rest, which sets them at work in their proper times and places, and turns them to the advantage of the person who is possessed of them. Without it, learning is pedantry, and wit impertinence ; virtue itself looks like weakness ; the best parts only qua- lify a man to be more sprightly in his errors, and active to his own prejudice. — Addison. DISINTERESTEDNESS, how Admired. Disinterestedness is one of those rare and attractive qualities of the mind which ensures to the persons who are possessed of it the ad- miration and regard of all who know them. It springs from humility and kindness, and is the very opposite of selfishness. If we look atten- tively into our actions, and the motives from which those actions rise, we shall generally find that self was to be gratified in some way or other, by the accomplishment of our wishes. Let us ask ourselves, are we not frequently conscious of doing good merely to obtain the applause of the world ; or to secure to our- selves some favour in return — some secular ad- vantage ? Alas ! in how many instances must our hearts respond in the affirmative to these interrogations ! how often are we serving our- selves under the false pretext of serving others ! We have reason to believe that this spirit pre- vails in the vast majority of those who seek and gain the praise of benefactors. There are some bright examples, however, wherein this quality is exhibited, which deserve to be intro- duced to the reader. Pittacus, one of the seven sages of Greece, composed six hundred verses containing his laws, in order that they might be more easily retained by the people ; and when he was offered a large quantity of land as a large com- pensation for his services, he declined it, re- plying, *' It gives me more pleasure to convince my countrymen of my sincere disinterestedness than to possess great riches." The above dis- play of disinterestedness, which has been nar- rated, was given by a heathen; but among those who live and act under the influence of Christianity far more illustrious instances could readily be adduced. Martin Luther, the cele- brated reformer, presents a striking example of disinterestedness ; for it is a fact that the agents of the Pope repeatedly attempted to corrupt him with large sums of money, but they uniformly failed in their endeavours, and he even rejected an offer made by his patron, the Elector of Saxony, which was the produce of a mine at Sneberg, fearing it should prove an injury to him. The Hon. Judge Dacre, also, was a gentleman equally eminent for his disinterested kindness and his piety : as a pub- lic character he stood high in the estimation of Government, but his principal study and an- xiety was respecting the salvation of the hea- then. He established schools, procured cate- chists, preached the gospel, and conversed with the natives upon the subjects of religion, lie is said invariably to have risen at four, as his magisterial engagements were numerous, setting aside his active exertions among the natives. At his decease he left four hundred natives of Chittoor, designated by the name of Christians. Those who act in a disinterested way seldom miss their reward ; and if they are not repaid by gold and silver, they will be by the testimony of their own consciences and the sincere affection of their friends and country- men. Let us, therefore, endeavour to give what we have to spare, with a single eye to the glory of God and the good of men ; for the spirit in which we do good is often of more importance than the pecuniary aid or the active exertions which we render, since -we cannot reasonably expect much benefit will follow if we have been prompted by vanity and ostenta- tion. Happy shall we be if our Christian zeal and generosity cause us to rise superior to all selfishness, and enable us to act with disinte- restedness, which is so noble and so stimu- lating. M. J. DISSIPATION, Religious. Can, then, religion and dissipation, two things so opposite in their nature, be associated ? Is it not a contradiction in terms to assume that the truly devout can be at the same time dissipated? These are questions which very naturally sug- gest themselves to those of our readers who know little of "the spirit and manners" of the religious world : and who attach to dissi- pation no other meaning than that which generally obtains in their own circle. Religion, strictly speaking, is a pure and heavenly essence, which can never be debased by an un- hallowed amalgamation with the evil principles and habits of our corrupt nature. For these it has no tolerance, and it enters the heart on NOBLE THOUGHTS IN NOBLE LANGUAGE. 189 the express condition that it is to maintain perpetual warfare, not only with sin, but its airy shadow, its unsubstantial appearance. The imperfections and follies of religious people are not then to be charged upon their piety ; so far as they indulge in what religion condemns, they are departing from its spirit, and furnishing an evidence against the in- fluence, if not the sincerity, of their profession. When, indeed, their conduct and the prevailing dispositions of their hearts associate them with the world, with its maxims, and its distinguish- ing amusements and pleasures, whatever they may profess, their religion scarcely amounts to a name, the veil of their hypocrisy is so trans- parent that it only reveals what it is intended to hide. In attributing, therefore, dissipation to the religious, we are not to be understood as intending to throw down the barrier which must ever separate the Church and the world. The anomalous, or rather the amphibious creatures, which seem to belong to both, who are seen one day in the sanctuary and another at the theatre, who exchange prayer-meetings for card-parties, and the Bible for the romance, are not pointed at by the subject of the present essay. They have Jacob's voice, but their hands are the hands of Esau, It is only by a too common and latitudinarian courtesy that they are denominated Christians. But among the inconsistencies which mark a religious profession, even where there is a commendable abstinence from worldly plea- sures, there is a species of dissipation of a most injurious tendency ; and the effects of which are abundantly visible, especially in the metropolis, and at certain seasons of the year — to one of which we are now rapidly ap- proaching. It is distinguishable rather as a state of mind and of feeling than by the nature of the objects by which it is elicited and confirmed. The objects in themselves are not only blameless, they are praiseworthy and ex- cellent. To frequent the temple of God, to assist by our presence and patronage, by our efforts and influence, the numerous benevolent and religious institutions which are at once the glory and the safeguard of our land, and which constitute Britain the missionary of the nations and the tutelary angel of the human race, is not only innocent, but laudable ; and to regard them with indifference would be to betray a total want of personal Christianity. But it is possible to serve '* the gods amiss " — it is possible to lose in the pursuit of these objects all the advantages, as far as we are ourselves concerned, which render them valu- able. There are duties enjoined by religion which we owe to ourselves, to our families, to our pastors, and to the church with which we are more immediately connected. Whatever is inconsistent with the regular and conscien- tious discharge of these, though it may be good ill the abstract, is to us an evil of no trifling magnitude. The " flying camp," as it has been facetiously called, which is ever hovering around a new preacher ; which is to be found in every place of public resort, where novelty is to be seen and heard, which is always abroad and never at its quarters, is an irregular and useless appendage to that army which is led on to victory and triumph by the illustrious Captain of Salvation — they add nothing to its discipline, nothing to its success. They may seem to swell its numbers, but they encumber rather than assist. They make little progress in knowledge, and none at all in sanctity. They are, in truth, the curse of our churches, and the reproach of our common faith. These people are always hearing, but never doing: the*intervals, when their example ought to shine, are wasted in languor or restless anticipation. Their principles, instead of being strengthened, evaporate by constant ex- citement. Their love to the Saviour can only be kept warm by being steeped in an azotic atmosphere, and they can be devout and bene- volent only in a crowd ; and when the sym- pathy of numbers is withdrawn they are mere religious automata without the informing spirit or the feeling heart. This is religious dissipa- tion ; and it is indicated when the closet does not receive us as our home, — when family religion is either suspended or performed in a confused and hurried manner, and when self- denial is viewed by us as an obsolete require- ment of the divine Lawgiver, when our own pastors are forsaken for the wonderful man just come up, and when the quiet and unobtrusive obligations of Church fellowship are merged in the noise and bustle of large, popular assem- blies. This is an evil which is becoming infectious, and those who are free from its worst symptoms are not only beyond the reach of danger. The * • May meetings, " as they are familiarly termed, while they bring with them " all that I love and much that I admire," certainly open the door to this malignant intruder, and without great care and watchfulness, may steal from us as much as they impart. If they are attended for the mere purpose of gratification, I go NOBLE THOUGHTS IN NOBLE LANGUAGE. if we go only to be pleased, without the spirit of devout supplication, which implores a blessing upon their efforts, and without a determination to favour them by our contri- butions, they are likely to prove fatal snares to our piety. It is impossible for the same individuals to attend them all without breaking in upon other and more imperative duties ; and he is unmindful of his religious consistency who suffers himself to be drawn by them from the business of life and the spiritual interests of his own heart. It were to be wished, too, that these meetings had in them less of ostenta- tion, of rivalry, and of flattery ; that they were conducted more in the spirit of "godly sim- plicity ; " that principles were appealed to rather than the passions. It is true, that whatever is human is imperfect, and we must take the good with all its accidental evil. Yet ought we to be aware of the temptations which are ready to assail us ; for often where there is the least suspicion there is the greatest peril. It is not for us to impugn motives and to judge the heart. But, surely, when there are palpable indications of a frivolous spirit ; and when the spiritual temple is raised amid the din of instiniments and the clamours of the lookers on, as well as of the workmen, it becomes us at least to examine ourselves ; to set a guard over our principles, and fervently to pray that we may at last enter the ark as well as assist by our efforts in its erection. — Sioma. DISTANCE, Deceptive. 'Tis distance lends enchantment to the view, And clothes the mountain in its azure hue. Campbell. DISTINCTION, Desire of. Excellence in all things is no longer attain- able when the standard of excellence has uni- versally been raised so high. A youth soon discovers this : he is beaten in his classics at school ; he is left behind in his science at col- lege ; he is eclipsed in accomplishment in the drawing-room ; he is awed into silence by the pedantry of the dinner table : his vanity is piqued ; he does not allow himself to reflect till he finds out the true solution of the pro- blem, in his own idleness or desultory reading, or perhaps in the thoughtless ambition that would grasp at all knowledge when unable to retain a fraction ; he therefore settles down into the determination, " I will be distinguished in something," and standing six feet in his shoes, and blessed with a muscular arm, he forthwith speculates on rivalry with Tom Cribb, or pass- ing ahead of Maynard or Campbell in a scul- ling match to Putney. His mistake is this : the world admires the rare combination of bodily grace with a well-endowed mind and power of understanding. It is felt, and justly, that human perfection is attained when the person and the intellect are equally and splen- didly ornate ; but this admiration is not capable of division : detach the personal merit from the intellectual excellence, and the wonder is gone. A profound mathematician, or an elegant clas- sic, or an accurate historian, will be honoured as such ; and an expert rower, or a skilful boxer, will receive such meed as may be due to his performance ; but neither in the one case nor the other will it be the applause elicited by an "admirable Crichton." Even real ver- satility of talent does not necessarily imply transcendent genius ; but the affectation of it provokes a smile. Where muscular power is substituted for learning as the object of ambi- tion, it is tantamount to a confession that the vanity of the aspirant is limited to the dis- tinction of Wapping-staii-s or the Castle Tavern. To dance well, to ride well, to carry the head erect, and the limbs gracefully, are all accom- plishments in some measure essential to every one whom birth and education raise above the labouring class ; but unless a man is intended for a dancing-master or a drill-sergeant he may rest perfectly satisfied with as much in this way as he acquires in statu piipillari ; and if he has not acquired such graces before he leaves school he may be assured that all the training and teaching in the world will not, at riper years, transform him either into a Hercules or an Apollo. But though guiltless of this de- siderated end, they may lead to another which he little' anticipates : they entangle him in familiarity with the lowest of the low ; they identify him with the circles of profligate black- guardism ; they mark him as the associate of ruffians and thieves ; and it need scarcely be added that they thus alienate the confidence and abridge the esteem of all that are good and respectable in society. Every rowing-match or boxing-match, more especially the latter, is the resort of all the scum and scamps of the metropolis ; a racecourse or a suburban fair is scarcely a shade better ; drunkenness, de- bauchery, and licentiousness are common alike to all, and exhibited too in their grossest and NOBLE THOUGHTS IN NOBLE LANGUAGE, 191 most revolting forms. Some coarse and foolish people are found to uphold them under the sophistical pretence that the amusements of the poor should be respected ; and if their amuee- ments are legitimate and rational, most un- doubtedly they ought not only to be respected, but liberally promoted. But we have seen the very men who thus court popularity, by pan- dering to the worst passions of the poor, in the sporting papers of the day, shrink with disgust from the contamination of the brutal scenes which they attend to report, and empty their pockets most cautiously of watch and purse before they elbow their way among the iTiffians whose prowess they celebrate ! The young man may be assured that he cannot habitually attend these degrading arenas without pollution •and eventual infamy, or even avow an accus- tomed interest in them without endangering his welcome in every well-ordered family. ** Life in London " is not yet, we are happy to say, recognized as the life of London's educated circles. — Gtdde to Set-vice. DISQUIETUDE, Desirable. When God at first made man, Having a glass of blessings standing by, "Let us," said he, *'pour on him all we can, Let the world's riches, which dispersed lie. Contract into a span : " So strength made first a way, Then beauty flow'd, then wisdom, honour, pleasure, Perceiving that alone of all his treasure, Rest at the bottom lay ; ♦•For if I should," said he, " Bestow this jewel also on my creature. He would adore my gifts instead of me, And rest in nature, not the God of nature. So both should losers be : Yet let him keep the rest. But keep them with repining restlessness ; Let him be rich and weary ; that at least. If goodness lead him not, yet weariness May toss him to my breast." Herbert. DIVERSIONS, Sometimes Followed to Drown Thought. Whence comes it to pass that men are trans- ported to such a degree with gaming, hunting, or other diversions, which seem to have taken an absolute possession of their souls ? It is not because there is any real or intrinsic good to be obtained by these pursuits ; it is not be- cause they imagine that true happiness is to be found in the money which they win at play, or in the capture of the beast which they run down in the chase ; for should you present them beforehand with both of these to save their trouble, they would be unanimous in re- jecting the proposal. It is not the gentle and easy part which they are fond of, such as may afford them leisure and space for thought ; but it is the heat and the bustle and the hurry which divert them from the mortification of thinking. On this account it is that men are so much in love with the noise and tumult of the world : that a prison is a sort of horror, and that few persons can bear the punishment of being confined to themselves. — Pascal. DIVINE Presence, The. Milton's "Dark from excess of light" was anticipated and applied by Rabbi Joshua, in answer to a demand from the Emperor Trajan, "You teach," said the Emperor Trajan to Rabbi Joshua, " that your God is everywhere, and boast that he resides amongst your nation. I should like to see him." "God's presence is, indeed, everywhere," replied Joshua; " but he cannot be seen ; no mortal eye can behold his glory." The emperor insisted. "Well," said Joshua, * ' suppose we go first to look at one of his ambassadors ? " The emperor con- seated. The rabbi took him in the open air at noon day, and bid him look at the sun in its meridian splendour. " I cannot see," said Trajan ; " the light dazzles me." " Thou art unable," said Joshua, " to endure the light of one of his creatures, and canst thou expect to behold the resplendent glory of the Creator ? Would not such a sight annihilate you ? " — T. Cholin. DIVINITY, to bs Gathered also from the Book of Nature. There are two books from whence I collect my divinity ; besides that written one of God, another of his servant Nature, that universal and public manuscript that lies expansed unto the eyes of all ; those that never saw him in the one have discovered him in the other ; this 192 NOBLE THOUGHTS IN NOBLE LANGUAGE, was the scripture and theology of the hea- thens ; the natural motion of the sun made them more admire him than its supernatural station did the children of Israel ; the ordinary effects of nature wrought more admiration in them than in the other all his miracles ; surely, the heathens knew better how to join and read these mystical letters than we Christians, who cast a more careless eye on these common hieroglyphics, and disdain to suck divinity from the flowers of nature. — Sir T. Browne. DOMESTIC Peace. Tell me on what holy ground May domestic peace be found ? Halcyon daughter of the skies ! Far on fearful wing she flies From the tyrant's sceptre'd state, From the rebel's noisy hate. In a cottag'd vale she dwells, List'ning to the Sabbath bells, While all around her steps are seen Spotless Honour's meeker mien. Love, the sire of pleasing fears. Sorrow smiling through her tears ; And, mindful of the past employ, Memory, bosom spring of joy ! Coleridce. DREAMS, Display the Grandeur of the Soul. "Dreams are from Jove!" thus sung the bard of old. The modern sage, if not more wise, more bold, To matter modify'd annexing thought. From earth, from clay, their origin has brought : "The Soul's a mere machine." They thence explain By motion's laws the visions of the brain. But how can Fancy then her vigils keep. When this mechanic frame is lulled to sleep ? Tho' sages may, yet sure th'unletter'd clown Ne'er seeks the hour when once his clock is down. No ; dreams as far the pow'rs of clay surpass, As Julia's self her image in the glass. "Dreams are from Jove!" their origin divine ! No truth more sure e'er spoke the Delphic shrine. Fatigu'd with care, with daily toil opprest. When now the languid carcase sinks to rest, The soul takes wing, — to distant regions Hies, Exults, expands, and soaring mounts the skies. Assumes fresh vigour, — through Elysian groves, Thro' Fairy scenes, her own creation roves ; Revels in bliss, to waking wights unknown. The earth, the air, the universe her own. She rhymes, harangues, or hails the absent friend ; Her views enlarg'd, to future times extend. No chains of matter can her pow'rs control : Thus dreams display the grandeur of the soul. Anon. DREAM-LAND. By a route obscure and lonely. Haunted by ill angels only, Where an Eidolon, named Night, On a black throne reigns upright, I have reach'd these lands but newly From an ultimate dim Thule — From a wild, weird clime that lieth, sublime Oat of space out of time. Bottomless vales and boundless floods. And chasms, and caves, and Titan woods, With forms that no man can discover For the dews that drip all over ; Mountains toppling evermore Into seas without a shore ; Seas that restlessly aspire. Surging, into skies of fire ; Lakes that endlessly outspread Their lone waters — lone and dread — Their still waters — still and chilly With the snows of the lolling lily. By the lakes that thus outspread Their lone waters, lone and dead — Their sad waters, sad and chilly With the snows of the lolling lily — By the mountains, near the river Murmuring lowly, murmuring ever — By the gray woods, by the swamp Where the toad and the newt encamp — By the dismal tarns and pools Where dwell the ghouls — By each spot the most unholy. In each nook most melancholy — There the traveller meets aghast Sheeted memories of the past ; Shrouded forms that start and sigh As they pass the wanderer by ; White-robed forms of friends long given, In agony, to earth — and heaven ! For the heart whose woes are legion 'Tis a peaceful, soothing region ; NOBLE THOUGHTS IN NOBLE LANGUAGE. 193 For the spirit that walks in shadow 'Tis — oh, 'tis an El Dorado ! But the traveller, travelling through it. May not, dare not openly view it ; Never its mysteries are exposed To the weak human eye unclosed ; So wills its King, who hath forbid The uplifting of the fringed lid ; And thus the sad soul that here passes Beholds it but through darken'd glasses. By a route obscure and lonely. Haunted by ill angels only, Where an Eidolon, named Night, On a black throne reigns upright, I have wander'd home but newly From this vdtimate dim Thule. Edgar A. Foe. DREAMS, Sweet. I look'd, and lo ! the clear broad river flow- ing. Past the old Moorish ruin on the steep. The lone tower dark against a heaven all glowing, Like seas of glass and fire ! I saw the sweep Of glorious woods far down the mountain side. And their still shadows in the gleaming tide, And the red evening on its waves asleep ; And 'midst the scene — oh ! more than all — there smiled ^ly child's fair face, and hers, the mother of my child ! With their soft eyes of love, and gladness raised Up to the flushing sky, as when we stood Last by that river, and in silence gazed On the rich world of sunset : but a flood Of sudden tenderness my soul oppress'd. And I rush'd forward with a yearning breast. To clasp — alas ! a vision ! — wave and wood, And gentle faces lifted in the light Of day's last hectic flush, all melted from my sight. Then darkness ! — oh ! th' unutterable gloom That seem'd as narrowing round me, making less And less my dungeon, when, with all its bloom. That bright dream vanish'd from my loneli- ness ! It floated off", the beautiful ! — yet left Such deep thirst in my soul, that thus bereft, I lay down, sick with passion's vain excess, And pray'd to die. How oft would sorrow weep Her weariness to death, if he might come like sleep ! Hemans. DUTIES of Life. It is not enough that you do no hurt or injury to your neighbour, unless you be ready to take all proper opportunities of doing him good. It is not enough that you refrain from casting unjust censures upon him, unless you be ready to vindicate his good name when you hear him unjustly censured by others. It is not enough that you refrain from doing dishonour to God yourselves, unless you show a becoming zeal to discountenance it in others. . . . Since the duties of life are the commands of the same God who forbids the sins, it is strange to see with what indifference the omissions of duty are looked upon by lukewarm Christians, and how little sense there is of the guilt of for- getting and neglecting them. — Edmund^ Bp. London. DUTIES, the Daily Ones Most Useful. In every profession the daily and common duties are the most useful ; and in ours the man who is capable of the great operations rises into public esteem, only because it is pre- sumed he who is the most capable in the higher departments of his profession will best perform all its ordinary duties. Yet such is the natural horror at blood, and the hesitation and diffi- culties of the surgeon himself when anything so daring as a dangerous operation is to be done ; and such are the unceasing and anxious inquiries of friends, that operations, though the least part of our profession, strike a deeper interest into the public mind than the daily cures we perform. Operations usurp an im- portance in surgical education which they should not naturally have. Operations have come at last to represent as it were the whole science ; and a surgeon, far from being valued according to his sense, abilities, and general knowledge, is esteemed excellent only in pro- portion as he operates with skill. — Thos. Cope- la?id, F.R.S. o 194 NOBLE THOUGHTS IN NOBLE LANGUAGE. DUTY, the Sense of. There is no evil that we cannot either face or fly from but the consciousness of duty dis- regarded. A sense of duty pursues us ever. It is omnipresent, like the Deity. If we take to ourselves the wings of the morning, and dwell in the utmost parts of the seas, duty performed, or duty violated, is still with us, for our happi- ness or our misery. If we say the darkness shall cover us, in the darkness as in the light our obligations are yet with us. We cannot escape their power, nor fly from their presence. They are with us in this life, will be with us at its close, and in that scene of inconceivable solemnity which lies yet further onward we shall still find ourselves surrounded by the con- sciousness of duty, to pain us wherever it has been violated, and to console us so far as God may have given us grace to perform it. — Webster. DYING. The world began to seem no longer fair. Life no more to be hoped for, but that place, The peaceful goal of all the hurrying race, The house she must return to on some day. Wm. Morris. DYING, Dread of. I CANNOT but wonder at the folly of those hearts who are like to kill themselves with the fear of dying, making the news of ensuing mischief a worse mischief than that they have news of, whereas the foreknowledge of an approaching evil is a benefit of no small good. For if it cannot teach us to prevent it by pro- vidence, it may show us how to sustain it by patience. I may grieve with the smart of an evil as soon as I feel it, but I will not smart with the grief of an evil as soon as I hear of it. My evil, when it cometh, may make my grief too great ; why, then, should my grief, before it comes, make my evil greater ? Arthur Warwick. DYING Infant. Sleep, little baby ! sleep I Not in thy cradle bed. Not on thy mother's breast Henceforth shall be thy rest, But with the quiet dead. Yes — with the quiet dead, Baby, thy rest shall be. Oh ! many a weary wight, Weary of life and light, Would fain lie down with thee. Flee, little tender nursling ! Flee to thy grassy nest ; There the first flowers shall blow. The first pure flake of snow Shall fall upon thy breast. Peace ! peace ! the little bosom Labours with short'ning breath — Peace ! peace ! that trem'lous sigh Speaks his departure nigh : Those are the damps of death, I've seen thee in thy beauty, A thing all health and glee ; But never then wert thou So beautiful as now, Baby ! thou seem'st to me. Thy up-turned eyes glazed over. Like hare-bells wet with dew ; Already veiled and hid By the convulsed lid. Their pupils darkly blue. Thy little mouth half open — The soft lip quivering. As if (like summer air Ruffling the rose leaves) there Thy soul were fluttering. Mount up, immortal essence ! Young spirit ! haste, depart — And is this death ?— Dread Thing ! If such thy visiting, How beautiful thou art ! Oh ! I could gaze for ever Upon that waxen face ! So passionless ! so pure ! The little shrine was sure An Angel's dwelling-place. Thou weepest, childless Mother ! Ay, weep — 'twill ease thine heart — He was thy first-born Son, Thy first, thine only one ; 'Tis hard from him to part ! 'Tis hard to lay thy darling Deep in the damp cold earth — His empty crib to see, His silent nursery. Once gladsome with his mirth. NOBLE THOUGHTS IN NOBLE LANGUAGE. 195 | To meet again in slumber " Now (like a dew-drop shrined His small mouth's rosy kiss ; Within a crystal stone) Then, wakened with a start Thou'rt safe in heaven, my dove ! By thine own throbbing heart, Safe with the Source of Love, His twining arms to miss ! The Everlasting One. To feel {half conscious why) "And when the hour arrives A dull, heart-sinking weight, From flesh that sets me free, Till mem'ry on thy soul Thy spirit may await . Flashes the painful whole, The first at heaven's gate. That thou art desolate ! To meet and welcome me." 1 C. Bo-whs. And then to lie and weep, And think the live-long night (Feeding thine own distress EAGT.F,, The. With accurate greediness) He clasps the crag with crooked hands ; Of ev'ry past delight ; — Close to the sun in lonely lands. Ring'd with the azure world, he stands. Of all his winning ways, The wrinkled sea beneath him crawls ; His pretty, playful smiles. He watches from his mountain walls. His joy at sight of thee, And like a thunderbolt he falls. His tricks, his mimickry, Tamyson. And all his little wiles ! Oh ! these are recollections EARLY Rising. Round mothers' hearts that cling- Next to temperance, a quiet conscience, a That mingle with the tears cheerful mind, and active habits, I place early And smiles of after years. rising, as a means of health and happiness. I "With oft awakening. have hardly words for the estimate I form of But thou wilt then, fond Mother ! that sluggard, male or female, that has formed In after years, look back. the habit of wasting the early prime of day in (Time brings such wondrous easing) bed. Putting out of question the positive loss With sadness not unpleasing, E'en on this gloomy track. of life, and that, too, of the most inspiring and beautiful part of each day, ■ when all the voices of nature invite man from his bed ; leaving Thou'ltsay, '* My first-born blessing ! out of the calculation that longevity has been It almost broke my heart almost invariably attended by early rising. To When thou wert forced to go ; me late hours in bed present an index to cha- And yet, for thee, I know, racter, and an omen of the ultimate hopes of 'Twas better to depart. the person who indulges in this habit. There is no mark so clear of a tendency to self-indul- "God took thee in his mercy, gence. It denotes an inert and feeble mind, A lamb, untasked, untried ; infirm of purpose, and incapable of that elastic He fought the fight for thee, vigour of will which enables the possessor to He won the victory, accomplish what his reason ordains. The And thou art sanctified. subject of this unfortunate habit cannot but " I look around and see have felt self-reproach, and a purpose to spring The evil ways of men ; And, oh ! beloved child ! from his repose with the freshness of dawn. If the mere indolent luxury of another hour of I'm more than reconciled languid indulgence is allowed to overrule this To thy departure then. better purpose, it argues a general weakness of character, which promises no high attain- *' The little arms that clasped me, ment or distinction. These are never awarded The innocent lips that prest, — by fortune to any trait but vigour, prompt- Would they have been as pure ness, and decision. Viewing the habit of late Till now, as when of yore rising in many of its aspects, it would seem as I lulled thee on my breast ? if no being that has any claim to rationality 196 NOBLE THOUGHTS IN NOBLE LANGUAGE. could be found in the allowed habit of sacri- ficing a tenth, and that the freshest portion of life, at the expense of health, and the curtail- ing of the remainder, for any pleasure that his indulgence could confer. — Flint. EARTH, The, is the Lord's and the Fulness thereof. Interesting and lovely as the green fields in their luxuriant richness must ever be, to the eye of faith and devotion they are even more so. Did w^e accustom ourselves to asso- ciate with their beauty the superintending providence of God, as well as the subordi- nate art and labour of man, they would pos- sess an interest and a loveliness which the mere lover of nature never knew. The sweetest landscape is improved by the pre- sence of animated objects, which impart a live- liness, an interest, as it were, an existence, to the whole. What increased force and interest are added to it by the presence, so to speak, of the living God ! Shall we be so selfish as to ascribe the beauty of our cultivated and richly-laden fields to the mere assistant labours of our own fallen race, unto whom all beyond the ori- ginal curse of barrenness is mercy? Not unto us, not unto us, O Lord, but unto thy name be all the praise. Yea, we will praise thee for thy goodness, and declare the won- ders which thou doest for the children of men. If we accustom ourselves to such medita- tions as these — if we view the earth as the Lord's, and the fulness thereof — if we view every good gift and every perfect gift as coming down from above — we shall find "good in everything ;" we shall find more to occupy our minds amid the green fields, de- spite their solitude and stillness, than in the crowded city ; each path will lead us to plea- sure, to instruction, to God ; the rolling year will be full of him ; the wide theatre of the world will be to our minds one universal house of prayer, one varied and beauteous temple of Him who dwelleth not in temples made with hands ; and all the countless crea- I tions of his bounty, all those kindly fruits of ' the earth given and preserved to our use, and in due time to be enjoyed by us, will con- / stantly admonish us, as they rise into strength and beauty, to give thanks unto the Lord, for he is good ; for his mercy endureth for ever. — Palin, EARTHLY Sorrows, Transient, Then let the woes And joys of earth be to the deathless soul Like the swept dew-drop from the eagle's wing. When, waking in his strength, he sunward soars. Sigoiirney, EASE of Mind. Ease of mind is incomparably the most valua- ble of all possessions — not the ease of indo- lence, but of action — the smoothness of the unruffled current, not of the stagnant pool. This possession is not the gift of fortune : the gifts of fortune frequently destroy it. It must be of our own acquiring, and is in a great measure within the reach of all who diligently seek after it. It does not depend upon the amount of our worldly possessions, but upon our mode of using them ; not upon our ability to gratify our desires, but upon our regulations of them. It is essentially the result of our habits, which habits are entirely within our own control. To enjoy ease of mind there must be a feeling that we [are fulfilling our duties to the best of our power, otherwise we only sear instead of satisfying our conscience. The possession of riches, or the pursuit of them beyond the limits of moderation, are unfavour- able to this state, because temperance in the use of worldly enjoyments is absolutely necessary to it, and then comes the responsi- bility of the application of our superfluity. How many men's ease must be destroyed by superabundance who would have been happy with less temptation, or with the feeling that less was expected from them ! The pursuit of riches, for the sake of riches, unfits the mind for ease, by generating a perpetual restlessness and anxiety, and by exposing to continual disap- pointments ; and the same may be said, even in a stronger degree, of an ambitious love of those worldly distinctions which, neither in the pursuit nor in the possession, can confer any real enjoyment. A steady advance by honest roads towards those things that are within our reach, without too arduous efforts, and which, being attained, are worth our having, should be the aim of all who have their fortunes to make ; whilst they who have theirs made for then should habitu- ate themselves to temperance in their own enjoyments, and to active and discreet liberality towards others. They who diligently cultivate NOBLE THOUGHTS IN NOBLE LANGUAGE. 197 the habits necessary to attain ease of mind place themselves almost above its disturbance. To the mortifications of disappointed ambition they are not at all exposed, and to the crosses of adverse fortune very little, whilst unavoid- able afflictions in the well-constituted soften rather than sour the mind, and cannot be said to destroy its ease. Like cypresses, they throw a shade over the current, but in no way disturb its smoothness. Strict and constant discipline can ensure ease of mind in poverty or priva- tion, of which St. Paul has afforded a beautiful example in his own person. '* I have learned in whatsoever state I am, therewith to be con- tent I know both how to be abased and I know how to abound. Everywhere and in all things I am instructed both to be full and to be hungry, both to abound and to suffer need." But it must not be forgotten that in this discipline is included the fixed contempla- tion of things above. They of this world only cannot expect to bear the afflictions of the world, as if they looked upon it as a mere state of preparation for another, which is the peculiar advantage possessed by the true Christian. There is no book comparable to the New Testament for teaching that temper of mind which is alone capable of ensuring a current of happiness, independent of external interrup- tions. It gives that tone which prevents us from annoying or feeling annoyance. It teaches us to bear all things, to hope all things, and to think no evil ! How different such a state from that of those who bear nothing, hope nothing, and are ever thinking evil ! In order to derive full benefit from the doctrines of the New Testament, it is not sufficient to recur to them occasionally, but by daily attention to make them part of our system, so that the mind may become its own master, and as much as possible independent of everything without. Goldsmith says. How small of all that human hearts endure. That part, which laws or kings can cause or cure ! Still to ourselves in every place consigned Our own felicity we make or find. Shakespeare observes, "there is nothing either good or bad, but thinking makes it so ; " and Milton expresses it. The mind in its own place, and in itself. Can make a heaven of hell, a hell of heaven. In order to enjoy ease of mind in our inter- course with the world, we should introduce into our habits of business, punctuality, decision, j the practice of being beforehand, dispatch and j exactness ; in our pleasures, harmlessness and 1 moderation : and in all our dealings, perfect j integrity and love of truth. Without these observances, we are never secure of ease, nor, indeed, taste it in its highest state. As in most other things so here, people in general do not aim at more than mediocrity of attainment, and of course fall below their standard ; whilst many are so busy in running after what should procure them ease that they totally overlook the thing itself.— T/w- Original, ECCENTRICITY, Not True Wisdom. Eccentricity is sometimes found connected with genius, but it does not coalesce with true wisdom. Hence men of the first order of intellect have never betrayed it ; and hence also men of secondary talents drop it as they grow wiser ; and are satisfied to found their consequence on real and solid excellency, not on peculiarity and extravagance. They are content to awaken r^;ard and obtain applause by the rectitude and gracefulness of their going, rather than to make passengers stare and laugh by leaping over the wall or tumbling along the road. True greatness is serious, trifling is beneath its dignity. We are more indebted to the regular, sober, constant course of the sun than to the glare of the comet : the one, indeed, occupies our papers, but the other enriches our fields and gardens : we gaze at the strangeness of the one, but we live by the influence of the other. — Rev. W. Jay. ECONOMY. Those qualities or actions which stand allied to splendour and magnificence often attract unmerited applause. Pericles filled Athens with theatres, fanes, statues, and rich orna- ments, with festivals and public diversions, and was highly extolled for his liberality and taste. " But can they," said Plato, "name one single man, citizen or foreigner, bond or free, b^in- ning with his own children, whom Pericles made wiser or better by all his care? " The warmest eulogist of the statesman would have found it difficult to answer such a question. Every one could see that the administration of Pericles had rendered the Athenians idle, effeminate, fond of extravagant expenses, and admirers of vanity and superfluity. 198 NOBLE THOUGHTS IN NOBLE LANGUAGE. Economy, in the estimation of many, is associated with meanness ; yet no opinion can be more unfounded or more injurious. I shall not have recourse to divines or grave moralists on this point, but shall borrow the language of a modern politician : — *' Economy," says Mr. Burke, *' is not parsimony ; it is separable in theory from it ; and in fact it may, or it may not, be a part of economy according to circum- stances. Expense, and great expense, may be an essential part of true economy, if parsimony were considered as one of the kinds of that virtue ; there is, however, another and a higher economy. Economy is a distributive virtue, and consists not in saving, but in selection. Parsimony requires no providence, no sagacity, no powers of combination, no comprehension, no judgment. Mere instinct, and that not an instinct of the noblest kind, may produce this false economy in perfection. The other eco- nomy has larger views. It demands a discri- minating judgment and a firm sagacious mhid." Now it requires no great reach of thought or profound research to demonstrate that this sort of economy is essential to the welfare of individuals, families, and communities. It is, as Dean Swift has affirmed, "the parent of ease and freedom." It gives neatness and comfort to the cottage, and is necessary even to the mansion and palace. It becomes every man fairly to weigh and estimate his resources, and so to adjust the scale of his expenditure as to save himself from embarrassment, con- fusion, and want. "Where this act of moral calculation is not early learned and habitually practised, we shall neither see independence of mind nor dignity nor consistency of cha- racter. A few shining talents or generous actions may stand out to the public eye with a showy glare for a time, but solidity and per- manence are wanting. Without economy, men of the very highest intellect have lost all respect, and sunk into the lowest depths of disgrace. What was it that fixed an indelible stain upon the character of Lord Bacon? When his confession of having received many bribes was read to the peers, and the House asked whether it was subscribed by his own hand, he replied, **It is my act — my hand — my heart : I beseech your lordships to be mer- ciful to a broken reed. " The degradation of intellect coupled with extravagance could be evinced by a multitude of melancholy facts, but I shall here only give one more example. The celebrated Whiston, having reproached Sir Richard Steele for giving a vote in parlia- ment contrary to his known opinion : "Mr. Whiston," said he, " you can walk a-foot, but I cannot do without a carriage." Such in- stances of courtly corruption are by no means rare, though they are not often so frankly acknowledged : and they serve to prove that none are so wretchedly poor as those who can- not afford to keep a conscience. But it seems impossible that any man should be driven to this debasing poverty who has learned the theory and practice of economy. Perhaps the reader will ask, is not this moral arithmetic exceedingly difficult ? I cannot, in- deed, promise to open any royal road to it, or offer any compendious method by which it may be attained. I will, however, venture to assert that its rules are neither numerous nor perplexing — its results are neither dark nor dubious. Good sense, good principle, and some portions of attention, self-denial, humi- lity, and vigilance are indispensable qualifica- tions for a learner. Dr. Franklin's " Way to Wealth " has been recommended as an elemen- tary guide, and, perhaps, for a certain class it might answer the purpose pretty well ; but it goes only to what Burke calls the lower kind of economy. One thing ought not here to be omitted. The art of economy, which I have represented as of so great value, is best mastered by those who apply to it early in life. Rakes cannot reckon ; their calculating powers are extinct. It may even be asserted, without hazard of contradiction, that a few maddening turns in the circles of dissipation and extravagance greatly impair the faculties, and produce gid- diness and confusion in the head, and palpita- tions in the heart, which are scarcely ever quite removed. Youth, then, ought to enter upon the study and practice of this important but much- neglected art at a time when they possess so many means and facilities to render them pro- ficients in it. Mr. Whitefield used to say, * * Too many, through want of prudence, were golden apprentices, silver journeymen, and copper masters." Political economy has risen in our day (so some sages tell us) from nonentity to existence, and by gradual expansion and growth, from the infancy of its existence to full maturity. It assumes the rank and dignity of a science, and promises to do great things, though certain preliminary points of some consequence are, it seems, yet to be first settled. But while poli- tical economy is confessedly making such ad- vances, shall personal and domestic economy NOBLE THOUGHTS IN NOBLE LANGUAGE. 199 fall into utter neglect and decay ? Shall we know how to govern and enrich nations, and not how to guide and support families ? — be wise in the gross, and foolish in the detail ? If this is not beginning at the wrong end, there is unquestionably Avrong somewhere. It is hardly possible seriously to consider the present state of our own country, without per- ceiving something peculiar, and rather porten- tous and gloomy, in the aspect of the times. The unprecedented number of failures and bankruptcies which of late has spread distress and consternation among all classes seems clearly to indicate that a spirit of extravagance, which usually seeks support from rash and ruinous schemes of speculation and adventure, must have risen to an uncommon height, and gained a most alarming ascendancy. I may be told it is easy to point out the disorder, but where are the means of cure? This is cer- tainly an inquiry which calls for no ordinary degree of penetration and skill. Without going into it, every one must admit that we ought to fix our confidence solely on some vigorous plan, consisting in the resolute appli- cation of opposites, upon the well-known medical maxim, contrarla contrarioriim esse remedia. I see nothing likely to prove more beneficial than that sober, cautious, and (per- haps, under existing circumstances, I might add) rigid economy which marked the conduct of our fathers. Against such a proposal I am aware a multitude of voices will be instantly raised ; and it is always difficult to reason with outrageous clamour. But whatever voluptu- aries, and those who thrive by supplying them, or the loose herd of speculators, and those who have an interest in prompting their schemes, may suggest to the contrary, I cannot but strongly recommend a wise, steady, and uniform economy. As far as regards the nation, if retrenchment and the sober measures of calculation be utterly neglected and des- pised, we seem nearly in the state of the old Romans, so touchingly described by Tacitus, *^ Ad hcec tempora, quibus nee vitia nostra, nee remedia pati possiiviiis pe}ventum est ;'''' we are reduced to such a state that we can neither I any longer bear our vices nor their remedies. j — Rusticus. \ Mere parsimony is not economy. Expense, ] and great expense, may be an essential part in j true economy. Economy is a distributive virtue, and consists not in saving, but in selec- tion. — Walker's Orhitial. ECONOMY, Indicative of a Sound Understanding. A SOUND economy is a sound understanding brought into action. It is calculation realized. It is the doctrine of proportion reduced to practice. It is foreseeing contingencies, and providing against them. It is expecting con- tingencies, and being prepared for them. — Hannah More. ECONOMY, its Discipline. ** A SLIGHT knowledge of human nature will show," says Mr. Colquhoun, **that when a man gets on a little in the world he is desirous of getting on a little further." Such is the growth of provident habits that it has been said if a journeyman lays by the first five shillings his fortune is made. Mr. William Hall, who has bestowed great attention on the state of the labouring poor, declares he never knew an instance of one who had saved money coming to the parish. And he adds, moreover, ** those individuals who save money are better workmen : if they do not the work better, they behave better and are more respectable ; and I would sooner have in my trade a hun- dred men who save money than two hundred who would spend every shilling they get. In proportion as individuals save a little money their morals are much better; they husband that little, and there is a superior tone given to their morals, and they behave better for know- ing that they have a little stake in society." It is scarcely necessary to remark that habits of thoughtfulness and frugality are at all times of immense importance. — Wilderspin, ECONOMY, Wise. In expenses I would be neither pinching nor prodigal ; yet, if my means allow it not, rather thought too sparing than a little profuse. 'Tis no disgrace to make my ability my compass of sail and line to walk by. I see what I may do, others but what I do ; they look to what I spend as they think me able ; I must look to what my estate will bear ; nor can it be safe to strain it at all. 'Tis fit I should respect my own ability before their forward expectation. He that, when he should not, spends too much, shall, when he would not, have too little to spend. — Fcltham. 20O NOBLE THOUGHTS IN NOBLE LANGUAGE. EDUCATION, Art of. The art of educating requires skill in foster- ing a love of mental activity and a desire of knowledge. The self-instructor must obey the impulse of the desire already formed. Under guidance of a tutor we may have the advantage of commencing no study till we are versed in introductory subjects sufficiently to prevent our being discouraged by insurmount- able obstacles. When teaching ourselves, we are often impelled to plunge at once into matters which we afterwards find require us to enter upon the study of elementary truths, and which sometimes present difficulties that compel us to abandon, or at least postpone for a time the object of our investigation. The real friend to the intellectual progress of his fellow- men will be careful to bear in mind this dif- ference, as a guard against any disposition to discourage the premature efforts of autodidactic students, and still more against the injustice of sneering at an apparent fickleness. An eminent linguist and biblical schdlar yet living conferred on the author, in his boyhood, an invaluable obligation, by encouraging him to disdain the difficulties by which classical studies have been encumbered. By saying, ** Two rules. Begin, and Keep on, will be sufficient to enable you to learn any language," did he, whose reputa- tion, then extensive, has since procured the ■well-earned honours of learning, cheer the drooping spirits of a young stranger. With much delight did the author later in life recog- nise, in his unknown benefactor, the Cam- bridge Professor of Arabic, the Rev. S. Lee. — Rev. y. Hambleton. EDUCATION, Defective. As the harmony and solidity of a building can only be secured by a strict attention to every part of the structure, which can then, and then only, be considered as complete, when nothing can be withdrawn or altered without a striking injury to the whole ; so also in education, if any part whatever be either omitted or dis- placed, there will always be some defect or obliquity remaining which injures the whole effect.— j5/j/5<7/ Otter. are most flexible ; not regarding altogether the disposition of the children, as thinking they will take but to that which they have a mind. It is true that if the affection or the aptness- of the child be extraordinary, it would be wrong to cross it ; but, generally, the precept would be found "optimum elige ; suave et facile illud faciet consuetudo " — choose what is best, and custom will make it pleasant and easy. — Bacon. EDUCATION, Early. Choose betimes the courses and vocations you mean your children should take, for then they EDUCATION, Improvement of Rural. The true philanthropist and real patriot will be disposed to encourage the emigration to our grazing colonies of young, healthy, and useful persons, incapable of earning a competent livelihood at home. But he will not stop here. He will extend his benevolence a step further^ and endeavour to see that early instruction, adapted to their respective callings, is instilled into the minds of our field labourers. It is to be feared that, generally speaking, the plan of rural education in England is defective, and I became the more convinced that was the case from the case from a circumstance which felL under my observation. Some time ago I was requested by a mer- cantile house in Australia to send out to them a party of shepherds, for the management of flocks. I accordingly procured sixteen from. Kent, Wilts, and Norfolk, well recommended, no more than half of whom could read and write. On inquiry I learnt that the uneducated parties, when boys, had been occupied in tend- ing flocks, which prevented them from re- ceiving any instruction. Surely in an age like this, when in large towns institutions are estab- lished to instruct the mechanical classes, some method might be adopted to diffuse useful knowledge among our peasantry ? We hear of schools for farmers being estab- lished on the European continent, and although, this mode of tuition in England might not per- haps produce the effect desired, nevertheless 5 humbly conceive the object in view might be attained by some other expedient, and it would, be to the honour and the credit of our leading, agriculturists to have one devised. They them- selves would eventually reap the benefit. A little public spirit is all that is wanting to remove what truly may be called a national calamity, if not a disgrace. Let us therefore begin systematically, and see that suitable pocket-books or manuals are placed in the- NOBLE THOUGHTS IN NOBLE LANGUAGE. hands of the several classes of our unlettered peasants. To have poor children taught to read and write ought to be the bounden duty of the parish overseer, and no parent should be allowed to avail himself of the personal ser- vices of any junior member of his family until this has been accomplished. Thanks to the generous and benevolent dispositions of our resident nobility and gentry, in no village or rural district of the kingdom can poverty be pleaded as an excuse for the omission. When a peasant-boy, for example, has made sufficient progress in the first rudiments, and is called upon to earn his livelihood in the open air, either by means of field -husbandry or tending sheep, he ought to have a portable and strongly-bound tract put in his hand, written in a plain and elementary manner, on agriculture and the management of sheep, and containing lists of the ordinary fruit and forest trees, des- criptions of the best methods of draining land , and an enumeration of the seasons for sowing, modes of planting and grafting, &c., accom- panied by instructive plates or other illustra- tions. This manual ought also to treat of the com- mon diseases among cattle, horses, and sheep ; to Avhich might be added a plate, representing the short-jointed, clean-legged, bony and compact cart-horse, of which there are a few fine speci- mens still remaining in Suffolk and Norfolk. Correct drawings of this kind would familiarize the eye to a breed of horses unfortunately much out of fashion in England, but still ex- tremely serviceable everywhere. It might also comprise general views and practical re- sults concerning the earth's surface, showing the best modes of quarrying, of discriminating the nature of soils, and improving them for agricultural purposes. A work of this kind would be extremely serviceable to the young peasant, and assist him in his progress through life. As a stimu- lus, suitable rewards should be offered to him for such improvement as he may make in that branch of industry to which his application is directed. It were indeed to be wished that some of our patriotic noblemen or benevolent corporations would carry out the suggestion here offered. A mixed elementary and prac- tical tuition, undertaken on a plan similar to the one here proposed, besides being bene- ficial at home, would be attended with the best consequences in our grazing colonies. — Spirit of the Age. EDUCATION, Inductive of the Beautiful. It is of great consequence in the education of the young to encourage their instinctive taste for the beauty and sublimity of Nature. While it opens to the years of infancy or youth a source of pure and of permanent enjoyment, it has consequences on the character and happi- ness of future life which they are unable to foresee. It is to provide them, amid all the agitations and trials of society, with one gentle and unreproaching friend, whose voice is ever in alliance with goodness and virtue, and which, when once understood, is able both to soothe misfortune and to reclaim from folly. It is to identify them with the happiness of that nature to which they belong ; to give them an interest in every species of being which sur- rounds them ; and, amid the hours of curiosity and delight, to awaken those latent feelings ol benevolence and of sympathy, from which all the moral or intellectual greatness of man finally arises. It is to lay the foundation ol an early and of a manly piety amid the mag- nificent system of material signs in which they reside ; to give them the mighty key which can interpret them ; and to make them look upon the universe which they inhabit, not as the abode only of human cares or human joys, but as the temple of the living God, in which praise is due, and wheie service is to be per- formed. —Alison. EDUCATION, in Scotland. It is not scholarship alone, but scholarship im- pregnated with religion, that tells on the great mass of society. We have no faith in the effi- cacy of mechanics' institutes, or even of primary and elementary schools, for building up a vir- tuous and well conditioned peasantry, so long as they stand dissevered from the lessons ol Christian piety. There is a charm ascribed to the scholastic system of Scotland ; and the sanguine imagination is, that, by importing its machinery into England and Ireland, it will work the same marvellous transformation there, on the character of their people, that was ex- perienced amongst ourselves. But it is for- gotten that a warm and earnest Christianity was the animating spirit of all our peculiar in- stitutions for generations after they were framed, and that wanting this they can no more per- form the function of moralizing the people than skeletons can perform the functions or 202 NOBLE THOUGHTS IN NOBLE LANGUAGE. put forth the faculties of living men. The scholastic is incorporated with the ecclesiastical system of Scotland ; and that, not for the pur- poses of intolerance and exclusion, but for the purpose of sanctifying education, and plying the boyhood of our land with the lessons of the Bible. The scholarship of mere letters might, to a certain extent, have diffused in- telligence amongst the people ; but it is mainly to the presence of the religious ingredients that the moral greatness of our peasantry is owing. — Chalmers, EDUCATION, its First Object. It is a great art in the education of youth to find out peculiar aptitudes, or, where none exist, to create inclinations which may serve as substitutes. Different minds are like dif- ferent soils ; some are suited only to particular cultivation ; others will mature almost any- thing ; others, adapted to a round of ordinary products ; and a few are wasted, unless they are reserved for what is most choice. — Walker s EDUCATION, its Influence. How much have we all been moulded by the pursuits of our earlier years ! In the days of my youth I was fond of olden ballads, and tales of chivalry, and these called forth a love of enterprise and adventure which clings to me still. Spenser was my delight, and to pore over old father Chaucer's antiquated volumes affoi-ded me much gratification. And did the magic of romantic lays Seduce the leisure of my earlier days ? Did Fancy spread her varied charms around, And lead me wandering o'er enchanted ground ? Oh yes, and oft these transitory toys Have flung a sunbeam on my passing joys. And has the midnight taper wasted been In pondering legend hoar, and fairy scene ? Have idle fictions o'er my fancy stole And Superstition's tale beguiled my soul ? They have, and spell'd by their mysterious power Mas roll'd away full many a rosy hour. Farewell, ye tales of terror, that control In mystic bonds the passions of the soul ! Ye fabled haunts, where fays and genii dwell, And all ye legendary themes, farewell ! Your fleeting joys I freely now resign For ever :— let the Book of Truth be mine. EDUCATION, Modern, of the Middle Classes. Indiscriminate censure and undistinguish- iiig praise are equally remote from truth. The reason is obvious, since it is scarcely probable that any person should be so utterly destitute of good qualities as to justify illimitable cen- soriousness, nor such a paragon of excellence as to merit unbounded admiration. This axiom is as true with regard to things as it is to persons. With this conviction, a wise man will not feel disposed to arraign every refine- ment in manners, or to denounce as unneces- sary innovations every attempt at improvement in our habits and pursuits. Folly and pre- judice might aim at such an object, but he who has made just and accurate observations on society is aware that its present state has been gained by frequent changes in the established order of things ; and that, since the last cen- tury, a complete and perhaps permanent revo- lution has taken place in the whole community. The authors of the present age no longer assemble, like those of the last, in the coffee- houses, to hear the condemnation or approval of their last production. Our wits do not con- gregate together to gather fresh bon-mots, or acquire new lapsis lingui, which they may repeat as their own at some convenient oppor- tunity. The ladies have discarded powder and pomatum for ringlets, and abandoned the hoop and the stomacher for the graceful and natural shape of the female form. Our firesides are rendered morec heerful and attractive ; the old- established clubs M'hich drew away the master from his family are declining, and the husband and father enjoys the pleasures of domestic converse with a zest unknown to his forefathers. In these and many other respects the present , age is infinitely superior to those which have i preceded it. But to praise indisci-eetly would ; be forfeiting all claim to impartiality ; and it i must therefore be conceded that there are other | points in which we are far from having im- proved, particularly in reference to the educa- i tion of the middle class of society. I This fact must be apparent to every reflect- ' ing mind ; and, although but now beginning : to develope its pernicious influence, a few years ; will soon prove the absurdity and imprudence of qualifying youth for situations they are not destined to occupy, and thus unfitting them for I those stations which they might fill honourably and usefully. A system so erroneous will be i NOBLE THOUGHTS IN NOBLE LANGUAGE. 203 best illustrated, and its evil tendency exempli- fied, in the character of its victims ; and the history of one sacrifice at the shrine of in- ordinate ambition and love of display shall be detailed for this purpose : — Adolphus was the son of a respectable tradesman, west of Temple Bar ; he early exhibited considerable shrewdness, which his fond parent regarded as a sure indication of extraordinary talent, and with praiseworthy anxiety resolved on giving him an education corresponding with his abilities. Already had he pictured to himself his son ascending to eminence in the profession to which his incli- nation might direct him ; and he fancied he beheld him captivating the court with his eloquence, or delivering his judgment with solemn gravity from the bench : sometimes parental fondness discovered the mitre and the apron, and saw him, surrounded by his clerg}', delivering a charge at a visitation ; or he would anticipate the day when, arrived at eminence as a physician, his mansion should be thronged with patients of all classes bring- ing their golden offerings for his experience and advice. He was accordingly sent to an academy celebrated for turning out distin- guished characters, and here Adolphus proved that although his abilities were not of a first- rate description when put into competition with others, yet he was not deficient in mental energy. He prosecuted his studies with alacrity, and mastered them with delight, and soon became a proficient in the languages, and could talk of Xenophon and the retreat of the ten thousand with the same ease as a school- boy does of the Exodus of the Israelites. Time passed on, and the period came when he should exchange the school for college. Adol- phus was naturally warm and sanguine in his temper, impetuous and ardent, but deficient in firmness and decision of character. His father had made many sacrifices for the accomplish- ment of his purpose, and he now found that he must be prepared to make still greater if he would eventually succeed, for Adolphus had made choice of the law as his profession. Adolphus soon proved that a youth at school and a young gentleman at college are widely different Uniting himself with some worth- less, but pleasant associates, the natural gaiety of his disposition predominated over his appli- cation to study ; he became fond of company, and his excesses compelled him to make re- peated calls on the purse of his father to supply the lavish expenditure which he affected, to be necessary, in order to enable him to appear with credit at the University. The readiness with which these supplies were granted pro- duced the lavishness of a spendthrift. His studies were now neglected, and though he passed his degrees, his attainments were barely sufficient to enable him to do so with credit. On his quitting College, he was entered as a student in the Temple, and when too late it appeared that he was not so pre-eminently gifted as his father had supposed. The dry study of the law disgusted him, the perusal of the statutes at large was very unedifying, and Coke and Blackstone were forsaken for Byron and the Great Unknown. The theatre and subscription room were more frequently visited than his chambers, and he could discuss the merits of a new tragedy or trace the pedigree of a racehorse far better than he could argue upon the criminal code or cite precedents. It soon appeared that he had received an education which unfitted him for everythin-i^ ; he was too well informed to undertake the dradgerj' and toil of his father's business, and possessed of too little mind and application to succeed in the arduous profession which he had chosen. The continual applications to his father for fresh supplies to meet his extravagant expenditure compelled him to abridge his own comforts ; arguments and exhortations were unavailing. Adolphus insisted that, having enjoyed a gentleman's education, he must maintain the character. A course of dissipation led him to the gaming-table, and having ruined his reputation and his health, he died before he had completed his 25th year. His father, broken hearted for his loss, and the disappointment of his hopes, neglected his business, his affairs soon became desperate, and it was but too plain that he was ruined ; it preyed on his spirits, and he died of grief. This is no overcharged statement of the evils resulting from educating the young for stations which they have not the ability to fill nor the fortune to sustain. Incalculable injury has already been effected by this prac- tice, and many a young man who has expiated his offence for forgery by a disgraceful death may trace the origin of his misfortune to his injudicious education. Parents deceive them- selves by the false notions they indulge, and when the evil is remediless, awake to all the dangers of the situation to which they have exposed their children, and find that their pecuniary means are insufficient to meet the wants which they have prevented them from 204 NOBLE THOUGHTS IN NOBLE LANGUAGE. satisfying by their own exertions. Many a father has had to behold with grief his pro- perty squandered by his son in the haunts of vice, only because he gave him the education of a gentleman instead of furnishing him with one calculated for a man of business. To give an education corresponding to the circle in which they are destined to move is a greater mark of wisdom, and a stronger proof of kindness to our offspring, than to give them an education which will lead them into con- nections and society they can never maintain, and into stations they will never be able per- manently to occupy. — Theodore. EDUCATION, National. As a father should provide for the religious education of his children, so should a govern- ment for the instruction of its subjects. This should teach us to look for edification only from legitimate sources, and to expect it most in the path of humble and implicit obedience. — Sinclair. EDUCATION, of Children. In the education of children love is first to be instilled, and out of lOve obedience is to be educed. Then impulse and power should be given to the intellect, and the ends of a moral being be exhibited. For this object this must be effected by works of imagination ; that they carry the mind out of self, and show the possible of the good and the great in the human character. The height, whatever it may be, of the imaginative standard will do no harm ; we are commanded to imitate one who is inimitable. We should address our- selves to those faculties in a child's mind which are first awakened by nature, and con- sequently first admit of cultivation ; that is to say, the memory and the imagination. The comparing power, the judgment, is not at that age active, and ought not to be forcibly excited, as is too frequently and mistakenly done in the modern systems of education, which can only lead to selfish views, debtor and creditor principles of virtue, and an in- flated sense of merit. In the imagination of man exists the seeds of all moral and scientific improvement ; chemistry was first alchemy, and out of astrology sprang astronomy. In the childhood of these sciences the imagina- tion opened a way and furnished materials on which the ratiocinative power in a maturer state operated with success. The imagination is a distinguished characteristic of man as a progressive being ; and I repeat that it ought to be carefully guided and strengthened as the indispensable means and instrument of con- tinued melioration and refinement. — -5". T. Coleridge. Look with what the vessel is first seasoned, it retains the taste ; and if thou beginnest to remember to serve God when thou art young, before the world, the flesh, and the devil, take hold on thee, God will love thee and send His Holy Spirit to take possession of thee, who shall resist those enemies, and not suffer them to hurt thee. — E. Joceline. Have you children? Recollect, I pray you, you are to bring up these children **in the nurture and admonition of the Lord." They are put into your hands to be conse- crated to Christ ; taught concerning Christ ; disciplined for Christ ; formed into the image of Christ ; so that, even as Pharaoh's daughter said to the mother of Moses, "Take this child and nurse it for me, and I will give thee thy wages," so does your royal Master say to you. — T. Griffith. Idle, wandering beggars train up their children in a trade of begging, and lying, and cursing, and filching, and all idleness, and abominable filthiness. Covetous worldlings are ever distilling into the ears of their children precepts of parsimony and good husbandry,, reading them lectures of thrift, and inculcating principles of getting and saving . . Wretched and accursed is our supine carelessness, if these wicked men's diligence (whose first care for the fruit of their bodies is to poison their souls, by sacrificing their sons and daughters to idols) shall rise up in judgment against us, and condemn our foul neglect, in not seasoning the tender years of our children with such re- ligious, godly, and virtuous informations as they are capable of. — Bp. Sanderson. If we would be clear and pure of the blood of our children, let us train them up in godli- ness, and take heed to ourselves, reforming our own ways, and endeavouring to be ensamples unto them of all holiness and true righteous- ness . . . He that loveth the soul loveth truly, and let us show never so much comfort and compassion to their bodies, yet are all our mercies cruel so long as we neglect the chiefest NOBLE THOUGHTS IN NOBLE LANGUAGE. 205 care that ought to be in us towards their souls. So long as we teach them not to honour God, but to dishonour him, and regard not whether they know Christ Jesus or not, we are guilty of their blood. We gave them life, but be- come the cause of their death. We gave them a temporal being, but we bring them to eternal condemnation. — Attersill. EDUCATION, Of Early Youth Pervades a Life. I AM of opinion that nothing is of so much weight in forming a man's character as the treatment he receives from the time of his leaving his nurse's arms. I have very good reason to be thankful that it was my lot to have such parents and relations as are mine, whom, setting all natural affection aside, I would not change if it were in my power for the most renowned, learned, and opulent characters. — TJios. Young, M.D. EDUCATION, of the Lower Classes. There is a set of people still remaining among us who may be fitly named the old staunch advocates of ignorance. Every plan proposed for enlightening the lower orders is dreaded by them as a dangerous inlet to innovation, — as a project replete with more mischiefs than issued from Pandora's box. Atticus, the Roman knight, took care that all the servants belonging to his domestic establishment should employ some part of their time in reading and mental improvement. How many in high rank, who have the Christian name, might blush in comparing their life with the amiable spirit and exemplary conduct of this pagan ! But the men who openly plead the cause of ignorance are daily decreasing in number and confidence. As, however, they may be more influenced by authority than by argument, it may be proper to inform them that the First Lord of the Treasury lately made the following just and manly observation on this question : "We live in a time when great efforts are making towards the general education of all classes and all descriptions of men, and God forbid that any one should suppose that there is any branch of education whatever, from the acquisition of which any class should be ex- cluded, and from the knowledge of which some benefit may not be acquired." When princes and prime ministers favour the diffusion of knowledge among the poor, we shall not, it may be hoped, again hear the clamorous cry of danger, asserting that they will be lifted above their proper sphere, and break down the mounds of social order. There is another set of persons, who approve and extol generous plans and exertions for the mental and moral improvement of our pea- santry. Nay, they would discard and abjure so cold a term as approbation, seeing they are smitten with rapture and overpowered with joy. How pretty a sight are boys and girls, neatly dressed, and walking in proces- sion to their schools ! How charming to hear their infantine voices in the temple of God, mingling the soft and shrill tones of melody and praise ! How delightful, how transporting must it be, to behold these interesting young creatures, in groups, repairing to their humble yet lovely cottages, perhaps decked with woodbine and wanton ivy ! Yet the reader is to remember that it is in description chiefly, and often in description only, that all this pleases. The poet with his muse, or the favourite novelist with his resources of fiction, must paint and decorate the scene before it can become attractive. And then be it re- collected that the pleasure is in the perusal of the enchanting page. The zeal of our tender sentimentalists is entirely exhausted in admira- tion ; they have neither money, nor time, nor heart, to instruct the poor ! There is a third description of people, who can estimate truly the value of knowledge, joined with piety, among labourers and artisans ; who will exert their best efforts and all their influence to diffuse education ; and who find many difficulties and pains, but counterpoised by many facilities and pleasures, in this grand and arduous work. These are the persons who support and conduct our Sunday Schools, and impart the precious elements of learning and religion to thousands and myriads, who would otherwise grow up in ignorance and profligacy. Their patient, persevering labours, though rarely noticed, have, I am convinced, been produc- tive of a measure of good which it is not easy, even possible, to calculate. If the value of an institution is to be estimated by the moral and spiritual benefits which are diffused by it, the teachers and supporters of Sunday Schools occupy no mean place among the benefactors of mankind. Nor ought those who are pre- cluded from taking an active part in this NOBLE THOUGHTS IN NOBLE LANGUAGE, honourable employ to stand aloof as in- different spectators. Let them animate such as are engaged in the career of benevolence, by the aid of their counsel, their sanction, their pecuniary means, and constant prayers. — Ricsticus. EDUCATION, One of the Eemedies of Economical Evils. There are no means of facilitating the transfer of labour equal to the growth of intelligence among the people. Ignorance believes itself to be fated to remain in the spot where it was born, and to follow throughout life the occupa- tion to which it was bred : its vision is con- fined to a narrow circle of observation, beyond which it is afraid to move. Hence it is that thousands who might better their condition if they would rouse themselves to make the effort, only do so when driven to it by extreme neces- sity. This is the case among a large class of weavers. There are multitudes whom no evidence of the decaying state of the trade will induce to quit the loom ; nor will they do so until want overtakes them in its most fright- ful form. A man accustomed to reflect on his position, and who has read of or noted in his experience the many resources of which industry and ingenuity have availed themselves in similar circumstances, does not wait to be overwhelmed in the common storm, and finds in time a port of refuge. This is one reason why the weavers now appear, as a body, less intelligent than those of former years. The educated portion have left the trade; those among them who have not done so are either in good circumstances, or the old, to whom the idea of change comes too late. I have conversed with many of this class — men who, having enjoyed the benefit of instruction, have appreciated its advantages, and given it to their children. Their children had not been brought up to the hand-loom. — Mr. hickson. EDUCATION, Progress and Effects of. The general desire for education, and the general diffusion of it, is working, and partly has worked, a great change in the habits of the mass of the people. And though it has been our lot to witness some of the incon- veniences necessarily arising from a transition state, where gross ignorance has been super- seded by a somewhat too rapid communication of instruction, dazzling the mind, perhaps, rather than enlightening it, yet every day re- moves something of this evil. Presumption and self-sufficiency are sobered down by the acquirement of useful knowledge, and men's minds become less arrogant in proportion as they become better informed. There cannot be a doubt, therefore, but that any evils which may have arisen from opening the flood-gates of education, if I may so say, will quickly flow away, and that a clear and copious stream will succeed, fertilizing the heretofore barren intellect with its wholesome and perennial waters. — Bishop of Lichfield. EDUCATION, Eeal. If we look to the nature of the human mind itself, if we consider its longings, how com- prehensive is its range, how great its capabili- ties, how little its best and highest faculties are satisfied with the objects that are placed before us upon earth, how many marks this dis- pensation bears of being a temporary, and, as it were, an initiatory dispensation, is it not monstrous to pretend that we are giving to the human being such a cultivation as befits his nature and his destiny, when we put out of sight all the higher and more permanent pur- poses for which he lives, and confine our pro- vision to matters which, however valuable (and valuable they are in their own place), yet of themselves bear only upon earthly ends ? Is it not a fraud upon ourselves and our fellow- creatures ; is it not playing and paltering with words ; is it not giving stones to those who ask for bread, if, when man, so endowed as he is, and with such high necessities, demands of his fellow-men that he may be rightly trained, we impart to him, under the name of an ade- quate education, that which has no reference to his most essential capacities and wants, and which limits the immortal creature to objects that perish in the use ? — W. E. Gladsione. EDUCATION, Scientific, of Mechanics, its Probable Influence. Among the various intimations that we are approaching some great crisis of national pro- sperity, or decline, of unprecedented virtue or NOBLE' THOUGHTS IN NOBLE LANGUAGE. 207 of unexampled degeneracy, I cannot but re- gard with deep and anxious solicitude the multiplying institutions which are established for the express purpose of informing the popu- lar mind, and imparting to the humbler classes the treasures of intellectual wealth. Universal education has created a new necessity, and not only excited the desire of further knowledge, hut excited it even to craving, so that mental food is becoming nearly as indispensable to the comfortable subsistence of the mechanic as the daily sustenance of his body. This necessity has been promptly, generously, and ardently met by the most enlightened and patriotic of our countrymen ; and now the novel and in- teresting spectacle is everyAvhere exhibited — ■ children flocking to their sabbath and other schools ; youths repairing to their appropriate institutes to learn the rudiments of science, and to apply its principles to the particular calling which demands their industry ; and all returning to their respective dwellings busy and thoughtful, communicative and inquiring, enriching their families with their new-found stores, and receiving and imparting the highest gratification — the gratification of mind. In a political and social view this wonderful change must be fraught with the most import- ant results. It is a grand and hitherto untried experiment. The world has never yet seen a nation all mind and energy, knowledge, and enterprise, capable of investigating all subjects and determined to push inquiry to its utmost limits ; and the politician and philosopher may well ask, with some degree of anxiety, what will be the operation of this stupendous novelty upon ancient establishments, and that state of things which commenced when there was no public mind, when the public consisted only of a few privileged orders, and the populace were in a state of villanage or total ignorance — a brute mass, unmoved and immoveable, the mere live stock of the soil? May not this pro- digious change be accompanied with a painful reaction ? Will not thought so long dormant awake to mischief? And will not energy thus roused from the slumber of ages avenge itself on the past, and shiver the frame of society which was constructed without any reference to its employment or presage of its existence ? What was it (some have inquired) that prostrated the throne and the altar, and at last destroyed liberty itself, in revolutionary France ? and the reply has been the too sudden impulse given to mind ; the excitement of intellect, without allowing knowledge time to ripen into principle ; or, more properly, the corruption of the popular heart through the popular under- standing. Inoculating a whole people with infidelity and irreligion, vmder the pretence of exalting their intellectual nature and emanci- pating them from the chains of ignorance and delusion. It is our happiness that the instance here adduced is totally inapplicable to our- selves. It is not the modem philosophy, but the arts and sciences, so far as they can be ren- dered practical and useful, that are taught to our people ; and as far as the lectures and in- stitutions are concerned, we have nothing to fear from the doctrines which are inculcated or the inquiries that are pursued. Yet is there, notwithstanding, something in the ap- prehension, that while the mind of a whole people is passing from ignorance to knowledge, and from indolence to activity, their political and ecclesiastical institutions may not remain stationary, and that in the new zeal to correct abuses which the change will not fail to excite, all that is great and venerable, and true and holy, may be exposed to danger from its indis- criminate excess. But allowing this fear to be in some measure reasonable, shall we interdict the progress of knowledge ? Shall we attempt to lull the awaking energy to sleep? Shall we condemn the children of the poor to their once hereditary ignorance? And shall we compel the mechanic and the artizan once more to the mere labour of their hands, and bind upon them the original curse, without alleviation, to ' ' earn their bread by the sweat of their brow " ? The attempt would be utterly vain, even should there be foimd heartless and desperate bigots willing to engage in it. Men will not unlearn ; and intellect, conscious of its power, is not again to be enslaved. All that is required to convert what so many fear as a most alarming evil into the greatest blessing that was ever enjoyed in the social state, is that the hearts of the people should be cultivated with as much assiduity as their un- derstandings ; that the ministers of religion should unite cordially their efforts with those of the professors of other sciences ; that with the same spirit of patriotic liberality they should bring their quota to the popular trea- sury, and teach without gratuity or reward that science which makes wise unto salvation. We may depend upon it the classes we would especially benefit will appreciate our eflforts ; and as they are accustomed to apply their faculties to other and rather abstruse subjects, they will not feel the labour of attending to 208 NOBLE THOUGHTS IN NOBLE LANGUAGE, the instructions of the pulpit to be either irk- some or exhausting. The mechanics of our metropolis, who are delighted to be taught philosophy, are equally solicitous to be instructed in religion ; and if they succeed in acquiring this knowledge, then all is secured that the wise statesman, the en- lightened patriot, and the genuine philan- thropist can either hope or desire. The indi- viduals are brought under the immediate influ- ence of the Supreme Ruler, and invested with the moral glories of his revealed character, ■which shed a lustre on their natural reason and intellectual acquirements, while the principles by which they are actuated, embodied in the community, and diffused through its entire con- stitution, will effectually, though gradually, work out its complete disenthralment from all the evils, whether prescriptive or established, which retard its improvement and impair its felicity. Intellectual energy, associated wiih Christian piety, must in proportion to its diffu- sion, advance the best interests of a country ; but when the one is excited and the other neg- lected, or when increased mental resources are placed under the direction and control of moral depravity ; or, which is the same thing, when the pride, the vanity, the concupiscence, and the arrogance which are the inherent qua- lities of our fallen nature, are stimulated and strengthened by the distinctions of science and the consciousness of mental power, the worst evils that can befal a people may be justly ap- prehended. Influenced, therefore, my brethren, by the most lively concern for your welfare, and anxious that your accumulating knowledge may qualify you to be better members of society, that you, though in so humble a sphere, may raise the tone of mind and morals in your native land, and thus secure its truest glory and happiness, and at the same time advance your- selves to the highest improvement of which your nature is susceptible, we have undertaken this course of lectures, and we come not to depreciate your intellectual pursuits, but rather to encourage and exalt them. In perfect union with your scientific instructors, we would con- tribute our part to teach a nobler philosophy. And as Christianity and its beneficent spirit has silently and indirectly conferred upon you that importance in society which has singled you out as worthy of participating so largely in the intellectual privileges of the age, we in- vite you to contemplate your principal bene- factress in the splendours of her purity and the attractions of her loveliness. We would en- treat you to be just and grateful to that divine religion which invests man as man with his true dignity ; and without whose sacred influ- ence, knowledge and all its train of advan- tages would have continued the sole privilege of statesmen, philosophers, and priests. Chris- tianity is the parent of our schools, of our mechanics' institutes, and of all the various means which are peculiarly designed to pour the light of instruction upon the families of our people. Let us, then, award to her the honour due unto her name ; and as the strongest ex- pression of our gratitude, let us welcome her to our hearts, admit her claims, and bow to her authority. It is not, however, to your grati- tude alone that I appeal ; I would impress it upon you as the highest wisdom, as the noblest act of reason, to receive the Scriptures as the word of God, to place yourselves under the guidance of the gospel, and to follow Jesus Christ as the way, the truth, and the life ; I am very sure that in the most momentous sub- jects you have no other guide, and that if you reject the Bible as a divine revelation there is no other record of eternal truth. — Dr. Styles, EDUCATION, The Right of all to Moral and Religious. O FOR the coming of that glorious time When, prizing knowledge as her noblest wealth And best protection, this imperial realm. While she exacts allegiance, shall admit An obligation, on her part, to teach Them who are bound to seive her and obey ; Binding herself by statute to secure For all the children whom her soil maintains The rudiments of letters, and inform The mind with moral and religious truth, Both understood and practised, — so that none However destitute, be left to droop By timely culture unsustained ; or run Into a wild disorder ; or be forced To drudge through a weary life without the help Of intellectual implements and tools ; A savage horde among the civilized, A servile band among the lordly free ! This sacred right the lisping babe proclaims To be inherent in him, by Heaven's will. For the protection of his iimocence ; And the rude boy, who having overpast The sinless age, by conscience is enroll'd, NOBLE THOUGHTS IN NOBLE LANGUAGE. 209 Yet mutinously knits his angry brow, And lifts his wilful hand to mischief bent, Or turns the God-like faculty of speech To impious use — by process indirect Declares his due, while he makes known his need. This sacred right is fruitlessly announced, This universal plea in vain addressed, To eyes and ears of parents who themselves Did, in the time of their necessity, Urge it in vain ; and, therefore, like a prayer That from the humblest floor ascends to heaven, • It mounts to reach the state's paternal ear ; Who, if indeed she own a mother's heart, And be not most unfeelingly devoid Of gratitude to Providence, will grant The unquestionable good which England, safe From interference of external force. May grant at leisure, without risk incurred. That what in wisdom for herself she doth, Others shall ne'er be able to undo. The discipline of slavery is unknown Among us, — hence the more do we require The discipline of virtue ; order else Cannot subsist ; nor confidence, nor peace. Thus, duties rising out of good possessed, And prudent caution needful to avert Impending evil, equally require That the whole people should be taught and trained : So shall licentiousness and black resolve Be rooted out, and virtuous habits take Their place ; and genuine piety descend Like an inheritance from age to age. Wordsworth. EDUCATION, the True Basis of. To all parents and guardians who are not tainted by the poison of infidelity, these few plain rules are earnestly recommended. Build your system of education on the basis of reli- gion : remember that the promises and threat- enings of Christianity are not temporal but eternal ; and that it is not a mere formulary of manners, or a code of observances, but an active principle, intended to prepare us for heaven. Do not, therefore, limit your instructions to what is expedient. Do not affect to be wiser than your Maker ; and, above all, avoid those systems of morals which are contrary to Reve- lation. By attending to the lessons of Holy Writ, and, above all, to the sublime doctrine of immortality, you will send your children into the world with just notions of human life; you will prepare them to act and to suffer ; you will fit them for disappointments ; you will enable them to bear that most severe of all trials, prosperity, with humble gratitude and self-possessing prudence ; and you will prepare them to endure calamity with dignified patience. Teach them not to expect much ; instruct them to think justly of themselves and kindly of others, and you will do more to ameliorate the condition of the human race than a legion of Theophilanthropists. — Mrs. West. EGOTISM. You may rely upon it, reader, that all the world, except you and I, are egotists. So that, by the bye, we ourselves must have had a very narrow escape. But how is it then, you inquire, that so many pass for modest, un- assuming men ? Why it is simply thus : some men are far more accomplished egotists than others. They know when to attract notice by appearing to disregard it ; when to change the first person singular into the second ; and when to excite the surprise and concern of the sym- pathetic, by affecting an undue degree of self- dissatisfaction and self-severity. And some are much less egotistical than others. The principle of egotiveness is within them, but circumstances have prevented the develop- ment of the organ ; and provided a man's self- exaltation be not very obtrusive, he is allowed by a kind of common courtesy to pass for a modest man. This is his premium for being what he is, and his bribe to remain so. He is but a pigmy compared with the giant egotists around him, and his reward is to pass unno- ticed. But look me out the man who appears most dispossessed of self, and transport him to some planet inhabited by beings guiltless of selfism, and you shall find that even he will prove to be an egotist in every world but his own. He was humble here only by comparison, but there no one could doubt for a moment that he was of the earth — earthy. And why ? Be- cause he would be always talking about our world ; and the superiority of our habits and manners ; and be disposed to take the lead in every planetary conversation, and aiming to excite astonishment by recitals of the mar- vellous. But you need not transport him to a distant 2IO NOBLE THOUGHTS IN NOBLE LANGUAGE, planet for this purpose. Try the experiment on a smaller scale. Track him through two or three days of his earthly wanderings, and you will find that, however unassuming he may appear in some circumstances, yet that in others he can lay claim to all the privileges of a veteran egotist. Has he just terminated a journey rather longer than usual ? Then hush : "lam Sir Oracle— let no dog bark." For one half-hour at least he lays claim to your attention as the leading article, though per- haps he has merely to relate ' * how he went further than he intended, and came safe home again." Has he been involved in a wordy war? Then he will astonish you with the point of his repartees, and with what " I said " to what " he said," But it is in his own family that his egotistical propensity is most conspi- cuous ; and it must be acknowledged that here, if anywhere, it almost ceases to offend. Here, indeed, it becomes almost amiable. He is, beyond dispute, the most important personage in the group, and his importance must be maintained. In the eyes of his chil- dren — those multiplications of himself — he is the strongest, the wisest, and the best of men. And in the heart of his other self, the dear idea of his superiority is enshrined till death. But this pleasing delusion, which seems almost neces- sary to domestic happiness, cannot be main- tained without the occasional declension of ego. And let him egotize, reader ; he offends neither you nor I. I envy him his auditors. And let him who would attempt to dissipate the grateful error be anathematized, and never allowed to graduate beyond a bachelor. — Spirit of the Age. ELECTION, General. Perhaps there is no occasion which so much manifests human nature as a general election. Here the fabled box of Pandora is opened, and if not all, some of the worst evils escape that curse mankind ; here Bedlam is broken loose, and moral madness is to be seen in perfection ; here the world is turned upside down ; here, in a literal sense with regard to the losers, and in a more exalted sense with relation to the gainers, we may adopt the words of the Christian poet : They rage and strive, desire and love. But all their noise is vain. But we are not going to the hustings, or they might afford a long moral lecture, and a ques- tion of some moment might with propriety be discussed — ** Is it not possible to prevent all this collision of human passion ? And without doubt, the wisdom that is merely human, by invading old customs might, with perfect security to the liberty of the subject, but perhaps with less security to corruption, provide a remedy. Here, too, we might exclaim with Perseus, But write him down a slave, who humbly proud. With presents begs preferment from the crowd : That early supplicant who salutes the Tribes, And sets the mobs to scramble for his bribes ; That some old dotard, sitting in the sun, On holidays may tell that such a feat was done. And we might sing with Lucretius, The Sisyphus is he, whom nclse and strife Seduce from all the soft retreats of life To vex the government, disturb the laws : Drunk with the fumes of popular applause. He courts the giddy crowd to make him great, And sweats and toils in vain to mount the sov'reign seat. The design of this paper is to remind the Christian world that they are not sufficiently alive to their interests in our public elections. This remark embraces no sect or party, but the body of Christians in general. Why should not men of piety even aim to approach the throne ? What immense influence might they not possess ; and influence employed for the Divine glory is a talent of the first value. It should be remembered that Joseph saved the most precious family on earth by being next to Pharaoh in Egypt, and Daniel acquired an ascendancy in the Persian court, which enabled him to throw a lustre on religion that no inferior could have exhibited. We know that the court is a tainted atmosphere, but grace in the heart can purify it ; and though grace should keep us from rushing into danger, grace should also induce us to aim at the highest eminence of doing good. It is said that the late King lamented that he could not obtain more pious men to guide the helm of affairs, and therefore, in the failure, he took the best he could find. It is not to be supposed that among thousands of men of the world, who are candidates for power, many devout men could gain the ascendancy ; but let us think on the influence of only a few. What a noise does one pious character make among the higher ranks ! and the influence of his example is above all calculation. He is a light that cannot be hid, and giveth light to all that are in the house. And is it of no import- ance that we should send such men to Parlia- ment? Have we no religious liberties to defend ? — no national morals to protect ? — no NOBLE THOUGHTS IN NOBLE LANGUAGE, 211 general love for mankind which we might manifest through their medium ? Are sinners to have their representative, and shall ** the saints " not have theii'S ? Is it of no conse- quence to us, whether we are ruled by the righteous or the wicked? Scripture tells us what rulers and magistrates should be, and shall we neglect to be instruments in practically promoting the designs of the Scriptures? We want to advance the interests of religion in the empire of superstition — we want to spread the cause of education — we want to abolish the horrible system of slavery — we want to advance religious liberty at home — we want to correct the defective customs and morals of our own country — and to expect that all these things will be done by men of no religion is to expect the very laws of nature to be reversed, in which everything produces after its kind. It is, indeed, a matter of astonishment, and admiration, and gratitude to God, that, con- sidering how few pious men of wealth have sought after power, and how few have attained it, so much has been effected in our country for improving the moral and religious con- dition of mankind ; but the voice of Religion without the walls of St. Stephen's has often been heard within. One sinner destroyeth much good, and the smallest germ of piety among the great has an influence that is in- calculable. Hence, even the expression of piety, where it has been seasonably used, has called forth the admiration of a whole people. We remember Nelson's introduction to his dispatches after the battle of the Nile — "Almighty God has given us the victory;" it was echoed through the kingdom, and that echo was an homage to piety. It may be boldly asserted that the Christian world are not doing their duty if they do not use their franchises in seeking out and returning men for Parliament, who "fear God and hate evil ; " and that in remaining neutral in such efforts, they are burying a talent for which they should give an account, and with which they might bring forth an interest that their sons and their sons' sons might enjoy to the latest period of time. As great events arise from little causes, perhaps at a future election even these hints may not have been suggested in vain. — Theorist. EMIGRATION, its Importance. Why should there not be an emigration service and secretary, with adjuncts, with funds, forces, idle navy-ships, and every increasing apparatus ; in fine, an effective system of emigration ; so that at length, before our twenty years of respite ended, every honest, willing workman, who found England too strait, and the organization of labour not yet sufficiently advanced, might find likewise a bridge built to carry him into new Western lands, there to organize, with more elbow-room, some labour for himself? There to be a real blessing, raising new com for us, purchasing new webs and hatchets from us ; leaving us at least in peace ; instead of staying here to be a physical-force Chartist, unblessed and no blessing ! Is it not scandalous to con - sider that a prime minister could raise within the year, as I have seen it done, a hundred and twenty millions sterling to shoot the French, and we are stopped short for want of the hundredth part of that to keep the English living ? The bodies of the English living, and the souls of the English living. These two services, an education service and an emigration service — these, with others, will actually have to be organized ! A free bridge for emigrants : why we should then be on a par with America itself, the most favoured of all lands that have no government ; and we should have besides so many traditions and mementoes of priceless things which America has cast away. We could proceed deliberately to organize labour, not doomed to perish unless we effected it within year and day ; every willing worker that proved superfluous finding a bridge ready for him. This verily will have to be done ; the time is big with this. Our little isle is growing too narrow for us ; but the world is wide enough yet for another six thousand years. England's sure markets will be among new colonies of Englishmen in all quarters of the globe. All men trade with all men, when mutually con- venient, and are even bound to do so by the Maker of men. Our friends of China who guiltily refused to trade, in these circumstances had we not to argue with them, in cannon-shot at last, and convince them that they ought to trade ! ** Hostile tariffs " will arise to shut us out, and then again will fall to let us in ; but the sons of England, speakers of the English language, were it nothing more, will in all times have the ineradicable predisposition to trade with England. — Carlyle, EMIGRATION, Western. With all that's ours, together let us rise. Seek brighter plains and more indulgent skies; 212 NOBLE THOUGHTS IN NOBLE LANGUAGE, Where fair Ohio rolls his amber tide, And Nature blossoms in her virgin pride ; Where all that Beauty's hand can form to please Shall crown the toils of war with rural ease. The shady coverts and the sunny hills, The gentle lapse of ever-murmuring rills. The soft repose amid the noontide bowers, The evening walk among the blushing flowers, The fragrant groves that yield a sweet per- fume, And vernal glories in perpetual bloom. Await you there ; and heaven shall bless the toil : Your own the produce, and your ow-n the soil. There, free from envy, cankering care, and strife, Flow the calm pleasures of domestic life ; There mutual friendship soothes each placid breast : Blest in themselves, and in each other blest. From house to house the social glee extends, For friends in war in peace are doubly friends. There cities rise, and spiry towns increase. With gilded domes and every art of peace. There Cultivation shall extend his power, Rear the green blade, and nurse the tender flower ; Make the fair villa in full splendour smile, And robe with verdure all the genial soil. There shall rich Commerce court the favouring gales, And wondering wilds admire the passing sails. Where the bold ships the stormy Huron brave. Where wild Ontario rolls the whitening wave. Where fair Ohio his pure current pours. And Mississippi laves the extended shores. And thou. Supreme ! whose hand sustains this ball, Before whose nod the nations rise and fall. Propitious, smile, and shed diviner charms On this blest land, the Queen of arts and arms ; Make the great empire rise on wisdom's plan, The seat of bliss, and last retreat of man. David Humphreys. EMINENCE, Attained by Men of Low Origin. Many of the most eminent men in literature, cience, and art have sprung up in obscurity. Some will instantly occur to the mind from among the living as well as the dead who have laid society under the deepest obligations ; but there are others whose claims are not so commonly remembered. It is calculated, for instance, that above a million and a half chaldrons of coals are annually consumed in London ; and the amazing extension of the coal trade to meet such demands is to be traced to men called "viewers," who have generally raised themselves from lower situations. Ma- chinery was absolutely necessary to obtain so many millions of tons of one of the first necessaries of life, and that at a rate exceed- ingly low, and this was provided by Newco- men the plumber, and Smeaton and Watt the watchmakers. The cheap and elegant gar- ments, which give bread to about two millions of people instead of fifty thousand, which raised the importation of cotton wool from less than two million to two hundred million pounds per annum, and which increased the annual produce of the manufacture from two hundred thousand to thirty-six million pounds sterling, are to be traced through subsequent improve- ments to Arkwright and Crompton, the barbers. A rude and inconsiderable manufacture was. changed into an elegant art, and an important branch of national commerce, by Wedgwood, the potter. Inland navigation, which enabled manufacturers to import the raw materials and export the finished goods, was devised and executed by Brindley, the millwright ; and it would be easy to accumulate a great number of instances in which persons of humble grade have greatly promoted the general good. — Wilderspin. EMOTIONS, Embodied in Poetry. There are so many tender and holy emotions flying about in our inward world, which, like angels, can never assume the body of an out- ward act ; so many rich and lovely flowers spring up which bear no seed, that it is a happiness poetry was invented, which receives into its limbus all these incorporeal spirits, and the perfume of all these flowers. — Jean Paul. EMPLOYMENT, Qualification for. The probability that any particular person shall ever be qualified for the employments to which he is educated is very different in different occupations. In the greatest part of the mechanic trades success is almost certain, NOBLE THOUGHTS IN NOBLE LANGUAGE. 213 but in the liberal professions it is very uncer- tain. Put your son apprentice to a shoemaker, there is little doubt of his learning to make a pair of shoes ; but send him to study the law, it is at least twenty to one if he ever makes such proficiency as will enable him to live by the business. In a perfectly fair lottery, those who draw the prizes ought to gain all that is lost by those who draw the blanks. In a pro- fession where twenty fail for one that succeeds, that one ought to gain all that should have been gained by the unsuccessful twenty. The counsellor at law, who, perhaps, at near forty years of age begins to make something by his profession, ought to receive the retribution, not only of his own so tedious and expensive education, but also of that of more than twenty others who are never likely to make anything by it. How extravagant soever the fees of counsellors at law may sometimes appear, their real compensation is never equal to this. — Ada7Ji Smith. ENEMY, None but His Own, Is Everybody's Enemy. ■*''No man's enemy but his own" happens generally to be the enemy of everybody with whom he is in relation. The leading quality that goes to make this character is a reckless ■imprudence, and a selfish pursuit of selfish en- joyments, independent of all consequences. " No one's enemy but his own" runs rapidly through his means ; calls, in a friendly way, on his friends for bonds, bail, and securities ; involves his nearest kin ; leaves his wife a beggar ; and quarters his orphans upon the public ; and, after having enjoyed himself to ilus last guinea, entails a life of dependance on •his progeny, and dies in the odour of that ill- ^understood reputation of harmless folly which is more injurious to society than some positive ■crimes. The social chain is so nicely and deli- cately constructed that not a link snaps, rusts, or refuses its proper play, without the shock being felt like an electric vibration to its utmost dimits. — Lady Morgan. ENGLAND. Oh, mother of a mighty race, Yet lovely in thy youthful grace ! The elder dames, thy haughty peers, .Admire and hate thy blooming years. With words of shame And taunts of scorn they join thy name. For on thy cheeks the glow is spread That tints the morning hills with red ; Thy step — the wild deer's rustling feet Within thy woods, are not more fleet ; Thy hopeful eye Is bright as thine own sunny sky. Ay, let them rail — those haughty ones — While safe thou dwellest with thy sons. They do not know how loved thou art — How many a fond and fearless heart Would rise to throw Its life between thee and the foe ! They know not, in their hate and pride, What virtues with thy children bide ; How true, how good, thy graceful maids Make bright, like flowers, the valley shades \ What generous men Spring, like thine oaks, by hill and glen ; What cordial welcomes greet the guest By the lone rivers of the West ; How faith is kept, and truth revered, And man is loved, and God is fear'd, In woodland homes. And where the solemn ocean foams ! There's freedom at thy gates and rest For earth's down-trodden and oppress'd, A shelter for the hunted head, For the starved labourer toil and bread. Power, at thy bounds. Stops and calls back his baffled hounds. Oh, fair young mother ! on thy brow Shall sit a nobler grace than now. Deep in the brightness of thy skies The thronging years in glory rise, And, as they fleet, 1 Drop strength and riches at thy feet. Thine eye, with every coming hour. Shall brighten, and thy form shall tower ; And when thy sisters, elder born. Would brand thy name with words of scorn, Before thine eye. Upon their lips the taunt shall die ! W. C. Bryant. ENG-LAND, Domestic Architecture of. •' England," said Madame de Stael, *' is the land where the human soul shines forth in all its beauty." Here love is warmer, and the sorrow of separation is deeper ; that ardour of natural affection which pervades so generally all ranks has made home proverbially the dearest place to an Englishman. Home is a word for which no Continental language has 214 NOBLE THOUGHTS IN NOBLE LANGUAGE. an exact parallel — the whole country is one great home. ** I have seen here," says a late traveller in the East, ** ladies of every country but those of England, although most of the English gentlemen residing here are unmarried for that very reason. I once met with two near Constantinople, but they were always complaining and longing after England. " This delight in home, although founded ori- ginally on the affectionate sensibility of the English character, is doubtless heightened by the freedom of the government, which stamps upon it a sacred, impenetrable character, and one of retired security, where a man unmasks himself in the bosom of his family, without fear of intenniption or of intrusion, and having no dread of ** domiciliary visits " before his eyes. The man who delights in home will take a pleasure in making that home comfortable and beautiful. It has been said, give an English- man a lease of a little spot and he will make it a paradise. Thus the love of home has brought domestic architecture in this country to a degree of excellence far beyond any other country in the world. It was not always thus ; the day has been when our island was divided, mostly by wood and morass, and when its inhabitants were wanderers and disorderly retainers. Improve- ments in domestic architecture in such times were regarded as the corruptions of a de- generate age. ''Among other signs of the growing luxury of the times," observes one of their chroniclers, "I count the great number of chimneys which in my remembrance have grown up, so that now almost every house in ever/ town has a chimney, whereas formerly there were but two or three in any town, and those of the principal houses ; but now they cannot sit in a house if it be full of smoke. Further, the houses be now all built of oak, whereas formerly they were mostly of wicker ; but then, indeed, we had wicker houses and oaken men ; now we have oaken houses and wicker men." The houses of the nobility, as might be ex- pected, afforded the earliest specimens of im- provement in domestic architecture, but as ihese were often necessarily built for defence, much convenience and much beauty were of necessity sacrificed ; and great is the folly of the citizen of yesterday who, in his abhorrence /of modernism, copies in his villa of the nine- teenth century any of the inconveniences and necessary deformities of that age of compara- tive barbarism. Our genuine Gothic reached its perfection in the days of Henry the Seventh. After that time intercourse with Italy brought a very im- perfect imitation of Roman architecture into use, which was mingled with the Gothic ; until about the time of Elizabeth it drove our beautiful English style from the field, and wholly usurped its place. Many of the speci- mens left us afterwards, down to Inigo Jones inclusive, may demand the title of magnificent, but an unbiassed taste will never pronounce them beautiful. The ideas associated with them may please, but this is not intrinsic beauty ; and till the time of Sir Christopher Wren Italian architecture was never properly understood in this country. In his day it be- came the fashion to decry the Gothic as bar- barous, but how little Sir Christopher felt of its beauty may be seen from some of his works. The great advancement of the present age in knowledge has not shown itself in many things more evidently than in the great im- provement in architectural taste. Travellers have penetrated into those parts of the East formerly impenetrable, and have discovered for us many pure specimens of Ionian beauty. From these, and from the light and fairy specimens of our own land, the hand of taste has culled much to delight, and the effect has been that our architects are brought, not ser- vilely to copy these specimens, but to think and feel in unison with the classic minds which designed them, and to form other imagina- tions nearly or entirely to equal them. Classic architecture is now to be found in most parts- of the land, from the palace to the cottage ; and after resigning a great number of villas, cottages, farms, and villages, ornees, which are anything but ornamental, we may confidently ask, where is the country which has so much beautiful domestic architecture? The most splendid erection of this day is Eaton Hall,, the Earl of Grosvenor's. — James Edmeston. ENGLAND, Preferred above all Countries. England ! Though thy clime Be fickle, and thy year most part deform'd With dripping rains, or withered by a frost, I would not yet exchange thy sullen skies, And fields without a flower, for warmer France With all her vines ; nor for Ausonia's groves Of golden fruitage, and her myrtle bowers. Coivper. NOBLE THOUGHTS IN NOBLE LANGUAGE. ENLARGEMENT cf our Thoughts. Why should we, to so very little purpose, hover uncertainly about these lower regions, and spend our time and pains in groping in the dark ? No, let our minds rather enlarge their thoughts, and take a nobler range : let them leave all created objects behind, and run, and mount, and fly aloft ; and, taking faith to the assistance of Reason, fix their eyes, with the utmost intenseness nature will bear, upon the Creator, the universal cause. . . For no beauty is so charming, no pleasure so transporting, as that with which our eyes and mind are feasted, when our greedy sight and eager affections are elevated and bent upon our God and Saviour, as to their only proper centre. — St. Augustine. ENMITY against God. Belief and profession will speak thee a Chris- tian but very faintly, when thy conversation (life) proclaims thee an infidel. . . . Oh, how will Christ deal with such persons, when He shall draw forth all their actions bare and stript from the deceiving veil of their heavenly speeches ! He will then say. . . . "You have indeed spoken me fair ; you have saluted me with your lips ; but even then you betrayed me. Depart from me, therefore, ye professors of holiness, but ye workers of iniquity ! " — South. We know Him not, and therefore it is we hold out against Him. Is He not the living spring of all our comforts ? Have we not from Him life, and breath, and all things ? And is He not " ready to forgive iniquity, transgression, and sin? " Let mercy melt our hearts to Him. . . . Let His loving-kindness overcome these stubborn hearts and spirits of ours. . . . But if this prevail not, then think how unhappy this enmity is. You, who are afraid of men, and those weak men like your- selves, whose breath is in their nostrils, will ye not tremble at His power, and be afraid to continue on terms of hostility against Him who is the Lord of Hosts, who hath power both over soul and body to kill both and cast them into hell ? What is the stoutest of men, but as stubble to the flame of His wrath ? . . . Then, if you will not perish when His wrath is kindled, take that word of Eliphaz, "Ac- quaint now thyself with Him, and be at peace ; thereby good shall come unto thee." — Abp. Leighton. ENVY. He who ascends to mountain-tops shall find Their loftiest peaks most wrapt in clouds and snow ; He who surpasses or subdues mankind Must look down on the hate of those below. Though far above the sun of glory glow, And far beneath the earth and ocean spread, Round him are icy rocks, and loudly blow Contending tempests on his naked head. Byro}i. ENVY, Always Pains-Giving. The envious man is in pain upon all occasions which ought to give him pleasure. The relish of his life is inverted ; and the objects which administer the highest satisfaction to those who are exempt from this passion give the quickest pangs to persons who are subject to it. All the perfections of their fellow-creatures are odious : youth, beauty, valour, and wisdom are provocations of their displeasure. What a wretched and apostate state is this ! To be offended with excellence, and to hate a man because we approve him ! The condition of the envious man is the most emphatically miserable ; he is not only incapable of re- joicing in another's merit or success, but lives a world wherein all mankind are in a plot against his quiet, by studying their own happi- ness and advantage. — Addison. ENVY, Cannot be Guarded Against. There is no guard to be kept against envy, because no man knows where it dwells, and generous and innocent men are seldom jealous and suspicious till they feel the wound, or dis- cern some notorious effect of it. It shelters itself for the most part in dark and melancholy constitutions, yet sometimes gets into less sus- pected lodgings, but never owns to be within when it is asked for. — Lord Clarendon. ENVY, EssentiaUy Selfish. Selfishness and sin give a character to most of the passions, but to some of them they also give their very existence ; of this last kind is envy, a mixture of grief and hatred. It makes the heart repine at the prosperity of others ; it seeks and finds a sort of ill-natured satisfaction in their misfortunes and calamities. Among bad passions it bears a conspicuous pre-emi- 2l6 NOBLE THOUGHTS IN NOBLE LANGUAGE. nence. Wrath is cruel, and anger is outrageous ; but who can stand before envy? What shelter can elude, or what power repel, its insinuations and assaults? "As rust consumes iron," said Antisthenes, so doth envy consume the heart of man." The sentiment of the Grecian sage in this passage agrees with that of the royal Hebrew proverbialist, who compares the same passion to ''rottenness in the bones." And Dr. Johnson has justly observed that, "envy is above all other vices inconsistent with the character of a social being, because it sacrifices truth and kindness to very weak temptations. " But neither sages nor satirists have as yet found any weapons capable of destroying, any arts fitted for taming this fierce growling monster. "The spirit that dwelleth in us," says an inspired writer, "lusteth to envy." Our natural corruption, incited and inflamed by Satan, strongly inclines us to this and other kinds of wickedness. Advantages of body or mind, birth, rank, or station are eagerly desired, and when they are viewed in the possession of others, a mortified and malignant feeling is engendered in the breast. Scarcely any of the passions or emotions of the human mind are to be found in a simple state, but are blended in an endlessly diversified variety of combinations. We shall not attempt a philosophical analysis of envy, though such an attempt in able hands might prove very interesting. Where the love of distinction and the love of ease meet in the same man, both cannot in ordinary circumstances be at once gratified. He who would ascend the temple of fame without the toil of climbing the ascent which leads to it will view with an evil eye those who, by talent and energy, labour and patience, have gained the eminence and the honour. And it is much if the uneasy sensation, which rises out of conscious indolence and wounded pride, do not prompt him to deal largely in slander. Bad as the disposition is, and odious as such dealing must be, there is a certain pungent pleasure in it to some minds. Calumny and detraction are factors that would starve and die for want of employment and support were it not for jealousy and envy. The agents are nothing, can in reality do or say nothing, without their principals and prime movers. Sometimes avarice is the ground and source of envy. "Why," says theidolator of wealth, "should this or that man's schemes and spe- culations succeed better than mine? What dark destiny interposes to counteract my plans, to blast my efforts, and to keep me still in narrow and obscure circumstances ? He must be a stranger to the rivalries and competitions of the commercial world who has not seen the spirit here described, working in a thousand ways, and assuming a thousand forms. But whatever be the ground or source of this passion it is no difficult matter to point out its bitter and baneful fruits. "Envy," says one, "can give nothing but vexation. It is made up of impotence and malice, and where these two qualities are compounded there need be no other ingredients of misery." The envious man is his own tormentor. He feeds and cherishes a viper, which preys upon his own soul. He has to bear both his per- sonal disasters and calamities, and the pain of witnessing the successes and comforts enjoyed by his neighbours. Hence Bion, one day see- ing a man of this character, who appeared gloomy and depressed, wittily said, "I am sure he has either met with some misfortune himself or some favourable event has happened to another." As to the engines of mischief which this passion contrives and puts in motion, the acts of violence and cruelty produced by it, the very mention of them would exhaust the patience of the reader. First Envy, eldest born of hell, embnied Her hands in blood, and taught the sons of men To make a death which nature never made. And God abhorr'd ; with violence rude to break The thread of life, ere half its length was run, And rob a wretched brother of his being. Poets need not deal in fiction on this subject, for all history supplies ample materials. From the ddys of Cain to this hour, torrents of blood have flowed from the same cause. Envy was the evil genius of the gloomy king of Israel. " Saul hath slain his thousands, and David his tens of thousands." This honest and hearty effusion of gratitude, poured forth by the people upon a signal victory, pointed to a pre- ference M'hich could never be forgiven. The tyrant's evil genius from that day was inexor- able. Neither the melody of David's harp nor the moral excellence of his character and conduct could appease the fiend. But where envy does not rankle in the heart its latent poison often spreads an injurious influence. Nature furnishes no effectual anti- dote ; philosophy detects without destroying the evil. What, then, is to be done? It is Divine grace only which can expel envy, and enthrone charity in the soul. This grace must be sought and obtained from Him who is the sole author of eternal salvation to all them NOBLE THOUGHTS IN NOBLE LANGUAGE. 217 who obey Him. O ! exalted privilege ! how empty and insignificant is everything else in comparison of it. Divine grace smites pride at the root, and the blossoms go up as dust, and are driven away. Divine grace rebulces and banishes sloth, and breaks the golden fetters of Mammon's bondage. And when pride, indolence, and avarice are in a great degree subdued, envy has lost its feeders and chief allies. In a word, "the grace of God, that bringeth salvation, has appeared to all men, teaching us that, denying ungodliness and worldly lusts, we should live soberly, righte- ously, and godly, in this present world ; looking for that blessed hope, and the glorious appear- ing of the great God our Saviour Jesus Christ, who gave himself for us, that he might redeem us from all iniquity, and purify unto himself a peculiar people zealous of good works." — Rusticics. ENVY, its MaUgnancy. And Envy with his hidden knife came on. Stealing behind his prey. This way and that, -(Scared by the trumpet or the sullen drum) Fled Beauty, mocked by Vice ; and helpless Age; And timorous Youth ; whilst Murder, with hot eyes, Spent breath, and staggering through the slip- pery streets. Paused for awhile, and with red dripping fingers Wiped from his sweating brow his cloud of hair, And reckoned his harvest 'round. Barry Cornivall. ENVY no Man. Look not up with envy to those above thee. Sounding titles, stately buildings, fine gardens, gilded chariots, rich equipages — what are they? They dazzle every one but the possessor. To him that is accustomed to them, they are cheap and regardless things: they supply him not with brighter images or more sublime satisfactions than the plain man may have, whose small estate may just enable him to support the charge of a simple unencumbered life. He enters heedless into his rooms of state, as you or I do under our poor sheds. The noble ])aintings and costly furniture are lost on him ; he sees them not ; as how can it be otherwise, when, by custom, a fabric infinitely more grand and finished, that of the universe, stands un- observed by the inhabitants, and the ever- lasting lamps of Heaven are lighted up in vain for any notice that mortals take of them? — Addison. EQUALITY not Communism. As to equality, if by it be meant an equality of property or condition, there is no such thing ; nor was there ever such a thing in any country since the world began. The Scripture speaks of Pharaoh and his princes in the time of Abraham, when he was forced by a famine to go down to Egypt, about 430 years after the flood. Abraham himself had at that period men servants and maid servants, and was very rich in cattle, in silver, and in gold. He and Lot had herdsmen and servants of various kinds ; and they everywhere met with kings who had subjects and soldiers. The inequality of property and condition, which some silly or bad people are so fond of declaiming against, existed in the very infancy of the world, and must, from the nature of things, exist to the end of it. Suppose a ship to be wrecked on an unin- habited island, and that all the officers had perished, but that the common men and their wives were saved ; there, if anywhere, we may meet with liberty, equality, and the rights of man. What think you would be the conse- quence? A state of equality, and with it, of anarchy, might perhaps subsist for a day ; but wisdom, courage, industry, economy, would presently introduce a superiority of some over othei-s ; and in order that each man might preserve for himself the cabin he had built, the ground he had tilled, or the fish he had taken, all would agree in the propriety of appointing some one amongst the number, or more than one, to direct, govern, and protect the whole, by the common strength. Thus the restriction of liberty and the destruction of equality, and all the circumstances which shallow reasoners represent as grievances in society, and subver- sive of the rights of man, would of necessity be introduced. No one would be left at liberty to invade his neighbour's property : some would by skill and activity become rich, and they would be allowed to bequeath, at their death, their wealth to their children ; others would by idleness and debauchery remain poor, and having nothing to leave to their children, these, when grown up, would be under the 2l8 NOBLE THOUGHTS IN NOBLE LANGUAGE. necessity of maintaining themselves by work- ing for their neighbours, till, by prudence and thrift, they acquired enough to purchase pro- perty of their own, on which they might employ their labour. It is a general law which God has established throughout the world, that riches and respect should attend prudence and diligence ; and as all men are not equal in the faculties of either body or mind, by which riches or respect are acquired, a necessity of superiority and subordination springs from the very nature which God has given us. — Bishop Watson. EQUANIMITY, a Spring of Happiness. As oft as I hear the robin-redbreast chant it as cheerfully in September, the beginning of winter, as in March, the approach of the sum- mer, why should not we, think I, give as cheerful entertainment to the hoary-frosty hairs of our age's winter as to the primroses of our youth's spring ? "Why not to the declining sun in adversity, as — like Persians — to the rising sun of prosperity ? I am sent to the ant to learn industry, to the dove to learn innocence, to the serpent to learn wisdom, and why not to this bird to learn equanimity and patience ; and to keep the same tenour of my mind's quietness as well at the approach of calamity's winter as of the spring of happiness ? And, since the Roman's constancy is so commended who changed not his countenance with his changed fortunes, why should not I, with a Christian resolution, hold a steady course in all weathers, and though I be forced with cross-winds to shift my sails, and catch at side winds, yet skilfully to steer, and keep on my course by the cape of "good hope" till I arrive at the haven of eternal happiness ? — Arthur Wanuick. ERROR, Known, no Apology for. The prejudice of education, the pride of place, the ignorance which we might have overcome, or the glory of this world's dominion, will yield us no apology for error before the throne QiG(A.— Bishop Hopkins. ERROR, Overcome by Love. When we would convince men of any error by the strength of truth, let us withal pour the sweet balm of love upon their heads. Truth and love are two of the most powerful things in the world ; and when they both go together they cannot easily be withstood. The golden beams of truth and the silver cords of love, twisted together, will draw men on with a sweet violence, whether they will or no. — Cudworth. ERROR, Universal. Find earth where grows no weed, and you may find a heart wherein no error grows. — J. S. Knowles. ESCAPE from a Plague- Stricken Town. By the postei^n-gate could I behold Lawrence the priest all armed as if for war. And my three men were standing not right far From off the town-wall, having some small store Of arms and furs and raiment : then once more I turned, and saw the autumn moonlight fall Upon the new-built bastions of the wall, Strange with black shadow and gray flood of light. And further off I saw the lead shine bright On tower and turret-roof against the sky, And looking down I saw the old town lie Black in the shade of the o'erhanging hill Stricken with death, and dreary, but all still Until it reached the water of the bay. That in the dead night smote against the quay Not all unheard, though there was little wind. But as I turned to leave the place behind. The wind's light sound, the slowly falling swell. Were hushed at once by that shrill tinkling bell. That in that stillness jarring on mine ears. With sudden jangle checked the rising tears. And now the freshness of the open sea Seemed ease, and joy, and very life to me. Win. Morris, ETERNITY. The vaulted void of purple sky That everywhere extends. That stretches from the dazzled eye, In space that never ends ; A morning whose uprisen sun No setting e'er shall see ; A day that comes without a noon. Such is Eternity. — Clare. NOBLE THOUGHTS IN NOBLE LANGUAGE. 219 ETERNITY, An Indifference to the In- terests of, Indefensible. Nothing is more astonishing than the apathy of the generality of men with reference to that state into which death will soon introduce them. The daring and avowed infidel pro- fesses to have all his thoughts and hopes con- fined to this life ; beyond the dark boundaries of the grave all is to him a blank, a dreary vacuity, from which nature recoils. But he who acknowledges the truth of the Holy Scriptures might surely be expected to act, and speak, and feel very differently. When the Bible is once admitted as a revelation from heaven, it is impossible not to perceive that a direct opposition to its dictates is the height of folly, and a rashness nearly akin to madness. For can anything be more plain in this sacred volume than the disclosure of a future state of recompense, to which all are hastening? Are not heaven and hell, endless joy and endless misery therein, the most clear and vivid de- scriptions set before us ? Is it not certain that the termination of the present probationary state will, to each of us, be either an abundant entrance into the everlasting kingdom of our Lord and Saviour Jesus Christ, or a removal to those regions of outer darkness and despair, where the worm of a tormenting conscience never dies, and the fire of Divine wrath is never quenched ? To believe the existence of such weighty and momentous realities, and yet live as if they were nothing but fables, is ex- ceedingly, is unspeakably strange ; yet that such a supine indifference is everywhere found among us is a fact which admits of no dispute. The testimonies of God's word are credited without being felt, or at distant intervals are transiently felt without being laid to heart and remembered. The duration of the present life, however extended, is but a day, an hour, a moment, compared with the life to come. Had we as many years on earth as Methuselah, or as many as there are particles of dust in the globe, or rays of light in the sun, all these years were as nothing to eternity. The longest measure of time which arithmetic can calcu- late, and imagination conceive, will come to a period ; but eternity is a time without end, an ocean without bound or bottom ! Futurity for ever future ; life Beginning still where computation ends. And does this deeply important considera- tion, which overwhelms the intellectual powers, excite in any reasonable degree the moral sensibilities of the mind? So far is this from being the case that we cannot but perceive, and therefore may confidently assert, that the generality of men are not only indifferent to their eternal interests, but also averse to the means which seem best calculated to arouse them from this dangerous state. They shun rather than seek the light, and turn a deaf ear to the salutary voics of warning ; they reso- lutely hurry into the full current, the very vortex of the world, instead of preferring the still water, and keeping near the shore. The habitual indifference of multitudes is too evident, by the ideas they entertain of a con- ceived adequate preparation for eternity. Yes, they unhesitatingly condemn the hardened infidel and the thoughtless profligate, but have taken care themselves to be well provided for their final account. We inquire, with tender delicacy, wherein this provision consists, and find that it rests wholly in an exemption from gross and flagrant immorality, and a vague reference to the forbearance and mercy of God. The Scripture doctrine of pardon and justifi- cation has not once entered the mind ; the necessity of faith and repentance has never become a subject of serious thought or deep solicitude ; the real nature of personal piety, and the evidences by which it is made mani- fest, have never been brought to a scrutiny. And yet, amidst all this ignorance and negli- gence, they are quite easy ; the awfully im- portant interests of the precious immortal soul give them no concern. This settled indifference is as inconsistent with the dictates of reason as with the doc- trines of revelation. The same persons are intensely vigilant and active in their secula^ afT^iirs ; they can, with equal promptitude and prudence, seize a present advantage, and calculate upon a prospective good, in the course of business. If an estate to which they lay claim has anything doubtful in the title, they cannot rest till they have searched every repository for the document wanting to give it validity ; if their honour or integrity be likely to contract a stain, no efforts are spared to clear and vindicate their character. In these things they discover a concern which borders on anxiety ; ihey are alert to make the best possible use of every advantage and opportunity presented to them : and yet are they not absolutely assured that the pleasure they now enjoy, the property they now realize, the honour they now seek and obtain from men, will all be speedily swept away? How 2 20 NOBLE THOUGHTS IN NOBLE LANGUAGE. is it that the petty and precarious interests of time engross their entire attention, while the grand realities of eternity are overlooked and forgotten ? What but a blind infatuation can account for conduct so egregiously absurd? The emoluments and honours of the world are often not attainable, though sought with the utmost ardour and pertinacity, for a thousand eager competitors are in chase of the same objects ; whereas the prize of immortal felicity is always given to those who sincerely desire and strenuously seek it. He who sent His Son to redeem has promised His Divine Spirit to renew us, and the enjoyment of life and peace is therefore secured to all who pant for them, and persevere in the right use of ap- pointed means. But facts demonstrate that most men pursue uncertain riches in good earnest, while the treasures of the heavenly kingdom scarcely awaken their desires. No- thing can be adduced to justify or even excuse the stupidity here exposed ; for to those who acknowledge the truth of Christianity an ap- peal may be made to their own avowed creed. The great majority act against reason and con- science, and rarely yield to the highest claims and the best motives. Under the strokes of calamity and bereavement, or at the mere approach of dissolution, we sometimes have a concession as to this point, which, in other circumstances or at other seasons, would be thought not a little enthusiastic. Dr. Johnson, deeply affected by the death of his mother, lamented to a friend that all serious and reli- gious conversation was banished from the society of men, though great advantages might be derived from it. ** All acknowledge," said he, ** what hardly anybody practises — the obligation we are under of making the con- cerns of eternity the governing principles of our lives." Mr. Locke, in a letter which he left for his friend Collins, writes, "This pre- sent existence affords no solid satisfaction, but in the consciousness of doing well, and in the hope of another life." If, then, the in- terests of a future unending world are as much above all that men value and pursue here, as the treasures of an empire are above the toys and diversions of infancy, a cold indifference to them cannot but be criminal in the sight of God. It is practical infidelity, palpable dis- obedience to the divine commands ; it is a yspecies of idolatry — a strong, perverse, be- wildering delusion. We behold this strikingly evinced in numbers who are bowing beneath the burden of age. Notwithstanding all their efforts and acts to prop up the frail tabernacle, time makes ruins faster than they can repair them, and death will soon force the soul to leave its present habitation; and **yet they seek not a retreat for it in the sanctuary of life and immortality." Perhaps there are few indeed, at any period, so utterly insensible as not to have now and then a passing thought of religion, and promise themselves sufficient time to repent, and humble their souls before a heart-searching God. But is this hope grounded on any solid basis ? Has the great Arbiter of life and death given them His word and warrant to entertain such a thought? So far from it that none of the human race have a scrap or an atom of future time pledged and assured to them. The lan- guage of the Divine Word is, ** To-day if ye will hear His voice, harden not your heart. Beware, lest God take thee away with His stroke, then a great ransom cannot save thee. " To repose on a time which may never be given, or events beyond the knowledge or control of creatures, is a rash and ruinous kind of presumption. Let the man who new slumbers at his ease in Zion rise at the call of Heaven, and shake off the torpor and in- difference which oppress him ; let him seriously ponder the important concerns of eternity till his heart be affected ; and with profound re- flection let him join in unfeigned and oft- repeated prayer, crying, in the language of the ancient Jewish legislator, *' Lord, so teach us to number our days that we may apply our hearts unto wisdom." — Rusticits. EUCHARIST, The. The blessing here spoken of was the bless- ing of the letter, the temporal blessings of corn and wine . . . but to us Christians the "blessing" which the Lord leaves behind Him, when He comes to meet and receive a returning penitent, is Himself, in the most comfortable sacraments of His own precious body and blood. This sacred memorial of His passion the blessed Jesus left "behind Him," to be the standing pledge of His mercy, and the continual food of our souls, which no famine, but one of our own making, can cut us off. — Woga7t. Getiisemane can I forget ? Or there Thy conflict see, Thine agony and bloody sweat, And not remember Thee ? NOBLE THOUGHTS IN NOBLE LANGUAGE, 221 When to the cross I turn mine eyes, And rest on Calvary, O Lamb of God, my sacrifice ! I must remember Thee : Remember Thee and all Thy pains, And all Thy love to me ; Yes, while a breath or pulse remains Will I remember Tliae. And when these failing lips grow dumb. And mind and memory flee ; When Thou shalt in Thy kingdom come, Jesus ! remember me. y. Montgomeiy. EVENING, A Summer. The sun was just hovering over the verge of the western horizon, as I yesterday took my solitary walk, to inhale the refreshing breezes. Never did I witness a finer evening, or behold nature arrayed in a more lovely dress. At one extremity of the landscape, the eastern hills, whose summits and slopes were covered with towers and scattered villages, presented their bold outlines, brilliantly gilded by the farewell ])eams of the setting sun ; in another direction, the majestic Thames appeared like a sheet of polished silver, with its numerous vessels under sail. The neighbouring fields exhibited every variety of beauty and plentitude ; here rich pastures sprinkled with cattle, and there waving com ripe for the reaper's sickle. I entered a favourite wood, and found a delicious pleasure in its cool and retired walks. What a diversity of vegetable products, with every elegance of form and colour, attracted the eye ! what a concert of music, from the feathered choristers of the grove, soothed and delighted the ear ! Emerging from this umbrageous retreat, I ascended a rising ground, and beheld the western sky all in a glow, the clouds being tinged with gold, and garnished with stripes of the finest purple. As I stood on the eminence, and glanced my eye to the east, the moon appeared, not, as the poet expresseth it, "rising in clouded majesty," but shining with a pure and softened radiance in the crystal vault of heaven. At this moment, I could not forbear exclaiming — What a theatre of wonders is the v/orld we inhabit ! Who can mark, and not admire, its magnificent and suc- cessive scenes, together with the train of inci- dents, the order and connection of events, and the mysterious catastrophes and evolutions of the great drama which is performing on its stage? But nature is not only a theatre of wonders ; it is also a school of wisdom. Here we learn, or at any rate may learn, the most valuable and important lessons. The power, intelligence, benignity, and love of the adorable Creator, are conspicuously imprinted on all his works ; they are as visible in the least plant or insect as in the splendour of the celestial bodies. On every side, and in every object, we find the proofs of exquisite skill and con- trivance, and of an agency we dare not deny and yet can never fully comprehend. The in- visible attributes of the Great Maker are clearly seen, being understood by the things which are made, even his eternal power and Godhead ; so that atheists and idolators are left entirely without excuse. Nor are we im- pressed merely with those perfections of deity, which fill the mind with awe ; boundless benignity and love are as clearly manifest as infinite wisdom and power. The serious and unprejudiced student of nature reads the good- ness of God in the final causes of all he be- holds. By no tedious or doubtful process, he learns that the chief and prime design of the mighty Maker was to impart happiness to his creatures. And as the visible creation is a theatre of wonders, and a school of wisdom, it ought ever to be regarded as a temple of devotion. That Being, who called the earth and the orbs of the heaven into existence, and moulded matter into all its forms of beauty and sub- limity ; who gives laws and energies to angels and men in their various ranks ; has a supreme and unalienable claim upon our homage and obedience. The world in which we dwell is confessedly enriched, adorned, and sustained by his own hand ; why, then, should it not be consecrated to his service and glory? The re- ligious principle, fully expanded, and duly regulated in its operations, finds and honours God in all places and at all times. The Chris- tian, illumined by the Divine Word and the Divine Spirit, learns to realise the presence of the Eternal Jehovah, amidst the splendours of day and the silence of night ; and never is he so happy as when presenting the humble and sincere tribute of his gratitude to the greatest and best of Beings. Nor can the true believer forget that it is written, " He that ofTereth praise glorifieth me." — Edmeston. NOBLE THOUGHTS IN NOBLE LANGUAGE. EVENING, the Hour of Poesy. Fair hour of poesy's and of passion's dreams, Of sweetest breezes and of purest beams, Rich clouds, and twinkling stars, and balmy dews, — Come, loveliest theme, and be thyself thy muse ; Breathe o'er the lay which fondly tells thy praise, The splendour of thine own voluptuous rays, The colours of thy bright and varying skies. The music of thine airy melodies. For I have loved thee. Evening ; I have felt My soul beneath thy gentle influence melt. Which lends to every scene and every tone A mild and pensive softness all its own. The shadows lengthen'd by the sloping light, The gleam which lingers on the purple height : The gale that whispers through the cool arcade, Form'd by the dark-green chesnuts' massy shade ; The lake which burns one sheet of yellow fire. The knell resounding from the distant spire ; The echoes which the circling hills prolong. The raptures of the wild bird's piercing song : E'en the rich music of the mellow horn. Which swells so jocund on the breeze of mom ; The blithest sounds, the gayest forms receive A tinge of sadness from the spells of eve : The spirit of sweet melancholy floats O'er all her scenes, and thrills in all her notes. Breathes in the fragrant languor of her sigh. Weeps in her dews, and blushes in her sky. Macatday. EVENTS, Complicated. It may be said, that the course of events is so complicated and so tortuous, that conduct to harmonize with it must be tortuous also, and that, in the necessity that exists for nume- rous and skilful combinations, simplicity must altogether be cast aside as unsuited to the present state and necessities of the social con- dition. I have come to a wholly different conclusion. I deem it most important even on these very grounds, and for these (to me at least) always secondary objects, to preserve sincerity in the means, and simplicity in the end, however extensive may be the combina- tions by which that end is sought to be ob- tained. For if, in addition to the complica- tions of society and to the combinations ne- cessary to our individual success, we super- add suppressions and those moral falsehoods, which are worse and every way more injurious than direct lies, we render success far less probable, and even in its attainment less valu- able, from the recollection of the unworthy means by which it has been achieved. I well know the process by which men are led on to this fearful state of constant insincerity in matters of worldly interest, whether of fame, riches, or power, all of which might, and yet will, I hope, be estimated at their proper value (whilst they are permitted to have any value at all), as means, and not as ends. — Coleridge. EVIL, Appearance of. It is one not of the least evils, not to avoid the appearance of evil, which often makes the innocent justly punished with undeserved suspicion. I would desire to be thought good, but yet I had rather be so. It is no small happiness to be free from suspicion, but a greater to be void of offence. I would willingly be neither evil nor suspected ; but of the two I had rather be suspected and not deserve it, than deserve evil and not be suspected. — Arthur Wai-wick. EVIL, not Necessary. As surely as God is good, so surely there is no such thing as necessary evil. For by the re- ligious mind, sickness, and pain, and death, are not to be accounted evils. Moral evils are of your own making ; and undoubtedly the greater part of them may be prevented. Deformities of mind, as of body, will some- times occur. Some voluntary castaways there will always be, whom no fostering kindness and no parental care can preserve from self- destruction ; but if any are lost for want of care and culture, there is a sin of omission in the society to which they belong. — Southey. EVIL, the only Real Darkness. Moral evil is, in fact, the only real darkness. And whoever is cordially desirous to be freed from this darkness may fairly consider him- self as within the dawn of pure and cloudless day. In loving light rather than darkness, he is beginning to love Him who is light ; and all he need be anxious for is to advance more NOBLE THOUGHTS IN NOBLE LANGUAGE. 223 and more in this feeling : which he cannot fail to do, if he guards what he has already of it, and continually asks for more. St. James's wisdom is the same thing, expressed by another term. And his advice is direct and simple: *' If any man lack wisdom, let him ask it of God, the Father of lights, with whom is no variableness, neither shadow of turning." — Knox. EVILS, Solace for. To be ignorant of evils to come, and forgetful of evils past, is a merciful provision in nature, whereby we digest the mixture of our few and evil days ; and our delivered senses not re- lapsing into cutting remembrances, our sorrows are not kept raw by the edge of repetitions. — Sir T/iofjias Browne, EXCELLENCE, Comparative. What are all excellences without respect of their use ? How much good ground is there in the world, that is neither cultured nor owned ? What a world of precious metals lie hid in the bowels of the earth, which shall never be coined ! What a store of pearls and diamonds are hoarded up in the earth and sea, which shall never see the light ! What delicacies of fowls and fishes do both elements afford, which shall never come to the dish ! How many wits are there in the world, which lie willingly concealed? Whether out of modesty, or idleness, or lack of a wished oppor- tunity. Improvement gives a true value to all blessings : a penny in the purse is worth many pounds, yea talents, in an unknown name. That is our good which does us good. — Bishop Hail. EXCELLENCE not Limited by Station, There is not a more common error of self- deception than a habit of considering our sta- tions in life so ill-suited to our powers as to be unworthy of calling out a full and proper exercise of our virtues and talents. As society is constituted, there cannot be many employments which demand very bril- liant talents, or great delicacy of taste, for their proper discharge. The great bulk of society is composed of plain, plodding men, who move ** right onwards " to the sober duties of their calling. At the same time the universal good demands that those whom nature has greatly endowed should be called from the ordinary track to take up higher and more ennobling duties. England, happily for us, is full of bright examples of the greatest men raised from the meanest situations ; and the education which England is now beginning to bestow upon her children will multiply these examples. But a partial and incomplete diffu- sion of knowledge will also multiply the vic- tims of that evil principle which postpones the discharge of present and immediate duties, for the anticipations of some destiny above the labours of a handicraftsman or the calcula- tions of a shopkeeper. Years and experience, which afford us the opportunity of comparing our own powers with those of others, will, it is true, correct the inconsistent expectations which arise from a want of capacity to set the right value on ourselves. But the wisdom thus gained may come too late. The object of desire may be found decidedly unattainable, and existence is then wasted in a sluggish con- tempt of present duties ; the spirit is broken ; the temper is soured ; habits of misanthropy and personal neglect creep on ; and life even- tually becomes a tedious and miserable pilgrim- age of never-satisfied desires. Youth, however, is happily not without its guide, if it will take a warning from example. Of the highly-gifted men whose abandonment of their humble calling has been the apparent beginning of a distinguished career, we do not recollect an instance of one who did not pursue that humble calling with credit and suc- cess until the occasion presented itself for exhibiting those superior powers which nature occasionally bestows. Benjamin Franklin was as valuable to his master, as a printer's ap- prentice, as he was to his country as a states- man and a negotiator, or to the world as a philosopher. Had he not been so, indeed, it may be doubted whether he ever would have taken his rank among the first statesmen and philosophers of his time. One of the great secrets of advancing in life is to be ready to take advantage of those opportunities which, if a man really possesses superior abilities, are sure to present themselves some time or other. As the poet expresses it, "There is a tide in the affairs of men," — an ebbing and flowing of the unstable element on which they are borne, — and if this be only "taken at the flood," the "full sea" is gained on which "the voyage of their life " may be made with ease and the prospect of a happy issue. 224 ^'OBLE THOUGHTS IN NOBLE LANGUAGE. But M'e should remember, that for those who are not ready to embark at the moment when their tide is at its flood, that tide may never serve again ; and nothing is more likely to be a hindrance at such a moment than the distress which is certain to follow a neglect of our ordinary business. — Theodore. EXERCISE, its Necessity. Let all lay these things to heart who are desirous of maintaining health and its several accompaniments ; and it behoves especially those in whom the heyday of youth is about to be changed for the more indolent feelings of manhood, to be aware lest they too readily fall into the habit (for habit is everything) of think- ing that occasional excitations may compensate for general inaction. What is the fate of many men whose conduct is guided by those princi- ples? Let two men at the ages of thirty-five separate, and again meet after the lapse of ten years ; they will for the most part be mutually ashamed of their forty- five metamorphosis ; their unseemly paunches and altered gait, and dyspep- tic indications, will proclaim that the lapsed time has not been well employed— that each day had not brought with it a due quantum of walking or riding (and of the two, the former is by very far the best), but that they have con- sidered, or acted, or rather ceased to act, as if they considered that sedateness necessarily im- plied sedentariness ; and that motion was well enough for them while they were boys, but unfitting for the period of manhood. I would wish, then, especially to enforce these con- siderations upon such persons as are advancing in life ; let them receive every indication of an indolent tendency with especial fear and alarm lest the fiend, when once admitted, may be difficult to dislodge. Let them recollect that the benefit of daily exercise will not only be accompanied by daily health, but that now is the time for preventing the intrusion of those maladies which abridge life, or cut off from it all that constitutes the value of life. Wives and families are to be thought of, and those habits sedulously shunned which bring with them discomfort to ourselves and distress to all around us. Experto crede Roberto. I can speak of these things with the feelings and force of experience. It is but lately that I have come to the determination of resting my horses' legs at the expense of my own, of pass- ing no day, wet or fine, without devoting a considerable portion of it to the daily labour, shall I say? — no, daily delight, of walking ; and I carelessly encounter the questioning gossip of observers, *' Pray, has Dr. Unwins laid down his carriage ? " Even this, indeed, I should be tempted to do, did time and practice permit ; for sure I feel that many a stomach is made dyspeptic, many a temper is injured, and many an old age rendered miser- able, by the employment of two horses and four wheels instead of the two legs which are ahvavs at command. — Dr. Unwins. EXPRESSION, True. But true expression, like th' unchanging sun, Clears and improves whate'er it shines upon ; It gilds all objects, but it alters none. Pope. EXERCISE, Remedial. There is a story in the Arabian Nights' tales of a king who had long languished under an ill habit of body, and had taken abundance of remedies to no purpose. At length, says the fable, a physician cured him by the following method. He took a hollow ball of wood, and filled it with several drugs ; after which he closed it up so artificially that nothing ap- peared. He likewise took a mall, and after having hollowed the handle, and that part which strikes the ball, he enclosed in them several drugs after the same manner as in the ball itself. He then ordered the sultan, who was his patient, to exercise himself early in the morning with these rightly-prepared instruments till such time as he should perspire ; when the virtue of the medicaments perspiring through the wood, had so good an influence on the sultan's constitution that they cured him of an indisposition which all the compositions he had taken inwardly had not been able to remove. This Eastern allegory is finely contrived to show us how beneficial bodily labour is to health, and that exercise is the most effectual medicine. Absolutely necessary, however, as exercise is, there is another great preservative of health, which in many cases produces the same effects as exercise, and may, in some measure, supply its place, where opportunities of exercise are wanting. This preservative is temperance, which has those particular advan- tages above all other means of health, that it may be practised by all ranks and conditions, NOBLE THOUGHTS IN NOBLE LANGUAGE. 225 at any season, or in any place. It is a kind of regimen into which every man may put him- self, without interruption to business, expense of money, or loss of time. If exercise throws off all superfluities, temperance prevents them; if exercise clears the vessels, temperance nei- ther satiates nor overstrains them ; if exercise raises proper ferments in the humours, and promotes the circulation of the blood, temper- ance gives nature her full play, and enables her to exert herself in all her force and vigour j if exercise dissipates a growing distemper, tem- perance starves it. — Addison. EXISTENCE, Our Hereafter Deeply Impressed on lis. There is in the consciousness of every man a deep impression of continued existence. The casuist may reason against it till he bewilder himself in his own sophistries ; but a voice within gives the lie to his vain speculations, and pleads with authority for a life which is to come. The sincere and humble inquirer che- rishes the impression, while he seeks for fur- ther light on a subject so momentous ; and he thus receives, with absolute conviction, the truth which beams upon him from the revela- tion of God, — that the mysterious part of his being, which thinks, and wills, and reasons, shall indeed survive the wreck of its mortal tenement, and is destined for immortality. — Abercrombie. EYES, Blue. Blue eyes are full of danger — Beware their tender glow ! They'll leave thy heart a stranger To peaceful hours below ! I warn you, men, give earnest heed ! Let not bright eyes your sight mislead ; And when blue eyes your glances win. Look not too deep — too deep therein ! Blue eyes with soul are beaming, They'll look thee through and through ; With light of love they're streaming, So mild, and warm, and true. And when my heart is sore distress'd, And sorrow fills my lonely breast. Let, then, blue eyes my sorrow win, — What joy, what bliss I see therein ! Blue eyes from heaven are lighted With holy, soul-bom glow. To cheer poor man benighted, And charm him out of woe. And when cold wintry clouds arise, And shroud in gray the sunny skies. Then let blue eyes my glances win, — I find my sky — my day therein ! C, T. Brooks. EYE, The. The ancient Greeks called the world beauty. Such is the constitution of all things, or such the plastic power of the human eye, that the primary forms, as the sky, the mountain, the tree, the animal, give us a delight in and for themselves ; a pleasure arising from outline, colour, motion, and grouping. This seems partly owing to the eye itself. The eye is the best of artists. By the mutual action of its structure, and of the laws of light, perspective is produced, which integrates every mass of objects, of what character soever, into a well- coloured and shaded globe, so that where the particular objects are mean and imaffecting, the landscape which they compose is round and symmetrical. And as the eye is the best composer, so light is the first of painters. There is no object so foul that intense light will not make beautiful ; and the stimulus it affords to the sense of any sort of infinitude which it hath, like space and time, make all matter gay. — R. W. Emerson. FACETIOUSNESS, not Unreasonable that Gendereth no Harm. Such facetiousness is not unreasonable or un- lawful, which ministereth harmless divertise- ment and delight to conversation ; harmless, I say, that is, not intrenching upon piety, nor infringing charity or justice, nor disturbing peace. For Christianity is not so tetrical, so harsh, so envious, as to bar us continually from innocent, much less from wholesome and useful pleasure, such as human life doth need or require. And if jocular discourse may serve to good purposes of this kind ; if it may be apt to raise our drooping spirits, to allay our irksome cares, to whet our blunted in- dustry, to recreate our minds, being tired and cloyed with graver occupations ; if it may breed alacrity, or maintain good humour Q 226 NOBLE THOUGHTS IN NOBLE LANGUAGE. among us ; if it may conduce to sweeten con- versation and endear society, then it is not in- convenient or unprofitable. If for these ends we may use other recreations, employing on them our ears and eyes, our hands and feet, our other instruments of sense and motion, why may we not so well accommodate our organs of speech and interior sense? "Why should those games which excite our wit and fancies be less reasonable, since they are per- formed in a manly way, and have in them a smack of reason ; seeing, also, they may be so managed as not only to divert and please, but to improve and profit the mind, rousing and quickening it, yea, sometimes enlightening and instructing it, by good sense, conveyed in jocular expression. — Barrow. FACTS, Sublimity of. In the education of facts, the great object is to make children observe and reflect ; without this, previous acquisitions are but matters of rote, well enough as a means, but worthless as an end. They may be brought into frequent contact with instructive prints, interesting plants, minerals, animals, and the ordinary productions of human industry. The attention must not be distracted, or the memory fatigued, by too much variety ; the great thing is to create a lively interest, and by judicious repe- tition and interrogation to secure the retention of what has been learned. It is obviously better to bring things directly under the opera- tion of the senses ; description merely is a sub- sidiary process. The world around is full of wonders ; every situation is replete with objects of interest. The metals with which our dwellings abound ; their origin in the bowels of the earth ; and their conversion by human skill into articles of ornament and utility ; the transparent stone in the windows, the wood, and the materials from remote quarters of the globe ; the varied stuffs, the stained paper, and the pitchy coal, that gives out light and heat, constitute a fund of copious instruction. Why not make the child acquainted with the names, I uses, and structure of everything that he sees ; how contributions have been levied on all the kingdoms of nature, and how the Deity, through his infinite wisdom, goodness, and power, has furnished so many appliances for the promotion of human comfort and human happiness ^ — M^Cormac, FAIRY Superstitions. The most beautiful and interesting relic of that popular creed of superstition which character- ,^ ized the "olden time" was the belief in fairies, % and in no part of the world was this belief more t fondly cherished than on the western borders of Scotland. The idea of a diminutive though elegant race of beings, endowed with super- natural gifts, is, , perhaps, common to most nations ; but none have arrayed them in so thoroughly an animated and joyous spirit as the dwellers in that land of romance and chi- valrie. It is here that we contemplate them as links in a golden chain connecting the mortal with a fancied immortal nature, and ponder over the tiny features and amusements of these visionary forms — the shadowy inhabitants of Fairy-land. Deprived of the cruel and malignant ferocity which characterize the Dtcergar, the Froddens- kemen, or the Dives, of boreal and oriental superstition, the border fairies were always dancing and making merry. No bloody or unhallowed rite ever seems to have marked their revels, and garrulous old age still loves to dwell upon the friendly deeds and intercourse of their "gude neighbours," the elves and fairies. Arrayed in green, they assembled under the beams of the midnight moon, on the side of some fine sloping lawn, on the banks of a solitary rivulet, or in the enchanting seclu- sions of a woody girdled dell, there to mystic strains they bounded in their dance, or passed the moments in sportive merriment and in song. This custom is finely alluded to by Scotia's bard, in his inimitable poem of ** Hallowe'en :" Upon that night when fairies light On Cassels downan's dance. Or o'er the leys in splendid blaze. On jingling coursers prance. Their little coursers are represented as being decked out in gorgeous trappings, — fine silver bells suspended from each band of the plaited mane, which ring with every breath of wind, making the most enchanting harmony, as they rode in procession to their nocturnal haunts. They were always of exquisite proportions and beautiful in the extreme. Their ringlets of yellow hair floated over their shoulders, and were bound over their brows with combs of the purest gold. Their dress consisted chiefly of a mantle of green silk, inlaid with eider down, and bound round the waist with a garland of wild flowers. Green trews, buttoned with blobs "o'gems," and silver sandals, formed the under parts of their dress ; over their shoul- NOBLE THOUGHTS IN NOBLE LANGUAGE. 227 dei-s hung quivers of the adder-skin, stored with arrows tipped in flame. A golden bow shing negligently over the left arm, and little scimitars of the same metal glittered at their sides. The dress and appearance of these tiny revellers is finely portrayed in the following beautiful stanzas : — Tiny their stature, tiny each feature, Yet are they graceful and fair ; Their eyes sparkle bright as diamonds at night. And a strange lustre darts through the air. Little bells of heath form the simple wreath That round their shoulders twines. And a thread of light in the girdle bright That their flowing robe confines. All sparkled with dew, that robe of green hue. It was wove in the gossamer's loom ; Their purple wings shine of net-work as fine. In the moonbeam distilling perfume. With gold hair is slung, with gold hair is hung O'er their left arms a golden bow ; And an arrow tipt with green of a dazzling sheen. In a gold quiver hangs below. W. L-ving. FAIRY-TEIBE, their Vagaries. In a fine old song, attributed by Peck to Ben Jonson, although not to be found among that author's collected works, we have a tolerably succinct account, and, at all events, a very amusing one, of the credited capacities of the fairy-tribe. We quote a few of the verses. Robin Goodfellow sings : — More swift than lightning can I fly About this aery welkin soone, And in a minute's space descry Each thing that's done below the moone ; There's not a hag Or ghost shall wag, Or cry, — " Ware goblin ! " where I go ; But Robin I Their feates will spye, And send them home with Ho ! ho ! ho ! Whene'er such wanderers I meete, As from their night sportes they trudge home ; With counterfeiting voice I greete, And call them on with me to roame. Through woodes, through lakes, Through bogges, through brakes ; Or else unseene with them I go, All in the nicke To play some tricke, And frolicke it with Ho ! ho ! ho ! Sometimes I meet them like a man ; Sometimes an ox, sometimes a hound ; And to a horse I tume me can, To trip and trot about them round : But if to ride, My back to stride. More swift than winde away I go, O'er hedge and lands, Through pools and ponds, I whirry, laughing Ho ! ho ! ho ! When lads and lasses merry be. With possets and rich juncates fine, Unseene of all the companie, I eat their cakes and sip their wine. And to make sport I puff and snort, And out the candle I do blow ; The maids I kiss. They shriek — Who's this ? I answer nought but Ho ! ho ! ho ! Yet now and then the maids to please. At midnight I card up their wool ; And while they sleepe and take their ease. With wheel to threads their flax I pulL I grind at mill, Their malt up still, I dress their hemp and spin their tow ; If any walke And would me talke, I wend me, laughing Ho 1 ho } ho ! When men do traps and engines set In loopholes, where the vermines creepe Who from their fields and houses get Their ducks, and geese, and lambs, and sheepe : I spye the gin And enter in. And seeme a vermin taken so ; But when they theare Approach me neare, I leape out, laughing Ho ! ho ! ho ! FAITH and Works. To our own safety, our own sedulity is required. And then blessed be for ever that mother's child whose faith hath made him a child of God. The earth may shake, the pillars of the world may tremble under us ; the countenance of the heaven would be appalled, the sun may lose his light, the moon her beauty, the stars their glory ; but concerning the man that trusteth in God, if the fire have proclaimed itself unable so much as to singe a hair of his head ; if lions, beasts ravenous by nature and keen with hunger, being set to devour, have, as it were, religiously adored the very flesh of the faithful man, what is there in the world 228 NOBLE THOUGHTS IN NOBLE LANGUAGE. that shall change his heart, overthrow his faith, alter his affection towards God, or the affection of God to him? If I be of this note, who shall make a separation between me and my Qo^-i— Hooker. FAITH, Believeth all Things in God. The very sure and lively Christian faith is not only to believe all things of God which are contained in Holy Scripture, but also is an earnest trust and confidence in God, that he doth regard us, and hath care of us, as the father of the child whom he doth love, and that he will be merciful unto us for his only Son's sake, and that we have our Saviour Christ our perpetual advocate and priest, in whose only merits, oblation, and suffering, we do trust that our offences be continually washed and purged, whensoever we, repenting truly, do return to him with our whole heart, stead- fastly determining with ourselves, through his grace, to obey and serve him, in keeping his commandments, and never to turn back again to sin. — Cranmer. FAITH in God most Comforting. O YE, whom, struggling on life's craggy road, With obstacles and dangers, secret foes Supplant, false friends betray, disastrous rage. Of elements, of war, of civil broil Brings down to Poverty's cold floor, while grief Preys on the heart, and dims the sinking eye ; Faint not ! There is, who rules the storm, whose hand Feeds the young ravens, nor permits blind chance To close one sparrow's flagging wing in death. Trust in the Rock of Ages. Now, even now He speaks, and all is calm. Or if, to prove Your inmost soul, the hurricane still spread Its licensed ravages. He whispers hope. Earnest of comfort ; and through blackest night Bids keen-eyed Faith on Heaven's pure sun- shine gaze, And learn the glories of her future home. Gisborne. i FAITH is not Inactive. Faith is not the lazy notion that a man may with careless confidence throw his burden upon the Saviour and trouble himself no further, a pillow upon which he lulls his conscience to sleep, till he drops into perdition ; but a living and vigorous principle, working by love, and inseparably connected with true repentance as its motive and with holy obedience as its fruits ; by which the Christian surely appropriates all the blessings of the Gospel : contends manfully against all his enemies, the world, and the flesh, and the devil ; and rejoices in hope of heaven till his warfare at length is ended, and he receives an inheritance of rest and a crown of glory. — E. Osier. FAITH, its Life and Action from God. God must first give us perseverance, before we can promise it ; it is not in our power, though it be our duty. He only that hath given faith unto us can give life and action to our faith. Christ is both the object and quickener of our faith, by whose power it worketh, and on whose merits it relieth. Whenever, Lord, I have an arm of confidence to lift up in defence of thy truth, let me have a knee of humility to bow down before thy throne. — Bishop Reynolds. FAITH, its Riches. Give what Thou wilt, without Thee we are poor; And with Thee rich, take what Thou wilt away. Cowper. FAITHFUL, in Faith. Good love, however ill-placed, Is better for a man's soul in the end Than if he loved ill, what deserves love well. A Pagan kissing, for a step of Pan, The wild goat's footprint on the loamy down, Exceeds our modern thinker, who turns back The strata — granite, limestone, coal and clay, Concluding cold with, Here's law ! where's God? E. B. Browning. FALSE Love. Who that feels what love is here, All its falsehoods, — all its pain, Would, for e'en Elysium's sphere, Rise the fatal dream again ? Who, that 'midst a desert's heat Sees the waters fade away. Would not rather die than meet Streams again as false as they ? Moore. NOBLE THOUGHTS IN NOBLE LANGUAGE. 229 FAME, not Equivalent to Love. They tell us of an Indian tree, Which, howsoe'er the sun and sky May tempt its boughs to wander free, And shoot and blossom, wide and high, Far better loves to bend its arms Downward again to that dear earth, From which the life, that fills and warms Its grateful being, first had birth. 'Tis thus, though wooed by flatt'ring friends, And fed with fame (if fame it be), This heart, my own dear mother, bends, With love's true instinct, back to thee ! T. Moore. FAME, Tinted by Time. For Time shall with his ready pencil stand. Retouch her figure with his gifted hand : Mellow soft colours, and embrown the tint : And every grace which, time alone can grant : To future ages shall her fame convey. And give more beauty than he takes away. Brydeit. FAMILIARITY Engendereth not Love. Yea, tho' at thought of Norway we might sigh, Small was the pain which that sweet memory Brought with its images seen fresh and clear, And many an old familiar thing grown dear. We loved but little while we lived with it. Wjn. Morris. FAMILIES, their Spring and Summer. The most lasting families have only their seasons, more or less, of a certain constitutional strength. They have their spring and summer sunshine glare, their wane, decline, and death ; they flourish and shine, perhaps, for ages ; at last they sicken : their light grows pale, and, at a crisis when the offsets are withered, and the old stock is blasted, the old tribe disap- pears. There are limits ordained to everything under the sun. Man will not abide in honour. Of all human vanities, family pride is one of the weakest. Reader, go thy way ; secure thy name in the book of life, where the page fades not, nor the title alters nor expires — leave the rest to heralds and the parish re- gister, — Borlase. FANATICISM, Its Evil and Moral Consequences. I AM quite sure that it is a most solemn duty to cultivate our understandings to the utter- most, for I have seen the evil moral conse- quences of fanaticism, to a greater degree than I ever expected to see them realised ; and I am satisfied that a neglected intellect is far oftener the cause of mischief to man than a perverted or over-valued one. Men retain their natural quickness or cleverness, while their reason and judgment are allowed to go to ruin, and thus do they work their minds and gain influence, and are pleased at gaining it ; but it is the undisciplined mind which they are exercising, instead of one wisely disciplined. — Dr. Arnold. FANCIES, Sad, Dispelled by Grace. The misty clouds that fall sometime. And overcast the skies. Are like to troubles of our time. Which do but dim our eyes. But as such dews are dried up quite. When Phoebus shows his face, So are sad fancies put to flight, When God doth guide by grace. G. Gascoi^ne. FANCY, Imagination's Empire. Innumerable are the diseases that arise from our busy fancy. We are all subject to the tyrannic sway of imagination's empire. Under this mighty influence man displays energies which lead him boldly to dare danger and complicated sufferings, or he is reduced to the most degraded state of miserable despondency. These diseases are the more fearful since they rarely yield to physical aid, and it is seldom that moral influence is sufficiently persuasive to combat their inveteracy. It is idle to tell the timid hypochondriac that he is not ill. The mere circumstance of his believing himself sick constitutes a serious disorder. His con- stant apprehensions derange his functions, until an organic affection arises. The patient who fancies that he labours under an affection of the heart disturbs the circulation, which is ever influenced by our moral emotions, till at last this disturbance occasions the very malady which he dreaded. These aberrations of the mind arise from various causes — mental emo- tions, constitution, climate, diet, hereditary 530 NOBLE THOUGHTS IN NOBLE LANGUAGE. disposition, education. Tertullian called philosophy and medicine twin sisters : both may become powerful agents in controlling our imagination. — Millingen, FANCY, Ludicrous and Wild. Me oft has Fancy, ludicrous and wild. Soothed with a waking dream of houses, towers, Trees, churches, and strange visages expressed In the red cinders, while with poring eye I gazed, myself creating what I saw. Nor less amused have I quiescent watched The sooty films that play upon the bars, Pendulous, and foreboding in the view Of superstition, prophesying still, Though still deceived, some stranger's near approach. 'Tis thus the understanding takes repose In indolent vacuity of thought. And sleeps, and is refreshed. Meanwhile the face Conceals the mood lethargic with a mask Of deep deliberation, as the man Were tasked to his full strength, absorbed and lost. Thus oft, reclined at ease, I lose an hour At evening, till at length the freezing blast. That sweeps the bolted shutters, summons home The re-collected powers ; and snapping short The glassy threads, with which the fancy weaves Her brittle toils, restore me to myself. Cozvper. FAREWELL, its Bitterness. Farewell my own, my lonely one : and now How lonely wilt thou be ! One long, last kiss On those pale lips that breathe not now the fragrance Of violets sweeter than the couch we slept on ! Those eyes are fixed in their dim lifeless blue, They see me not — they never shall again ! Yet, yet once more, the last I shall ever take — And now the bitterness of death is past ! Byron. I / FATE, in the Hands of God. ^Submit thy fate to Heaven's indulgent care, Though all seems lost, 'tis impious to despair The tracks of Providence like rivers wind, And though immerged in earth from human eyes, Again break forth, and more conspicuous rise. Man makes a death which nature never made ; Then on the point of his own fancy falls, And feels a thousand deaths in fearing one. Youno'. FATE, of the Ungodly. Hear the just law, the judgment of the skies ! He that hates truth shall be the dupe of lies ; And he that will be cheated to the last. Delusions strong as hell shall bind him fast. But if the wanderer his mistake discern, Judge his own ways, and sigh for a return, — Bewildered once, — must he bewail his loss For ever and ibr ever ? No ! 'J'he Cross ! There no delusive hope invites despair ; No mockery meets you, — no deception there. Cowper, FATHERS, The. It is one of the many evidences of the genu- ineness of the New Testament Scripture that writers who immediately followed in the Chris- tian succession were immeasurably below the apostles in sentiment, spirit, and manner. — Eclectic Review. FEAR, Effects of, on Health. An influence adverse to life is that mental feebleness which renders persons perpetually solicitous about their health, effeminate and unhappy. Fixing their thoughts intensely on the functions of life, they imagine them- selves sick, and soon become so ; whereas un- doubting confidence would have been their prophylactic for preserving health. In moral epidemics, the physicians who are alarmed at their danger are ordinarily the first victims. Fear plunges the system into that state of de- bility which predisposes it to fatal impressions, while the moral force of confidence, communi- cating its aid to physical energy, enables it to repel contagion. I could cite many distin- guished names of men, who attributed their cure in desperate maladies to the courage that never forsook them, and to the efforts which they made to sustain their moral fortitude. One of them pleasantly said, **I should have died like the rest had I wished it." I have no need to say that an energetic will to recover from sickness has no point of analogy with that fearful solicitude which the greater part of the sick experience. The latter, produced by NOBLE THOUGHTS IN NOBLE LANGUAGE. 231 mental feebleness, increases the inquietude and aggravates the danger. Even indifference would be preferable. If education had imparted to us the advantages of an energetic vsrill and real force of mind, if from infancy w^e had been convinced of the efficacy in this moral power, we have no means to determine that it would not have been, in union with the desire of life, an element in the means of healing our mala- dies. Even if agitation and fear had not its fatal effects in rendering us more accessible to mala- dies, wisdom would strive to banish them, because these depressing feelings, by antici- pating agony, double our sufferings. If there could exist a rational ground for continual inquietude, it would be found in a frail consti- tution ; but how many of the feeblest health survive those of the most vigorous and robust frames? Calculations upon the duration of life are so uncertain that we can always make them in our favour. It may seem a paradox to say that all men are nearly of the same age in reference to their chances of another day ; but men are as confident of seeing to-morrow and the succeeding day at eighty as at sixteen. Such is the beautiful veil with which nature conceals from us the darkness of the future. — D. FEAR of Death. The man who affects to regard death without fear must not expect to be believed. He may not anticipate it with horror ; he may have learned by secret and silent preparation of the heart, and by accustoming himself to see God infinitely just and merciful, how to meet it cheerfully ; he may be perfectly resigned to it when he sees its approaching shadow ; but still he dreads, and were the spirit not withdrawn by Him who gave it, would never part with it of himself. When death is actually about to happen, the fear of it is in great measure lost. At all events, it is not common, as is well known to those whose professions lead them to the pillows of the dying. This, again, is a vast mercy and providence of God, both to the individual and to the bystanders-. Given to us when it is proper we should live, it is merci- fully taken away when we are going to depart. When we fear death most — supposing, that is, that there is no sufficient physical reason for the fear — we are probably entering on our highest usefulness to the world. When fear does manifest itself at the period of approaching death, it is rather as the result of some diseased or enfeebled state of mind, usually induced by spurious religious teaching, or of vivid presen- timents of what a wicked life is about to lead to, than as a part of the animal instinct which previously had ruled. Ordinarily, Death, at the last hour, like Satan, appears only to those who have reason to be afraid of him, and rarely even to these. Nothing is more deceptive than the manner in which a person dies, though often so much regarded. The most wicked die "in peace" as often as the righteous, though it is the peace of torpor in the one case, of piety in the other. The inmost ground of men's fear of death is consciousness of sever- ance from God, through disobedience to His law. Brutes fear to die simply because of their instinct to preserve life, or from the purely ani- mal feeling. Men fear to die from a twofold ground ; superficially, from the same instinct as that of the brutes ; interiorly, from con- sciousness of severance from their Maker. God desires that all men should be united to him, and to this end has given them adequate spiritual faculties, wherein they shall exercise the life which conducts to heaven. In propor- tion as they do this, and thereby attain con- sciousness of union with Him, the idea of death departs from them, because they are living with the Fountain of Life ; the less that they feel united, the more do they think of death and fear to die. While, accordingly, the righteous man views his physical death with no alarm, the unrighteous carries his fear with him even into the future state. Fear of death is not so much according to the place a person is in, as according to the condition of his heart. It is its own dissolution of which the soul in its secret chambers is afraid ; and the sense of dis- location from God which gives the real agony to the expectation of death here will constitute a similar, but infinitely severer torment here- after ; as in heaven the greatest blessing will be the consciousness of coherence with God, or life. To fancy, as many do, that death is not only terrible and affrighting, but physically painful, is quite a mistake : being to look for sensibility in the loss of sensibility. Death is a sleep rather than a sensation — a suspension of our faculties rather than a conflict with them ; instead of a time of suffering, a time of deepening consciousness. Dr. Baillie tells us that his observation of death-beds in- clines him to the firm belief that nature intended we should go out of the world as unconsciously as we came into it. " The moment, " says Mrs. 532 NOBLE THOUGHTS IN NOBLE LANGUAGE. Jameson, "in which the spirit meets death is probably like that in which it is embraced by sleep." To be conscious of the immediate transition from the waking to the sleeping state, never, I suppose, happened to any one. — Leo II, Grindon. FEAB, Fast. As some fair tulip by a storm opprest, Shrinks up and folds its silken arms to rest, And bending to the blast, all pale and dead. Hears from within the wind sing round its head, So shrouded up your beauty disappears. Unveil, my love, and lay aside your fears : The storm that caused your fright is past and done. Dryden, FEELINGS, Should be UtiUzed. To feel is amiable ; but to feel too keenly is injurious both to mind and body ; and a habit of giving way to sensibility, which we should endeavour to regulate, though not to eradicate, may end in a morbid weakness of mind, which may appear, to romantic persons, very gentle and very interesting ; but will undoubtedly render the victims of it very useless in society. Our feelings were given us to excite to action, and when they end in themselves they are impressed to no good purpose that I know of. This is the chief reason why novels are so dan- gerous to young persons. My dear daughter will be persuaded that I say this from motives of the tenderest affection to her, and because I would have her not stifle the good and amiable emotions of her heart, but direct them rightly. I would not have my child become one of those of whom it may be said that they feel, and only feel. It is the most absurd and useless of all characters. — Bishop Sandford, FILIAL Piety., The following passage, from a discourse by Dr. Ogden, must be familiar to many of our readers, but it is one which imparts fresh plea- sure on repetition, and by the young it cannot be read too often for their own sakes. The sermon in question is a memorable one, from the anecdote connected with it, and which we will now relate. It is said that when Dr. Ogden had returned home, after pronouncing this discourse, he was followed by a young student of the University who had been one of his auditors, and who, having gained admittance to his presence, cast himself on his knees before him, confessing the recklessness of his course of life, his deep in- gratitude towards his excellent parents, and his horror at the retrospect of his own misdeeds, which must have occasioned so much misery to his family ; at the same time expressing his. thankfulness for that awakening lectui-e, which had raised a spirit of contrition within his soul which would never let him rest till he had done his utmost to repair the evils of his past con- duct and effect a reconciliation with his hea- venly as well as with his earthly Father. " Stop, young man, we beg, a little, to look towards thy poor parents ; think it not too much to bestow a moment's reflection on those who never forget thee ; recollect what they have done for thee ; remember all — all, indeed, thou canst not. Alas ! ill had been thy lot, had not their care of thee begun before thou couldst remember or know anything. "Now so proud, self-willed, inexorable, thou couldst then only ask by wailing, and move them with thy tears and they were moved. Their hearts were touched with thy distress ;. they relieved and watched thy wants, before thou knewest thine own necessities or their kindness. They clothed thee ; thou knewest not that thou wast naked ; thou askedst not for bread, but they fed thee ; and ever since, in . short (for the particulars are too many to be- recounted, and too many surely to be all ut- terly forgotten,) it has been the very principal endeavour, employment, and study of their lives to do service to thee. "And remember (for this, too, is of moment) it is all out of pure unfeigned affection. Other friends mostly expect their civilities to be repaid, and their kind ofhces returned with, interest ; but parents have no thoughts like these ; they * seek not thine, but thee. ' Their regard is real and hearty, and undesigning ;. they have no reflex views on themselves, no- oblique glances towards their own interest. If by all their endeavours they can obtain their child's welfare they arrive at the full accom- plishment of their wishes ; they have no higher object of their ambition ; — be thou but happy, and they are so. "And now, tell me, is not something to be done : I do not now say for thyself but for them ? If it be too much to desire of thee tO' be good, and wise and virtuous, and happy, for thy own sake, yet be happy for theirs. Think. NOBLE THOUGHTS IN NOBLE LANGUAGE. 233 that a sober, upright, and, let me add, a reli- gious life, besides the blessings it will bring on thy own head, will be a fountain of unfailing comfort to thy declining parents, and make the heart of the aged sing for joy. " What shall we say? Which of these is the happier : the son that maketh a glad father, or the father blessed with such a son ? ' ' Fortunate young man ! who hast a heart open so early to virtuous delights, and canst find thy own happiness in returning thy father's blessing on his own head. And happy father ! whose years have been prolonged, not, as it often happens, to see his comforts fall from him one after another, and to become at once old and destitute, but to taste a new pleasure, not to be found among the pleasures of youth, reserved for his age ; to reap the harvest of all his cares and labour in the duty, affection, and felicity of his dear child. His very look bespeaks the inward satisfaction of his heart. The infirmi- ties of age sit light upon him ; he feels not the troubles of life ; he smiles at the approach of death ; sees himself still living and honoured in the memory and person of his son, his other dearer self, and passes down to the receptacle of all the living in the fulness of content and joy.— ^. AI. FINERY. Seek the good of other men, but be not In bondage to their faces or fancies : for that is but facility or softness, which taketh an honest mind prisoner. Neither give thou iEsop's cock a gem, who would be better pleased and happier if he had a barleycorn. — Lord Bacon. The age in which we live presents before us many things differing from the past. There pre- vails amongst us, at the present time, a pre- ference of glare to solidity. There seems to be more gilding and less of the precious metal — a too general resemblance to the houses which are building in all directions. Formerly our abodes used to wear a substantial but unostentatious appearance, but are now too often made to hide the fragility of their structure, and the defectiveness of their materials, by paint, and mortar, and stucco. There is ordinarily in the human mind an inherent attachment to what is dazzling, which is discovered as soon as the babe puts forth its powers of observa- tion. "Where is the father or the friend, who, as the little creature has been seated on his own knee, or on that of its mother, has not dangled his seals upon his fingers, or let the bright inner case of his watch light up the sparkling eyes and dimple the rosy cheeks of the in- fantile observer ? Who has not remarked the same feeling in the anxiety of his daughter to array her doll in all the hues of the rainbow, or in the labour of his son to picture and tassel his kite ?, We do not love simplicity naturally. The possession of this affection, and it is an attain- ment, is made only when the mind is well dis- ciplined and well stored. The circumstances in which the existing generation has been placed have not been improved to this end ; advantageous as they are in many respects, they have been too often perverted or neg- lected, and to this in part may be ascribed its love of finery in dress, in speech, and in every kind of pretension. At no period, perhaps, was there so arrogant an assumption of super- ficial importance as we are sometimes obliged to witness now. The ass may be seen every day in the lion'^ skin. If he can conceal his ears, his voice betrays him. A man who has his clothes furnished from the depository which supplies the baronet or the earl imagines, be- cause his hat and boots and coat are like theirs, and he wears more rings on his fingers, that a little strut and noise will effect a greater meta- morphosis than any of Ovid's, and make him a gentleman. As you look at him you are in- clined to say, as Merry did one night of Kemble, *' I'd go barefoot to Holyhead antl back, only to see a fellow one half as clever as he thinks himself." And there are some men, whose power I have envied, who with imper- turbable gravity can take off the borrowed guise, and leave the individual, like a bird stripped of its feathers, shivering beneath its loss, to fly for shelter. Heartily did I enjoy, a few weeks ago, an incident of this kind. As I was waiting for a post-chaise at an inn at Liverpool, one of this species, with all the airs and graces he supposed appropriate, was descanting on the badness of the times. ''No- thing succeeds now," said he; "everything goes wrong ; I have failed in many large spe- culations of late, and, would you believe it, I have just lost 10,000/. in the stocks ! " A venerable man, whose broad- brimmed hat was the badge of his connection with a sect well known for benevolence, and poetry, and wit, just raised his sharp gray eyes on the declaimer, and asked '* Dost thou not think thou had'st thy pocket picked, when thou wast sitting in them ? " Reader ! You have been seated, perhaps, by a friend's fire, and the house dog has entered the room unobserved, but just as 234 NOBLE THOUGHTS IN NOBLE LANGUAGE. he was turning himself round for the third time (the only thing in nature which Sir Walter Scott does not understand ; and about to enjoy otium ctim dignitate, he has heard the voice of your host ; and at once you have seen him cowl, and his ears become more pendent, and his tall make an obtuse angle, like the mast of a vessel passing a country bridge, and, with a tremulous step, retreat. If so, the cir- cumstance would have been liirought fully to your remembrance, as his boasting and, it may be, less sagacious prototype left the room on hearing the Quaker's silver voice, which re- sembled in effect the touch of Ithuriel's spear. No one pretending to common sense would insinuate that the times are not distressing. But little knowledge of the world would be discovered by indulging the supposition that all the failures in trade, and agriculture, and commerce are attributable to misfortune. Were that lady not remarkable for forbearance, she would send copies of writs in all directions, the preliminaries to actions for defamation of character. Some of those who can look back for fifty or sixty years had their seasons of difficulty and depression, and yet their families are happily settled, and they have escaped the call of the notary, and the sponging-house, and the "Gazette;" and they have still abund- ance to cheer their declining days, and to be disposed of when they are gone. And where is the secret of their stability ? Like Franklin, they were never ashamed of their business ; they were prompt, punctual, persevering ; they were satisfied with one golden egg at a time ; they knew that millions were composed of units ; they did not destroy their hopes by an effort to realise them at once ; great promises aroused their suspicions : a small certainty they made an effort to secure. Those who are always pronouncing themselves "unlucky" arc of a different race. They begin where their fathers did not venture to finish. A love of finery has displaced in many breasts the noblest feelings, and in others prevented their development or stinted their growth. We see its influence in houses filled with rich and costly furniture, among which are articles whose names are Greek to their owners — in splendid dinner parties, at which "three bottle men " are found, and the doctrine of chances i&/practically studied — in dogs, and horses, and ^ooms — in costume and equipage rivalling, and sometimes eclipsing, those of rank — in a familiarity with operas, and galas, and race- grounds— and in that prostration of intellect and even of integrity which are the inevitable result. The satirist who shall be equally successful, with those whose little .thoughts clothed in high sounding and dazzling phraseology re- mind us of a little child in a field marshal's coat, will deserve much of the world whenever he appears. Poets have often exhibited to us delightful specimens of unsophisticated human nature. By their aid we have had some vivid impressions of individuals in whom there was nothing artificial ; all was transparency, purity, sincerity. Whose pulse has not beat more quickly as he gazed on the charms of Thom- son's Autumn? A native grace Set fair proportioned on her polished limbs. Veiled in a simple robe, their best attire Beyond the pomp of dress ; for loveliness Needs not the foreign aid of ornament, But is, when unadorn'd, adorn'd the most. Thoughtless of beauty, she was beauty's self, Recluse amid the close-embowering woods. As in the hollow breast of Appenine, Beneath the shelter of encircling hills, A myrtle rises, far from human eyes, And breathes its balmy fragrance o'er the wild ; — So flourished, blooming, and unseen by all. The sweet Lavinia. To personify the genius of the present age correctly, we must have a very different model. I will not pretend even to give the outline. The picture could emanate only from a master's hand. It would require boldness of execution, minuteness of detail, diversity of colouring ; and when finished, so far from exciting an unmingled feeling, its subject, if faithfully depicted, would appeal to our admi- ration, to our regret, to our disgust, and to our shame. If, however, this cannot be denied, there is no reason for despondency ; there is much for hope. If many things have recently suffered by deterioration, never were there instruments of improvement so numerous and effective. The antidote to the polluting and enervating attachment to finery will be found in the skilful discipline of the intellect and the cultivation of moral principles. To these attention is awakening, and regard is becoming more diffusive. W^e have lived long enough to catch some of the dawning beams of a happier eve, which did not gladden those who half a century since were committed to the dust. Of the visions of our successors we can form at best but an indistinct conception, — A Looker- On. NOBLE THOUGHTS IN NOBLE LANGUAGE. 235 FINITE Spirit, Its Ultimate Perfection. Methinks this single consideration of the progress of a finite spirit to perfection will be sufficient to extinguish all envy in inferior natures, and all contempt in superior. That cherubim, which now appears as a God to a human soul, knows very well that the period will come about in eternity, when the human soul shall be as perfect as he himself now is : nay, when she shall look down upon that degree of perfection, as much as she now falls short of it. It is true the higher nature still advances, and by that means preserves his dis- tance and superiority in the scale of being ; but he knows that how high soever the station is of which he stands possessed at present, the inferior nature will at length mount up to it, and shine forth in the same degree of glory. — Addison. FIRMAMENT, The. When I survey the bright Celestial sphere : So rich with jewels hung, that night Doth like an Ethiop bride appear : My soul her wings doth spread, And Heaven-ward flies, The Almighty's mysteries to read In the large volumes of the skies. For the bright firmament Shoots forth no flame So silent, but is eloquent In speaking the Creator's name. No unregarded star Contracts its light Into so small a character, Remov'd far from our human sight. But if we stedfast look. We shall discern In it, as in some holy book, How man may heavenly knowledge learn. Thus those celestial fires, Though seeming mute. The fallacy of our desires And all the pride of life confute. For they have watched since first The world had birth : And found sin in itself accurst, And nothing permanent on earth. W. Habington^ 1 654. FLATTERY. The cup of flattery, if it does not, like that of Circe, reduce man to the level of beasts, is sure, if eagerly drained, to bring the best and ablest down to fools. — Sir Walter Scott. FLATTERY, Slander, and Truth, Three Sketches of. Hardly anything is more gratifying to the taste of our times than the exhibition of well- drawn characters. Every individual who has been in any way distinguished is sure to be portrayed and held up to the eye of the public -y and where accurate delineations, finished in the highest style, are not to be obtained, even sketches, rude and hasty as they may be, are not altogether unacceptable. There are three females of great notoriety in the world, whom I now wish to introduce and present to the reader. The sketches are exceed- ingly imperfect, but they may, perhaps, induce some abler hand to undertake and execute the task. Flattery has a delicate frame— a loose silken dress of ever-varying hues — and a soft, silent insinuating gait, which it is not easy to imitate or describe, her florid countenance wears a perpetual smile, and her melting voice steals upon the ear, and often thrills, with agreeable sensations, every fibre of the heart She paints and perfumes with wonderful art, and purveys delicacies for the great with unwearied assiduity ; so that she carries her palette and colours, her incense-box and honey-pot, into all companies ; but these things being cau- tiously wrapped in a fold of her garment, they can only be seen by a penetrating and practised observer. A more wily and dangerous enchan- tress does not exist on the face of the earth ; and yet she is the very life and soul of the fashionable world, for when she is absent the whole region is filled with vapours and com- plaints. The second personage I have to delineate is Slander. Dark, deformed, hideous, and malignant— this pest almost baffles description. Her dwelling hath the blast of barrenness around it : Here foul-mouth 'd Slander lies reclined. Her snaky tresses hiss behind ; A bloated toadstool bears her head. The plumes of ravens are her bed ; She feeds upon the viper's brood. And slakes her impious thirst with blood. When Flattery paints, she makes a lavish use 236 NOBLE THOUGHTS IN NOBLE LANGUAGE. of gay and pleasing colours ; when Slander tries her hand in the same art, she always caricatures and calumniates. Flattery hears about luxury and sweet odours ; Slander carries a vial, filled with the essence of henbane, hemlock, and deadly nightshade. Slander has an acute ear, a prying, penetra- tive eye, and a shrill, powerful voice. Her limbs, too, are active, and so lubricated that she often slips from the vengeful hands of those ■who determine to chastise her. One might, in- deed, presume that a general conspiracy would be formed to hunt down and destroy this vile monster ; but, strange as it may seem, though everyone dreads her touch and her tongue as regards himself, most people take pleasure in beholding the mischief she does among their neighbours, or in hearing and interpreting the echoes of her voice. Though, as I before said, Slander has a set of senses, nerves, and muscles, by no means deficient in acuteness and vigour, yet to these powers of nature are superadded all the inven- tions and resources of art. She has two trum- pets ; one to gain intelligence of everything passing, and the other to communicate it. When she takes her post in the tower of obser- vation, and adjusts her ear-trumpet, the reports of the town and district, however faint, are distinctly heard, so that not a whisper escapes her. Yes ; her tunnels and conductors are constructed in a manner which enables her to catch the very shadow of a sound. But who can describe the effects of her speaking-trum- pet? Strife and discord wake up at the blast. A thousand echoes repeat what she utters, and, after dying away, return at distant intervals. Armed with these deadly weapons, the most worthy and meritorious are the first victims of her malice. If she misses her aim, which is sometimes the case, she stands for a time thunder-struck, paralyzed, and pilloried in the grasp of Shame. The third personage I have to introduce is Truth. Her person is majestic and noble, her dress sober and becoming, her step and move- ment firm, decisive, and energetic. In her countenance we neither see the florid colour and forced smile of Flattery nor the livid pale- ness and repulsive frown of Slander. There is nothing in her aspect, voice, or manner which betrays weakness and effeminacy, but much that reminds us of the severe and awful beauty of the immortals. To the good offices of this unassuming, but illustrious personage, society is infinitely indebted. Slander often slinks away at the sound of her voice ; and Flatteiy can never bear the lightning of her eye. Much of her employment is to detect and counteract the mischiefs which they do. Slander will not, if possible, stay where Truth comes, and always strenuously objects to the use of what she calls her magic glass. It is a curious sight to see these two warmly contending. Not long ago I witnessed one of their contests. Slander raised a hideous cry, and a thick cloud of dust, searching for her trumpets and her quiver ; Truth pressed nearer and nearer, wafting away the dust, and at- tempting to hold up the mirror before the face of her adversary ; but, not succeeding in this, she sprang forward and tried to seize her, but the subtle pest slipped away like an empty shade. I heard Truth indignantly say, as her enemy fled — 'Tis thou who dost with lies the throne invade, By practice harden'd in the slandering trade ; Obtending heaven for whate'er ills befall, And sputt'ring, under specious names, thy gall. But it must be acknowledged that Truth has many enemies, and that they sometimes enter into an alliance, and combine all their efforts to crush, or at any rate, silence and confound her. A thousand stratagems are devised, and ten thousand acts of perfidy are practised. It is worthy of remark that the friends of Truth, according to the degree in which they become attached to her, and intimately con- versant with her, always imbibe her spirit and copy the dignity of her deportment. In their looks and words, an ingenuous frankness and simplicity appears ; in their actions and pur- suits, a calm decision, joined with undeviating rectitude and unshaken confidence, is seen. They refuse at all times and in all circum- stances to walk with Slander, and will neither listen to the soft soothing accents nor inhale the lavish incense of Flattery. Truth feeds them with her own plain, but wholesome and invigorating diet ; adorns them with her own fair girdle of strength and honour ; guides and conducts them with her own infallible clue through all the perplexing labyrinths of life. Nor is this all : they share in her conflicts, anticipate a part in her future triumphs, and exultingly sing, " Magna est Veritas et prse- valebit. " — Rusticus. FLOWERS, Beauty of. Here snowdrops cold and blue-eyed harebells blend Their tender tears as o'er the stream they bend ; NOBLE THOUGHTS IN NOBLE LANGUAGE. 237 The love-sick violet and the primrose pale Bow their sweet heads, and whisper to the gale ; With secret sighs, the virgin lily droops, And jealous cowslips hang their tawny cups ; And the young rose, in beauty's damask pride, Drinks the warm blushes of his bashful bride ; With honey lips, enamoured woodbines meet, Clasp with fond arms, and mix their kisses sweet. What beaux and beauties crowd the gaudy groves, And woo and win their vegetable loves ! Darwin. FLOWERS, Daughters of the Spring. " These Lay on the altar." Mrs. Hemaiis. Flowers ! — new flowers, ye come with the spring ! — When the mom rises up from the woods to sing; When the valleys are waking to sunshine and light, And the dew lieth low, like the stars of the night ; When the sky hangeth over the fairest of hours. Then have ye your birth, new flowers ! By the murmuring sound of some holy well. Where a shadow falls o'er from the lotus-bell ; Where the skylark arises to hail the day, Awoke from his nest by the sunbeam's ray ; Where the woodlands are bright with a dawn- ing dream, There are the flowerets seen. Flowers ! — bright flowers, the blue summer- noon Hangs sweet o'er your depths from the skies of June ; Each valley is lit by a sunbeam and flower, Each wild bird is seeking the depths of your bower. Each young bird is sipping the drops of the dew, Hid down in the violets blue. Where no shadow falls, o'er the beautiful day,— There your depths are lit up by the sunbeam's ray ; For those are the loveliest spots upon earth Where flowers, bright flowers, ye waken to birth ; Where the breath that comes out on the soft wmd's sigh Tells where the bright flowers lie ! Flowers ! — soft flowers, the Autumn eve's ray Falls low from the west with the dying of day ; The gleam of the sunset is over ye shed, The dew of the vale like a curtain is spread. And one star alone, from the blue heaven's deep Watches above your sleep. Ye fold up your leaves unto gentle rest. The lotus-flower on the fountain's breast, The daisy-star 'midst the drops of dew. The violet's leaf in its own bright blue. And each soft flower, and each leaf and bell. Close up to the day's farewell. Flowers ! — still flowers, in the holy moon- light, — Ye sleep through the depths of the shadowy night ; All silent and hushed as the voice of a dream, And lulled unto rest by the sound of a stream. Or the song of a dove, floating silvery clear. Beneath the blue night's sphere ! A7wn. FLOWERS, their. Beauty. O, Proserpina, For the flowers now, that, frighted, thou lett'st fall From Dis's waggon ! daffodils. That come before the swallow dares, and take The winds of March with beauty ; violets, dim. But sweeter than the lids of Juno's eyes. Or Cytherea's breath ; pale primroses. That die unmarried, ere they can behold Bright Phoebus in his strength, a malady Most incident to maids ; bold oxlips, and The crown imperial ; lilies of all kinds. The flower-de-luce being one ! O ! these I lack. To make you garlands of. Shakespeare. FLOWERS, the Stars of Earth. Spake full well, in language quaint and olden. One who dwelleth by the castled Rhine, W^hen he called the flowers, so blue and golden. Stars, that in earth's firmament do shine. Stars they are, wherein we read our history. As astrologers and seers of eld ; Yet so wrapped about with awful mystery, Like the burning stars which they beheld. Wondrous truths, and manifold as wondrous, God hath written in those stars above ; But not less in the bright flowerets under us Stands the revelation of his love. 238 NOBLE THOUGHTS IN NOBLE LANGUAGE. Bright and glorious is that revelation Written all over this great world of ours ; Making evident our own creation, In these stars of earth — these golden flowers. And the Poet, faithful and far-seeing, Sees, alike in stars and flowers, a part Of the self-same, universal being Which is throbbing in his brain and heart. Gorgeous flowerets in the sunlight shining ; Blossoms flaunting in the eye of day, Tremulous leaves, with soft and silver lining. Buds that open only to decay ; Brilliant hopes, all woven in gorgeous issues. Flaunting gaily in the golden light ; Large desires, with most uncertain tissues, Tender wishes, blossoming at night ! These in flowers and men are more than seem- ing; Workings are they of the self-same powers, Which the Poet, in no idle dreaming, Seeth in himself, and in the flowers. Everywhere about us are they glowing, Some like stai-s, to tell us Spring is bom : Others, their blue eyes with tears o'erflowing, Stand like Ruth amid the golden com ; Not alone in Spring's armorial bearing. And in Summer's green-emblazoned field, But in arms of brave old Autumn's wearing. In the centre of his brazen shield : Not alone in meadows and green alleys. On the mountain-top, and by the brink Of sequestered pools in woodland valleys, Where the slaves of Nature stoop to drink ; Not alone in her vast dome of glory. Not on graves of bird and beast alone. But on old cathedrals, high and hoary On the tomb of heroes, carved in stone ; In the cottage of the rudest peasant, In ancestral houses, whose crumbling towers, Speaking of the Past unto the Present, Tells us of the ancient Games of Flowers ; In all places, then, and in all seasons. Flowers expand their light and soul-like wings. Teaching us, by most persuasive reasons, How akin they are to human things. And yith child-like, credulous affection "N^ behold their tender buds expand ; Jjliblems of our own great resurrection. Emblems o^the bright and better land." Longfellow. FOOT, to the Skeleton of a. The following beautiful stanzas, which would not disgrace the pen of a Byron, appear to have been written on seeing the articulated bones of a female foot, in the window of a fashionable bootmaker : — O FLESHLESS fragment of some female form ! — Of Nature's workmanship the last and best — Which once with life's mysterious fire was warm ; What impious hand disturb'd thy place of rest, And in a glassy slipper thee attired, Loath'd by the many, by the few admired ? The calm observers of the works of God In thy anatomy his wonders trace With purer pleasure than, when silken-shod. The smirking fool beheld thy mincing pace. And faultless symmetry, which made him sigh, Though from thee now he turns his ogling eye. Let those whose folly seeks to draw a line Of broad distinction between dust and dust. Thy plebeian, or thy noble caste divine ! They cannot : — God, immutable and just, Alike to all his heavenly image gave ; 'Tis man that makes the monarch and the slave. Perhaps thou once wert cushion'd in high state Amidst the circle of the drawing-room ; But no ! the bodies of the proud and great Are wont to rot in vault and marble tomb. As if the bones of self-styled noble forms Should be reserved for better sorts of worms ! Perhaps thou trod'st some humbler walk of life, And wert from truth and virtue led astray By one who promised thee the name of wife, And praised thy symmetry but to betray The soul, confiding, innocent, and young. That readily believed his flatt'ring tongue. Thy perfect mechanism may have served Some opera dancer, fraught with every grace — Save modesty — and with that courage nerved Which quickly sears a young and blushing face. When oft submitted to the searching gaze Of thousand eyes 'midst thousand lights' full blaze. And Where's the soul that o'er thy frame once shed The *' poetry of motion ? " Who can tell To what realm the immortal part hath fled ? Or if in misery or joy it dwell ? Or if each thought of all its earthly ties Fades from the memory when the body dies. NOBLE THOUGHTS IN NOBLE LANGUAGE. 239 FORBEARANCE, Godlike. ** Go," says Christ to his disciples, ** preach the Gospel to all nations, beginning at Jeru- salem." Let those, whose hands were im- brued in my blood ; let him, who nailed my hands and my feet ; let him, who thrust his spear into my side, have the first offer of my salvation. When you have examined the ex- tent of this love, this forgiveness, and this charity, in the great pattern of all excellence, suffer me to conduct you in imagination to the feet of the crucified Jesus. Bring with you your most detested enemies ; those who have wounded your honour, injured your character, ruined your interests ; then, let me ask you, whether your anger, your resentment, your desire of revenge, can still subsist at the sight of Jesus Christ suspended on the cross, and in the agonies of death praying for his murderers ? Let me conjure you, by the compassion of God, by the charity of Christ, to sacrifice your hatred, your animosities, and your vengeance on the altar of gratitude. Learn from Jesus to love and to forgive. Let the blood of Jesus, which implores pardon for you in heaven, obtain it from you for your brethren here upon earth. — Valpy. FOREST, Love of. I LOVE the forest : I could dwell among That silent people, till my thoughts up grew In nobly-ordered form, as to my view Rose the succession of that lofty throng : — The mellow footstep on a ground of leaves Form'd by the slow decay of nimi'rous years. The couch of moss, whose growth alone ap- pears. Beneath the fir's inhospitable eaves, — The chirp and flutter of some single bird, The rustle in the brake, — what precious store Of joys have these on poets' hearts conferred? And then at times to send one's own voice out, In the full frolic of one startling shout, Only to feel the after stillness more ! Milnes. FOREST Scenery. I AM fond of listening to the conversation of English gentlemen on rural concerns, and of noticing with what taste and discrimination, and what strong, unaffected interest, they will discuss topics which in other countries are abandoned to mere woodmen or rustic culti- vators, I have heard a noble earl descant on park and forest scenery with the science and feeling of a painter. He dwelt on the shape and beauty of particular trees on his estate with as much pride and technical precision as though he had been discussing the merits of statues in his collection. I found that he had gone considerable distances to examine trees which were celebrated among rural amateurs ; for it seems that trees, like horses, have their established points of excellence, and that there are some in England which enjoy very exten- sive celebrity from being perfect in their kind. There is something nobly simple and pure in such a taste. It argues, I think, a sweet and generous nature, to have this strong relish for the beauties of vegetation, and this friend- ship for the hardy and glorious sons of the forest. There is a grandeur of thought con- nected with this part of rural economy. It is, if I may be allowed the figure, the heroic line of husbandry. It is worthy of liberal, and free-born, and aspiring men. Hs who plants an oak looks forward to future ages, and plants for posterity. Nothing can be less selfish than this. He cannot expect to sit in its shade, nor enjoy its shelter ; but he exults in the idea that the acorn which he has buried in the earth shall grow up into a lofty pile, and shall keep on flourishing, and increasing, and benefiting mankind, long after he shall have ceased to tread his paternal fields. Indeed, it is in the nature of such occupa- tions to lift the thought above mere worldli- ness. As the leaves of trees are said to absorb all noxious qualities of the air, and breathe forth a purer atmosphere, so it seems to me as if they drew from us all sordid and angry pas- sions, and breathed forth peace and philan- thropy. There is a serene and settled majesty in woodland scenery that enters into the soul, and dilates and elevates it, and fills it with noble inclinations. The ancient and here- ditary groves, too, that embower this island are most of them full of story. They are haunted by the recollections of the great spirits of past ages who have sought for relaxation among them from the tumult of arms or the toils of state, or have wooed the muse beneath their shade. It is becoming, then, for the high and gene- rous spirits of an ancient nation to cherish these sacred groves that surround their ances- tral mansions, and to perpetuate them to their descendants. Brought up, as I Ij^ve been, in republican habits and principles, I can feel 240 NOBLE THOUGHTS IN NOBLE LANGUAGE. nothing of the servile reverence for titled rank merely because it is titled. But I trust I am neither churl nor bigot in my creed. I do see and feel how hereditary distinction, when it falls to the lot of a generous mind, may elevate that mind into true nobility. It is one of the effects of hereditary rank, when it falls thus happily, that it multiplies the duties, and, as it M'ere, extends the existence of the possessor. He does not feel himself a mere individual link in creation, responsible only for his own brief term of being. He carries back his existence in proud recollection, and he ex- tends it forward in honourable anticipation. He lives with his ancestry and he lives with his posterity. To both does he consider him- self involved in deep responsibilities. As he has received much from those that have gone before, so he feels bound to transmit much to those who are to come after him. — Gilpin. FOREST, the Work of God. Father, thy hand Hath rear'd these venerable columns, thou Didst weave this verdant roof. Thou didst look down Upon the naked earth, and, forthwith, rose All these fair ranks of trees. They, in thy sun. Budded, and shook their green leaves in thy breeze. And shot towards heaven. Bryant. FORQETFULNESS of the Past. Forget six counties overhung with smoke. Forget the snorting steam and piston stroke, Forget the spreading of the hideous town ; Think rather of the pack-horse on the down. And dream of London small, and white, and clean, The clear Thames bordered by its gardens green; Think that below bridge the green lapping waves Smite some few keels that bear Levantine staves Cut from the yew-wood on the bumt-up hill, And pointed jars that Greek hands toiled to y fill, And treasured scanty spice from some far sea, Florence gold cloth, and Ypres napery, And cloth of Bruges, and hogsheads of Gui- enne ; While nigh the thronged wharf Geoffrey Chau- cer's pen Waves over bills of lading. Wm. Morris. FORGIVING Spirit, A, Contrasted with that of Revenge. Heron, in his History of Scotland, informs us that the ancient Caledonians extracted an in- toxicating spirit from sour milk ; but the art it seems is now lost. There yet remain many, on both sides the Tweed, who from sour tem- pers distil the ardent spirit of revenge, with which they too often become inebriated and inflamed : it were to be wished that this inju- rious process, too, might fall into disuetude and oblivion. A readiness to forgive offences bespeaks meekness joined with benignity, while an eagerness to retaliate indicates anger mingled with some portion of hatred and malice; the former dignifies, the latter degrades the charac- ter. *' A man hurts himself," says Epictetus, " by injuring me ; what, then, shall I therefore hurt myself by injuring him ? " "In benefits," said Seneca, "it is a disgrace to be outdone ; or in injuries to get the better." Examples of forbearance and clemency carry something touching and sublime in them. He was a true philosopher who could not rest till he had removed some recent ground of umbrage and offence ; and we do not wonder that his friend exclaimed, " Your kindness has overcome me; for I was first in the quarrel, and you are first in the reconciliation." There is real magna- nimity in a meek and placable temper. We turn with disgust from the proscriptions which marked the outset of Octavius Caesar ; but he merited the name of Augustus, by the uniform mildness of his imperial government. One instance, which history has recorded for the honour of this sovereign, deserves to be here mentioned. Cornelius Cinna, the grandson of Pompey, was detected in a conspiracy against the life of Augustus. On the day of trial, the Emperor not only forgave the convicted crimi- nal, but addressed him in these words :— "I have twice given you your life — first as an enemy, then as a conspirator ; and now I give you the Consulship : let us, then, in future be friends, and only contend whether I shall be most generous or you most faithful." But if the philosophy of Epictetus recom- mended a spirit of forbearance and kindness, NOBLE THOUGHTS IN NOBLE LANGUAGE. 24r how much more emphatically is this important lesson inculcated in the Gospel of Jesus Christ ? It is impossible to look into the New Testament without meeting the doctrine in almost every page. * ' If ye forgive not men their trespasses, neither will your heavenly Father forgive your trespasses." A fierce, revengeful, implacable spirit, as may be fairly inferred from the words just recited, is utterly inconsistent with the spirit and laws of Christianity ; it bears an affinity to the fiends of hell, but can claim no alliance to the celestial world. Yet how many sustain the Christian name, and formally ac- knowledge the authority of our Divine Re- deemer, who habitually cherish and manifest this odious and diabolical spirit ! The reserves and evasions which subtilty will contrive when the point is insisted on, evince that they can- ; not heartily subscribe to the doctrine of the Gospel. I have somewhere read of a sick man who had long lived on malice, and he was told that he could not be saved unless he forgave the offender. lie showed great reluctance, but at length said, "Then, if I die, I will forgive him ; but if I should get better, I will not for- give him." Anger and revenge are uneasy and trouble- some passions : they darken with clouds, and deform with tempestuous convulsions, all the regions of the inner man. "The command to love our enemies," observes a good divine, " which has been thought a hard saying, and impossible to be fulfilled, is really no more, when resolved into its first principles, than bidding us be at peace with ourselves ; which we cannot be, so long as we are at enmity with others." A forgiving temper will pass by many offences unnoticed ; an irritable and resentful spirit keenly watches and looks out for provo- cations, and is almost sure to find or fancy them. "If," as Lord observes, "we could procure some magic glass, wherein to view all the animosities and malignities that may be working against us, it were better immediately to break than to use it. " A forgiving temper seeks the fittest means and the earliest occa- sions, for extinguishing the sparks of strife — for healing the wounded feelings of friendship ; a disposition charged with the elements of revenge fans the spark till it breaks into a flame — irritates and aggravates the wound, till it becomes incurable. Passionate reproofs are like medicines given scalding hot — the patient cannot take them. Few offences arise, which might not be easily removed, or consigned to oblivion, by the seasonable interposition of Cliristiaii charity and prudence. And what valuable counsels, precepts, and precautions does the Gospel furnish us for this purpose ! What a pattern and example for imitation is presented in the meek and forgiving spirit of Jesus ! The great design of Christian disci- pline is to detach us from the evils which are in the world, to warn us against the lusts of the flesh, and the powers of darkness. The man who has learned to silence passion and subdue pride in himself, and, as regards others, to overcome evil with good, has achieved the most momentous and glorious of all victories. That illustrious and pious nobleman, the Mar- quis de Renti, would never fight a duel, what- ever challenges were sent to him. It was a common saying of this great man, " That there was more true courage and generosity in bear- ing and forgiving an injury, for the love of God, than in requiting it with another; in suffering rather than revenging ; because the thing was really more difficult." The contrast is equally striking in families and communities as in individuals. All the irascible passions, rallying, and fighting under the banner of revenge, multiply wrongs and retaliations, bickerings and contentions, without end. Meekness and benignity give the domestic scene, and the social circle, their loveliest charms and their richest sweets. None of the sensibilities of the heart are blunted, but rather improved in their fine edge and power ; none of the graces of the character are stained and blemished, but daily brightened and enhanced. The ornament of a meek and quiet spirit, according to the testimony of inspiration itself, is in the sight of God of great price. Happy then, thrice happy, are they who learn in the school of the great Master a lesson which the strong passions and jarring interests of the world in which they live will call them daily to practise ! But the lesson caimot be well learned, much less well exemplified, without being taught from above. Nature alone, however cultivated, will not reach this point of excellency ; the succours and supplies of sovereign grace are indispensably necessary. Among the works of the flesh are hatred, variance, wrath, strife, emulations, seditions, heresies, envyings, murders. But the fruit of the spirit is love, joy, peace, long-suffering, gentleness, goodness, faith, meekness, tem- perance : against such there is no law. And they that are Christians have crucified the flesh with the affections and lusts. If we live in the spirit, let us also walk in the spirit. — R. R 242 NOBLE THOUGHTS IN NOBLE LANGUAGE. FORGIVENESS. My heart was heavy, for its trust had been Abused, its kindness answer'd with foul wrong : So, turning gloomily from my fellow-men. One summer Sabbath day I stroll'd among The green mounds of the village burial- place ; Where, pondering how all human love and hate Find one sad level— and how, soon or late, Wrong'd and wrong-doer, each with mceken'd face. And cold hands folded over a still heart. Pass the green threshold of our common grave, Whither all footsteps tend, whence none depart, Aw'd for myself, and pitying my race, Our common sorrow, like a mighty wave, Swept all my pride away, and trembling I forgave. Whit tier. FORGIVENESS, Christ our Example of. Behold yourself in imagination brought to the feet of the crucified Jesus. Bring with you your most detested enemies, those who have wounded your honour, injured your character, ruined your interests ; then let me ask you whether your anger, your resentment, your desire of revenge can still subsist at the sight of Jesus Christ, suspended on the Cross, and in the agonies of death, — praying for his mur- derers? .... Let me conjure you, by the compassion of God, by the charity of Christ, to sacrifice your hatred, your animosities, and your vengeance on the altar of gratitude. Learn from Jesus to love and to forgive ! Let the first idea excited in your minds by the injuries which you suffer from the enmity, the envy, the jealousy, the ingratitude, and the perfidy of others, be the precepts and the example of that Saviour who has said, "Blessed are the merciful, for they shall obtain mercy ! " Let the blood of Jesus, which implores pardon for you in heaven, obtain it from you for your brethren upon earth. — Dr. Valpy. FORGIVENESS Inculcated. Are we backward to be reconciled to our ene- mies ; and can we hope that God should be reconciled to us ? If their offences against us are very heinous, so are ours against God ; if they repeat their injuries as often as we forgive them, yet we are bound to forgive them still ; for God deals so with us, and we cannot in reason think that unequal measure, to which we owe not only the good things of this life, but the pardon of our sins and the salvation of our souls ; nor is that to be accounted a hard trial of our obedience which has so gracious a promise annexed to it as that is, * ' If ye for- give men their trespasses, your Heavenly Father will also forgive you." — Noiirse. FORGIVENESS of Injuries. Patiently do we endure all the evils which are brought upon us, either by men or devils, even to the extremity of death itself and tor- ments ; praying for those that evil entreat us, that they may find mercy ; desiring neither to hurt nor avenge ourselves upon any that injure us, according as our great Lawgiver hath com- manded us. — Justin Martyr, FORMALITY, Religious. If we consider the strength and prevalence of corrupt passions, the wide spread and dominion of vice and profligacy among mankind, and then think of the manner in which the princi- ples and awful sanctions of divine truth oppose and condemn all sin, it may appear, at first sight, rather wonderful that more avowed athe- ists and infidels are not found in the world. But it is not easy totally to suppress and over- power the dictates of reason and conscience, even amidst the ferments of passion and the swellings and aspirations of pride. Most men, therefore, take refuge in false or formal religion, and continue to reconcile their present vicious pleasures with their future hopes. They ac- knowledge the being and providence of a God, the immortality of the soul, a judgment to come, and the certainty of unending bliss or woe to every individual of our race. But how, we might ask, is it possible to embrace a creed comprehending such deeply-interesting articles as these, and remain unaffected? How can principles so weighty and important be ad- mitted or retained, without producing some effect on the conduct ? The point and sting of the reproof, applied to the ancient Jews, may be justly directed against multitudes who bear the Christian name. The Lord said, this people "draw near me with their mouth, and with their lips they do honour me, but they NOBLE THOUGHTS IN NOBLE LANGUAGE. 243 have removed their heart far from me, and their fear toward me is taught by the precept of men." A punctilious compliance with un- authorized religious rights and ceremonies carries in it something so imposing, and has so direct a tendency to lull and satisfy the con- science, that the generality of men are willing to have recourse to this cheap and easy expe- dient. And while engaged in a bustling and active attendance on public ordinances, or the regular return of private devotional duties, they cherish a latent complacency which warms and elates the bosom with kindling emotions and confident expectations. The Papist, after repeating his prayers, numbering his beads, and making with due vigour his stated periodical confessions, feels his mind at peace ; and the Protestant, though possessed of better means of instruction, may also pace his round of religious observances, in the tram- mels of bigotry and self- righteousness, and then soothe his soul with a comfort, not very unlike that which buoys up the hopes of the blind Romanist. An inspired writer speaks of "men having the form of godliness, yet deny- ing the power thereof. " Those who are averse to the essence, the interior sanctuary of re- ligion, but not daring enough to deny its truth, to attack its outworks, will commonly assume this character. Carnal and earthly minded, they can find no pleasure in what is truly spiritual and heavenly. An adherence to the hollow painted forms of religion is therefore the part and the policy which suits their in- dolence, their vanity, their taste, and tempera- ment. They have the semblance, not the sub- stance, the lineaments, not the life, of godliness ; and yet vainly look for all the reversionary felicity promised to the righteous. The danger of this state, as the Rev. Daniel Wilson has observed, is great, especially in a day of extended religious profession: — ** There is now a world, even in the church of God. A man may lose his religion, and become carnal in the midst of religious concerns and occupa- tions. There are borderers, living as it were on the confines of the two kingdoms. These form a world of their own, where measured degrees of vanity, dress, company, trifling, ostentation, ambition, are tacitly countenanced; where plain honest spirituality of heart and life is in disgrace ; and where the abstinence from public places of amusement, and a few grosser practices of irreligion, serve to quicken the appetite for every possible indulgence which is still within reach. " Formalists are found in all the sections and separate communities of the Christian church ; and the antipathy they manifest towards those who endeavour to break in upon their repose is seldom disguised. Nay, even the sight of a high-toned, animated, and diffusive zeal in others is sufficient to disturb their equanimity and offend their self-love. They sound the trumpet of alarm, raise and vehemently reite- rate the cry of fire, as if the peace and the very fabric of society were about to be destroyed by the resistless flame of enthusiasm. In point of fact, the alleged danger, if not altogether, is in a great measure imaginary. It would be too much to assert that absolutely no fanatic fuel exists among us, or that no sparks are ever struck capable of kindling it ; but assuredly our atmosphere is not heavily charged with these perilous elements. It is not so much excessive heat, as freezing coldness, that we have reason to fear. Formality creeps into our churches and families by such silent and un» perceived approaches as too often to elude all our suspicion and vigilance. Nor is the danger confined to nominal professors of religion. Genuine and sincere Christians, men who have felt the power of truth on their hearts, and brought forth the fruit of holiness in their life, lie open to temptation, and not seldom drink in the stupifying spirit of the world. Alas ! how frequently do we behold them simk into a Laodicean lukewarmness and apathy ! How much of ceremony, pomp, and outward punc- tuality ; how little of purity, fervour, and in- ward freedom ! Where is the imction, with its attendant sanctity, which they once enjoyed ? Where that tender sensibility, which made them shrink from the touch on the approach of evil? That hungering and thirsting after righteousness which rendered the rich provi- sion of the Gospel so rich and so sweet ? That firm and affectionate attachment to the truth, combined with a generous and tempered zeal in its defence and its diffusion, by which they were once distinguished? Having left their first love, they have also lost the liberty, vigour, pleasure, and delight which they ex- perienced in their better days. Now, if Christians themselves are so exposed to the deadening influence of worldly things, with which they are in contact, so liable to have their best feelings chilled, and their bright- est graces withered, by the blasts and wintry tempests of this sterile and imgenial clime, what need is there of watchfidness and prayer? Nor will earnest warnings against formality. 244 NOBLE THOUGHTS IN NOBLE LANGUAGE. either from the pulpit or the press, be deemed superfluous, by those who are acquainted with the nature and importance of vital piety, or the error and temptations which on all sides daily beset us. '* Happy is the man that fear- eth always, that worships God in the spirit, rejoices in Christ Jesus, and has no confidence in the flesh." Rusticus. FORTITUDE, the Guard of Virtue. "Fortitude," said Locke, "is the guard and support of all the other virtues." The assertion, if limited and properly applied, is just. But the question may be asked, can there be true constancy without devotion ? If the suffrage of the best judges, and the fund of experience be regarded, the answer must be in the negative. *' A prayerless heart," says Dr. Watts, "may be considered as a defenceless citadel, lying open and exposed to the incursion of every foe ; whereas the heart of one truly devout is like a castle in which the Lord dwells, and which is garrisoned with the Divine Presence." The righteous is bold as a lion. He dares do anything but offend God ; and to dare to do that is the greatest folly, and base- ness, and weakness in the world. From this fear have sprung the most generous resolutions and heroic achievements in times of persecu- tion and suffering. FREEDOM. Of old sat Freedom on the heights, The thunders breaking at her feet : Above her shook the starry lights : She heard the torrents meet. There in her place she did rejoice, Self-gather'd in her prophet-mind, But fragments of her mighty voice Came rolling on the wind. Then stept she down thro' town and field To mingle with the human race, And part by part to men reveal'd The fulness of her face — Grave mother of majestic works. From her isle-altar gazing down, Who, God-like, grasps the triple forks, I And, King-like, wears the crown : Her open eyes desire the truth. The wisdom of a thousand years Is in them. May perpetual youth Keep dry their light from tears. Tennyson. FREEDOM, its Blessedness. 'Tis vain — my tongue cannot impart My almost drunkenness of heart. When first this liberated eye Survey'd earth, ocean, sun and sky. As if my spirit pierced them through, And all their inmost wonders knew ! One word alone can point to thee That more than feeling — I was free ! E'en for thy presence ceased to pine : The world — nay — heaven itself was mine ! Byron, FREEDOM, Right thou feelest, Rush to do. But would'st thou this genii find? In the mountain it's enshrined ; Who gives to seas and sunset skies The unspent beauty of surprise ; And, when it please Him, waken can Beast or savage into man ; Or if within thy heart He shine, Blends the starry fates with thine ; Draws angels down to dwell with thee, And make thy thoughts archangels be ; Freedom's secret would'st thou know. Question not of flesh and blood — Tarry not for cloak or food — Right thou feelest, rush to do. — Emerson. FREEDOM, the Ahtiquity of. Here are old trees, tall oaks, and gnarled pines. That stream with gray -green mosses ; here the ground Was never touch'd by spade, and flowers spring up Unsown, and die ungather'd. It is sweet To linger here, among the flitting birds And leaping squirrels, wandering brooks and winds That shake the leaves, and scatter as they pass A fragrance from the cedars thickly set With pale blue berries. In these peaceful shades — Peaceful, unpruned, immeasurably old — My thoughts go up the long dim path of years Back to the earliest days of Liberty. O Freedom ! thou art not as poets dream, A fair young girl, with light and delicate limbs. NOBLE THOUGHTS IN NOBLE LANGUAGE. 245 And wavy tresses gushing from the cap "With which the Roman master crown'd his slave, When he took off the gyves. A bearded man, Arm'd to the teeth, art thou : one mailed hand Grasps the broad shield, and one the sword ; thy brow. Glorious in beauty though it be, is scarr'd With tokens of old wars ; thy massive limbs Are strong and struggling. Power at thee has launch'd His bolts, and with his lightnings smitten thee : They could not quench the life thou hast from Heaven. Merciless Power has dug thy dungeon deep. And his swart armourers, by a thousand fires, Have forged thy chain ; yet while he deems thee bound, The links are shiver'd, and the prison walls Fall outward ; terribly thou springest forth, As springs the flame above a burning pile. And shoutest to the nations, who return Thy shoutings, while the pale oppressor flies. Thy birthright was not given by human hands ; Thou wert twin-born with man. In pleasant fields. While yet our race was few, thou sat'st with him, To tend the quiet flock and watch the stars, To teach the reed to utter simple airs. Thou by his side, amid the tangled wood, Didst war upon the panther and the wolf, His only foes : and thou with him didst draw The earliest furrows on the mountain side, Soft with the Deluge. Tyranny himself, The enemy, although of reverend look, Hoary with many years, and far obey'd, Is later born than thou : and as he meets The grave defiance of thine elder eye, The usurper trembles in his fastnesses. Thou shalt wax stronger with the lapse of years, But he shall fade into a feebler age ; Feebler, yet subtler ; he shall weave his snares, And spring them on thy careless steps, and clap His wither'd hands, and from their ambush call His hordes to fall upon thee. He shall send Quaint maskers, forms of fair and gallant mien, To catch thy gaze, and uttering graceful words To charm thy ear ; while his sly imps, by stealth. Twine round thee threads of steel, light tliread on thread, That grow to fetters ; or bind down thy arms With chains conceal'd in chaplets. Oh ! not yet Mayst thou unbrace thy corslet, nor lay by Thy sword, nor yet, O Freedom ! close thy lids. In slumber ; for thine enemy never sleeps, And thou must watch and combat till the day Of the new Earth and Heaven. But wouldst thou rest Awhile from tumult and the frauds of men. These old and friendly solitudes invite Thy visit. They, while yet the forest trees Were young upon the unviolated earth. And yet the moss-stains on the rock were new, Beheld thy glorious childhood, and rejoiced. W. C. Bryant. FRIENDSHIP, Is Reciprocal Benevolence. Friendship is, strictly speaking, reciprocal benevolence, which inclines each party to be solicitous for the welfare of the other as for his own. This equality of affection is created and preserved by a similarity of disposition and manners. — Plato. FRIENDSHIP, not to be Imposed on. The most difficult province in friendship is the letting a man see his faults and errors, which should, if possible, be so contrived that he may perceive our advice is given him, not so much to please ourselves as for his own advantage. The reproaches, therefore, of a friend should always be strictly just, and not too frequent — Btidgell. FRIENDSHIP, the Value of. All the topics which have a direct bearing on human life and conduct have been so fre- quently discussed, both in a grave and sprightly style, that we can hardly expect anything, strictly speaking, new, either in point of argument or illustration. The subject chosen for this brief essay has been long worn to the last thread, yet remains so deeply interesting that we are never weary of it. 246 NOBLE THOUGHTS IN NOBLE LANGUAGE. The term friendship is by some taken in a lax sense, for those connections of a civil, com- mercial, and political kind, which require per- sons, often of widely different tastes and habits, to act together ; while by others it is employed to denote a purity of sentiment, an intensity of affection, and a species of heroic sacrifices and achievements which never existed but in the regions of romance. The first sinks too low, and the second soars too high ; we therefore adopt that acceptation of the word which occu- pies a medium between these extremes. To treat largely on friendship would require a close investigation of the powers, passions, and relations of man. The human affections, like the tendrils of the vine, must cling to sur- rounding objects, or human happiness, like the vine, would lie prostrate, never to rise. But they lay hold of nothing that does not promise support, protection, consolation, and enjoyment. This propensity in our nature is happily expressed by the term attachment. Friendship is a specific and permanent attach- ment which scarcely needs to be defined. Some of the advantages of this relation shall be here concisely stated. Friendship generally stimulates and expands the faculties of the mind. It prompts and con- ducts the movements of thought. At one time it presents an object which engages the under- standing, at another supplies an impulse for the attainment of some important object pre- viously proposed. A man often needs one at hand who is able to rouse him to industry, to sharpen his inventions, to enliven his fancy, to direct his judgment, to fortify his weakness, or to call forth, exercise, and increase his vigour. Continued solitude stints and dwarfs the mind ; promiscuous company dissipates and weakens it ; but a well-informed and wise friend com- municates that kind and degree of stimulus which puts all its faculties into healthful action. It has been thought a curious and unaccount- able circumstance that constellations of bril- liant genius should have marked particular periods and places. But perhaps the friendly contact of congenial minds produced efforts and fruits which would not otherwise have blessed the world. In asserting, however, that select association promotes intellectual improvement, it is true enough that an ob- je^Stor might point out some rare instances, ytvhich stand as exceptions to the general rule. But a few extraordinary spots of deep rich soil, which need no compost to render them fruitful, can never supersede or hardly affect the approved methods of agriculture required in ordinary cases. And as friendship expands the faculties of the mind, it also meliorates and refines the affections of the heart. A thousand sympa- thies which lay dormant are stirred and put in active play. The fire which it makes to kindle and glow in the breast, softens down and sepa- rates much of that drossy selfishness which blends with and debases the sterling excel- lences of character. Admiration, gratitude, ardent love, and high esteem, give an eleva- tion and energy, a dignity, decision, and ev quisite sensibility, to the soul. Generous pur- poses lead to generous deeds, and these repeated grow into habits. To those who occupy this high ground of friendship, the petty measures and calculations of a crooked, degrading policy, appear contemptible. Where the urgency of the occasion requires it, every sacrifice and exertion is made, not only with freedom, but also with promptitude and plea- sure. It were no difficulty to point out this noble spirit of disinterested and self-denying kindness as exemplified in facts. "The soul of Jonathan was knit with the soul of David ; and Jonathan loved him as his own soul." History does not furnish a finer display of the assimilating and exalting power of friendship than is here presented. The bands of their union and affection were drawn closer by ad- versity, and strengthened and confirmed by time. What services did not the prince of Israel undertake? What dangers and reproaches did he not cheerfully incur, to shield and suc- cour the virtuous and heroic shepherd of Beth- lehem ? But another advantage accruing from friend- ship is the enjoyment infused by it into all the blessings of life. We are so framed as to be very faintly and transiently affected by solitary pleasures. While many have taken occasion to investigate the original law of our constitu- tion, by which this is explained, it may suffice in this place simply to state the fact. The materials of happiness, as experience demon- strates, will not bless us while we are alone. However disposed or combined, they, in a great measure, fail to interest. The spectacle, though grand, is unattractive ; the feast, though sumptuous, is insipid. Even science and lite- rature lose half their charms, if we have none to participate the stores they supply, and the delights they impart. A friend gilds the scene of life with sunshine, seasons the cup of plenty, assuages fear. NOBLE THOUGHTS IN NOBLE LANGUAGE. 247 quickens hope, and animates pleasure. ** As iron sharpeneth iron, so a man sharpeneth the countenance of his friend. As ointment and perfume rejoice the heart, so doth the sweet- ness of a man's friend by hearty counsel." These pithy and sententious maxims of the wise king of Israel perfectly accord with the experience of mankind. Who has not found at times the fine edge which friendship gives to our blunted faculties, and the still finer fragrance which it spreads over our impaired delights ? Nor will the bitter complaints of a Cain, the ravings and rancorous invectives of a Timon or a Byron, nullify what has now been advanced. The value of friendship, or the value of life, like true religion, which exalts and enhances both, is not to be estimated by the perverted judgment of sceptics, suicides, and misanthropes. Violent men are ever in extremes. Let us guard against the error of those who at one time over-praise, and another undervalue friendship. Where faithfulness, frankness, and constancy are blended with ten- derness and affability, we should be satisfied without expecting virtues raised to the lofty eminence and dazzling splendour of fiction. It is something to have an adviser who will sincerely consult and seek our interests, and a companion who will lighten our burdens and season our refreshments, on the journey of life ; though he may often err in judgment, and fail in power or promptitude. Friendship furnishes many a corrective and many a cordial, but we grievously mistake if we take it for a panacea and universal remedy. We must seek that in God which no creature can impart, and remember that his favour alone can fully supply every want, and finally perfect every faculty. — Ricsticus. The greatest pleasure in life is the society of a friend, with whom one may unravel and disentangle each skein of knotted predjudice and many-coloured opinion. In such inti- macies, however, cultivated exclusively, what Lord Bacon termed idola species are sure to be worshipped. The principles may be right, the understanding may be sound, but the world is viewed from a single point, and to a certain extent inevitably erroneously. A true estimate of mankind, and of the value of human pur- suits, can alone be formed by one who corrects his closest speculations by the collective judg- ment of society. — Mayors Philosophy of Living. Though the cultivation of friendship is not made the subject of precept, it is left to grow up of itself under the general culture of reason and religion ; it is one of the fairest productions of the human soil, the cordial of life, the leni- tive of our sorrows, and the multiplier of our joys : the source equally of animation and of repose. He who is destitute of this bless- ing, amidst the greatest crowd and pressure of society, is doomed to solitude ; and however surrounded with flatterers and admirers, how- ever armed with power, and rich in the endow- ments of nature and of fortune, has no resting- place. The most elevated station in life affords no exemption from those agitations and dis- quietudes which can only be laid to rest upon the bosom of a friend. The sympathies even of virtuous minds, when not warmed by the breath of friendship, are too faint and cold to satisfy the social cravings of our nature : their compassion is too much dissipated by the mul- tiplicity of its objects, and the varieties of distress, to suffer it to flow along in one channel ; while the sentiments of congratula- tion are still more slight and superficial. A transient tear of pity, or a smile of complacency equally transient, is all we can usually bestow on the scenes of happiness or of misery which we meet with in the paths of life. But man naturally seeks for a closer union, a more permanent conjunction of interest, a more intense reciprocation of feeling ; he finds the want of one or more with whom he can intrust the secrets of his heart, and relieve him- self by imparting the interior joys and sorrows with which every breast is fraught. He seeks, in short, another self, a kindred spirit, whose interest in his welfare bears some proportion to his own, with whom he may lessen his cares by sympathy, and multiply his pleasures by participation. — Robert Hall. I WILL suppose that you have no friends to share, or rejoice in your success in life, — that you cannot look back to those to whom you owe gratitude, or forward to those to whom you ought to afford protection ; but it is no less incumbent on you to move steadily in the path of duty : for your active exertions are due not only to society, but in humble gratitude to the Being who made you a member of it with powers to serve yourself and others. — Sir Walter Scott. FRIENDS, Three Sorts of. There be three sorts of friends : the first is like a torch we meet in a dark street ; the 248 NOBLE THOUGHTS IN NOBLE LANGUAGE. second is like a candle in a lanthorn that we overtake ; the third is like a link that offers itself to the stumbling passenger. The met torch is the sweet-lipped friend, which lends us a flash of compliment for the time, but quickly leaves us to our former darkness. The overtaken lanthorn is the true friend, which, though it promise but a faint light, yet it goes along with us as farasitcantoourjoumey'send. The offered link is the mercenary friend, which, though it be ready enough to do us service, yet that service hath a servile relation to our bounty. — Quarks. FUTURE, The. Gently and smilingly, as a child in his cradle floats over the sea, glides onward the Future through the present storm, till the appointed time comes, and the little Moses is picked up in the bulrushes, and grows to be a lawgiver and a ruler. — Richter. FUTURE Life. Sweet ! in the land to come we'll feed on flow- ers, Droop not, my child. A happy place there is : Know you it not (all pain and wrong shut out)? Where man may mix with angels. You and I Will wander there with garlands on our brows And talk in music. We will shed no tears. Save those of joy : nor sighs, unless for love. Look up, and straight grow happy. We may love There without fear : no mothers there, no gold, Nor hate, nor human perfidy, none, none. Barry Cornwall. FUTURE, Spiritual and Piire. As the pleasures of the future will be spiritual and pure, the object of a good and wise man in this transitory state of existence should be to fit himself for a better, by controlling the unworthy propensities of his nature, and im- proving all his better aspirations, to do his mty, first to God, then to his neighbour, to promote the happiness and welfare of those who are in any degree dependent upon him, or whom he has the means of assisting, never wantonly to injure the meanest thing that lives, to encourage, as far as he may have the power, whatever is useful and tends to refine and exalt humanity, to store his mind with such know- ledge as it is fitted to receive, and he is able to attain ; and so to employ the talents committed to his care that, when the account is required, he may hope to have his stewardship approved. — Southey. GAIETY, and Good Humour. It is imagined by many that whenever they aspire to please, they are required to be merry, and to show the gladness of their souls by flights of pleasantry and bursts of laughter. But though these men may be for a time heard with applause and admiration, they seldom delight us long. We enjoy them a little, and then retire to easiness and good- humour, as the eye gazes awhile on eminences glittering with the sun, but soon turns aching away to verdure and to flowers. Gaiety is to good-humour as animal perfumes to vegetable fragrance. The one overpowers weak spirits and the other recreates and revives them. Johnson. GARDEN, a Fair Old one. Then Michael, thanking him, passed on, And soon the gilded wicket won. And entered that pleasance sweet. And wandered there with wary feet And open mouth, as though he deemed That in some lovely dream he dreamed. And feared to wake to common day. So fair was all ; and e'en decay Brought there but pensive loveliness. Where autumn those old walls did bless With wealth of fruit, and through the grass, Unscared, the spring-born thrush did pass, Who yet knew nought of winter-tide. So wandering, to a fountain's side He came, and o'er the basin hung. Watching the fishes, as he sung Some song remembered from of old. But soon made drowsy with his ride. And the warm hazy autumn-tide. And many a musical sweet sound, He cast him down upon the ground, And watched the glittering water leap. Still singing low, nor thought to sleep. NOBLE THOUGHTS IN NOBLE LANGUAGE, 249 But scarce three minutes had gone by, Before, as if in mockery, The starling chattered o'er his head, And nothing he remembered, Nor dreamed of aught that he had seen. Wm. Morris. GARDEN, of Flowers, Forlorn. A SPIRIT haunts the year's last hours Dwelling amid these yellowing bowers ; To himself he talks ; For at eventide, listening earnestly, At his work you may hear him sob and sigh In the walks ; Earthward he boweth the heavy stalks Of the mouldering flowers. Heavily hangs the broad sunflower Over its grave i' the earth so chilly ; Heavily hangs the hollyhock. Heavily hangs the tiger-lily. The air is damp, and hush'd and close, As a sick man's room when he taketh repose An hour before death ; My very heart faints and my whole soul grieves At the moist rich smell of the rotting leaves. And the breath Of the fading edges of box beneath. And the year's last rose. Heavily hangs the broad sunflower Over the grave i' the earth so chilly ; Heavily hangs the hollyhock, Heavily hangs the tiger-lily. Te7i7iyson. GARDEN, SkiU in. Or if the garden with its many cares. All well repaid, demand him, he attends, The welcome call, conscious how much the hand Of lubbard labour needs his watchful eye, Oft loitering lazily, if not o'erseen, Or misapplying his unskilful strength. Nor does he govern only or direct. But much performs himself. No works indeed, That ask robust, tough sinews, bred to toil. Servile employ ; but such as may amuse. Not tire, demanding rather skill than force. Cowper. GARDENING, a Delightful Industry. Delightful industry enjoyed at home, And nature in her cultivated trim Dressed to his taste. Cowper, GARDENING, a Solace. Gardening is a pursuit peculiarly adapted for reconciling and combining the tastes of the two sexes, and indeed of all ages. It is, therefore, of all amusements the most retentive of domestic affection. It is, perhaps, most w^armly pursued by the very young, and by those who are far advanced in life, — before the mind is occupied with worldly business, and after it has become disgusted vi^ith it. There is nothing in it to remind of the bustle of poli- tical life, and it requires neither a sanguine disposition nor the prospect of a long life, to justify the expectation of a beautiful result from the slight and easy care which it exacts. Is it too much to say that the mind which can, w^ith genuine taste, occupy itself in gardening, must have preserved some portion of youthful purity ; that it must have escaped, during its passage through the active world, its deeper contamina- tions, and that no shame nor remorse can have found a seat in it? — Courtenay. GEMS in the Earth's Recesses. Th' unfruitful rock itself, impregn'd by thee, In dark retirement forms the lucid stone : The lively diamond drinks thy purest rays, Collected light, compact. At thee the ruby lights its deepening glow, And with a waving radiance inward fl^ames. From thee the sapphire, solid ether, takes Its hue cerulean ; and of evening tinct. The purple streaming amethyst is thine. With thy own smile the yellow topaz burns. Nor deeper verdure dyes the robe of spring When first she gives it to the southern gale Than the green emerald shows. But, all combined. Thick through the whitening opal play thy beams ; Or, flying several from its surface, form A trembling variance of revolving hues As the site varies in the gazer's hand. Thomson, GENERATIONS, Passing. " The deaths of some, and the marriages of others," says Cowper, "make a new world of it every thirty years. Within that space of time the majority are displaced, and a new generation has succeeded. Here and there one is permitted to stay longer, that there may 2;o NOBLE THOUGHTS IN NOBLE LANGUAGE. not be wanting a few grave dons like myself to make the observation." Man is a self-survivor every year ; Man like a stream is in perpetual flow, Death's a destroyer of quotidian prey : My youth, my noontide his, my yesterday : The bold invader shares the present hour, Each moment on the former shuts the grave, While man is growing, life is in decrease. And cradles rock us nearer to the tomb, Our birth is nothing, but our death begun. As tapers waste that instant they take fire. Young. Yet, infinitely short as the term of human life is when compared with time to come, it is not so in relation to time past. A hundred and forty of our own generations carry us back to the Deluge, and nine more of antediluvian measure to the Creation, which to us is the beginning of time ; * ' for time itself is but a novelty" (as Dr. Johnson says), *' a late and upstart thing in respect of the ancient of days." They who remember their grandfather, and see their grandchildren, have seen persons belong- ing to five out of that number, and he who attains the age of threescore has seen two generations pass away. "The created world," says Sir Thomas Browne, "isbuta small parenthesis in eternity, and a short interposition, for a time, between such a state of duration as w as before it, and maybe after it." There is no time of life, after we become capable of reflection, in which the world to come must not to any considerate mind appear of more importance to us than this ; no time in which we have not a greater stake there. When we reach the threshold of old age, all objects of our early affections have gone before us, and in the com- mon course of mortality a great proportion of the later. Not without reason did the wise compilers of our admirable liturgy place next in order after the form of matrimony the ser- vices for the visitation and communion of the sick and for the burial of the dead. — Southey. GENIUS, and Industry. Whilst we believe that education is the greatest gift that can be conferred on a human creature, we are not sanguine enough to expect that its more general diffusion will in- crease the number of men of genius. There is a perversity in human nature which makes us relax our efforts at the moment when they might be rewarded with the most splendid success. It does not follow that a shepherd boy, who passes his long day on the side of a hill, and who acquires the principles of me- chanics, or forms for himself a plan of the stars, shall make proportionate advancement if full opportunity of study be afforded to him. Nor does it follow that a young man who teaches himself to read by the light of a shop- window in the street shall become a learned man when admitted to libraries and encouraged by applause. We do not think the illustration a correct one, which represents the scholar as like the weary traveller who plods on conten- tedly through woods and over irregular ground which conceal the prospect, and who faints when he has ascended to the top of the hill and sees the whole extent of the road before him. The truth seems rather to be that energy of mind, like strength of body, must be acquired by exercise, and that the conscious- ness of desert in encountering difficulties must be felt to enable us to accomplish any great work. Sir Joshua Reynolds has happily expressed this : — "It is not uncommon to see young artists, whilst they are struggling with every obstacle in their way, exert themselves with such success as to outstrip competitors possessed of every means of improvement. The promising ex- pectation which was formed on so much being done with so little means has recommended them to a patron, who has supplied them with every convenience of study ; from that time their industry and eagerness of pursuit have forsaken them ; they stand still and see others rush on before them. Such men are like certain animals, who will feed only where there is little provender, and that got at with difficulty through the bars of a rack, but refuse to touch it when there is an abundance placed before them." From this it appears to be essential to success that a young man should study to acquire con- fidence in his own powers. This is a condition of mind entirely different from conceit ; it exhibits itself in no vain boasting, but essen- tially consists in a secret resolution to make great efforts by persevering industry to gain the object of his ambition. — S. GENIUS, Definition of. A DISTINGUISHED teacher and president of a college defined genius to be " the power of making efforts." — Annals of Education. NOBLE THOUGHTS IN NOBLE LANGUAGE. 2sl GENIUS, Intense Desire of. Yet long it was ere he was satisfied, And with his pride that by his mastery This thing was done, whose equal, far and wide, In no town of the world a man could see, Came burning longing that the work should be E'en better still, and to his heart there came, A strange and strong desire he could not name. The night seemed long, and long the twilight seemed, A vain thing seemed his flowery garden fair ; Though through the night still of his work he dreamed, And tho' his smooth-stemmed trees so nigh it were, That thence he could behold the marble hair. Nought was enough, until with steel in hand. He came before the wondrous stone to stand. No song could charm him, and no histories Of men's misdoings could avail him now, Naj, scarcely seaward had he turned his eyes, If men had said, "The fierce Tyrrhenians row Up through the bay, rise up to strike a blow For life and goods ;" for nought to him seemed dear, But for his well-loved work to be anear. IVm. Morris. GEITIUS, Natural What the child admired The youth endeavoured, and the man acquired. Dry den. GENIUS, Requisites of. The three foundations of genius : The gift of God, man's exertion, and the events of life. The three primary requisites of genius : An eye that can see nature, a heart that can feel nature, and boldness that can follow nature. The three indispensables of genius : Under- standing, feeling, and perseverance. The three properties of genius : Fine thought, appropriate thought, and finely diversified thought. The three things that ennoble genius : Vigour, fancy, and knowledge. The three supports of genius : Strong mental endowments, memory, and learning. The three ministers of genius : Memory, vigour, and learning. The three marks of genius : Extraordinary understanding, extraordinary conduct, and ex- traordinary exertions. The three friends of genius : Vigour, discre- tion, and pleasantry. The three things that improve genius : Proper exertion, frequent exertion, and pros- perous exertion. The three effects of genius : Generosity, gentleness, and complacency. The three things that enrich genius : Con- tentment of mind, the cherishing of good thoughts, and exercising the memory. The three things that exalt genius : Learn- ing, exertion, and reverence. The three supports of genius : Prosperity, social acquaintance, and praise. — Cathrall. GENTLENESS, its Catholicity. Years may pass over our heads without affording any opportunity for acts of high bene- ficence or extensive utility ; whereas, not a day passes but, in the common transactions of life, and especially in the intercourse of domestic society, gentleness finds place for promoting the happiness of others, and for strengthening in ourselves the habit of virtue. Nay, by rea- sonable discoveries of a humane spirit, we sometimes contribute more materially to the advancement of happiness than by actions which are seemingly more important. There are situations in human life when the encou- raging reception, the condescending behaviour, and the look of sympathy, bring greater relief to the heart than the most bountiful gift. While, on the other side, when the hand of liberality is extended to bestow, the want of gentleness is sufficient to frustrate the intention of the benefit. We sour those whom we mean to oblige ; and, by conferring favours with os- tentation and harshness, we convert them into injuries. — Blair. GIVER, a Cheerful one Beloved. As the Giver of all things, so each receiver loveth a cheerful giver. For a bargain is valued by the worth of the thing bought, 252 NOBLE THOUGHTS IN NOBLE LANGUAGE. but a gift by the party giving : which made the widow's mite of more worth than the riches of superfluity. I see then he gives not best that gives most ; but he gives most that gives best. If then I cannot give bountifully, yet I will give freely : and what I want in my hand, supply by my heart. He gives well that gives willingly. — Artlmr Warwick, GOD, All Glorious. What are my eyes, but aids to see The glories of the Deity Inscribed with beams of light On flow'rs and stars ? Lord, I behold The shining azure, green and gold ; But when I try to read Thy name, a dimness veils my sight. — Watts, GOD, AU in AU. Not worlds on worlds, in phalanx deep, Need we to prove a God is here ; The daisy fresh from winter's sleep, Tells of His hand in lines as clear. For who but He who arched the skies. And pours the dayspring's living flood, Wondrous alike in all he tries, Could rear the daisy's purple bud, Mould its green cap, its wiry stem, Its fringed border nicely spin, And cut the gold embossed gem, That, set in silver, gleams within, And fling it, unrestrain'd and free. O'er hill and dale and desert sod. That man, where'er he walks, may see. At every step, the stamp of God ! Mason Good. GOD, Alone with. Alone with thee ! my God ! alone with thee ! Thus would'st thou have it still — thus let it be. There is a secret chamber in each mind, Which none can find But he who made it ; none beside can know Its joy or woe. Oft when we enter it, oppressed by care, And find thee there. So full of watchful love ; Thoa^now'st the why -^ Of ev'ry sigh. Then all thy righteous dealings shall I see, Alone with thee ! my God ! alone with thee ! The joys of earth are like a summer day, Fading away ; But in the twilight we may better trace Thy wonderous grace. The homes of earth are emptied oft by death With chilling breath ; The loved departed guest may ope no more The well-known door ; Still in that chamber seal'd, thou'lt dwell with me. And I with thee, my God ! alone with thee ! The world's false voice would bid me enter not That hallowed spot ; And earthly thoughts would follow on the track To hold me back. Or seek to break the sacred peace within With this world's din ; But by thy grace I'll cast them all aside, Whate'er betide. And never let that cell deserted be Where I may dwell alone, my God, with thee ! The war may rage — keep thou the citadel. And all is well ; And when I learn the fulness of thy love With thee above ; When ev'ry heart, oppressed by hidden grief, Shall gain relief ; When ev'ry weary soul shall find its rest Amidst the blest ; Then all my heart, from sin and sorrow free. Shall be a temple meet, my God, for thee ! Anon. "GOD, a Source of Joy. To be happy, we must be blessed with the presence of the Holy Spirit. In adversity, in prosperity, in sickness and in health, our joys will be pure, our sorrow lightened with this holy emanation of the Deity in our bosoms. Natural evil we must feel ; moral evil and its effects we shall often experience ; but there will still remain in our hearts, if regenerated, a cordial drop, a source of sweet enjoyment, of which no external circumstances can utterly deprive us. — V. Knox. GOD, Beholdeth all Things. We can never sin with security, but in a place where the eye of God cannot behold us. And where is that place ? Had we a mind to es- cape his inspection, ** whither should we go ? " NOBLE THOUGHTS IN NOBLE LANGUAGE. 553 Heaven is the seat of his glory, creation the scene of his providence, and the grave itself will be the theatre of his power ; so that our efforts will be equally vain, whether we ascend, or fly abroad upon the wings of the morning light, which diffuseth itself with such velocity over the globe from east to west. The arm of the Almighty will still at pleasure prevent, and be ready to arrest the fugitives. — Bp. Home. GOD, Devotion to. A CHURCH is devoted to God. And this is the great mark of the Christian : he should be devoted, heart and mind, body and soul, — he should be given up altogether to God's service. He is not, indeed, to be always praying, nor always reading the Scriptures ; but he is to be always serving God. For this is our reason- able service, and the great glory and privilege of the Christian name, that, whether we eat or drink, or whatsoever we do, we may do it all to God's glory. ** I have set God always be- fore me ; " this should be our principle ; and it will grow to be our exceeding great delight. —A. IV. Hare. GOD, Ever Present. So live with men, as if God's curious eye Did everywhere into thine actions pry ; For never yet was sin so void of sense, So fully faced with brazen impudence, As that it durst, before men's eyes, commit Their brutal lusts, lest they should witness it ; How dare they, then, offend, when God shall see. That must alone both judge and jury be ? T. Randolph. GOD, Excellency and Power of. Let everything you see represent to your spirit the presence, the excellency, and the power of God ; and let your conversation with the crea- tures lead you unto the Creator ; for so shall your actions be done more frequently with an actual eye to God's presence, by your often seeing him in the glass of the creation. In the face of the sun you may see God's beauty ; in the fire you may feel his heat warming ; in the water his gentleness to refresh you ; and it is the dew of heaven that makes your field give you bread. This philosophy, which is obvious to every man's experience, is a good advantage to our piety, and by this act of the understand- ing our wills are checked from violence and misdemeanour. — Taylor. GOD, Gifts of. Every furrow in our fields is loaded with evi- dences of a Divine power ; and not ** five thousand " only, but millions of millions, to whom God gives meat in due season, are sus- tained by Omnipotence ; and not one of them ever feeds at less expense than that of a wonder, nay, of an infinite train of wonders . . . But the creatures are His, and therefore to be received with thanksgiving ; this our Saviour performed with great vigour and zeal ; thus teaching us, when " looking up to heaven," that "the eyes of all" ought, in the most literal sense, *' to wait " upon that Lord "who gives them their meat in due season." ... A secret sense of God's goodness is by no means enough. Men should make solemn and outward expressions of it, when they receive His creatures for their sup- port ; a service and homage not only due to Him, but profitable to themselves. — Dean Stanhope. Whether in those glorious orbs which are set in the firmament of heaven ; in the stated re- currence of the seasons, seed time and harvest, the former and the latter rain ; in the countless variety of beings endued with life and motion ; in the uses and beauties of the vegetable world ; in the wonderful fabric and adaptation of the parts of organized matter ; in any and in all of these the pious mind will trace the finger of an all-wise Creator, and discover the tendency of all His works to accomplish the purposes of perfect benevolence. "God saw everything that he had made, and behold it was very good." . . . Wheresoever I turn my eyes, be- hold the memorials of His greatness ! of His goodness ! . . . What the world contains of good is from His free and unrequited mercy : what it presents of real evil arises from our- selves. — Bp. Blomjield. GOD, GlorUaed in Good Works. The body is the temple of the Holy Ghost. And therefore glorify God in your body and in your spirit, for they are God's ... In this body we shall rise out of our grave, and ap- pear before the judgment-seat of God ; in this 254 NOBLE THOUGHTS IN NOBLE LANGUAGE, body we shall sit upon the twelve seats, and judge the twelve tribes. God shall crown it with glory and honour. Keep this vessel clean, it is precious ; keep it in honour, — keep it in holiness. Make not the member of Christ a member of the devil. Shame not your bodies ; —shame not yourselves. — Bp. Jewell. 'Tis not much doing, but well-doing, that Which God commands, the doer justifies, We ought not, therefore, to regard, alone How often, but how well, the work is done. G. Wither. GOD, Guidance of. We have a friend and protector, from whom, if we do not ourselves depart from him, nor power nor spirit can separate us. In his strength let us proceed on our journey, through the storms, and troubles, and dangers of the world. However they may rage and swell, though the mountains shake at the tempests, our rock will not be moved : we have one friend who will never forsake us ; one refuge, where we may rest in peace and stand in our lot at the end of the days. That same is he who liveth, and was dead ; who is alive for ever- more ; and hath the keys of hell and of death. Bp. Heber. GOD, hath no Sympathy with Sin. Impenitent sinners cannot call God their Father . . . God heareth them not ; he will not receive their prayers. The promise of hearing is made unto them only which be faithful and believe in God ; which endeavour themselves to live according unto his com- mandments . . . And who are the ** righte- ous ? " Every penitent sinner that is sorry from the bottom of his heart for his wicked- ness, and believeth that God will forgive him his sins, for his Son our Saviour Jesus Christ's sake . . . This I say, remember and follow it ; and then we shall receive all things neces- sary for this life, and, finally, everlasting joy and felicity. — Bp. Latimer. GOD, His Goodness in Creation. Little facts and circumstances in the economy of Almighty God have irresistible charms for me, and serve, like others more prominent, to show the perfect and beautiful in and for which everything has been created. In contem- plating them what a delightful lesson may we not learn ! We may find in them the strongest testimonies of the truth of revelation, and the superintendence of an all-wise and benevolent Creator. It has been well said that in the book of Nature is written in the plainest characters the existence of a God, which revelation takes for granted ; of a God how full of contrivance ! how fertile in expedients ! how benevolent in his ends ! At work everywhere ; everywhere, too, with equal diligence, leaving nothing in- complete, finishing '* the hinge in the wing of an insect "as perfectly as if it were all he had to do ; unconfounded by the multiplicity of objects, undistracted by their dispersion, un- wearied by their incessant demands on him, fresh as on that day when the morning-stars first sung together, and all nature shouted for joy. — Jesse^s Gleanings, GOD, His Help always Necessary. Without the help of God, Nor innocence nor faith are sure Their being to retain ; Or trial from the fiends endure, With no contagious stain : Not safe the path by angels trod Without the help of God ! Without the help of God, The powers of wisdom, courage, youth, Dissolve, like steel, by rust ; The blazing eye of spotless truth Is only rayless dust ; And mental fire, a senseless clod, Without the help of God ! Without the help of God, All is decay, delusion all. On which mankind rely : The firmament itself would fall, And even nature die Beneath annihilation's nod. Without the help of God ! W. Hayley. GOD, His Perfections. We find in God all the excellences of light, truth, wisdom, greatness, goodness, and life. Light gives joy and gladness ; truth gives satisfaction ; wisdom gives learning and instruction ; great- ness excites admiration ; goodness produces love and gratitude ; life gives immortality and ensures enjoyment. — Jones of Nayland. NOBLE THOUGHTS IN NOBLE LANGUAGE, 2S5 GOD, His Paternal Considerateness. As a father considers the little services which his children do him, not so much with regard to the value of these services, or of the advan- tages which he finds from them, as of the affec- tion which they express in their little attempts and offers to serve him ; so our heavenly Father considers more our hearts and affections than the things themselves which we have done, or indeed can do ; of which he stands in no need, but accepts of them as demonstra- tions of our love and duty. Thus all we have done with a sincere mind for His honour, either in private or public, will be put to our account, and will be separated from its dross. The imperfections will be forgiven, and what was good in us, or our actions, will be valued and rewarded ; not according to the thing itself, but to the infinite bounty and goodness of Him with whom we have to do. — Biirnct. GOD, His Wonders and Mercies. The man who forgets the wonders and mer- cies of the Lord is without any excuse ; for we are continually surrounded with objects which may serve to bring the power and goodness of God strikingly to mind. The light, how beautiful, and wonderful, and necessary to our well-being ! The sun and moon, and all the heavenly bodies, how glorious in their con- stant order ! The mild and fruitful shower, what a token of the lovingkindness of our Creator ! while the raging storm proclaims his terrible might ! Every day let our mind and heart be open to such truths, and we shall never fail to behold the glory of Jehovah in his works. Let us only think of the thousands and millions of living creatures in the air, upon the earth and in the waters, all instructed how to make or where to seek their dwellings ; and all provided for in due season by their Maker's never-failing bounty, and all preserved by that ever- watchful Providence without whose knowledge and permission *'not a sparrow falleth to the ground." Every one of these created objects, whether with or without life, may be said, in its own way, to celebrate the Creator's glory, rejoicing in his goodness, though unknown, and answering the purposes of his will. And shall man, the head of all, — man, blessed with reason, — man, taught by his Maker, — shall he be found wanting in praise, and gratitude, and love ? Forbid it, " O God, the God of the spirits of all flesh."— ^/a^^. GOD, Hymn of Praise to. Oh, Thou ! who taught my infant eye To pierce the air and view the sky, To see my God in earth and seas. To hear him in the vernal breeze. To know him midnight thoughts among, O guide my soul, and aid my song. Spirit of Light ! do thou impart Majestic truths, and teach my heart ; Teach me to know how weak I am ; How vain my powers, how poor my frame ; Teach me celestial paths untrod — The ways of glory and of God. No more let me in vain surprise, To heathen art give up my eyes ; To piles laborious science reared. For heroes brave, or tyrants feared ; But quit philosophy, and see The fountain of her works in Thee. Fond man ! yon glassy mirror eye, — Go, pierce the flood, and there descry The miracles that float between The rainy leaves of wat'ry green ; Old Ocean's hoary treasures scan, — See nations swimming round a span. Then wilt thou say, and rear no more Thy monuments in mystic lore. My God ! I quit my vain design. And drop my work to gaze on Thine ; Henceforth I'll frame myself to be, O Lord ! a monument of Thee. — Crabhe. GOD, in Christ Reconciled. In what consists the entire of Christianity but in this, — that feeling an utter incapacity to work out our own salvation, we submit our whole sdves, our hearts, and our understand- ings, to the Divine disposal ; and that, relying upon God's gracious assistance, ensured to our honest endeavours to obtain it, through the mediation of Jesus Christ, we look up to Him, and to Him alone, for safety? Nay, what is the very notion of religion, but this humble reliance upon God ? Take this away, and we become a race of independent beings, claiming, as a debt, the reward of good works. — Ab^). Magee, GOD, Incomprehensible. It is true, indeed, that the Deity is more in- comprehensible to us than anything else what- soever, which proceeds from the fulness of his being and perfection, and from the trans- 256 NOBLE THOUGHTS IN NOBLE LANGUAGE. cendancy of his brightness ; but for the very same reason may it be said also, in some sense, that He is more knowable and conceivable than anything ; as the sun, though by reason of its excessive splendour it dazzle our weak sight, yet is, notwithstanding, far more visible also than any of the nebulosce stellce, the small misty stars. Where there is more of light, there is more of visibility ; so where there is more of entity, reality, and perfection, there is more of conceptibility ; such an object filling the mind more, and acting more strongly upon it. Nevertheless, because our weak and im- perfect minds are lost in the vast immensity and redundancy of the Deity, and overcome with its transcendant light and dazzling bright- ness, therefore hath it to us an appearance of darkness and incomprehensibility ; as the un- bounded expansion of light, in a clear trans- parent ether, hath to us the apparition of an azure obscurity ; which yet is not an absolute thing in itself, but only relative to our sense, and a mere fancy in us. — Ciidworth. GOD is Love. " God is love ;" and therefore God is terrible. From whence arises His marvellous love to man? Of man He has no need; the Divine happiness is complete ; in man He sees no merit ; He knows we are worthless, as well as we ourselves : but then, far better than we, He knows that we are "immortal;" that there- fore we must "suffer" or "enjoy" for ever. Hence His regard for man. Hence, for a worm, to-day crawling out of the earth, to- morrow, more despicably still, crawling into corruption ; His compassion, His solicitude. His councils, held on high ; and all the won- ders of His love . . . But why sayest thou that this love is "terrible?" Is not that love most terrible which tells us we are in danger of being eternally undone? And this love tells us so. How deep, then, and deplorable is their mistake, who presume to sin, because God is so good — who presume on impunity for sin, because God is so good, when God is so good purely because He knows that sin and impunity are incompatible ! God, indeed, for- bids our despair, but not because His love will save us ; but because despair stops all effort at amendment, and without it His love desires our welfare in vain. His love is such as to give us encouragement and support in every- thing but sin ; such as to support our spirits amid the ruins of a fallen world ; but not under the darkening cloud of one unrepented guilt. — E. Young. GOD must be Loved as well as Feared. When the child trembles at the thought of punishment, yet goes on disobeying its father, can we say with truth of such a child, that it fears its father ? No, it does not fear its father, but the rod. So it is with the fear of God ; if it does not keep a man from disobeying God, it is not God that he fears, but hell. Bear in mind, therefore, that, though " the fear of God is the beginning of wisdom," unless it leads to holiness of living, it is only the first stage of our punishment ; it is only a foretaste of those dreadful dreams of torment which are to haunt the sinner through all eternity. The very devils not only believe, but tremble. — A. W. Hare. GOD Necessarily Exists. Since the arguments which prove a God prove also that He is necessarily existing ; — and since that Being which is necessarily existing must be absolutely perfect ; — and since absolute power is on all hands allowed to be a perfection, it follows that God must be endued with absolute power ; and if so, then he must have a power of doing everything, which doth imply a contradiction : from hence it is evident that he is necessarily endued with a power of working miracles. . . To a being whose power is absolute, nothing, in itself possible, can be at all difficult ; because nothing can exhaust his power. — Bishop Conybeare. Seek not the cause, for 'tis not in thy reach, Of all the truths prophetic volumes teach ; Those "secret things" imparted from on high, Which speak at once, and veil the Deity : Pass on : nor rash explore the depths that lie Divinely hid in sacred mystery. Scaliger. GOD, Our Only Stay. Let us not so abuse the mercy of God as to refuse him our obedience ; let us not think so highly of our obedience as to depreciate his mercy. Let us " acknowledge the faith which is after godliness ; " so entirely depend upon the grace of God, and the merits of our Saviour, as if our own endeavours were alto- gether insignificant and useless ; and be at the NOBLE THOUGHTS IN NOBLE LANGUAGE. 257 same time so active and laborious in the ways of righteousness and holiness, as if we were able, by the strength and power of nature alone, to ** work the works of God," and ** lay hold on eternal life." — Bandinel. GOD, Providence of. To those, the eyes of whose understandings are enlightened, and the avenues of their hearts opened, to discern and adore the per- fections of God, how manifold are the instances which will occur of the providence of God in- terfering to direct the course of human events towards a salutary end ; to make afflictions of men the bye-path to enjoyment ; out of evils temporal and transitory to produce substantial and permanent good. Joseph was sold a bond- servant into Egypt, and thus was made the instrument of preserving his father, and his brethren and their households. Moses was driven from Egypt by fear of destruction, and was made the instrument of delivering the people of Israel from bondage. In these in- stances we have infallible authority for affirming the intention and workings of Divine wisdom. In many we can judge only upon general prin- ciples, and from analogy of revealed truth, and who that examines into the course and mutual relation of human events can fail of being struck by innumerable coincidences which, however fortuitous they may appear to the in- considerate and unreflecting eye, will, if duly scanned, bear solemn and convincing evidence to the disposing influence and providential power of God ? Providence, however, works by means, and by means most generally of no extraordinary kind, but such as present themselves in the common incidents of human life. It was no miraculous or preternatural, nor marvellous, nor strange disposition of things, which brought Aquila and Priscilla into acquaintance and intercourse with St. Paul. Being originally Jews, they were both parties instructed in a trade, according to the usual Jewish practice. "By their occupation" the two former were tent-makers, and because he was of the same craft he " abode with them and wrought." The apostle, indeed, claimed for himself, as well as for the other ministers of the Gospel, the right of living by the Gospel which he preached ; but for special reasons he chose at Corinth to waive that right, and to seek subsistence from other sources, of which the principal was the exercise of the trade wherein for the supply of any occasional necessity he had been trained. What could be more natural than this, or more agreeable to the common course of things ? What more natural, or more agreeable to such course than that, on coming to a strange place, he should seek a dwelling and employ- ment with those of the same trade? But it was by these natural and ordinary occurrences that Divine wisdom wrought : after the same manner that God wrought when he made the act of Rebekah, in going out of the city to draw water at the well, instrumental to her meeting the servant of Abraham, and becom- ing the wife of Isaac ; or when he made a similar act of the woman of Samaria, in going to Jacob's well to draw water, subservient to the introduction of her and her fellow citizens to a knowledge and belief of the Messiah. Of events, however ordinary and natural, the results are in the hands of him who is the God of nature, " without whom not a sparrow falleth to the ground, and by whom the hairs of our head are numbered. " Our lives are a series of providences. Whatever we do, how- ever free we be to do it, it is as if we should cast seed into the earth ; but God giveth it a body, as it pleaseth Him, and to every seed its own body. — Bishop Mant. GOD, Pervades all Things. The discoveries of science, the triumphs of genius, the revelation of truth, seem to partake of the permanent Being which is their source ; they are perennial, living growths, which ever put forth anew their foliage, blossom, and golden fruit ; and we collect from year to year the harvest which owes its birth to the divine seeds of wisdom which the gifted individuals of our race have been permitted to plant, which have been watered by the dews of hea- ven, and have been fostered by the light and genial warmth of a sun that sheds on them the blessings of Providence. — Joseph Henry Greeii. GOD, Perfect in Justice. Let us at all times cherish in our minds an unrelaxing certainty, that we shall always find the Almighty perfect in his justice to us all, and in everything, and individually to each of us, as soon as we obtain sufficient knowledge s ^58 NOBLE THOUGHTS IN NOBLE LANGUAGE, of his operations with respect to us. Let us wait with patience until what we do not per- ceive or cannot comprehend shall be satisfac- torily elucidated to us. We expect this equity and consideration in our intercourse with each other. Let us also so conduct ourselves, in all our thoughts and feelings with reference to Him, whatever may be his present or future dispensations personally to ourselves. — Turner. GOD, Shunned of the World. The high and the low, the young and the old, the busy and the idle, alike shun acquaintance with God, as if his very name brought uneasi- ness, and disturbed our comfort and repose. If we mention God to the young, we too often seem to be troubling them with what they had rather forget in such early days ; while the aged dislike to be reminded of the misfortune that their time on earth is drawing near to an end. If we mention God to the gay and happy, we appear to be interfering with their pleasures. If we mention him to the great and to the learned, they will intimate that such subjects belong rather to a humbler class and station. But the poor and laborious on their part refer us to those who have more informa- tion and more leisure. Thus a large portion of mankind, in all classes, strive to keep God out of their thoughts, and to live, so far as in them lies, without him in the world. Yes, without Him, who, as the Apostle says, is not far from any one of us : for in him we live, and move, and have our being. "Why should they act so strangely and unreasonably, if they believed that acquaintance with God would give them peace ? — Bishop J. C. Sumner. GOD'S Love in Christ. He that giveth a talent will certainly give a mite : He that giveth His Son will also give salvation ; will give all things that may work it out. "He that delivered His Son," is followed by the question, "how shall He not — how shall He not with Him also freely give us all things ? " It is impossible it should be otherwise. Christ cometh not naked, but clothed with blessings : He cometh not empty, but with the riches of heaven ; the treasures of wisdom and happiness. Christ cometh not alone, but with troops of angels, with glorious promises and gifts. Nay, to make good the ** How shall he not ? " — to make it unanswer- able, unquestionable, — it is His nakedness that clothes us. His poverty that enriches us, His diminution that maketh us great ; and His examination and emptying of Himself that filleth us ; and His being ** delivered for us," delivereth to us the possession of all things. — Farindon. GOD'S Love Melteth us. What can tend more to melt our frozen hearts into a current of thankful obedience to God, than the vigorous reflection of the beams of God's love through Christ on us ? Was there ever so great an expression of love heard of? Nay, was it possible to be imagined that that God, who perfectly hates sin, should himselt offer the pardon of it, and send His Son into the world to secure it to the sinner, who doth so heartily repent of his sins as to deny himself, and take up his cross and follow Jesus Christ. Verily, " Christ crucified" is the library which triumphant souls will be studying in to all eternity. — Bishop StilUngfieet. GOD'S Nature Unsearchable. In a nature so unsearchable as that of God, and a scheme so vast as that of His universal government, there must be many things that creatures of our limited faculties cannot ap- proach towards comprehending, and merely from want of comprehending, may fancy to be full of incredibilities, which, could we but know more, or would we but remember that we know so little, would instantly vanish. In matters, therefore, which we understand so very imperfectly, to set up human imagination against divine authority ; to rely on crude notions that things are impossible, which proper testimony shows to be true in fact ; or that God cannot be, or do, what by His own declarations He is, and hath done, betrays a disposition widely different from the modesty which becomes us. — Archbishop Seeker. GOD, the Great Cause of all Being. If we look with wonder upon the great re- mains of human works, such as the columns of Palmyra, broken in the midst of the desert, the temples of Poestum, beautiful in the decay of twenty centuries, or the mutilated fragments of Greek sculpture in the Acropolis of Athens, NOBLE THOUGHTS IN NOBLE LANGUAGE. 259 or in our own Museum, as proofs of the genius of artists, and the power and riches of nations now passed away, with how much deeper feel- ings of admiration must we consider those grander monuments of Nature which mark the revolutions of the globe ; continents broken into islands ; one land produced, another de- stroyed ; the bottom of the ocean become a fertile soil ; whole races of animals extinct ; and the bones and exuviae of one class covered with the remains of another, and upon the graves of past generations — the marble, a rocky tomb as it were of a former animated world — new generations rising, and order and harmony established, and a system of life and beauty produced, as it were, out of chaos and death ; proving the infinite wisdom, power, and goodness of the Great Cause of all being. —Sir H. Davy. GOD, the Help of the Righteous. With grief opprest, and prostrate in the dust, Shouldst Thou condemn, I own Thy sentence just. But oh ! Thy softer titles let me claim, And plead my cause by Mercy's gentle name. Mercy, that wipes the penitential tear. And dissipates the horrors of despair ; From righteous Justice steals the vengeful hour, Softens the dreadful attributes of power. Disarms the wrath of an offended God, And seals my pardon in a Saviour's blood. Carter. He that glorieth, let him glory in the Lord. And of this holy David stands before us as a great and good example. He trusts not in the wings of his army, but in the Lord of hosts and battles ; not in the shadow of his cave, but in the shadow of God's \vings ; not in the height of his rock, but in the Rock of Ages. .... Severed and abstracted from the Divine protection, he slights all these j and knowing he coiild not be safe on this side Omnipotence, he styles God, almost in every psalm, his "rock and his castle, his fortress and his stronghold, his high tower, and the hill of his defence." — Archbishop Saner oft. Let thy cross my will control. Confirm me to my guide ; In thine image mould my soul, And crucify my pride ; Give me. Lord, a contrite heart, A heart that always looks to thee ; Meek Redeemer, now impart Thine own humility. Toplady, GOD, the Power of. Thou art, O God, the life and light Of all this wond'rous world we see ; Its glow by day, its smile by night. Are but reflections caught from thee ! Where'er we turn thy glories shine, And all things fair and bright are thine ! When day with farewell beam delays, Among the opening clouds of even. And we can almost think we gaze Through golden vistas into heaven, Those hues that mark the sun decline. So soft, so radiant. Lord, are thine ! When night with wings of stormy gloom, O'ershadows all the earth and skies. Like some dark beauteous bird, whose plume Is sparkling with a thousand eyes — That sacred gloom, those fires divine, So grand, so countless, Lord, are thine ! When youthful spring around us breathes. Thy spirit warms her fragrant sigh. And ev'ry flow'r the summer wreathes Is born beneath that kindling eye ; — Where'er we turn, thy glories shine, And all things fair and bright are thine ! T, Moore. GOD, the Source of all Good. God of this fair creation ! In whom we live and move ; With hymns of adoration We own that thou art love ; Before thine altar kneeling. Thy gracious name we bless For life, for health, for feeling, For all earth's plenteousness. For all that soothes our sorrows. And gives our sickness ease, — For com that fills our furrows. For fruit that bends our trees ; For wine, its balm diffusing Through souls by pain opprest. Which use as not abusing, — O Lord, thy name be blest. May food which nature needeth To us be daily given. While still the spirit feedeth On bread sent down from heaven. From streams by drought unwasted. May we those draughts obtain. Which he who once hath tasted Shall never thirst again. Moultrie, 26o NOBLE THOUGHTS IN NOBLE LANGUAGE, GOD, the Spirit of Spirits. Spirit of spirits, who, through every part Of space expanded and of endless time, Beyond the stretch of labouring thought sublime, Bad'st uproar into beauteous order start, Before heaven was, Thou art ! Ere spheres beneath us rolled, or spheres above, Ere earth in firmamental ether hung, Thou sat'st alone, till through thy mystic love. Things unexisting to existence sprung, And grateful descant sung. What first impelled Thee to exert Thy might ? Goodness unlimited. What glorious light Thy power directed? Wisdom without bound. What proved it first ? Oh ! guide my fancy right ; Oh ! raise from cumbrous ground, My soul in rapture drown'd, That fearless it may soar on wings of fire ; For Thou, who only know'st, Thou only canst inspire ! My soul absorbed. One only Being knows, Of all perfections One abunnant source, Whence every object, every moment flows : Suns hence derive their force. Hence planets learn their course. But suns and fading worlds I view no more, God only I perceive, God only I adore. Forbes. GOD, the Supreme Director. He thinks justly of God who believes him to be the Supreme director of human affairs, and the author of all that is good or fitting in human life. He worships God piously who him reveres above all beings ; who perceives and acknowledges him in all events ; who is in everything resigned and obedient to his will ; who patiently receives whatever befals him from a persuasion that whatever God appoints must be right ; and in fine, who cheerfully follows wherever Divine Providence leads him, even though it be to suffering and death. — Philosophy of the Stoics, / GOD, the Supreme Source. JlE sung of God, the mighty source Of all things, the stupendous force On which all things depend ; From whose right arm, beneath whose eyes, All period, power, and enterprise, Commence, and reign, and end. The world, the clustering spheres he made, The glorious light, the soothing shade, Dale, champaign, grove, and hill ; The multitudinous abyss, Where Secrecy remains in bliss. And Wisdom hides her skill. Tell them I am, Jehovah said. To Moses, while earth heard in dread, And smitten to the heart, At once above, beneath, around. All Nature, without voice or sound. Replied, O Lord, thou art ! C. Smart. GOD, Ubiquitous in Loving Power. That eye which is never closed, that thought which is never intermitted, that power which never rests ; but, engaged in incessant action, and employing infinite hosts of under-agents to effect his purposes, sees and provides for the wants of the whole creation ; the plant absorbs from the soil ; the animal, after devouring the plant, or the plant-fed creature, returns to the earth what the plant had absorbed, and so maintains the proper equilibrium. He who numbers the hairs of our head numbers the workmen that he employs, employing them only in such proportions so distributed as may best accomplish his purposes. — Kirby. GOLDEN Home, the. Where the hearth of our childhood was sparkling and bright. And our earliest footsteps trod gaily and light; Where we offered our prayers to the father above. With a father's blessing and mother's love ; Where in seasons of trial and tempests of pain, We long to take shelter from trouble again, Like mariners 'scap'd from a stormy sea ; The home of the wandering frame should be. Where the stars in beauty and brightness roll Through clear blue ether around the pole ; Where Nature works in her wond'rous ways Through depths concealed from the vulgar gaze; Where aught of the wonderful, beautiful, new, In heaven or earth, may be brought to view. That the mind may grasp or the eye may see ; There, there, the home of the soul should be. NOBLE THOUGHTS IN NOBLE LANGUAGE, 261 Where the voices of mighty multitudes roar, Like the boom of the sea on the sandy shore ; And, mix'd with hosannas loud and long. Arises the everlasting song ; Where the Lamb that was slain in the midst of the throne. Has honour, and glory, and power alone ; — At the feet of the undivided Three The home of the deathless spirit should be. W. S. M. GOLDEN Hope. Reflected on the lake I love To see the stars of evening glow ; So tranquil in the heavens above. So restless in the wave below. Thus heavenly hope is all serene. But earthly hope, how bright soe'er. Still fluctuates o'er this changing scene. As false and fleeting as 'tis fair. Heber. GOLDEN Rules. Make God the first and last of all thy actions ; so begin that thou mayest have him in the end ; otherwise I doubt whether it had not been better that thou hadst never begun. Wealth is not the way to Heaven, but the contrary ; let all your care be how to ** live well," and you may be sure that you will never die poor. I know not which is the worse, the bearer of tales or the receiver ; for the one makes the other. We should no less hate to tell than to hear slanders. If we cannot stop others' mouths, let us stop our own ears. The re- ceiver is as bad as the thief. So live with men as considering always that God sees thee ; so pray to God, as if every man heard thee. Do nothing which thou wouldest not have God see done. Desire nothing which may either wrong thy profession to ask or God's honour to grant. Afflictions are the medicine of the mind ; if they are not toothsome, let it suffice that they are wholesome. It is not required in physic that it should please, but heal. Sin and punishment are like the shadow and the body, never apart. Never sin went un- punished ; and the end of all sin, if it be not repentance, is hell. Next to the not commit- ting of a fault is the being sorry for it. — Bishop Henshaw. GOLD, The Slave of. Slave of the dark and dirty mine ! What vanity has brought thee here ? How can I love to see thee shine So bright, whom I have bought so dear ? The tent-ropes flapping lone I hear, For twilight converse, arm in arm ; The jackal's shriek bursts on mine ear, When mirth and music wont to charm. By Cherical's dark wandering streams. Where cane-tufts shadow all the wild, Sweet visions haunt my waking dreams, Of Teviot lov'd while still a child. Of castled rocks stupendous pil'd By Esk or Eden's classic wave. Where loves of youth and friendship smil'd, Uncurs'd by thee, vile yellow slave ! Fade, day-dreams sweet, from memory fade ! — The perish'd bliss of youth's first prime, That once so bright on fancy play'd, Revives no more in after-time. Far from my sacred natal clime I haste to an untimely grave ; The daring thoughts that soared sublime Are sunk in ocean's southern wave. Slave of the mine ! thy yellow light Gleams baleful as the tomb-fire drear. A gentle vision comes by night. My lonely, widow'd heart to cheer ; Her eyes are dim with many a tear. That once were guiding stars to mine : Her fond heart throbs with many a fear ! — I cannot bear to see thee shine. For thee, for thee, vile yellow slave, I left a heart that loved me true ! I crossed the tedious ocean-wave. To roam in climes unkind and new. The cold wind of the stranger blew Chill on my withered heart : — the grave Dark and untimely met my view — And all for thee, vile yellow slave ! Ha ! com'st thou now so late to mock A wanderer's banished heart forlorn, Now that his frame the lightning shock Of sun-rays tipt with death has borne? From love, from friendship, country, torn, To memory's fond regrets the prey, Vile slave, thy yellow dross I scorn ! Go mix thee with thy kindred clay. Dr. Leyden. 262 NOBLE THOUGHTS IN NOBLE LANGUAGE. GOOD Breeding. A GENTLEMAN is a Christian in spirit, that will take a polish ; the rest are but plated goods, and however excellent their fashion, rub them more or less, the base metal will appear through. An Englishman making the grand tour towards the middle of the last century, when travellers were more objects of attention than at present, on arriving at Turin, sauntered out to see the place. He happened to meet a regiment of infantry returning from parade, and taking a position to see it pass, a young captain, evidently desirous to make a display before the stranger, in crossing one of the nu- merous water- courses with which the city is intersected, missed his footing, and in trying to save himself lost his hat. The exhibition was truly unfortunate ; the spectators laughed and looked at the Englishman, expecting him to laugh too. On the contrary, he not only retained his composure, but promptly advanced to where the hat had rolled, and taking it up, presented it, with an air of unaffected kindness, to its confused owner. The officer received it with a blush of surprise and gratitude, and hurried to rejoin his company ; — there was a murmur of applause and the stranger passed on. Though the scene of a moment, and without a word spoken, it touched every heart, not with admiration for a mere display of polite- ness, but with a warmer feeling for a proof of that true charity "which never faileth." On the regiment being dismissed, the captain, who was a young man of consideration, in glowing terms related the circumstance to his colonel ; the colonel immediately mentioned it to the general in command, and when the Englishman returned to his hotel, he found an aide-de-camp waiting to request his company to dinner at head-quarters. In the evening he was carried to court, at that time, as Lord Chesterfield tells us, the most brilliant court in Europe, and was received with particular attention, his company being sought on all sides, and his reception remarkably warm and genial. Of course, during his stay at Turin, he was invited everywhere, and on his departure he was loaded with letters of introduction to the different States of Italy. Thus a private gen- tleman, of moderate means, by a graceful im- pulse of Christian feeling, was enabled to tra- vel through a foreign country, then of the highest interest for its society, as well as for the charms it still possesses, with more real distinction and advantage than can ever be derived from the mere circumstances of birth and fortune, even the most splendid. I think I cannot more appropriately conclude this anecdote than by adding the excellent, and excellently expressed, advice of Polonius to his son on his departure for a foreign country. The precepts are admirably adapted to form a man of the world and a gentleman, in the best sense of the terms, and in my opinion are well worth committing to memory by those whom they concern. — M. GOOD-HUMOUR, Definition of. GooD-humour may be defined a habit of being pleased ; a constant and perennial softness of manner, easiness of approach, and serenity of disposition, like that which every man per- ceives in himself when the first transports of new felicity have subsided, and his thoughts are only kept in motion by a slow succession of soft impulses. Good-humour is a state between gaiety and unconcern ; the act or emanation of a mind at leisure to regard the gratification of another, — Dr. Johnson. GOOD, Latent. To see nothing but what is good is impossible, and to say nothing but what is good would be deceitful ; but it is the part of both wisdom and charity to see all that there is, and to say all that we can. There is a great deal of latent good which must be looked for before it can be found, but which is worth finding, and, therefore, worth looking for. — Quarterly Review. GOOD Name, its Value. Who shall pretend to calculate the value of the inheritance of a good name ? Its benefit is often great, when dependent upon no stronger ties than those which accident or relationship have created ; but when it flows from friendships which have been consecrated by piety and learning, when it is the willing offering of kindred minds to departed worth or genius, it takes a higher character, and is not less honourable to those who receive than to those who confer it. It comes generally from the best sources, and is directed to the NOBLE THOUGHTS IN NOBLE LANGUAGE. 263 best ends ; and it carries with it an influence which proverbially disposes all worthy persons to co-operate in its views. Nor is this all. The consciousness of the source from which it springs is wont to stimulate the exertions and to elevate the views of those who are the objects of it ; and many instances might be enumerated of persons who have laid the foundation of the very highest fortunes upon no other ground than that which this goodly inheritance has supplied. — Bishop Otter. GOOD, Strive to Do. Some good we can all do ; and if we do all that is in our power, however little that power may be, we have performed our part, and may be as near perfection as those whose influence extends over kingdoms, and whose good actions are felt and applauded by thousands. But then we must be sure that we do all we can, and exert to the utmost all those powers which God has given us ; and this is a point in which we are very apt to deceive ourselves, and to shelter our indolence under the pretence of inability. Let us never be discouraged by any difficulty which may attend what we know to be our duty ; for, if we do our best, we are secure of an All-powerful assistance ; nor let us ever think any occasion too trifling for the exertion of our best endeavours ; for it is by constantly aiming at perfection, in every instance, that we may at length attain to as great a degree of it as our present state will admit of. — Bawdier. GOSPEL, as it is in Christ. Christ's gracious condescensions and com- passions to the poor are an evidence that it was He that should bring to the world the tender mercies of our God. It was foretold that the Son of Man should be the poor man's king (Psalm Ixxii. 2, 4, 12, 13). And it is a proof of Christ's divine mission that His doctrine is Gospel indeed; "good news" to those who are truly humbled in sorrow for their sins, and truly humble in the denial of self ; for them it is accommodated for whom God always declared He had mercy in store. — Matthnv Henry. GOSPEL, its End, Life, and Perfection. The end of the Gospel is life and perfection ; it is a divine nature, it is a God-like frame and disposition of spirit ; it is to make us par- takers of the Image of God in righteousness and tme holiness, without which salvation itself were but a notion . . . The Gospel declares pardon of sin to those that are heavy- laden with it, and willing to be disburthened to this end — that it may quicken and enliven us to new obedience. — Cudworth. GOSPEL, its Simplicity. Indeed the plainness of the doctrine was that which made the wise world stumble at it ; and thence it was hid from the wise and pru- dent, who, like Naaman with the prophet, could not be contented to be healed without some great ostentation ; nor were content to think anything could be the wisdom of God, and the power of God, unless it were some- thing that were abstruse, and at least conform- able to that wisdom they had, and were trou- bled to think that that wisdom or doctrine, that must be of so great use and end, should fall under the capacity of a fisherman, a maker of tents, a carpenter. But thus it pleased God to choose a doctrine of an easy acquisition : i. That no flesh should glory in his sight ; and 2. That the way of salvation, being a common thing propounded to all mankind, might be difficult to none. — Sir M. Hale. GOSPEL, Light of. God hath kindled the bright light of his Gos- pel, which in times past was suppressed and hid under the vile ashes of man's traditions, and hath caused the brightness thereof to shine in our hearts, to the end that the same might shine before men to the honour of His name. It is not only given us to believe, but also to confess and declare what we believe, in our outward conversation. — Archd. Philpot. GOSPEL the, Universal. The preaching of the Gospel is universal : that it appertaineth unto all mankind ; and that it is written, "Through the whole earth their sound is heard." Now, seeing that the Gospel is universal, it appeareth that he would have all mankind saved, and that the fault is not in him if we be damned. P'or it is written also, *' God would have all men to be saved." But we are so wicked of ourselves, that we refuse 264 NOBLE THOUGHTS IN NOBLE LANGUAGE. to be saved ; and we will not take salvation when it is offered to us. And therefore He saith, "Few truly are chosen ;" that is, few have pleasure or delight in it. They love more their riches and possessions than the word of God ; and therefore there are but a few who cleave heartily unto it, and can find in their hearts to forget this world for God's sake, and His holy word. — Bp. Latimer, GOVERNMENT, True, Guided by Opinion. The true prop of good government is opinion ; the perception, on the part of the subjects, of benefits resulting from it ; a settled convic- tion, in other words, of its being a public good. Now, nothing can produce or maintain that opinion but knowledge, since opinion is a form of knowledge. Of tyrannical and unlaw- ful governments, indeed, the support is fear, to which ignorance is as congenial as it is ab- horrent from the genius of a free people. — Robert Hall. GRACE, Overgrown of Folly. When I plant a choice flower in a fertile soil, I see nature presently to thrust up with it the stinging nettle, the stinking hemlock, the drowsy poppy, and many such noisome weeds, which will either choke my plant with exclud- ing the sun, or divert its nourishment to them- selves ; but if I weed but these at first, my flower thrives to its goodness and glory. This is also my case when I endeavour to plant grace in the fertile soil of a good wit ; for luxurious nature thrusts up with it, either sting- ing wrath, or stinking wantonness, or drowsy sloth, or some other vices, which rob my plant of its desired flourishing ; but these being first plucked up, the good wit produceth, in its time, the fair flower of virtue. I will not therefore think the best wits, as they are wits, fittest to make the best men, but as they are the best purged best wits. The ground of their goodness is not the goodness of their wit's ground, but the good weeding and cleansing. I must first eschew the evil, ere I can do good ; supplant vices, ere I can implant virtue. — A. Warfwick. — ^ GRACES, Linked Together. It is most certain there is a chain of graces linked together, and they who have one have all in some good measure. They who have a lively hope have fervent love to God ; and they who love God love their neighbours ; and they who love God and neighbour hate sin ; and they who hate sin sorrow for it ; and they who sorrow for sin will avoid the occasion of it ; and they that are thus watchful will pray fervently ; and they who pray will meditate ; and they who pray and meditate at home will join seriously in the public worship of God. Thus graces are combined, and holy duties linked together ; and no grace is alone, — N. Parkhurst. GRATITUDE and Ingratitude. Gratitude is a virtue disposing the mind to an inward sense and an outward acknowledg- ment of a benefit received, together with a readiness to return the same, or the like, as. occasions of the doer of it shall require, and the abilities of the receiver extend to. Ingra- titude is an insensibility of kindness received, without any endeavour either to acknowledge or repay them. Ingratitude sits on its throne with pride at its right hand, and cruelty at its left, each worthy supporters of such a state. There neither is, nor ever was, any person, remarkably ungrateful who was not also insuf- ferably proud ; nor any one proud who was not equally ungrateful. Ingratitude overlooks all kindnesses, and this is because pride makes it carry its head so high. Ingratitude is too base to return a kind- ness, and to proud to regard it ; much like the tops of mountains, barren indeed, but yet lofty ; they produce nothing, they feed no- body, they clothe nobody, yet are high and stately, and look down upon all the world about them. Friendship consists properly in mutual offices, and a generous strife in alternate acts of kindness. But he who does a kindness to aa ungrateful person sets his seal to a flint, and sows his seed upon the sand : — upon the former he makes no impression, and from the latter he finds no production. — Dr. South. GRAVE, The. What is the grave ? 'Tis a cool, shady harbour, where the Christian Wayworn and weary with life's rugged road, Forgetting all life's sorrows, joys, and pains^ Lays his poor body down to rest — Sleeps on — and wakes in Heaven. NOBLE THOUGHTS IN NOBLE LANGUAGE. 265 GREATNESS, its Emptiness. I WAS bom with greatness ; I've honours, titles, powers, here within : All vain external greatness I contemn. Am I the higher for supporting mountains? The taller for a flatt'rer's humble bowing ? Have I more room for being throng'd with flowers ? The larger soul for having all my thoughts Fill'd with the lumber of the state affairs ? Honours and riches are all splendid vanities. They are of chiefest use to fools and knaves. Br